#can’t think of any other incredibly mild teas

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

“you get the weirdest choice so you’d probably get taro milk” who’s gonna tell phil that taro is one of the most common, popular, safe, and classic teas to use for boba

anyway, drop your go to boba orders in the tags/replies.

my go to is jasmine green but i also get taro a lot. always happy with thai milk and oolong. and matcha.

and in a mango smoothie.

ok i like so many i’m the wrong person to ask (no one asked me) but tell me yours lmao

[charmquarkstrangequark]

George: The Best of Us

Can’t start this one off without acknowledging that George Cubbins and George Karim do have some differences, so I’ll be looking a bit at both of them. But I agree with Lucy’s characterization of George: he’s the best of them. Warning: mild book spoilers follow.

We don’t have a lot of background from George’s early life. We know he comes from a loving family and still visits them.  George Karim mentions having a granny in Sidcup and three older brothers who are all engineers. (This is a bit funny, because he talks about his family as “engineer, engineer, engineer, weirdo”, and if you’ve ever met an engineer, you realize that there really isn’t a difference among the 4 of them.) Anyway, we know from the books that George Cubbins has a mum who has given Lockwood at least one tea cozy (it’s used to cover Skull at one point) and by extension, likely other gifts as well. So, they’re obviously loving and supportive.

We know that George once worked for Fittes.  Little is made of George’s Talent, other than Lockwood mentioning that George has the Touch, but obviously he had enough of it to get a job at the premier psychical investigation agency in the country.  In fact, he only left Fittes after being fired for being too curious; Ms. Fittes must have realized that if anyone were going to uncover the truth about the Problem, it would be George. The oversight of George’s Talent is likely because it is overshadowed by his intelligence and research skills, which are formidable.

George has the ability to do a deep dive into the history of nearly any topic or place. He has an indefatigable willingness to visit churches, libraries, and any place necessary to uncover the details of a location’s history, thus cluing his teammates into possible sources. They'd really be blundering around in the dark without his guidance. Doing research itself is a skill; knowing how to cross reference topics, knowing all the different words and phrases possible for the same topic throughout the ages, catching the minute details that link people, places, and objects together. And it’s a skill George does better than any other character that either readers or viewers meet in the Lockwood & Co universe. George can make the inferential leaps that others are blind to, and he does it intuitively and quickly, leaving others behind in the dust. Take the theft of the bone glass at Kensal Green. Lockwood and Lucy have a little role play, talking through how the thief may have made their way into the chapel - then- crime scene.  They are able to build off each other’s ideas to come up with a hypothesis, and go off to check it…only to find George already there, having already come to this conclusion on his own. In fact, George is used to working on his own, something that will set him up to be hurt later.

George and Lockwood obviously have an incredibly deep friendship, one based on mutual respect and understanding.  Lockwood appreciates George. He understands that George doesn’t think about things and people the way others do, and has no desire to change George. He values George’s differences. George respects Lockwood, too.  He recognizes Lockwood’s reckless nature, the darkness within him, but he doesn’t challenge Lockwood on it. At one point he criticizes Lucy for not stopping Lockwood from going to the Hope house without the research having been completed (“You’re meant to stop him, Lucy”), but he’s guilty of the same thing the night they go wraith hunting while Lucy is recovering from her initial interaction with Skull.  He accuses Lockwood of not giving him time to properly do the research, but obviously, he went along with Lockwood anyway. Also, his trust in Lockwood is absolute. When bad press starts coming after the Hope house fire, Lockwood says, "I'll handle it" and George just says, "Ok". He doesn't ask how; he accepts at face value that if Lockwood says he'll handle it, he will.

Over time, George and Lucy grow close, as well. He truly appreciates their blossoming friendship ("She's really starting to get me"). His concern for her behavior in the bath is genuine. (side note: I have a hc that George's parents found him in the bath as a young child with his clothes on and told him, gently, that this was Not Normal, and that's why he says the same to Lucy, later.) Anyway, he sees the ache in her, the need for belonging that he also sees in his best friend. He recognizes that the two will complement each other, and becomes her unfailing advocate from that point forward.

George may not be touchy-feely, but he definitely believes in acts of service. He cooks, and maintains 35 Portland Row, he keeps the books and files because Lockwood doesn't have the patience to do so, and he manages much of the logistics of the Agency. Lockwood and Lucy rely on him to the point of advantage; they don't even comment on how much he does until they suddenly realize they haven't packed the chains, or re-ordered flares. He balances their impulsivity. He considers risk and consequences, protecting them from themselves.

A lot is made of what appears to be some neurodivergence in George, wonderfully acted by Ali Hadji-Heshmati.  He’s awkward with eye contact, and speaks his mind a little too freely.  He has little affect; Lucy can tell more about his mood by how he cleans his spectacles than by tone of voice or facial expression. He obviously is touch-sensitive: he prefers not wearing trousers, and when he does, they’re loose and baggy. Even his kit belt is different to the others; Lockwood and Lucy wear stiff leather kit belts, but George’s is a kind of mesh. (Combine that with psychic ability linked to Touch, and realize what a tough go of it George must have had growing up.) I really like that all of these aspects of George’s character are just that; they’re not highlighted, he’s not made into some kind of token neurodivergent character.  He’s just…George. His strengths and differences are appreciated as much as any other character’s.

The combination of George's research skill and different manner of thinking combine to make him susceptible to obsessive behaviors. He is, of every other character in the series, the only one who is actively trying to SOLVE the Problem. Everyone else is caught up in reacting to it. George sees the big picture, that the agencies are losing, giving ground to the seemingly unstoppable onslaught of Visitors. He realizes that the only way to stop the Problem is to find its source, to prevent more Visitors from coming, rather than to just keep trying to eliminate the ones they find, one at a time. The obsession is a point of weakness capitalized upon by Joplin & the bone glass. George's tendency to do the work alone isolates him from his team and leaves him vulnerable. An important part of his character arc is to recognize how his skills dovetail with those of his teammates to create a unified front of strength and efficacy. Once he does so, he also uncovers the cause of the Problem, and thus, a way to potentially control it.

What I find most admirable about George is his bravery.  In the books, George Cubbins is described quite unfavorably by Lucy as having a face that begged to be slapped and a backside in need of a well placed kick. George Cubbins is described as slovenly, appearing not to own a comb, with a completely disorderly room.  George Karim, on the other hand, stress cleans.  He may not be one to dress up, but he seems not to suffer from the hygiene issues of his literary counterpart. 

However, none of this bothers George, because he doesn’t care much about how others look on the surface. He doesn’t worry about his own outward appearance because he hopes others will judge him in the way he judges them: by their actions, by who they are inside.  In fact, Skull (who mostly sees only a person’s inner self, what will eventually become their plasm if they become Visitors after death, and which I interpret to be a soul) notes that only himself and George are able to see past surface distractions to the truth of a person. It's part of why he's able to see past Flo's ghost trauma and recognize her intelligence, bravery, skill, and freedom.

George is unapologetically himself. In the final book, when Sir Rupert and his goons are targeting the smaller agencies and assaulting agents on the streets, George is the only one of Lockwood & Co to stand up to Sir Rupert’s bullying. He is unafraid to be out at any time of day or night, and has complete faith in his own ability to defend himself. He speaks his mind because he knows he has the ability to back it up, if necessary.  He is criminally overlooked by most people who meet him, but George is intelligent, brave, loyal, skilled, possesses a sharp and witty sense of humor, and is the glue that holds his agency together.  He really is, as Lucy says, the best of them.

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

Rant under the cut

At the time this posts, I will have had an appointment with a new PCP, discussing several medical concerns that I’ve encountered in recent years.

I feel scared. Scared that I’m wrong, scared that I’m right. And angry. Angry, both at the systems that require me to work past what I can handle and beg for help, and at my body, for not being able to hold me up. I’m ashamed of how much I am capable of doing. I’m ashamed of the recovery time I need. I’m ashamed that I’m still grappling with this internalized ableism, because obviously I would never say this shit to a friend about their needs or capabilities. And yet. Here I am. Thinking this about myself.

There was a comic I came across on here, years ago, about a person struggling with depression. They compared themself to a chipped tea cup: damaged and in need of repair, but not damaged enough to warrant immediate or intense repair. Like the chips in a cup, their symptoms were mild enough that they could be ignored or left untreated. They were still functional, albeit not as well, and not without issues. As a result, they felt small and shunted aside, both afraid of taking up space in depression communities, and angry that their clinicians and peers kept saying “it could be worse! you’re so functional! you don’t need (insert treatment here).”

I feel a lot of solidarity with this person’s experience in this moment.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Google searches give me several answers which vaguely fit some of my symptoms, but nothing fits all of them. Either they fit the bill nominally but are way more severe than what I have going on, or they have a bunch of other symptoms I don’t have. I’ve looked at pages for so many chronic pain related disorders by now, and I still don’t have anything I can walk into the office with and say “I think something like this might be going on”.

When I was getting my autism diagnosis, I knew I was autistic. By that point, I’d known for over a year. It was just a matter of getting a clinician to verify it, so I could access accommodations. This is an entirely different beast. Everything I have is vague and hard to explain. I don’t have any diagnosis that I know of to reference, or another person like me to ask questions to. I don’t have EDS, at least. I’m not nearly that stretchy. That, at least, is easy-ish to check. I probably don’t have POTS, or PCOS, or endometriosis. That’s all the things I know my friends have. Beyond that, I can’t really ask people for their personal experiences with their own disabilities and compare notes. Because it’s incredibly invasive to ask random strangers about their medical history. But with my autism diagnosis, I knew several people who were already self-dx or professionally diagnosed with autism. I could easily talk about my experiences and compare it to theirs. It was easy to tell my clinician what was going on, because I’d already explained it and been told “yeah that sounds right for me, too”. People already knew. There was a lot of external validation for my experiences. It was a lot easier to trust myself, knowing that people I was close to agreed with me.

Now, I don’t have that luxury. Yes, my friends believe me, but they also don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Nobody does.

And then there’s the added wrinkle of coming to terms with my existing dissociative symptoms, which have possibly been going on for years without me recognizing them as dissociative, because I explained them away by “just being tired/loopy” or “ADHD memory gaps lol”. Working on mitigating my dissociation made my pain symptoms immediately and measurably worse. I have the dual-pronged issue of not being properly aware of my body’s condition, and losing large chunks of time and memory to something I can’t really control.

How do I even give a timeline for how long I’ve been in pain, given that? Or a baseline level? Do I just draw on post-grounding data?

I’ve been making a google doc with a list of everything I can think of. Hopefully I can give that to my doctor, and it’ll be more helpful.

And what if it’s something that isn’t easily fixed, or is poorly understood? Like fibromyalgia? Am I just screwed? I have a future I’ve been working towards. I want to get a PhD and join a clinical practice. I want to move to a new city where my friends are and get a job there and afford my rent. If I actually do have something beyond normal aches and pains, will I be able to do that? What if it’s something progressive, and I have to move back in with my parents? I won’t have a partner to rely on in the future to help take care of me if I need it. I know this is already the reality for a lot of people, and I don’t mean to imply that their lives aren’t worth living, or that they’re tragic figures for needing full-time care. I mean that, for me, moving in with my parents would limit or reverse a lot of the things in my life that currently bring me joy.

And all of this is assuming that I’m not making this up, or exaggerating or hyper focusing on normal life events and conditions, and that this new doctor believes me even if I’m right. Yeah, I was in a lot of pain after standing up for hours at a concert, but wasn’t everybody? Yes, I’m still sore two days later, but isn’t that normal? Yes, my fingers, wrist, and elbow are all sore and tingly hours after doing homework; I was coloring a lot. Maybe my pencil grip is just bad? Maybe it was just a lot of work? It did take me 4 hours. Yes, I run out of energy quickly and want to lay down after one or two big tasks, like grocery shopping or going to class. Doesn’t everyone get tired running errands? What’s the threshold for being tired? What if this is just an autism/sensory thing?

Honestly I’ll be lucky if I can get to even ask these questions. I’ll be happy to get this doctor to look past the number on the scale and actually recommend me something besides cutting down on sugar and carbs.

I guess the central conflict is, I need to somehow convince a stranger to believe me, and I don’t even know if I believe myself. Heaven help me. We’ll see what happens.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

I found a thingy.

     Bilbo watched in mild amusement as five students trailed into the library, the same vacant, somewhat haunted expression on their individual faces.  He glanced at the clock.  Ah.  Nearly three.  I see that Thorin’s done his damage today.

     One of the students peeled off from the rest and approached Bilbo.

     Bilbo removed his glasses and folded them before sliding them into his front pocket.  “Yes?”

     The dwarf blinked at Bilbo and then rummaged for a piece of paper.  He pulled it out and squinted.  “Um, do you have any copies of these?”

     Bilbo already knew what books these students would be after; he’d seen a fair number over the last several years.  Every year, in fact, at this exact time.  Thorin’s final term was typically his most brutal.  Bilbo had even taken the extra step of ensuring that the library had more than enough copies of the books the students would inevitably need.

    He gestured for the paper and gave it a brief scan, confirming the contents.  “Ah.  One moment.”  He slipped toward the back and beckoned to Ori.  “Ori, Thorin’s up to his old tricks.”

    His work study winced.  “Already?”

    Bilbo chuckled.  “Apparently.  Go ahead and get that box out of storage.  I’m sure we’ll be seeing the majority of his class by day’s end.”

     As he waited for Ori to collect the spare books, Bilbo considered the prickly history professor.  He’d known Thorin for as long as the dwarf had taught at Erebor University; close to ten years now.  Taciturn and blunt, he’d not made many friends his first few years.  But he was incredibly intelligent and clever.  And quite passionate about dwarven history.  And, as illustrated by the zombified students wandering Bilbo’s library.  His reputation as a stickler for perfection the most pervasive across campus.

     Bilbo smiled as Ori lumbered back from the basement, cheeks puffed out as he shuffled down the narrow aisles toward him.  “Ah, good.  I’m thankful he only reserves this punishment for his higher-level students.  I’d hate to have to store enough for freshmen.”

     Ori set the box down with a grunt.  “He’s why I switched majors,” he admitted.

     Bilbo paused before squatting down by the box and breaking the aging cellophane tape.  “I thought you were an art major from the beginning.”  He glanced up at the dwarf as he fished out the books the student had asked for.

     “Well, sort of.  I like history, though.”  He shivered suddenly.  “Until Dr. Oakenshield.”

     Bilbo lifted an eyebrow at the reaction.  “I think Thorin is more bark than bite,” he ventured.  He rose, wincing at the pop in his knees.  He was getting too old for this, apparently.  He wagged the slim books toward Ori.  “Shouldn’t let professors like him win; feeds their ego a bit too much.”

     Ori’s eyes went wide.  “He’s so scary though,” he whispered. 

     Bilbo chuckled.  “Hardly.  More he simply has no imagination and can’t understand why others aren’t as obsessed with dwarven history as he is.”

     He approached the student at the counter; he hadn’t moved an inch and continued to stare forward in a daze.  Poor sod, Bilbo thought.  He took the student’s ID card and entered the books under his name.  “Three weeks.  If no one’s put a hold on it, you can check it out twice more, same time frame.”

     The student nodded mutely and collected the books, sliding them into his messenger bag before slinking off out of the library.

     Before long, he had four more requests for the same set of books, quickly handed to him by Ori from the back room.  By six, an hour after Ori’s shift had ended, the library was finally quiet.  While it was never loud – it was a library, after all – this was his most favorite time of day.  When no one was in the august halls of this century-old building.  He would fix himself a cup of tea and wander about, straightening books or clearing away what errant students left behind.  More than once he’d had to rouse a master’s student who’d fallen asleep studying.  Today, however, it was little more than discarded paper coffee cups and a stack of books left on one of the upstairs tables.

     Tea cup empty, he returned to the first floor to find someone at the front desk.  He cleared his throat and then brightened when he recognized him.  “Ah, Thorin.  I had some of your victims arrive earlier.”

     The dwarf frowned, blue eyes sharp.  “Must you call them that?”

     Bilbo grinned.  “You continue to murder them with tasks; what else shall I call them?”

     Thorin merely grunted.  He slid a file folder across the desk toward Bilbo as he rounded the counter.  “Can you put these packets together for me?”

     “In case you weren’t aware, I’m not your TA.”

     Thorin’s eyes narrowed.  “I am aware.  However, my TA is out sick this week.”

     Bilbo relented.  He liked Tauriel.  And given her near fanatical need for perfection herself, that she was out sick was something momentous indeed.  “Fine,” he sighed.  He opened the folder and flipped through the pages.  Ah, the dreaded final project.  “You know,” he began, wagging the folder, “you do this project every year.  Nothing changes.  Why not keep stacks in your office?”

     Another grunt as Thorin straightened his jacket.  He was wearing a black peacoat, the wool fibers glinting with a dusting of rain.  “Takes up space,” he explained.

     He nearly prodded at that but he recalled the size of Thorin’s office.  More a broom closet than anything else.  “Hmm.”  Bilbo shrugged.  “Give me a moment and I’ll set up the copier.”

     “I’m in a rush, unfortunately; can you swing by my office in the morning?”

     He took another look at Thorin.  He did seem preoccupied.  He was also dressed much sharper than he usually was.  Oh, Thorin tended to look well put together but tonight, he wore a wine-dark collared shirt beneath the peacoat, the throat of it open.  Not quite a look he wore in his class room but it certainly complimented those dark eyes and his trim, dark beard.  For once, his hair was loose and settled about his shoulders.

     He tried to remember the last time he’d not seen it in its customary knot.  After a moment, he realized he was simply staring at Thorin when the dwarf’s eyebrows began to lift in confusion.  “Oh.  Oh, certainly.”  Bilbo waved a hand at him, shooing him toward the door.  “Out, out.  I need to close up anyway.”

     Thorin gave him a brief grin and dipped his head.  “My thanks, Dr. Baggins.”

     Bilbo watched him walk off and sighed, thumbing through the packet again.  One day, he’d get Thorin to call him by his first name.  He used it so bloody rarely.  Bilbo used Thorin’s almost exclusively in an effort to get the rigid dwarf to see they were friendly and he needn’t be so formal. 

     To be fair, he rather liked that about Thorin.  Not the distance, that had always sat poorly with him.  More that Thorin was so intent on appearance and protocol that he appeared to forget how to behave normally.  He wondered, not for the first time, how the dwarf behaved on a date.

     He nearly made it to the copier when he froze. 

     Date.  Thorin looked like he was on a date.

