#because a show of the walking dead's popularity

[jelloapocalypse]

First off, incredible video, it was extremely Jibun-wo to see digimon make the cut! That being said, I gotta know, would Dandadan have made top 10 if it hadn't come out past the cut off point? It feels like such a slam dunk

Aha okay I am happy someone asked me about this.

So. If I am being dead honest with you? If I am being a trillion percent real? Even if it came out three years ago, Dandadan would probably not make the list, and if it was on it it'd be pretty low. Like high 90s maybe.

I did a temperature check with Amy just to see if I was crazy after watching it a few times and she came to the came conclusion I did: The Creepy Nuts song absolutely slaps and is insanely catchy. No surprise there, it's Creepy Nuts, they're awesome and you should check out their stuff.

Watch this little clip of them in real time. The way their bodies flow as they perform (see 0:37) is mesmerizing. I love it.

That being said, I think Dandadan's visuals are just Pretty Good™.

Most of the shots are flat pop art colors with A Weird Creature on them and big text. It's not bad, but it's also not exceptional and it doesn't tell me a lot about the series. Speaking as someone who hasn't watched Dandadan and doesn't know what it's about, I'm still not really sure! Seems like the glasses boy... can transform into a Creature? And they fight... aliens? So it's like Kaiju No. 8, maybe? Looks like a shonen. That's all I got. Speaking as an outsider, it doesn't really have any kind of thematic hook or solid show pitch.

BRIGHT COLOR + BIG TEXT is a current trend in, like, Netflix openings that I'm not a huge fan of. It's a lot of POP but not a lot of substance, if that makes sense.

There are some shots where the stylization hits harder than others. Big fan of the song credit in this one. It's creepy and weird in a hypnotizing sort of way.

The rest of the shots in this style with monsters just make me think "Oh, ok. There's monsters? What makes these monsters cool or unique?" And the opening doesn't really answer that question, which I think is an issue when a solid third of your OP is just shots of the monsters.

I should say, I loooove that slow part in the middle of the song. But I mostly like it because of the song, the visuals aren't really doing anything for me.

It doesn't help my opinion of the OP that this shot with the girl wiggling her hand around is the one that shows up in all the Top 100 lists and New Anime OP quizzes. I think this motion is a few frames short of looking good, tbh.

If I had to guess, this is because this show is made by Science Saru. They make lots of cool weird shit like Lu Over the Wall and The Night is Short, Walk On Girl and their style is a mixture of high-effort anime with wild, almost rubberhosey western animation influences. They also did Scott Pilgrim Takes Off, which I think looks gorgeous. I also think you can absolutely tell it's the same studio if you watch both OPs side by side.

Oh hey, look at that. A Netflix OP with big thick text over bright pop art colors with traditional media textures overlaid on top of it.

Science Saru is an incredibly talented studio and they're much more artistically daring than most of their colleagues, but I think they're at their best when they get to work with a very unique artstyle, like the ones you see in Walk on Girl and Scott Pilgrim. The Dandadan characters being closer to "regular" anime proportions doesn't work as well with their slightly more staggered style (i.e. the money shot of the girl moving her arm with a low frame count).

If you ask me? I think these OPs are pretty close in quality to each other. Both quite good, neither quite exceptional. Dandadan is better though, mostly because the Creepy Nuts song is so good.

I think that's where most of the hype for this opening is coming from. Creepy Nuts is at the height of their popularity in the anime community right now. Anime fans got a taste of them with Call of the Night, a series named after one of their songs, and people loved that opening but it didn't "pop off". Then Mashle came and it went megaviral. Everyone loves the second Mashle opening because everything about it slaps. It's so good. It also shows you a lot about the character of the protagonist and the show itself. The way Muscle Mob stays unflappable no matter what happens and the way his friends react to his antics show off the show's gimmick (One Punch Man at Hogwarts) very well, and it shows the dynamic he has with the rest of the cast. He doesn't give a shit. It looks kinda funny. Plus the way they use the character face tattoos to accent different shots is inspired. Very cool!

I've heard pretty universally that Mashle is kind of a bad show. But do you know how many people I know were tricked into trying it because of that opening? Its like seven of them. That's some wild advertising power. Sure, Mashle doesn't have a lot going on, but the opening pitches what it does have so well that you can't help be a little bit interested in checking it out.

Dandadan just doesn't really do that for me. I look at it and I think "Oh, okay. Cool Creepy Nuts song."

I think a large amount of Dandadan's popularity as an opening is just that people are excited for more Creepy Nuts. They were relatively unknown (at least in the west) by the time Call of the Night came out and lots of artists only do one anime opening and never touch the medium again. Mashle was a sidewinder. It came out of nowhere and proved that Creepy Nuts were not only willing to do more openings, but they were willing to crush it every time. Both of the shows they did songs for have GOAT openings.

Then it was announced fuckin' Science Saru was adapting Dandadan and the NUT BOYS were gonna be returning to do the opening? Everyone was so hyped for it. And guess what! It was really cool! They did it, yet another cool opening. They set expectations and met them pretty well while they were directly in the middle of the public eye, and I'm so happy for Creepy Nuts, I hope they make fuckin' millions off this because they deserve it.

But! I don't think the Dandadan OP has the spice the other two openings they worked on do.

Call of the Night is an incredible opening. Cool dynamic between the main two characters with evocative visuals from start to finish. The psychic vampire bite? The film-making language and clackerboard? So much fun. Diagetic lyrics. A fake-out pause in the middle of the song. Half the shots are upside down and they did it on purpose. It's a great execution of a cool artistic vision. Legit one of the strongest OPs ever made.

Mashle season two comes out. Incredible opening. Sick urban street punk rapper flare to it. The characters walk in front of graffiti, the protagonist raps about how his haters have nothing on him and he can kick everyone's ass just because he's the best. Animation that far outstrips the stuff present in the actual show. Cool artistic vision, hella execution.

Dandadan is like a pretty cool 2020s opening that happens to have a Creepy Nuts song, and you get the sense the studio was told "Hey, Mashle's second opening has like 80 million views on YouTube. We got Creepy Nuts. Do that, please." And they did! It's a similar mix of bright colors, rap, and mixed media. Mashle has grafitti, Dandadan has the texture of spray paint stencils. Looks cool! Kinda looks like Mashle, but weirder and more abstract. And that's fine! Is it list material? Ehhhh. Is it Top 10 material like some comments are claiming? Abso-lutely not. Absolutely creepy nots.

In terms of VMCTJ, the Dandadan opening has S-tier music and above-average visuals and credits. I think the theming is middle-of-the-road and there honestly aren't any Jennies for me at all. Amy and I have sort of trained ourselves so that any OP where the music does most of the heavy lifting kind of gets put on the backfoot right away, because nothing shoots an opening to popularity like a fuck jam and you need to be wary of that when judging them all on the same criteria.

So anyways, yeah! Dandadan is pretty good. I'd hesitate to lock it in anywhere in the Top 100, but I think my gut would place it somewhere between like... 160-140. That's still REALLY good, but I do have to think at least some of the comments asking about it on Patreon and YouTube are fueled at least in part by a love for Creepy Nuts and more than a bit of recency bias.

Hope that answers your question, lmao

[susieandhobbes]

Racism is wild because what do you mean Richonne has 1500 fics on AO3 and like 50% of them are only as side characters to the most demented and godless ships you've ever has the misfortune of seeing tagged???

A CANON post-apocalyptic, relunctant allies to lovers, found family, I would kill and die for you ship and 1000 fics is IT?!?!

[marsupials-of-mars]

.

[neeeooon]

heyyy can I request bllk guys with a s/o who's like nagi? like they're lazy, dependent on them like nagi relies on reo etc.

I would prefer if you do the Itoshi's, Reo, Barou, Kunigami and Oliver. Thank you <3

yesss i love nagi idc idc TY FOR THE REQ!!

when you’re lazy

bf bllk x nagi!reader. some are lowk toxic

itoshi sae

-> he is not amused

-> sae’s life is very go, go, go. he has to be active often to keep in shape for his career, and though he typically likes doing that stuff alone, it can be a bit frustrating when you never entertain the idea of joining him

-> “y/n.” “hm?” “have you moved since i left this morning?” “yeah.” “cause i’ve been at practice for fourteen hours, and you’re in the same spot you were when i said goodbye.” “whatever. g’night.”

itoshi rin

-> “you’re being lazy.” “y’know, that google guy said he hires lazy people ‘cause he knows they’ll get the job done faster.” “… you don’t have a job.” “below the belt, itoshi.”

-> despite how much you hate it, you’ll go with him when he invites you to games or spontaneous trips to museums. you might drag your feet after ten minutes, but you keep your complains to a minimum when you’re with rin

-> however, the days where you do nothing but spend time together are your favorite. you don’t need anything but his presence to feel content, lazy or not

mikage reo

-> he spent his whole life getting pampered, so it’s nice taking care of someone else for a change

-> “reo, my legs hurt :(“ “oh? do you need some medicine? here, hop on, i’ll take you to the nurse!” because he has a nurse that lives in his penthouse

-> if he gets upset when you reject his invitations to go on dates outside, he doesn’t show it. “y/n! there’s this really nice restaurant that opened close by. wanna go?” “the pants have already come off, mikage.” “fair. movie night?” “yes!”

barou shouei

-> “you’re going to get sick,” barou sighed when he went to get you for lunch and found you laying in bed, still wet after your shower

-> groaning, you rolled around and let your phone drop from your hand. “i don’t wanna dry my hair.”

-> ten minutes later, you’re sitting on the floor between barou’s legs as he dries your hair, fingers lightly scraping your scalp and making you even sleepier than before

-> “will you promise to at least try and remember to dry your hair next time?” “why would i when you’re so much better at it?” “… damn you.” “:p”

kunigami rensuke

-> fists are firm on his hips as he stands in your bedroom doorway. it’s nearly 2 pm on a saturday, and you’ve yet to leave bed

-> “y/n, it’s time to get up.” “mmm, but it’s a saturday..” “you haven’t moved in five hours!” “don’t wanna—hey!” you groan when he grabs you by the ankles and drags you out of bed. “it’s nice outside! let’s go for a walk.” “you want me dead.”

-> contrary to popular (your) belief, kunigami does not want you dead—he wants you to be active and healthy and not hide in your room all day. “see? isn’t this so much nicer than your bed?” “debatable.” “well, that’s not a no!”

oliver aiku

-> he finds his lazy little partner to be the cutest thing in the world. loves doing things that should embarrass you, like cut your food and feed you in public, carry you around when you don’t want to walk, etc

-> now, just because you’re lazy doesn’t mean you don’t care about your boyfriend. if you see his gaze wandering while he’s with you, you’ll give his ear or hair a tug to remind him you’re still in the picture

-> “just cause i don’t wanna go out doesn’t mean you’re going without me to look at people who aren’t me.” “i would never !!” “🤨” okay, i promise to keep my eyes only on the photo of you in my heart-shaped locket.” “right answer.”

[vibrantshoyo]

SCKAP AU Part 4!!

The S stands for Sora

Masterlist

Switching gears to another blonde who deserved some happiness with their family!

Sora’s illness is still quite debilitating but she pulls through. I’m not sure what her symptoms were in canon so I’m just giving her a weaker body (like loss of bone mass) and a weaker immune system. So she can walk but it takes a lot out of her.

Since she lives, Judge decides to “kill” off Sanji a bit sooner, thinking that he absolutely needs to get rid of any weakness. Sora is of course devastated until Reiju comes by and tells her the truth. Then, she’s angry. Angry enough to plan to leave.

She decides to take Reiju and Sanji with her when she does. Constantly telling herself that she’s too weak to grab unwilling children, that Judge would keep too close an eye on the other boys…but she still feels guilt. Guilt that she doesn’t feel a huge hole in her heart at the thought of leaving Ichiji, Niji and Yonji behind. (It’s why she has photos only of them as babies…the last time she really felt connected to them)

Still escape towards the East Blue. At this point Sora’s not faring too well health wise and they have to stay in one place for her. That is until Reiju hears of a ship hiring for their kitchen crew. She convinces Sanji to go and learn how to cook from professionals - to learn about the All Blue. Lots of fighting to get him to go but once Sora joins in on Reiju’s side, he’s off.

They constantly write to one another while they’re apart until suddenly it’s been radio silence on Sanji’s end for far too long. Sora and Reiju hear of the ship he was on sinking and fear the worst. Just as they’ve reluctantly decided to declare him as dead, he shows up again with an older man with only one leg.

I’ve basically got Zeff taking them in and having him and Sora fall in love 🤭

Reiju and Zeff butt heads on his idea of women and not fighting them a lot as she grows up. Her skill and much more durable body do make him budge some on his ideals. So Sanji grows up not wanting to fight women still (because they’re not all as strong as Reiju) but once he’s on the crew he prioritizes Nami’s, Vivi’s and Robin’s safety over what he was taught.

Reiju doesn’t cook but she is the Baratie’s most popular waitress. Especially amongst the ladies (rip Sanji) while Sora is more of a business type that stays in the back (mostly due to health).

Enter Gin. The real difference here is that Reiju can join Luffy and Sanji in the fight. And once the poison gas comes out? Reiju really shines.

I’ve made her into a sort of Poison Vampire. Thought it’d be cool if she sucked out poison through a bite.

So Gin isn’t on his deathbed and I’ve decided to have him join the Straw Hats. Also think it’d be funny if he had personal beef with Smoker.

(Being the only grown ass adult, he almost cries tears of joy when Robin joins)

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Sexism in TOS: Worst Offender, or Progressive in Retrospect in Comparison?

I see a lot of folks claim that TOS was the most sexist of the Star Trek shows by a landslide -- and while I agree that it definitely suffered from the sexism of the times, I also have other perspectives to share to give some food for thought.

I am of course not insinuating that TOS isn't sexist -- it is, but I have to ask folks to consider the breadth and depth of Berman's sexism in his run and ask yourself: Was Gene Roddenberry genuinely more sexist in his storytelling and delivery than Rick Berman?

I'm not telling you to feel one way or the other, but all I ask is that you hear me out and consider some perspectives and make your own balanced assessments. Nobody is obligated to share my opinion, but it means a lot just to have folks hear it and see their thoughts on the subject. So here is what I was originally responding to:

Someone's response to this photo:

"Devil's advocate. This was a part of the popular form of cardio during the production time of TNG. Yes, it was heavily sexualised by men, but so is literally every other way women work out. Men have been caught taking pictures of women while trying to do dead lifts, running on tracks and working on sled machines. They post them online to share too. The fact is, there is no way a woman can be shown working out without it going there. And yeah,t hat includes the combat forms of workout they do in Star Trek. Just look at how Dax dresses when she spars with Worf. Yes, they're dating, but still, same goes when 7 does and any other female.

Aerobics routines like this were made dirty and cringy. This was what women wore then by and large. This is how the workout was done. We make it cringy."

My response to them:

"I respect your take, but I disagree on a few fronts.

The miniskirt was chosen by the TOS female cast, not the male cast, specifically requested by Grace LW and affirmed by Nichelle and Majel who would go on to vehemently defend the miniskirt over the years as comfortable and embraced by them.

Grace said it was comfortable and seen as a symbol of female sexual empowerment during the 60s and thought it would be a progressive garment (and turns out that it was, as it was later adapted and worn by male crew as a skant on TNG) -- FYI those were designed by a gay man and Gene approved them.

This was also supposed to be Spock's TMP outfit:

Literally lingerie.

We saw both Uhura (who saves Kirk in from Marlena Mirror Mirror) and Yeoman Landon (the first to initiate combat with a classic Kirk-esque kick to help the Captain being attacked in The Apple) carry out their combat training in their Starfleet uniforms without ever being made to change into any ridiculous workout gear.

In fact, I'd argue Jim Kirk was sexualized even more than the ladies of the week on the show and I saw his naked body more than anyone else's on a fairly regular basis. He wore red yoga tights while topless in Charlie X while the women wore full length gymnastic suits that covered their entire body. If anything, it went out of its way to avoid sexualizing women practicing fitness in those scenes and instead focused on Kirk.

Gene confessed that he asked to have Shatner filmed in suggestive/provocative ways to "give something to the ladies", so he -- as he said -- liked to "film him walking away" or have him conveniently busting out of his shirts in just about every episode as it were, because Shatner apparently had great assets. LOL

Gene made an effort to at least sexualize both if he was going to sexualize one, and he carried that attitude forward in wanting the m/m and f/f scenes in the background on Risa for TNG. He also insisted that the men and women wear skimpy outfits on THAT TNG planet. You know the one. LOL I mean the dudes even had on less than the women:

Gene also gave permission to K/S shippers to have their conventions back in the 70s when he was asked for permission. Gene and Nimoy felt with all the skimpy outfits they had the ladies wear, why not let the ladies and gay men have their fun, too? It's how we ended up with moments like this:

Yes, those are two people dressed up as Kirk and Spock's penises doing interpretive dance. Gene didn't give two damns. LOL

In my eyes, that was a very progressive take on Gene's part for the 60s. It was actually PARAMOUNT STUDIOS who had the big problem with K/S stories and vehemently tried to shut them down. Gene literally hired slash authors on his payroll and even had several slash stories/writers published in his official Star Trek books (The New Voyages & The New Voyages II).

