#everything looks less saturated than before

[mccarthyacademy]

Progress!

We've got new sprite art, music cues, and variable cues for the opening scene of the prologue done!

Will be looking into implementing the old voice files for testing purposes.

Working on getting the missing backgrounds for the prologue painted this week.

Next month I'll have more to report. o7

[jade-curtiss]

No one solves ethics here, he's just exposing shit and bouncing people out the only way I can.

[inseobts]

Undercover Lovers

zoro x gn!reader

while waiting for luffy and the others to return from whole cake island, you and the rest of the crew are forced to go undercover in wano, where your and zoro's cover as a loving couple quickly gets complicated.

PART 2

words count: 1.2k

tags: wci and wano spoilers, fake dating, romance, soft zoro

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You and Zoro stand in the shadows of the misty Wano streets, hidden in plain sight. The night is thick with tension, and the smell of the night air is saturated with the scents of food and unfamiliar spices.

“Alright” Zoro mutters under his breath, his gaze darting around. “This mission is simple. We blend in, gather intel, and keep a low profile. No trouble.”

You glance at him skeptically “Simple? Nothing here is simple, Zoro. Especially when we have to pretend to be a couple...because I don't know if you looked at yourself”

Zoro, ever stoic, adjusts the sword at his side “It’s just an act. Play the role and we’ll be fine.”

You don't know who has this brilliant idea but you're hating them all.

You scoff “That’s what you think. I don’t think you fully understand what it means to pretend to be someone’s lover.”

He grins faintly “I think I do. You make it sound like I'll be terrible at this.”

The two of you exchange a glance, the awkwardness palpable. You had to assume this would happen, but the idea of him being your pretend lover makes your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t expect. You’re both meant to lay low while Luffy, Nami, Chopper, and Brook are rescuing Sanji on Whole Cake Island. But you and Zoro are left behind, needing to keep the rest of the Straw Hats safe while undercover.

“Now, let’s go” Zoro commands, the stoic warrior in him taking over. “Remember, just act natural.”

You and Zoro enter a local tavern in the heart of the capital. The noise from the patrons fills the room, but everything about this place feels off, like a hidden danger lies in the air. As soon as the door swings open, all eyes turn to you, and the tavern goes silent.

The bartender raises an eyebrow “What’s this? A foreign couple?”

You force a smile and link your arm with Zoro’s, making sure your posture looks casual and affectionate “Yes, we’re just here to enjoy the local food and drink” you say, your voice smooth.

Zoro stands beside you, towering and quiet, his gaze scanning the room. His posture is stiff, uncomfortable, and it’s clear that he’s not used to playing the role of someone’s lover.

“You’re an odd couple,” the bartender says, a smug smirk on his face “The woman seems more… lively. And you...” he eyes Zoro, “look like a man who could care less.”

Zoro barely glances at the bartender “I’ll take some sake.”

The bartender nods, but there’s a smirk on his face “Of course. For you two lovers, the first round’s on the house.”

You exchange a look with Zoro, both of you realizing that staying in character would be harder than it seemed. As the drinks arrive, you take one and drink it slowly, trying to hide the tension in your shoulders.

As days pass, the two of you work together to gather information, keeping up the act as a loving couple. But things become more complicated when one young local guy, Miyamoto, starts showing more interest in you than you’re comfortable with.

You’re sitting in a quiet corner of the town square, Zoro casually sitting by your side, when Miyamoto approaches with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, y/n” he says smoothly “I didn’t expect to see you here. Care for a walk?” His eyes flicker toward Zoro before returning to you “I can show you some of the best views in the town. Perhaps Zoro doesn’t mind… after all, I’m sure he’s busy with his… training.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his boldness. You glance at Zoro, but to your surprise, he’s sitting there, arms crossed, his usual indifferent expression masking any emotions.

“Zoro’s fine” you say quickly, trying to shut down Miyamoto’s advances “We’re fine here. And besides, I’m not one to leave my loving companion behind.”

Miyamoto chuckles, though the sound is more mocking than playful. “Loving? You don’t have to pretend, you know. I’m sure Zoro would be fine with me taking care of you for the evening”

This is making you mad, not just his advances but also Zoro sitting them like nothing was happening, not even caring to look over you and notice the uncomfortable air around you.

You clench your fists and you're about to storm out of there until Zoro finally turns his gaze toward Miyamoto, narrowing his eyes. His usually passive attitude shifts, and there’s an unmistakable tension in the air “You’re making a mistake if you think I won’t mind and I would let you”

You watch the exchange carefully, feeling the air grow thick with unspoken words. Miyamoto takes a step back, and Zoro’s eyes briefly meet yours, the unease in his gaze not going unnoticed.

It’s late into the evening. You and Zoro are once again walking through the dimly lit streets of Wano, the mission nearing its end. The tension from Miyamoto’s advances still hangs in the air, and for the first time, Zoro seems a little different.

“You’re quiet” he remarks, glancing at you “You looks upset since that last meeting with Miyamoto, are you?”

You look at him briefly "pretty much yeah... I was feeling uncomfortable and yet you waited that long to even say something"

"I knew you could handle it alone"

"Well... I actually couldn't"

He suddenly stops walking. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. You can feel the weight of unspoken words pressing between you.

Then, with a sigh, he finally speaks.

"For the record, I didn’t like it either" Zoro mutters, voice quieter than usual.

You blink at him, caught off guard "What?"

His gaze flickers to the side, as if reluctant to say more "That bastard...Miyamoto. The way he looked at you, the way he talked to you." His grip on his sword tightens. "It pissed me off... but if I did something we would have been in bif trouble"

After a pause he continues, “I didn’t like the way he looked at you” Zoro says, his voice unexpectedly serious.

Your heart stutters in your chest, unsure of whether you’re hearing things “What?”

Zoro glances at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips “I told you. I actually didn’t like the way he was talking to you. He was crossing the line”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest, unsure whether it’s the alcohol or something else making your heart beat faster “Zoro…” you start, but your words fail you.

“Forget it” he says gruffly, looking away as if the conversation never happened. But there’s something different in the way he speaks, something real this time.

You pause, staring at him. Could it be that… the act was becoming more than just a mission? Was Zoro feeling the same as you were?

“Zoro” you start again, but before you can say anything more, he steps forward, closing the gap between you two. His hand touches yours, almost like it’s an accident, but when he doesn’t pull it away, you realize it’s not.

The moment stretches on, and you can feel the tension dissipate into something new.

Without thinking, you lean into him “Maybe this act wasn’t so bad after all.”

Zoro stares down at you, his eyes flickering with something indecipherable “Maybe not” he replies, voice low and barely above a whisper.

He takes your hand in a better and firm way now and start walking again, hand in hand.

You smile at him, a small blush on his cheeks, trying to avoid your eyes. And for the first time, you wonder if the lines between the pretend lovers and real feelings are starting to blur.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Daughter Reader

Summary For years, you’ve survived tethered to Joel’s side, haunted by the loss of your sister and scared to step outside of his shadow. So when he bonds with the girl he’s tasked to smuggle, it strains your complicated relationship—until the threat of losing him forces you to confront just how much he means to you [angst, fluff, 5.4k].

A/N This is some of my favorite prose I've written recently. Daughter!reader is a new dynamic for me, but it was such a rewarding writing experience. Thank you to the anon who sent this request in. I hope you all enjoy.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

It’s cold outside today. If the draft sneaking in through the windows isn’t enough to let on, the sky itself is an undeniable sign. There’s no blue, no clouds that can be distinguished from the next. The entire expanse is a pale white sheet. As if the heavens have decided to shield earth from its view because of how far it’s fallen. 

Nevertheless, life in the Boston Quarantine Zone labors on. Day after soulless day, rain or shine. Like a well-oiled machine who’s battered parts of flesh and blood refuse to lay down and die. 

The glass of the living room window is cool against your forehead as you gaze outside. Everything is dull. Brick, metal, concrete, and endless earthtones constitute the expanse of buildings that seemingly stretch for miles. However, after having explored every corner of this walled city, you know it’s finite. A mere portion of a much larger world trying to find its footing again. 

The people walking on the sidewalks below look small from the height of your apartment. All seeming to move on a droning autopilot, clad in worn clothes that likely belonged to ten other people before them. 

With a sigh, you step away from the window and plop back down on the couch. The coffee table is cluttered with stained, old papers and trinkets, but you reach for the stack of Polaroids you’d previously been flipping through. Each photo and caption transports you back to a past moment in time...

tea for two ♡ March 13, 2003 

A day that seems closer than it actually is, now confined to a single, glossy frame. The white border has faded to beige and the picture itself no longer bears its original saturation. In it, you and Sarah are wrapped in each other’s arms, dressed like princesses for the tea party you invited her to. 

You were her three-year-old shadow, and even though you got on her nerves half the time, she found it hard to say no to you. Everybody in the Miller household did. 

lake day!!! July 4, 2003 

A sunny day. You, Sarah, and Joel are squinting into the light but smiling, your backs to the lake. Later that night, according to Joel’s retelling, you cried because of the colorful, celebratory explosions bursting amid the night sky. 

dad’s getting old (jk ily dad) September 26, 2003

Joel’s smile is shy as he sits at the kitchen table with a cone birthday hat on his head. Sarah was the one behind the lens while you clung to her leg, both you and Tommy making goofy faces in hopes of making Joel smile wider. 

He turned thirty-six that day. By that evening, everything had changed. Not just because of the outbreak, but because Sarah, who had been a light in so many of the photos, was gone too. A few months after her fourteenth birthday, no less. 

It feels strange being twenty-three now. An age she never got to see—

The faint metallic clinking of a belt being fastened prompts you to curiously stand to your feet. After setting down the photos, you saunter to the hallway, where there’s a straight view to Joel’s bedroom. The door is cracked, and warm lamplight pours out to light the end of the hall. With each step closer you take, the old, wooden floorboards creak. 

When you make it to the door, you rap your knuckles against it a few soft times. There’s shuffling on the other side. 

You knock again when there’s no response. “Dad?” 

“What’s up?” he doesn’t say it in a clipped, annoyed way so you know he hadn’t heard your previous knocking. 

“Can I come in?” 

He’s quiet for a beat. “I’m finishing up getting dressed. But yeah.”

Inside, the bed still isn’t made. He’s standing in front of the full body mirror leaning against the wall. The paint of the gold trim around it is peeling, revealing the dark aluminum beneath. The glass itself is a bit foggy with stubborn grime that refuses to be scrubbed away. And right in the middle, at the same height that Joel stands, is a sizable spiderweb crack that makes his face look fragmented unless he bends down or shifts to either the left or right. 

Right now, he doesn’t seem to mind the distortion of his face, more interested in assessing his clothes. When you step up behind him, a little to the right, your entire body looks whole. Face and all. 

His eyes briefly flick to you as he continues to button the rest of his olive colored shirt. When he’s finished, he sucks in his stomach and pushes down the waistband of his dark jeans to rest at a more comfortable place on his hips. 

It isn’t until then that you notice a small portion of the back of his shirt is flipped up, the fabric thick enough to hold its place. You reach out to smooth it down. Joel hums in realization. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Yep,” you murmur. “I thought you were off today.” 

Turning around and brushing past you, he sits in the accent chair to put on his boots. A grunt escapes him with the effort of leaning down. You watch as his thick, battered fingers fumble with the laces until they produce two neat bows. He sits back with a sigh when he’s done, running a hand through his fluffy, silvering hair. 

“I’m meeting with Marlene,” he says. The way you frown tells him that’s not a good thing, or nearly enough information. “Tess will be there too. It’s looking like we might be able to get that car battery we need to set out for Tommy.” 

You process that information with a slow nod. The idea of finding him feels elusive these days. 

A few weeks ago, Marlene told Joel she knew a couple guys who could provide resources. At various points in the months prior, she claimed the very same thing. Every promise she made fell flat because those said contacts either died or backed out of the negotiation. Yet, Joel held out hope every time. 

It used to be you who accompanied him whenever he went to meet with Marlene, but it’d gotten to the point where you couldn’t bring yourself to believe her or stand seeing her face. 