     “Oh, bloody hell and shite,” Bilbo muttered.  He yanked on the copier lid, and it buzzed angrily as it woke.

     “Oh, quiet,” he retorted.  He slapped the first sheet of paper on the clear glass and slammed the lid down.  “You’ve nothing to complain about; you see more action in a day than I have in the last five years.”

     He covered his eyes with one hand.  “Lovely; I’m jealous of a bloody copier.”

     He punched in the requisite number of copies and stared out from his normally comfortable hidey-hole into the quiet expanse of the library, now dark from the evening sky and suddenly far too quiet.   

[thewritetofreespeech]

**in honor of the latest episode on DevilTube, please enjoy this other fun adventure I wrote of Levi cosplay :3**

Words: 1000+

Rating: M

tags: cosplay, sissy boy aesthetic, oral, handjobs, mild mentions of anal fingering, female reader, heterosexual frottage

“Ahhh…what a relaxing evening.” You sigh happily as you sit in Levi’s gamin chair, reading one of his prized limited edition mangas. “This couldn’t be better. Except…hmm….I’m thirsty. Oh maid!” You crow happily and upon command a much less happy demon appeared with a tray.

“This is humiliating [Y/N]!”

“You’re the one that made the bet Levi.” To make your weekly gaming session more interesting, Levi had decided to place stakes on the game to see who would come out on top. You blame that new gambling anime he was watching. In any event, the bet was that whoever lost had to be the winner’s servant, complete with maid uniform. Levi probably never dreamed he’d lose. Or that you would make him wear a maid uniform, instead of a butler’s costume.

“Wario cheats!” He shouted/whined. 

“It isn’t fair! And this isn’t fair! I can’t believe you’re making me wear this dress. It’s not cute at all! We’re ruining the beautiful café maid aesthetic!”

“I don’t know. I think it’s pretty cute.” You notice Levi’s obvious blush before he turned his head away, and you smirk into your tea cup. “Plus, you can’t really say that you hate it that much. Not when you’re like this.” Your foot reached out to graze under Levi’s maid skirt. The short skirt puffing up in the front from more than just the crinoline. “Time out. Are you not wearing any underwear?”

“M-M-My boxers were too long for the skirt!” The Avatar of Envy stuttered. Impossibly red by this point. “I-I-It would have ruined the custom….”

“My boy. Ever the commitment to the cosplay craft.” Levi’s eyes fidget away at the compliment. Never seeming used to them no matter how many you give. His teeth then set into his bottom lip as you continue to brush your foot against his semi-erection. “Wanna give me something other than tea?”

The demon’s mouth guppied open like his beloved fish for a moment before he spoke again. “C-Café maids are only to look. N-Not touch!”

“But we’re not in a café.” You point out. Rather obviously since you were in his room. “And we never really stipulated the circumstances of ‘service’. Don’t act like this isn’t one of your fantasies.”

“N-N-Not this way…” He muttered, barely audible. The new tint pink on his cheeks clear that he had thought about it but you would be the maid. Not him.

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. You look adorable, we’re both turned on, and you lost the bet. You have to serve me. Come ooonn,” you reach out with your hand this time, taking Levi’s hand and looking up at him from your chair, “don’t you want to make your Hime-Sama happy?”

Levi blinked and went a little ridged in his back at the name.

Every relationship had their titles. ‘Master’, ‘Mistress’, ‘Daddy’, ‘Owner’. Levi had picked the term ‘hime-sama’. Because you were his princess, his queen, and he was your loyal, devoted subject. “Y-Yes, I wanna make my hime-sama happy.” The demon fell to his knees in a well-practiced ‘knightly’ pose. The gesture looking a little ridiculous in his frilly baby blue maid costume. “How may I be of service, hime-sama?”

“Help me get out of these first please.”

You stand up and tap the band of your Ruri-chan sweatpants. His hands came up, shaking a little with excitement, to pull them down. Whimpering a little at the matching merch Ruri-chan panties you were wearing before pulling them down too. “Now, be a good maid and service me.” You tell Levi as you sit back in his chair and drape one leg over the arm of it. The boy practically drooling at the sight of it. “Do a good job and we’ll see about getting you a reward.” Levi moaned as your foot reached out to touch his cock again. Fully erect now.

“Yes hime-sama!” He exclaimed before he dove in.

You moan at the initial contact of his lips against your opening and lean back in his chair. The lumbar support on this thing was great as it allowed you to practically pool into it while his tongue did a fantastic job on your apex. Of those you’ve been in contact with, Levi is the most dedicated in giving pleasure to you. Maybe it’s the game, but he would literally eat your pussy out for hours if you asked him to. Do whatever it takes to have you cumming and cumming until you were completely satisfied. Anything to make his princess happy.

Having a lot of practice, and being so dedicated, Levi had you cumming quickly with just his tongue. The demon making you buck against his face as he moaned into you while he lapped up your juices. “Did I do good, hime-sama?”

“Yes. You did.” You replied, a little orgasm drunk, as you reach out to wipe the dribble of you and spit from his chin. “You definitely deserve a reward.”

“I don’t need a reward.” Levi insisted. “Pleasing my hime-sama is enough of a gift. I’m more than happy to do whatever you want me to do.”

“Well, this is what I want to do.”

Reaching out to him, you lead Levi up so he was straddling your hips in his chair. The technological advancement in gaming able to support you easily, even as Levi blushed at the position. He looked incredibly small and fragile in your lap. Not helped in the least by his adorable satin & bows. You think you’ve developed a kink that will long last. “Good maids deserve a reward.”

The demon in your lap shuttered and braced his hands on the back of his chair, one either side of your head, as you reached under his skirt to stroke his erection. “My, my. You’re so hard maid-chan. Do you get this excited for all your clients?”

“N-N-No…just you…” He speech hindered by his heavy breathing. For once not stammering out of embarrassment. The demon becoming putty literally in your hands as his whole body relaxed while you continue to stroke him. “I don’t get like this for anyone other than my hime-sama.”

“Really? I’m flattered. With how cute you look I’d think you’d drive everyone crazy.” Levi shuttered as your other hand sneaked up the back of his skirt to grope his ass.

“H-Hime-sama…thinks I’m…cute….?”

“Adorable.” You tell him, and he moaned. The bluenette alternating between rocking his hips forward into one hand and back against the other. “Tell me the truth though. Do you really hate this costume that much?”

“N-N-No!” Levi shouted as your hand quickened its pace. Driving him even more crazy and pushing him to the edge. “I..I like it. T…The soft crinoline feels so good against my dick! I can’t help but get excited. I-I feel bad f…for liking it but I can’t stop. T..The fact that hime-sama likes me in it makes me even more excited. I..I wanna cum in my skirt! I want hime-sama to fuck me in this! I-!” His love drunk rambling was cut short as Levi came suddenly all over your hand and his pretty blue skirt.

He slumped down on top of you. Coiling in against you still in the chair as you wipe your hand on his costume. It was ruined anyway. “There now. Isn’t it nice to get rewarded for your hard work sometimes?”

“Yes hime-sama.” Levi replied instantly. Turning his head to ask for a kiss you readily give. “Did I make you happy?”

“Very,” you tell him. To which the demon smiled happily. “But, the bets not over. You’re supposed to be my maid for the next 24 hours. And, since your costume is ruined, let’s see what other fun things we can get you to dress up as to pass the time.”

“H-H-Hime-sama!

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Moment In Time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: Mild Language

Chapter 5

* * * * * * *

“You and Fury seem to forget that I’m retired pretty easily.” You say, eyes focused on your surroundings instead of the man talking to you.

A nice breeze flows past, followed by another crowd of passersby. The street is busy as always at this time of day but you always appreciate the hustle and bustle of the city. Something about it appealed to you. 

New York has always been busy, for as long as you can remember. Admittedly, with the lack of advanced technology in your time, people spent a lot more time talking to each other in passing than they now spend on their phones.

“No one’s forgotten, except maybe you,” Tony says and you turn to refocus your attention on him.“ Or did you forget that it was you who copped a ride with Fury to Sokovia.”

Of course you didn’t forget that. That mission had been more dangerous and life threatening than any one you’d previously been on. 

The man hums and nods, a soft chuckle leaves his lips,“ unless of course you weren’t there for the team.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows pinch together,“ what’re you talking about?” 

“I’m talkin about you and Romanoff.” He leans forward, pushing his coffee cup away a little.“ Clint told me about that little moment you two had before the city fell. What’d you do? Spring to action when you realized Natasha was in danger?”

Your eyes roll but you avoid answering his question. Cause that is actually what you did. On top of being generally concerned with the safety of your friends, your main focus was Natasha. You’d never admit it, out loud, but you know that’s what happened. And you know why you did, even if you won’t admit it at all. 

“Awe, don’t want me exposing your crush on Nat?” He further teases and your nose turns up at him.

“Think I liked you better when you were running around in pjs and building robots and stuff.” He makes an offended face and you smile sarcastically at it.“ If I agree to train the Maximoff kids will you not mention these supposed feelings for Natasha that you assume I have.”

For a moment he looks at you, then nods.“ You’ve got yourself a deal Y/ln. Also,” he pushes his chair back and stands up,“ you’re just training the girl. Rogers apparently has some special plan for Speedy.” Picking up his cup, he claps his hand on your shoulder with extra force, and walks away.

Just as you’re about to slouch into your seat to stay an extra few minutes he calls out for you to come with him and you resist the urge to groan. Sighing softly, you finish your tea and get up. 

As you expected Tony takes you to the tower. His choice of music blasts through the sports car and you can’t help but chuckle. Since he was thirteen he’d been obsessed with classic rock. You have no idea what the first song he heard was but whatever it was it hooked him to the genre.

Through the loud music he explains everything you’ll have to go over with Wanda and mentions that he’s getting a facility together upstate that will become the new Avengers HQ, but that move is going to take some time so the tower is still “home” as of now. You nod along, knowing that if not for your enhanced abilities you wouldn’t be able to hear him correctly.

By the time Tony pulls into the private parking garage, whipping into his spot and turning the car off, you completely understand what role you’re about to play in terms of training Wanda.

“What? Eager to get to work?” He asks after you’ve practically sprinted out of the car. 

“More like eager to get out before my ears start bleeding.” You tell him, glancing over your shoulder at him to stick your tongue out playfully. You don’t have to keep looking at him to know he rolled his eyes. 

The familiarity of the building makes it easy to navigate. Pretty much leaving Tony in the dust, you walk through the lobby to the elevators. Taking them up to the training floor. 

Your plan hadn’t been to see anyone just yet. Mainly coming here to form some sort of plan as far as training the Maximoff girl goes. Only for her to be the person you run into once having stepped into the training room.

She’s across the room, fingers running over the edges of a treadmill as her eyes look through the large floor to ceiling window. You imagine she’s taking in the sight the tower provides of New York. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” You ask, effectively grabbing the young woman’s attention. She turns her head to face you, eyebrows pinching together as she’s not familiar with you, only having seen you just before you hugged Natasha in Sokovia. 

“It is.” She replies shortly and you chuckle at it, stepping further into the room. 

Giving her a soft smile you introduce yourself,“ I’m Y/n,” you move over to the weight benches,“ Stark asked me to come in and help you adjust.”

Her eyes narrow and that draws your attention to the fact that her eyes are green.“ Are you an Avenger? Because I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I am not. I’m supposed to be retired but no one seems to give a damn so here I am.” Spreading your arms a little to emphasize your current location.

For whatever reason your words make her giggle and you smile at that, happy to have broken the ice at least a little. 

“So how’re you going to help me adjust Y/n?” Her inquisitive gaze follows her moving closer to you.

“Not sure. What do you need help adjusting to?” Your head tilts and your eyebrow quirks.“ The training regiment? Your new chaotic teammates? Living in New York?” 

“Is all of the above an option?” She asks, and although you know she’s serious you still hear the teasing in her tone. 

With a quiet laugh you nod,“ all of the above is an option.” You let her know.“ Um, I’m not sure of all the details with the move upstate but how about I show you around the tower and we can go over the basics of your training and such?” You decide to pose it as a question in case she doesn’t want to.

“That would be nice actually.” She smiles and you notice that it’s truly genuine. So with a smile in return, you motion for her to follow you out of the room. 

With her being on this floor, you assume she’s seen it all. Not that there’s much to see. It’s the training floor so there’s nothing but gyms and a locker room. Getting in the elevator, you press the number for one of the floors dedicated to just hanging out.

Not liking the silence of the elevators, Wanda breaks it with a question.“ So why didn’t you join the Avengers?” 

“Um,” you take a deep breath and release it as a sigh,“ I’d already done the whole superhero thing before. The Avengers came in and I was no longer needed.”

“Oh really?” She asks and her tone of voice makes you chuckle, then nod.“ And what made you want to be a superhero?”

The elevator stops and the doors slide open.“ I saw what they could do. The difference superheroes make in people's lives.”

Picking up on the shift in your energy, Wanda frowns, ignoring the very expensive looking stuff in the room.“ What happened?” She asked carefully, as if she were trying not to trigger something. 

“I-” you sigh softly, contemplating whether to actually tell her or not. Looking into her eyes you see past the general curiosity and what you find pushes you to tell her. 

So you both get comfortable on one of the couches in the room and you open up to her.“ I was taken by HYDRA when I was fairly young. And it’s not like the guards and scientists were interested in anything other than making me the perfect weapon. So when they started to experiment on me I was already in a horrible state physically. My health was on a steady decline and none of their experiments worked, it actually made me fatally ill. And with no further use of me, they’d left me there to die.” 

Wanda listens intently, eyes misting with tears at the information of your mistreatment.“ But you didn’t.”

“No I didn’t,” you both laugh softly at that.“ The, at the time soon to be, founders of SHIELD were working with the US military to shut down HYDRA after World War II and they found the facility I was being held in. While they saved everyone who was being held captive there, I was in the worst shape. Seeing that I was on the verge of death, they made a decision to administer the super soldier serum to me to save my life.”

Wanda’s eyebrows raise and you have to admit that her expression is amusing.“ You’re a super soldier from World War II?” You nod.“ How old would that make you?” 

“I’m 90. And I wasn’t in the war. I was born before the war. When it started I was 16 and already in a HYDRA base.”

She looks down and bites her bottom lip. You know she has another question on the tip of her tongue. And with her background, having volunteered to be experimented on by HYDRA, you know she’ll have a lot more questions after that.

So with a deep breath, you ask what’s on her mind and tuck in for a long conversation.

* * * 

After a long day at SHIELD, going over papers to further induct the twins into the Avengers, Natasha finally gets back to the tower. She ignores all the SHIELD agents rushing in and out of the lobby and goes straight for the elevators. 

Mentally, she admits that after the headache that is going into SHIELD, the sound of your laugh as soon as she gets on the main floor is refreshing. A small smile forms on her face and she makes her way towards the kitchen where she hears your voice.

While she knows you’re friends with the rest of her team, she can’t help but wonder if you came here to see her.

That thought falls short the instant she reaches the kitchen doorway. She quickly finds that the source of your laugh is the same young woman she’d just been recruiting onto her team. 

In fact, laughter comes from you and Wanda as you cook together. The aroma smells incredible but she can’t help but to remember that this is the very same thing the two of you had done on multiple occasions. 

“Nat, hey, when’d you get here?” 

Your voice pulls Natasha from her thoughts and she almost smiles again. Almost. 

“A few minutes ago.” She decides to take a step closer, which puts her right in the doorway.“ What’re you two making?”

“Um,” your eyebrows pinch together and you look at Wanda.

“Paprikash.” She answers with a quiet giggle and a shake of her head. 

You smile at her then look back up at Natasha,“ we’re making Paprikash.”

The redhead hums, debating with herself on whether she should stay or not. An indescribable feeling nagged in the back of her mind, growing more persistent as she looks at you and Wanda happily interacting with one another. It gradually chips away at her excitement to spend time with you and she hates it.

With a huff she says,“ I’ll leave you two to it.”

She turns on her heel and walks away, effectively dodging the blue blur that is Pietro running into the kitchen, heading back to the elevator. With her floor practically empty due to the move, she wasn’t eager to go up but it seemed more relaxing than watching someone else make you laugh and smile how she did. 

Just as the elevator doors have started to close you slip through, narrowly missing getting your arm caught between the doors, and stand directly in front of her. Your eyes scan her form, up to her face and lingering there. She watches as you take her in, your eyes finally meeting. 

In a soft voice, one that practically melts her heart, you ask,“ are you okay?” She can’t say she expected you to ask that, plus the equally as soft look in your eyes, she grasps for an answer. One that isn’t ‘I didn’t like seeing you so happy with someone else’.

“Just tired. It’s been a long day and my floor isn’t exactly relaxation friendly right now.” She excuses. 

Nodding along, you smile a little at her,“ think I could help with that if you’d let me.” And there’s no way she’s saying no.

That’s how, a little over thirty minutes later, she finds herself following you into your apartment building with takeout bags and beer in hand. 

You hadn’t explained the plan until you were picking up the food. Telling her that a change of scenery might be exactly what she needs. Her trying to relax and unwind at the Tower was equivalent to a lawyer trying to relax at their firm.“ You can’t destress from work at work.” You reasoned. 

Unlocking your door, you gently push it open and hold it for Natasha. She wasn’t sure what to expect of your apartment, but what she finds definitely isn’t it.

Walking into your apartment makes her a little confused. It’s like stepping into a time vault that housed a number of different eras all at once. While things like your appliances and a few tables or paintings were modern or at least from the last decade, your couch, chairs, and even your cabinets look dated.

It was as if you furnished your home without a single clue of what you actually knew you wanted to present. But it’s you. Natasha finds that it almost perfectly embodies the person she’s come to know you to be. 

Since the moment she met you it was clear you were equally as present as you were stuck in the past. Your friendships with Tony and Steve showed that in an ironic way. With Tony the majority of your conversations or bonding was over the future, things he was planning, building, or tinkering with that would change the future. While with Steve you focused on the way things used to be in the era you grew up and were raised in.

“Nice place.” She finally says, moving her eyes from the kitchen to you.“ Very, you.”

The look you give her makes a small giggle leave her lips. You seemed so proud of her first comment and then the second one made you frown, as if you couldn’t tell if you should take it as an insult or a compliment. 

“Don’t think too hard Y/ln, your ears are starting to smoke.” She says jokingly, patting your cheek without giving it any thought. Her turning away makes her miss the way you flush at her inconsequential touch. 