I feel I saw Uhura and women in TOS engaged in more physical combat/altercations defending themselves that Troi or Bev were shown holding their own.

In fact, Kirk used to get furious when someone would "dress up" his female crew members without their consent (Trelane episode, Shore Leave episode) because like his male crew members, he wanted them to be treated professionally and to also have his male crew act professionally.

Berman brought some of his own personal biases into Star Trek that in some ways regressed it. While TOS had blatant sexism and was called on it time and again, that show was made in the 60s -- a solid 21 years before TNG. We as a modern audience understood why some of it was cringe/sexist due to the time period -- look at any other media coming out in the 60s and Star Trek was miles ahead of what other shows were doing.

Compare that to Berman who was churning sexist stuff out when women like Starbuck and Scully were simultaneously on screen on other programs airing, and we had already had Sigourney Weaver and other strong women in Holywood playing respectful roles.

In my eyes, there was no need of the sexism seen in TNG but especially VOY and ENT. There was no excuse for it when other shows were writing women far better and a number of those weren't even set in the future like Trek was, making it age even faster due to having those dated perspectives frequently highlighted.

In the Center Seat documentary as well as "The Fifty Year Mission" book you will find cast members, writers and other studio alumni who attest to this. Some discussions from "The Fifty Year Mission":

"First, Berman was supposed to have been a real sleaze ball . . . According to Terry Farrel, he would go on constantly about how her breasts weren't big enough, how she should do something about it, and how his secretary was a good example to follow as she had huge breasts. She even had to have fittings to get larger bras, and that was all done at his behest.

Later Berman and Braga developed a name for Jeri Ryan's character prior Seven of Nine. They originally called the character "perineum" which if you look it up it is the area between the anus and the scrotum. Later they floated the name "6 of 9". I mean, what does it tell you about where these two were coming from in the development of this character if they had names like that put forward in all seriousness for her?"

Gene Roddenberry also had some of his own more progressive ideas for TNG cut or watered down by Berman. Roddenberry agreed TNG should have homosexual relationships and representation at a con in the 80s and insisted on it in a meeting with his writers -- something Berman later would not honor. Gene wanted the AIDS episode, showing m/m and f/f in the Riza scenes -- these were some of Roddenberry's requests to include in TNG that Berman later stonewalled.

Berman's era was sadly dated by his own misogynist bias, IMO, to the point that it can somewhat hurt the shows he worked on through his cringe egoism and blatant disrespect toward his female cast.

There is a reason why Gene could keep female actresses working with him and Berman had a revolving door of women that he couldn't seem to keep working for him -- he was abhorrent to women, on and off set. Gene wasn't perfect at all, he had a lot of issues himself -- but Berman was a whole other level. Just look at what he did to poor Jolene Blalock, Marina Sirtis and his toxic commenting on her body weight which exacerbated her struggles with eating disorders, or how he treated and talked to Terry Farrell.

Anyway, just some food for thought. I'm not saying anyone is wrong regarding a take like that, but there are a variety of ways to look at this. Gene Roddenberry isn't a saint by any means, but it definitely bothers me how folks will tote the Berman era as if it were the lesser of two evils or the more progressive depiction of women when I felt there were far more concerning portrayals of women in his era with far less justification.

(P.S: I don't event want to go near the sheer amount of "creepy old dude/villain preys on innocent/naïve/scared young woman or little girl" stories there were in Berman's era, either. But that's a whole other can of worms I can write about in a part 2.)

[creepswrites]

TIRED OF RUNNING | Sinclairs x Reader

YET ANOTHER REWRITE i have no idea why Tired of Running is so popular but i've always been proud of it :) the original can be read here but i will be rewriting all existing chapters to finish it!!

SINCLAIR BROTHERS x GN!READER (they/them)

SUMMARY: "We got a visitor, Vince." Bo said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Vincent work. The latest sculpture was of a woman in a flapper dress, perfect for the House of Wax. He nodded, assuming it was just Lester. Though he didn't see a reason why Bo would bother him just for that. So, regrettably, he looked up from his work. "They got kids."

WARNING: mentioned child abuse

NEXT

Sighing, you hit your head on the wheel with an exhausted groan. The Louisiana heat had been suffocating you ever since the AC sputtered to nothing a few hours ago. You'd left the windows open to prevent frying the inside of the car but it was still too hot. Even after living here for a few years, you never got used to the heat. It was fall for god's sake…

You lifted your head and tried to blink back the drowsiness aching behind your eyes. Driving for a week now had exhausted you and the heat wasn't doing you any favors. Everything felt warm and sleepy, making it difficult to focus on the road. A glance at your gas tank only made you groan. Nearly empty tank with no cell phone reception and two kids to take care of.

Speaking of kids, you glanced at the rearview mirror. Your twin boys - Peter and Michael - were passed out in their carseats and dead to the world. They were good kids, rarely fussy, and full of energy. They were why you'd been on the road for so long. You'd fled home with whatever belongings you could pack in your car and never looked back. Seeing their peaceful faces reminded you that it had been the right decision. Watching your ex husband strike Mikey for "misbehaving" had been your last straw. They were only two years old and he expected them to just simply know what behaviors were acceptable without teaching them anything.

He'd been the one who wanted kids yet showed no real interest in parenting. That had all been on you.

Which led you to where you were: off a dirt backroad in the middle of nowhere with the sun setting in an hour. If it had just been you, you would have sucked it up and walked to the nearest town in search of help. But with two toddlers, the feat seemed impossible. You didn't want them getting lost or hurt in the dark with no way of you helping them.

You got out of the car to survey your situation. The road you were on was mainly dirt and not well traveled. You hadn't even been certain they were roads if not for the signs just before you'd turned. Grass grew in wild, untamed patches and stretched out into a field to your left while the forest was close to your right. The trees offered minimal shade but were better than nothing. At least it was cooler under them instead of your hot car. But the prospect of sleeping in the dirt didn't sit well with you. Who knows what animals were even out there.

You pressed the heel of your hands to your eyes and tried not to cry. This was absolutely the worst possible thing that could have happened. If your husband was following you, which he most certainly was, then it was only a matter of time until he found you.

So you slid down the side of your car to sit against the wheel and curl in on yourself. It had been awhile since you cried since your husband would slap you for it, threatening to give you something to really cry about. You'd only withstood the abuse for so long because you didn't want Peter and Mikey to grow up in broken homes. But after you noticed they were being hit, you couldn't stay still. It had still been hard and you kept second guessing yourself all week if you were doing the right thing.

Hopefully you were.

A few hours passed before your luck changed. The sun had just begun to set, painting the skies in pinks and purples like a beautiful watercolor painting. It was finally cooler out now too, the breeze brushing your arms and face periodically. You'd just finished feeding the boys whatever food you had left in the duffle bags still and had decided to let them play in the little clearing nearby. You'd all been cooped up in your tiny car for days and you could tell they needed a break. They promised to stay close to you, running around nearby with sticks and their toys. Peter roared, running up to you with a tiny blue T-rex in hand. "'m gon' eat you!" He giggled.

You scooped him up and held him in your lap, watching his brother poking at the dirt with a stick. "Mikey, don't wander too far okay?" 

Mikey didn't answer and you sighed. He always had problems listening, always content to drift off in his own world without a second thought. You'd read a book about childhood trauma and worried about Mikey sometimes. You stood up and were about to approach him when you heard the sound of a car rumbling. You'd never understood the phrase "your life flashes before your eyes" but in that moment you did. "Mikey!" You shouted, white-hot horror shooting through you. "Peter, get in the car!" 

As soon as Peter squirmed out of your arms, you shot off like a rocket towards Mikey. His wide, terrified eyes were trained on the car headlights, which felt like a spotlight as you picked him up. The ground was illuminated with bright white light, making it impossible to hide from whoever this was. You practically threw Mikey into the car, slamming the door behind him and locking them inside.

The truck came to a stop and you faced it, squeezed your eyes tight, and prepared for the worst.

You heard the sound of the car door open and you turned to face the figure. When he finally stepped into the light, you nearly cried from relief. It wasn't your ex nor any of his friends. You felt your knees give out as a sob wracked your body, the adrenaline crash hitting you hard.

"Woah, woah!" The guy said, hurrying over and crouching in front of you. "Hey, it's alrigh', I ain't gon' hurt'cha." His voice was calm, the southern drawl making your eyes feel heavy. The headlights obscured a lot of your vision but you could make out his face. He was a little scruffy, covered in dirt, and looking at you with more concern than anyone had looked at you with in quite some time. "Shh, it's alrigh', you're okay…" You could tell he was scrambling, unsure how to help you but desperate to do so.

"S-sorry," you babbled through broken sobs. You didn't know what else to say and you couldn't stop the tears. "I- I thought you were- I'm sorry, my ex, he-"

He took you in his arms, hugging you to his chest. He was warm and smelt of dirt and rot but you didn't even care. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been hugged. Over the years, your ex had isolated you from your friends and most of your family so you knew it had likely been a good few years. So you wrapped your arms around his neck and sobbed.

But he didn't falter. "Shh, 's okay, you're okay. I gotcha." He rubbed slow circles in your back and smiled down at you, like an angel come to save you. "Y'ain't gotta 'pologize. I ain't mad."

You sniffed, wiping your eyes and leaning back slightly to look at him better. Definitely scruffy but charming in his own way. The look on his face was impossibly soft, so unfamiliar to you yet you craved that gentleness. "Sorry, I, um, I'm on the run. My ex, he, uh… Well, doesn't matter now. I got myself and my boys out 'n that's what matters."

The stranger's eyes widened slightly. Bright and pretty and you felt safe under his gaze, for some reason. "Your boys?"

You nodded and started to stand. He didn't hesitate to offer his arm, letting you steady yourself on him when you felt your head swim. "Yeah, they're in the car. Probably scared 'em shitless with my screaming." Your legs felt unsteady when you walked and you didn't miss the way the guy hovered, like he was braced to catch you if you fell. It was sweet.

You swung your car door open and the boys peered up at you, scrambling to try and hide their animal crackers. "Boys," you sighed, "What did I say about desserts?"

"To ask." Peter said plainly, too distracted by the stranger. "You're dirty, mister."

"Peter-!" You gasped, ready to apologize on his behalf.

But the man just laughed, clapping his hands together in his amusement. "Yeah, yeah, y'ain't wrong lil guy. Been workin' all day, hauling dead stuff 'round."

Peter looked morbidly intrigued, scooting closer to whisper like the two of them were sharing a secret. "Like… dead people?"

"Nah, nah, nothin' like that." The guy knelt down to talk with him easier, lowering his voice as well. "Animals who, uh, get hit by cars. Ain't got anyone to take care'a them, ain't like pets. So I come 'round 'n clean 'em up off the road."

Nodding slowly, Peter reached behind him and held out one of his dinosaur toys. "Have ya seen one'a these?"

The man seemed bewildered but offered him a sincere smile. "Nah, but, uh, if I do, I'll let'cha know, 'kay?"

Peter seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to his crackers. "I never got your name." You said as the man stood back up.

"Name's Lester." He gave you a gap-toothed grin, tilting his cap in a greeting. "Was headin' back home 'n saw yer car. Figured I'd come check on ya."

You smiled, hugging yourself shyly. "I, uh, ran outta gas. And with the boys, I can't exactly walk for help. No cell service either."

Lester frowned, scratching at his face as he seemed to think it over. He surveyed the three of you before looking out towards the setting sun. "Well, I ain't usually do this," he drawled slowly, "But there's a town nearby. 's called Ambrose. Could drive ya there so y'all could sleep for the night. An' in the mornin', we can swing by the gas station 'n get some gas for yer car."

"Really?" You stared at him with your mouth agape. "You- You'd help? Wh-what's the catch?" You couldn't accept he'd do this for nothing. If being with your ex taught you anything it's that no one was good for no good reason.

He smiled again, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Ain't no catch, honest. Jus' breaks my heart to see ya so freaked out."

You rubbed your arms nervously. "Sorry. I, um, thought you were my ex…"

Lester's face screwed up. "Well, whoever he is, hope he goes to hell if he'd scare ya that badly, sweetpea." 

Sweetpea was new. You felt your face warm up and you looked away shyly. He seemed trustworthy and he was cute, in a scruffy boyish way. You liked him. "I- I really appreciate it, Lester."

"'Course. Got two brothers'a my own so I get it." He watched you open your trunk and shuffle the bags around. "They ain't as well behaved as yer boys though."

Shouldering two of the bags, you snorted. "Yeah, you see 'em when its bathtime, then talk to me 'bout behaving."

The two of you were able to move most of your belongings along with the boy's car seats without issue. The truck smelt of rot and you scrunched your nose up when you spotted the dead deer in the back. "Sorry," Lester said, noticing your gaze. "Was workin' when I caught'cha. I promise everythin' in the car is clean though."

"It's okay." The smile you gave him was genuine even if he seemed surprised by it. "You're helping me. I ain't gonna shame you for your work. 'sides, someone's gotta do it, y'know?"

Lester, incredibly, gave you a surprised little smile as he watched you round up the boys. "Yeah. Yeah. You get it."

"The car smells weird." Peter said bluntly as you fastened him into his seat. Mikey had gone quietly, only squirming a little to voice his discomfort at being buckled in. He never liked confined spaces.

"Be nice, Peter." You shot him a look. "Lester's being kind to us, be kind to him, yeah?"

Peter glanced over at the man and smiled, all gap toothed and sweet. "Thank you for helpin' Mr Lester."

"'Course, lil man." Lester said, climbing into the front seat and rooting around in the glovebox. "Always happy to help." 

You climbed into the passenger seat beside Lester and felt the truck rumble to life. The truck was clearly old but you could tell Lester loved it dearly and took good care of it. Even if the engine shook the whole frame. The homemade charms littered with bones and feathers rattled like raindrops and he let out a little cheer. From out of the glovebox, he pulled out an old air freshener that smelt of disgustingly fake pine and strung it over the rearview mirror. "Best I got for the smell, sorry." He said with a sideways smile.

Your heart clenched. He was so kind to you for no reason and you almost teared up from the sweet gesture alone. "Thank you."

The truck rattled and the skull sitting on the dashboard unnerved you but you brushed it off. He worked with dead animals, something about it all just made sense. The boys didn't seem to care too much, happily nodding off only ten minutes into your drive.

"So how old're they?" Lester asked in a hushed voice, trying to not wake them.

"Just turned two a few months back. Twins, if you can believe it." You chuckled, sparing the boys a glance. They weren't identical in the slightest which you were slightly grateful for. You didn't want to be one of those parents who dressed their twins to look even more the same. "But, um, I guess they got to be too much for my ex. Managed to get out 'bout a week ago and we've been on the road since."

You felt Lester glance at you, giving you a once over. Unlike with most men, you didn't find yourself repulsed by his gaze. "He put his hands on ya?"

Shrugging, you turned your attention to the window to watch the trees. The sky was slowly getting darker, making them look like just black voids. At that moment, you became hyper aware of the ring still on your finger. The compulsion to throw it out the window was strong. "Yeah. A few times." You confessed quietly, closing your eyes to keep yourself from crying again. "More the boys than me, which kills me."

You didn't miss the way Lester's hands clutched the wheel tighter. "Well, there's a special place in hell for people like that. 's fuckin' repulsive." He grumbled that last part, like he didn't want the boys to hear it.

It made you laugh though. "You're right… It's just refreshing to hear." You tried to swallow around a lump in your throat. "All his friends were the only friends I had. Was allowed to have. And none of them were interested in helping me, much less believe me."

Lester scoffed. "Scumbags, the lotta'em. What happened ain't your fault, sweetpea don't let any of 'em get in your pretty lil' head that you did anythin' wrong." He paused, chewing on his lip before sighing. "My dad, he wasn't always the kindest to my brother. An' don't go telling this to nobody, ya hear? But I always hated folks who can jus' hurt their loved ones and keep goin' 'bout their damn business. Like it ain't botherin' em."

You knew he was right. It still brought tears to your eyes to have someone believe you. Someone who had no idea what your situation was and he was still defending you. Like your ex had no reason good enough for Lester to even ask about.

You definitely liked Lester.

"Town's just up this way," he said softly. The sight of streetlights was almost relieving to you after a long day of being on the road, hopping from gas station to gas station and only stopping at motels long enough to sleep. "Might get a lil' bit bumpy." 

