#bringing back if anyone else has some too

[spurbleu]

smoke break.

a short fic about smoking that got away from me. all of them want you, so 141 x reader.

it’s like clockwork.

it’s 9:43 PM, with an early autumn breeze that still smells like summer breaking through poorly sealed windows. the sky is blooming in violets. there is barely anyone left in the office. it’s silent.

and then four pairs of heavy footsteps break it.

its always the same order, too. johnny’s first, hands in his pockets. his shoulders shrug as he braces for the cold. kyle follows. he always itches his knuckles before holding the door open for simon, who walks behind him silently. price, unsurprisingly, brings up the rear.

his hand always digs into his back left pocket before the door closes.

and you, every time for the past 2 months, have ignored them. but curiosity is a ceaseless, immortal creature, isn’t it?

it got the best of you, today.

it’s 9:41, you’re out for some air. stretching your legs on the balcony, that has a much less depressing view than your cubical. a city beginning to sleep. a sky that is bigger than feels right, even if it’s beautiful. keeps you company.

that, and your anticipation.

it bites when the door creaks open.

there’s a pause. you breathe three times, white clouds hissing from your teeth before you hear the first boot plant.

1 pair. 2, 3. a longer pause. two breathes. the 4th walks two short steps, before you hear the door close.

you finally turn. kyle speaks first.

“needed air?”

you nod. you’re at an awkward distance, that no one moves to close. all four of them stand a couple of paces away, like startled animals. “I needed a break.”

johnny nods. “aye, tats what we’re oot ‘ere for. seen us come’up- yeah?”

“no. didn’t know it was you’re spot.” you lie.

johnny smiles. he’s letting you. “mm, tat’s alright,” he glances over his shoulder to the men, who have not stopped looking at you, “we can share.”

you swallow as they turn away from you. you see price pull out a cigar, and kyle with a lighter. theres a click of steal on butane followed by the smell of expensive smoke. you turn around.

what else would it be? of course it was a smoke break. their 10 minute respite from cement sweat and checking their six. paperwork and chairs they don’t fit in. from you.

you’ve stepped on sacred ground. invaded territory. walked into their carefully crafted den to, for selfish reasons, figure them out.

the dynamic no one else can crack or join. a wall of force by interlocked arms. a brotherhood. a blood bond. a loyalty. in life, in death. in this brief moment, where they share a cigar and say nothing.

you’ve done the office equivalent to spitting on an altar. you should go. you need to g

“ever smoked?”

suddenly, you’re aware of how warm everything feels. how it smells like tobacco that belongs to luxury. how when you look forward, broad shoulders are in your periphery. you don’t move.

“s-sorry?”

its price, he’s next to you. “i asked if you’ve ever smoked, darl,” you look at him, with all your doubt and confusion and vulnerability, and he cracks a smile, “probably not, then.”

there’s pressure on your shoulder. you give in and turn around. simon stands in front of you, and between his fat, gloved fingers, is a cigar that looks above your pay grade. and your tolerance.

“open.”

“oh i-“ you shake your head, looking to any of them for a bit of leeway, “I don’t- I wouldn’t want to waste any-“

“price is offering, love,” says kyle, who is to your far left, “your chance to take it is now.”

initiation. welcome mat, made by smoke and grime and all the things that make them who they are. all the things you are not. at least, not now.

not without that cigar in your mouth.

you do as simon says and he places it to your lips.

“inhale.” he says.

you’re doing as your told until it itches. something in your throat burns. then your lungs. then it’s lingering in your chest until-

you’re coughing. you see grey cloud around your vision, and catch how white they’re teeth look when they smile.

strangely white, for smokers.

“good girl.” says price, “learning how to manage. takes a couple of times,” and his hand is on your chin, you aren’t coughing anymore but you’re certainly flushing, “but you’ll get there.”

“aye, we all got t’ere.” say johnny. he’s smiling too, next to simon, who is not. but he’s looking at you, and that feels more intimate.

“and we’ll help you get there, too,” price says, voice like his presence- warm in the way a fire burns, iron formed in its wake. it’s a middle ground between unsettling and comforting- a strange, dangerous place to be with your boss, “that right, boys?”

you didn’t even notice until now, but kyle’s hand rests on your lower back. it keeps traveling down.

they speak in unison.

“yessir.”

[tojisteddy]

Pervy roommate!Soap’s camera he’s been hiding in your room for months, but you found it few days before deployment.

cw: 18+ mdni, dark content (kinda), dubcon, soap being invasive and a lying slut but for you, masturbating, naive!reader feeding into his shenanigans, non con recording.

Truly, the smallest mistake for the ages can make everything his the fan, can’t it.

And Johnny’s not new to new concept, he’s a demolition expert for a reason. He just didn’t think he’d slip up this bad, right before he got deployed.

He was putting the camera back where it belonged, safely behind a couple of things on your dresser. Why was the camera there to begin with? He was looking out for you in a way. Making sure he saw every little thing you did, from changing out of yoru work clothes, the tips of your breasts to your plump ass, to the fucking hairs that were growing on your sexy pussy— to watching that movie you’ve been dying to watch, to the nights you cried yourself to sleep and then quickly walked the the other side of the flat to his room to cuddle.

Johnny has seen it all, it’s all on a top secret flash drive that’s between him and Satan. He was backing up he file to get every last glimpse of you— who else was he gonna rub one out to?

The idiot didn’t think it would lead to you finding the little piece of equipment , a pout on your lips, arms folded over your chest.

“Is this yours?”

There was a pause, not enough to get you really questioning, but enough for Soap to come up with an adequate list of lies to fill in the blank.

“I’d never lass. Wouldn’t hurt you like tha baby. Care about ye too much.”

The lie falls from his lips ever so beautifully, he could win an Emmy from this performance alone.

You let out a sigh of relief, but tears fall nonetheless, quickly running into his arms where he sat on the couch. He holds you tight in you in his arms, rocks you as your cry, “Why would someone do this?” and “Does someone have it out for me?”

Absolutely not, Johnny worships the floor you walk on. He recorded for safe keeping, right?

He coos, kissing your forehead, “Don’t worry Bon’, gonna find ou’ who did this t’ya and beat ‘em t’a pulp. It’s so many daft men in the world.”

He’d put the blame on that idiot you’d brought over one too many times. He got too close to his pretty dove anyway.

Let’s say a month passed with him gone and god, did the Scottish man miss you to pieces. He couldn’t get you off his mind, even more so because he stupidly forgot the flash drive at home. He almost cried about it, Ghost gave him a disgusted look, John ignored him and Gaz acting like he didn’t see him moping around and talked about other things.

The new camera, which was smaller, was properly on and installed. Your hadn’t noticed again but for some reason, you’d gone celibate.

You didn’t use your toys like you do sometimes, didn’t hump that pillow you had, didn’t even bring anyone over.

And then like a miracle from god, he hears the chime of his phone that’s changed specifically for when you text him.

“Bloody hell!” He curses at the sight, a video you’ve sent.

“You alright mate?” Gaz raises his eyebrow from the couch. Soap’s blue eyes are already erratic, snapping towards the man.

He gulps, “A-aye. Just got some things t’take care ‘f for ma roommate.” And with that he’s out of the common room and almost sprinting to his dorm. Quickly shutting and locking the door behind him.

Immediately playing the video you’d sent, the thumbnail that made his heart leap being you face down with you juicy ass up, hand on your sloppy cunt and rubbing your clit.

He clicks the video and groans just from seeing you run your hand through the mess you’ve created between your folds. Your fingers are already wet and sticky.

Your breath hitches when you touch your harden clit,

And then like a 5 part symphony, you breathlessly moan, “Johnny.”

He groans at the sound of you, all too tempting— this is exactly what men used to go to war for. Astonishingly beautiful people like you, rubbing there pretty little clits with both of their holes facing the camera and clenching like a little fucking slut.

You don’t know why you send that video to Johnny.

Maybe because you stupidly missed his mouth on your pussy till you were sore, climbing up the bed for mercy. Or when he left hickies all over you and finger fucked you till you passed out.

That Scottish fucker had trained your body to want him watching, breathing every inch of you in— it made you even more wet just thinking about it, you keened his name, circling your little bud faster, humping the air, shimming your ass back and forth.

“Wanna- anngh- Johnnyy.” You whimpered.