But Joel still did. For the sake of his own conscience. For Tommy. 

After standing from the chair, he fishes into his back pocket for a red cardstock meal card. When you reach out to take it from him, he doesn’t let go, instead opting to look directly into your eyes. 

“Want you to meet us for lunch at the northern dining commons at noon. We should be done by then,” he says, waiting for you to nod so he knows you’re tracking. 

“Don’t leave before then, alright? It’s getting crazier out there. Don’t know if it’s ‘cause summer’s coming or what.” 

“I won’t,” you insist. 

When you try to take the card again, he holds onto it just for the sake of coaxing a smile out of you. It doesn’t quite meet your eyes, but it’s enough to tie him over for now. He lets go of it just as you’re in the middle of pulling, and the lack of resistance makes you stumble backwards. The sound of amusement he huffs out earns him a light punch to the shoulder. 

“I mean it, though.” He points a finger. “Don’t leave till it’s time, alright? We’ll fill you in on everything then.” 

Rolling your eyes, you follow him back out into the living room. “I already said I wouldn’t.” 

“Well, reiterating is my job.” 

Those are the words he leaves you with before heading out the door.  

A few hours later, when the clock strikes twelve, you’re eating at the dining commons alone. Anxiousness prickles beneath your skin. You soothe yourself as chatter and the clinking of silverware float up all around you…

Everything’s fine. Joel’s alright. Tess is alright. Just finish eating and go home. 

•••

Sunset paints the sky that evening. The clouds that lingered all day have finally made way for an expressionist ombre of blue, pink, and orange. It's beautiful in a way that would’ve been worth photographing once upon a time. 

All you can think about is the fact that Joel hasn’t returned. 

A little past seven, voices arise in the hallway. They’re hushed and somewhat frustrated, one of them undeniably belonging to Joel. By the time keys hastily begin jingling in the door, you’re popping to your feet from the couch. A second later, it swings open with enough force that it hits the neighboring wall. 

“Get inside,” Joel orders. You can’t see him from where you’re standing. 

You can’t see anybody. 

“I don’t have to keep listening to you,” quips a tight, youthful voice. “Whatever happened to stranger danger?”  

“Move, Ellie,” Joel says. “Before I make you.” 

A young girl wearing a backpack trudges into the apartment with a scowl. After looking around the bleak accommodation, her eyes settle on you. The air falls silent. You note the wispy flyaways escaping her short ponytail, the slight redness to her eyes like she’s been either crying or rubbing them. 

Ellie sizes you up in return. You can see it in the calculated rove of her dark gaze, the way she squares her shoulder to match your guardedness. 

She eventually whips her attention back to Joel. “Who the hell is she?” 

“Told you I didn’t live alone.” That’s all he gives her before redirecting his attention to you. He seldom reveals the entirety of what he’s feeling in a given moment, but you can see the guilt weighing down on his shoulders. “I—” 

“You missed lunch.” 

He runs a heavy hand down his face. “I know.” 

The girl looks between the two of you with owl-like attentiveness that borders on amusement. At least she wasn’t the only one having a shitty day. Outside, shouting voices arise in the distance. Glass bottles break. 

“Dad. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Ellie’s eyes widen at the revelation. 

Joel doesn’t say anything because you’re staring daggers straight into his very being.  

“I’m immune to the virus,” she speaks up. There’s a hint of pride in her tone, like she’s looking past the present to some undefined future in which she saves the world.  

“He’s gonna take me to the people who can find the cure. Then you guys are gonna go find Timmy or whatever—Tommy.”  

It’s an oversimplification, but Joel doesn’t have the energy to expound right now. Not when you look like you would lunge for him if it wasn’t for the girl.

••• 

Later that night, he sees the first shove coming. Your eyes darken until you’re no longer able to constrain your frustration to a mere look. It frustrates you all the more when he doesn’t budge. So you do it again, pushing both your hands straight into his chest. 

All he does is take a single step backwards to create distance, hands raised in surrender. The fact that he isn’t reacting makes more heat consume your face. 

Until, finally, he grabs your wrists. 

“Are you done acting like a child?” he asks.

“As soon as you quit treating me like one,” you bark. “All you do is give orders and break promises, and I’m supposed to keep following you around like a dog.” 

“I don’t see any shackles.”

“Because it’s you,” you retort, attempting to pull away from his light hold. “You’re the shackles, the prison guard, and the key.” 

Those words make him drop your wrists as if you’ve stung him with poison. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and drops his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. The mattress creaks under his weight. In the new silence, you stand and stare at him as your breaths even out. 

Neither of you are aware that Ellie has her ear pressed to the other side of the bedroom door, listening. 

When he lifts his head, only then are you aware of how tired and worn down he looks. His hair is more disheveled than it was this morning. The same hair you used to playfully run your fingers through and litter with sparkly hair clips. Except now, his face is void of a smile. 

“I’m sorry about lunch, alright?” His dark eyes search yours for any inkling of forgiveness. He knows he scared you. That’s what’s beneath your anger. “I didn’t know I was gonna get held up like that.” 

Joel Miller was a lot of things, but a pushover wasn’t one of them. 

If he really wanted to, he could’ve at least come to the dining commons to explain. Or ignore Marlene’s request entirely, and force her to find someone else to smuggle the girl. Even Tess had refused to involve herself in the escape plan because she feared it would be all risk and no reward.

“What happens if these guys turn out to be dead too?” You ask Joel, voice softer than before. “What if this is yet another exchange that falls through?” 

He knows you have a point. He also knows he has a brother out there miles away who recently sent him a signal. 

“If there’s a chance, I gotta take it,” he says. “And if we get out there and nobody’s waiting for us, we’re heading to Wyoming anyway.” He meets your gaze. 

You swallow and blink in surprise. “Really?” 

“I’m done waiting around for the right time,” he says, voice low but firm. “It’s never gonna come. Gotta forge it ourselves.” 

He sounds sure. Right now, you could use something to believe in. And if nothing else, a change of scenery from the city walls you’ve been confined within for far too long. 

•••

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

𝐈.

The Capitol Building is empty when you arrive, no sight of the men who were supposed to take Ellie and give you and Joel the supplies you need to carry on. For a while, the three of you linger hopefully on the inside, where grass grows through the chipped marble floors. The only people who eventually arrive are ridden with the virus, their rotting bodies infested with fungus from the inside out. 

You promptly flee the scene after swallowing disappointment like a pill. 

𝐈𝐈.

The front door of Bill and Frank’s house is unlocked when you arrive in the desolate suburbia. Dead grass and tall weeds constitute the yard. The flower beds out front have long wilted. That’s enough for you to know that they’re either dead or gone. Joel pushes into the house anyway, with you and Ellie trailing behind. Bill left a note behind. They’re dead. Ellie asks questions about them that Joel thoughtfully answers.

The three of you take turns showering, then leave.

𝐈𝐈𝐈.

By early August, the trio feels more like a unit, having been bound together by shared letdowns and long nights under the stars. Some days, you don’t know where you are until coming across specific landmarks or recognizable cliffs. You and Joel teach Ellie how to shoot because she wouldn’t stop begging. Most days, as you’re making progress towards Wyoming, it’s the two of you trailing behind Joel, who often shoots unreadable glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re keeping up. 

Sometimes he lets down his walls to offer a small smile. 

•••

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋

All around, tall trees stretch towards the sky, bearing vibrant leaves beginning to change colors. Every so often, a breeze rolls through and ruffles them. The same mourning dove has been calling out into the wind with no response in return. It’s a tune that filled the mornings of your childhood back when you were on the road to Boston with Joel. You hadn’t heard it much since. 

Twigs and leaves crunch beneath your boots as you squat to lower your fingertips into the creek. The water is cool against your skin, and clear enough to see the rocks at the bottom. When you stand up, you startle at the sight of Ellie standing a few yards away. She takes a few apologetic steps back, almost tripping over herself. 

Further away, Joel sits with his back propped against a tree as he reorganizes the contents of his backpack. 

“Jesus, El,” you sigh, pressing a hand to your chest over your heart. 

Ellie no longer seems sure of her reason for approaching you. There were times when she didn’t look her age—whether it be her stare or the way she carried herself—but this wasn’t one. Now, an air of self-consciousness surrounds her, like she’s caught between knowing nothing and everything all at once. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me,” she rushes out. There’s a pang of guilt when you realize she thinks you’re angry. 

“No, it’s fine,” you insist, softening your tone. “I’ve just been in my head.” 

She nods and feels more comfortable to step up alongside you. 

“I’ve seen those pictures you’ve been looking at.” She continues when you don’t say anything, “Was that your sister?” 

Neither you or Joel have brought her up, but your silence is an answer. 

“What was she like?” 

“I don’t remember much.” 

Only bits and pieces. The larger gaps have been filled in by Joel over the years. He never talks about Sarah at length, but sometimes he’ll see something or you’ll make an expression that reminds him of her. That usually prompted him to tell a short story. Oftentimes, without meeting your eyes because he was too busy trying to busy his restless hands. Talking about her always makes him fidget. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know what it’s like to lose someone.” 

Ignoring her, you ask, “Did Joel say when we were gonna start back hiking?” 

Embarrassed, Ellie clears her throat and shakes her head no. “Why do you use his first name like that?” You almost hadn’t realized. 

“Force of habit.” Her brows have furrowed in confusion, so you explain, “Half the time, people in the QZ only listened to me when I threw his name in the mix. It holds a lot of weight among certain groups these days.” 

“Like he’s the boogeyman or something?”

You allow a small chuckle to escape at her words. She feels like it earns her a place back in your good graces. Pride glimmers in the grin that stretches across her face. 

“Something like that,” you agree. 

The familiar crunch of leaves rises as Joel makes the short venture over to the two of you. When he sees the fleeting smiles on your faces, he clears his throat and waits to see if he’ll be invited into whatever small moment of amusement had arisen. He seems to have just missed it. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Ellie says, 

Joel frowns, remaining quiet as he walks up to the edge of the creek. He stares into the bottom for a few thoughtful seconds. Both of you watch as he squats down to splash his face with water, humming with refreshment. 

Ellie no sooner moves to copy him. She laughs, a bubbly surprised sound, as she stands with her face dripping and eyes squeezed shut.

“Wait, how do I—” 

“Use your shirt,” Joel quips lightly. 

“Oh, yeah!” She uses her shirt to dry her eyes just as he had.

The chuckle that rumbles through Joel’s chest is a sound you haven’t heard in a while. It makes you stand up straighter, unconsciously shifting his way as if the sound has the power to heal that part of you that misses him even when he’s within reach. Misses how things were before he grew hard and consumed with the need to survive. 

You didn’t fault him for it, though. 

What’s become increasingly clear, however, is that need was born as much out of spite as it was out of the pure, unadulterated will to live. The end of the world took Sarah, and to Joel, ensuring the two of you endured no matter what was his fuck you to the universe. His proof that everything he cared about couldn’t be ripped from his hands. It was a muddled labor of love. 

But right here, right now, he’s laughing. Not urging silence or trying to instill a survival lesson. He’s letting the moment wash over him for what it is. There you stand watching the two of them like a mere onlooker frozen in place. The entire scene is reminiscent of a different time. A different Joel. 

Something heavy and bitter settles in your stomach at the sight of their twin smiles. 

“Are you gonna try it?” Ellie asks like she’s referring to some grand experience.

“It’s just water,” you say flatly. 

Face falling, Ellie looks to the ground as if the bridge connecting you two had been burned yet again. Something protective flares in Joel’s chest. 

He gives you a pointed look. “You feelin’ alright?” 

“I’m great. Grand even.” 

The air shifts, levity disappearing like a vapor. All three of you can feel it.

“Let’s keep moving then.”

For weeks, you keep it moving. Through rain, shine, and snow. The closer you get to Wyoming, the further away you drift from Ellie and Joel. Like you’re the corner piece of an island that’s been chipped away from the larger landmass. 