Bumpy was an understatement. You almost thought you'd crashed as you felt the wheels bounce against rocks, shaking the car so violently you felt sick. Your arm shot out to try and catch your balance against the window and you only let out a breath when the truck came to a complete stop.

You and Lester shared a wide-eyed look. "Forgot to lay the planks down." 

Nothing about it was funny. But after the evening you had, you couldn't help but laugh. A genuine laugh. Something you hadn't done in a long time.

When Mikey began to cry from being woken up so violently, Lester got to him before you could. "Shh, s'alright lil' man, go back to sleep, shhh." He reached behind his seat to brush at his knee. "Sorry, almost there bud, jus' a bit further."

Eventually, Mikey settled back down, sniffling until he fell back asleep. When Lester sat back in his seat, he noticed your staring. "You have kids of your own or something? You're a natural at that."

He looked embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy chuckle. "Nah, but, uh, used to babysit 'round here. Was always good with kids, I s'pose."

With the car on paved roads now, the drive up to the town was smooth. As expected of a tiny town, nobody was outside. The lights in the little shops were out and the houses were all dark. Except one house atop a hill, lit up like a lighthouse in a sea of darkness. Lester drove towards it and pulled to a stop just outside. It was a modest house, paint peeling off in places along the outside and cobwebs in high places of the awning over the door. "What's this place?" You asked as you quickly followed Lester out of the car. You were incredibly appreciative of Lester’s good deed but his car did smell like rotten meat. 

Hopefully he wouldn’t be too offended.

"Family home. Inn's prolly closed for the night but I betcha my brothers'll let ya stay for the night." Lester said as he opened the backseat and began to undo the straps of Mikey's car seat.

You were struck silent. "I- Lester I can't impose on your-"

There wasn't any time to protest as the front door swung open. A large man stood there, dressed in a mechanics jumpsuit and wearing a hat over thin curly hair. "Les? The hell's this?"

Lester smiled all innocently, like this was a perfectly normal thing for him to do. "Heya Bo. Brought guests."

Bo stared you both down before running a hand over his face in exasperation. "When I toldja to come by for dinner, I ain't meaning to bring your pretty lil' girlfriend with ya."

You blushed and stammered but Lester spoke up, lifting a sleeping Mikey into his arms like he was a precious artifact. Bo took notice and his eyes widened at the sight. "I, uh," he stammered inelegantly. "What's with the, uh…"

"His name's Mikey." You mumbled, suddenly feeling unwelcome. It wasn't uncommon for people to look at you strangely for the twins, like they were some curse. Or maybe it was just your exes friends who felt like that.

Bo nodded slowly. "Mikey. Right." He looked at Lester and stepped aside, letting him pass into the house with your baby. "Well then. You folks like lasagna?" 

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Whenever Les comes to visit for the eve, Vince always makes lasagna. Easy for him to take home 'n whatnot." Bo gave you a warm smile as he approached you slowly, like he was afraid you'd bolt. "If my lil' brother thinks you're good people… Well, I'm obliged to trust him. He ain't ever been wrong."

You watched Bo grab the bags you brought, only hesitating when he saw Peter, also fast asleep. "Sorry, um, I can-" You stuttered, reaching for the bags in Bo's hands.

He held onto them though, tilting his head towards Peter. "Don't even think 'bout it. You just bring your lil' one in. The gentlemanly thing to do is carry the bags." Bo gave you a flirtatious wink and went back inside.

You were left standing in the chilly, night air. The only light came from the inside of the house, which bathed the front porch and gravel walkway in warm, yellow light. You were cold and confused and absolutely exhausted. A part of you screamed against all instinct to accept their help, to trust these strangers. It had been so long since you'd trusted anyone, after all. You were desperate.

So you did.

Peter was already blinking awake from his short nap when you pushed the screen door open more and took in the house. It was a comfortable state of disarray. Throw pillows were propped against the couch at odd angles, family photographs decorated the walls in mismatched frames, and the room smelt of meat, cheese, and marinara sauce.

Lester and Bo's heads snapped to look at you. They'd clearly been whispering but they both smiled at you when you entered. Mikey was sitting on the couch, still a little bleary eyed, curled up against one of the velvety throw pillows that looked rustic and homemade. You sat Peter down beside him, brushing hair from their sleepy faces, and tried to ignore the brothers whispering. "Sorry," you mumbled as you approached them.

They both seemed surprised. "Why're you sorry?" Bo asked with a frown. "Y'ain't got nothin' to be sorry 'bout."

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, hung head low like a child being scolded. Fawn, your brain screamed. Fawn and they won't hurt you. "'m intruding with two kids, I- I know I'm not supposed to have come here, I just- Lester said the inn was closed, I didn't know where else to go, my car broke down-"

Lester cut your spiraling off by taking your hand and squeezing gently, grounding you. "Hey, hey, sweetpea," he kept his voice low and soothing, "We're happy to have ya. All three'a ya. Honest."

Bo nodded along, frowning at how quickly you retreated inwards. Lester had mentioned to him very briefly while you were outside about how your ex laid hands on you and the boys. It was what got him fully on board with offering you help. So seeing you like this broke his heart just that little bit more.

"I'm gonna go talk to Vince, let him know we got guests." Bo said as he swung open the basement door. "Les, make sure our guests are comfortable, yeah?"

Lester nodded, humming his agreement as he pulled you to his chest for a hug. You went willingly, your hands curled up in the fabric of his shirt as he hooked his arms around your shoulders. "Yeah, I got 'em." He said, shooting his brother a smile as he hugged you.

Bo nodded and descended to the basement.

Vincent hated to be disturbed while working. His brothers especially knew how entranced he'd get in a project, focused on perfecting every piece. Their mother had made him an incredible artist, which often meant he'd neglect everything, even himself, for the sake of his work. Oftentimes, Lester or Bo had to come downstairs to make sure he didn't collapse from exhaustion or dehydration. Especially when summer hit and the basement's heat was suffocating.

So Vincent didn't even lift his head when Bo came to a stop in the entryway, too focused on mending a crack in the cheek of his sculpture. "We got a visitor, Vince." Bo said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Vincent work. The latest sculpture was of a woman in a flapper dress, perfect for the House of Wax. 

He nodded, assuming it was just Lester. Though he didn't see a reason why Bo would bother him just for that. So, regrettably, he looked up from his work.

"They got kids."

And that made Vincent straighten up. "Kids?" He signed slowly, like he wasn't sure he heard him right.

"Yeah." Bo said through a sigh. "Two lil' guys. Too old for breastfeedin' but too young for preschool. Hard to say though, been awhile since any of us were that old." He chucked humorlessly.

Vincent looked towards the wax figure slowly. "We promised Lester we wouldn't hurt children."

Bo nodded, looking annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. They're a pretty lil' thing too. Would be perfect for the museum, but, of course, Lester found 'em first."

"They can't see me," Vincent suddenly became frantic. "The children will be afraid."

The other man winced, hissing through his teeth. "Sorry bro, already promised your cookin' tonight." But Bo didn't seem that remorseful, even when his twin leveled him with an unimpressed look. "When's dinner, by the way?"

"What time is it?" Vincent signed, finally aware of the passage of time. It was easy to get lost in his work, though he promised himself he'd only come down for a few minutes to double check something. But it was easy for him to get lost.

"'s only quarter past 9. Why?"

Vincent finally moved, hurrying past. Bo was only able to make out "oven" before his brother was out of sight.

Thankfully, nothing was burnt. Vincent hadn't even spared you a glance yet, too focused on not burning the house down. Once the food was set atop the stove to cool down, he turned around to face you.

You were sat on the couch with Lester and the boys, who were trying their best to stay awake. "You must be Vincent," you said with a sniff. You knew your eyes were red from crying. Lester had sat with you, holding you while you wept. It was hard, feeling cared for. Especially by strangers.

Pain was familiar. This kindness overwhelmed you.

Vincent became shy when you addressed him, hiding behind long hair and doing his best to keep out of your sight. But Bo, never one to let his twin have peace, grabbed his arm to keep him from hiding. "Yep, managed to finally pull 'im outta that basement for dinner. Whaddya say, Vinny? You up for a proper meal with our guests?"

If looks could kill, Bo would have erupted into flames, reduced to ashes on the carpet. "Do I have a choice?" Vincent signed, managing to look annoyed even behind his mask.

"Nah." Bo smiled, all teeth and no kindness. "You set the table, I'll get enough chairs ready."

Lester turned to you, brushing stray tears away. His heart hurt when you'd started bawling after Bo left, babbling to him that you felt horrible for intruding and forcing his family to help you just because of the kids. He swore if he ever got his hands on your ex, they'd wish Vince or Bo had gotten to them first. "You okay?" He asked you gently, giving you what he hoped was a sincere smile.

You nodded, sniffing once. "Yeah, um, sorry for-"

"If you 'pologize to me for cryin', I'mma beat the ever lovin' shit outta your ex, sweetpea." Lester said, relishing in your chuckle. "We're happy to help ya, really."

Sniffing again, you nodded and wiped your eyes. "I really appreciate it. More than I think you know."

The look he gave you was impossibly soft. Like you were something precious. Lester's hand cupped your face as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, making your mouth fall open in surprise. "You deserve it, sweetpea. Y'really do." 

Bo coughed, making Lester roll his eyes. The two shared pointed looks before Bo turned to you. "Your lil' ones need high chairs or, uh, somethin'?"

You glanced down at the boys and sighed. "I think they're down for the count."

"You can use my room upstairs." Lester said. "I ain't sleep there much anymore so it oughta be clean." Before you could even think to protest, he tapped your nose. "And don't you get all apologetic on me. I wouldn't offer it if it weren't alright."

Honestly, you were a bit relieved to get to sleep in a real bed. So you thanked them quietly, gathered the boys up in your arms, and carried them upstairs. "Second door on the right," Bo called up after you.

As soon as your footsteps couldn't be heard on the creaky wooden stairs anymore, Lester was the first to speak. "I hope you two ain't forgotten your promise."

"Lester, I toldja to find someone for the museum-" Bo hissed, anger sharp on his face.

But the younger Sinclair didn't back down. "If Mama knew you two'd killed two lil' boys, whaddya think she'd do? She'd say somethin' 'bout how if someone took y'all from her, she'd raise hell."

"Don't bring Mama into this." Bo glared daggers at Lester.

Vincent knocked on the countertop to get their attention. "He's right. We made a promise."

"We can't fuckin' keep 'em here!" Bo said, careful to keep his voice down.

"Don't gotta." Lester said, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. "They ran outta gas. Let 'em stay the night, drop 'em back off at their car, they'll go on. Ain't no trouble."

Bo groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why do you even care so bad?"

Lester flushed, blotchy pink spots on his cheeks, and shrugged. "They're nice. 'n I feel bad. Their ex laid hands on those lil' babies an' I'd do anything to get five minutes alone with that sonuvabitch."

Vincent's eyes widened. "You didn't mention that!" He signed harshly at Bo.

"Didn't exactly have a moment to tell ya." He sighed with obvious frustration. "Fine, alright, we keep 'em for one night. They're gone in the mornin', ya hear?"

The three of them were quiet for awhile, listening to your footsteps overhead as you set the boys up in Lester's old room. "Swear on Mama," Lester said, keeping his voice low, "That I ain't gonna be seein' any lil' boy statues."

"Lester-!" Bo hissed.

"Swear!" Lester shot back. The two were up in each other's faces at this point.

Vincent, ever the peacemaker, knocked on the counter again. "We swear on Mama."

"Don't fuckin' speak for me, freak!" Bo huffed. But Vincent fixed him with a glare and he sighed in defeat. "Fine. Swear on Mama. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to those three."

The youngest seemed satisfied. At that moment, you came back down the stairs, frowning slightly when you noticed them. "Everything okay?" You asked as though sensing the tension in the room.

"Yep!" Lester said with a wide grin. "Hungry?"

"Starving." You smiled back. 

Dinner was awkward at first, especially since you struggled to understand Vincent. But Bo and Lester happily translated and conversation began to flow easier, which you were grateful for.

"So, how long has it just been the three of you?" You asked as you took a bite out of the lasagna. Warm and cheesy and exactly what you needed after a week of gas station food.

Bo hummed as he swallowed. "'Bout ten years now. Went by in a blip, feels like."

"Oh," you frowned, "What happened? If, um, I can ask."

Vincent nodded, still nervously picking at his food. You'd noticed he only ate when you weren't looking so he could lift the mask, which saddened you. He seemed like a nice guy and you wondered what happened in the past to make him hide his face. But you did your best to look away periodically to give him a chance to eat and hopefully let him know it was fine. He probably got enough grief for it as is, you didn't need to add on.

Judging by the slowly disappearing food on his plate, you figured that was the right thing to do.

"Mama got sick. Real sick." Bo sighed sadly. "She was a really great artist, losing her hit the town hard."

"I'm sorry." You said gently. But Lester was the only one of the brothers who seemed sad. Something about that confused you. Why wouldn't they miss their parents?

You took a bite of the food. That wasn't your business.

Vincent began talking about his art then. Bo seemed to roll his eyes and ignored his signing, uninterested in translating. But Lester picked it up in his place, helping his brother talk about his art. He enjoyed painting in his free time but he primarily sculpted with wax.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "You sculpt?"

"Vinny's the main artist in the House of Wax down the street." Bo nodded, answering for him. "Maybe t'morrow we'll take you 'n the boys to see it."

Vincent fidgeted with the ends of his hair, clearly embarrassed. You shot him a warm smile. "I'm sure Vincent's art is great. I look forward to it."

Once dinner was over, Bo and Lester disappeared into the living room with a couple of beers so you and Vince had the chance to wash dishes. The peaceful white noise of the running water and the simple swirling of washing dishes was nice after a long day. Vincent helped, taking whatever dish you passed him and drying it, setting it aside on the nearby dishrack.

He seemed to appreciate the silence. You almost wished you knew sign language so you could talk to him beyond yes or no questions. But you tried to ignore the shock you felt when your fingers brushed sometimes.

If he noticed, he didn't bring it up.

The soft sound of crying alarmed you. You spun around and saw Mikey standing in the doorway of the kitchen, sniffing and sobbing silently. He cried for you and ran towards you, wailing for comfort. You'd barely dried your hands before you were reaching down, scooping him up into your arms. "Shhh, it's okay," you soothed him gently, Mikey had always been the more sensitive one. Waking up in a new, unfamiliar place must have startled him, you thought to yourself as you swayed with him gently.

He nodded, whimpering. "Scared."

"I can imagine." You kissed his cheek gently, rocking him like you'd done when he was an infant, needing to be settled before bed. "It's okay baby, you're alright," you repeated the mantra over and over as you heard Vincent turn off the water behind you.

Hearing his heavy footsteps behind you, you turned to face him and shifted Peter so he could see him. The tall man blinked slowly at Peter, tilting his head curiously at your son. "Mikey, this is Vincent. He and his brothers are letting us spend the night so you and Peter can sleep in a bed." 

Mikey seemed to consider this before reaching up to try and touch Vincent's face. "Hi," he whispered.

Vincent flinched slightly but didn't step back. Instead, he offered his hand for the young boy to grab at. Mikey giggled as he grabbed at Vincent's fingers and hand, seemingly satisfied. "Did you wake your brother?" You asked after a moment and winced when your son nodded. "Where did he wander off to?"

"Over here," You turned your head to see Peter half asleep slumped against Bo, barely even keeping his eyes open. Neither of the men seemed bothered though. Bo even raised his beer bottle jokingly, "Seems he's ready to get drinkin' already." He teased and you snorted.

"God I wish they'd just stay small forever. I can't even imagine them starting school yet, much less drinking." You paled at the mere thought. It seemed like only yesterday they were just born and now you felt nauseous whenever you think about them starting kindergarten. Being away from your kids for extended periods of time felt terrifying.

You were pulled from your thoughts by Vincent signing something to you. Shit. Luckily, Lester translated from his seat on the couch, "He's askin' if ya want help bringin' em upstairs?"

Blinking a few times, you nodded at Vincent with a smile. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it! Here," you adjusted Mikey before passing the toddler into Vincent's arms carefully, "just support him here," you guided his arms to the right spaces and ignored the way your heart melted seeing him asleep in someone's arms. Reminded you of easier times before you and your partner split. "Lemme grab Peter and we can head upstairs." Vincent nodded to you and waited patiently by the stairs as you stole Peter back from Bo.

You felt the pair's eyes on you as you wished them goodnight from over your shoulder and headed upstairs with Vincent trailing behind. He carried Mikey like he was fragile, breakable, and you found it incredibly endearing. You set Peter down onto the bed, nestled back in the little blanket fort to prevent them from rolling off the bed, kissing him softly goodnight. Vincent mirrored your actions with Mikey and just stroked his cheek with his thumb in lieu of a kiss. "Thanks for your help. All three of you," you whispered to him. Vincent looked at you, shadows hiding his eyes from you. "It means the world to me that you're all willing to help. I know the boys appreciate it too." You smiled at him as you stood quietly. "I should get to bed," you trailed off and Vincent nodded but didn't leave the room.