And Johnny his had as a brick right now, painfully so, mumbling curses of exactly what to do to you, how he’d help you cum. Because he knows even by the way you squeeze your eyes shut, the way you keep looking back with those big brown eyes, curls covering your face— it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

“Come on Bonnie, easy now.” He mumbles to yourself and it’s almost like you’re listening to him through the screen, slowing down, chest heaving, you turn around, shyly looking past the camera, heat rising under your cheeks— cute fucking girl— and then down at the mess you’ve made.

You lay down on the bed again, rubbing yourself, gentler now, tweaking at your hardened nipples, bucking your hips with ever circular motion of you fingers. “Tha’s it lass, doin so good.” Johnny says breathlessly, staring in awe of you. You bite your lips, trying to hide your moans and whimpers but they peak through. Bouncing off the wall of your pretty bedroom.

Your moans get higher pitched by the second, babbling your words and then it hits you— and Johnnys got thee most perfect view of your little hole clenching and unclenching, more juices flowing down your fingers.

The man lets out a sharp exhale, wallowing in your own euphoric state.

Soap doesn’t even realize hes cum himself, in his own pants.

Untouched.

His phone chimes again.

It’s you, another text.

‘please come home soon & safe Johnny („• ᴗ •„)🥺💓💓’

He’d swim across the fucking ocean if he could.

But he’s settling for now, texting back, ‘thanks dove, you’re the best in the whole world!!!! (ﾉ´ з `)ノ Be home soon!!!😘😘🕺🏻🕺🏻 (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡’

Cumming once is never enough though. The man will have to rub another maybe two out.

But definitely using both angles he’s obtained. Can’t let them go to waste, can he?

a/n: naive!reader can not help but unintentionally egg pervyroomate!soap on. They’re so cute and demure and Johnny is just a slut.

most recent masterlist

[meiguicha]

3.30 A.M

Phainon x Reader

While the rest of the world sleeps, you remain awake as you realise it's all too easy to love Phainon.

//i will be on the news if i dont get him that is a promise not a threat. no angst im kissing him on the forehead and holding him like a plush toy in my arms. also no proof read its phainon loving hours

It's quiet now. The revelry and chaos of the waking hours have long since died and yet here you are, far too awake and confused to even consider slumber as an option.

Looking off to the side, standing tall on your nightstand is a small vase carrying a bundle of flowers in its embrace. Light falls onto the soft powdery blue petals, revealing the veins of life beneath its gaze. Yet it isn't the flowers that has enthralled you so but rather the vessel that holds them. A note lays in your palm, neat handwriting scrawled across, the very source of your sleeplessness signing it off.

For the past months, you've been eyeing it at Theodoros' place and yet could never bring yourself to get it.

And perhaps you haven't been the most subtle about your longing for it, you're certain Theodoros had more than just noticed and has even started leaving it out for you to stare at like a soggy wet cat left out in the rain.

Yet still, the reason for this very vase being in your house is not one borne from your own action. Simply, you found it on your doorstep with this very note. Though some would exercise some caution in accepting random gifts off their doorstep, the moment you saw those flowers, you knew who it was from.

The pads of your fingers ghost over the note once more, trying, attempting to discern a deeper meaning from such an action.

'I noticed you kept looking back at this vase when we went out earlier this week, and you've been mentioning wanting to get some flowers for your room so I thought you would enjoy these!!

Don't worry, I checked the authenticity and it's a genuine artifact!! Looking forward to hanging out tomorrow <3

Phainon'

He even signed it off with his name, as if there's anyone else in the whole of Okhema who would even do this. As if there is anyone else in the whole of Amphoreus who would even think of ending a letter with a heart so casually.

Seriously, getting things for you like this, writing cute notes like this, it's almost like he wants you to fall in love with him—

It's weird. You don't understand what this feeling in your chest is.

Staring at the flowers, at the forget-me-nots, at the vase and the note, something in your ribs turns. Maybe it's always been there and maybe all this time, all it needed was a little push for you to realise.

How long you've felt like this, you don't know, you don't have to know. Merely the thought of that smile you have always loved, decorating his face in that boyish joy as he totes around the vase, hands so carefully placing such longing blooms into it, even a fool would be lovestruck.

Your head buzzes with static, instinct pulls at the tendons of your form; lets you reach for your teleslate and type out a message.

'Can I see you?'

A text bubble pops up immediately before disappearing, the three dots blink at you, almost taunting as it once more disappears. It's clear he's read it, but the teetering and tottering between response and absence is driving you crazy.

You spend who knows how long merely staring at the screen, bright light searing into your eyes watching the bubble pop in and out. Until eventually, it disappears altogether.

Tomorrow, all you can do is reassure yourself. Tomorrow, you'll figure it all out.

Turning off your teleslate, you're ready to resolve yourself for a restless slumber when there is a soft knock on your door. Hesitant, as if afraid, knuckles lingering on the wood before it comes again, just as cautious.

Your gaze shifts to the device by you once more, nothing. And for a moment, you almost wonder whether the knocking is but a delusion of your mind. Yet still, no matter your doubts, you make those tentative steps closer, closer, bring yourself to the door if only to cast away the doubt on your shoulders.

The sight that greets you, that welcomes you, is no one else but the very person in your thoughts. His hair is disheveled, face slightly flushed as he leans against the frame.

"Did you—" Dumbly, all you can do is ask, pretending that the dumbfounded look on your face is not at all there. "—did you run here?"

"You asked whether you could see me," He smiles, voice wavering ever so slightly.

To have come all the way here, in such short time, and what is clearly home wear, he seriously dropped everything just because you asked.

With a breathless quality to your already soft words, you just manage to shyly meet his gaze. "Thank you, for the vase. And the flowers."

Phainon's eyes, his gaze and regard are warm. When they bask over your form, a sensation perhaps only similar to that great star fills your very form and guides your veins. It makes you almost shy, nothing more than a teenager scribbling the initials of their crush and their own onto their homework.

"I love—" You have to catch yourself before your clumsy mouth spills what you can't handle. "I love them."

"That's great! I'm glad."

The corners of his eyes crinkle together, cheeks flushed ever more as he rubs the back of his neck. A small laugh even escapes his lips, and more than anything, you can't understand how seeing him like this can make your heart feel so full.

It is simple. So, so simple.

And as here he stands in front of you, real, whole, these emotions you have barely processed feel as though they are seeping out of your every orifice the more you dance around them.

As if sharing an illicit secret, quietly, you step closer, reach for his hand as you murmur, "Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?"

"Because— what you make me feel, how you make me feel, is not something I feel like I can ever explain." Squeezing his hand tighter, your eyes naturally meet his.

In this very moment, there is nothing else but you. Reflected in those sky-blue eyes, that which hold the greatest joy of them all, there truly is nothing but ardent and ever-devoted beholding.

"I don't know when you've become irreplaceble to me, whether as a friend or..."

Before you can finish your sentence, you're scooped into an embrace, arms wrapped tight around you as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against the tender skin, and yet so gentle that you can feel that organ in your ribs shudder. All you can do is return the gesture, to snake your arms around his form and feel his response through your chests.

""You don't know how happy I am to hear that from you," Radiant and hoarse all the same, Phainon's very words are sung into your skin.

A wet feeling tinges your nerves, and as he holds you tighter, until you can feel his heart knocking on the doors of your own, he whispers against you. "I was grateful I could be your friend but knowing that you feel the same..."

"Let me see you, please,"

He listens, and just as you suspected, tears dew at his lashes. Bringing a hand to cup his face, you meticulously wipe away his tears and even as his very breath splinters at the base, he lets you do so with no complaint or qualm.

Despite the tears, the joy on his very being is unmistakable, shining through everything.

And now, as Amphoreus sleeps, you smile knowing that it really is that easy. What's there to understand?

"Let's be happy together, Phainon."

[moldychefboyardeecan]

1- Bicker and Banter, Bisexuals

a/n: lol bisexual tension

wc: 1.19k

tags: @mewnewew, @hannahbarberra162

back to the chapter list

You are so fucking sick of Zoro and Sanji. Every damn moment they’re together—they're always. fucking. fighting.

Thing is–they just look like they're fighting. Anyone unlucky enough to share a room with them knows it’s not fighting—they would tell you they’re just flirting with a damn concussion risk.