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

Arriving at the Jackson commune does little to mend things back to the way they were. Some days pass by with more conversation and laughter between the three of you than others. Coming here had been the very thing you longed for, right alongside Joel. But tonight, as you fold clothes at the secondhand store where you volunteer, you wonder what there is to dream about now. 

You don’t know what you like or want. You were so young when the outbreak began that Joel’s practices and motivations became your own. You don’t know where he ends and you begin, and the inability to distinguish makes a part of you resent him. 

The bells above the door jingle as Ellie enters with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Half of her hair is pulled into a ponytail, while the other falls in loose waves just past her shoulders. For once, it looks like she brushed it properly. 

You see more of her than Joel these days. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go over to Dina’s,” she says as she pads over to you. “Joel’s not home yet so I figured I’d come tell you.” She absentmindedly runs her hand over the cashmere sweater you’d folded minutes prior to her arrival. 

You set down the pair of jeans you just finished folding. “He’s not?” 

“No,” she says, unphased. “Probably went straight to the dining hall.” 

A dull, gnawing sense of worry arises in your chest. Ellie can’t see it or feel it herself, still tending to believe Joel was somehow invincible. That every time he went out for patrol, he was bound to return because that’s what he’d proven to her so far. 

“Be safe, okay?” you tell her. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

When she leaves, you head to the store owner in the back room. He’s rummaging through a huge box of donated items. 

“Hey, Stewart?”

There’s a click as two glasses knock into one another. “Goddammit—what?” He straightens up to turn around and face you. 

He has a head full of wiry gray hair and his glasses are crooked on his nose. There’s a light sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. 

“You alright back here?” you tease lightly. He grumbles and waves you off. “Would it be okay if I clocked out early? Natalie and Craig are out there, so you’ll still have help until closing.” It’s been pretty slow this evening anyways. No chance a random rush would occur. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want, kid.” He huffs and looks back down at the box. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

“You’re the best, Stew.” You flash him a playful smile. 

Outside, you shiver at how cold it’s grown. Crossing your arms over your chest does little to alleviate the creeping chill. The first snow of the season has yet to fall, but you can feel it lingering in the crisp air. Nevertheless, Jackson Hole is buzzing. People of all ages flit in and out of shops and gathering spaces. Everywhere you look, there’s a friendly face, if not an actual friend. 

This time of year, the entire commune is reminiscent of those cute Christmas village displays. Plush wreaths with red bows hang on wooden posts, and colorful fairy lights shine all around. The most activity buzzes over at the dining hall. Families talk and laugh on the benches outside, and you can see people walking around inside through the windows. 

As you head that way, the two men standing on the patrol office porch capture your attention. It was probable that Joel was inside either logging or assessing his hours. 

When you make it to the building, you recognize the taller man as Cameron, someone who often partnered with Joel because they had the same, collected, no-nonsense way about them. They automatically nod to you in greeting, but their lips are set in firm lines like they have news you don’t. 

You offer a shaky smile back as a lump forms in your throat, “Evening.” 

Your heart rate speeds up as Cameron opens the door for you. Inside, six men stand circled around Tommy, who’s tone is firm as he talks with his hands. Some have rifles slung over their shoulders, and others have pistols on their hips. Standing among the group is Lyle, a younger guy who was scheduled to be Joel’s partner today. 

The only person missing is Joel. 

You allow your eyes to rove over the plaques, portraits, and retired weaponry decorating the walls as you await the end of Tommy’s lecture.  

“Let what happened out there today be a lesson—” Tommy stops talking when his eyes fall on you, and other heads turn to look your way. A few throats are cleared, necks are scratched. 

“Hold on a second, fellas.” He breaks out of the circle and heads towards you, cowboy boots clunking against the wood floorboards. There’s a rifle draped across his body like he’s ready for action. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to gather what this meeting is all about. Everybody has discretely turned to look at the two of you. 

“Tommy…” 

“Why don’t we step outside for a second, yeah?” He places a gentle hand at the small of your back to guide you back out into the cold. Cameron and his buddy slip inside out of respect for your privacy. 

“What’s going on, Tommy?” 

He wrestles with how to answer. You see it in his dark eyes, the way he shifts his stance. His cheeks are a bit flushed. 

“Joel hasn’t made it back,” he breathes. “Lyle made it in without him around an hour ago. Said they ran into some disgruntled nomads and got split up,” he says. “Got a few people out looking for him now, and I’m about to go out myself.” 

How foolish you’ve been acting these past several weeks hits you all at once. Everything from purposely distancing yourself from Joel, to occasionally ignoring him whenever he tried to ask how you’ve been—you’d made a point to be away from the house as much as possible. Most of all, it’d been foolish to pretend he wasn’t one of the only people in the world you wouldn’t be able to live without.

A stinging sensation pricks in your eyes, but no tears form. You don’t have it in you to cry. Helplessness crashes down on you in the form of frustration. 

“What do you mean came back without him?” you ask. “What good are patrol partners if they’re just gonna leave you behind—” 

“Hey. Hey.” Tommy looks at you intently. His eyes are so much like Joel’s that you look away. “This ain’t the time to be pointing fingers, alright? When you’re out there like that and shit hits the fan, you don’t know how you’ll react.” 

“Definitely not by leaving my partner behind.” 

Joel had never left you behind. Things had gone sideways time after time again, but you managed to remain by each other’s side. 

Worry radiates off of you in waves. 

“I’m worried out my ass too,” Tommy admits, trying to assure you. “But judging other people ain’t gonna bring him back any faster,” he says. 

When you release a heavy exhale and slink your head down, Tommy steps forwards to wrap his arms around you. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he promises. “You eaten dinner yet?” 

“I’ll probably throw up if I do.” 

He pulls away to look at you under the soft glow of the porchlight. “Let’s at least try to get a little something in your system, okay? I’ll walk you over to the dining hall.” Tommy guides you that way, and everything around you seems to fade in and out as you walk. 

Tommy’s words manage to break through to you, “I know my brother. He’ll make it back one way or another,” 

He always did. Maybe a bite to eat didn’t sound so bad. 

•••

The unyielding weight of your nerves forces sleep to find you when you make it home. Not in your bed, but on the couch as you sit and wait for Joel’s return. Worrying has taken a lot out of you. 

Creaky footsteps arise out on the porch. Then the lock clicks. Neither of which you register. By the time Joel is walking in through the front door, your eyes flutter open. There’s a slight sway to his stride like he’s favoring one leg. Other than that, he’s still in one piece. You’re on your feet in an instant, ignoring the crick in your neck. 

“Oh my god, Dad—thank god.” 

Joel stops in his tracks as you hurry over to him. He lets you look him over as if he’s a child who just fell off a bike. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” there’s a rasp to his voice.  

Relief is written all over your face. It’s the most interest you’ve shown in him in weeks, but he’s grateful for it anyways. He’s grateful for any mind you’re willing to pay him. 

There’s so much you want to say—I thought I lost you, don’t scare me like that again, I love you—but none of it comes out. Instead, it’s all packed into the way you step forward to throw your arms around him. 

But even hugging him doesn’t bring you close enough. 

Luckily, he’s so tall and broad that you settle for the feeling of being safe, cocooned in his arms. He squeezes you, not in the playful way that used to be a means of making you smile, but in a way that solidifies his presence. Assures you that he’s never going to let go. That you don’t have to worry about living without him.

As your tears wet his shirt, he doesn’t ease up or pull away. He remains constant like he’s been throughout your entire life, even on the days you thought you wanted him to disappear. 

He presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head and you’re overcome with warmth.  

“I love you to pieces,” his voice is low and thick with sincerity. “So much it hurts.” 

It’s you who reluctantly pulls away to look up into his eyes. 

“I love you too,” you murmur, cheeks glistening with tears. 

The tears gathered in his eyes finally spill over. He doesn't turn away or tilt his head back in an attempt to fend them off. They simply roll down his cheeks at your words. You can’t recall seeing him cry since Sarah passed away. Guilt, sympathy, and gratitude swell in your chest. For the years he’s been strong for the both of you, for everyone who’s ever leaned on him in a time of need. He never made it look hard. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—” 

“As long as you’re safe, I can handle being ignored.” He manages a small, sad smile. “It ain’t easy growing up during the end of the world.” Few things ever were. 

“It’s a little easier with you.” 

“Just a little?” He asks lightly. 

Both your smiles grow, and as you step back into his arms, every gripe and the chaotic events of the evening fade away.

- 

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

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[magniloquent-raven]

Day 3: Missing Moments

a little something for @bucktommypositivityweek 💜 tommy POV after their first date + buck calling about meeting for coffee

**

Tommy's not moping. He doesn't mope. Especially not over a relationship that wasn't even a relationship yet. It was one date. Arguably less. Half a date with a guy he's hung out with—if he's counting very generously—a grand total of four times.

A blip, as far as relationships go. He has more history with that guy he used to trade semi-frequent blowjobs with who's saved in his phone as Nose Ring.

...Come to think of it, he should delete that guy's number. They haven't spoken in years. He's pretty sure the last text in their message history is—yup. Dick pic. From Nose Ring. They'd gone six months without contact, then he sent a picture of his penis and nothing else. Tommy couldn't find it in himself to be even vaguely interested, and there's been no communication since.

And that's really that's the problem, isn't it. His dating history is riddled with guys like that. Dead-end hookups and bad dates with people he didn't click with no matter how much he tried to force it. And people who just...didn't care enough. Then Evan...

Alright, he's moping a little bit. He's only human.

He's been laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Pretty much since he got home. It's not late enough that he's tired, really, but he's also exhausted. In a soul-deep sort of way.

It was nice. He had a nice time, sitting across from Evan, letting him stutter his way through all the usual first date talking points like he was reading them off a list in his head. It was cute, how seriously he took it, how he'd pause and smile and get that soft look in his eye when he was listening to Tommy talk.

It would have been so easy to be greedy and keep spending time basking in that warmth he seems to radiate. Evan was clearly willing to push himself way past his comfort zone, but. Tommy wasn't. Isn't. His stomach twists just thinking about it.

But maybe he's being selfish either way. He wants more than Evan can give him, so he's pulling away completely, retreating before he can get too deep into planning a future Evan isn't ready for.

He sighs, feeling around next to his pillow until his fingers close around his phone.

Maybe Evan will reach out again. Some day. Eventually. Once he's more at ease with himself. Or maybe Tommy already ruined what could have been before it even started. Probably safer to just assume the latter. Restrict himself to hoping they can still be friends after this.

He scrolls aimlessly through his contacts. There's quite a few numbers in there that he should delete. Names he's not sure he recognizes anymore. Ones he wishes he could forget.

For some godforsaken reason he still has Sam Westbrook in here. Just reading the name puts a pit in his stomach. He doesn't remember everything about the three horrible months they spent together, it's mostly just flashes. The taste of too much beer on his tongue, saturated and clumsy in his mouth. A sharp smile and a sharper suit, always pressed and starched and better-than-you.

Tommy was newly out and far too hard on himself about how difficult it was. Guys like Sam seemed to sniff that out, made his personal shame all about them. It didn't always work, but Sam was particularly good at it. He always left Tommy feeling gutted and guilty and far too willing to do whatever it took to make it up to him the next time they saw each other. It's not a relationship he likes to think about.

But it's a reminder that he did the right thing tonight.

And...

Maybe he'll call Evan. Not yet, not right away. Tommy needs time to square away his own messy feelings, but maybe in a couple weeks. Just to let Even know he's. Around. If he needs someone to talk to about all this.

They can be friends. He'll make it work.

He deletes Sam's number, and tosses his phone aside.

Two weeks.

—

It's only two days later when his phone rings, Evan Buckley written across his screen in big white letters. He stares at it through five long buzzes while his heartbeat pounds in his ears.

This...wasn't the plan. And to make matters worse, he's at work. He catches one of his coworkers side-eyeing him curiously, and that pretty much guarantees he'll have at least three people ask him what was up with the phone call before his shift it over.

Well. He should at least give them something to gossip about. A guy called me and I watched it go to voicemail isn't much of a story.

He swipes to answer, before he can make himself any more nervous.

"Hey."