At your invitation, she makes herself at home, finding a spot on the couch and starting to unpack the food. You join her shortly after with plates and forks, turning the tv on and going to a channel you both enjoy watching. 

“How you feelin about the move?” You ask, picking up your plate and leaning back against the couch. Even though the tv is on, Natasha can’t help but notice that all your attention seems to be on her. 

While she is definitely used to the attention, men and women alike focusing solely on her because of her looks, your attention is different. She knows it would be unreasonable of her to think you aren’t paying attention to her for her looks because well, when she gives you attention the first thing she looks at is your looks. You’re incredibly attractive, especially to the redhead. But it was more than that. 

On both ends, yourself and Natasha saw the physical beauty, but you looked beyond that. You saw the beauty of each other’s personalities. 

You’re lighthearted, you have an outlook on life that she finds intriguing, and not just because you’re decades older than her, it was how you maintained a fairly optimistic view on things despite the cards you’d been dealt in the past. On top of that you’re honest and caring, especially to the people you consider friends and family.

As far as she goes, you see her in, almost, the same way she sees you. She’s honest. Shows her care in a way that you find adorable, mainly because it’s so nonchalant. Her will to keep going, to endure the many trials she’s been through. Her strength never fails to amaze you. Not to mention the absolute admiration you have for her in regards to her clearing her ledger. Especially since being an Avenger means so much more to her than just that. 

That thought alone sends a rumbling of butterflies in her stomach and she hates how childish it feels but loves it all the same. 

“Um,” she looks down, letting her hair curtain between you two to hide the blush that rises.“ I can’t say I feel any particular way about it.”

When she feels your fingers ghost over her cheek, she has half a mind to grab your hand and break it, but it’s you and she’s been secretly craving your touch. In the softest gesture she’d ever been on the end of, you brush her hair back. Your fingers lightly run over her cheek and temple as you hook her hair behind her ear. 

She looks over to see you drop your head slightly to catch her eye, a little smile on your face.“ It is okay if you aren’t all that happy to be leaving. The tower has been your home for the last few years. An attachment or even familiarity with it is understandable.” 

“I-” she sighs, just barely tilts her head closer to your touch, then lifts her head.“ I’ve never had a home Y/ln.” She knows you can hear the hurt in her words, cause admittedly she didn’t hide it like she usually would. She doesn’t feel the need to with you.

You go quiet for a moment and Natasha wonders if maybe she should’ve kept her somber comment to herself. The instant she considers walling herself off again, you speak.“ Well then maybe,”

She raises an eyebrow at you.“ Maybe what?”

“Maybe this could be your home.” You swallow, nerves manifesting in the way you play with your food.“ I know you’ve only just been here today but, everyone deserves a safe haven. Somewhere they can escape from the rest of the world. Everyone deserves a home.” You finally look back into her eyes,“ especially you Nat.”

You didn’t know but in that moment you got to her in a way no one else ever had. You didn’t tear her walls down. Instead, as if understanding the very reason the walls had been put up in the first place, you built a door to her heart and soul. And only you hold the key to it.

She’s hit with the weight of her feelings for you, feelings she’d never had for anyone before. As terrifying as she finds it, she can’t help but think that if there’s anyone who she could trust to be gentle with these feelings it’s you.

* * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @thewidowsghost @ecruzsalaz

[angeli-marco-writes]

Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain

A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!

Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.

Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)

Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.

“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”

You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”

The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.

“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.

“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.

“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.

“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.

Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.

“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.

“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”

“And you! Where’s the baby?”

Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”

Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.

He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.

“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”

“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.

Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.

Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.

“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.

“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.

She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.

“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”

“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”

“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”

You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”

In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.

“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.

“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”

You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”

“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”

“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”

“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”

Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.

“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”

If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.

“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”

A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.

“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”

He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.

Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.

“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”

He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.

A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.

“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”

And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.

“Well, lunch?”

Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.

Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.

“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.

Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”

“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”

“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”

“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”

When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…

A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.

“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .

“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”

“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”

Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, course. You?”

“Yeah.”

You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”

“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”

He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”

“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”

You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.

“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”

“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”

The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.

“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”

Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.

You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.

“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.

“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”

A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”

“You’re being arsey with me.”

“Because you said you don’t want kids!”

“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”

“You know I want kids, Tom.”

“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”

“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”

“Tom,” you murmur.

Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.

“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”

“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.

All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.

“Except maybe that.”

You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.

“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”

This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.

“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”

You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.

“Lets just sit, shall we?”

You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.

In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.

The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.

The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.

Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.

“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.

“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”

You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”

“And you. Drive safe.”

“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”

Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.

“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.

“Yeah, and he’s cute.”

“Nice eyes.”

And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.

“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.

“Thanks darlin’.”

You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.

In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.

“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”

You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…

“Really? Y-you mean it?”

His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.

Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.

And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…

[pale-fairytales]

Domestic Au SkyStar fluff part 1

AHAHAAAA DOMESTIC AU HEADCANON TIME AGAIN SkyStar fluff edition 

I don’t know any specifics about this domestic au but I’m loving the actual fuck out of it. I feel like it’s a mix of angsty and fluffy, and maybe for this specific version of a domestic au, I’ll make a post to flesh out the specifics bc I feel as though it’s domestic with a twist??? Anywhoozles have some head canons uwu (plus a ficlet <3)

Love languages: Starscream= primarily Physical touch; Skyfire=equally quality time and acts of service

I feel as though Starscream has been incredibly touch starved for a long time, which prompts him to be very touchy. I think there’s specific conditions ofc tho; such as, he will be more touchy-feely with specific people than others and this is very much a trust thing. I feel as though pre-war/in a no-war universe Skyfire would be very very high up in the list. 

some of these headcanons may also be character exploring but my assumption is this; Starscream’s upbringing either involved a lot, a lot, a lot of physical touch as affection and so he naturally just craves it a lot, or he grew up with so little of it that it makes him seek (hehe) it out desperately, despite never wanting to admit how much he wants/needs it. 

Skyfire reads as a people pleaser to me. From what I’ve gathered he’s incredibly mild-mannered but wants very badly to be wanted. I feel as though his past isn’t touched on much (another note; I’m slow at consuming transformers content but I feel like he doesn’t appear much in many verses and he is grossly underrated and I will die for him) so my headcanons go as such; Being a flier in a society that puts emphasis on functionism/class, and given his impressive size, I feel as though he feels a need to belong. He wants to make other bots happy because it makes him happy. 

Skyfire and Starscream meet while studying some specific sciencey subject in this au, and think they won’t run into each other again once they complete their studying/certification, until BAM they wind up scientists in the same lab. Instant besties when they realize how much they actually have in common. 

It’s such a slowburn relationship and so blatantly obvious that they’re slowly becoming a thing that the people closest to them are just waiting for the announcement that they plan on becoming conjunx endurae. 

They absolutely go feral to defend each other no matter the au, fight me 

Skyfire isn’t violent, really, but it’s a general rule of thumb not to mess with Starscream or he will act. Vice versa, except Starscream can and will make life hell for anyone who hurts Skyfire’s feelings. 

Skyfire calls Starscream, “My starlight” but also uses names like “dear” or sometimes the more playful “Screamer”

Starscream doesn’t seem the type to use too many pet names strangely? I feel like he could come up with one very quickly, but he just chooses not to use them. He sticks with calling Skyfire things like “Sky,” or “Sweetspark” or “Darling. 

If cooking is a thing in this au, Skyfire’s your guy. I mentioned in another post that I thought Starscream wasn’t the greatest cook, but I feel like they, together, are a good match bc Skyfire can cook very well, while Starscream inevitably knows how to make it fancy/suited to the occasion/will know what wine to pair with it.

Things Pining Skyfire does that just make sense: memorizes Starscream’s favorite (cybertronian) coffee (or tea, I can’t decide which one he would prefer) order to surprise him with, makes sure to organize the lab in a way that isn’t too hard for Starscream to access (he’s happy to help but he knows it’s frustrating), plans little scientific expeditions for them to take and chooses really pretty or intriguing places. Every place he chooses, he chooses more with Starscream in mind.

Things Pining Starscream does that just make sense: purposefully rearranges the lab so that things are harder to access so he can ask Skyfire to pick him up to reach things (it becomes an unintentional, mutual thwarting of courting attempts that they laugh over later), asks questions in Skyfire’s area of expertise toward the ends of their shifts in the lab so they can spend a few more minutes talking. Sometimes accidentally disassociates and fantasizes about a future with Skyfire as Cybertron’s greatest pair of scientists. 

Pseudo/not-officially-dates-but-they’re-both-pining dates they go on; Stargazing. Visiting planetariums. I imagine their little pseudo dates are more lowkey. I also feel as though Skyfire is a secret partier but not like, a wild crazy partier; more that, in private and with the right people, he becomes a bit less shy, and a little more loosened up/fun-having. I feel as though he and Starscream sometimes meet up for a drink or two.  

[reidgraygubler]

multiply (kyle orfman/reader)

Title: multiply Request: no Couple: Kyle Orfman/Fem!reader Category: angst/smut w/ a taste of fluff Content Warning: SEXUAL CONTENT (penetrive sex, unsafe sex, mild hatefuck, grinding/groping, heavy petting, light breathplay (hand over mouth and nose) breeding/impregnation kink, fingering), zombies and zombies eating humans, death, descriptions of death, death of a grandparent (grandmother), mentions of guns and gun violence (but none actually happening), petnames (kitten/officer) Word Count: 5,943 Summary: After narrowly escaping her grandmother eating her, Reader is on her own to find other civilization. She meets the Orfman family and they take her in for safety. Reader and Kyle share a special bond. A/N: I am in love with this piece, so I hope you guys love it as much as I do. thank you to @reidetic for beta/editing this for me! this was also written for @imagining-in-the-margins "there was only one bed" trope challenge for june! thank you all so much for the support! i really do appreciate it. check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

My grandmother was alive… And then she was dead… And now she’s alive again. Which is very confusing because I watched her die. Like I can’t be the only person experiencing this, right? It’s not some weird fever dream either, I don’t think. This has to be a town wide phenomenon.

My grandmother was acting totally normal too. As if she didn’t die. She was living life day to day, making cookies, knitting, and sipping her tea, just like she did before she died. It was like life went back to normal. And then… She tried to eat me. That’s definitely not normal. Is it?

Who eats another person!? Zombies! That’s who! And how do you kill a zombie? I don’t really like that answer. Because I love my grandmother. She’d do nothing to hurt me, except eat me, I guess.

I gotta get out of this house. It’s not safe to stay in the house with her anymore, and it hasn’t been for a long time. So instead of killing her, like any other sane person would do, I just left. I packed my backpack with a few clothes, snacks and water, and I left.

Turns out it was a lot more than a town wide phenomenon. It was country wide. Everyone was experiencing their dead loved ones returning from the dead. Just showing up, like how my grandmother just showed up. It caused something of an uprise, too, considering people don’t just come back to life after being dead, and they’re eating other humans. It wasn’t an uprise. It was terror, pure terror of the people who didn’t die and come back to life.

I hadn’t left my house in a while, at least since my grandmother came back. So I didn’t realize just how dire the situation was. Piles of burnt stuff were all over the place. Cars with shattered windshields were crashed into trees or homes. And the number of bodies just on the street was… incredibly disturbing.

I needed to find any sign of civilization, and quickly. There was no telling just how long I’d make it alone. I probably only had enough water for the next day or two. And the only zombie movies I’ve seen were Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland, and that wasn’t very helpful… Well maybe Zombieland was helpful.

A long branch with a sharp and pointy end was sitting in the middle of the road. I grabbed it, hoping it’d be enough of a weapon to protect me from the disaster around me. I silently hoped, and prayed to whatever God was up there, that I’d find safety before nightfall.

I was beginning to lose hope as the sun started setting; the sky lighting up with the fires around the town. Several people wearing orange jumpsuits came running around the corner, each carrying various weapons in their hands and over their backs. I nearly fell to the ground because of how startled I was. I tried to pay attention to the crowd around me, but the pavement chewed up the palms of my hands.

A guy with a crew cut hairstyle seemingly looked in charge. Weird to have a gangly and scrawny man be in charge of a zombie take out group. He had this weird stature that he held, like he was trying to be intimidating but not everyone took him seriously.

The guy looked right at me and pointed a gun at my head. I slowly lifted my hands and stared at him.

“D-Don’t shoot! I’m human!” I shouted as I stared at him. He stared back, stepping closer to me. He dropped his gun away from me, but still kept his guard up.

“Human my ass!” The guy with the crewcut shouted. I looked at my hands, watching as blood began seeping from my palms. I quickly looked back at him, hoping he’d look at the human blood.

"Thoughts on smooth jazz?!" he asked in a loud tone. I stared up at him, feeling the terror bubble up my throat.

"I-I… Not my first choice in music?" I furrowed my eyebrows, as I wondered what this had to do with anything.

"Thoughts on dirt?!"

"Ew? Good for gardening? I don’t know!” I shouted back before I stumbled to my feet. The guy with the crew cut cautiously stepped closer to me as he examined my face and body. I’d assume it was because he was looking for any impurities I could possibly have. “I almost had to kill my grandmother. But… But I had to leave. I couldn’t do it. So I left. I left because she lunged at me… from across the table,” I mumbled as he stepped back. “I just need somewhere.. To lie low for the time being. I promise I’m safe.” I whispered as I looked at him. The guy looked back at the rest of his team, gauging their thoughts and concerns about letting me go with them.

“You can come with us. But the second you turn your back on us, or turn into them, don't be shocked when I’m the one to put a bullet into your head,” his voice got scary low as he stepped right up to me. I swallowed roughly and nodded.

“Understood,” I whispered as I looked up at him.

I was shoved into the middle of the crowd of orange jumpsuits. The guy with the crewcut took the lead and brought us to a house that was guarded by tall cement and steel fencing. The people who were currently occupying this home knew how to keep themselves safe.

We entered the fenced in yard of the house, the leader making sure everyone got in safely, and no undead beings followed us. Then we entered the house. I was half expecting it to be stripped down, or decayed. But when we got in… It looked like a normal home, just no power, and the windows boarded up.

“Oh! A new person!” A woman exclaimed once I stood in the area that was once a living room. She came right up to my side, looking at me with a bright smile. She was very happy that I was here. “Don’t worry! You’re safe now!” she cooed as she threw her arms around me. I froze, my body refusing to move as she embraced me.

“I-I…” I swallowed roughly as she pulled away from me. I barely had time to say anything else as she pulled us to sit on the couch.

“I’m Judy Orfman. Kyle is my son.” She smiled as she gestured towards the crew cut guy wearing the orange jumpsuit.

“Mom,” Kyle muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. I snickered as I looked back at Judy. I smiled softly as I gave her my name. It was weird how homey this place felt, albeit our situation in the world. Part of me wondered if Judy had any part in that.

“My husband, Noah, is out right now. And my other son, Zach, is with one of the women. She also had to kill her grandmother,” Judy whispered that last part. I looked at her with wide eyes, feeling a certain nervousness settle in the pit of my stomach. I could tell she meant well, and I shouldn’t be scared around anyone here. Everything that’s happened is just unsettling. When I woke up this morning I wasn’t expecting to have to escape zombies.

“Is it okay i-if I lie down? I’m just very tired after everything that’s happened.” I I looked between Judy and Kyle.

“Oh! Kyle, honey, you should let her sleep in your room. She obviously needs it,” Judy spoke to her son as she carefully smoothed out my hair. I looked at her with a small smile. I loved how motherly she was. It was definitely something I needed in a time like this.

“I’m not going to do that, Mom.”

“We don’t have any more bed space. You’re the only person with a bed big enough to hold two people. We aren’t going to force her to sleep on the floor or on the couch.”

“I-I don’t have an issue with the flo-”

“Non-sense! Kyle has plenty of space!” Judy clapped her hands together as she glared at Kyle. Kyle looked back at her with wide eyes before dropping his head and mumbling something. Even though Kyle was in charge of the orange jumpsuits, Judy was the head of household. Anyone could argue with her, but she would end up getting her way no matter what. Kyle probably knew better than to fight his mother.

“So it’s agreed then! You guys will share the room!” Judy smiled brightly. “Just no funny business.” She then glared between me and Kyle. I looked at her with wide eyes before shaking my head.

“Ugh! Ew! With him!”

“Her?! Are you serious?”

Even though I basically said what he said, I was still hurt by his utter disgust behind his words. I tried not letting it bother me as I grabbed my backpack and stood up.

“Why don’t you show her around? The bathroom, kitchen, bedroom.” Judy stood up beside me as she looked at her son. Kyle begrudgingly moved towards the opening of the living room, leading off to a new area.

“C’mon,” he grumbled as he looked over at me. I looked at Judy before looking back at Kyle. I dropped my head before dashing up beside him.

Every room he showed, I was met with a new person distraught by the events of the day. Kyle just showed me the room. I didn’t really know what I was expecting when he showed me around the house.

“Finally, this is where I sleep,” Kyle muttered as he gestured towards the closed off bedroom. A small smile grew on my lips as I entered the room, heading right towards the bed. Kyle, however, stopped me by grabbing my backpack and pulling me back to the door. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Judy said I could sleep in here, too. So I figured I should take my side of the bed.” I looked up at him, folding my arms over my chest. A smirk grew across Kyle’s lips before he nodded. At this point we were standing toe-to-toe, and our chests were practically pressed together.

“You’re adorable,” he muttered before pulling my backpack off my back and tossing it to the left side of the bed. “If I find out you’re cuddling with me, you’re outta here. And if I see you going through my shit… You’re dead.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” I whispered before looking away from him. I walked away from him and towards the bed. Even though I wasn’t facing him, I could feel Kyle’s eyes on me as I went through my bag. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me? Or are you going to let me sleep peacefully?” I asked as I dropped my shoulders and the things I was holding.

“Until I know you won’t fuck around with stuff you’re not supposed to…” He spoke out loud. I rolled my eyes before turning to face him.

“Do you want me to just mess with your stuff while you’re here?” I asked as I walked back around to his side of the bed. Kyle’s eyes widened and his jaw steeled as I went to his night stand. “Or will you leave me alone so I can get some rest?”

“I’ll leave you alone the second you back away from that nightstand.” His words were quick and sharp as he spoke. A small smirk grew across my lips as I looked back at him. I stepped away from the night stand and stood in the middle of the room. “I’ll come back in an hour,” he muttered before leaving the room.

With a deep sigh, I returned to my side of the room, finally getting ready to lie down for the first time in what feels like days.