One huffs, One growls- a damn mating ritual. At this point, something is bound to break, usually your patience– or a whiskey glass Zoro loses every so often.

“Here they fucking go again–” your last thoughts before coming back to reality to a very pissed off blonde, and his green-haired... counterpart.

“Mon dieu,” Sanji mutters, almost breathless with disdain. “You don’t slice onions, you butcher them. You absolute troglodyte.”

Zoro doesn’t even look up. “I did what you said. Julienne. Not my fault your directions suck.”

Sanji laughs, low and sharp. “Ça? That’s not a julienne, that’s a hate crime against vegetables.”

He stalks forward, stabbing his knife into the cutting board—pointing to the alleged vegetable massacre.. Zoro lifts his head to meet him, cocky and unbothered, like he’s been waiting for this. Of course he has.

Motherfuckers.

You cross your arms and lean against the counter with a sigh. You’re not stepping in. Not yet. Let them play chicken with their sexual repression first.

You don’t even flinch anymore. At this point, you’re just waiting on how many straws are left until they start kissing or throwing punches—or both. “Every time. I swear, every time I turn my back for ten minutes, they’re either trying to kill each other or eye-fuck through the rage.”

But, this is where it gets interesting, always does. 

Zoro’s voice drops when he’s smug.…Sanji’s hands start talking when his mouth can’t keep up. Zoro’s shoulders roll like he’s ready—for a fight, or something else entirely. The blonde’s accent thickens when he’s pissed. The kitchen suddenly becomes a wrestling match, a very homoerotic one–one that no one is brave enough to bet on. 

Though, being forced to referee between the two has never been part of your job description as the gunsmith of the Strawhat Pirates. Worst part?

You’re dating both of them.

Separately.

Secretly.

Individually.

And somehow—somehow—neither of these beautiful bisexual disasters realize they share a girlfriend; so damn wrapped up in their own sexual tensions to notice. Not that you care, anyway. You like having the two of them. Which is really unfair, because now it’s your job to referee these muscled idiots- not even idiots, fools. Beautiful, muscled, stubborn, bisexual fools.

You should be pissed. You really should. But it’s too hot to be mad.

“Boys-” You were abruptly cut off.

“T’es qu’un abruti insipide, un vrai bouffon sans palais!” “…Dunno what the hell you just said, but I know it was shitty.”

“Good. Let your one brain cell marinate on it.”

Pressing your middle and thumb against your temples, slowly massaging and circling them. Deep breaths, try again.

“Sanji, Zo-”

“--Espèce d’abruti fini, t’as le goût d’une soupe froide oubliée sur le feu. Cold soup, marimo! Cold..SOUP.” Sanji clapped his hands for emphasis on those last words.

“You wanna bet? Last time I checked, I’m the only one here who actually fights, not just flirts with disaster over some dumb skirts.

“Bring it, mossbrain. I’ll dance around your vulgar swings while still looking like a goddamn princ–”

“BOYS!”

Your voice cracks through the room like a goddamn cannon.

“Oh my fucking.. GOD. enough. I am sick of this shiiiiit ohmyfuckinggod–” A lot of swears in the room .”Just- shuthefuck up.”

Your seething annoyance must’ve been picked up by them because, suddenly, they stopped, and realized you were there. (it wasn’t. you were just so pissed you didn’t realize you yelled.)

Just like clockwork, both of them rambled and apologized to you, at the same time. 

“Merde, my love, I didn’t mean to—”

“Oi. You okay?”

Both approached you, one of their hands on one of your arms, Sanji on your left, rubbing your arm back and forth- Zoro on your right, simply there, grounding you with his touch. The intimate moment would’ve been better, if they were aware you were dating both of them.

But then, they both reach up to cradle your face–and that’s when they see each other.

Your head blocks their view,until they lean in just enough to lock eyes over your shoulder.

“Oi.” “What now, marimo? Can’t you see she's upse-” “That's my girlfriend, perv. back the fuck off.”

Fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuc-

“That’s rich marimo, there’s no possibility that my darling, gorgeous, precious Y/-”

Great. Who ever thought this would happen? “Stop, both of you.”

Their gazes of fucking murder pause and stare back at you.

“Yeah, you fucks. I dated both of you. At the same damn time.”

You jab a finger at Sanji. “You.”

Then Zoro. “And you.”

You exhale, seething.

“The whole goddamn time, you two were too busy measuring dicks with your eyeballs to notice.”

Both open their mouths to interject. 

You raise your hand, and surprisingly, that's all it took to shut them up. “Dont. fucking. say. a word.” 

Sanji tried opening his mouth, but at the moment you heard a single damn gasp from his mouth- “attututut. Shut it. no ‘I thoughts’ or a fucking ‘im sorry’,  or whatever territorial, testosterone infused excuse from either of you..”

Then–

It hit you. 

Grabbing both their arms, you drag them out of the kitchen.

“Mon Amo-”

“Oi!”

You’re fucking done. Don’t even look back.

“You guys wanna act like fucking animals? Go for it.”

Holy fuck you didnt even think you were strong enough for a crate of apples. How the fuck are you dragging two 5’10 men accross the Sunny? ‘Dunno. Ask Chopper later.

“Chérie, do we really have to-”

“-the hell are you doing?! I can walk-”

Fucking protesting the whole way there, you could see the steam run from both their ears.

“This is abuse-!”

“OH CAN IT!”

You make it to the chamber hallways, and point at the closet all the way at the end. Luckily, you remembered it was empty, since that was a place you used to hide away to suck either of their dic-

Letting them go, you watch as both rub their upper arms, and seeing your handprint. Definitely ask Chopper later.

“Closet. Now.”

Sanji blinks. “Pardon?”

“Both of you. In. The. Closet.”

Zoro crosses his arms. “The fuck for?”

“To work out whatever weird sexual grudge match you’ve been dragging around for months.” You’re already marching forward, throwing the door open like divine judgment. “You wanna fight? Fine. You wanna kiss? Also fine. But do one of them already, or I swear to god,I’ll make you guys do it myself.”

“...You wouldn’t,” Sanji says, but his voice cracks halfway.

You look him dead in the eye.

“Try me.”

Zoro grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking women and their goddamn closets.” You ignore him. Whatever.

You shove and watch them shuffle in. 

Moment of truth.

–CLICK.

Locked.

“OI–”

“MON DIEU.”

Leaning against the door, you hear them pushing and thudding to get comfortable.

“You’re not leaving until you two resolve that shit. Figure it out.”

[bewitched-hours]

Hihihihihihihi i'm back from crashing outtesayfiudshisfuufbl

Anyway i'm sorry if my friend had annoyed you, me too if i annoyed you (it wont happen again i promise)/srs/pos

Anyway i guess i only exist in ur blog to continew the fic ^q^ (The bluudud one tho i want to req for something else after its finish)

Anywas after a while the spectre got really REALLY annoyed and decided to give reader imnsomina to make her go crazy or sum shit since ofc the spectre is cruel and doesn't want anybody to have a happy ending like an asshole they are. Did that stop bluudud, absolutly NOT! He still finds a way to make her sleep and goodjob he's ofically has a crush on her ^o^

I'm burned out and hopefully there's a part 5 or 6 (if i have idea )

-Kikiki Anon

Dw Kikiki! It's honestly pretty hard to annoy me lol I have technically already started writing on this but I can luckily just cut and paste what I have into here so nothing's lost! (And a part 5 would definitely have to be requested lol)

Reader has once. more. again. She/Her-

"NO- I'm not doing that!" Bluudud protested.

You had been watching him play one of your favourite games and although he's grown to actually like it since it had a more complicated advancement system than he expected, he's still stubborn on some of your requests.

But you were huffy. Today was one of those days where you had trouble forming actual words because you were thrown into so many rounds the 'day' prior so today you just communicated with motions.

But what was Bluudud protesting against?

Well, you wanted him to take in a black cat he found in the caves after battling a boss. He didn't want to though because the added responsibility was annoying to him.

"[Reader], I swear-" He grumbled as you bumped your head against him in a stubborn motion. It wasn't rough or anything, just slightly harder than your usual(and affectionate) bumps. Your low growls told him you weren't budging but combined with the bump, it was more like a plea to just do it.

"Ugh, fine..." You finally heard him say before the game announced the cat had been rescued. You were so happy your tail thumped against the ground a couple times before you bumped him again with a satisfied purr coming from you.