Instead, he reached his hand out towards you before tilting his head, asking permission. You gave him a curious nod and felt his hand touch your cheek, stroking under your eye like he'd done to Mikey. "Night Vincent," you whispered and ignored how your face warmed up.

He shut the door as he stepped out of the room,padding down to rejoin his brothers in the living room. None of them said a word to each other but they all had the same thought: they wanted you to stay.

The next morning, Bo collected your car and brought it to the gas station to fill back up. You'd chatted about your plans to keep going west when he'd mentioned missing you. "Place jus' feels more lively with you 'round, s'all." He'd shrugged, feigning nonchalance. 

You'd gestured to the empty streets before climbing into the passenger's seat. "You sure that ain't just because this town is quiet as is?"

Bo just gave you a smile. 

When you tried to start your car, it seemed to spur, dead. "What the-?"

"Everythin' alright?" He asked, leaning against the window frame.

"It sounds like the battery's dead?" You frowned, trying again to start the car.

Bo jerked his head, urging you to follow him. "Lemme take a look." You followed him around to the hood of your car and he flipped it open. He hummed as he looked around, face screwing up in surprise. "Your fan belt tore."

"My what?" You blinked owlishly at him. He gave you a look of bewilderment and you just sighed. "You definitely know more about cars than me."

He snorted at you and slammed the hood closed. "I don't think I got any in the shop but I could order one for ya and have it in a few days."

That wouldn't do. "I- I need to get back on the road soon." Panic began to rise in your chest and tighten your throat. "If we're found here, then I'd have to…" You didn't want to think about it, you said to yourself as you squeezed your eyes shut. Obviously you had a plan if you got caught but you really, really, didn't want it to come to that.

Bo nudged you gently and gave you a warm smile. "Hey, we'll look out for ya. Ain't no one gonna hurt'cha here in Ambrose. Not get many tourists anywhere, doubt they'd think to look for ya here."

You sighed. You didn't exactly have much of a choice. If your car wouldn't start, you'd just have to wait.

The two of you were walking back to the house and you felt Bo kept glancing at you. Right before you were going to ask about it, he spoke up. "I know ya wanna go see the House of Wax. Which is all fine 'n good, but ya gotta know somethin' 'fore you go there."

"Sure..?" You said plainly.

Bo sighed loudly, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "So, when Mama got sick, Vince had been away at a real good art college." You nodded along to show you were listening. Bo looked guilty. "When she got worse, I needed help takin' care'a her. Lester and I were away workin' and she needed someone at home. So, uh, near her end…" He sighed again. "I called him back home. It's, uh, still a sore spot. Wasn't able to go back, since he got in on scholarships. An' we didn't have the funds anyway, her bills were too much."

The silence was deafening. "I'm sorry." You said, at a loss for words. "I- I won't bring it up then."

"I 'preciate it. He an' I don't talk 'bout it anymore. If he goes with ya, just don't ask."

You nodded, giving Bo a small smile. "I'm sure he doesn't blame you for it."

The man smiled back at you but you could see it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Maybe."

Taking a small sidestep, you bumped your shoulders together. "I know so."

Later that night, things changed.

You'd gone to bed after showering and bathing the boys, the three of you all fast asleep in the bedroom. Vincent and Bo had gone to their own rooms while Lester slept on the couch. None of you heard the two cars that pulled into the town, driving slowly down the streets looking for any sign of life. After no luck at the first few houses, a small group of people approached the Sinclair's house, heavy footfalls making the little porch staircase creak under the stress.

They knocked on the front door and a dog could be heard barking in the backyard.

Lester had stumbled awake in surprise, his brain taking a minute to catch up. No one should be at the door because nobody else was alive in Ambrose. He still went to the door, opening it with a tired yawn. "Yeah?"

A man smiled at him, an acidic look that made bile burn the back of Lester's throat. "I'm looking for someone. Do you happen to know if there's been someone visiting your town?"

Freezing, Lester immediately recognized the man. Even though they'd never met face to face, he knew everything about this man. All child abusers look the same, Lester thought as he recalled his father. They all look like scum.

"Well, I ain't too sure. I work the night shift, I jus' got home. But my brother Bo might'a seen 'em. He works down at the autoshop." He said through a yawn. 

"I'd hope so. Considering their car is in his shop." The man smiled, trying to force his way into the door, calling your name.

Lester shoved him back, slamming the door and locking it with a loud thud. He ignored your ex's screaming as he ran up the stairs. 

Bo was opening his door before Lester could even knock. "The hell're you-?!"

"Guests." Lester panted, frozen in place as he kept an ear out in case your door opened. "Their ex is here."

His brother's eyes widened and he stormed to Vincent's door, knocking once before opening. He tore the blankets off Vincent and shook him viciously. "Get up, get the knives, we got intruders."

Vincent snapped awake, blinking through sleep-mussed hair. "Mm?" He said around his exhausted yawn.

"Intruders! Vince! Now!" Bo snapped. "I'll get my shotgun. You helpin' out, Les?"

Lester huffed, thinking it over. "Y'know I ain't a killer, right?"

Bo didn't have time for this. "You helpin' or NOT, Les?"

The younger brother sighed. "Does dad still keep a spare gun in his office?"

"Did he ever stop?" Bo said with a smirk, pulling his boots on his feet.

Vincent stumbled to his feet, putting his own boots on to sneak back down into the basement. If he went down and through the House of Wax, they could pin the group down. Bo'd meet them head on while Lester slipped around the side of the house to catch the strays. They vowed to make quick work of all of them but save your ex for last.

The Sinclair brothers were going to protect you. No matter what.

[callie-the-creator]

ayato aishi being in love with an idol!reader would include...

sfw. warnings: yandere and obsessive behavior but that’s about it.

author’s note: this was also posted on my wattpad account, just wanted to share it here!

• the only reason ayato knew of your existence was because he heard your name a few times brought up at school. at first, he thought you were a student at akademi but something in the back of his mind told him that he had the wrong idea. he ended up shrugging it off. that is, until he saw a 3d billboard of you in tokyo, telling the watchers below to buy tickets for your upcoming concert.

• this whole time, y/n was an idol? ayato felt like a complete idiot when he realized this and spent the next few minutes, just standing there on the sidewalk, watching the same billboard cycle through other things until you popped up again. when you did, ayato took his time admiring your features. it's no wonder you were so popular at school...you're gorgeous.

• with that, ayato hurried to his house whilst he looked up everything about you and once he was in his house, he listened to every single song that you have ever sung. unreleased, popular, underrated, instrumental, acapella, you name it. you just so happened to have over 45 songs! for someone who was in the music scene for such a short amount of time, you did have a lot of albums...but that's alright!

— while it wasn't ayato's usual taste in music, he was willing to make an exception for you and only you.

• ayato is the type of guy to see someone wearing a piece of your merchandise, walk up to them, and say, "oh, you like y/n l/n? name 5 songs."

— insufferable, yes, but he had to assert dominance and show every single follower that he was your number #1 fan! if someone claims to be it, they're dead wrong. literally.

• he hates how some of the guys at his school also knew who you were and thought you were attractive. ayato knows that realistically, it was bound to happen but he still hates having to deal with it and it's not like he could do anything about it too, just suck it up.

• if you're the type of idol to dye your hair differently with every single album debut, ayato carefully tracks for any leaks on what color it would be because he's been debating on matching with you. he's lucky that akademi high school isn't strict when it comes to uniquely colored hair (as some schools force students to dye their hair black, even if a person's natural hair color is brown). of course, he would stick out more but he didn't care. it's a way he can show his support for you and there's nothing wrong with that. 

• has only been to one of your concerts since, he won't lie, the tickets are a bit pricey and his part-time job could hardly cover it. the concert was really cool to experience— especially since ayato doesn't get out much— and he loved seeing you in person, but some annoying fans in front of him wouldn't stop holding their signs up in the air blocking his view but still tried to have a good thing by waving his light-stick and chanting in perfect harmony with the other fans.

— he would've gone a vip pass instead, but if he did that, ayato would have become flat-broke and that would in turn make him receive an angry lecture from his parents about finances.

• ayato has sent you loads of fan mail, some by name, others anonymously. he's sure that you get thousands by the hour but if there is even the slightest chance that you might read at least one of his, he'll take that opportunity

• whenever you describe your ideal type in a man in interviews, ayato makes it his duty to meet the criteria. you want someone with a little bit of muscle? he can work out more. you want a man who can cook? looks like ayato will be joining the cooking club at school. trust me, he will do anything to be viewed perfect in your eyes

• although his first-ever time seeing you in person was pretty much a bust, ayato made up for it by teaming up with info-kun to see where you would be in japan and finding your location by fan sightings. it was from there that ayato was able to find you in shibuya but it wasn't good news, actually. you were mad at the paparazzi trying to take scandalous photos of you and when ayato realized this, his head began to spin and he, too, started shouting at them to give you some space and to back off.

— when you realized this, you turned over to see just who was coming to help you since you weren't expecting it and mouthed a small 'thank you' which sent ayato's heart soaring.

• ayato has purchased an ungodly amount of merch from you, whether that be shirts, water bottles, limited-time ramen, or soda cans, he's even ripped off pages in magazines solely because your face was on it.

• alas, he still needs to find a way to worm into your personal life. it's a little hard to do that with just how many bodyguards you have and have lots of cameras in your house, too many for him to be able to capture you without any issues...

[cheerysmores]

My wife once told me she would never play Baldur's Gate 3 because 'it's that slut game.' One year later she finally caved and did her very first playthrough.

May I present: Mrs. Cheery's chaotic gremlin adventure to Baldur's Gate.

Act 1

Our hero is the drow fighter, Lady Coolio. To this day we do not know whether Lady is her name or her title. She has a big sword, big tits and one goal: get to The Baldur's Gate with no distractions.

Escaped the 'Meat Bus' (Nautaloid). "Right how close am I to Baldur's gate? Like three hours?"

Sold her camp clothes by accident and was very sad that all she had to run around in was a grey hobo sack. (No mods. Sorry wife)

Asked if Withers was Solas's Dad.

Lady Coolio calls Astarion rat boy. In Wifey's words “he told me ‘when I was a little lad Cazador made me eat rats.’”

To be fair she isn't great with names so Halsin = Hoisin Sauce, Lae'zel = onion lady, Volo = Volvo, Cazador = Calzone (sometimes)

In camp: Gale "I'd like to show you something rather magical". Lady Coolio: "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR MAGIC PENIS"

“There are so many dead bodies everywhere this entire place has got to stink” (just act 1 generally)

Act 2

Ran into the shadow cursed lands very under levelled and Last Light inn instantly got sacked. Bad news as she was romancing Karlach and now can’t get her second upgrade. Lady Coolio firmly blames Isobel for "triggering like three opportunity attacks when she could have... not done that."

Died to the shadow curse a LOT. Her: “Why is everyone dying????” Me: “Remember the moon lantern?” Her: “The what?” Me: “… that thing with the swearing pixie in it” Her: “ I still have to use that????” Me: “ yes, because Isobel is dead” Her: "WHY IS SHE STILL CAUSING PROBLEMS."

Hates the Gauntlet of Shar. Asked Shadowheart, “Is Shar the only goddess with an Olympic qualifier to join her religion?”

And now a series of comments on the Dead 3's chosen: “so the bad guys are evil undead Santa, Lady Gaga and the ugliest man I’ve ever seen?”)” “Is Gale… horny for that crown??” “Maybe Myrkul would be more threatening if he wasn’t standing in an giant toilet and not moving”

On discovering the Emperor) “wait my fairy god mother is a SQUID??? oh :( ”

She did however become half illithid but hated that she ended up with varicose veins on her boobs.

Gale and Astarion then graduated to “those weak pudding men” because they kept getting stuck halfway across the map by missing jumps. Act 3

Said “Brexit means Brexit” every time she met someone who was complaining about the refugees.

Went to see Raphael at Sharess's Caress. Didn’t sign his contract “ I trust neither Lord Farquad nor squid man but I’m not selling my soul to someone who has such bad vibes.”

At Gortash's coronation. "I thought he was popular? Like seven people turned up to watch it. Is it because he's really ugly and smells like Lynx (Axe) body spray?"

She wanted to eat Orin's outfit because it looks like delicious bacon.

Walking around the city: "so where do I go??" "Anywhere you like." "I hate this."

She would not stop stealing things. I think she murdered the entire battalion of flaming fist in the lower city because "a lady's gotta eat." She also killed everyone in sorcerer’s sundries including Rolan.

Had the prototypical stress aneurysm while doing the iron throne but somehow managed to get ALL the hostages out.

Lae’zel was kidnapped by Orin for 9 in game days . When I asked about this she said “FINDING CLOWN MEAT IS MORE IMPORTANT.”

“Why does every door here lead to the sewer????? And why are there so many live mines in the sewer??”

(in the basement of the elfsong) “soo because the Emperor has a shitty basement I’m supposed to be best friend with him now? This soup recipe does not make me trust you squid man”

Halsin “nature used all its powers when crafting you” Wife “well it also crafted bacon lady (Orin) so swings and roundabouts”

Astarion stayed a spawn and she convinced Gale not to use the crown. “No one is becoming ultimate bitch on my watch”

Despite her distrust of the Emperor she still allied with him in the final fight. Because, and I quote, "Lady Coolio's goal is to stop the Absolute. The Emperor has the same goal. I don't know when I became everyone's therapist and in charge of them making better choices but I'm putting my foot down at replacing dehydrated onion queen with baldy prince king over here. The Gith's religion is not my problem."

In her canon Lady Coolio and the Emperor high fived when they won.

85 hours later and Lady Coolio is the hero of Baldur's Gate. Please enjoy this picture of our heroine.

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 2/7

[part 3]

summary: this is part two of my short story about the boys’ trip to curaçao (read the other one first, or don’t). hamzah’s getting you all riled up and mandy and martin begin to notice his unusual behavior with you.

contains: SFW content

wc: 2k-ish

~

You wake up to an empty bed and some part of you feels disheartened at the sight. The only evidence of Hamzah ever being there is the indent in the pillow and the shorts he borrowed folded neatly atop the mattress. You sit up to stretch, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 10:02 and you decide to get dressed.

When you grab your phone on the way out, you see a text message light up your screen.

morning :)

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can type out your reply, a pair of large hands grab your shoulders and you nearly launch into the ceiling.

"Fuck—Hamzah!"

He cackles at your scream. You slap his arm, immediately shutting him up as he rubs the spot to soothe it.

"Dumbass," you grumble.

"Good morning to you, too." The grin on his face doesn't fade for a second.

"Whatever.” You shut the front door and walk down the hallway alongside him. “When did you wake up?”

"'Round 9,” he yawns out. "Martin called me back and we got the room situation sorted."

He pulls his new key card out of his wallet and holds it between his fingers to show you. “Nice.”

Upon finding the hotel pool already chock-full of people, the two of you decide to meet Mandy and Martin at a restaurant they told Hamzah they'd be at. The GPS on your phone’s map gives you a hard time and you nearly walk into oncoming traffic with your nose deep in the screen. Hamzah reaches out to grab your forearm and pulls you back right as a taxi flies by.

"That was way too close," he says. Both of you breathe heavily at the realization that it could've ended way worse. "I think I know where it’s at anyway, just follow me."

"Sorry," you apologize, blushing. He smiles and shakes his head to dismiss your embarrassment. His hand stays on the middle of your back as he leads the rest of the way. The sparks you feel from his touch can hardly be ignored.

You get seated in a booth with the couple, who have already ordered some appetizers in anticipation of your arrival. The four of you dig into some sort of steamed veggie dish and catch up.

"Martin kept me up all night," Mandy says.

"Yeah, I got stamina." Martin nonchalantly shrugs.

"No, you literally passed out the moment you went to bed." She rolls her eyes. "I had to check if he was breathing, like, 5 times."

"She got yo lying ass, boy," Hamzah says, laughing with you. "I think I was snoring all night. Those drinks had me messed up."

"You weren't," you assure him.

"How do you know that?" Martin diverts the attention to you.

"Because someone was dead asleep and couldn't help his best friend get back into his hotel room," Hamzah replies pointedly. Martin sinks into his seat and takes a bite of food while pouting.

"So, you guys were stuck in the same bed?" Mandy asks, genuinely interested. "How'd that go?"

"It was—"

"We were—"

You look at each other and you nod your head, gesturing for him to talk first. He nods back and places his hand on your knee under the table before continuing. Your heart leaps to your throat.

"We were watching some show in Dutch that we couldn't understand until we knocked out."

"That's it?" This earns Martin a light smack on the arm from Mandy and a fiery glare from you.