{***}{***}{***}

I don’t think time exists anymore. Ever since the world went to shit, it feels like days felt longer than 24 hours. So it was hard to say how long I’d been in this safe house. I wished time was still relevant...

I try not to let things bother me. But I feel like it’s especially hard in this house with all of these people I hardly know. It was even harder because I was still sharing a room with Kyle. And he is probably the worst person I’ve ever met. He talks in his sleep. But he wouldn’t own up to that. Noooo, he’s too good for that.

The first night I realized he was talking in his sleep wasn’t too bad, mostly because it was him talking about stuff that happened before before a stupid zombie apocolyspe. But now it’s just annoying shit. I never get a moment alone anymore.

For a moment of privacy, I sat in the closet. It was just for a moment before the doors swung open and a woman my age sat down beside me.

“Zach wants to go to a stupid graveyard today,” Erica muttered as she sat down. I looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. “He wants to visit Beth’s stupid grave.”

“Beth’s his ex-girlfriend, right?” I asked, still unsure of who people were here. She nodded as she began picking at the loose threads on her pants. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, Erica.”

“Okay, but when the dead start trying to kill me, then I’m going to talk ill of the dead.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” I muttered as I looked at the floor in front of us. “It’s still not really safe to do that… Little weird.” I glanced back at Erica with a raised brow. She looked back at me and grimaced. I had nothing else to say, granted conversations between us didn’t last too long. We had nothing in common other than our grandmothers tried eating us, therefore we had to kill them. So what was the use of us talking? I knew a friendship would never grow between us.

With a resigned sigh, I stood up, leaving Erica in the closet alone. I ignored her bothersome questions as I walked away from her. I didn’t want to be around her, or really anyone. So I went to the safest place I could think of, hoping no one else would be there, my shared bedroom with Kyle.

Of course, it’d just be my luck that Kyle would also be there. He was sitting at his desk, wearing nothing by his boxers while he cleaned his gun. I just didn’t realize that till I had fully entered the room.

“What the fuck!? What are you doing?! Don’t you knock!?” he shouted as I entered the room more. I turned and looked at him, my eyes wide as I stared at him. “S-Stop staring! Are you crazy!?”

“Me crazy!? You’re the one cleaning your gun half naked!” I shouted as I gestured at his attire. I quickly threw a hand over my eyes as I blindly searched for the bed.

“It's how I relax!” He shouted back. Once my body finally touched the bed, I laid back, quickly throwing a pillow over my face. “Can you leave?”

“How come you get to relax but I don’t? Roommates remember?” I sat up and glared at him. He glared back at me, keeping his hands on his gun.

“It’s so funny to me that you were going to be a police officer?” I scoffed as I laid back. That seemed to strike a chord in him, causing him to stand and look at him.

“What? I didn’t tell-”

“You talk in your sleep,

“No I don’t, Kitten,” Kyle retorted. I stared at him for a moment, trying to comprehend what he just called me. Kitten? Really? Seriously? “If anyone talks in their sleep, it’s you.” He pointed at me. I smirked and shrugged.

“If you say so… Officer.” I grinned before reaching up to shut the lamp off. Kyle stayed sitting in the darkness. I could only imagine his face was beet red, and his knuckles were white as a ghost as he held his gun.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Kyle’s voice came through the mild darkness. I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me.

“Taking a nap, Officer, because it’s how I relax.”

{***}{***}{***}

It had to have been the middle of the night. I couldn’t be too sure. I just knew it was late at night, and Kyle’s whole entire body was clinging to mine as he talked.

“Someone’s gotta repopulate the world… Why… Why don’t you do it with me?” Kyle mumbled into my chest. I stiffened as his hands drifted all over my body. “You’re like the only feasible person to do it with.”

“Okay, first off, rude,” I muttered as I shoved his body off mine. It was impossible to keep him off me though, because the moment his body was away from mine, he knew, and instantly wrapped his arms back around me ten times harder than before. “Secondly, haven’t you heard of personal space,” I groaned as I laid perfectly still on my back. I finally just gave in and let him keep his arms around me. No use in fighting that.

“C’mon, Kitten,” he mused as he nuzzled his head into my chest more. I widened my eyes and looked down at him. “We’d make some pretty cute kids.”

I hate this so fucking much. And there was no way I was getting out of this. I just wish this was when I knew the weird sex dreams started...

{***}{***}{***}

I laid perfectly still on the bed. The lights were off, and Kyle was perfectly asleep. I was envious of his sleep. The last time I had a peaceful night of rest was ages ago. The nightmares I had were awful, keeping me awake till dawn. But also, Kyle also talked in his sleep and always clung to me like his life depended on it.

I’d be lying if I said Kyle and I hadn’t gotten close. Even though part of me still hated him, the other part of me knew that he was probably the last person I had to be friends with, other than his mother and Erica.

With a deep groan, I shoved Kyle awake, nearly pushing him to the floor.

“What the hell was that for!?” he shouted from his spot on the ground beside the bed.

“You know when you talk in your sleep…” I spoke aloud. I kept my eyes on him as he glared at me.

“No I don’t,”

“You sure about that, Officer. How else would I know you wanted to be a cop?” I scoffed as I stood up off the bed. Kyle watched as I walked around the bed and stood at the foot of it.

“You… You read through my personal belongings.” He shot back as he stood to his feet.

“Y-You have a diary,” I stifled my laughter as I looked at him. Kyle glared at me again. “No, I only know that because you talk in your sleep. And at first it didn’t bother me too much because it was cute shit like being a police officer, or having a family and kids, and cute shit… But now… For the last week, Kyle, you have been having sex dreams. And I wake up to you clinging to me…” I lifted an accusing finger as I spoke. Kyle looked at me, waiting for me to continue my rant. Which was rather surprising because he hardly lets people finish their thoughts or rants before he interprets them. “Do you know how weird that is?! Having sex dreams about someone who’s just sleeping next to you?” I stared at him for a moment, trying to understand if he was going to say anything. “Whatever, I’m going to help Judy.” I scoffed before turning to leave the room.

“With what? It’s midnight!” He gestured to the dark window. Yeah, that was true. Judy was probably asleep. I just needed to get out of the room and let my frustrations be out instead of held in.

“With something!” I shouted at him.

“Kitten, wait,” Kyle started before grabbing my wrist and pulling me to face him. I spun around on my toes and looked right at him. I couldn’t help but feel annoyance grow on my face as I stared.

“Why do you call me that!?” I shouted at him. Kyle stayed silent as he stared up at me. I could see a certain confusion grow on his face as he tried to connect the dots to my question. “Kitten! Why do you call me that?! You’ve called me that since I got here.”

“Well… I…” Kyle paused for a moment. I watched as his mouth opened and closed a few times, and his jaw clenching momentarily. I stared at him, as he sat in thought for a very long time.

“Whatever,” I scoffed as I turned to leave again.

“Because you’re attractive…” He finally spoke after an eternity of silence. He looked up at me with a stilled face. “Because I’d fuck you,” he stated truthfully. I blinked, taking a step back before I stared at him.

“That’s a bit of a raunchy way to say you want to sleep with me.” I folded my arms over my chest. Kyle smirked before shrugging. “I’ve been sleeping with you for the last month.”

“You-You know what I meant,” he muttered as he approached me again. I stopped right in front of me, our toes just barely touching. “Well, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to have sex with me?”

“You… You want to have sex… During the end of the world. Bit cliche don’t you think?” I was still taken aback that he just asked that. I’m still stuck in the argument we had less than 10 minutes ago. And now he wants to have sex with me?

“Well I wouldn’t say that it’s the end of the world. But that’s essentially what I’m saying… Yeah, I wanna have sex with you, during the end of the world.” Kyle shrugged as he looked at me.

“If you say so… Officer,” I whispered with a shrug. Kyle looked at me, his jaw stealing at my words. “Someone’s gotta repopulate the world.” I smirked at him. I could tell my words did something to him. It was obvious that he did indeed want someone to repopulate with. And I was the winner of that contest. Not that I’m complaining.

“Don’t… Don’t call me that,” he warned as he cornered me between his body and the bed. I took a deep breath as I looked at him, feeling my heart rate pick up in my chest. He still made it possible for me to escape if I wanted to. But, at this point, who says I wanted to escape?

“Why? D-Does it do something to you, Officer?” I whispered as I lifted my hands to his shirt. A small smirk grew across his lips as I smoothed out the wrinkleiness of the fabric against his torso. I could feel the semi toneness of his chest through the light fabric.

“You tell me yourself, Kitten,” he muttered before pressing his hips into mine. My breath was instantly knocked from my lungs as his bulge pressed into my legs. “Tell me now… If you want to stop…” he half growled into my mouth. I quickly shook my head as he pressed his groin into me more.

“P-Please,” I whispered before I pulled my lips between my teeth.

“Please what, Kitten?”

“Don’t stop,” I whimpered into his mouth. He looked down at me, a pleased smirk growing on his lips before he quickly pressed his mouth along my face and then down my jaw. It was impossible to stay down on earth the moment he began leaving little bites across my neck. A soft whimper fell from my lips as he pushed me back down on the bed.

“We gotta be quiet… My parents are in the next room over. Don’t want them hearing us,” he whispered into my ear as he quickly threw a hand over my mouth. I took a deep breath before he pressed his thumb over my nose. “You think you can do that for me, Kitten?” He kept his voice low, almost a growl as he spoke. With his other hand, he carefully pushed past my pajamas and cupped my pussy.

I wanted to nod, but I knew the nod would mean nothing the second I whimpered again. Kyle smirked as he slowly moved his fingers over my clothed sex. I don’t think I’d be able to be quiet...

It just got harder to stay quiet the second he started stroking my clit over my panties. He knew exactly what he was doing. Driving me nuts, that’s what. He could’ve gone slower, and I would’ve hated him for it… Or loved him. At this point they were both interchangeable.

I bit down so hard on my lips I was sure they’d bleed as he moved my underwear to the side. My lungs slowly grew a blaze, feeling a certain tightness in my chest as he slowly moved a finger between my folds, slowly pressing it into my entrance. A dark smirk grew across his lips as he withdrew his hand.

“I didn’t know a kitten could get so wet,” Kyle mused as looked at his glistening fingers. He quickly glanced at me, his smirk growing daker by the second. Then he carefully stuck his fingers between his lips, sucking on them for a brief moment. A soft whimper came from me, causing him to laugh. “She tastes good, too,” he hummed.

Kyle carefully dragged his hand down my side, tracing over my waist and hips, before diving back into my pants and underwear. He knew exactly what he was doing, on purposely making me make noises. Because the second he started stroking over my clit, I couldn’t stop any sound that came from my mouth, even with his hand over it.

“This is already better than any dream I had, Kitten,” he murmured in my ear. I swallowed roughly and nodded. He smirked as he gently pushed a finger into me, quickly followed by a second. “If you’re quiet I’ll move my hand.”

I hummed as I closed my eyes, my head lolling to the side. Kyle dragged his hand from my mouth, sliding it down to my chest. My lips stayed between my teeth, forcing myself to be quiet as he started massaging my breasts.

“D-Don’t stop, whatever you do… Please k-keep going,” I struggled to say as his movements hastened. His thumb carefully brushed against my clit, causing me to push my head back into the bed beneath me.

“You like this, don’t you?” Kyle laughed lightly. I could feel my chest lifting away from the bed the heavier my breath grew. “How long has it been since you’ve been touched like this? Since you’ve been used?”

“Kyle, Kyle, please,” I bit down on my lower lip. I brought one of my hands to rest over my mouth, while the other held his arm.

“I’d call you a desperate, but I’m the one having sex dreams of you.”

The funny thing is… I was desperate. Even though he was the one having the sex dreams, I was the one having the thoughts when I was awake. And a lot of the thoughts were hoping this would happen. Guess we’re bothing having dreams coming true.

It was only a matter of moments before I was finishing over his hand. My eyes stayed closed as I tried catching up with time. And in the few moments I had, Kyle had climbed off the bed and quickly undressed, leaving me still in my pajamas. I didn’t feel rushed, but I hated that I was still wearing clothes.

Once I had my moment of recollection, I sat up, peeling my shirt off and kicking my pants to the floor. I was too busy undressing to even notice that Kyle was staring at me, watching my quickness and excitement. But when I finally did sit back and look at him, he was watching me with a smirk on his lips.

I tried not to let my eyes linger on his body for too long. When I noticed his hard length, I couldn’t help but stare. Then he laughed, forcing me to look up at his face and swallow roughly.

“No, please, keep staring,” he muttered with a smirk. I slowly blinked before shaking my head, silently lifting my hand to him. I could feel my sudden neediness radiating off my body, surely Kyle could sense it from where he was standing.

When he didn’t move, I slowly moved my legs apart, making it so there was space for him to kneel comfortably. He smirked again before crawling onto the bed, coming right up to my face.

“Tell me, Kitten, how badly do you want this,” he whispered against my lips. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. “Use your words. I trust you know how. You were pretty vocal a few moments ago.”

“I don’t think you understand, Officer, how bad I need you,” I murmured as I looked up at him. The corner of his lips twitched at the nickname I had so lovingly given him. “Only you can help me.”

“Damn right I am,” he muttered before roughly pressing his lips to mine. I threw my arms around his neck as he moved so his length was pressing against me. My breathing stuttered slightly before I began gasping for air as he very slowly entered me.

Once he was fully sheathed in me, Kyle knelt straight up. I stared at him, watching as he hooked his arms under my knees. With that, he managed to press deeper into me, inciting a moan from me.

“More,” I tried to whisper as I looked up at him. His eyes locked with mine for a moment before rolling his hips into mine. He fell into a steady rhythm, hitting the right spots at just the right times.

Any conversation between us ceased to exist, leaving us with struggling moans and gasps for breath. My hands ran over my body, trying to relieve myself of something.

Kyle dropped one of my legs, bringing his hand to between my legs. My head fell back before rolling to rest against my shoulder, feeling the eventual relief in my abdomen.

“You feel so good, Kitten,” Kyle mumbled before dropping my other leg and coming back down to my face. I huffed out a breath of air before lifting a hand to his head. “Better than anything I could ever imagine,” he added before pressing his lips to mine. I hummed, pushing my fingers through his hair.

“I’m gon-gonna cum,” I whined before biting my teeth into his shoulder. Kyle ran his hands up my back before pulling me close.

“Yeah?” he groaned into my ear. I nodded as my breathing grew ragged. “Me too,” he added as his movements grew faulty. He pressed his forehead to mine, his heavy breath fanning across my skin. My eyes stayed glued to his.

“Do it, please do it,” I whimpered. Kyle’s eyes grew darker the moment the heaviness of my words hit him. I don’t think I was supposed to notice his brief pause, but I did. “I’m serious.”

“You know what-”

“God, Kyle, I know. I know what it’ll mean,” I cut him off, lifting my back up into his body. He looked at me for a brief moment before capturing my lips in a gentle kiss. I threw my arms around his neck, holding him close to me.

“If that’s what you want,” he moaned, his movements turning sloppy. I knew I wasn’t about to last long. “Someone’s gotta have my kid.”

“Let it be me then,” I cried out. My legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him in place. “Please.” My whole body tensed around his as my head fell back as I tried to keep quiet. Kyle looked down at me before putting his hand over my mouth. Then a warmth- that I didn’t realize that I missed- grew in my stomach.

Kyle fell, laying against my body. With that, we fell into silence. The only sound was our heavy breathing and the sounds of crickets outside. The silence was nice though.

“My mother better not find out about this,” Kyle said after an eternity. I laughed and shook my head.

“Then you better hope I don’t end up pregnant, because she’ll find out eventually,” I sighed deeply as I brought my hands to hold the back of his head. His body stiffened before he lifted his head to look down at me.

“I’ll tell her in the morning.”

“Well you don’t have to do that,” I laughed. He stared at me for a moment. “You tell her she’ll probably break us apart. And, well, like I said earlier… Someone’s gotta repopulate the world.”

“No, yeah, you’re right. She’d probably kill me if she found out we’re having sex,” he stated before trying to move away from me. “Actually I think she’d kill me then pray I come back to life for that kid.”

“I’m not living through someone trying to eat me twice.”

“I can change that,” he teased with a smile. I stared at him once I realized what he meant.

“Tomorrow night please. I’m so tired.”

“If you say so,” Kyle laughed before slipping out of the bed.

Some months after the apocalypse ended

“You look mighty dashing in that uniform, Officer.” I looked at Kyle as I smoothed out the few wrinkles in his shirt. I tried my hardest to hold the young boy in my arms the moment he became fussy.

“Don’t start that now. I can’t be late,” Kyle warned as he looked back at me. I smiled and shrugged.

I looked up at Kyle with a soft smile on my lips. Although our son was young, he tried to blindly reach out for his father, but failed as he was just out of the child’s reach. “Be safe out there,” I whispered before pressing my lips to his.

“Of course I will.”

“Good, because your little man will be pissed if he finds out you’re not coming home.” I smiled before kissing him again. “But I think I’ll be even more pissed than your kid.”

“Please. I’ll come home in one piece, with no bites.”

“You better, Officer.” I smirked again.

“Well since you asked so nicely,” Kyle scoffed before rolling his eyes. I smiled and nodded.

“Good luck out there. Judy’s making dinner so be home in a timely manner.”

“Okay, for real, I gotta go. See you later, Little Man.” Kyle smiled as he rubbed the top of his son’s head. I smiled before puckering my lips. “And I’ll be home before you know it.” He quickly pecked my lips. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too. See ya later.” I swung our son over to my other hip, resting him gently on my hip. I turned around and slowly walked back up to our home.

“It’s not too soon for another one, is it?!” He shouted from the end of the driveway. I turned and looked at him as I made it to the front door.

“If anything, we can practice!”

if you want to be a part of a taglist (lmk if ur 18+ for smut) or have any comments about this one-shot, let me know here

taglist: @thebluetint @muffin-cup @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @spencersmagic  @spenciegoob @flipperpenguins @broken-stardust​ 

[ashdownunderscorebeloved]

I’ve never done something like this before but I wanted to just to try my hand at it! So, my friends and I play this game where if someone says or does something really stupid or really funny, you can “copy” what they say and anytime someone tells you to “paste”, you have to do or say the thing no matter what you’re doing! We’ve gotten some pretty good things so I wanted to make little headcanon thingies for the brothers! I’m sorry this is a real big blurb thing but oh whale. Side notes; I have indeed been copied on all of these, and I’m doing this on mobile so if formatting is weird I’m sorry!