You were like a cat yourself and it certainly didn't help that Bluudud started petting you in private whenever you won in an 'argument'. "You're lucky I enjoy the ego-boost..."

Although his words may sound clear, you knew he enjoyed your presence. You just didn't let anyone mention it or tease him about it because that usually ended with him completely ignoring you for Spectre knows how long until he gives into your charms again.

To be fair, it was pretty funny to watch you nearly bodyslam into the other killers like an unaware seal whenever they're about to bring up how you get special treatment from him.

But the Spectre wasn't exactly one to let the routine continue...

So, it decided to give you violent hallucinations to prevent you from sleeping or even leaving your room at night. And who was first to notice? Of course Bluudud.

The lack of sleep had you turn aggressive and a lot more irritable... It made you act almost like 1x... (Please don't come for me 1x simps)

Frankly, it annoyed everyone even more than if you had just been made to forget again.

It was bad enough that you'd attack and scream at the hallucinations which sometimes woke up the others but they didn't want to deal with you attacking them too so they usually waited it out and got used to the noise.

All but one...

"Alright, alright, stop!" His voice grabbed your attention immediately as you froze in place, body still shaking from the hallucinations attacking you.

But instead of saying anything else, Bluudud grabbed one of your front paws and dragged you onto your bed. You shortly took notice that the blood on your paws and on the bed didn't stain him...

It wasn't real...

But without so much as a second thought, he huffed and practically pushed your head against his chest. "There. If I don't react to it, it's not real, got it?" His tone was rather annoyed but you could still detect the softness in his voice that you were used to as you emitted a quiet purr and with your arms wrapped around him, you could finally sleep thanks to the sound of his heartbeat.

He was real... Because how could you hallucinate someone like him?

To the fortune of the other killers, this became a habit. You'd fight your hallucinations, Bluudud interrupts and forces you to sleep by showing you what is actually real.

And let's be honest, your purring helped him sleep too but you know not to let him know that-

But if the Spectre couldn't get you to be in a panic at night, might as well extend the hallucinations to the rounds!

They would plague you during these hunts, taunting you and making you even more aggressive than you already were as you'd rip the survivors to shreds and immediately run to Bluudud when the round was over.

He was safe. He told you what was or wasn't real and he let you feel more sane.

Did you have attachment issues? Probably.

But did he welcome your affection all the same? Abso-fucking-lutely.

It was a bit comical to watch him alternate between being affectionate in his grumpy ways and yelling that he wasn't getting soft... Even though he was.

"Seriously?! Him???" Pr3typriincess had dragged you off to another tea party for gossip but this time you had decided to tell her about your little crush on your little streamer.

You could only shrug, slightly embarrassed as you weren't sure what the problem was. "He gives me special treatment, what can I say?" You chuckled awkwardly, sipping your tea as you could only listen to her rant about what a mess you are if you think someone like Bluudud fits for you...

But it later turned out you made a mistake telling her as she and c00lkidd began planning to set you both up immediately.

First it was through simple stuff. Luring Bluudud to outings using you as a bargaining chip, pushing you to show some extra affection and whatnot...

It was surprisingly effective. Bluudud didn't question anything and just allowed you to basically start doing more couple things. He'd even admit that you two basically were one now but not to tell anyone else.

Though your expression did betray that promise when Pr3typriincess had asked about it...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe 2 really makes me feel like I'm watching a Thai version of The Traitors, and with only four episodes left, I'm losing my mind.

Tony - How many times has he died and brought himself back to life? How many times have any of them died, and he brought them back? I'm so much more scared of him this season.

Winner - Is that his actual name? I have never spelled some of these character's actual names. Either way, we already know he is a baddie. Next.

Willy - What if he is the only real baddie this season, and suspecting someone else from the team only feeds into Tony's plan to take them down?

Charlie - He couldn't possibly be the traitor. He is too busy screwing Babe and trying to save everyone. Next.

Babe - Even though the trailer showed Babe going to talk to Tony, he can't be a traitor. Why would he do all this to hurt himself? Unless . . . Babe didn't think it would get this far. But that is season six thinking, not season two. Unless . . . could Babe not know he is doing it? The announcement trailer showed him dreaming about Tony and following him so is that how Willy knew where Charlie is because Tony is connected to Babe somehow? No! NO!

Dean - Too easy. It can't be him because he was the traitor last season. Unless . . . that's what would make him the perfect traitor this season because none of us would expect a double from him.

Chris - Another one that is too easy. Unless . . . that's why he looks like Way (BECAUSE HE IS WAY?!), so we wouldn't think he would be the baddie, again.

Alan - The show better not hurt me like this! Ripping my heart out of my chest would be kinder than Alan being the traitor. But how did Willy know Charlie was at the lab? Which brings me back to Chris, but it can't be him. Unless . . . we blame everything on Chris so my man can be free of these allegations.

Pete - He was also in the lab, and he always knows where Charlie is and seems to comfortable sleeping with Chris because he knows Chris isn't the traitor (because he himself is the traitor), but it can't be him. He is good. In fact, he is too good. And he has those horns in his apartment, which connects him to Tony, but . . . nah. Unless . . . that's why Tony let Kenta go because he knew he'd go to Pete. No! No? NO! Damnit! eeeee, he's good. He's good. Final answer. He's, good, ish.

Kenta - Shut the fuck up. Never. Not ever. Next.

Kim - I'll fight anyone who thinks my baby boy is the traitor. In my Ken from KinnPorsche voice, "Are you fucking dumb, bro?!" GTFOH with that mess. Next!

Jeff - As much as I did not trust him in the first season, I cannot believe I trust him more than I trust Alan right now. This hurts me. It's not him, and it could never be him. But, God, please don't let it be Alan either because I WILL DIE!

North - Who suspects him? I know I don't! But maybe I should. I originally suspected him when the trailer was released, but I've been taking it too easy on him all season. Was he making new friends while Sonic was gone? And he got a spot racing once shit starting going down. Plus, he doesn't seemed too concerned with the everything exploding all of the time. I'm just joking! There is no way it could be him. Unless . . .

Sonic - It's not looking too good for him, but I will feel really bad if it isn't him because I have been dragging his name through the mud all season. But who else could it be? North? Chris? Dean? ALAN? BARBIE?!! If Sonic would just quit being so sus I wouldn't be going this hard for him, but . . . IT BETTER BE HIM because I cannot handle if it's Pete, Alan, or even North, but if it's not him, I'm sorry.

And it sure as fuck better not be Babe because I will be livid!

I feel sick!

[rasqberrypetalpostcards]

009.

bedroom shrines: the sacred clutter of a girlhood room an essay about soft altars, sentimental hoarding, and the quiet magic of surrounding yourself with things that understand you

there’s something holy about a girl’s bedroom. not in the pristine way, not in the magazine-layout sense. not in how clean it is or how coordinated the sheets are. no — the holiness is in the clutter. in the corners. in the shelves lined with trinkets that have no real value, but also can’t be thrown away. in the collage of the self that slowly builds over time — ticket stubs, dried flowers, notes scribbled on the backs of receipts.

it’s the mess that tells a story. the kind of sacred that lives in mismatched objects and overstuffed drawers. the kind of sacred that says: “i’ve lived here. i’ve felt things here.”

we call it clutter, but really it’s a shrine.

the altar of small things

girlhood teaches you to collect. not always on purpose. sometimes it’s just a habit — you save the birthday card because it was handwritten. you keep the broken bracelet because it was once important. you hold onto perfume bottles long after they’ve run out because the scent still lingers in your memory.

these things become relics. not because they’re useful, but because they meant something. because they held you, once, on a night when no one else did. because they remind you of who you were, or who you wanted to be.

and slowly, without trying, your room becomes an altar.

an altar to every version of you that has ever cried into a pillow. every version that played dress-up in the mirror. every version that made playlists and scrolled too long and dreamed too hard.

a room of one’s own, but softer

it’s not just about aesthetics. it’s not about what would look good on a pinterest board. it’s about how a space holds you — emotionally, physically, symbolically.

for many of us, our bedrooms were the only place we were allowed to exist without performing. they were our stage and our hiding place. we learned how to become ourselves in those four walls. we learned how to fall apart quietly, how to tape ourselves back together with polaroids and fairy lights and soft bedsheets.