"Tommy! Hey!" Evan's voice crackles a little through the phone with a surprised intake of breath, like he wasn't the one who called in the first place. The corner of Tommy's mouth twitches. "H-how's it going?"

Tommy spent four hours yesterday taking apart his neighbours' lawn mower because he'd convinced the man it was making a weird noise and he could fix it. There was nothing wrong with it, but he checked every inch anyways, and put it back together well-oiled and exactly as pristine as it was before. That morning he'd gone grocery shopping with a paper list and his phone at home so he'd stop obsessively combing through all his files trying to find things to delete.

So, he's having a very normal week, clearly.

"Good," he says instead of explaining any of that. "I'm actually at work right now, so—"

"Oh crap, I forgot you were working today, sorry. I—I can call back later if you're busy."

"No, it's okay. Slow day so far." He pauses. "One might even say qui—"

"Ah, don't jinx it!"

Tommy snickers. Apparently Eddie wasn't exaggerating. He's known a lot of superstitious people, but most of them didn't take it this seriously. Evan sounded less panicked about flying directly into an actual hurricane. "Right, the dreaded Q-Word."

"Did you hear about the power lines that fell on our engine?!"

"Yes." He'd seen the pictures too. Pretty much everyone had, the 133 were sending them around all day after they took that call.

"And then some guy stole it later that same day, y'know. It was a terrible shift."

He'd heard about that too, but not that it was the same station. Damn. "Alright, alright. No tempting fate."

"Well. Good. Too many things can go wrong with helicopters."

Tommy squints up at the rafters, feeling unbearably fond. Like he's full of something warm and syrupy and too big for his chest, like he's spilling sunlight between his ribs.

He should ask why Evan called. Polite check-in after their date ended so abruptly? Another storm he needs Tommy to fly into? Metaphorical or otherwise. Hopefully it won't involve stealing anything else. They got way too lucky the first time for Tommy to trust it working out again, and he kind of likes his job.

He slips his free hand into his pocket. "How are you doing, Evan?"

"Oh." He lets out a soft exhale that comes through as quiet static. "I, uh. Good, actually. B-better, um. Listen, are you free tomorrow?"

Tommy stops breathing, lungs seizing for a long moment before he very carefully reminds himself how to use them. "Yes."

"I wanted to. Talk. To you. Um. In person, preferably."

This really wasn't the plan.

But it's fine. It's more than fine. It's...

He'll just have to deal with wanting to kiss the living daylights out of someone who's off-limits, it's not like he's never had to do that before. If Evan needs something from him he's not about to say no, he just didn't expect it to happen so soon, if it happened at all.

"I, uh, would've just popped by your house unannounced, but I thought this might be more polite," he continues, a teasing lilt in his voice. Tommy purses his lips against the smile threatening to overtake his face. "Also, I don't know where you live."

"You could've asked Eddie."

"Oh, so you're saying I should have ambushed you then?"

"No, that's very rude. Who does that."

Evan's delighted laugh is bright and infectious, and has him grinning at his feet, sunlight spreading down to the tips of his fingers.

"So, coffee? Tomorrow?"

"Alright."

"Cool. Awesome. I'll text you the details?"

"Cool," he echoes, purposefully deadpan. "Awesome."

He can hear the smile in Evan's voice when he pretends to be offended by the mocking. It's there all through their goodbye too, and Tommy finds himself coiled up around his anticipation at the thought of seeing that smile again.

It's going to be a long 18 hours. But it's worth the wait.

[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter summery: Condemned to a life of forced servitude by your own people, every monotonous day is a never ending cycle of despair and humiliation. But one day a mysterious Roman is brought to your village...

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, detailed injuries, angst, slow burn.

A/N: While daydreaming of this tale I envisioned it happening in Germania (thanks to the first Gladiator movie) so Alia/reader is Germanic. She's mid 30's, has long hair and is smaller than Marcus Acacius. I have done a bit of research of the ancient Germans as well as Ancient Romans but there will, no doubt be a lot of historical inaccuracies but hey, it's fan fiction baby, so anything goes! I hope you all enjoy...

Word count: 5,173

Chapter 1 The General

The chaos is unrelenting, spreading like the roots of a weed, destroying everything it touches. The deafening clanging of steel against steel, the anguished screams of men in their last moments, the earth turning red; it's brutal and harrowing and raw, but it's necessary. It's for the glory of Rome. That truth alone is enough to drive Marcus Acacius in his rage fuelled onslaught. Body after body falls as his sword meets enemy flesh, every man put down means one less adversary for Rome.

With adrenaline and purpose flowing through him, he advances beside his men, slowly but surely, the goal seemingly just within reach. Impossible to tell if the sludgy ground beneath his feet is saturated with rain or blood. Impossible to tell the difference between the roars and wails of his brothers in arms and that of his foes. The carnage intensifies with every heaving breath, the sickening stench of iron assaulting his senses as he mercilessly ends yet another life, the heat from his victims blood steaming against the frigid air as it drips from his Gladius (sword).

A quick glance at his surroundings reveals a much more devastating encounter than Marcus had anticipated. The Gutones are a savage and ignorant people but they are cleary also very formidable. It will make the conquest all the more glorious for Rome. So, Marcus thunders on, meeting combatant after combatant in a gruelling test of strength and endurance. After dispatching his latest victim - some foolish man-child who believed he could take on a seasoned general, of all people - he turns to check over his shoulder just as a very large brute swings at his head with an axe. Marcus ducks at the last second, grinning at the now enraged man as he prepares for another swing.

Marcus counters the blow, holding his sword horizontally above his head. He throws the axe to the side, the momentum taking his attacker with it, causing him to stumble. Marcus, seizing the opportunity granted to him, spins to face the man, sword poised to deliver the final blow. In a split second Marcus is on his knees, a hot stabbing pain shooting across the back of his right thigh. Despite the throbbing and spasming in his leg, Marcus tries to stand but it's futile; all strength in his leg is gone. Looking up he's met with a sadistic and victorious smile from his assailant as he raises the axe above his head, ready to strike.

This is it! This is how it ends. In these last precious seconds of his life, Marcus becomes overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions and thoughts; what will become of his men? Will whomever succeeds him as general be worthy and commited to Rome? Will he be remembered and honoured for his steadfast dedication to expanding the empire? Marcus refuses to close his eyes for this moment; he will look his death defiantly in his cold blue eyes, refusing to show even an ounce of the crippling fear he feels right now.

Just as the object of his death swings towards him, a deep voice booms from behind him. "Alive! We need him alive!" The man before him stops mid swing, looking furiously in the voices' direction. However, before Marcus can look back the big brute flips his axe. The last thing Marcus sees is the thick, blunt handle, thrust towards his face before the world turns black.

Cold, dark, wet. That's what Marcus Acacius opens his eyes to. This is not Elysium. There's no warm sunshine, no cooling west wind, no lush green meadows with brooks of water and wine. In place of tranquillity and bliss there is only pain and suffering. Did he not lead a virtuous life? Why does Elysium not embrace him? He fights against the pull of his eyelids, rolling onto his back as his foggy mind struggles to make sense of his surroundings. It's the sudden and intense surge of pain in his leg that startles him back into reality. He's very much alive.

Wide eyed and groaning, Marcus reaches down to feel the afflicted area, fingers finding a damp and crudely applied strip of cloth. His instincts abruptly return, willing him to rise, to fight and survive. But instinct and will alone cannot overcome physicality. His vision darkens in the subdued torchlight as he tries - and fails - to push himself up, limbs aching and head throbbing furiously. He falls, landing face down on the muddy ground. Rolling over, he wipes the cold mud from his eyes and mouth, anger and frustration quickly building. His blurry vision clears only to reveal what looks like thick and rough wooden bars.

A cage! He's locked up like some worthless dog. The shame of it! Death would have been the favourable option, not this. Never this! "Well, look who's finally awake," a mocking voice jeered as the cage door swung open. Marcus gathered what remained of his strength and pushed himself up sit up, back resting against the cage bars and chest heaving from exertion. A man about his build and height wearing animal hyde and simple trousers strode over to Marcus, looking down on him like he was nothing more than horse shit. Marcus returned the sentiment by fixing him with a glare of pure revulsion.

"Who do you think you are staring at, slave!" The man literally spat at Marcus' feet. "Get in here!" he yelled impatiently while keeping eye contact with Marcus, no doubt to try and intimidate him. Marcus sat in confusion for a moment until movement behind the man caught his attention. You were quite small in stature compared to the lout barking orders at you, but that could also be due to the fact you had your head lowered and shoulders tucked into yourself, an unmistakable defensive posture. "Clean him up," his big meaty hand shoved you forward, nearly causing you to spill the fresh water from the jug you're carrying.

You managed to find your footing just before you almost fell into the prisoner. You dare not look at his face; the face of a monster. Never have you had to face a Roman before. You've heard countless stories about the "Red Demons" who consume the world, leaving death and destruction in their wake, and now you stand before one. You're not sure what to expect. Despite your best effort to remain collected, your hands begin to shake in fear. "Make sure he lives if you know what's good for you. He's no use to us dead."

Dread licks up your spine at the threat. With a lingering sneer thrown at the general, the man began to walk away, but stopped by the gate. "Careful around around that savage." You could hear the smirk in his mock warning. "Men like that always take what they like from women. It would be a shame if he defiled you, being the animal that he is." The sudden slam of the gate made you jump, the sound of the lock clicking into place causing your stomach to churn. You're trapped! Fear has you rooted to the spot.

Unsure of your next move you force yourself to at least look upon his face. His scowl send a cold shiver to every part of your being, his eyes slowly raking over your whole body and his lip curling as if the mere sight of you disgusts him. No change there then; it's how you've been viewed your whole life. His eyes, burning with hatred, settle on yours and you gulp. He says nothing; but he doesn't need to. The intensity of his glare says it all. Taking a steadying breath, you will yourself to sound more confident than you feel. "I, uh... need to clean your wound."

He remains motionless, staring you down. One uncertain step towards him is all it takes for his anger to burst forth. "Dont. Touch. Me!" he seeths as he awkwardly shuffles away from you, fighting against the ropes that bind his hands and feet. It's evident he's trying to mask the pain caused by moving. "Please...I won't hurt you." You suddenly feel ridiculous for stating the bleeding obvious. Of course you won't hurt him; couldn't if you tried. You can tell just by looking at him this man could snap you like a twig if he so desired, restraints or not. "No, leave me. I'd rather die than be a captive.'' "You don't understand," you begin to plead, stepping a bit closer. "If you die they'll blame me. They'll do terrible thi-" "I don't fucking care!" he spat, silencing you.

You know there's no point arguing; a cornered animal will always lash out. Anxiety pools in your gut. You just know you'll get hell for this. "Wigmar?" you call while you wait by the door. "Wigmar!" you shout this time. A minute later the man - Wigmar - returns looking annoyed. "What?!" he barks. "Uh... I can't... I mean... he won't let me come near," you say with a little shrug. "Please, it's not my fault." Wigmar looks at the prisoner then at you. "Useless cunt," he sneers and storms off. "Wait! You can't leave me here!" You slam your fist against the bars. You're thundering heartbeat fills your ears. Is he really going to leave me in here with him?! The thought makes you feel sick.

You open your mouth to call for Wigmar again but stop when you hear multiple footsteps approaching. He's returned with two more men. He unlocks the door and shoulders you out of the way, making straight for the general with the other two men. Grunts and snarls fill the air as the general is thrown face down and restrained. "Get on with it!" Wigmar shouts at you. For a moment you just stare, shocked at the brutal struggle taking place. "Now!" Wigmar's booming voice snaps you from your shock. Dropping to your knees beside the men, you quickly get to work, cleaning the stab wound, applying a mixture of honey, grease and herbs and wrapping a clean, dry dressing over the area. All the while the prisoner fought and thrashed on the ground.