The Brothers playing “Copy, Paste”

T/W: not sure? Mild NSFW I think, mild swearing, some people don’t like it but MCYT is mentioned

Lucifer

You and Lucifer were sitting in his study, you were scrolling through Devilgram and he was doing paperwork as usual

You had just seen a wonderful meme and just had to read it to him, you had completely forgotten you had explained the rules of Copy, Paste just a few days before

“Hey Lucifer!”

“You can’t spell subtext without buttsex.”

Oh was that a mistake...

A smirk spread across his face, he set down his pen and stared at you for a moment before that dreaded word came from him. “Copy.”

Of course he would paste you one delightful evening when you were both having tea with Diavolo and Barbatos.

Tea totally came out of Diavolo’s nose when you said it

Mammon

Mammon barged into your room one day as always and the first words out of his mouth were “MC, I’m bored! Ya got any plans?”

You weren’t really doing anything so you decided to hang out with your first man

You were on your way to Majolish when he said something incredible

It would’ve been a somewhat normal sentence if he hadn’t decided to add those three words.

His D.D.D. had been going off the whole time in his back pocket and he wasn’t happy with it.

“Damn it! Knock it off, will ya? Just all buzz buzz buzz buzz. In my butt.”

The sound that left you was one of a dying cat. “Copy. Copy copy copy!”

“NO!”

You pasted him at dinner that same day, the reactions were amazing.

Leviathan

You had offhandedly mentioned to Levi that right now, Minecraft YouTubers were crazy popular in the human world so naturally he became Dream’s biggest fan

What you weren’t expecting was for him to learn. Every. Single. TommyInnit. Quote.

One day he had just watched a SleepyBoisInc compilation and he thought it was just so funny.

You had already made plans with him for that day to play Minecraft together because boy is he obsessed

It was around thirty minutes into the session and he hadn’t really said much, until he turned and looked you dead in the eye.

“Just killed a woman, feelin’ good.”

“Yup, that’s gonna be a copy from me.”

“Thanks” *deep breath* “Home home.”

You two paste each other quite often and every time he gets so flustered it’s absolutely adorable.

Satan

You’re not sure how this conversation even came about.

It started off talking about weird things humans can do and their evolution, how in the world did these words end up coming out of your mouth?

You probably ended up talking about bodily functions that humans and demons share, which was definitely as gross as it sounds.

“Ah, ass air. Gamer girls could probably sell it. Delicious bottled ass air.”

“MC...copy?”

“Oh no.”

He pastes you any chance he can get, especially if it could embarrass either you or Lucifer. You’re all out with Diavolo? Paste. You’re meeting a very important high ranking demon? Paste.

Asmodeus

Asmo had invited you to his room for a self care sleepover and as usual he went all out for you

I’m talking a complete 372629293 step skincare routine, a hot bath, massage, nails, everything

He was getting ready to put some lotion on your arms and hands but when he pressed the pump down it just shot out

You both were taken aback, and whoever possessed you in that moment must’ve thought it was real funny because you looked Asmodeus dead in the eye and said, “What a cumshot!”

“One, copy. Two, if you thought that was a good cumshot then you’re missing out.”

Asmo first pasted you in front of Mammon, just to see his reaction. Poor thing.

Beelzebub

It was time for a midnight snack with Beel, aka you talking to him while he inhaled the entire kitchen.

Beel wasn’t paying attention to the fridge, more focused on the very intense look on your face as you played a game on your DDD. You just looked so cute

His finger slid right into some custard, he pulled his finger out and turned to you.

He held his finger up to show you before cleaning licking it off. “MC. Do you like my finger?”

For some reason, that made you laugh so hard you nearly fell off the counter.

Somewhere in your laugh attack, you managed to wheeze out. “Copy, goodness gracious. Copy!”

You really only paste him when you’re alone, but just one time you pasted him in front of Lucifer who looked utterly confused. I mean...context?

Belphegor

You and Belphie were cuddling in the attic room, him half asleep and you scrolling through Devilgram.

You had just read a very sad fanfiction based on The Lord of Shadows and Henry, one that actually drove you to tears.

Belphie, being Belphie, decided he wanted attention so what’s the first thing the gremlin tries to do? Bite your hair.

“Belphie! Don’t bite my hair, I’m too sad!” You cried out, and he stopped.

He stared at you for a few moments before he spoke. “Copy.”

You were still upset when he pasted you, Beel had come up with snacks and was very confused as to why you were upset.

Maybe you should cuddle him instead of the hair biter. Love you Belphie but come on!

[real-sotenbori-hours]

Hello there 💖 Love your writing and just finished yakuza 0, and if you're up for it, I'm in the mood for something different. I love Majima, but I'm craving drama atm. What if he and his badass beauty of a s/o are getting it on and he calls Makoto's name by mistake? New bae is sweet, makes his lunches, but is NO Makoto! How shook is she? Can the couple reconcile or is that the deal breaker?

This is a terrific prompt... I’ve been dealing with some roller coaster emotions as of late so I appreciate a drama req. Pls be patient and I’d love to write this. TYSM for requesting <3

Mistaken Makoto

Reader is Female

Mild smut, angst, mentions of trauma

***WARNING: YAKUZA 0 SPOILERS***

What a day. If she didn't stay and help up, who would?It had been this way all week, and Y/N had only realized how emotionally and physically drained she truly was at the end of it all, which couldn't be more ideal because nothing is worse than realizing how thanklessly overworked one is in the very midst of the issue itself. Thankfully she now had a couple of days off to decompress and relax and the first things on her mind were a quick snack, a cup of tea and hopefully some pleasures of the flesh with her all too irresistible man. She desperately needed some bliss to tear her from her incredibly demanding lack of work/life balance. Good thing her man was more than understanding.

They didn't reside together, but Majima's flat was a lot closer (and fancier) than her place, so she typically crashed there in the evenings especially after late work days. Her apartment was more of a storage unit for her belongings and less urgently needed clothes as she usually spent her nights at his place. Though he'd been pushing the idea of moving in together for months, it was just so much work to pack her stuff and close out her lease and with her long hours as of late, she didn't have the energy to seal this lingering loose end. She planned on it, but something else held her back from making it official. She hadn't even had the time to analyze her trepidation, it was just there, and something far more easily avoided. Money wasn't an issue, so she couldn't complain. She'd get around to it soon enough.

It was a damp, sultry evening... an hours' long rain had set a sexy mist in the air and with the low lights of Kamurocho illuminating her quick and safe walk home, she felt like a seductive evening at home was just what the doctor ordered. Majima had texted her only a couple hours prior, hinting at the same theme as he'd just settled some big work things and wanted to relax. He'd offered a lovely night on the town but because Y/N was stuck at work just a little later than usual, a hot night at home seemed like the move. He'd warned that he was settling in for a nap, and to wake him when she arrived.

Her plan was to forego the food and tea, strip down and slip into bed with him... he loved being awakened by her eager warmth.

After locking the door, she dropped her coat and shimmied out of each of her professional garments, slowly sauntering into the bedroom from which only a dim light from the bathroom shone due to the door being slightly ajar.

What a marvel --- his back was to her, his irezumi slightly visible in the dim light and partial obscurity of blanket. No matter how many times she'd seen it wet, dry, slightly irritated from her nails raking its flesh, it still made her skin tingle. She loved Majima Goro through and through and was willing to do anything for him. He treated her like a Queen and still offered her the world if she needed anything. He respected her independence, always offered to support her if she so desired, and was in turn endlessly grateful for her love and commitment to him. Many a time she wondered how in the fuck that she was The One to tame a yakuza boss... but she had. It was so natural and uncomplicated, she never batted an eye. It was sparks in the air the first time they met and every day and night since.

By the time she reached the bed, she was beautifully nude and ready. As much as she needed him and his attentions, she wanted to at least begin by lavishing him with attention while rousing him from his slumber. It drove him crazy.

After slipping beneath the linens, pressed against him, she kissed his shoulder, slowly and deliberately and then made her way down the back of his arm while slipping her hand along his back and over his hip, gripping the bone. He groaned, rolling on his back as she snuck up to his ear.

"Mmmm, I'm home...."

No further words necessary, he wrapped his arms around her as she straddled him, kissing and biting his lobe, down his neck, stopping to suck along his clavicle. His hands found their way to her hips as he gripped them and urged them to rock back and forth, but she wanted to prolong it. She needed to tease a little.

His eye remained closed, his breathing grew heavier as he gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. She adored it.

Leaning in to kiss his neck, she traveled up to his lips, leaving quick and desperate pecks along them before sinking herself on him. She rubbed his pecs delicately before leaning back and gripping his thighs, preparing to ride him. Just as she'd begun to establish a momentum, his hands gripped her forearms, his eye still shut tightly, lips parted. She raised herself, holding steady, slowly sinking down on him again just as he moaned... "I've missed you..."

She loved it when he mused in the throes of it. She bounced a few times, leaning in to kiss him again, harder, taking his bottom lip and kissing his chin... leaning in further to whisper, "I've missed you too..."

He slid his hand up the back of her neck, gripping and keeping her close. He turns his head, eye still screwed tightly shut as he kisses her cheek. She rolls her hips again. He rubs his lips along her lobe, sighing.

"Mmmm..."

She slams her hips harder, urging him to chase his release as he continues to keep her pinned to him, gritting his teeth. She loves his scent, his sweat, she wants to lap up every bit of it.

"....Mmmma..."

She bites at his clavicle, sucking tenderly as she continues pumping him with her entire body, just wanting to make him feel so good for no reason but adoration and appreciation for him... She just wants to hear him moan and watch his face contort as he fully surrenders.

She sits up, one last slam as she tightens herself around him. She descends, pulsing on him, cradling his head as his lips part one more time. He exhales, groaning.

"....Makoto...."

Screeeeeeeeeeech.

Y/N's heart, stomach, hell, fucking everything dropped. Without a second thought, she pressed her hands on each side of her along the bed and dismantled herself, rising.

His eye flew open, his head frantically turning, searching for his girlfriend, who was promptly planning on redressing and bolting before the tears could burst out of her into every direction. What the fuck?!

"Oy!" He shouts, sitting up, still registering.

She's already made it out of the bedroom, picking up every piece of her clothing trail and hurriedly putting them back on with the urgency of a burning building.

She's grabbing her bag off of the counter as he barges into the kitchen, wrapped in the linens. "OY! Where the hell ya think yer goin'?"

She takes a deep breath and turns around to face him, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm leaving. Fuck off."

"What in the hell for? What's the matter?!"

ARE YOU SERIOUS.

She steps forward and shoves him with a single, open hand. Bag still in her other hand. "FOR CALLING ME 'MAKOTO' WHILE I'M FUCKING ON TOP OF YOU. ARE YOU FUCKING OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"

He catches himself, grabbing the counter and throws his head in his other hand. "Jesus Christ, I'm a little drunk, babe. I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, great. Well, you can be sorry alone. I'm going home."

"Nah c'mon don't be like that, it was a mistake, I love ya and ya know that, don'tcha?"

"You know honestly, I'm not sure. If you're thinking of her while I'm giving it to you, giving you my fucking body, my affection, my time, I think the mistake is my being in this entire fucking equation. I must be insane. I knew there was a reason I wasn't ready to move out of my place yet...."

"Nah babe it's not like that, I swear. I'm really sorry, I know that didn't feel good but I was in such a deep sleep I really wasn't thinkin---"

"---ABOUT ME. You were thinking of another woman. While I'm here. Are you serious? Do you have any idea how much I love you, how you might as well have shoved your tanto straight into my chest? That would've felt better than to hear another woman's name come out of your fucking mouth..."

Majima realized this wasn't a conversation he could charm his way out of. All of the times he came home battered, bruised and bleeding? Yeah after a few minutes of patching, he could calm her down. All of the times he was stuck at the office late and hadn't eaten in hours, she'd bring him something home cooked, knowing full well that none of his favorite shops were open. She'd beg him to come and get some sleep but he'd assure her that he'd get it done and be fine. She'd take it all in stride, this was the man she loved, it was par for the course.

But being called another woman's name, one that held such a crushing significance in his life? Nah.

"...I'm leaving. I need space. Leave me alone for a few days." His eye flew open as he nearly tripped over the blanket, dashing to her and grabbing her arms.

He knelt, looking up at her pleadingly.

"Y/N, baby, please. Please. Yer everythin' ta me. Please don't go..."

She sighed, too tired to even fight the tears. She let them roll.

"I can't do this, Goro. Maybe you love me, but obviously I'm not everything to you. Maybe it's unfair for me to demand to be, but it's what you are to me, and I can't compromise. I won't find myself in another love in which my feelings aren't matched."

"They are matched, babe. Please just stay so we can talk about it. If ya don't wanna stay after that, fine, but please gimme a minute to explain..."

"Goro, what's there to explain? If she's still in such a dominant place in your mind, then what's left for me? I can't share your affection like that. This isn't gonna work. Am I supposed to get over it and hope it doesn't happen again? What do you take me for?"

He choked, taking a deep breath. He dropped the Kansai-ben.

He looked up at her slowly, his face changing, his voice low and serious."I cared a lot for her. I haven't spoken with her in almost 20 years. There is nothing there. Sometimes I'm plagued with nightmares from the events of those years. Between my captivity and the situation in which I met her. I wish her nothing but the best. I have moved on since then, clearly. She only means anything to me because she is a good person. I'm not in love with her, I'm in love with you, and only you."

Y/N swallowed hard, taking his words into consideration... soothed but still feeling an uneasiness.

"You said her name while you were balls deep inside me. How are you going to explain that away? Be fucking honest with me. You have one minute."

"Makoto and I were never physically intimate! She isn't an ex-girlfriend or former love or anything like that! It was an honest mistake, it had nothing to do with the fact that you and I were in the middle of it, okay? I was just waking up, babe..."

"You were conscious. You grabbed me, you kissed me..."

"My mind was still out of it. Come on, I'm telling you the truth. I love you, Y/N. I love you like crazy. Makoto has absolutely nothing to do with my life now. I was just having a fucked-up dream."

Y/N set her bag down and draped her arms around him lazily as he hugged her hips.

"Look, I don't know how much I ever told you about it but here's the brakes: I was told to kill her and if I did, I'd be let back into the family, which was all I wanted at the time. You know all about my Grand days and that tiny apartment and the fact that all I did was run a cabaret club and get followed everywhere I went and my direct boss at the time would just slap me around like a fucking puppy and throw wrenches in everything I did, right?"

She nodded.

"I was told that I'd be in good standing and that I'd get my life back if I did my first hit. I was supposed to take out some ruthless scumbag that trafficked women. It was a no-brainer. I hunt my target down only to find that this ruthless scumbag was a blind woman who had no idea why in the fuck anyone would be after her. You can only imagine my confusion and why I did not kill her. But I was then of course risking worse things than death by keeping her alive and hidden away, all the while lying to my boss. Once he wised up, he tried to kill me, her and the guy she worked for at the time who was a solid guy. I watched him die. I got roughed up time and again, had to find her, make sure they didn't kill her. She was totally blameless and a survivor of the trafficking itself. This woman went through so much and still never batted an eye at her poor hand of cards. Yes, I wound up caring for her very deeply and after all was said and done, I could've told her how I felt, maybe she felt the same, who knows. Instead, I wanted her to be happy and to have nothing to do with me... because at the time, I only created more and more enemies as I climbed the ladder and I knew I couldn't keep her safe forever. I knew that at that time in my life, I had to focus on where I was going, I couldn't drag an innocent person into my mess of a life just because I had feelings for her. I did what I thought was the right thing then and I stand by it now... and where I'm at now, finally, is a place in which I can finally be with the woman I love -- you -- and I don't have to keep you away. I'm not climbing anymore... I'm no longer a real target and neither is anyone close to me."

Y/N nodded again, feeling relieved... but sad. So sad. Sad for being angry at him and sad for his loss... she had no idea the extent of what Makoto was to him and had only assumed the usual out of fear of bringing up such a heavy conversation... but she was glad to finally have it all out in the open.

"Alright... I know I shouldn't ask this but I need to..."

"Anything, babe. What do you want to know?"

"Do you wish you had been with her anyway? I know comparing myself to her is nonsensical but---"

"---Could I love you like I did her?"

"Yes."

"...No. Because the way I felt for her is different. You have to understand, I had to fight dozens and I mean dozens of men to protect her. She kept getting nabbed, I'd have to fight my way through buildings full of armed men to get her out alive. She got shot and almost died. I thought she had at first. It looked grim. So I guess in a way, the way I felt for her then is that I just wanted to protect the only truly good person I ever knew in my life... at that point. How do I feel about her now? I just hope she's happy... and I believe she is."

"You said you haven't spoken to her in 20 years?"

"That's a half truth. When we went through all that shit, she was blind. She never knew what I looked like, she only knew my voice. Years later I ended up in Sotenbori tying up some loose ends that led me to her shop and she didn't realize it was me, telling a perfect stranger how she was happily married with a kid. I was glad to hear it, you know? That was it. I just hope her life now is great because the first half wasn't, you know what I mean? That's it."

Y/N closed her eyes tightly and breathed in slowly, trying to make sense of her emotional state.

"Goro-kun..."

He looked up for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Y/N-chan?"

She sighed once again and carded her fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends, trying to stifle a laugh. Though she was still mildly hurt, the burn of her fury had subsided... she was grateful to have gotten a full discourse out of him and now felt almost foolish for being so (understandably) upset. She all but worshiped this man... he has always been good to her, holding her up on a pedestal, treating her with the respect and care that one only does when they truly and deeply... love and care for another.

She realized it's not a competition, Makoto wasn't "some other woman" or even a threat to her... she was a member of his past, a traumatic and murky one at that. She realized in that moment that it's okay that Majima loved another woman (and more, of course) before her... look at him.

But in this moment for a time before and likely to come, Majima Goro is hers and only hers. He did the right and likely painful thing by scratching at the scab to let her in, to tell her what happened and how it applies to his life now... to give her a perspective on her importance to him now, in comparison to what he's endured. It's a scab because the events of his past never truly heal or leave his psyche... he's just learned to live with and in spite of them, in many thanks to her.

Her unconditional love keeps him grounded, her presence adds to his purpose and for her, the same.

She was indescribably appreciative that the gave her a part of him in his honesty... and she would never take it for granted again. Walking out the door in anger would be, in her eyes, taking it for granted.

He nuzzled his face against her stomach, cradling her hips, giving her all the time she needed to cycle through her thoughts and feelings. God, what a man.

She gripped his chin and pulled him up to his feet, slipping an arm around him, re-tucking the blanket around his hips.