we layered ourselves into the space. we left traces.

the scarf draped over the lamp. the nail polish bottles lined up like tiny soldiers. the poetry tacked onto the wall with washi tape. none of it random. all of it intentional, even if we didn’t know it at the time.

the sacred act of hoarding beauty

it’s okay if your room is full. full of things, full of feeling, full of yourself. there’s a narrative that tells us to clean, to minimize, to strip away. but some of us feel most at peace when we’re surrounded.

surrounded by memories. surrounded by pink. surrounded by the quiet chaos of a hundred different moods and phases and identities, all coexisting in the same space.

this isn’t disorganization. this is devotion.

you loved something enough to keep it. you felt something enough to preserve it. that’s not clutter. that’s ritual.

girlhood is spiritual practice

no one talks about how spiritual girlhood is. how intuitive. how rooted in the emotional.

we build our rooms like temples, each shelf a little offering. the nail polish bottle we haven’t touched in years. the dried-out lip balm from when we were sixteen. the books with highlighted passages we can’t bring ourselves to forget.

we write our favorite quotes on mirrors. we light candles with no occasion. we place crystals next to phone chargers. we tape photos to the wall like they’re prayers.

it’s not about superstition. it’s about sentiment. and that is holy, too.

what we choose to display

every object we leave out in the open is a story we want to tell — to ourselves, if not to anyone else.

that vintage postcard? it made you feel something. that beaded necklace? it reminded you of a summer you never quite got over. that plush keychain? it still makes you smile, even though you pretend you’re too old for it.

your room tells on you, but gently. lovingly. it shows your secrets, but only to those who are safe enough to notice.

and maybe you wouldn’t explain all of it, even if someone asked. because some things don’t need explaining. they just are.

the things that outlast people

sometimes, the only things that stay are the objects. people leave. they drift. they ghost.

but the photo strip stays. the dried roses stay. the folded love letter, tucked behind a candle, still stays.

and it’s not sad, exactly. it’s just real. it’s just the way girlhood teaches you to make meaning from what you’re left with. how to hold onto the good, even after it leaves. how to keep the memory soft by tucking it into the edges of your space.

you don’t need to get rid of it to move on. you can grieve and keep the ticket stub. both things can be true.

not performance — preservation

people think girls decorate their rooms to be seen. but sometimes it’s the opposite.

sometimes we decorate to remember.

to remember who we were at sixteen. to remember that night in july when we finally felt pretty. to remember the version of ourselves that loved the moon or boybands or deep blue nail polish.

a room isn’t just a backdrop. it’s a journal. it’s a love letter. it’s a time capsule.

and yes, it’s sacred.

the holiness of a messy dresser

you’re allowed to be attached. to objects, to memories, to the little things that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else.

you’re allowed to have a messy dresser because every item in the pile reminds you of something you don’t want to lose.

you’re allowed to tape your entire identity to the walls like a mosaic.

you’re allowed to keep your old journals in a shoebox under your bed because they are, in a way, your scriptures.

you’re allowed to build a shrine out of your room. because you’re not worshipping the stuff — you’re honoring the girl who chose it.

may your room always know you

whether you’re still in that same bedroom or you’ve moved a dozen times since, that instinct to create a space that mirrors your heart hasn’t left you.

maybe now the walls are bare, or the shelves are neater. but somewhere — in a drawer, in a purse, in a corner of your mind — there’s still a little shrine.

and it still knows you.

because you are still worthy of sacred space.

because you are still full of holy softness.

because everything you’ve ever loved still lives somewhere in the rooms you’ve made your own.

logged in fuzzy socks by, R.

[headcanon-everything]

Dunk Shuttlecock Headcanons

bc im a certified Himbo LoverTM and this mf game has me kicking my feet and giggling smh

The BEST hugs. Always. has a magic 6th sense for knowing the perfect amount of pressure you need and how long you need to be held

boy is WARM. not a furnace like some other characters, haha but is always toasty

that being said, if you put something cold on his skin when he doesn't expect it (a cold drink or cold fingers) he WILL shriek

Once Shelley gets some therapy, he actually really enjoys hanging out with her! it was always the toxic positivity that put him on edge, he appreciates that she loves working out and sports just for the love of it like him

if you're chronically ill/fatigued/disabled? SO on board to help modify things so you don't get excluded and knows when to take a rest

offers to set up some sort of wheelchair basketball session for Mac so they can join a friendly court sesh, but Mac politely refuses

is much more observant than he seems; you have to be so you can see the signs that your sports buddy is pushing themselves too hard

I see him having siblings tbh, I can't remember if it's canon or not tho

hasn't talked to them in a few years, with the whole fallout with his dad and everything. thinks they won't want to talk to him but misses them a lot

^they do they miss him terribly but he needs a push to reach out

avoids the rest of the house for the most part; he doesn't have the best relationship with the other objects in the workout room so it makes him a little nervous and hesitant to go and meet some of the others

once he does though? OH BOY he is pumped

him and the Hanks get into trouble together. often.

He just gets so wrapped up in their energy that he doesn't realize what he's doing until the wingsuit is strapped on

Hank #2 is just glad for another voice of reason and safety

helps Mateo with the inanimals a lot! after Davi is found and he hears that the tassle hound was in the closet, he keeps a better eye out for any inanimals to bring back home, just in case

he also just loves animals, especially dogs

loves playing with them and helping them get out their energy and Mateo is glad for the help

not a big coffee drinker bc he gets antsy and shakey, but loves going and talking to Kopi anyways!

he suggests she put some kind of protein drink on the menu, she says she'll think about it

she doesn't; that idea goes right in the trash LMFAO

is a casual affection type of person if you let him - he's super aware of boundaries (have to be as a trainer) but if you're cool with it, he's all for just casually having an arm around a friend's shoulder or leaning on someone

it's because he's touch-starved lowkey

it's not that he won't admit it, he doesn't even realize it tbh

keeps trying to goad Able or Koa to an arm wrestling contest, but neither of them are game

Dorian humours him. Once. Dorian Wins. but because it's the middle of the night, nobody believes him. Dorian is a smug little bastard about it

is always offering to help the others with things!! you need something moved? he's already picking it up!

Tried his best to help Holly slow down and breathe, but he's about as successful as the rest of them

another long list oops anyways I want to see more things on my himbos in this game, I love the Hanks as much as anyone else but WE HAVE SO MANY OTHERS GIVE ME MY OTHER ONES TOO

[taramimeme-blog-blog]

I Need to Talk About: Linhardt

Continuing after "I Need to Talk About: Lysithea" and "I Need to Talk About: Hapi", next up is Linhardt.

First of all, is it just me, or does anyone else have trouble spelling his name every single time they go to write it? I always have trouble remembering where that "d" goes.

At any rate, what's a Linhardt?

What is a Linhardt?

Linhardt is an absolutely precious boy. There is probably no one in the cast of 3H whose personality traits I identify with more.

He kinda just...does everything his way. They once tried to weigh his fucks-given-about-societal-mores, but they couldn't find a scale sensitive enough to show any readings.

Like, Linhardt is often seen by others as lazy, but I don't think he is, unless you use the corrupted definition of laziness that only recognizes human effort when it is directed at societally approved forms of labor that produce wealth.

Linhardt almost certainly works very hard; he just does it for the things he cares about and is interested in, rather than the things that everyone thinks he should be doing.

I've mentioned freedom-seeking a lot in the past two posts when comparing characters with each other. I think I'm drawn to stories about people who want to be free to do what they want. It's something I identify with strongly. Plus, one of the big themes in 3H is how society constrains people and sometimes grinds them down, and how people fight back against that.

Well here in Linhardt, we have the poster-child for freedom-seeking. He absolutely does not want to be told what to do. I doubt that there is anything he values more than his autonomy.

Similar to Hapi, he has a bit of a tired attitude towards all the people around him who want to constrain him. But in a way he's very much like Lysithea in how his solution to escaping the burdens of noble expectations is to run away from it.

Looking at some of these fucked-over-by-noble-society nobles:

I think of Edelgard as fire. She responds to the wrongs by trying to fight back and burn what would harm her.

Constance is earth. She stands strong in the face of it, insistent that she is still a noble at heart, and will soon be one again in actual fact.

Lysithea is water. She pulls away and tries to remove herself from what she dislikes.