As soon as you'd finished you packed all your supplies away, emptying the red tinted water from the jug and leapt to your feet, eager to distance yourself, even in this tiny space. The men, however, laughed the whole time, jeering and taunting the furious Roman. "Fucking animal," one of the men spat at the general as he now lay on his back, catching his breath. Visibly trembling with rage, Marcus forced himself to sit up, his eyes boring into every one of these bastards who had dared to put their hands on him. The disgraceful indignity these barbarians had just bestowed upon him only intensified the fury he was trying to contain. He has to keep a level head right now.

His focus shifted to you and he was taken aback when Wigmar viciously grabbed a fist full of your hair, yanking your head back so forcefully you couldn't do anything but yelp. Gods above. Is this how they treat their own people? "Next time handle this yourself," a red haired man stood in front of you and growled in your face. Marcus watched as you attempted to beg for release, only to have your words literally slapped from your mouth, the sound of a palm striking flesh louder than should have been possible. You continue to cry out in terror as you are bent over and dragged roughly by your hair from the cage. The gate slammed shut, locked once again, the encroaching night making it difficult for Marcus to see your retreating forms; all that remained were your desperate cries, piercing the otherwise still evening.

You couldn't get home quick enough. Not that you'd really considered this your "home" - just some dug out structure with a poorly maintained roof, once used for storage. Now said storage has a better residence than you. All that furnishes this place is a bed with a few fur blankets, a small table with a rickety stool and a few shelves that holds your clothes and very few personal items you have. The last of your tears had dried, leaving a stickyness to your cheeks, but your scalp is still burning.

This time you had lost a small clump of hair. Still, it could have been worse. With fatigue beginning to creep up on you, you take a seat on the low stool, pour some water from your waterskin into a bowl and begin cleaning the rags you had used on the prisoner when the door to your hut opened and a chill swept over you - but not from the night air. "Alia..." came a sickly sweet voice that instantly made your muscles size all over. Wincing internally you stand and turn to face your unwelcome guest. The tall intimidating figure filling your doorway slowly saunters over to where you stand. Just before he reaches you, you turn your back to him defiantly and sit down to continue with your task.

"What do you want, Bardulf?" you sigh, irritably. Bardulf grips your shouders, pulling you to your feet and spinning you to face him. "I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you!" he snarled, his stale breath invading your nostrils. You release a long breath and look up to meet his eyes. "That's better," Bardulf smirks. "Heard you were causing trouble tonight." "No," you shake your head. "The Roman... he wouldn't allow me to approach. I had to get help. What else was I supposed to do?"

Bardulf, still holding you in his iron grip looked you over and snickered, "Why didn't you just use your... influence on him and finally be of some use to us." Rolling your eyes, you shake yourself free of his hands and step backwards almost tripping over your stool. "You and I both know that's a load of horse shit. If I were a seeress, don't you think I would have saved myself from this hellhole before now?" "Careful..." Bardulf stood in your personal space now looking down at you with hate twisting his features. "One would think you're ungrateful of our hospitality." Adrenaline pumps through your body, making your hands shake. You clench your fists, trying to hide your fear. You want to scream at him, tell him exactly what you think of this so called "hospitality."

If being enslaved, beaten, humiliated and hated by your own people is "hospitality" then you have it in abundance. "Maybe..." Bardulf slowly ran his hands down your arms, his slimy touch like poison on your skin, "you'd prefer a different kind of hospitality." Disgusted, you open your mouth to protest but Bardluf's hands slip behind you, one on your back and one grabbing your arse. He slams you roughly against his body. You freeze in horror when you feel something hard press into your lower stomach. "Y... you wouldn't dare," you stammer, while trying to push him away. "Your father would have your balls!"

Bardulf grips your face with one hand so tightly, you hear your jaw click. His thin, pockmarked face is now an inch from yours and for a moment you fear he might actually make good on his threat. "My father won't be around much longer," he warned. "And I don't fear you like he does. Enjoy your protection for now, you little whore. When he's gone..." he turns your face and licks your cheek, repulsion and shock making you cringe as you swallow the bile rising up your throat, "you're all mine." Pain bursts in your knees as he throws you to the floor and walks away, chuckling proudly to himself. You sit in disbelief, staring at the door he'd just walked through, his ominous threat still ringing in your ears, You're all mine.

Surely when his elder brother succeeds their ailing father as chief he would still enforce his fathers rule. The only good thing to come from everyones fear of you was a command that no man shall ever wed, bed and breed you, lest you produce more of your "kind". But Bardulf had seemed so sure of his words, his intentions, and it fills your veins with icy cold dread. At a loss in this hopeless moment, all you can do is pull your scuffed knees to your chest, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself while silent tears of despair begin to fall.

The sound of dogs barking jolted Marcus from a fitful sleep. A sharp jab shoots through his skull as he sits bolt upright - momentarily confused by his surroundings. The hot sting in his thigh returns and he hisses through his teeth. Then it all comes back to him; the battle, the voice demanding his live capture, waking in this cage and... the fearful looking woman who'd treated his wound and was then dragged away, screaming. Marcus propped himself against the bars of his new abode, let his head fall back and sighed. How could he have let this happen?

It would have been better to die honourably in battle. This is his greatest shame. The barking is suddenly joined by the voices of several children nearby. Marcus watches the children playing with the dogs by some huts. It's looks so... normal; people going about their daily tasks. For the most part he is ignored, save for a few curious kids who decided to push their luck with him, only to run away in fear when he greeted them with a glower. Alone once again, Marcus' thoughts retrace the events that lead to his capture.

Could he have done anything different? Did he become to complacent on the battlefield? But the most pressing issue now is how will he get out of here. He's valuable to these people; that much is obvious otherwise his head would not still be attached to his body. But what do they want from him? If it's information, they can fuck themselves. No amount of torture would ever bring him to betray his soldiers. He'll die before that happens! But maybe neither has to happen.

If he can just find a weakness in this crude looking prison. Upon further inspection it appears to have been constructed in haste. Marcus rises to his knees, swallowing down the groan as his injured leg protests his movements with waves of pain and cramping. He tests every beam, every bar, hoping to discover a weakness somewhere. To his dismay, he finds none. Even the gate is secure. Marcus slumps down, dropping his head into his hands in frustration. A noise at the gate catches his attention. He recognises you as the same woman from last night, accompanied by the same man unlocking the gate.

As soon as you enter, he slams it shut, locks it and walks away. Yet again, you both stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before you clear your throat. "I brought you some food," you say, cautiously, setting down a bowl of stew in the centre of the cage. "I also need to change your bandage," you point to his leg after setting down a jug of water. He makes no attempt to move, to speak ... or to do anything, which you find peculiar. You decide on another approach, sitting on bent legs to seem less imposing.

You take off your bag and pull out your waterskin. "You must be thirsty," you coax gently, tossing the bottle to land at his feet. Marcus looks at the bottle, then at you before grabbing it and gulping it's contents. "You need to eat." You pick up the bowl, offering it in a gesture of goodwill. Again, silence. "You have to keep your strength up if you're going to heal." "What does it matter?" he finally speaks in a hoarse voice, narrowing his eyes at you. "If you die it will be my fault. The consequences would be... awful." You fear to think of what punishment would await you.

"You are not my responsibility, girl," the hostile man before you glowers. "But you're mine," you stressed, placing the bowl back down. "It's in your best interest to obey them. Trust me, resisting never ends well. You remember what happened last night." It wasn't a question, but a warning. Marcus can tell from your grave expression that you've suffered the ramifications of disobedience in the past. "Why?" You blink at him, confused. "Why... what?" "Why do they treat their own so abhorrently? You are one of them, are you not?"

You were not expecting him to ask questions of a personal nature. You've never considered yourself to be one of them, not since... that day. "I was born to this land and this tribe, yes..." is the best answer you can give. "So why would your own people-" "These are not my people!" you declared, indignation wrapped in your words. A flash of confusion crosses his face. "So you're a slave?" "Essentially," you respond, flatly. "What's your name, girl?" he asks after a few moments of silence. His frown softens somewhat as you search his deep brown eyes. "Why do you want to know my name?" you ask, unsure of where this conversation is heading.

"Just don't want to keep having to call you girl." After a moment of uncertainty you answer "Alia. What's yours?" "Marcus Acacius, General of the Armies of the north." You nod, pursing your lips. "Well Marcus Acacius, are you going to tear my throat out if I come any closer to tend to your leg?" Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, "Do what you have to do." He clumsily slumps to his side, still bound at his hands and feet. You edge closer, bag in hand, still weary of the man in front of you. If the stories are true these monsters cannot be trusted. Marcus inhales sharply as you carefully unwrap the bandage and begin to cleanse the deep laceration at the back of his thigh.

The silence between you both is tense and charged. What only took a few minutes to clean and redress felt like aeons. The sooner you can get away from him, the better. Marcus shuffles onto his backside as you pack your bag. As you sand to leave Marcus breaks the awkward silence. "Why do they keep me alive?" "I don't know," you shrug. "Your life is clearly of value right now... but whatever the reason, it can't be good." Marcus' jaw visibly ticks as your words sink in. "Hmmm," he nods. You walk to the gate and call for Wigmar. Grunting, he comes over to let you out. Before exiting the cage you risk a glance over your shoulder and meet Marcus' eyes. It's Almost like he is studying you and it makes you shiver.

The day drags slowly for Marcus. Exhaustion still afflicts his body and mind, resulting in him drifting off every now and then, only to wake with a jolt each time. The damp ground on which he lays serves as a reminder of his newfound situation. He lays on his left side to keep his injury dry and clean. Half asleep he's suddenly startled by a yelp close by. His vision is blurry as he tries to focus, blinking heavily to clear his head. Then he sees you - about 20 feet away - caked in mud and struggling to get to your feet. A group of young women laugh and hurl insults at you, their laughter becoming hysterical as you slip and slide in your futile attempt to regain your footing and your dignity.

Marcus assumes you had just said something to them as you stood - he's too far away to make out your words - because a blond, who seems to be their leader, is now sneering in your face. He watches the whole interaction with puzzlement and also... pity? A part of him feels slighted on your behalf. You rush away, in obvious haste to put distance between you and your tormentors, eyes landing on Marcus' as he observes from between the bars. He can see, even from this distance, the redness around your eyes as you struggle to withhold the tears that threaten to spill. You quickly disappear down the bank and into a small, shabby hut as the women walk away giggling.

The fading warmth of the low sun spills across Marcus' face, the brightness intolerable even through closed eyelids. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he slowly pulls himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the bars. Footsteps once again catch his attention, his whole body instinctually on high alert. The cage door opens and three men file in, heading straight for him. He tries to fight them but it's hopeless. Two men force Marcus to his feet, both holding him up under each arm while the third holds the gate wide open. Determined to not go easily, Marcus thrashes and struggles as he's paraded through the village towards a long, rectangular building.

Marcus takes in the environment he now stands in; multiple beds with fur blankets line both walls, the wooden walls adorned with sconces, shields and various woven tapestries. Shelves in a corner at the far end hold pottery of different sizes and a large roaring firepit crackles in the centre of the room. Across from the firepit, sat in a large wooden chair draped in furs is an imposing but aged looking man wearing a dark green tunic, cinched at the waist by a thick leather belt. A fur pelt covers his shoulders and a gold band sits on his wrist. Marcus stares impassively at the man he can only assume is the chief.

Despite being in terrible pain, Marcus forces himself to stand tall, shoulders pulled back in a show of confidence and pride. The chief makes a show of giving Marcus a full once over, then with a mocking tone, says, "The General of Rome." Snide laughter arises from several men also present. "And you are...?" Marcus responds with a curl of his lip. "I am Adhelm, chief of the Gutones," the old man replied with an air of superiority. Marcus scoffed at the display of this mans self importance and for that he received a backhander from one of the men who brought him here. "Show some respect to your superiors!" he ordered in a low tone. Marcus turn his head forward, spitting blood onto the floor. "What do you want with me?"