"Was it the one with the bald dad and the ginger kids?"

"Yeah, how'd you—?"

"I watched it with Martin's mom the day before we came. It’s pretty popular here."

Hamzah's hand is still on your knee, occasionally running his thumb over your skin like it's the most natural thing in the world. You try to be attentive and contribute to the conversation, but it's a struggle when your mind is constantly wandering. When the waiter comes to take your orders, you choose something random off the menu because you were too lost in thought. You’re starting to think you need to be spayed because of how much this affects you.

"I can't believe we have to leave in a week," Hamzah says. You look up from the table.

"Don't remind me," you groan.

"I miss Rudy," Mandy admits with a sigh, "and Fish and Carl, of course."

"Every parent has their favorites.” Martin shrugs.

Your food arrives after some more chatter. Hamzah's hand leaves the spot on your thigh he’d slowly worked up to and you feel like you can breathe again. This trip has made you guys a lot closer than you ever anticipated, but it makes you wonder how things will be once you get back home.

“Wanna bite?” Hamzah whispers to only you. “It’s pretty good.”

“Lemme try.” You pluck a piece of omelette from his plate and bite into it. “Yum. Try mine.”

He shovels a scoop of your yogurt bowl into his mouth and hums. “Let’s split?”

“Yes, please.”

The meal ends with Martin paying for Mandy and Hamzah paying for you, in a surprise turn of events. You try to fight him back on it, but once he swipes his card without a word you know it's settled.

"All that YouTube money has gone to your head," you joke.

"I got fat stacks."

"Ew." You and Mandy cringe.

The couple walks ahead of you up the street and the two of you walk side by side.

"Was that alright?" Hamzah asks once the others are out of earshot.

"What do you mean?"

"Y'know, me paying." He nudges your shoulder. "It felt like the right thing to do."

"It did?" you ask, a smile growing on your face. "I didn't mind it."

"Good, good..." He walks with his hands in his pockets, kicking a rock every couple of steps.

"I actually thought it was cute."

He exhales through his nose, smiling at the ground. "Was it?"

"Yeah." You nod. "Thanks, Hamzah."

"No biggie."

You scrunch up your face and he laughs once he sees your expression. His laughter could cure even the most fatal illnesses, you're convinced. You take steps in unison for a bit—right, left, right, left—until he clears his throat to speak again.

"And, um," he starts, licking his lips. "When I put my hand on your leg..."

"Mhm?" You enjoy seeing the way his face contorts as he tries to find his words.

"Was that... alright, too?"

"I didn't mind it," you repeat.

He shakes his head and this time it's your turn to laugh. The tips of his ears turn red under his hat, making your heart pound at the sight. He fixes the hat tighter on his head and you fight the urge to tuck one of his stray curls behind his ear. Instead, you find that your feet lead you closer to his side, your fingertips brushing past his ever so slightly.

The couple eventually stops at a building and the two of you rush to catch up.

"We made it, kids," Martin says with a smile once you reach them.

"An art museum?" Hamzah questions as he reads the sign at the door. "Are we museum people?"

"We are now," Martin says, turning to walk inside.

"He's been talking about this since we landed," Mandy explains. "C'mon, guys."

Your group enters the museum and you look around at the historic paintings and sculptures from various Curaçaoan artists. Any and all doubt is washed from your mind as you make your way through the space, carefully observing art you haven't had the pleasure of seeing before. Hamzah follows close by, never straying too far as to not miss the way you react to each piece with 'oo's and 'ah's.

"Here's what we came for!" Martin points at a painting in the corner.

You walk closer and catch sight of a beautiful beach landscape. There's bright green shrubbery in the forefront, leading up to a peachy-toned sunset with tropical birds flying in the background. Mandy excuses herself to check out the gift shop and Martin huddles the three of you together.

"One day, I'm gonna propose to her here," he whispers. His finger traces the plaque below the canvas. You'd been to this beach the day you touched ground in Curaçao. It was the first thing you guys did, even before checking in at the hotel.

"Martin," you gasp, eyes wide. He shushes you and you lower your voice. "That's so sweet, oh my god."

"She walked right by it," he beams. "She has no clue."

"That's great, man." Hamzah clasps his hand on Martin's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "She'll love it, for sure."

"I can't believe I'm gonna be a maid of honor," you squeal as quietly as you can. Martin shushes you again but you can barely contain your excitement, turning to Hamzah to find his eyes already on you.

"What makes you so sure it'll be you?" he teases.

"It will be." You raise your eyebrows, challenging him to say otherwise.

"As long as I can be best man."

You take a couple pictures of Martin standing next to the painting with his thumbs up, narrowly avoiding Hamzah's photobombing attempts. When you finally walk away, Martin motions for you both to zip your lips. You mime crossing your heart and make your way to the gift shop.

There's shelves of souvenirs with prints of the art pieces from the museum, as well as some nearby tourist attractions that you recognize from visiting recently. You get to the jewelry section and run your fingers across the array of bangles and necklaces, hearing how they jingle as they move. Once you get to the end of the table, you notice a reddish-brown beaded bracelet.

"'Handmade,'" you mumble, reading the tag.

Hamzah stops close by your turned back and sees what's caught your attention from over your shoulder. "What's that?"

"Isn't it pretty?" You slip the bracelet onto your wrist and hold it up to show him. He grabs another one, doing the same.

Mandy suddenly calls for you and you walk over to her.

"I want this book so bad." She holds up a leather bound book with golden letters on the front, flipping through the pages to reveal photographs of nearby landmarks. "Wouldn't it look cute on our coffee table?"

“We have so much stuff from this trip already—“ Martin starts, but upon seeing Mandy’s glare, agrees.

You conclude that married life would suit them very well.

Your group loiters around the museum until you've seen everything it has to offer, snapping a few pics of your favorites along the way. Hamzah volunteers to take a few aesthetic photos of you, but when you get your phone back, your camera roll is full of him making funny faces. You know you’ll get him back for it eventually.

The four of you make it halfway back to the hotel when you look down and realize the bracelet is still on your wrist. You halt in the middle of the sidewalk and curse at the wind.

"Guys," you call out, making them stop as well. "I'll meet you there, I forgot to put this bracelet back."

"You stole?" Martin exaggerates. "Dang it, now we're all accomplices!"

"Say it louder, why don't you?" You roll your eyes, turning on your heels to walk back up the street.

"YOU STO—"

Hamzah slaps his palm across his friend's mouth, "I got it, don't worry."

"What?" You turn back.

He holds his free hand up and shakes the bracelet on his wrist. "I paid already. You don't have to go back."

You part your lips, but no words come out.

Mandy and Martin share a glance with each other, him mumbling something unintelligible. Hamzah drops his hands and fidgets with his hat.

"I feel bad," you finally say, your cheeks warming up uncontrollably. "You're too nice."

"I wish I had a sugar daddy," Martin complains. You collectively ignore him.

"Thank you, Hamzah," you say with a smile. "I appreciate it."

"You liked the bracelet, so..." He shrugs it off.

The walk back to the hotel commences and you feel your pulse thumping with each step. Once again, the couple get ahead of you two, but that’s fine by you. Mandy turns a few times to make eye contact with you and raise her eyebrows ridiculously. You just shake your head and try not to grin too hard.

The weather is muggy and the sun is beaming on your heads, but Hamzah’s warm hand finds yours despite it all. Your bracelets graze each other and you wordlessly make a pact to not let go.

~

a/n: u get what u want in the next part ya filthy animals!!! also sorry i took so long, i’m still not 100% happy w how this turned out but i wanted to pump something out before u guys start chasing me w wooden stakes and pitchforks :-)

[the-music-maniac]

This is a purely indulgent crack idea, but I think it would be very funny if there was this time travel fix-it for the events of FF7/Sephiroth's insanity, except instead of just one person getting sent back, almost everyone in Avalanche (Cloud, Vincent, Tifa, Barret, Yuffie, Nanaki, Cait Sith/Reeve, etc. ) gets sent back. And all of them think they're the only one that time travelled. So, you essentially have a bunch of people trying to pretend they don't know anything about the future and assuming no one else knows about the future, and being confused af 90% of the time because the others aren't reacting in a predictable way to what they know about the future.

How this happens could occur in one of two ways - everyone gets sent back at different time points, and so their initial efforts to kill Sephiroth before he becomes genocidal includes them one by one meeting Miniroth and going Oh No This Is A Child, and Sephiroth progressively getting more and more well adjusted by the time he meets the next time traveller because now he has a group of people hellbent on fighting Shinra and Hojo on his behalf with the dual reasons of you are not going to become another genocidal maniac under my watch, and Why Is The Child Fighting A War Who Authorized This. I think the order of time travel should happen with age (ex. Vincent arrives first, Cloud and Tifa and Nanaki arrive last, etc.).

Or they all show up at once when Sephiroth is an adult. All of them are covertly trying to assassinate him but failing bc they keep accidentally cancelling out each other's attempts.

I want a cartoonish level of obliviousness. Arguably Cloud, Reeve (or Cait Sith?????) and Cid, and potentially Nanaki, are the ONLY ones that really have the excuse to be in Shinra, so everyone is confused about why other people they know are suddenly There™ yet somehow not landing on the obvious answer of more than one time traveller. All of them bullshit just well enough to throw doubt bc they're all pretending they don't know anything about the future. Aerith has an inkling about what's going on bc the planet talks to her, but she's too entertained at the shenanigans to be much help. Zack has no idea what's going on, cause he's not a time traveller, or someone in kahoots with the planet. Shinra is in absolute chaos because of how much people are meddling. At the same time, everyone is simultaneously noticing that 1. Seph is surprisingly, a very normal (even kind?) guy. What gives. 2. Man was, on the contrary to popular belief, not walking around with delusions of grandeur or cackling evilly in the months before his sanity went kaput and is in fact, malnourished, overworked and depressed, 3. Hojo and Shinra were even bigger bastards than expected.

Meanwhile Sephiroth is there like: man, people sure are up in my business a lot lately. He's thinking this as he stares dead eyed out the window, with his tenth cup of coffee in hand and a sheath of thick paperwork tucked under his arm. Behind him is Barret hiding (badly) in a fake plant.

I dunno how but this results in every one of our beloved protagonists (and Sephiroth) surviving, no one going insane, and Hojo dying an awful death. And then the gradual dismantling of Shinra, hurray.

[plummy-squish]

I just finished the book Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell. It’s about the language that cults will use to essentially brain wash their members (not in the typical brainwash way that you think about). It’s “the technical terms, the redefined words, the shorthand, the clichés, the euphemisms, logical distortions, and so on set members apart from and above their pedestrian neighbors, families, and coworkers". Montell does not necessarily view "cultish" – the "language" she identifies as the set of linguistic tricks cult leaders use to coerce and manipulate members – negatively, but she believes that people should at least be able to recognize it.”

Anyways fucked me up! In the past two days I’m seeing it everywhere, in marketing, in the slogans in my job, in popular work out groups, cliche phrases we all say…… and then i watched the latest episode of severance! I don’t think I’ll watch this show, and more specifically Mr Milchick and other unsevered employees the same.

In this last episode i wanna talk about that acronym ORTBO that they introduced because it’s the most obvious tactic that they used.

“Thought terminating clichés squash independent thinking” -Amanda montell

Episode 4 Spoilers ahead:

O- outdoor

R-retreat

T- team

B- building

O- occurrence

Wtf when have you ever heard this weirdly stated acronym? Well the innies do all the time! So this is normal for them to hear, i mean they are from the MDR department! Macrodata refinement, even with that longer version of the word it still doesn’t feel like a full explanation as to what their job does. But to them because they are introduced to it and taught to not question their bosses for fear of punishment and so they just go with it. Which now mdr has become part of their everyday vocabulary they don’t even question the meaning.

Cut to this episode, our innies are unconesntionally ripped out of their regular office space and put into this isolating harsh environment phrased as a reward. They are told they have been good enough to earn this trip and give it a title, the ORTBO, and they are very lucky to be experiencing this.

Later when they have been walking for a lot time, feeling lost and hungry are a considering eating a literal frozen dead seal because this “reward” isn’t feeling like a reward. Dylan reminds them, they are on an ORTBO and he repeats its vague meaning trying to convince them not to doubt the company. Almost trying to convince himself as well. This is the same Dylan that’s been getting fed incentives of seeing his family on the side and have been told he’s extra special. He has more to loose than anyone else right now and by repeating it is trying to stop everyone from doubting. Aka the orbto is working.

“Creating special language to influence people’s behavior and beliefs is so effective in part simply because speech is the first thing we’re willing to change about ourselves . . . and also the last thing we let go” -Amanda montell

Cults will make up words and introduce them in this way to make a group of people feel connected. Like they have been let into this new group of special workers allowed out side and given a term phrased as a reward to squash any train of thought leading to doubt or questioning. The further they go on this team building occurrence they will understand the reward.

They also use this new group language to make the group feel superior and anyone on the outside intrigued into what people are talking about. Making learning the language feel connecting with others and like you are understanding the deeper meaning. They feel superior and anyone on the outside feels like they are missing something.

Cross fit does this well! They have new work out terms like dms (delayed muscle soreness) so if a CrossFit gym bro is talking to a regular gym bro and uses the term DMS, the regular gym bro feels dumb for not knowing what this is and not keeping track of it. And is now curious as to what CrossFit has that he is missing before he knows it he’s sucked in. (I bet you they will bring back this term later if they can to alienate other employees in other departments)

Um hello even in the way they advertised this episode is using this tactic! They didn’t give us the meaning or context they gave us the word and now we wanna know what this new acronym is in the next episode.

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Severance universe has literally created a whole new language to keep certain people in the know and others confused. Watch for it!

It’s not always in acronym form; Sometimes it’s a saying, sometimes it’s just a common word given a double meaning to those in the group and out of the group.

Another day another dollar- something we hear all the time to make us just go to work and endure shit we shouldn’t

Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith- something we would hear all the time growing up as Mormon to stop people from questioning and like it’s bad to have critical thought

Endowment- to people out side Mormonism it means gift people inside it’s a whole secret ritual that you are sworn to secrecy or off yourself before telling another soul

lol my work calls its self a village

Its everywhere! It’s in our marketing! It’s in our gyms! It’s at work! We don’t even notice because it’s working.

“Words are the medium through which belief systems are manufactured, nurtured, and reinforced, their fanaticism fundamentally could not exist without them.”-Amanda Montell

Anyways this book has fucked me up and has made severance even better for me

[vandme12]

I was the one who requested the Royal Cafe, Can you just do it as a Ronin x Reader?

Inspiration

SINFUL CAFE AND YOUR RONIN

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : Your Cafe is almost dead, Angel saved and A Devil became a Cat?

So you've been in this serial killer server for eight months, and somehow, against all odds, you fell for Ronin. That purgatory of a first kiss? Yeah, it ruined you in the best way. Now it’s a whole trend—flirting, fighting, maybe even feeling.

You love him. He loves you. (Maybe.)

He’s feisty about it, of course. Teasing, testing, pushing you just enough to keep you on edge, but never quite letting you fall. And god, you love it. You love him. You love this—this insane little corner of the internet where murder is a casual conversation, where death is a game, and where your heart beats way too fast whenever his name pops up in your notifications.

So, tell me—what’s next?

So, you’re a writer. And an idiot. A beautiful, chaotic idiot who somehow—somehow—managed to open a royal-themed café because childhood-you watched one maid café anime and said, “Yeah, that’s the dream.”

And guess what? Dream achieved, baby. You’ve got the whole setup—maids in frilly dresses, butlers in crisp suits, fancy teacups, and a menu with way too many desserts. It’s perfect. Almost.

Except… your staff? Absolute disasters.

Your maids? Shit. Your butlers? Worse shit. Half of them can’t carry a tray without causing a full-scale catastrophe. The other half are more likely to flirt with customers for tips than serve them. You hired them for the aesthetic, not the competence, and it shows.

But hey, it’s your dream. And if you’re going to go down in flames, at least you’re doing it in a sparkly maid café, right?

Your royal café is on life support.

Sure, you’ve got the maids. You’ve got the butlers. You’ve got the fancy-ass menu with cakes that are probably overpriced. But there’s one tiny, devastating problem—nobody knows you exist.

Like, you’re out here living your sparkly childhood fantasy, and the universe decided to spit in your crème brûlée. Customers? Barely any. Popularity? Nonexistent. It’s so bad that your butlers started playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who actually has to work when someone—finally—walks through the door.

The closing sign is practically looming over your café’s head. You tried everything—social media posts, themed events, hell, you even forced your staff into a cringy dance routine on TikTok. Nothing. Still ghost town vibes.

And it’s really sad, okay? You didn’t go through all this chaos just to shut down like some tragic protagonist. There has to be a way to save it—right?

You felt like absolute shit.