So Linhardt must be wind! He can't even be pinned down in the first place! He doesn't even need to withdraw formally from the nobility. He just makes himself unable to be targeted by the burdens to begin with!

(Who knew? 3H is actually Avatar the Last Airbender!)

And avoidance is definitely Linhardt's go to trick. What's that? Others are talking about him behind his back and saying he's weird? Well, that would be a shame if it bothered him in the slightest, but why should he care about the words of others?

And Linhardt's lack of caring about such things is as much as anything a result of his rational mindset. He knows what is interesting to him, and what will bring him joy. And he knows what is uninteresting to him and can be safely cut off, like so many punch-holed edges of dot-matrix printer paper.

But one thing is for sure about his lack of interest in the strange expectations of other people: It's not that he doesn't care about people.

He shows a lot of empathy at times. He's not always super good at communicating it, since his perspective on life is bit off from the norm, but he clearly cares about people.

In general, he hates war, he hates blood; he doesn't want to see people in pain.

More specifically, he does things like comfort Bernadetta about her painting. He tries to help Dorothea not care about the nasty rumors people are spreading about her. And he tries to give Marianne confidence that her existence isn't a curse.

In each of these cases, we can also see why he's not immediately successful. With Bernadetta, he is a little too honest and blunt in his well-meaning suggestions. With Dorothea, his solution, "Just don't care!" is...not super helpful if the person hearing it is, you know, caring. And with Marianne, his analytical, rational approach to disproving her hypothesis that she brings bad luck to others is dry and clinical. (I use the word "hypothesis" because Linhardt would understand the technical difference between a "hypothesis" and a "theory"). His approach makes sense, although I can see why, for many people, it would not be comforting exactly.

One of Linhardt's traits that I most identify is his tendency to start to argue a position logically, but to give up and just "whatever" it away as soon as the conversation becomes just a bit too long. I think it ties back to his very strongly avoidant personality. He knows what's right. He's thought it through and come to a logical conclusion, and he's even willing to share that with you! But as soon as it becomes a pain to explain it all, it's not worth the effort. After all, he doesn't ultimately care that much what you think, so why spend a bunch of energy trying to change your mind?

But I also think this tendency of his ties in a lot to the tragedy of Linhardt.

When someone has spent their life finding that their way of thinking is out of sync with others, and that their way of communicating doesn't seem to work much of the time, it does become exhausting. It's discouraging. It becomes much easier to just give up then to even try.

I personally think that this has been Linhardt's experience in life. His rational and straightforward way of approaching problems--even emotional problems--is exactly the kind of approach that many people would find "robotic" or "cold". (Wait, Fódlan doesn't have robots. Maybe I should say "golemic"?) Therefore, his experience is that his words often do not work well, regardless of whether he's "right" or not.

I suspect that Linhardt has not really had friends growing up, aside from Caspar. There are also plenty of hints in the games that he has a strained relationship with his parents. At the very least, he is a huge disappointment to his father. Linhardt is the heir to his father's important position within the empire (Minister of the Interior), and Linhardt clearly has no interest in taking on those responsibilities. And this would be especially likely to cause a huge rift in their relationship seeing as Linhardt's father is clearly very politically ambitious, working both to take power from Emperor Ionius (Edelgard's father) along with other nobles, and then later undermining Duke Aegir (who led the noble uprising against the emperor) by working with Edelgard to help her rise up and take power.

And while Linhardt is probably more happy to be alone than most people, almost no person wants to be totally alone. I think Linhardt's life has been a lonely one, with him often being misunderstood and dismissed as "weird" and "lazy", and his attempts to help others being viewed as "cold" and "too logical".

But that's as good a segue as any to talk about who Linhardt can get along with!

(I'll be skipping Lysithea and Hapi since I already mentioned Linhardt in my respective posts about them.)

Caspar

So let's get the big one out of the way first. I don't know if I have much new to say about this one, but it's so interesting that I have to talk about it!

Kind of like Hapi and Constance, Linhardt and Caspar is another one of those pairings that is so baffling that you can't help but believe it.

Could these two have any less in common? Linhardt hates exercise and physical effort and likes intellectual pursuits. Caspar can count the number of thoughts he's had in his head in his life on one hand. And Caspar loves training, fighting, and getting stronger more than anything.

What the hell do these two even talk about when they hang out together?

Well, we get some hints of it in their supports in-game. We know they met as kids, and I can very much picture how it happened. Caspar is energetic and optimistic. I'm sure he was the one who initiated contact, probably introducing himself to Linhardt and then immediately dragging him off to play some stupid game that resulted in Caspar somehow getting hurt and/or breaking something.

And this was probably the pattern for their whole childhood.

But what does Caspar even see in Linhardt? Well, Caspar, again, is freed from the burdens of thinking, so Linhardt's "oddness" probably barely registers to him. He seems like the kind of person to just take it as, "Yeah, that's just how Linhardt is!" and not be bothered by his friend's strange ways of approaching life. And I also imagine that Caspar figured out early on that Linhardt was a good friend who could protect him by doing the thinking for both of them.

What's that, Caspar? You broke the door to your room while practicing your WWF (War-Monk Wrestling of Fódlan) moves? Again? Sigh! I'll think of an excuse to get you out of trouble.

Linhardt has probably gotten Caspar out of trouble (not to mention stopped him from doing something dumb) more times than even he can keep track of. Caspar has learned that he can rely on Linhardt, and that's why we see him take Linhardt's advice about how to fight seriously in their support conversation in Three Houses. Linhardt isn't a fighter himself, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's talking about. He knows how to fight (in theory).

And what does Linhardt get out of his relationship with Caspar? Aside from some headaches?

He gets someone who is loyal to him like a big (well, not that big), dumb, adorable dog. Caspar is never going to be judgmental towards Linhardt. Even if he doesn't understand why Linhardt thinks the way he does, or talks the way he does, or what all those big words he keeps using mean, he knows that Linhardt is on his side, and that's all that matters. For Linhardt, Caspar is someone he can just be with.

And all of this shows the funny way in which the two are actually very similar!

They both cut the fat from their lives. Both of them understand what they care about, and what they don't, and they are both perfectly willing to ignore the stuff that doesn't seem important to them. They get along because both of them know that the other one is there for them, and it doesn't really matter that they don't have much in common.

Goddess, they're adorable!

Aside from being great friends, there's a lot of romantic potential between these two. Who does the cooking once they're married? Oh, it's definitely Caspar most of the time. He makes huge, simple meals that are mostly just throwing as many things together as possible, and then he leaves the kitchen a mess afterwards. Once in a blue moon, Linhardt gets the energy to make something, and it is immaculately prepared, using unusual ingredients, and requiring hours of prep time. He makes it once because the recipe somehow caught his attention, but it's a lot of effort, so he never makes it again.

Byleth

So like with Hapi, I bring up Byleth with Linhardt because Linhardt is one of the characters where, even if we put aside the avatar worship, I can really see why he would like Byleth.

The most obvious factors? Byleth has a rare crest, is not overly talkative, and had a weird childhood and therefore is not judgmental (or even aware?) of others' oddities.

I don't personally get a lot of romantic vibes from these two, and besides, who would ever make the first move? But I think they would be good friends and fishing buddies.

This would be one of Linhardt's only relationships where he would be the bigger talker. He could spend time fishing with Byleth, and while they would be happy to be silent together, I could also see the silence giving Linhardt the space to info-dump whatever he's been learning about recently. Byleth may or may not follow everything, but they'll listen, and Linhardt's enthusiasm will be catching.

I think it's very special that Linhardt would finally get a chance to be the proactive one in a relationship! Good for him!

I also think that their relationship would change a lot from pre to post timeskip. Pre-timeskip, Linhardt sees Byleth as a mentor figure since they are literally his teacher. But post-timeskip, Byleth generally gets thrown into some role they weren't prepared for (well, ok, they weren't prepared for teaching either) and I think that Linhardt's broad and surprisingly deep base of knowledge on many subjects would make him a trusted advisor. Byleth would come to lean on Linhardt a lot as they navigate their way through leading a society they barely are familiar with. (Byleth's experience dealing with greater Fódlan society is--what?--a year in Garreg Mach? And then they were asleep for 5 years! And then they had a year of war, which is not normal. Like, is there any reason to believe that Byleth knows how anything is even supposed to work in government? Probably not.)