"Let's go to sleep... and bring back the Kansai-ben. I miss it already."

He laughed his usual insane, multi-octave laugh and grabbed her face, kissing her lips, nose, cheek and forehead before ripping the blanket off of him, wrapping it around her and scooping her up, carrying her back to the bedroom.

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

ok i agree w/ everything you said about those ladies besides, lwaxana gives s*xual pr*dator vibes and that is why i dont like her.

I can see that reading for sure and all things are subjective. I do strongly disagree, but hey, fandom is a space for that! Super chill.

to go a little more into this though, since it's not really so much about what any of us feel, but more about how we engage with female characters (and I'll use your example of why you don't like her - not to drag you, your dislike is totally fair, she's fictional, she won't mind, but just because it's a single line that kinda puts her in a box. And not a very nice box to be in, that's for sure...)

a little tw for mild references to some of the shadier writings of star trek vis a vis sexual assault and otherwise sexist and/or strange relationship dynamics

okay so you know how Riker has like. two? episodes that're suuuper shady in terms of his treatment of women and the rest of the time it's pretty chill. and he's one of my favourite characters, but I have gotta skip those episodes, because whatever they were trying to do, they Did Not Succeed - and there's a reading of him that incorporates those elements and if you do you've gotta contend with the character being quite probably someone who's assaulted women.

or how Worf at times espouses sexist shit that makes me roll my eyes outta my head and you're either gonna say "I don't fucking like this character" (and again, totally fair, I've seen people who don't Vibe) or you've gotta find a way to make this work for you if you want to explore that character - or both of those things, you can dislike a character and want to write about them

Or some of the weird shit the writers have Geordi do (which, Geordi is my favourite character in TNG, but sometimes ya gotta breathe and go "the writers are fucking dumb, the writers are fucking dumb")

or - the spiritual successor of Geordi, Julian Bashir (my favourite character from DS9 - clearly I have a Type). You've gotta go: This is stupid writing. I can make it work with my own read of the character, but first and foremost The Writing Is Dumb!

Or hell, Q - since we're talking about Lwaxana and I assume her interactions with Picard and Odo, let's not forget to mention Q, both in TNG and on VOY with Janeway - some of the more urgh-inducing scenes between Q and Janeway are, I think, meant to be charming and funny? And I'm a massive QCard shipper here, okay, I actually vibe so hard with him as an alien who doesn't get shit about boundaries (this mostly with Picard, with Janeway I have gone: "Hm. This doesn't feel good" a fair few times).

or how the writers of DS9 had Garak be in a very uncomfortable relationship with Ziyal, who was a teenager, then not a teenager within much too short a span of episodes (and actress changes)

or Quark. Remember the episode in which Quark tries to get Kira's likeness so he can put it in a sex-fantasy roleplay that she did not consent to? or how there are two cold opens where his female employees are told they have to sleep with him to keep their jobs

or like... Neelix (okay, I am not a fan of Neelix anyway, but for people who are fans, there are times when you've gotta wonder what in the heck the writers are thinking - not the character, the writers)

what I'm trying to say with the post I wrote is that this same graciousness isn't offered to female characters - especially female characters of colour, but in the case of Lwaxana

she's older, she's an ongoing female guest star, she's very (sometimes uncomfortably) sexual towards especially Picard and for a short while Odo, before they become really good friends.

she's also in-text several times in positions in which men are trying to control her (the episode where she gets kidnapped, the episode in which the guy who's married her is a misogynist) and she uses or tries to use her "wiles" to escape these situations.

She's really more of a faded beauty who's putting a pressure onto her daughter (in a rare interesting, complex, fraught mother-daughter dynamic that I loooove) and refuses to let go of the past, because (and here we get into my read, but mildly supported by canon) it's the only way she seems to have learned how to be loved and have relevance. She's terrified of letting that go, because where does she go next, without everything that's defined her? which is why her final episode with Odo is actually so powerful to me.

Picard is never threatened by her in-text. He's not massively fond of her (at first, she grows on him... like a mold), he would prefer to avoid her, but he's not in a powerless situation here. She undoubtedly makes him uncomfortable at times in a way that - like some of the above examples have made me go "mmmmokay" but certainly not the worst example of this in the writing.

With Odo I also don't like how some of her interactions with him go in the first episode they're in together. But once they're friends and you see how easily she accepts him ("I can swim" is always going to be one of my favourite little chuckle lines) that no longer applies. He clearly likes her and enjoys her company. There's something incredibly lifelong platonic partners in their easiness with each other.

You can argue in both cases (and argue well) that there are scenes that are kinda sus. But there are lots of scenes that offer you depth of character. She's not one-note. She's got off moments.

Some of these guys (and others - I haven't watched as much TOS and Voyager so I don't want to misrepresent anyone, but I feel sure that Tom Paris has made me squint once or twice + I've not seen Enterprise yet) have whole episodes that make me shudder.

It's really - within this fandom for sure - open how we interpret characters and I'm not saying anyone needs to read Lwaxana like this or change their minds and like her.

The point of the post is not to say you have to like any of these characters. Or even to say you have to engage with them regardless of how you vibe or don't vibe with them. It's just... I have listened to several up-until-then-enjoyable deeply analytical podcasts where at some point one of the (guys... always guys... I'm guessing white) makes a sneering comment completely dismissing their value within the series.

My point is that Lwaxana (since we're on her) has value as a character within the Trek universe. She added something important. She's not everyone's cup of tea, but it's a big series, we're not all guaranteed to like everyone.

and in the original post I used "shrill" and "cringy" on purpose, because those are descriptors I've heard. And they are absolutely rooted in misogynist dismissals of female characters no matter what shape they take (Keiko, Lwaxana, Michael, and Ezri are radically different from each other and yet all easily brushed aside regardless of screentime, personality, show, age, role/job).

I'm not making points about having to engage with or like characters. I'm just saying we need to be aware of how easily we specifically look down our noses at female characters (and specifically female characters of colour - apologies, this was just because we were talking about Lwaxana, but some of the shit I've heard about especially Michael and Keiko have made me want to bang my head against a wall... or other peoples heads against walls... you know, for a nice change)

so how much sympathy or analysis of behaviour is afforded to female characters vs their male peers. What judgements are we making and how do they compare to our readings of their male counterparts?

sidenote: I hate using male and female about star trek, my brain is just like "why anyone gender? why do this? you're in space? there are aliens? y'all can't chill with the binary for two fucking seconds?"

different post

[mari-lair]

Norray halloween week Day 1: Ghosts!

If curious, below are some random info about this Teacher/ghost AU

Ray got a gun and he can use it. The ghost gun isn’t able to touch, much less physically hurt anyone, but it replicate the sound of a real gun, which contributed a lot to how low priced his haunted house rent has become. It nearly gave Norman a heart attack the first time he heard it.

After being dead for a while, Ray learned how to turn visible and invisible at will and play around small objects such as paper, shoes and butcher knives. He can control up to 4 small objects at a time or something relativaly heavy like a chair if he really concentrate. The more he got the hang of controling and moving small objects the lower his house rent become, rarely getting aggressive but still able to physically hurt people. On All Hallows Eve he can posses people’s bodies and get out of the house he haunts, but he always ends up back to his empty ‘home’ when the night is over.

Ray is an incredibly fast learner. Just by observing the people that visits his house, he learned a decent amount of modern english and understand the basics of how tecnology is a  thing now -he wished this advanced tecnology was invented when he was alive. It would make the of lack of food and nutrients less of a deadly nightmare in open sea.

As a pirate, Ray used to be the one in charge of doing most of the bloody work and take the night watch, protecting his captain’s back from both outside and inside forces. He was constantly alert, borderline paranoic. But as the years in death passed, he grew more calm, very patient. He usually don’t mind new people in his house, happy to learn more modern english and befriend the guests willing to tolerate him. If a new guest cross a line however,  Ray will do his best to scare them away. Hurt them or kill them by manipulating knives if he sees fit.

It’s very rare for adults to see Ray as anything other than a nonsense they have no energy to deal with or a warning sign for their crumbling lives, so he usually hang around kids. The childish company mellows him with time.

Ray is from a time where death was common and getting hurt was inevitable so what people consider pretty serious is something Ray considers mild “Why are you being so dramatic about seeing some bone? Be grateful your hand is still attached to your wrist after you slaped your daughter. If it wasn’t for her wishes you wouldn’t have legs to run away.”

Norman is considered a genius and have countless prizes under his belt. He wanted to go to the moon when he was a kid but because of his weak health, he knew he would not be acepted in the space program. He decided teaching was the next best thing later on, accepted as a teacher in a prestigious school while still young. He enjoys and understand all subjects but love history the most, unable to deny it was hard and frustrating to teach a whole class of teens at times but still liking his job. Having one student that was genuinaly interested in his class was more than enough to make his day.

When Norman first started teaching, he felt more responsable than he had his whole life. It wasn’t a bad feeling per see, but it made him anxious so he called his little sister Cherry once a week to ask her questions about her teachers and make sure he was doing a good job.

Norman may not be the funniest of teacher but he’s still a favorite for his palpable cares for his students. He does not make the subject easier than is requested but he put a lot of effort into making people enjoy their world history, teaching with passion and seriously answering any questions, no matter how silly or joking it sounds. He’s understanding and try his best to help those with dificulty with the subject, always giving people second chances, having lost countless nights of sleep correcting re-writen essays after deadlines and turning his test questions into podcasts for students with adhd, aware the big historical excerpts are fundamental for answering the test but too hard to focus, specially with limited time.

The lambda crew are problem children. Norman went the extra mile to save Barbara and Zazie from failing classes even outside history and left Vincent startruck with his wide knowladge about not only world history but a ton of subjects he could be teaching too if he wasn’t overworking himself. Norman is both happy to inspire the squad to study hard and also very awkward by their blind admiration.

The teacher had a firm “ghost don’t exist”  mentality, which is one of the reasons he brought the haunted house in the first place. He had chalked Ray up as an halucination from his sleep deprived brain, having the rotten luck of buying the house right after a bad guest owned. The ghost got more annoyed than usual from things as insignificant as Norman keeping the lights on for too long, putting music Ray doesn’t vibe with, or just acting unfairly cute, to more personal matters such as Norman studying about Ray and his family lives. They used to have a distant and bad relationship but once Ray noticed Norman had only admiration for history, being genuinaly kind when trying to talk instead of mocking his existence, Ray apologised. Norman was still wary at first but they quickly hit off, enjoying to learn what the other had to offer and matching in wits.

When Norman catch a fever or a bad cold Ray gets wary. He know, on some level, that medicine have evolved a lot, but he remenbers way too clearly how serious even the weakest of diseases could get if not imediatly treated.  He always stick by Norman’s side when the teacher sneezes, not taking his eyes off him. Usually Norman keep working when he catch a cold, so Ray learned to float Norman’s grading papers out of his reach when coughing joined his sneezes. Floating a paper is enough to get Norman to take a break most of the time, but if the get stubborn Ray will stop playing nice. Just lower his voice to comander mode and order “Rest. Now. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.” and Norman does what he’s told, it’s very unconfortable to have a gun in the face and he does feel very tired.

When Norman is seriously sick, not just coughing but stuck to his bed. Ray freak out and fear for his life. When it reached this level, most of his crewmates died or had to be thrown in the sea to not infect other. Yes Ray know it’s not as bad anymore, but even when he observed guests, they rarely got sick, and when it got bad they where taken to a doctor. Norman lives alone so he got no one to feed him and bring him blankets or take him to the doctor if he lies for hours in bed. Ray was all the help he would get and he is fucking dead, he can’t measure his temperature or take care of him properly. Ray does tries his best though. He concentrated a lot to float heavy blankets and pillows towards Norman. Imediatly fetching any pills asked of him and doing his best to make him tea. It isn’t tasty, but Norman still appreciates his care.

Ray is the first to fall in love, he think “If only I could  kiss this fool and hug him, I would do it on the daily. I wish he was alive back then... He would love meeting Emma...” at least once a week but a big part of him is just “Forget scurvy! Norman would die of cold or malnutricion before he reached 10. Thank god the helpless bastard took his sweet time to be born.”

Ray cannot touch any eletronics, he can’t even come close without phones, computers, and tvs turning to statics, so Norman buys an illustrated book about the Red Mane Pirates for Ray to see his crew again. He know is not perfect but is the best he can offer whenever Ray expresses missing his family.

They read together. Norman occasionally teaching a new word to his ghost and Ray correcting any historical inacuracy. It’s fun.

Norman finds an illustration of an alive Ray sleeping in the mast waaay too beautiful. Ray snort at the romantized draw, disolving into laughter by how Norman failed to hide his blush.

It became a habit to read history books together and tease each other. More often then not, it lead to a history class and way to much sass on both ends.

“Wait, so there really was a world war? I heard about it from old guests but I thought they were exagerating when they called world war! And what do you mean 2? There was a second one??”

“How did miss the second one? It was HUGE, quite horribl-”

“You were not even alive when it happened.”                                        

“Tecnically, you weren’t either Ray-” 

Ray is a bit scared of how attached he got to Norman, knowing eventually the man would die. He hopes it will take a long time, and that once he had a painless death, he will become a ghost too, but he doesn’t really believe Norman will ever turn into a ghost. Ray knows not everyone that dies became a ghost. Since someone as compassionable as Emma -even if she was forced to have blood and dirty choises on her hand to survive the merciless seas- was not cursed to became a ghost, he was confident someone as kind as Norman would dissapear from Ray’s afterlife once he died too.

More of this AU here

.

And since you reached the end of this text wall. You can have this bonus Norman being awkward/excited about their growing friendship.

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Two: running water Words: 4.3k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Nonsexual Intimacy

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

"How are you standing in our kitchen? I, uh. I kinda thought you died?” It’s said with a squeak, the word died barely audible, like Martin hadn’t quite been sure whether or not he should say it.

Daisy hums, her mouth pinching into a frown. “Don’t know. Kinda thought you might.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five| Chapter Six| Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for nonsexual nudity, mild blood, mentions of death)

Jon knows three things, in that moment.

One: that Martin’s jumper is sure to be stained with tea for the foreseeable future, given that their laundry situation is abysmal and that he can feel the liquid seeping into the cuff and creeping up the sleeve towards his elbow.

Two: that either he is experiencing an incredibly vivid hallucination (unlikely) or still asleep (even more unlikely), or a woman he saw die what feels like a lifetime ago is standing in front of him, looking as if she’s been dragged through mud and brambles and dressed in a shirt and trousers that look about two sizes too big.

Three: there is no longer the gentle rumble of water coming from the bathroom.

“Jon,” Daisy says again, voice rough as if from disuse and eyes still blown wide—human eyes, Jon notes, not the slitted yellow things that he’d seen as sharp teeth had dug their way into the meat of his calf. A particularly hard gust of wind sends the hem of her shirt fluttering, and Daisy pulls it tightly around her, stepping fully inside the cottage and shutting the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”

What are you doing here? Jon wants to say. His stomach is still twisted into knots, and he’s processing, processing, processing. There are yellow daisies on the kitchen table, and there are white daisies out amongst the grass and the weeds, and there’s Daisy, standing in front of him, but he had mourned her, he’d thought she was—

“Hey. Jon,” Daisy says, and then she’s standing in front of him, hand reached out halfway towards him like she can’t quite decide whether she’s allowed to touch. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

She’s so close he could touch her, and before he really thinks about it, he’s reaching out and taking the hand that’s hanging in the air between them in his. He finds himself surprised when it doesn’t dissolve underneath his fingers, like he’d still been expecting all of this to be a dream, a falsehood, a sign that his mind is beginning a slow path towards disintegration without the Eye to hold it in place. He makes a choked-off sound, the kind that comes from the breath being punched out of one’s lungs by force rather than by any vibration of one’s vocal cords, as he adjusts his hand so he can thread their fingers together. It’s a familiar motion, bringing back memories of being buried underneath the weight of the earth and sat side-by-side in his office and curled up in the dustiness of document storage. He looks up at Daisy, eyes tracing the confused furrow of her brow and the strong slant of her nose and the thin scar that traces from the edge of her jaw to just below her ear, and squeezes her hand tightly, trying to convey every ounce of emotion he’s feeling in the weight of his eyes on hers.

“Jesus,” Daisy says after a moment, in that familiar way that’s both fond and exasperated, and Jon could cry. “Don’t look at me like that.” Then, after a moment: “I missed you too.”

That same choked sound comes out of Jon’s throat again, mangled by a laugh, and that’s all the encouragement he needs apparently before he’s standing and wrapping his arms around Daisy’s shoulders, giving her just enough time before he makes contact to step away if she wants to. She doesn’t, and when he presses his forehead against her shoulder and closes his eyes, she rests her hands gently against the small of his back, palms flat and grip loose enough that he could wriggle away if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know if he wants to stop hugging her for the foreseeable future.

The foreseeable future turns out to be exactly 38 seconds, at which point the bathroom door creaks open and Martin’s voice floats into the kitchen. “Ugh, it’s cold in here. Jon, did you open the…”

Martin’s head appears from around the corner, wet curls sticking to his forehead. He’s wearing a cheery yellow jumper that matches the daisies on the table. Somewhere around the did you, Daisy had pulled back, and now she stands a few paces away from Jon, her face still carefully neutral but with a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there moments before. Jon holds one of his wrists with the opposite hand and watches Martin’s face crumple from an easy smile into shock, lips parted slightly and eyes wide as they fixate on Daisy.

“...door,” Martin finishes, his voice very small. “Um. D- daisy?”

Daisy raises a hand in a half-wave. “Hey.”

“What—?” Martin cuts off, opens and closes his mouth a few times. Finally, he says faintly, “What is happening right now.”

“I’m standing in your kitchen,” Daisy says simply. Then, with a frown: “My kitchen, actually.”

“Right, I guess it is…” Martin shakes his head, letting the sentence trail off into nothing. “Okay, then: how are you standing in our kitchen? I, uh. I kinda thought you died?” It’s said with a squeak, the word died barely audible, like Martin hadn’t quite been sure whether or not he should say it.

Daisy hums, her mouth pinching into a frown. “Don’t know. Kinda thought you might.”

“What? Why?”

Daisy shrugs. “I remember things. Bits and pieces, not a lot other than the blood, but I remember that the sky was… different. A lot more eyes. And the fear was… more. I remember the hunt, and I remember you.” She looks uncomfortable, and her eyes find Jon before glancing off. “Familiar blood. Basira. Pain. And then I woke up.”

Martin blinks. “You… woke up?”