This café was supposed to be your magnum opus—your crowning achievement of cute uniforms, elegant service, and the kind of fluffy desserts that make people squeal. Instead? You’re staring at the empty tables, wondering if it’s physically possible to die from secondhand embarrassment as your maids argue over who actually has to smile today.

Even your most loyal butler, who once prided himself on his "mysterious prince" aesthetic, just muttered, "Why bother?" while unironically sipping from a Garfield mug. Garfield, in your royal café. The disrespect.

You tried everything—promo flyers, ‘buy one, get one free’ events, you even begged your questionable internet friends (read: serial killers) to spread the word. Nothing worked.

And now, sitting behind the counter, chin in your hands, you feel the crushing weight of failure. Maybe this was a stupid dream. Maybe you should’ve just written your little murder book and called it a day.

But no. You’re too stubborn to quit now.

The café’s a mess. Your staff is a disaster. But dammit, this is your disaster.

You were overstressed, underslept, and one more burnt crème brûlée away from a complete breakdown.

Between fixing the café’s finances, dragging your chaotic staff out of whatever emotional crisis they were having this time, and trying to figure out if it was actually legal for one of your maids to threaten a customer (it wasn’t), you hadn’t logged into the server for a week.

A week.

Which, in "Serial Killer Chatroom Time," was practically a century.

Your phone buzzed. Again. And again. You ignored it—because if you saw one more "URGENT!!!" message from your accountant (who now ended every email with "we’re so fucked"), you were going to scream.

But then… a familiar notification popped up.

GOREBOY:

Did you die or are you ghosting me? I can make both happen. 💔

You blinked. Oh. Shit.

You hadn’t answered Ronin in days. And if there was one thing that man hated more than authority figures, it was being ignored.

Another message.

K9:

You’ve been offline too long. Something wrong?

HITMEUPPP:

bro if ur dead lmk

Your heart gave a weird, guilty little flutter. Even V was checking in, and that man was emotionally repressed on principle.

You rubbed your face, debating if you should respond or just fake your death and move to another country. Before you could decide, your phone buzzed again—hard enough to make you flinch.

GOREBOY (PRIVATE DM):

You’re either working too hard or digging your own grave. Which is it...

Oh. You were so fucked.

Your notifications were cursed. Every time you tried to catch a break, another ping dragged you back into the chaos. And now? Everyone was in on it.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

brooo u alive?? 🏄‍♂️ i was gonna invite u surfing but like. ur ghosting us.

EVISCERATOR1990:

Are You Okay?

angelic:

babe, if you needed a break, you could’ve said so. but if you died, I’m gonna be pissed.

FELICITE:

You okay? No judgment, just checking. If you need help, I’ve got a shovel and an alibi.

Even Ai Hua—sweet, terrifying Ai Hua—sent a message.

Ai Hua:

☹️

When Ai Hua pulls out the sad face, you know you messed up.

You exhaled, feeling that familiar ache crawl up your spine. The stress. The exhaustion. The fact that you hadn’t eaten anything besides café leftovers for days. Your dream café was circling the drain, your staff couldn’t brew a latte without setting something on fire, and now your murder chatroom friends were worried you’d become a cold case.

Before you could spiral any harder, your phone buzzed again—one more DM from Ronin.

GOREBOY:

Last chance, baby. Tell me what’s wrong, or I’m breaking into your life.

And with him, you believed it.

You crack your knuckles, sighing as you finally cave and open the server. Bad idea? Probably. But if you didn’t say something soon, you were half-convinced Ronin would break into your apartment and bother you in person—which, knowing him, wasn’t even the weirdest thing he’d do.

You hit the general chat and type:

you:

lol sorry i died but i came back bc i heard the devil crying 😔 gotta support local businesses

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

YOURE BACKKKKK 🎉

angelic:

tf kind of fanfic-ass excuse is that.

EVISCERATOR1990:

typical. the devil’s always needy.

Ai Hua:

😌👍

GOREBOY:

you’re lucky i’m cute, or i’d haunt you myself.

You roll your eyes, but your heart does a stupid little flip. Of course, he would twist this into being about him. You barely hesitate before sliding into his DMs, fingers flying.

you:

why are u like this

you:

i’ve been stressed out of my mind and here you are playing “where’s my favorite corpse”

you:

my café is dying. my employees are morons. i haven’t slept in days. everything sucks.

you:

and you?? teasing me like “where’s my baby 😢 are you in the afterlife?? did you leave me??”

You should stop. You should. But your thumbs don’t.

you:

like bro. i’m about to pass out in a puddle of failed cappuccinos and you’re making it MY problem that i’m not flirting back??

You stare at the screen, expecting some sarcastic reply. Something cocky. Something Ronin.

Instead, after a beat—

GOREBOY:

...tell me everything.

You blink.

you:

what?

GOREBOY:

everything. all of it.

GOREBOY:

i’m listening, baby. go ahead—vent it out.

And just like that—you break. You tell him everything. The constant stress, the unpaid bills, the fact that your “dream café” is hanging by a thread because nobody wants to buy overpriced lattes served by questionable maids and worse butlers. How you’ve been grinding yourself into the ground, and it still isn’t enough.

And the whole time? He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t tease. He just… listens.

Finally, when you’re done—when you’ve vomited every anxious thought into his DMs—he replies.

GOREBOY:

okay. first? if you die, i’m bringing you back myself.

GOREBOY:

second? i’m coming over.

you:

?????

GOREBOY:

did i stutter?

You: hey!!!!

You slam the message into Ronin’s DMs He's not try to pull that "I’m coming over" nonsense. You’re stressed, overworked, and no way in hell are you dealing with that in person.

GOREBOY:

oh? suddenly alive again? miss me already, baby?

You:

shut up omg. i’m fine. go be evil somewhere else.

GOREBOY:

nah. you’re my favorite pastime.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. This man. This man. And like the problem he is, he doesn’t stop there.

GOREBOY:

c’mon, sweet thing. tell me more.

GOREBOY:

my muse needs their muse, don't they?

And, damn it, he knows exactly how to work you. Your head’s been a mess—deadlines on your novel, bills piling up from the café, maids and butlers who couldn’t charm a customer to save their lives. Your dream’s slipping through your fingers, and you’ve been too tired to write, too tired to do anything but spiral.

But he keeps talking.

GOREBOY:

bet you’re cute when you pout.

GOREBOY:

and if your little café is your house? yeah, angel—burn the world down before you let anyone take it.

Your heart does a dumb little flip.

You:

it’s different, though… if i lose this place, i’ll break. me and my parents—we worked so hard. it’s not just a shop. it’s… home.

He goes quiet for a second. Too quiet.

Then—your phone buzzes. He’s calling you. Of course he is.

You hesitate… but pick up.

The screen flickers, and there he is—Ronin, all lazy smirk and sharp angles, his silver hair falling into his eyes. He scans you, slow and deliberate, and yeah… you’ve got eyebags for days, but the way he looks at you—shit.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you mutter, voice softer than you mean it.

“Yeah,” he drawls, tilting his head. “I was just thinkin’… even with the eyebags, you look great, darlin’.”

You roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

But he keeps staring. Long. Intense. Like he’s memorizing you.

“What?” you snap, feeling your face heat.

“Nothing,” he says—too casual. “Just… go to sleep.”

You blink. “What, why—”

“I’ll watch,” he cuts in, voice dropping to that smooth, velvet tone that makes your stomach flip. “Until you’re out. That a problem, baby?”

Your heart stutters. “Why are you—”

“‘Cause I’m nice.” He leans closer to the camera, grin curling wicked. “And this is how I get repaid? My Darlin an ungrateful idiot, huh?”

You swallow hard, brain short-circuiting. “I—”

“Relax.” His voice softens, teasing but warm. “Shoulder devils gotta take care of their angels, baby. You work too hard. So, shut up and let me be sweet. Just this once.”

And hell—you’d argue, but you’re already sinking deeper under his spell.

Your laughter slips out before you can stop it—light, tired, but real. “Thanks, Ronin.”

For once, he doesn’t shoot back a smart-ass comment. Instead, he just… smiles. Soft at the edges, like he’s letting his guard down without realizing it. And damn, if that doesn’t make your chest ache a little.

“Good night, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice smooth as sin.

You smirk, letting your head fall against the pillow. “Good night, Butcher.”

His eyes flash with something dangerous—amused. “Tch. Call me that again, angel, and I might think you’re flirting.”

“Maybe I am,” you tease, your voice dipping just enough to make it stick.

He huffs a laugh under his breath. “You’re lucky I’m feeling sweet. Sleep. Before I crawl through the screen and tuck you in myself.”

“Promises, promises…” you mumble, already half-asleep.

And as you drift off, the last thing you hear is his voice—lower, softer than before.

“…Sweet dreams, baby.”

Ronin leans back in his chair after hanging up, fingers drumming against his thigh. For once, the usual smirk on his face fades into something… complicated. The hell’s he supposed to do with this?

You’re stressed—overworked, overwhelmed, cracking at the edges. And sure, he loves teasing you, loves watching you squirm, but… this? This hits different. You care about that dumb café like it’s your soul stitched into the walls. If you lose it, you’ll break.

And—ugh—he doesn’t like when you sound broken.

A sharp ping breaks his thoughts.

Angelic: hey goreboy, any update? hitmeuppp: fr fr bossman u know what’s up right? Eviscerator1990: WORRYING. This isn’t slasher-behavior, kid. LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: bro, did they die again? Ai Hua: 👍

Ronin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fucking vultures…”

He could brush them off—should brush them off—but his eyes flick back to your DM window. Your sleepy voice still lingers in his head. It’s like your house.

Tch. Of course you’d say something sappy like that. Of course he gives a shit.

goreboy: I don’t know. Let ‘em breathe.

A pause. Then—

Angelic: Liar.

He barks a laugh. They know him too well.

But… he does have a plan. Something stupid. Something reckless. Something only he can pull off.

If you’re gonna keep your café from crumbling, you’ll need one thing.

Publicity.

And who better to stir up a little chaos than the devil himself?

Ronin cracks his neck, the familiar edge of a smirk curling his lips as he types back.

goreboy: I have a wonderful plan.

The server erupts immediately.

Angelic: That’s never comforting. hitmeuppp: oh no oh no oh no Eviscerator1990: Define "wonderful," kid. LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: is it illegal. wait no. dumb question. Ai Hua: 👀

Ronin kicks his feet up on his desk, stretching like a cat that’s found fresh prey. He should probably explain—nah—he likes the suspense.

goreboy: Sit tight, sinners. Devil’s about to perform a miracle.

Even Felicite, who usually keeps her distance from the server’s chaos, drops a rare message.

Félicité: I’m almost scared to ask.

Ronin barks out a laugh, tipping his head back. If she’s curious, this plan is already off to a fantastic start.

goreboy: Don’t worry, princess. You’re gonna love it.

hitmeuppp: if u get them arrested, i’m telling their mom.

goreboy: Please, like I’m that sloppy.

goreboy: alright, angels—brainstorm time. how do we save my darlin’s dying café?

angelicc: OH. MY. GOD. I GOT THIS.

Before Ronin can even blink, Angel creates a new group chat and drags him in. The name?

💀 "Operation: Save the Café (ft. Hot Butcher)" 💀

hitmeuppp: wow u really just out here putting their whole situationship on blast huh

angelicc: duh. it’s cute. shut up, Misaki.

goreboy: so, what’s the master plan, sweetheart?

angelicc: Simple. I’ll feature their café on my channel. "Mystery Maid & Butler Café – The Hidden Gem You NEED To Visit!"

angelicc: Cute aesthetic. Mystery theme. And you? You’re coming too.

goreboy: oh?

angelicc: Yeah, I need the butcher boy for emotional support vibes.

Ronin snorts, already imagining how much fun he could have with this. If Angel’s running the show, the café is about to get flooded with curious fans.

goreboy: i’m in. tell me when to show up.

angelicc: Of course!

hitmeuppp: WAIT—WAIT. HOLD UP.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: DareDarvil rules, baby!!! 😎

goreboy: you mean to tell me…

angelicc: No. Luca.

hitmeuppp: YES.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: YESSSSS.

goreboy: …You want me to show up in a maid dress. With cat ears. And a tail.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: AND FAKE BLOOD! Don’t forget the blood—like a cute lil’ murder maid, bro.

There’s a long pause. Ronin leans back in his chair, dragging his tongue over his teeth, half amused and half what the actual hell.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: Think about it. Viral marketing. “Sinful Maid Café” featuring a devilishly hot butcher.

hitmeuppp: Bro, if you pull up in cat ears, you KNOW they’ll have a line out the door.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: Exactly. Chicks and Ddes dig murder maids.

goreboy: ...You’re all insane.

angelicc: As long you're okay with it. I don't really like this idea..

A slow, wicked smile curls at the corner of Ronin’s mouth. He pictures your stressed-out, sleep-deprived face when he walks into your café like that—oh, he’s gonna ruin you.

goreboy: Fine. But if I’m doing it, I’m going all in.

angelicc: Define “all in”…

goreboy: Tail. Ears. Knife. And if anyone gets blood on my skirt, they’re next.

hitmeuppp: Bro’s about to awaken something in half the city.

The next day

You blink, still half-asleep, as the café door swings open—and in walks Angel, glowing like a literal angel with her flawless makeup and bright smile. She’s dressed to kill, all elegance and danger wrapped in a leather jacket that probably costs more than your rent. Behind her, Ronin—looking like he rolled out of bed, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“Morning, sunshine,” Angel coos, voice dripping honey as she surveys your café. “I couldn’t just sit back and let you spiral. You know I hate watching cute things break.”

You stare at her, still processing the fact that she’s standing here, in your café, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And your staff? Oh, your staff is losing their minds.

“Wait, wait—you’re Angelic?” one of your waitresses gasps, clutching the edge of a tray like she might faint.

“The one and only.” Angel winks, spinning on her heel. “And I’m here to save this adorable little café. So, listen up—new plan, everyone! We’re rebranding.”

You blink rapidly. “Re…branding?”

She flashes you a devilish smile. “Sinful Café. Think blood-splattered butlers, seductive maids—" She lowers her voice into a sultry purr, “—danger with your dessert. It’ll go viral in days. Trust me.”

And of course—because she’s Angel—your staff is eating it up. They’re already brainstorming costumes, throwing out ideas, hanging off her every word. You should be grateful. You should say thank you. But…

Your eyes drift to Ronin. He’s quiet, leaning against the counter, his gaze locked on you—steady, unreadable.

Did they… really do all this? For you?

You swallow hard. “Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it.

Angel tilts her head, smiling like it’s obvious. “Because you’re ours, duh.”

Your heart stutters.

“Don’t get soft on me now, darlin’,” Ronin drawls finally, breaking his silence. His voice—low, smooth, dangerously amused—crawls right under your skin. “You didn’t think we’d let your little house fall apart, did you?”

“You’re here!” The words slip out faster than you can stop them—your voice cracking with something dangerously close to relief. And, of course, Ronin hears it.

His lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk. “Missed me that bad, huh?” He leans in, the scent of leather and something sharper brushing against your senses.

You flush, heat crawling up your neck. “Pfft—no. I’m just surprised you’re awake before noon.”

“Ouch. And here I was, being all sweet, coming to save your ass.” His finger lifts, smooth and deliberate, and—boop—he taps the tip of your nose with the cocky audacity only he could pull off.

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Did you just—?”

“What? You wanna do something about it, darlin’?” His voice drips teasing venom, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—are locked on yours, watching every little reaction like it’s his favorite show.

Without thinking, you reach out and boop him back. Harder. “Two can play that game, Butcher.”

His grin widens, teeth flashing sharp. “Aw, baby—don’t start something you can’t finish.”

And just like that, you’re caught in a spiral—back and forth, noses being bopped like you’re flirting in some chaotic cartoon. Until—

“...They’re seriously gonna do this in front of everyone?”

You freeze. Your staff. And Angel.

Oh no.

Angel, being her usual self, is lounging against a table with a shit-eating grin. “I mean, it’s cute. Like, stupidly cute.”

“They’re literally blushing—look at them!” one of your waiters whisper-yells, half-hiding behind a coffee tray.

“And they say we’re unprofessional,” one of your maids adds, crossing her arms—but her face is way too entertained.

Meanwhile, you? You’re dying inside. Absolutely dying.

Ronin? Oh, he’s thriving.

He bops your nose again—softer this time, like he’s savoring how easy it is to make you squirm. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Losing your edge?” His hand barely brushes your waist as he leans closer, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “I thought you liked a little attention.”

You want to slap him. You also want to kiss him. Dangerous combo.

“You’re evil,” you mutter, trying (and failing) to glare at him.

“And you love it,” he shoots back without missing a beat.

Your grip on a glass tightens—so much so that it nearly shatters in your hands. Your heart’s pounding, and you swear the room’s hotter than it should be.