And I think this situation of Byleth relying on Linhardt would be good for Linhardt too. Aside from the confidence boost of someone actually taking him seriously, he might start to gain an appreciation for the complications of, and the necessities of, governing. Interestingly, Byleth more than anyone might bring Linhardt to a better understanding of his father by forcing him to grapple with issues of governance, the field his father was in, and that Linhardt wanted to avoid having foist upon him.

Constance

I really think these two should have interacted in Three Houses! There's a pattern in Linhardt's supports where he makes an absolute fucking bee-line for anyone with an unusual crest (Marianne, Hapi, Lysithea) and Constance is a glaring exception to that. (He does ask her about her crest in their Three Hopes supports, although I personally found those supports a little unsatisfying since the conversation didn't feel like it really went anywhere.)

But aside from Linhardt's definite interest in Constance's crest, as well as the magic her family has used for generations to hide the crest, these two would also just be excellent intellectual peers.

Like with Lysithea, Linhardt's lackadaisical attitude would grate on Constance (at least when she's in the shade), but she is results-driven, and Linhardt is smart enough and dedicated enough (to the things he wants to do) that she would quickly come to see the benefits of interacting with him.

And unlike with Lysithea, Constance would not be bothered by the messy state of Linhardt's study. How could she be? Hers is ten times worse!

Plus, these two are definitely both night-owls, and they are both the type to get obsessed with a topic and to chase after it until they literally collapse with exhaustion. If they end up working together, they are going to need someone like Hapi or Mercedes around to make sure they actually eat and drink water occasionally.

I also think Linhardt would be one of the most patient people with Constance's sunny-side. He is compassionate about people who are suffering, and I think along with Hapi, he is the most likely to calmly take Constance's arm and guide her back to the shade when she begins bemoaning her worthlessness.

Romantically, I think these two would be hilarious, but it might actually work. Think L'Arachel and Rennac, or Serra and Erk, except Linhardt is a bit more stubborn and won't go along with anything he really doesn't want to do. But I think he would value Constance's proactive nature, and would be willing to tag along since, letting Constance handle all the messy details of...well, everything...would free him to focus entirely on his interests. Even if Linhardt took over as the Count after his father, the real Count would be Constance. She wants to do that job, and Linhardt is happy to let her. (And for whatever it's worth, Linhardt's father would probably love Constance for this reason. Finally, he can rest easy knowing that his daughter-in-law will take care of things!)

I've made it sound a bit like a political marriage-of-convenience by describing it this way, but keep in mind, they do truly respect each other, and they share intellectual interests.

I mentioned before that Constance is the only character (I think) who we see explicitly researching uses for magic other than fighting and healing. I think this would be a huge bonding point for them. Linhardt hates war and fighting, and he definitely is the type to have varied, eclectic interests. I think he would be very interested in working with Constance to develop radical, new ways to use magic in everyday life. And he would be a good counterbalance to her. She provides the drive, and Linhardt is the voice of reason who is like, "Um, that's interesting that we can use magic to make people's hair shine in the dark, but wouldn't it be more useful to imbue it into a device so that it could be used in place of a torch?"

Linhardt would ensure that Constance's discoveries were actually useful to people.

Hilda

This is another one where I can't believe they didn't interact more in Three Houses. They were even in the DLC together! (I can see the two of them hanging out at night, but why was Ashe there too?)

These two can bond over wanting to be free from responsibility, definitely. That's the easy part to see. But I also think they would sympathize with each other over the pressures of familial obligations and expectations.

Their situations aren't exactly the same. Hilda's family (at least her brother) is totally supportive of her, and it seems unlikely that she'll have to take over her house even though she's the one with a crest and not her brother. But she still feels pressure precisely because she does have a crest, and she's the one who can wield the family weapon. She knows how hard her brother is working to make it so that she doesn't have to be the heir, and she feels guilty about it on some level.

In contrast, Linhardt is an only child, so it's a little more straightforward. He is supposed to be the heir to his house, but he is a disappointment to his father because he has no interest in taking over the odious position of Minister of the Interior.

But both of them want to be free. And both of them see the value in taking it easy and enjoying life.

For romance, well, I've said before that Linhardt rarely gives off many romantic vibes to me, and I also don't think he's quite Hilda's type. (She seems to mostly prefer muscular, athletic men, judging based on who her out-of-house romantic, male options are in-game.)

But these two would definitely be good friends! Hilda's doing all the talking for the most part, but Linhardt is happy to listen. He's also ok with it if Hilda experiments with hairstyling and nail painting designs on him while he's taking a nap. He can be her living practice mannequin.

That's right. Hilda + Linhardt = the most fabulous Linhardt you've ever seen. Maybe he can finally be allowed to class into Gremory too.

Shamir

I haven't mentioned non-students much up until now, but Linhardt's a good place to start. His quiet introspective nature means that I think he would often get along better with "the adults" than with his noisy, party-loving, teenage-and-early-twenties peers.

And my personal head-canon of Shamir as a sometimes-teacher at Garreg Mach is that, she's doing it because she has to. It's not really her thing, and her lectures are the ones most likely to have lots of "self-study" time built in. She also isn't bothering anyone about showing up late or falling asleep in class because, what does she care? It's your education. You do what you want with it!

So I could see Linhardt really liking Shamir as a teacher because he knows that when she's showing up, he can either catch up on sleep or use the self-study time to actually read about what he wants to. And Shamir likes Linhardt as a student because he demands none of her attention and is quiet.

(Maybe it sounds like I'm putting down Shamir as someone who's a lousy teacher and doesn't give a shit about the students, but I don't really mean it that way. She didn't sign up to teach. But Garreg Mach is an understaffed, poorly run shit-show that hires random mercenaries as professors because of nepotism, so I'm sure Shamir is being pushed into teaching sometimes to fill in the gaps. She puts in the minimal effort, and if any students are interested in something she knows a lot about, like bows, I bet she's pretty enthusiastic about teaching them. But man, she does not get paid enough to deal with petty student drama in a classroom. She has probably perfected the art of flicking pieces of chalk to hit over-bearing, noble students in the forehead when they start talking too much. Ferdinand leaves every Shamir lecture with white smudges on his face.)

After the war, I could see Shamir mentioning off-hand to Linhardt that she's heading back to Dagda, and he is just the type to take a sudden interest and be like, "Oh? Can I go with you?" It's a lot of trouble, of course, but he's never seen Dagda. There's so much to learn! And if he goes with Shamir, she'll take care of the nuisance details of transportation, etc.

They're good road-trip buddies. And whenever Linhardt returns to Fódlan, he'll be bringing back his own self-researched definitive guide to the birds and plants of Dagda, as well as the first ever Fódlanese-Dagdan dictionary.

Mercedes

Two absolutely gentle souls, neither of whom really wants anything to do with warfare, these two would get along so well.

Linhardt's long-running problem is people judging him for wanting to just be himself. Mercedes is absolutely the last person on earth to be critical and judgmental. And if they were a married couple, Linhardt would never try to tell Mercedes what to do with her life. If she wants to spend all her time working for the church, or taking care of orphans, whatever it is, Linhardt will be ok with it.

Mercedes would absolutely dote on Linhardt, and she would manage to gently guide him to do things to better take care of himself. She's the only person who could tell him what to do, because she wouldn't tell, she'd encourage.

"Lin, wouldn't it be fun to wake up and have tea together in the morning? Oh, but I suppose you might have trouble getting up that early..."

Linhardt sighs. He gets the hint. He goes to bed at a reasonable hour, even though he had been really excited to read that new book he'd just gotten his hands on. Somehow though, he doesn't mind when he sees Mercedes's smile when he gets into bed at 11:00 instead of 4:00 am.

Is it a little passive-aggressive? Yeah. But Mercedes has been beaten down enough by life that I think that's become her go-to method for expressing her desires. But maybe she could learn to say what she wants more clearly with Linhardt. He's gentle and non-judgmental, and he's the kind of person where she could learn to be more confident in expressing herself.

The two of them would definitely become pudgy as they got older. Neither one likes exercising, and Mercedes likes baking sweets.

Putting aside them as a married couple, I think they would be really good friends too. Like with many of Linhardt's relationships, I think that Mercedes would do most of the talking, but she's probably a very good listener, and Linhardt would be comfortable rambling about crest-research to her, even if she clearly doesn't follow along with everything.