Daisy nods. “Didn’t know where I was, just that it was cold and that the sky was normal again. I think I was in a field somewhere, just… covered in dirt and blood.” Her lips twitch into something that’s almost a smile. “Gave the farmer who found me quite a fright, I think. But the look on his face when he saw me… I knew it had all been real.” She exhales, a breathy laugh that’s not really a laugh at all. “The word really ended, huh.”

“Yeah,” Martin says quietly. Next to Daisy, Jon shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet, so many words building at the back of his throat that he doesn’t quite know what to do with. He looks over at Daisy—at the dirt smudged along the side of her face, the bits of moss and leaves tangled in her hair, blood dried and rusty-red on her hands and wrists and crusted underneath her nails—and decides that if he can’t talk, at least that, he can help with.

He reaches over and takes Daisy’s hand in his, tugging it gently yet meaningfully in the direction of the bathroom. She looks over at him, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. “What?”

Jon blows out a frustrated huff of air through his nose and sets his jaw, gripping Daisy’s hand tighter and beginning to cross the room to where Martin is standing, to the hallway that leads to the bathroom and the shower. There’s a moment of resistance, where Daisy digs her heels in and doesn’t move, but after a moment the resistance vanishes and she lets him guide her across the room and into the bathroom. As they pass Martin, he reaches for Jon’s free hand and holds it in his, just for a moment, squeezing lightly. “We’ll talk when you get done, okay?” he says, quietly yet firmly, which means saying no probably isn’t in the cards. That’s fine, Jon thinks; it’s not that he doesn’t want to talk. (Except maybe that he doesn’t, not about any of this, but he elects to ignore that.) He just needs a bit of time between then and now, to fully adjust to the fact that Daisy’s hand is in his and she’s standing next to him and somehow, she’s alive.

So Jon nods once, tries (a bit unsuccessfully) to give Martin a reassuring smile, and finishes guiding Daisy to the bathroom.

Once the door is shut behind them, Jon lets go of Daisy’s hand and turns to face her, suddenly unsure. He’s been assuming that everything’s as it was before—that they’re still friends, that she still trusts him with her vulnerabilities, that she would still be willing to accept help from him—but what if it’s not? What if, despite what she said and despite the way she looked at him and despite the way her hands felt when they rested lightly upon his back as he’d hugged her, she doesn’t remember him like that? The Hunt is gone—they’re all gone, Jon thinks, though he can’t Know for certain and that scares him more than he’d care to admit—but he knows that the Eye has left its own scars on him, changed him in so many ways, so what if… what if she’s gone?

Maybe the Daisy Jon knew is still dead after all.

“Hey,” Daisy says, and then her hand is sitting heavy on his shoulder and she’s looking at him intensely. “Stop that. I can tell you’re overthinking things, so just… don’t. I’m here, I’m still me, and I could really use a shower, which I assume is why we’re in here.” She pauses, and then amends, “Well. It’s why I’m in here.”

Jon flushes, feeling a bit embarrassed, and steps away from her touch. He’s halfway through turning to go back out into the hallway when Daisy reaches out again, captures his wrist with the tips of her fingers, and says, “I didn’t say you had to leave.”

Jon pauses with his hand outstretched towards the door handle. I didn’t know if you’d want to be alone, he wants to say. He knows it had been hard, back in the Archives, for Daisy to be alone at all at first. Even though the air was clean and the walls weren’t close together, she’d said that sometimes, it still felt like she was choking down dirt, buried beneath the earth where nobody would ever find her again. She’d hated the sensation of running water too, and it had taken a few weeks for her to finally tell him why. That when it rained, the water would run in rivulets down her hands and the back of her neck, dripping sediment into her eyes and making her clothes stick to her in a way that became repulsive.

The Institute had one shower, situated between the Archives and Artefact Storage, meant for decontamination according to the signage on the wall. At some point during Jon’s coma, someone had stuck a shower basket to the tile wall, filling it with shampoo and conditioner and body wash, and had erected a haphazard system of rings, curtain, and rod around the showerhead to allow for a modicum of privacy. After they’d crawled out of the coffin, covered head-to-toe in dirt that seemed to permeate every inch of them, they’d walked together wordlessly to the room that contained the shower. Jon had offered to let Daisy use it first and had made to leave, but he’d been stopped by the tightening of Daisy’s hand in his, an unspoken desire to not be alone, not again.

So Jon had stood beside her and tangled his fingers loosely with hers through a gap in the curtain and had kept her company as she’d slowly, painstakingly washed six months of grime out of her hair and off her skin and out from underneath her nails, shuddering as the dirt turned to mud and slid in clumps off her skin. And when Jon had taken his own turn, scrubbing at his skin with a harsh, crisp efficiency, he’d pulled back the curtain with a towel wrapped around him to see Daisy leaning against the wall across from him, eyes fixed on the floor just in front of the shower as if she’d been reminding herself of Jon’s presence by the way his shadow fell across the floor beneath them.

It had become easy after that, to fall into a routine. Jon thinks he should have felt more vulnerable, more exposed. But he hadn’t. He’d just felt safe.

Now, he hesitates only a moment more before nodding and turning back from the door, and Daisy lets her hand drop from his wrist. She exhales heavily before stepping out of her clothing, letting it fall to the floor in a pile by her feet. Jon looks away, but not before he sees the blood on her skin—dried and cracked brown, mixed with smudges of dirt. He takes a breath, then looks back, taking a step forward and lifting a hand towards her stomach, hesitating halfway there and giving her a questioning look.

“It’s not mine,” Daisy says, reaching for Jon’s hand and settling it flat against her stomach. The skin there is smooth, unbroken, and when Jon drops his hand after a moment, it comes away clean. Her voice is strangely even, like she’s trying not to let any emotion slip through, when she says, “I think some of it might be yours, actually.”

That… makes sense, Jon thinks, even as the thought makes his stomach twist. He wants to ask what happened—why she’s still covered in blood and dirt, why she came in wearing clothing that wasn’t hers but otherwise unchanged, how she made it here, why she even decided to come here in the first place—but he can’t think of a way to do so without his notebook, which is still sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it. So instead, he sighs, steps around her, and turns on the shower, letting the water painstakingly warm up to a bearable temperature and periodically sticking his hand in the spray to check. As he does so, he can feel Daisy’s eyes on him, level and without much weight, yet curious and analytical in their own way. Finally, as the water reaches lukewarm and begins to climb to hot, she says, “Did something happen to you?”

Jon looks over at her, at the discerning slant to her mouth, and wants to laugh. Did something happen. It feels like the understatement of the century. He rolls his eyes and nods, hoping that it’ll give off the proper amount of yes, but you’ll have to be more specific, and sticks his hand back in the spray, satisfied to find it finally at the proper temperature.

“You know what I mean,” Daisy says, her tone no-nonsense but soft around the edges, like she’s taking care with how she proceeds. “I can see it on your face, Jon—you’re dying to ask questions, but for some reason, you’re not. From you, that means that you’re physically unable to ask them. So something must have happened.” She taps her fingers on her arms where they’re crossed over her chest and gives him a searching look. “Suppose it’s got something to do with the fact that the Eye’s gone, along with the rest of them?”

Jon’s not surprised that she knows. He’d felt the severance of the Eye from him almost as acutely as the knife slicing through the skin and muscle of his chest, like the snap of a thousand threads in his mind, and it had been agony. Even if she hadn’t felt it herself, being… dead, or something, the Eye’s absence for him is like a constant ache, and he keeps reaching for it instinctively only to find that part of him missing, like the ghost of an amputated limb. He doesn’t have to Know to know that she can feel the absence of the Hunt, gone in a way that’s equally as relieving as it is painful. But he still hesitates because it’s not… it’s not as simple as the Eye just being gone.

He doesn’t know why his voice is gone. Not for certain. But he can’t help but remember Annabelle’s words, see her running her fingers along the tape-strung webs that had taken his voice, and wonder that if when the Fears and the tapes that bound them were whisked away into other worlds, they weren’t so keen to return what had been given to them.

He nods, then hesitates and, after a moment, shrugs. He pulls his hand out of the water and gestures towards it, a clear go on, but Daisy doesn’t move—just keeps staring at him. “Hm,” she says after a moment, then shrugs and uncrosses her arms. “Would’ve thought it would have been the eyes, but the voicebox makes sense too, I guess.”

She steps past him and into the shower, making a face as the water hits her back and begins to run down it, bringing with it trails of brown and red that drip dark onto the tile floor. She doesn’t see him raise his hand and ghost his fingers lightly against his throat, just beneath his chin, feeling the thin scar that sits there raised and smooth beneath his fingers. He’d been surprised too, he supposes, once the shock of everything else had worn off, that he’d been left mute and not blind. But the more he’d poked and prodded at the aching bruise the Eye had left behind, the more he’d decided that it wasn’t quite the same kind of severance. Melanie’s had been a clean break, like snipping a thread—intentional and without much resistance. Jon’s had been… messier. And neither side had wanted to let go.

“I don’t remember the water pressure being so awful,” Daisy says a bit sullenly, and Jon drops his hand like he’s been burned. She’s looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and he knows she’d seen it, but she doesn’t mention it. He gives her a small smile and shrugs again, then frowns and, without really thinking about it, steps closer so he can tug out a small leaf that had been stuck in a tangle of Daisy’s hair. It hangs between his fingers for a moment before he drops it, letting it flutter to the tile and get swept away towards the drain.

Daisy looks at him, something unreadable in her eyes, and for a moment, he thinks he’s done something wrong—that it’s not like that between the two of them any longer. Then, Daisy turns and grabs the shampoo bottle off the shelf beside her, extending it towards him with one eyebrow raised. “If you’re going to stand there, you may as well make yourself useful,” she says, and Jon almost melts with relief, because the slight edge of softness in her voice—the way her words sound like a command but are instead an offer—is just as familiar to him as it had been so many months ago.

He takes the bottle, squeezes a small puddle of pale white that smells of vanilla into the center of his hand, and steps close enough that he can reach her hair. She tilts her head back slightly, accommodating for the few inches of height difference between them, and allows him to work the shampoo into her hair, scratching his nails against her scalp and working out bits of dirt and small twigs and sand that gets underneath his nails. He has so many things he wants to say to her since they’ve last been able to see each other like this, the first of which had come to him the moment he’d turned his back on her and Basira and fled into the damp, musty darkness of the tunnels. I need you to be safe, he’d thought, and he’d almost turned back so he could say it, sure that it could help somehow. Instead, he’d grit his teeth and kept running, because he’d known what she would say in return after she’d finished yelling at him for coming back just to say that. (If she was still able to yell, his mind had supplied unhelpfully. If she still had a jaw and tongue with which to form words.)

You don’t need me for anything, she would have said, and she would have been right. But that didn’t stop the want that crept into his bones as he ran through twisting corridors and dense fog, into his skin as he stepped into a dimly-lit cottage in the Scottish Highlands, into his stuttering heart as he stared up at a sky that stared back, unblinking and loving, and Knew that she was gone, running through this new and changed world with nothing but the smell of blood and the taste of fear driving her forward. He wanted her to be safe.

He’d wanted a great many things, back when the world was twisted and wrong.

He’d wanted her beside him, someone who would understand what it was like to be utterly consumed by that which you served and who knew what it was like to feel like a monster. He’d wanted to help her breathe around the sharp teeth in her mouth and to unclench her fingers where her claws dug into her palms and to talk her down from rumbling growls to heavy, labored breaths. He’d wanted to Look and see her happy, but to see her, rather than something that had once been Daisy but that now barely resembled the woman he had pulled out of the coffin. More than anything, he’d just wanted to see her. To talk to her. To be with his friend.

I’ve missed you, he thinks as he runs his fingers through Daisy’s hair, coarser than he remembers but still the same pale copper color, and watches the suds rinse slowly off as she shifts so she’s standing directly under the showerhead. His sleeves are growing a bit damp, even pushed up to the elbows as they are, and he pulls his hands back, letting them hang uncertainly in the air for a moment before he rubs them dry against one of the towels. And I wish I could tell you.

Once the water has run clear, Daisy shuts the shower off with a sigh and gathers a towel in her arms, rubbing it over her head and back with brisk efficiency. Her hair lies damp and heavy down her back as she wraps the towel around her. Jon’s fingers itch to separate her hair into thirds and pleat it into a loose braid like she’d always allowed him to do when he’d been feeling the loss of his own hair—shaved to the scalp during the coma, just barely grown to the tips of his ears—particularly deeply, but he keeps his hands by his side. Daisy looks at him, and after a moment, she says, “It’s weird not hearing your voice.” Then, softer: “I’m sorry it’s gone.”

Jon might cry. He nods instead, just once, and reaches for the door handle, pausing to give Daisy the chance to stop him before turning it and opening the door.

Martin isn’t there anymore. Jon can hear movement in the kitchen, glass clanking together, the sizzle of something in a pan. It smells of cumin and coriander. He nods at Daisy and leads her to the bedroom, kneeling and digging through the suitcase they’d never quite gotten around to unpacking before he unearths a pair of trousers he’s nearly certain will fit and a dark blue hoodie that only makes him flush a little bit at as he thrusts it towards Daisy.

She takes them without comment, and by the time he’s rearranged the remaining items inside the suitcase and stood, she’s swapped out the towel for the clothing. The trousers are a bit short, but they’ll do, Jon thinks, until they can run into town and get something else.

Then, Daisy plucks the hem of the hoodie between two fingers and says, amused, “Is this mine?”

Jon’s flush grows in intensity, and he covers it with a frown and a little huff of air through his nose. This only seems to amuse Daisy more; she lets out a small breathy laugh to match, drops the hem of the hoodie, and says, “Don’t look so grumpy. It’s sweet.” As Jon sputters soundlessly, she continues, “Have you had this the whole time? I was wondering where it went. Did you wear any of your own clothes in the Archives?”

Jon’s frown deepens into a scowl without any heat, and he looks away.

“Going to take that as a no.” Then, at Jon’s glower: “Relax, Jon. I’m just teasing.” Long fingers reach out and tug at the hem of his own jumper, and Daisy says with an audible smile, “Nice to see you’re still wearing Martin’s jumpers.” Then, a touch softer: “And that he’s here to give them to you.”

Jon flushes again for an entirely different reason, less of a shock of heat and more like a warmth that spreads over him like a blanket. He looks over at Daisy to see her watching him with a faint smile on her lips, and beneath it, a touch of satisfaction. It’s warranted, he supposes, given how much time he’d spent bemoaning Martin’s absence and sending wistful looks towards the ceiling and, enough times to be embarrassing, burying his face in the sleeves of Martin’s jumpers after a few too many drinks and trying to pick out the lingering smell of Martin amongst the must of the Archives that had begun to permeate them.

He looks down at where Daisy’s fingers are still gripping the hem of the jumper, a smile that’s happier than anything he’s worn in what feels like years rising to his lips. He’s wearing Martin’s jumper, in a safehouse in the Scottish Highlands, and Daisy is standing in front of him, and there is sunlight filtering in through the curtains, and there are no eyes heavy on the back of his neck or rust-red blood sitting in the back of Daisy’s nostrils, and they’re safe. Daisy’s here, with him, and Martin is in the other room cooking, and this is real. And he knows things will grow complicated again, likely as soon as they exit the bedroom and have to face the reality of how she’s here, but for now, there’s only this. And Jon intends to enjoy every moment of it that he can get.

[vodkassassin]

🥒✈ doing fuck marry kill using whoever. Obviously they will be overheard, by mqf, mbj, or both. Also can have sqh state his sexuality which is nothing. Ace rep baby.

Yesss danci I can always count on you! Thanks for slipping my hc ace!SQH in there. Ily @dancibayo

—

“I’m bored,” Shang Qinghua grandly announces.

“Yes, so you’ve said, fifteen times already,” Shen Qingqiu states dryly, but his friend steamrolls right over him.

“I am so bored, so,” Shang Qinghua says, “Shen-ge. Fuck, marry, kill.”

Shen Qingqiu startles, nearly dropping his fan. He whips around to stare at the other with wide eyes. Shang Qinghua props himself up onto his elbow and the grin that’s on his face is mischievous and evil.

“Wh—Airplane?” He nearly squawks, and then returns the grin. “No, stop—!”

Shang Qinghua’s grin nearly splits his face. “Fuck, marry, kill! Tianlang-jun—”

“No!” Shen Qingqiu laughs, reaching for the nearby cushion to chuck it at his cackling friend.

Shang Qinghua ducks the projectile and continues. “Tianlang-jun, Zhuzhi Lang—”

“Airplane!”

“And Sha Hualing!”

“Her?” Shen Qingqiu shrieks, diving for another pillow. His fan tumbles to the floor. “Out of everyone you could have picked for the choices, it had to be her?!”

Shang Qinghua, nimble bastard that he is, managed to avoid this cushion too. “First round will be easy! I definitely didn't have a brain blank and totally forgot anyone else existed. Plus! Shen-ge, I have to cater to the player! Bi-represent!”

“If it’s catering to the player, then this isn’t the game to play when it comes to you,” the Qing Jing peak lord grumbles.

He grabs his tea up from the table he sits at and down the entire cup in one go as if it’s a shot.

“You gotta choose!” Shang Qinghua needles, and Shen Qingqiu casts him a glare.

“Goddammit, fine,” he groans. “Um…. Fuck Tianlang-jun—”

Shang Qinghua bursts into laughter.

Shen Qingqiu scowls, but it directly contrasts the grin that is unwillingly stretching across his face. “What? At least I know he’s got experience!”

“Oh my god,” Shang Qinghua gasps, and then waves a hand. “Okay, go on, go on.”

He narrows his eyes at him, and then slowly continues. “Marry Zhuzhi-lang, and kill Sha Hualing.”

“Do you really hate her that much?” Shang Qinghua asks curiously.

“No,” Shen Qingqiu shrugs. “I mean, she’s practically a teenager, and I hate teenagers on principal, but no. She was just the only one left.”

“Fair enough,” Shang Qinghua bobs his head in acquiescence. “Why marry Zhuzhi-lang, though?”

“Well, I can’t fuck him—”

“I mean, you could, you monsterfucker—“

“You’re so goddamn rude, you know that?” Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes. “He’s just way too…. too baby. I can’t fuck him, so marry it is.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shang Qinghua finally agrees, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “He is just baby, isn’t he? Okay, good choices, I agree.”

“Your turn,” Shen Qingqiu says dangerously. Immediately, Shang Qinghua raises his hands into the air in surrender.