Adhelm rose from his seat and stood face to face with Marcus, his eyes blazing with hate. "I will look into the eyes of my greatest enemy before he dies." Marcus returned the look of contempt but remained silent. "You and your scourge have bled the world dry! You have murdered, enslaved, defiled and brutalized us for so long. Now I shall have my vengeance." Adhelm returned to his chair with satisfaction written all over his weathered face. "So you spared my life just to take it?" Marcus huffed. "Exactly," Adhelm smirked. "Alia!" he barked while picking up the goblet from the arm of his chair. Marcus hadn't even noticed you tucked into the shadows by the wall.

His eyes followed as you hurried over and began filling the chiefs cup with wine, then slunk off with your head down. Adhelm continued, "Your death will send a message to your army and to Rome. At the next battle you will be presented to your men and then I will take great pleasure of relieving you of your head and limbs." Marcus felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach churning with both dread and anger. To be slain like a beast in front of his own men is unthinkable! His mere presence amongst his troops gives both inspiration and hope, so for them to have to witness the demise of their commander will significantly impact them.

But of course, that's the whole point; to crush moral and instil fear in your enemy. This piece of horse shit knows what he's doing. Marcus spat at he feet of the chief, screwing his face up in revulsion. "You're all nothing more than a bunch of barbaric heathens! You are mistaken if you believe my death will bring you victory. All you will do is bring the wrath of Rome upon you and your people to the likes of which have never been seen!" Adhelm raised his nose in the air, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. "We shall see, general. Take him back." With a wave of the chiefs hand Marcus is escorted out of the building and back to his prison.

All through the heated exchange you kept your head down, feigning disinterest while listening intently to every venomous word thrown back and forth by the two men. The silver lining to being practically invisible to these people meant you'd often overheard sensitive conversations regarding war stratagies, problems within the community, and even issues of a more intimate nature. You were never considered to be of any significance or even a threat, which is why you are now present while Adhelm dismissed all of his men to talk privately to his sons. "Kuno, Bardulf..." the chief began as he slouched back in his chair, trying to, but failing to stifle a deep, rattling cough, which resulted in him bringing up a bit of blood.

After a moment he continued, " You must both be made aware that this next battle will likely be my last." At that your head tipped up involuntarily, cautiously observing the conversation. "Father, you can't-" Adhelm raised a hand to silence Kuno. "I have accepted that I shall die soon. Either from battle or from what ails me. The future of our people, our way of life will depend on you, Kuno. You are strong and capable." Adhelm then looked to his second born. "Bardulf, I expect you to aid and council your chief accordingly. He will need all the support he can garner." "Of course, father," Bardulf bowed his head, reverently, "We will not fail you." Adhelm stood, walked over to his sons and clasped them both on their shoulders. "I am proud of you both."

You couldn't help but scoff quietly, rolling your eyes. Proud? Of what? Raising two arseholes. The second one being the cause of most of your misery for years. Maybe your reaction hadn't been as quiet as you'd thought because Bardulf is now glaring at you with pure detestation. You freeze, gulping down the lump in your throat while trying to remain calm. While Adhelm and Kuno continue to talk Bardulfs wrathful expression slowly dissolves into a sickening grin, his icy blue eyes dragging along your body, making your skin crawl. Unable to stand his gaze any longer, you drop your head down, willing the knot in your stomach to unclench. You're sure this isn't the end of it, judging by that maniacal grin; a promise that you won't get off that easily.

Series Masterlist Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 - coming soon

@myownwholewildworld @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29

[inlovewithfionaapple]

the shift

warnings: none

wc: 887

part one

the next few days at smosh were a whirlwind of brainstorming sessions, chaotic improv rehearsals, and last-minute coffee runs. the usual. but for y/n, everything felt slightly off-kilter — like someone had turned up the saturation on the world, and all she could see was spencer.

spencer making everyone laugh during the pitch meeting. spencer helping carry lights when the crew was short-handed. spencer spinning around in a rolling chair like a child until he got dizzy and crashed into a desk.

he was... everywhere.

and y/n’s heart wouldn’t shut up about it.

they were wrapping a long thursday night shoot when it happened — the kind of night where everything ran late, the energy got weird, and people started getting honest.

most of the cast had gone home, but y/n and spencer were still around, helping the crew reset gear for the next day. she was coiling extension cords. he was stacking props with alarming disorganization.

“you ever think about leaving?” y/n asked suddenly, not even sure where the question came from.

spencer looked up. “like... smosh?”

she nodded. “i don’t know. not because i want to. just — sometimes i think about what life would be like if i hadn’t come here.”

he tilted his head, studying her with that intense, thoughtful look he got when he actually stopped joking. “i think i’d be way less happy.”

y/n blinked. “really?”

he walked over, propping an arm against the wall beside her — not intentionally flirty, but close enough to make her pulse spike.

“yeah,” he said. “this job’s fun, sure. but it’s the people that make it something more. you make it something more.”

silence bloomed between them. it was soft. charged. dangerous.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

there was something in spencer’s eyes she hadn’t seen before — or maybe she’d just been too scared to name it.

something warm.

something careful.

something that looked a lot like want.

and then — as if the universe had a sick sense of humor — the moment cracked.

“hey guys!” noah’s voice echoed from down the hall. “anyone seen the tripod bag?”

spencer immediately stepped back, clearing his throat, the spell broken.

y/n forced a smile. “uh — yeah, think it’s by the editing bay!”

noah vanished again. but the air between her and spencer never quite went back to normal.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “anyway... i’ll, uh, finish those props.”

“right,” y/n said, heart still galloping. “cool. yeah.”

but nothing felt cool.

everything felt like it was on fire.

the next night, y/n sat alone on the roof of the smosh building, sipping warm tea from a thermos and trying to sort through the knot in her chest.

spencer joined her ten minutes later without saying a word. just sat beside her, quiet.

she didn’t ask how he knew she was there.

he always just... knew.

for a while, they didn’t speak. the city stretched out around them, humming and alive. streetlights blinked in the distance. somewhere, a dog barked. a breeze tangled through y/n’s hair.

finally, spencer broke the silence.

“do you think we messed it up?”

she looked at him sharply. “what do you mean?”

“this.” he gestured vaguely between them. “us. this weird in-between thing we’ve been stuck in.”

her mouth went dry. “we’re not stuck.”

“aren’t we?”

he turned to face her fully now, and for once, there was no joking in his eyes. just raw honesty. a rare kind of vulnerability that made y/n feel like her heart was cracking open.

“i like you, y/n,” he said. “more than i’ve been saying. more than i’ve known what to do with.”

the words hit her like a thunderclap.

she stared at him, stunned.

“i didn’t want to ruin anything,” he continued, voice softer now. “working together, being friends — i didn’t want to screw it up. but lately, i feel like not saying anything is screwing it up worse.”

y/n’s chest ached. “spencer…”

“i get it if you don’t feel the same,” he said quickly, misreading her silence. “or if it’s too complicated. i just — i had to say it.”

she reached out then, grabbing his hand.

his words may have shattered her, but his hand — warm, familiar, a little sweaty — grounded her.

“i feel the same,” she said quietly. “i’ve just been scared too.”

a breath of relief rushed out of him, almost a laugh. he squeezed her hand gently, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmured.

they sat like that — hands laced, hearts thundering, the night folding around them like a secret.

spencer leaned in then, just a little, eyes flicking to her mouth.

it would’ve been perfect.

the kiss.

the moment.

but y/n’s phone buzzed loudly between them.

she jumped, groaning. “damn it — sorry.”

spencer chuckled, leaning back with a half-smile. “you always have the worst timing.”

“or maybe we just need better luck,” she said.

he looked at her for a long, slow moment. “or maybe we just try again tomorrow.”

and y/n smiled.

because tomorrow had never sounded so promising.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

vii ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Knee Socks 

Series mlist 

Tags — mentions of violence, I couldn’t be bothered to size down the text

Words— 1.2k

Megumi wasn’t watching you. Of course he wasn’t, he wasn’t some sort of creep. Why would he feel a need to watch you anyway? It wasn’t like you were special. No, he didn’t care what you were doing, he barely even knew you so of course he wouldn’t- 

He sighed. His inner monologue was beginning to resemble that of Itadori, it was unlike him. No, he hadn’t been watching you, but he couldn’t deny that when he peered through the open window of his dorm room, he hoped to see you outside. When he caught a glimpse of your [h/c] hair roaming the expanse of the cobblestone that stretched around the residence hall, an odd sort of satisfaction shot through his chest. He’d been meaning to return that bag, anyway. Not that he wanted to speak to you properly or anything. 

He put a hoodie on, the polyester blanketing him and shelling him from the dull chill of the approaching winter. Snow had yet to fall, but the orange of the leaves was beginning to diminish, everything turning into darker, less saturated pallet of colours. He much preferred it this way, he blended in more. The black of his sweater did nothing to stick out against the masses. The soft echo of his footsteps as he descended down the stairs was the only sound ringing through his ears, aside from the soft murmur of surrounding conversations. 

You were simply taking a stroll, headphones resting over your ears as you wandered the paths and walkways of the campus you’d learned to call home. It had only been a few short weeks since you first stepped foot here, but you seemed more in place here than you ever did, even at home. The gentle thump of shoes against ground grew closer and closer, a wave of something akin to what you felt at that Halloween party washing over you. 

A figure fell into step by your side, the midnight blue of his eyes meeting your own. His arm was outstretched, and it took you a moment to look down and see the cherry red grasped in his fingers. Of course, it was your bag! The bag you’d left in his car after chugging enough alcohol with Yuji to kill a grown cow… that was rather embarrassing. You felt your face heat up, a bashful smile tugging at your lips as you let your headphones fall around your neck, and gently took the bag from him. 

“Oh, I almost forgot about that. Thanks,” you said, your hand falling to your side with the bag within it. You could feel your shoulders stiffen, your heartbeat quickening as the realization that this was only your second meeting in half a decade dawned on you. You could barely hold his gaze, not that he was doing much better. A hint of a smile ghosted over his lips, but it was gone in an instant. 

“I figured,” he responded. It didn’t seem as though he’d changed much. There was still a sort of low gravel to his voice, something distant and gruff, but it was more… docile. There was something oddly soft about the way he spoke that felt almost intimate, reserved for those that held a specific importance in his soul. Truly, he was hardly aware of it. Sure, he kept his tone in check. He wanted to be sure that you knew he wasn’t still some sort of delinquent, someone to not be trusted, to not be kept around. He made that mistake once before, he didn’t intend on letting it happen again. 

A tense sort of silence settled over the two of you. You didn’t exactly know what to say, what does one say in this situation? It would be one thing if you’d departed like many friends did, forgetting to exchange numbers or simply falling out of touch. But no. You, the only person he even bothered to trust, socked him in the face with a punch worthy of live TV. 

“It was… odd. Seeing you again,” he broke the silence, daring to sneak a glance at you from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t spoken with disdain or disgust, simply a fact being stated. You nodded, a soft breath of laughter tumbling from your mouth. “It was. You sort of caught me off guard.” 

He eyed you, quirking a brow. “I caught you off guard? You do realize you were standing with my friends, right?” he said. Though he suddenly realized his tone, his voice growing softer as he continued speaking. Of course he didn’t do it too much, though, it’s still Megumi you were speaking to. You chuckled softly once again, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Not fair! Yuji invited me over, it’s not like I infiltrated your friend group on purpose,” you rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at your lips. He mirrored you, too rolling his eyes. Still sassy. Great. 

“I was a little scared, honestly,” you continued, your cheeks tinting a gentle pink. You hoped he’d excuse it, assume it was the cold weather to blame. His eyebrows twitched upwards, question written all over his face. Then it morphed, understanding and a hint of amusement written all over his face. 

“You did make me bleed.”

Your head whipped to the side, arms crossing over your chest. “In my defence, you beat up the guy I was going out with.” He shrugged. He didn’t want you to assume he continued the bad habit of resorting to violence, but he couldn’t act as if it wasn’t justified. “He deserved it,” he said. 

This wasn’t a story you’d heard before. He deserved it? Well, maybe you’d have found out, had the circumstances been different. “How so?” you asked, and it was as if the memory (or lack of) rushed back to him. “That guy was an ass. You didn’t know that he and his friends had a bet on how fast he could get you to… uh, be at his mercy is one way to put it,” he grumbled. 