I can also imagine Mercedes telling Linhardt about some issue she's seeing with the people she's helping out, and then, 3 months later, Linhardt shows up unannounced with a solution that he's been working on in his spare time.

"Oh, I had some extra time, so I put together a new spell that is even more effective at reducing fevers."

"Oh, I looked into what crops would grow best in the local soil and managed to procure some seeds. I predict crop yields in the region will triple by next year if the local farmers begin growing these."

"By the way, I found a long-forgotten incantation that is very effective at warding of demonic beasts. You can teach the local mages, and it should help keep everyone safe."

Thanks to Mercedes, Linhardt might also discover a love of children. I'm torn on whether he would like kids or not. On the one hand, they can be a little loud and chaotic, but on the other, kids are often less judgmental than adults, and are usually open to learning new things. Linhardt might find himself teaching the local orphans about whatever it is he's currently interested in every time he visits Mercedes.

Conclu--uh, what a bother!

Yup, I'm done. Linhardt's not going to demand I write anymore. I'll take a page from his book and take it easy!

[carpet-gremlin]

just finished chapter 4. screaming crying throwing up. what the hell

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Was thinking again about Montceratops earlier and how fucking Normal it would be for Roxy to have found another fucking missing animatronic by that point. Like okay cool. Another one. This one is how old??? Aight... okay then. That's a new record I think...

Roxy and Cassie's dad asking for help for Montceratops at this point is like "let me guess. Roxy found a new friend." and it's not even a question. They don't have any idea what the fuck she's found this time but they see Cassie's dad walk in like "hey so uh. You wanna maybe prep the cylinder?" for the very first time asking the other techs for help and they just fucking know Roxy's found some old fucked up lil guy in the god knows where lmao

They learned from the dinosaurs, the chicken, the duck, the Eclipse and the fucking herd of horses that Roxy wasn't gonna get in real trouble for any of this shit. At this point? Yeah they might as well-WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S A FUCKING DINOMONTY?! WHAT THE FUCK????

[into-the-milgramverse]

Fuuta crash out when

(don't mind the tags, i'm talking to fuuta)

[girl-bateman]

Some days I'm pretty content with my childhood other days I'm ripping my hair out because it just doesn't add up !! someone is hiding things from me !! I don't trust anyone !!

[inquirenorth]

.

[cummitted]

dilf!toji who just can’t resist his cute lil neighbor :(

two big, meaty hands grip your sides, blunt nails digging in hard enough to where you’re sure bruises are already forming and marring your soft skin. he slams you back onto all eight inches of his cock, and his pupils expand as your ass jiggles and you squeal, “toji!”

his name sounds so perfect on your glossy lips, like a damn hymn.

“this is what ya wanted, right?” toji doesn’t even bother with waiting for a response from you — he already knows the truth.

why else would you always tell him “good morning, mr. fushiguro!” with that bright, pretty smile and big, round eyes or offer to babysit megumi in those dangerous scraps of fabric you call shirts and skirts, matching lacy pink bra showing from your low-cut top and panties peeking out whenever you bend over to pick up a fallen pencil?

or, the boldest thing his pretty baby has done, fuck some loser so loud that toji could hear it through his bedroom wall? you wanted him to hear your moans, every cry — “mm, harder!” — and whine — “oh, fuck, right there!” —, every muttered praise that couldn’t have been for the peon you were with, but for him, for toji.

and toji hates to disappoint, especially someone as cute as you.

that’s precisely how you ended up where you are now, face down, ass up in his bed, drool dribbling from your open mouth and eyes nearly crossing as he splits you right on open with his monster cock.

your fingers desperately scrabble for purchase against his sheets, acrylic nails digging in as your hips uselessly try to squirm away.

you hadn’t expected your neighbor to be so cruel, either! he’d barely stretching you out before ramming that girthy length into you, leaving your poor hole fluttering and stinging in an attempt to adjust. not that it did much — he’s still much too big, his tip bullying your cervix with every thrust and making you feel impossibly full.

it’s soooo not fair, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. hell, you can barely think, much less speak.

even if you could, you wouldn’t tell him to. you’ve never felt this good while having sex in your life.

“ungh, mmngh, t-toji—”

a snap of his hips shuts you right up, and toji grins, that sexy scar in the corner of his mouth stretching with his lips. “yer gettin’ what you asked for, but now yer whinin’?” he tuts, and one hand abandons your hip to deliver a harsh smack to your ass. “greedy slut.”

and, no, he doesn’t miss the way you clench down.

“jus’ hold still and take this dick, yeah?”

as if you can do anything else.

each thrust is loud and sloppy and mean, your pussy crying out for more with every lewd squelch. it’s like he wants to plow you through the damn mattress, and god knows you’d let him.

you’d let him do anything.

which is why when he cums, you let him pump you full of his hot seed, every spurt making your overstimulated body convulse. toji doesn’t say anything, either, thinking you’re too out of it to question him.

y’know, megumi has been whining about not having anyone to play with. maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll give his baby boy a precious little sister <3

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Work Colleague

Male Yandere x Fem!Reader ||

Your colleague forms a new crush on you once you tell him you like his special coffee and now he won’t stop giving you more. He’ll give you everything

Yandere!Work Colleague tries to act normal but is way too shy to ask out his office crush. He’s seen them around the office, always looking so confident. But he can never get up the nerve to talk to them, ask them out. Even when working on a project with them, the most he’ll say is, “Here’s y-your tea— your coffee, I mean!” And hand it to them before scurrying off. Of course making sure to put his ‘special cream’ into the drink beforehand.

But only now as he heads back to the tray of drinks, his brows furrow, not seeing your drink in the tray. He swore he had just moved it a second ago. His face drops as he realizes there must’ve been a mix-up. He whirls around only to watch in horror as you drink the coffee with his personal ingredient in it.

He swears he’s not breathing as you take a few long gulps. He hopes to every God there is that you won’t notice anything off about it. Sweat dots at his brow as you place the coffee down and lick your lips in a way that curiously has his cock twitching.

“Hmm. This is better than usual, thanks,” you comment, so casually, as if you hadn’t just turned his entire world upside down.

Everything was different now, he saw everything in a new and shiny bright light. And all those lights always came back to you. His whole world now revolving around you. The way you talked to him so effortlessly, smiled at him, acknowledged him. He’d never experienced anything like it before. Not from his old office crush or anyone. You were… special.

Since that day he’s been chasing after you like a dog with a bone. Always offering to carry your stacks of paperwork from meetings to your desk. He makes sure to linger so that everyone in the office will gossip and wonder if you two are together. If he’s asked he’ll say yes, if only to live in the possibility that one day you will be.

He does everything he can for you during group assignments. Getting done work you might’ve not gotten too. You were tired and you needed your sleep. And he just so happened to glance at your computer as you were signing in one day. So signing in himself to get some work done for you was simply just a kind thing to do from one colleague to another. Of course he’d never do it for anyone else besides you. No matter how much his coworkers complained about all he does for you around the office.

Most of all though, he still always makes sure to bring you your morning coffee every day. The way your face lights up at the sight of him with the cup, your smiles and happiness just for him. No one else would dare, they know by now you’re basically his. Besides… no one else can make it like him. You’ve said so yourself.

He makes sure every morning to prepare his special ingredient with extra care. Images of you flashing across his mind as he slowly pumps his cock. Imagining how you’d look all pretty and split open on his length. How you’d call out his name and ask why he didn’t do this sooner. Squeezing his cock and pretending it’s you milking him for all your worth.

When he finally cums straight into your coffee he fantasizes it’s his thick ropes of cum shooting straight into your womb. A low raspy groan rips from his throat, his hips jerking as he just keeps coming to the thought of you. The coffee is nearly overflowing by the time he’s done.

He knows you’ll be grateful for the extra bit of drink, your lips pulled into a bright smile. He wonders how bright it would look wrapped around his length and he shudders as he hands it to you.

If he didn’t have to get to his desk, he’d watch you drink every last drop of it. Relishing in the fact that for now, at least, he’s inside of you in one way. Knowing soon he’ll be inside you in every way humanly possible.

But for now he’s content to simply bring you your coffee every morning and anything else you need handled. He’ll gladly take care of you in any way possible. Someday he’ll take care of you in every way. And nobody will be able to stop him.