“I can’t play this game!” He whines. “I can’t fuck anybody! That drastically tilts the answer results!”

“Just change fuck to something else!” Shen Qingqiu demands. “You don’t get to just be the one who asks the question every time, that’s boring as fuck. Listen — kiss, marry, kill?”

“Kissing is like, the same as marrying though,” Shang Qinghua squints at the ceiling. He’s lying on his back now, feet dangling off the side of the bed. He gives them tiny, little kicks as he thinks. “Maybe, like, cuddle?”

“Isn’t that the same as kissing?” Shen Qingqiu scoffs. “Just use kiss, moron.”

“Fine, okay, fine. So! Kiss, marry, kill… who?”

“Kiss, marry, kill… Liu Qingge, Mu Qingfang —”

“Oh my god, bro, please—”

“Listen, this is my revenge — and Mobei Jun.”

Shang Qinghua turns his head away from the so very fascinating ceiling just to glare at him. Shen Qingqiu feels so special, very loved. “You totally suck.”

Shen Qingqiu stoops down to grab his fan off the floor and flips it open just to smirk over the top of it at his friend. “You gotta choose.” He quotes.

“I fucking hate you.”

“I mean, you could go back to being bored, it’s all the same to me.”

Shang Qinghua scoffs, lifting his legs up and pressing the heels of his feet into the bed. “God, okay! Umm… kiss… uhh…”

Shen Qingqiu presses a hand against his mouth to smother his laughter. “I’ll wait.”

“Why the hell did you make this so hard for me?” His friend grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “You totally hate me don’t you? Um, kiss Mobei Jun—”

“Called it.”

“Shut up, monsterfucker. Kiss Mobei Jun, marry Mu Qingfang, and— oh fuck,” Shang Qinghua sits up and turns toward him, pout out at full force. “There’s only kill left! Shen-ge! I can’t kill Qingge!”

“You gotta,” Shen Qingqiu shakes his head sympathetically. “That’s the game.”

“This isn’t fair! I gave you an easy out on your first go with Sha Hualing, you have to return the favor!”

“You already started choosing!” Shen Qingqiu argues. “Anyone else I give you now is just me choosing a random person for you to kill!”

“I totally forgot kill was a choice after you gave me the names! Shen-geeeee!”

“Goddammit, fine! You can kill Yue Qingyuan, for me, okay?”

Shang Qinghua pauses his wailing to shoot him an amused look, pout vanishing into nothing. What a brat. “You really have it out for that guy, don’t you? Um, alright, sure, I’ll kill the sect leader for you, but only because we’re bros.”

“Don’t turn this back on me! You’re the one who begged me to give you someone else to kill! Anyway, it’s your turn.”

“Haha! Fuck, marry, kill — Rong Qingsheng, Ju Qingsong, and Qi Qingqi.”

“Easy,” Shen Qingqiu scoffs. “Fuck Rong Qingsheng, marry Qi Qingqi, and kill Ju Qingsong. At least try and make this hard for me, Shang-ge, c’mon.”

“Wow,” Shang Qinghua sits up again to look at him, tugging one of the thrown cushions into his lap to hold. “No hesitation at all! You decided that so fast… what’s the thought process?”

“Rong Qingsheng is pretty, and not a douche at all, so I’d rate him pretty up there on the fuckable scale just for that. Qi Qingqi is a scary lesbian Amazonian warrior, and if I wasn’t male I’d definitely go for her, but if she ever needed to marry a man as, like, a cover for her true lesbian activities while under the thumb a homophobic dystopian government or something, then I wouldn’t mind submitting my application for that.”

“She can be pretty, uh…” Shang Qinghua makes a face. “I mean—”

“Purposefully provocative because she likes watching macho men squirm when she takes them down a peg and also has bigger muscles than them?” Shen Qingqiu sighs dreamily. “Yes, it’s boss as fuck.”

“Okay, I wasn’t going to word it exactly like that, but yeah,” Shang Qinghua admits. “And Ju Qingsong?”

“He’s an annoying pest. Kill.”

“Bro!”

“What? Please, You cannot tell me that you haven’t daydreamed about wringing his neck even once?”

“I mean. He can be kinda—”

“Irritating? Aggravating? Drive-one-to-murder?”

“—But! Under all that he’s a good guy! He can be really sweet, actually! He’s only really like that because he’s got a useless gay crush on—!”

The door is kicked in. Shen Qingqiu startles, dropping his tea straight into his lap while Shang Qinghua gives a loud yelp and falls completely off the bed with a resounding thump.

They both whip around to stare in uneasy and slightly-guilty silence at the group of people standing outside the door.

“Oh my gods,” Ju Qingsong says, face pale and arm still outstretched. “It was so amusing at first, but please don’t kill me, I promise I’ll be better!”

Rong Qingsheng leans around the man and stares at them for a moment, before casting Shen Qingqiu a wink.

“I wouldn’t mind,” the mild-mannered man says, and Shen Qingqiu brings a hand up to rub over his face.

“Not that I’m not incredibly interested to hear what this was all about,” Mu Qingfang says, from behind them, and Shang Qinghua squeaks. “But, it’s time for Shen-shixiong to take his medicine.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Shang Qinghua pleads, holding his hands up to cover his beet-red face.

“I’ll do you one better,” Shen Qingqiu says calmly, pulling off the tea-drenched outer robe. “If any of you eavesdroppers have loose lips about what you heard here, to anyone, then I will kill you. Understand?”

Ju Qingsong makes an odd sound in his throat, one that sounds both terrified and furious, and the way that the man glances between him and the smirking Rong Qingsheng leads Shen Qingqiu to believe he knows exactly who Shang Qinghua was going to say his ‘crush’ was. How adorable. Too bad for him, then, that Rong Qingsheng seems to find him just as annoying as Shen Qingqiu does.

“There will be no murdering of martial family,” Mu Qingfang says mildly, stepping into the room. “Is that water boiled? I thought I’d try the tea blend, since the capsule form doesn’t agree with you, shixiong.”

“Many thanks,” Shen Qingqiu says.

“Oh, it’s never a problem. Shang-shixiong, Qingge was looking for you. I believe he has the location of one of those flying thunder beasts the two of you were discussing the other day?”

“I don’t wanna go monster hunting again,” Shang Qinghua wails. “Why can’t he just play go with me and call it a day?”

“You’ve overstayed your welcome, Shang-ge,” Shen Qingqiu tells him, smiling politely at the betrayed look his friend shoots him. “Would you mind escorting these two out?”

“See if I ever bring you the newest tea leaf export again,” the An Ding lord huffs, climbing to his feet. “Rong-shidi, Ju-shidi, lets go.”

“Qingsheng, Qingsheng, let's play that game too—!”

“I’m not doing this with you, Qingsong. Shang-shixiong, let's go. I wanted to talk to you about next month's produce quota.”

“Sure thing, Rong-shidi!”

“But, Qingsheng—!”

“Bye, Shen-ge, see you later!” Shang Qinghua chines cheerfully as he tugs the moping man after him. Rong Qingsheng walks out ahead of them. “I had a lot of fun today!”

“Sure,” Shen Qingqiu says, fan fluttering before his face.

He’d enjoyed it too, of course, but he’d never say that out loud. Besides, Airplane already knows, right? There’s no need.

[therenlover]

Welcome Home (Part One of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: As if getting thrown through the multiverse, trapped in an attic (albeit a cool one), mind-controlled to manipulate his grieving sister, and subsequently dragged out of Westview “for his own safety” by the FBI wasn’t enough, Peter Maximoff has now been shipped off to New York to live with a glorified baby sitter like some tragic orphan in a comic book until they find a way to get him back home. Things are not always as they seem, though, and this change might just be for the better.

Tags: Pre-Relationship, First Meetings, Slow Burn, Post-Wandavision

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language, References to Ralph Bohner

Word Count: 2400~

This fic has already been posted to my AO3, along with the next two parts! I’ll be continuing it on both platforms.

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“So… Ralph Bohner?”

Peter looked up from his mug, the tea inside having gone cold long before. His eyes had been fixed on the floor, his leg bouncing far quicker than what should have been humanly possible. It had been a little over 24 hours since the Hex had disappeared, and Peter was firmly of the mindset that he was taking it all very well.

Even to himself, he was a terrible liar.

“Ralph?” His new keeper spoke again, voice soft in the quaint kitchen of the brownstone that Peter would be calling home for the foreseeable future.

It had all been so strange. In one moment he was reorganizing his new attic and trying to figure out how to work the damn DVD player, and somehow in the next, he was a prisoner in his own mind, backseat driving as a witch used his face and voice to torment Wanda. Not his Wanda, though; a new, strange, grieving Wanda with unfathomable power at her fingertips. Thankfully, that didn’t last very long.

After just 2 weeks in this strange new reality, Peter missed the X-Men. He missed his dad, no matter how absent and strange he was. He missed his friends, and his sisters, and the strange normalcy that came with being a part of the team when the world wasn’t in danger. Peter found himself wishing that things would just slow down enough for him to catch up and figure out what the hell was going on. That was a new one for him.

At least he still had his speed. If he had lost his powers in the freak accident that sent him into another universe… well he didn’t want to think about that.

Despite this, the FBI guy who had dragged him out of Westview and across the river to New York had given him an explicit warning not to use his powers while civilians were present. Peter didn’t mind Agent Woo, he seemed like a good guy and treated him with more decency than most government lackeys would have back home, but it was gonna be completely impossible for Peter to avoid using his speed in public. It wasn’t like Agent Woo would even be around to stop him anyway. The only person who could possibly protest was the poor sap that the F.B.I. called in to babysit him, and they would never be able to keep up even if they tried.

“Peter? Are you okay?”

Fuck.

His eyes shot up to meet hers, “You aren’t supposed to know that name,”

“I’m not supposed to know a lot of things,” she replied almost nonchalantly, “but neither of us is known for doing the things we’re supposed to do, are we?”

Peter chuckled, and for the first time in a while, he cracked a genuine smile. “I guess not,”

The smile seemed to please the woman across the counter. Smiling back, she wrapped her hands around her own mug and sat down on a tall stool, leaning towards Peter. “Now, first things first! I want you to ignore whatever rules the FBI gave you while you’re here. My house, my rules, and despite the fact that you’re in witness protection I doubt anyone unwanted will come knocking at the door to snatch you up,”

As she spoke, Peter really took her in for the first time. She was a small thing, in shape and stature, but soft, all rounded edges and gentle touches. Despite her young face, there was an age to her, too. Looking deep into his memories, he realized she had the same haunted look in her eyes that he had seen all too often in the older members of his team. It was the look of someone who has seen unspeakable loss and survived to tell the tale. He decided at that moment that maybe staying with her wouldn’t be so bad.

“So about that rules thing,” Peter tapped his fingers against his half-full mug, doing his best not to speed up and break it, “I don’t exactly do well with rules. They aren’t my thing. I can’t promise that the cops won’t show up at the door, and I especially can’t promise that they won’t be there because of something I did that I knew was against the rules,”

When Peter met the woman’s eyes again she was still smiling, not a hint of displeasure on her face.

“If I had a problem with you being you, Peter, I wouldn’t have offered to take you in. Besides, as long as the cops that show up are human there won’t be a problem,”

Peter paused. “What?”

“That’s a question for another time,” The woman took a sharp turn then, hopping off of her stool and walking her mug to the sink where she proceeded to rinse it out. “Next, even in public, I refuse to call you Mr. Bohner. Ralph I can do if you care about staying anonymous, but I won’t be acknowledging any part of your… chosen last name,” Even as she shuddered, there was humor lacing her voice, “Bohner, though? Really?”

“It’s funny!”

She turned back to Peter with her face scrunched up in faux disgust. “Maybe to a middle schooler,”

“I had just been pulled out of my room, sucked through a portal, and thrown onto the steps of goddamn Quantico, so excuse me for not being on top of my game. Besides, Bohner wasn’t even my first choice. They wouldn’t let me go with Jack Ingoff,”

That was enough to send them both into a fit of giggles.

“Jack Ingoff?” She wheezed, “You tried to get the F.B.I. to give you the legal name Jack fucking Ingoff? That’s just so you,”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re both an idiot and the funniest person I have ever met,”

“I’d better be,”

As they continued to laugh, Peter found himself completely enthralled by this strange woman’s face and it occurred to him that she was incredibly beautiful.

It wasn’t as if she was a supermodel, though in Peter’s eyes it wouldn’t have taken much to make her one. Every part of her just seemed to glow as she gripped her stomach and stifled laughter. She was pretty in quiet ways, in soft glances and gentle touches and unrestrained joy. In the way that everything around her felt like it was full of life. In the kindness that had never wavered while Peter had sat at her kitchen counter, even when he had come through the door swearing at Agent Woo and demanding that he didn’t need a babysitter.

The longer he looked, the more beautiful she became, in actions and words and features combined, and Peter suddenly became aware that if he hadn’t taken the time to really see her, he never would have realized. He was glad he had slowed down for once.

Somewhere down the line, her laughter quieted.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what’s your deal?” The cold mug in his hands was suddenly extremely interesting.

Across the counter she stilled, frozen in place for a moment. When she spoke, her voice held an edge of… fear? “What do you mean?”

Peter did his best to backpedal.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I was just wondering what you did to get stuck with me, that’s all. I doubt they would stick my annoying ass with just anybody, especially after… well everything that went down in Westview. Plus, I’m not just a normal dude. What average New York socialite would take in a kleptomaniac who just so happens to also be inhumanly fast out of the goodness of their heart?”

As he spoke, her shoulders relaxed and she loosened her grip on the edge of the marble countertop. “Oh, my deal,”

“Yeah. There’s more to you than what meets the eye, I can tell,” Something in the way her face flushed at his words made Peter’s heart fill with pride.

“I… well I had a unique upbringing,” she responded, voice careful and measured while she watched the floor, “I’m not a mutant, not like you, but I have a little bit of power at my disposal that makes me useful to heroes and hero adjacent agencies. I’m not a part of the team, my skills aren’t usually helpful when it comes to fighting, but they keep tabs on me just in case I’m needed. This was one of those times,”

Peter snorted. “Sounds like a pretty shitty deal,”

“Trust me, if I didn’t have to have the government breathing down my back, I wouldn’t, but after I worked with the Avengers they pulled up my file and found out I shouldn’t exist, so they’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on me ever since,”

“Ah… well, next time just don’t get caught,”

“Not all of us have the luxury of being able to dodge bullets and outrun law enforcement, Peter. Besides, I like this house and I’m not quite in the mood to have to abandon it just yet.”

He shrugged. “To each their own. Now how the hell did you get stuck with me? Were you just the closest or did everybody else refuse,”

“Well, actually I offered to take you in,”

Peter choked on the air. “Why the hell would you do that?”

She was quick to defend herself, and in a way him too.

“Because Jimmy is my friend, and when a friend needs a favor I try to help them out. It’s more than that, though. I won’t lie. I’m fascinated by you, Peter Maximoff. I find you wonderful exactly how you are and I couldn’t stand to let any of the other assholes in New York try to stomp out your personality. Here with me, you can just be you, and knowing that you’re able to be comfortable until we find you a way home was more than enough of a reason for me to volunteer to take you in. Besides, if you weren’t with me you’d probably be in the tower’s holding cell, and believe me, that wouldn’t be any fun,”

It took Peter a minute to fully digest what he was hearing.

He wasn’t going to be a burden. There would be no curfews or screaming matches or long lectures about his chosen pastimes. She wanted every single part of him there and had already gone out of her way to assure him that even the worst of him was welcome under her roof. Even during his time at X-Mansion, he had never been treated like this.

Sure, he had been himself there. People would yell or try to stop him from doing what he wanted but their efforts were futile. He couldn’t be tamed. At best the other members of the team had just tried to ignore him until his powers came in handy. He was an annoyance at worst and the household funny guy at best, and yet now a total stranger wanted him around. It took all of Peter’s small reserve of restraint to not take a victory lap around the block there and then.

Being wanted was the best feeling in the world.

When his head cleared, he smiled again. “You know, when Agent Woo brought me in here I was fully prepared to wait for him to leave then make a run for it, but I’ve decided to save you from the F.B.I.’s wrath and stay for a while instead. You’re welcome,”

He expected a snappy retort, but instead, her words came out strangely genuine, almost a whisper.  “Thank you for saving me, Peter. I appreciate it,”

“Any time,”

Slowly the flush from before crept back onto her face.

“I know you’re not the type who likes to be tied down, so I won’t keep you here much longer,” she said, before taking Peter’s mug to the sink, “but there are just a few more things I need to tell you before you go off to do whatever it is you do on a Thursday morning.”

He would never admit it but Peter felt anything but tied down. Instead, he just nodded.

“Go for it,”

She washed the mug as she spoke. “Alright, well first of all what’s mine is yours. Unless I specifically ask you not to use something you have free reign over whatever you need. You can come and go as you please, I keep odd hours and don’t mind a little noise even when I’m sleeping. The house is pretty simple layout-wise, you can explore whenever you want, but the room at the end of the hallway to your right is my bedroom and I’d prefer if you didn’t go in there unless you need to. Your room is the first door at the left of the stairs on the second floor and… well, I think that’s all,”

There was a sort of sorrow in the woman’s eyes when she stopped, placing the now clean mug on a drying rack before turning to face Peter again. A yearning. It made Peter want to… well, he didn’t quite know what it made him feel. He just wanted to do whatever would ease the strange pain that resided in his new friend.

He went to speak but nothing came out.

“Is everything okay Peter?”

It was Peter’s turn to flush, face red with shame. “I...uh, well, I wasn’t quite paying attention when the agent introduced us. I’m gonna need to know your name if I’m living with you,”

It came as no surprise when she laughed gently, making her way across the kitchen towards the living room, passing Peter at the counter on her way. “My name is Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you, Peter,” The strange sorrow was still present, reflected in her words, but it seemed lighter than before, more manageable.

“Nice to meet you too Y/N,”

“I’m heading to work,” she pulled on a light jacket as she spoke, “so feel free to explore at your own leisure while I’m gone. I’ll hopefully be back by 5, but sometimes things run late. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

Peter shook his head no. “If I can’t find something I need I’ll just run out and grab it myself.

Y/N laughed again. “Just don’t get caught, you won’t know the number to call from jail yet,”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,”

She paused, halfway out the door. “Oh, and Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Welcome home,”

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a/n: Thank you so much for reading! I have 3 1/2-ish parts of this series written, but the plan is for it to be a long haul where each part is a connecting oneshot. I hope you’re excited! 

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thanks!