Your staff? Fully gossiping under their breath.

You noticed it immediately—the way your staff kept sneaking glances at Ronin. And not the “oh no, scary serial killer” kind of glances. No. It was the other kind.

The "he’s cute as hell" kind.

The whispering was bad enough.

“Why is he kinda hot, though?”

“Okay, but the messy hair? The voice??”

“I’d let him ruin my life, honestly.”

Your eye twitched. Why were they like this?

And why—out of everyone—did it have to be him they were thirsting over?

Ronin, of course, was oblivious. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He was too busy looking like a whole damn problem—leaning against the counter like he owned the place, one hand shoved casually into his jacket pocket, the other still too close to your waist.

He caught you glaring and quirked a brow. "What’s with the face, darlin’? Don’t tell me you’re jealous."

You rolled your eyes. "Of what? Your fan club?"

His smirk sharpened. "What can I say? People love a bad boy."

Okay, that was it. Enough.

You shot a death glare at your staff—the kind that screamed "I will fire all of you if you keep simping."

Instantly, they froze.

And, as one, they all gave you awkward thumbs-ups before scrambling out of the room.

Cowards.

Ronin laughed low in his throat. "Did you just chase them off?"

"Someone had to." You huffed, crossing your arms. "They were staring at you like you’re a damn dessert menu."

His gaze slid over you, slow and too pleased with himself. "Maybe they’ve just got good taste."

Oh, for the love of—

"Get out of my café, Ronin"

He only grinned wider. "Make me, sweetheart."

Angel spread out the plan with all the flair of someone who lived for the spotlight. "Alright, listen up, sinners." She clapped her hands, and the entire staff leaned in, hanging onto her every word. "We’re turning this café into a killer’s paradise—literally. Blood, danger, hot people in unholy outfits. We want every customer leaving here questioning their morality and maybe their life choices."

Your staff murmured excitedly—because of course they did.

Meanwhile, you?

Yeah, you were not listening.

Because Ronin—the actual Devil in a leather jacket—was still standing too close, arms folded, head tilted as he half-listened to Angel’s pitch. And you? You were just… staring.

Why did he have to look that good doing absolutely nothing?

His hair was a mess, that lazy smirk was doing something to your heart, and you were blushing like an idiot. And worse? He knew it.

Angel caught your stare immediately because she was evil like that. Her gaze flicked between you and Ronin, and when you met her eyes—oh, she was already smirking.

You shot her back a glare. Shut up.

She only grinned wider and mouthed, "Adorable."

Ugh.

You forced yourself to focus as she dramatically flipped through her phone. "And now… costumes." With a flourish, she spun her phone around to reveal the lineup. "Everyone’s getting a killer makeover. Think blood-splattered chic. Sexy slasher. Haute homicide."

Your staff was way too excited about this.

"I call being the ghost-faced butler!"

"Can I be a psycho doll?"

"I’m doing a vampire killer—deal with it."

Angel winked at you. "And don’t worry, babe. I’ve got a special costume just for you."

You groaned. "Should I be scared?"

"Always," she said sweetly.

But your heart stuttered when Ronin—still leaning against the counter—sighed with fake boredom. "Yeah, yeah. Blood, knives, murder. Real original. You’re all having fun, but what am I wearing, Angel?" His tone was lazy, but there was a glint in his eyes—a challenge.

Angel had no mercy.

The outfit she shoved into your arms? Unholy.

A sleek, gender-neutral ensemble that clung to all the right places—black leather, blood-red accents splattered across your chest like you walked out of a crime scene. The jacket? Cropped and shredded, showing just enough skin to be dangerous. Fingerless gloves, a choker with a dangling silver knife charm, and thigh straps. Why did there have to be thigh straps?!

"You’re welcome," Angel purred as you stared at yourself in the mirror, half-horrified and half-impressed.

You tried to play it cool. "You think I’m gonna wear this?"

"I think you’re gonna rock it." She gave you a once-over, biting back a smirk. "Don’t worry, darling—if the café thing tanks, you’ll have a backup career as a heartbreaker."

And, yeah. You wore it.

The moment you stepped out, your staff did a collective double take.

One of your butlers—bless his soul—whistled low. "Boss, uh… is this café legal? ‘Cause you’re about to cause crimes."

Angel winked at you from across the room, holding up two thumbs. "Looking like you’re ready to commit murder and steal some hearts. Perfect."

But nothing—nothing—prepared you for Ronin’s reaction.

He had been leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, but the second he saw you? His gaze dragged up from your boots to your neck, slow and heavy, like he was memorizing every inch.

And when he met your eyes?

Oh, you were screwed.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, pushing off the counter. His voice dipped, velvet smooth. "Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, darlin’."

You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. "Don’t start."

"Can’t help it." He tilted his head, devil horns peeking through his hair. "You dress up like my next bad decision, and you expect me to behave?"

Before you could snap back, the front doors of your café burst open—and in poured a wave of customers.

Apparently, the paparazzi spotted Angel outside, and that meant the whole city wanted to be here. The crowd was ridiculous—half the people here probably couldn’t tell a latte from a cappuccino, but they definitely wanted photos with Angel.

And your café?

It was packed.

One of your waitresses rushed past, wide-eyed. "I can’t believe it—we’re trending."

Angel tossed her hair over her shoulder, all casual. "Of course we are. I’m a genius." She leaned in, voice softer. "I told you I’d fix this, babe."

You almost didn’t hear her—because Ronin was still watching you, still too close.

"You gonna keep gawking?" you muttered.

Your staff? Absolutely killing it.

Angel's twisted, bloodied aesthetic turned your struggling café into the hottest place in town. Every maid and butler was decked out in outfits straight from a killer's fever dream—splattered with fake blood, ripped in all the right places, and more than a little suggestive.

Your barista? Serial killer chic, with a blood-streaked apron and a knife tucked into their belt. One of the butlers had a leather harness over his vest, the bloodstains on his gloves just this side of illegal. Even the shyest maid—normally too nervous to hold eye contact—was working the crowd in a blood-smeared lace dress, balancing a tray of lattes while twirling a fake cleaver.

It was chaotic. It was hot. And the customers? They were eating it up.

Angel, perched at a VIP table with Ronin, looked pleased as hell. She clinked her glass against his. "I told you," she said sweetly, watching the café hum with energy. "All they needed was a little edge."

"Yeah, yeah." Ronin stretched, all lazy confidence, but his eyes hadn’t left you once. "Don’t get too smug, sweetheart. This ain’t your masterpiece."

Angel snorted. "Jealous?"

"Of you?" His smirk sharpened. "No, babe. I’m invested."

You barely had a second to breathe before one of your butlers slid up beside you, flashing a teasing grin. "Hey, boss." He tugged at the bloodied cuffs of his sleeves. "Think we’re gonna need combat pay for all these stares. Never thought working here would mean breaking hearts too."

"You’ll survive," you deadpanned, trying not to laugh.

"You sure? ‘Cause your devil boyfriend’s been glaring holes through anyone who looks at you too long." He tilted his head toward Ronin, who—yeah—was definitely watching you with that lazy, heavy-lidded gaze.

Ronin caught you looking. And winked.

Your heart did a stupid, traitorous flip.

Angel’s plan wasn’t just working—it was thriving. The line outside wrapped around the block. Your social media was blowing up. Every time a customer left, they posted pictures of the blood-soaked, dangerously hot staff, tagging the café with captions like:

"Who knew horror could be this hot?? #SinfulCafe #KillerVibes"

"Maid cafés are cute—this one’s a crime scene and I’m obsessed."

Angel didn’t just post it—she made a whole event out of it.

The photo? Flawless.

A perfectly curated shot of the café’s chaos—bloodied maids, dangerously hot butlers, and you at the center, caught mid-laugh. You were leaning back against the counter, still wearing the killer-chic outfit she picked, the fake blood on your collar making you look like you just stepped out of a slasher movie.

He was right beside you, one hand casually draped around your waist, head tilted close—like he wasn’t just near you, but claiming you. His usual sharp-edged smirk was in full force, the kind that promised trouble.

The caption?

"Blood, guts, and a little bit of love~ ❤️🍷 @SinfulCafe is OPEN. Come for the coffee, stay for the danger. #KillerVibes #SinfulCafe #MariaDelRosa"

And that name—Maria Del Rosa—was all the hook anyone needed.

Because if there was one thing Angel knew how to do, it was make a scandal.

Maria Del Rosa wasn’t just a pop sensation—she was controversy in high heels, and Angel had just hinted to her millions of followers that this café was her new obsession.

The second the post went live, your notifications exploded.

"Wait—Maria Del Rosa is hanging out at a haunted café?!"

"Angel really said blood is the new black, huh?"

Your café was trending before you could even process it—news outlets were already picking it up, hyping the place as a “celebrity hideout with a bloody twist.”

You were working, Ronin said he had a work.

Your brain short-circuited.

Ronin. In the maid outfit.

Cat ears. Tail. Bloodied knife.

What the actual hell.

And he was working—or, well, his version of it. Strutting through the café like he owned the place, giving the new customers a devil’s welcome with that lazy, sharp-edged grin that promised a good time… or a terrible mistake.

“Welcome to Sinful Café,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock sweetness as he leaned down toward a table of wide-eyed customers. “Order fast, darlings… or else.” He spun the fake knife between his fingers like he was born with it, flashing his fangs in a grin as one girl nearly fainted.

The whole café was staring—even your staff was frozen, whispering among themselves like he was some kind of exotic attraction.

Someone even whipped out their phone—you heard the camera shutters, the murmurs of, “Holy shit, is he part of the show?!” and “I will sell my soul to be stepped on—”

You barely processed any of it because, goddamn, he looked good.

The maid dress hugged him in all the right places—short enough to tease but just messy enough with the blood splatters to make him look like he walked out of a horror fantasy. The cat ears twitched as he tilted his head toward a customer who was too stunned to speak.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he purred.

You clutched the counter to stay upright.

And then—he caught you staring.

That slow, dangerous smile of his stretched wider, and he sauntered over like he had all the time in the world. Each step was deliberate, and you swore half the café was tracking his movements.

He leaned down, voice just for you this time. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Gonna break another glass lookin’ at me like that?”

Your throat dried. “I—uh—why—” Words? Who needed them? Not you apparently.

He tilted your chin up with the tip of the bloody knife (prop… hopefully), his crimson-painted nails brushing your skin. "Luca dared me," he admitted, way too pleased with himself. "Thought I’d… liven the place up."

Liven it up?! You wanted to scream. The café was practically vibrating with energy—the air buzzing with whispers and cameras flashing.

“Gotta admit,” he continued, studying your face, “it’s worth it just to see you blush like that. Thought you liked the attention?”

“I—I do, but—” You swallowed, heat crawling up your neck as his eyes dropped—lingering low before meeting yours again. "This is different."

Ronin chuckled low in his throat, pulling back slightly—but not before dragging the blunt edge of the knife down your chest in one slow line. "Different’s good, sweetheart. Keeps things… interesting."

And just when you thought you’d survive—

He winked. "Anything for you, boss."

Your heart? Gone. Dead. Buried.

You tried—really tried—to be normal about it.

But how the hell were you supposed to act normal when Ronin looked like that?

The cat ears, the tail, the scandalously short maid dress—it was criminal how good he looked. The lace edging flirted with his thighs every time he moved, and the fake blood on his apron wasn’t helping your sanity. And the knife? Oh, the knife. He spun it like a promise, the gleam catching the light as if it were taunting you.

You sucked in a breath, gripping the counter for dear life, because if you didn’t hold onto something, you were going to lose it.

Meanwhile, Ronin? Completely unbothered—in fact, he seemed to be having the time of his life. He strolled through the café like a devil on holiday, sending playful winks and lazy smirks to anyone brave (or stupid) enough to stare too long.

And, oh—they were staring.

Your staff? Losing it. You caught two maids whispering frantically behind a menu, eyes wide as they tracked his every move. A butler actually dropped a tray, the clatter nearly drowned out by the murmurs rippling through the café.

The customers? Even worse.

“I didn’t know this was a thing,” one girl gasped, clutching her friend’s arm. “I’d pay extra if he threatened me,” her friend muttered, practically drooling.

Your jaw clenched. Oh, hell no.

You tried—really—to be professional, plastering on a smile as you took an order from a table. But your focus kept slipping. Your eyes? Betraying you. Every time you glanced up, he was there—a walking distraction with legs far too long and a smirk far too dangerous.

And he knew it.

You caught him watching you—his golden eyes sharp, hungry, and just a little too pleased with himself. When your eyes met, he tilted his head, the black cat ears twitching with the motion.

The knife twirled in his fingers. Slow. Deliberate.

A tease—just for you.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” His voice slid across the café, smooth and dark, cutting through the buzz of conversation like silk over a blade.

Your stomach flipped. You scrambled for composure, tossing him a glare. “Stop that.”

His grin only widened. “Stop what? Bein’ cute?” He took a step closer—too close—until the counter was the only thing between you. He leaned in, the scent of leather and something dangerous curling around you. “Can’t help it. It’s natural.”

You huffed, face burning. “You’re gonna give someone a heart attack.”

He chuckled low in his throat, dragging the blunt edge of the knife along his lip in a way that should’ve been illegal. “Long as it’s not yours, we’re fine, sugar.”

You were not surviving this day.

Especially when you noticed the way everyone else was looking at him. Customers whispering, staff swooning—hell, you spotted a person blatantly checking him out,

Your eye twitched.

Mine.

The thought flared up so fast it startled you—but, God, you weren’t wrong.

And Ronin? He must’ve caught the flash of jealousy in your eyes because the next thing you knew, he was sliding closer—too close—the tip of the knife brushing against your wrist where you clutched the counter.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His voice dipped lower—private, rough around the edges. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’ll think you’re jealous.”

Your heart pounded. “I am not jealous.”

“Mm.” He didn’t believe you for a second. “Coulda fooled me. Don’t worry, darlin’. No one else gets me like you do."

Asshole.

And when you didn’t answer, too busy trying not to combust, he reached up—bopped your nose—and laughed.

“You’re cute when you pout.”

You slammed your hands on the counter—loud—loud enough to cut through the chatter and grab everyone’s attention.

“The café is closed due to… due to a food shortage!” You snapped, a little too fast, a little too sharp.

A blatant lie—there were plenty of pastries in the back, and you knew it. But if you had to watch one more person drool over Ronin in that damn maid outfit, you were going to start flipping tables.

The crowd groaned in disappointment but no one moved—because, of course, they didn’t. Not when Ronin stood there like a walking sin, twirling his knife with that easy, flirtatious grace.

One girl, practically vibrating, tilted her head with wide eyes. “But… can we stay if we’re just… watching?”

Watching?!

You nearly choked. What the hell—was he a café attraction now? A sideshow? What, were people going to start tipping him for existing?

Meanwhile, Ronin? That bastard was eating it up.

“Aw, sugar, you closin’ up so soon?” He purred, leaning against the counter, his black cat tail curling playfully behind him. His gaze flicked over you—slow, heavy, dangerous—and he grinned like he was born to be a problem. “Guess I’ll have to entertain ‘em while you’re bein’ stingy.”

Oh, hell no.

And as if the universe hadn’t tortured you enough, someone from the back whistled—a low, appreciative sound—and you caught at least three people whispering about how “mysterious and hot” he was.

You snapped.

“Out.” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp enough to make the nearest table flinch. “We are closed—I don’t care if God himself walks in here; you’re all leaving.”

A mix of grumbling and disappointment filled the room as the customers reluctantly shuffled toward the exit, throwing longing glances at Ronin as they went. One particularly bold person actually slipped a phone number onto the counter—for Ronin.

The audacity.

You snatched the paper before he could see it and crumpled it into your fist. No way in hell. Not on your watch.

Finally, the door closed behind the last customer, the bell jingling softly in the silence.

You exhaled hard, pressing a hand to your chest to keep your jealous heart from exploding. Peace. At last.

…Until you realized Ronin was still there, watching you with the smuggest look you’d ever seen. His golden eyes glittered with pure, unfiltered amusement—like he knew exactly what game you were playing.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” he drawled, pushing off the counter to prowl closer, the hem of the maid skirt dangerously high with each step. “Seemed a little… possessive."

“I’m not,” you lied—poorly. Your voice cracked on the last word.

He tilted his head, the black cat ears twitching like he was enjoying every second of your unraveling. “Really? ‘Cause it kinda felt like you wanted to throw hands back there.”

“I’m not jealous!” You blurted, too loud—too defensive.

“Mm-hm.” He stopped right in front of you, towering over you in those ridiculous cat ears and lace. The fake blood on his apron only made him look more dangerous, more irresistible. “Y’know, darlin’, if you wanted my attention that bad…” He lowered his voice, rough and teasing. “…you just had to ask.”