What. 

You suddenly felt rather stupid. Of course that wasn’t in relation to the boy, a middle school crush, if you could even call him that. It was about Megumi, the way you acted on impulse as a stupid teen when you were oblivious to the fact he had been protecting you. You internally winced, “Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh,” he mimicked, shaking his head softly. “Anyway, I’m not like that anymore, so you don’t have to worry,” he shrugged, glancing to the side. 

You nodded. Yuji had already said so, but hearing it come from him was oddly reassuring. “I assumed so, both considering you have friends and aren’t behind bars by now,” you smirked, growing less anxious as every moment passed. Things weren’t so tense with him, they never seemed to be. He shot a glare at you, though no real heat lied within his eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that. Remember when you hung Chomei and Okumura from a billboard?” He stayed silent, almost shrinking in on himself as you brought up the memory. He shot you another look, though, a gentle push to shut up. 

“Or when you piled up half of our grade and used them like stepstools? Or when you-“ 

“Alright alright that’s enough I get it.” 

Taglist !¡ —

@meowymeowbreow @1l-ynn @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @qingpunk @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123

the billboard incident being canon is so funny to me

guys please check ur settings and make sure im able to tag you before asking to be on the taglist :(

group collab when

missing school for the second time this week yikes

ty for the love on the most recent chap :3 but also why do some chapters have 90 likes and the other is barely getting 30????? Are we only reading the fifth chapter guys be honest.

watching Saiki k and Mha rn…. Chat I’m expanding…

[lenallu]

I'll hear you.

❅ tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, death, grief ❅ word count: 776 ❅ synopsis: Zayne takes you to the park when you're sick for some fresh air and sunlight. You find a way to express your love without words. ❅ a/n: this was written to the song futile devices - sufjan stevens

"You have to stop talking. You need to rest your voice, or you won't be able to talk at all." He pauses to consider something, then picks up a small knife from beside you.

"Actually, that might not be so bad." He cuts into the crisp apple's core, pulling out a section and handing it to you with a subtle smile pulling at his lips.

You laugh and push his shoulder before taking the offered slice from his fingers and biting into it. "But how will I tell you I love you? I don't want you to forget." You say hoarsely.

He sets the apple down onto the newspaper and looks out at the luscious park. He thinks for a moment, allowing silence to settle before looking back at you.

"You won't have to say it. Just look at me, like this. I'll hear you."

There's a devastating tenderness in his voice as he leans toward you slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. He spoke softly, as if sharing a secret. The remnants of your laughter soften in your expression as the love in his voice saturates you. Like a milk cake drenched in heavy cream, drowning in sweetness and crumbling upon the slightest touch.

"When you talk to me like that, I feel like I've been caught in the rain." You pause to watch confusion take root behind his eyes.

"Vulnerable, soggy. Embraced by the beauty of the world around me. It's too much for my heart. Would it kill you to act like you hate me every once in a while?"

He laughs a little, and leans back on his hands, allowing the sun to bathe him as he closes his eyes.

"It might."

🜺

The frost has seized him. Fear, anger, and envy flashed through your body at the sight of the frost encasing, embracing his body. You follow the trail of ice up his limbs with your eyes, leading you to where it had crept up the column of his neck.

You hurry forward, your hands coming up to hold his face in your warmth. The cold did not relent, and continued to consume him. Your breath trembled against his skin under the treachery of the frigid and wintry howling winds beating against your back. You wish there was a way to save him, you wish you knew what to do to make this less painful for him. To let him rest with some kind of peace. You want to say you love him, but can't see those words being anything but agonizing right now.

Warm memories of what he said that time in the park flood into your mind, and everything in you aches. Your chin lifts, and you find his eyes fastened to yours with wavering intensity as the biting cold spreads within his body, slowly capturing his consciousness.

The storm roars, as if to fend you off. The fear in his expression is palpable, and new. You've never seen him so terrified. Everything about this moment demands you to run, but your feet stay planted firmly in the snow. You don't make an effort to say anything, but you instead adhere your gaze to his as intensely as you can as your fingers caress his cheek, trembling. Recognition falls over his features at what you were trying to communicate, and sparkling tears begin to underline his hazel green eyes. A pained breath breaks from your mouth and panic floods into you at your misstep. You didn't want him to leave you like this with sadness in his heart. You didn't want him to cry.

Small flecks of ice break and fly from his skin as his jaw moves slightly. His voice comes out quiet, and you strain to hear him against the wind, but you do.

"I…love..you…too." It comes out, broken and pained, and he goes completely rigid as the frost makes its final advances.

In those last moments, he chose against his usual silent acknowledgement of your affection. Not because he felt words were any more powerful than the gazes you shared, but because years from now, he wanted you to know unquestionably that he heard you. He wanted his last words spoken among this universe to lay with you, for you to hold and remember, and never doubt the eternity of love between you.

You cry out, and your heart shatters in a way that feels so final as he leaves you. Your hands never part from him, and you pull yourself onto the tip of your toes to press one last kiss to his skin.

The storm becomes more violent. You have to go.

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the demon brothers slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

lucifer // mammon // levi // satan // asmo (you are here) // beel // belphie -- others coming soon, NSFW warning below, gn!reader

asmodeus, who thinks you're interesting for a human. he sees studying you as a sort of self-care, for he too wants to know what was so special about you, how you quickly gained three of his brothers' pacts before he knew it. he'll look up from his mirror with a sharp eye, taking in the intricacies of your interactions, hiding behind his reflection again before you notice. you fascinate him. it's become part of his routine to linger in the common areas to hear his brothers' loud conversations spill from your room into the hallway.

asmodeus, who wants to know everything about you. he studies you like he studies himself-- wide-eyed, thorough, memorizing the curve of your smile, the softness of your skin, the size of your ears and nails and nostrils and every mundane part of you that makes his heart race. in the celestial realm, he was always known to see the good in everyone. with you, though, he doesn't even have to try. you're dawn in the devildom, sunset in the heavens. you're unlike any human he's ever met. when you finally make a pact with him, he feels foolish for not seeing your potential earlier.

asmodeus, who knows you're into him. he can sense when people are attracted to him, but even if he couldn't he'd know. he sees you dodge eye contact, the way you shudder a little at his affectionate touch-- he knows. and it delights him. asmo captures hearts without even trying, but yours is the most precious treasure of all. your genuine, unspoken feelings slip through gaps in conversation, or your smile, or the glow you have when you're around him. he finds you stunning, of course, so don't mind the way his cheeks flush a little when you laugh like that.

asmodeus, who doesn't dare bring anyone over to the house of lamentation anymore. he wouldn't disgrace your sacred space with the bodies of others. there's a neatness to him disappearing for a few hours only to pop back home, to your shared home, slipping in a quick bath before finding his way to your side. he doesn't want his lust to deter you. he doesn't want you to think he's not serious about you, crazy for you, just because he seeks others to satisfy his needs. and a part of him doesn't want to realize how it's affected his sex life, too. he stumbles home from another clandestine meeting after dark and tries not to think too hard about his wandering thoughts. he should have been lost in the moment. their hips moved so beautifully against his, their needy keening delightful in his ears as they approached another orgasm. but he was thinking about you. he wondered what it would be like if it was your lips around his cock, your hips bouncing back into his, your sweet hole milking him dry. he doesn't even realize these lustful thoughts have the power to push him over the edge until the demon underneath him cries out in pleasure. in that moment, he realizes the hold you have over him. oh, what is he going to do with you?

asmodeus, who wants you more than he's ever wanted anything else. he's used to getting what he wants, when he wants-- but he'll wait for you. he'll wait to see if you want to cross that bridge with him, to turn passing flirtations into intimacy, taunts into promises, ginger touches into desperate grabbing for each other's skin. so when a spa night in his room becomes less than casual, he's excited, but ultimately hesitates. is this okay? are you sure? he lowers himself between your legs when you assure him this is what you want, pleased grin disappearing as he pressed kisses to your thighs. his tongue glides effortlessly across your slit, gathering the fluids he finds and spreading them across your sex with careful, methodical strokes of his tongue. your moans are divine, and he saturates his fingers in your juices just to ease them into your tight hole. his lips wrap around the most sensitive part of your sex as he sucks, carefully at first then with renewed vigor as you cry out. you're quick to cum and he's quick to please you through it, deft fingers thrusting ruthlessly inside you to bring you to another peak. then another. when he's satisfied with how pliant you feel around his fingers, he finally sits up and ease himself into you, sliding his cock in slowly, until his hips are flush against you. his eyes are filled with nothing but love as he takes your hands in his. his fingers intertwine with yours. he leans in and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. the gasp that catches in between you two as he slowly begins to move is all the proof he needs-- he wouldn't trade the world for you, for this moment, to have your body intertwined like this with his. because nothing, no other creature alive, compares to you. he'll never be satisfied with anyone else again.

taglist for this series: @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable

[communicationthroughlyrics]

Between the Pain and the Way You Look

You have a less-than-admirable day. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. So how does Emily make it all better? Sex, of course.

TW: Smut, Strap On sex, allusions to somnophilia. 18+ Men DNI

Word Count: 3.5K

You had just about had it with the day. After waking up to a cold bed, your shower running cold, spilling your coffee on your favorite work shirt, and hitting all of the traffic that was never a problem before, you made it to work. Your day wasn't any better there. You had hoped to catch your girlfriend, Emily before you all were called in for a briefing.

But that wasn't meant to be. Hotch droned on about why filing case files was important to handle promptly, and how the escalation process was only for severe cases. You had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that the case you had been working on was severe. It was the kind that kept you up at night, the kind that you saw in your dreams, the kind that made you question humanity. But no, you couldn't say any of that.

The day progressed as you all caught up with your paperwork and case files, the sounds of scribbling pens and clicking keyboards filling the bullpen in the lower level of the BAU. Your eyes kept drifting up to Emily, watching as she chewed on her pen, glancing over various sheets of printed evidence that a local police department hoped would aid in the capture of a suspect. Suddenly, while you were not staring at your girlfriend, an intern made thier way through the center aisle of the bullpen, tripping and sending her coffee and case files all over your desk and into your lap. Paperwork was now saturated and shuffled, as you grumbled and wiped off the paperwork you could.

"Sorry, Agent Y/L/N," she stuttered, her face flushing as red as the crimson stain spreading over your crotch.

You took a deep breath, "It's fine," you said with a forced smile, trying not to let the frustration overtake you. You stood up, grabbed the files, and walked over to the photocopier. You could feel the dampness of your pants sticking to your skin, making you more uncomfortable with each step.

Emily looked up from her work, noticing the mess on your desk and the look on your face. She immediately stood up and followed you, "Y/N, are you okay?"

You nodded, "Yeah, just a little spilled coffee. Kinda just how my day has been, to be honest."

Emily's eyes softened, "I'm sorry," she said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Do you need help with those files?"

The warmth of her hand sent a comforting sensation through you, and for a moment, you felt like maybe the day could turn around. "No, I got it. Thanks, Em."

As you approached the photocopier, you noticed the intern, whose name you hadn't caught, was already there, trying to clean up the mess she had made. She looked up at you with wide eyes, "I'm so sorry," she repeated, "I didn't mean to ruin your papers."

You sighed and handed her the wet files, "Don't worry about it. Just get me some fresh copies, please."

The intern nodded vigorously, "Yes, of course," she said, taking the files and beginning to sort them out. You watched for a moment, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. Emily hovered beside you, her hand still on your shoulder, and you couldn't help but appreciate the way she was trying to help, even in this small way.

As you waited, you couldn't help but think about the case you had been working on. The images of the crime scenes flashed through your mind, each one more disturbing than the last. You had been with the BAU for years, but this one was different. It was personal somehow. You felt a deep-seated rage at the thought of the monster out there, getting away with it all.

The photocopier hummed to life, and the intern handed you the fresh copies, "Here you go, Agent," she said meekly.

You took the papers with a nod of thanks, "It's fine," you assured her, "These things happen."

Emily looked at you with concern, "You should sit down, and let it dry a bit," she suggested, pointing to your soaked crotch.