You narrowed your eyes, heat flooding your face. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Only ‘cause I am.” His grin turned wicked. “C’mon, admit it—you liked it. Me in this little thing?” He gave the hem of the maid skirt a taunting tug, showing a sinful hint of thigh. “Drives you crazy, huh?”

“You drive me crazy,” you snapped, but your gaze dipped—traitorously—to his legs. “And put your knife down before you stab someone.”

His chuckle was low and dangerous, vibrating straight through your bones. “Careful, darlin’. If I didn’t know better…” He leaned in, lips hovering by your ear, breath warm against your skin. “…I’d think you were jealous of everyone checkin’ me out.”

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding. “I’m not jealous,” you muttered, glaring at his smirk. “I just… I didn’t like it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t like what?”

“Them.” You huffed, pushing at his chest—bad idea—because the second your fingers touched the soft lace of the dress, he caught your wrist. “I didn’t like them looking at you.”

For a beat, he didn’t move—just stared at you, his expression shifting into something slower, heavier. And when he spoke next, his voice was different—still teasing, but laced with something else beneath the surface.

“Aw, sugar…” He lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across your knuckles. “You don’t gotta be jealous. They can look all they want, but…” His smile softened—just a little—and his black eyes locked with yours. “…I’m yours.”

You screamed—a full, undignified scream—so loud it echoed through the empty café. Your legs buckled beneath you from the sheer force of your overheated brain trying to process what had just happened.

And, of course, because the universe was cruel, you nearly ate the floor—until Ronin caught you.

With one hand.

On your waist.

And, oh God, the maid outfit—you could feel the lace brushing against your skin as he held you steady. His grip was firm, possessive, like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“You good there, darlin’?” His voice was warm—too warm—smug as hell, but there was something else underneath it. Something sincere, something dangerous.

You opened your mouth—probably to yell again—but your words died in your throat because suddenly, he kissed you.

Soft at first—too soft—like he was testing if you’d push him away. But when you didn’t—when you clung to him like you’d lose your mind if he stopped—he deepened it. His free hand slid to the small of your back, tugging you flush against him, and you swear you could feel the flick of his damn cat tail brushing your leg.

When he pulled back, his lips were curved in a lazy, satisfied smile. “Told ya,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “I’m yours.”

Your brain? Mush. Gone. Obliterated.

The only thing you could do was stare at him—scandalized, flustered, and very much not okay.

And he knew it.

The next day?

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Your café? Blown up—not literally, but it might as well have been. Thanks to Angel’s post, it had gone viral overnight. The hashtag #SinfulCafe was trending, and you had a line stretching around the block before you even opened.

And the worst part?

The photo posted—the one everyone was losing their minds over—wasn’t even of her.

It was of him.

Ronin, in the bloody maid outfit, mid-stride with that devil-may-care smirk, twirling his knife like he was about to cut someone’s heart out—and everyone wanted a piece.

Customers wouldn’t stop asking about the “maid guy”—some even left love letters at the counter, like he was some kind of celebrity crush. And Ronin? That bastard was loving every second of it. Happy news is The photos people posted was so blurry when it had his face.

No one sees your man.

At one point, he leaned against the counter, watching you scramble around with the sweetest, most infuriating grin on his face.

“Y’know,” he drawled, spinning a fake blood-covered spoon between his fingers, “if I knew wearin’ a little lace would get you this riled up, I’d’ve done it sooner.”

You threw a dish towel at his head. He caught it without looking—because of course, he did.

When you finally had a moment to breathe, you flopped onto a chair in the break room and opened your phone.

The server was on fire—everyone was still buzzing about the café, Angel’s post, and him.

You typed out a quick message:

YOU: @angelicc I owe you one. Seriously. Thanks for saving my ass.

A second later, Angel replied:

ANGELICC: lmao anytime, babe 💋 but let’s be real—u should be thanking me for putting u two in the same room long enough to FINALLY KISS.

Your face burned.

LUCA: wait wait WAIT??? U TWO KISSED???

FELICITE: They WHAT.

You: Aren't we already in a relationship?

You groaned, slamming your forehead against the table while your notifications exploded.

Goreboy: They act like everything is a horror.

Of course, it was him.

Every single photo—every—one of that viral post had his face conveniently blurred or cropped just enough to keep his identity a mystery. Fans online were already obsessing over the “Sinful Butcher Maid,” speculating who he was, but no one had a clear shot.

And you? You were suspicious.

So, naturally, you DM’d him.

YOU: okay, be honest. is this YOUR doing??

It took him exactly thirty seconds to respond—because, of course, he was waiting.

Goreboy: obviously.

You rolled your eyes. Of course.

YOU: why tho?? u love attention. don’t lie.

Goreboy: babe, I know I’m hot. but I also know when to keep my shit private.

Goreboy: plus, you know how messy it’d get if people started recognizing me? one glimpse of this face and your lil’ café turns into a damn crime scene.

You snorted. Dramatic as always.

YOU: sooooo, u admit you’re obsessed with me enough to hide your face for my sake?

Goreboy: tsk. don’t push it, darlin’. I’m already doin’ charity work lookin’ this good in cat ears.

YOU: HA. YOU agreed to the dare, don’t even play.

Goreboy: yeah, well. someone had to save your ass, and it sure wasn’t your tragic lil’ butlers.

You couldn’t help the stupid, giddy smile pulling at your lips. For all his teasing, he was right—if Ronin hadn’t shown up (in that outfit, no less), you might’ve lost your café. And now? Business was booming.

But, still.

YOU: soooooo... u gonna wear it again?

Goreboy: you wanna see me in it again?

Your face burned.

YOU: shut up.

Goreboy: nah. you’re cute when you’re jealous.

The worst part? He was right, and he damn well knew it.

[churino]

Design for Astoria Carlton-Ritz and powerglide

She's our leading lady for the autobot's human allies. He's a niche extranet micro celebrity

After the death of her father Astoria is the CEO of the to the hybrid technologies company. She's spent most of her life in physical comfort, but emotional distress, being very lonely, she wonders if she can find someone that actually likes her, let alone love her

Astoria desires above all to be free from this corporate world she's been tossed into after her father's death and when she meets the autobots she quickly falls in love, first in a sense of admiration but later romantically, and uses her vast resources to help them in secret

But that leads her to question where those resources are coming from

With Nightbird's disaperance her proprietors grew desparate to find her, turning to the aid of any rich folk that would hear them out, they all refused out of knowing the greater purpose of nightbird's creation or having something to grain from the company's downfall, except for hybrid technologies, led by an absent minded woman that didnt even want to be there, she allowed them to use her company's satellites to search the world without really reading the contract, just wanting to end a day of work without more hassle.

When nightbird found out about the satellites, she blew the things out of the sky, which alerted autobots in space to investigate the earth once more, many years after the disappearance of the first expedition to the planet.

After the destruction of hybrid technologies' satellite, nightbird's forces targeted their owners next, tearing down their leadership quite literally, luckily due to runamuck and runabout's incompetence their attack only left humans injured rather than dead, (but of course leadership in such places tends to be quite old so we'll have to see how it goes down in the hospital)

Except for astoria who came out unscathed, rescued by the autobot powerglide as he literally descended from the sky, they remained in hiding till powerglide discovered the wereabouts of the apex bomber and joined up optimus' team, being assigned to join the trottlebots in scouting out the earth, and take astoria with him so she can be on the run and outside of nightbird or the decepticon's reach

Born gifted with the incredible ability to fly, throughout his early life, powerglide was incredibly popular and looked up to, which resulted in him becoming an immature show off. He loves adventure and freedom but is actually really fond of people with sheltered upbringings because they get impressed easily, since he likes making people happy with his stunts. But he never questioned where the power to do these stunts came from,

Having heard of the lost rescue mission to earth led by optimus prime, he was hovering around the planet to record his exploits to his followers when a satellite behind him exploded and took his screen with it, enticing him to go down to earth and explore, taking on the shape of a passing plane, he witnessed the vehicon's attack on a human building and being raised an autobot he came down to rescue the humans in denger where he met Astoria.

Eventually meeting up with the autobots on earth he was tasked with protecting Astoria as she was put in a journey around the world with the trottlebots to keep her out of enemy hands, their relationship eventually turning romantic during this mission.

As he was exposed to more walks of life during this task, powerglide began to wonder where his power came from, the awnser turning out to be, he wasn't actually a transformer, rather the menber of another race of machines, powerglide was a go bot, and, wanting to learn more about his heritage, he left earth for a time, discovering the plight of his people, and powers he never knew he had, by the time he returned to earth he had grown into a more complete person, ready to take the next step with his relationship, as the autobots simultaneously rallied to free the enslaved, with him and Astoria becoming symbols for the worlds coming together, personally financing the creation of the EDC (earth defense command) a joint organization of transformers and humans, working to foster unity between earth and the greater universe

In the time powerglide was away, the trottlebots began unearthing more of earth's secrets, discovering the transformers had been on earth even before the autobots ever stepped foot on planet, and had remained hidden not out of their own choice but out of a conspiracy to keep them hidden that had it's web around every major human group in history, including astoria's own company hybrid technologies, humanity's misterious benefactors, the six clan had ensured the rise of certain peoples and companies by granting them cybertronian technology harvested from transformers that stepped out of line and interacted with humanity, in exchange for supplying the six clan and aiding in their mission to keep the transformers a secret,

upon learning the truth of where her money came from, astoria decided to take matters into her own hands. Meaphotically of course, the autobots still act as muscle(cars)

To take down the conspiracy leaders and their operations, learning in the process that even outside the conspiracy, companies and big money constantly engage with exploitation, realizing her quest to "take down the bad guy at the center of all this" was a little childish and wouldn't magically fix things only after sundac and lord zarak had seen "the light" in their own very diferent ways (lord zarak died)

She took back control of her company and restructured it to be more humane, even though she knows exploitation is a societal issue and neither her or her company can solve it alone regardless of how many changes they personally undergo, she knows she can change the world for the better with the power she does have and that it's her duty as someone from a gifted background to do so. In her old age she's become a pillar for the community of transformers on the earth, hybrid offering housing and jobs for maximals and predacons alike and funding the EDC

[literaryvein-reblogs]

121 Words & Phrases for Dying

A remarkable creativity surrounds the vocabulary of death. The words and expressions range from the solemn and dignified to the jocular and mischievous.

Old English

swelt/forswelt ⚜ give up the ghost ⚜ dead ⚜ i-wite

wend ⚜ forworth ⚜ go out of this world ⚜ quele ⚜ starve

c.1135 — 1600s

die (c.1135) ⚜ fare (c.1175) ⚜ end; let; shed (one’s own) blood (c.1200)

yield (up) the ghost (c.1290) ⚜ take the way of death (1297)

die up; fall; fine; leave; spill; tine (c.1300)

leese one’s life-days (c.1325) ⚜ part (c.1330)

flit (c.1340) ⚜ trance; pass (1340) ⚜ determine (c.1374)

disperish (c.1382) ⚜ be gathered to one’s fathers (1382)

miscarry (c.1387) ⚜ go; shut (1390)

expire; flee; pass away; seek out of life; sye; trespass (c.1400)

decease (1439) ⚜ ungo (c.1450) ⚜ have the death (1488)

vade (1495) ⚜ depart (1501) ⚜ pay one’s debt to nature (c.1513)

galp (1529) ⚜ go west (c.1532) ⚜ pick over the perch (1532)

die the death (1535) change one’s life; jet (1546)

play tapple up tail (1573) ⚜ inlaik (1575) ⚜ finish (1578) ⚜ relent (1587)

unbreathe (1589) ⚜ transpass (1592) ⚜ lose one’s breath (1596)

go off (1605) ⚜ make a die (of it) (1611) ⚜ fail (1613)

go home (1618) ⚜ drop (1654) ⚜ knock off (c.1657) ⚜ ghost (1666)

go over to the majority (1687) ⚜ march off (1693)

bite the ground/sand/dust; die off; pike (1697)

1700s — 1960s

pass to one’s reward (1703) ⚜ sink; vent (1718) ⚜ demise (1727)

slip one’s cable (1751) ⚜ turf (1763) ⚜ move off (1764)

kick the bucket (1785) pass on (1805) exit (1806)

launch into eternity (1812) ⚜ go to glory (1814) ⚜ sough (1816)

hand in one’s accounts (1817) ⚜ croak (1819)

slip one’s breath (1819) ⚜ stiffen (1820) ⚜ buy it (1825)

drop short (1826) ⚜ fall a sacrifice to (1839)

go off the hooks (1840) ⚜ succumb (1849) ⚜ step out (1851)

walk (forth) (1858) ⚜ snuff out (1864) ⚜ go/be up the flume (1865)

pass out (c.1867) ⚜ cash in one’s checks (1869) ⚜ peg out (1870)

go bung (1882) ⚜ get one’s call (1884) ⚜ perch (1886) ⚜ off it (1890)

knock over (1892) ⚜ pass in (1904) ⚜ the silver cord is loosed (1911)

pip (out) (1913) ⚜ cop it (1915) ⚜ stop one (1916) ⚜ conk (out) (1918)

cross over (1920) ⚜ kick off (1921) ⚜ shuffle off (1922)

pack up (1925) ⚜ step off (1926) ⚜ take the ferry (1928)

meet one’s Maker (1933) ⚜ kiss off (1945)

have had it (1952) ⚜ crease it (1959) ⚜ zonk (1968)

The list displays a remarkable inventiveness, as people struggle to find fresh forms of expression.

The language of death is inevitably euphemistic, but few of the verbs or idioms shown here are elaborate or opaque.

In fact the history of verbs for dying displays a remarkable simplicity: 86 of the 121 entries (over 70%) consist of only one syllable, and monosyllables figure largely in the multi-word entries (such as pay one’s debt to nature).

Only 16 verbs are disyllabic, and only 3 are trisyllabic (determine, disperish, miscarry), loanwords from French, and along with expire, trespass, and decease showing the arrival of a more scholarly vocabulary in the 14th and 15th centuries.

Even the euphemisms of later centuries have a markedly monosyllabic character.

Some constructions evidently have permanent appeal because of their succinct and enigmatic character, such as the popularity of ‘____ it’ (whatever the ‘it’ is): snuff it, peg it, buy it, cop it, off it, crease it, have had it.

It’s possible to see changes in fashion, such as the vogue for colloquial usages in "off" in the middle of the 18th century (move off, pop off, pack off, hop off ).

And styles change: we no longer feel that "pass out" would be appropriate on a tombstone. But some things don’t change. Pass away has been with us since the 14th century. And, in a usage that dates back to the 12th, we still do say that people, simply, died.

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Notes & References ⚜ Historical Thesaurus

[bluemirrorangel]

dead poets' society modern(ish) headcanons

Most of these are school related because I'm going back to college next week. (most of these are things my friends or I have done.)

Todd:

 has definitely written fanfiction for his creative writing assignments in English.

definitely has a semi-popular poetry account on TikTok/tumblr

Enters his poetry/writing into competitions and stuff when he gets a little bit more confident 

Loved by the dinner ladies

Eats the most heinous food combinations like beacon and fish finger sandwiches, just the most questionable foods. 

Neil:

Has  walked into the set during a show because he  had to perform without his glasses.

His drama teacher's favourite student.

Most popular boy in the class

On the school newspaper 

Kissed Todd for the first time during the intermission of one of his plays and was so flustered after he almost missed his cue.

Charlie:

Banned from the library 

Ran against Cameron for school council/class president (they tied.)  

Him and Cameron actively hate each other but outright refuse to be separated from each other.

Has been kicked out of Assembly multiple times.

Music is his best subject

Banned from giving people dares in truth or dare

Cameron

Debate team captain

On the track team

The kid teachers sit bad students next to, in hopes they behave.

He was sat next to Charlie in every lesson in year nine  for that exact reason.

This quickly changed when Charlie started to influence Cameron instead of the other way round.

Goes to homework club.

Meeks

Almost flooded his bathroom after trying to see if he could  use oil to plug his sink.

Can’t swim but can hold his breath underwater for 2 minutes 

Hates sand

Taught himself and Pitts morse code.

Gets really competitive during kahoot

Loves halloween, plans his and Pitts duo costumes months in advance.

Pitts 

Freakishly good at table tennis

Can solve a rubix cube in under a minute

Top set for science 

Double jointed

Always being asked to help teachers get things because he's the  tallest in his year.

Terrible at Geography, like could not locate Canada on a map to save his life.

Knox 

Broke his arm doing a cartwheel for a dare.

Can’t tell the difference between admiration and romantic interest for the life of him 

Fully had a crush on Charlie in year ten but just thought he REALLY wanted to be his friend.

Plays football

He tried out   for rugby to impress Chris, it did NOT go well.

Gets detention for riding his bike to school without a helmet.

leave a ship or fandom suggestions and I’ll do headcanons for them if you want :)