You chuckled humorlessly, "Yeah, I probably should."

You walked back to your desk, Emily in tow, and sat down heavily in your chair. She leaned against the desk, her hand sliding down to rest on your forearm, "Want to grab lunch together? Maybe get out of here for a bit?"

The offer was tempting, but you knew you couldn't let the case wait. "Can't," you said, shaking your head, "Got too much to do."

Emily's expression fell, but she nodded in understanding, "Do you want me to get you something?" she asked, and again you shook your head. "Okay, but promise me you won't push yourself too hard." Her dark eyes lingered on you as she walked away, JJ waiting patiently by the door as they headed out for food.

You regretted not going with Emily, just getting out of here for a little bit. You could have stepped out and grabbed some fresh clothes. You didn't live far away. But now that all your thoughts had been caffeinated and smeared, you had twice as much work to do.

Your frustrations mounted all day long, stupid mistakes and accidents hindering your productivity all day long. You grabbed a ginger ale from the vending machine in the break room, and it exploded on you, covering you in a sticky mess. The lunch that Emily brought back for you, despite your refusal, knocked off your desk and spilled all over the floor. All just minor inconveniences that were leading up to you exploding.

Emily, JJ, and Morgan all finished thier case files early, and despite thier offers to help you, you told them to go ahead and enjoy thier nights. Hotch finally kicked you out, telling you that trying to catch up when you're frustrated is a help to no one, including yourself. You made your way to your car, getting ready to toss your bag into the back seat when the strap snapped and slapped you in the face, cutting your eyebrow. You kick your bag into the backseat, cussing at whatever god may be listening before slamming your door and starting your car.

Well, you tried. The oh-so-familiar sound of your car trying to start, but indicating a dead battery caused you to slam your hands on the wheel, before slamming your head into the headrest. You needed to blow off steam. Popping the trunk, you dug out your handy little jump box, popped the hood connecting the cables to the terminals, and jumped the car. You groaned as you noticed your cab light on, the likely cause of your dead battery.

After the car sputtered to life, you drove home, feeling like the universe had it out for you today. You pulled into the garage and slammed the door shut behind you, the echo bouncing off the concrete walls. Entering the house, you kicked off your shoes and tossed your broken bag on the ground as you turned around to see Emily, she was smirking at you in the kitchen.

"Long night, baby?" She called out, her voice taunting and teasing, as she leaned against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand. Her smile was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel a little bit of the tension slip away at the sight of her.

You took a deep breath and let out a sigh, "You could say that." You walked over to her, took the beer from her hand, and took a long pull. The cold liquid slid down your throat, offering a brief respite from the day's frustrations.

"I'm making you dinner, Y/N," she rasped, leaning to your ear before peppering your jawline with kisses. You groaned at her affection, the warmth of her breath on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. "You need to relax. The day is almost over."

You groaned, the feeling of her hands roaming your body causing you to relax further. "Go rinse off the day, babe. Dinner is almost done."

You pouted, turning to face her before pulling her into you. "You don't want to join me?"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, I want to," she murmured, her voice low and seductive, "But dinner's almost ready, and you know how grumpy you get when you're hangry. Especially since you spilled your lunch and then ate a stale bag of chips from your desk."

You couldn't argue with that. With a sigh, you leaned in for a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. You peeled off your sticky, coffee-soaked clothes, the fabric reluctantly letting go of your skin. The hot water from the shower was like a balm to your soul, washing away the grime of the day. You took your time, letting the steam build up around you and the water pummel your tense muscles. The shampoo and soap smelled faintly of mint and citrus, a scent that always seemed to calm you down.

By the time you emerged from the bathroom, the smell of something heavenly filled the air. Emily was a fantastic cook, and your stomach growled in appreciation. You padded into the kitchen, wrapping a towel around your waist, and found her at the stove, stirring a pot of something that bubbled and sizzled. She looked over her shoulder, catching your eye, and grinned. "Feeling better?"

You nodded, feeling the knots in your neck and back loosen slightly. "Much." You took a step closer to her, inhaling the mouthwatering scent. "What's on the menu?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs," she said, pointing to a plate of perfectly formed meatballs resting on the counter. "With a side of garlic bread." She winked at you, and you couldn't help but smile. It was your favorite, and she had gone to the effort of making it from scratch. You leaned in to kiss her cheek, and she playfully swiped at you with a spoonful of sauce. You dodged and grabbed a meatball, popping it into your mouth. The flavors exploded, the warmth and spice hitting the spot.

Dinner was a welcome distraction from the chaos of the day. You sat at the table, the candles flickering and casting a warm glow across the room. The wine she had poured was a deep, velvety red, and it complemented the meal perfectly. You talked about the case, but she knew when to listen and when to change the subject. Her laughter was like a salve to your weary soul, and you found yourself smiling genuinely for the first time in hours.

After dinner, she began her clean up of the kitchen, telling you to relax, as she so lovingly put it, "With the day you've had, you'll break all the dishes." You began to watch her as she moved effortlessly around your kitchen, oblivious to your gaze. Your thoughts became louder and harder to ignore as you watched the woman, your desire to bend her over the counter and take her where she stood, especially after the day you had, was strong.

You stood and walked up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist and whispering in her ear, "Thanks for dinner," before nibbling at the lobe. She giggled, turning around in your embrace, her hands coming up to cup your face. "You're welcome," she replied, her voice dropping an octave, "but I think I might have had an ulterior motive."

You raised an eyebrow in question, "Oh?"

"Mmhmm," she said, her eyes darkening, "I figured if I fed you, you'd be less grumpy, and I could have my way with you. Help you...blow off some steam."

You smirked, "Is that so?" You leaned in, your breath hot against her skin, "What makes you think that I would let you have your way with me?"

Her grin widened, "Maybe, I want you to ravage me. Use me. I can tell you want to." she growls in your ear, before nibbling on your earlobe in return.

"What makes you say that, babe?" you groan, before tilting her head to the side and kissing up and down her neck.

"Maybe it's the way you're holding me," she replied, her breath hitching as your hands trailed down her body, "Or the look in your eyes," she leaned back, giving you more access to her neck. "Or maybe the fact that you have had your strap-on on all day, even now."

You looked down to see that she had noticed the bulge in your pants and the harness peeking out from under your shirt. You had worn it today in the hope that there would be a moment you could have bent her over and fucked her so she couldn't walk at work. Or if she would have stayed in this morning, you could have fucked her before you both went into the office.

Emily's words sent a jolt of desire through you. You hadn't realized how badly you needed this release until she put it into words. You tightened your grip on her hips, pulling her closer until she was pressed against you, the heat between your bodies palpable. "Is that right?" You murmured, your voice thick with want.

"Mmhmm," she responded, her hands reaching behind her to tug at the strings of your harness. "Let's get rid of these clothes, and I'll show you just how much I want it."

You didn't need any further invitations. In a flash, the kitchen was a blur of fabric and heat as you both stripped off your clothes, leaving them scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs. The tension of the day melted away with every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of desire.

You led her to the couch, the cushions plush and inviting. She sat down, spreading her legs wide for you, and you knelt before her, taking in the sight of her glistening pussy. You kissed along her inner thighs, savoring the sweetness of her skin and the way she squirmed under your touch. "Fuck, Emily..." You murmured, your voice gruff with need.

Emily leaned back, her hands tangling in your hair as she guided you closer to where she needed you most. You kissed her softly, her taste a mix of desire and the hint of the wine she had been sipping. Then you kissed her deeper, your tongue exploring her mouth as your hands roamed over her body. You felt her tremble as you teased her clit with one hand, your other hand squeezing her breast.

You kissed up and down her taught body, making your way across her chest, and down her stomach, your eyes never leaving hers. The way she watched you was like a hunger that could never be sated. When you reached her center, her legs parted even more for you, inviting you in. You took her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue against it, and she gasped her back arching. You could feel her muscles tighten around your fingers as you pushed into her wetness, exploring her depths. You kept lapping at her clit, your other hand massaging her chest as she writhed and mewled beneath you.

Her nails dug into your scalp, urging you on as she got closer to the edge. You felt a smug satisfaction knowing you could make her feel this way, that you could give her the relief she craved. Her breath hitched and her body tensed, and you knew she was almost there. You increased your pace, your tongue swirling and sucking until she was bucking her hips against your face, her orgasm crashing through her in waves. She let out a guttural moan, and you felt her body relax, the tremors subsiding as she leaned back against the couch, panting heavily.

You weren't going to let her relax long, kissing your way up to meet her lips in a steamy, passionate embrace. She could taste her on your tongue, a sweet and salty mix that made you crave more. She returned the kiss eagerly, her tongue dancing with yours as she pulled you closer, her legs wrapping around your waist. You could feel her heat, her desire pressing against you, and you knew she was ready for more.

You stood, breaking the kiss and smiling down at her. "Bedroom," you rasped, and she nodded, her cheeks flushed with arousal. You picked her up effortlessly, carrying her to the bedroom like a prize you had won. You laid her down on the bed, her legs still wrapped around you as you settled between them. You kissed her neck, feeling her pulse quicken as you reached for the strap-on you had yet to use. You began to stroke it, coating it in a mixture of her arousal and your saliva.

Emily watched you with hungry eyes, her hand slipping down to her clit, keeping the heat simmering. "I've been waiting for this all day," she murmured her voice a seductive whisper that had you hardening even more. You lined the tip of the strap-on up with her entrance, feeling her shiver with anticipation. "Take me," she begged, her voice needy and raw.

With one swift motion, you slammed into her, the sound of your hips meeting hers echoing in the quiet room. She threw her head back, a scream of pleasure ripping from her throat. You didn't stop, didn't slow down, pounding into her with an almost primal ferocity. Her nails raked down your back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and you reveled in the pain, the pleasure mixing in a heady cocktail that had you on the edge.

Emily's moans grew louder, her body tensing as another orgasm built within her. You could feel it, the way her pussy tightened around you, the way her hips met yours thrust for thrust. You reached down, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the bed, your eyes never leaving hers as you claimed her completely. She bit her lip, trying to keep the sound in, but it was no use. Her cries filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that had your release barreling down on you like a freight train.

You leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her cries as you felt her climax wash over her. You didn't stop, didn't slow, pushing her through the peak and into the abyss of pleasure. Her legs tightened around you, her heels digging into your back as she begged for more. You gave it to her, every inch of you driving into her with an almost scary ferocity. You felt your orgasm coiling in your stomach, ready to pounce.

Emily's eyes rolled back in her head, her body a trembling mess beneath you as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. You watched her, feeling like a god like you had the power to give her everything she ever wanted. You pulled out slowly, watching as she whimpered with the loss of you. But you weren't done yet. You flipped her over, her ass in the air, and slammed back into her without a preamble.

The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, the only other noises being your grunts and her moans of pleasure. You reached around, grabbing her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples as you thrust into her from behind. She pushed back against you, meeting your every thrust with an eager groan. You could feel her pussy tightening around you, her orgasm building again.

You leaned down, biting her shoulder as you whispered in her ear, "You like it rough, don't you?"

Emily nodded, her breath coming in pants, "Yesss..." she hissed, her body moving in time with your thrusts. You could feel your orgasm approaching, the tension coiling tighter with each movement. You reached down, grabbing her hips and pulling her back onto you, the angle changing slightly, hitting her just right.

Her walls began to quiver around you, her cries of pleasure growing louder, and you knew she was close. You reached around, finding her clit once again, and began to rub it in circles as you fucked her deep and hard. She was so wet, so tight, and every time you hit that perfect spot, she would clench around you, her muscles rippling with the force of her impending climax.

With one final, powerful thrust, you felt her come undone, her body shaking and convulsing as she screamed your name. You couldn't hold back any longer, and with a roar of pure release, you followed her over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm. You collapsed on top of her, both of you panting heavily, the room spinning with the intensity of your shared climax.

You remained there for a moment, the weight of your bodies pressing into the mattress, before rolling to the side, taking the strap-on with you. Emily turned to face you, a lazy smile playing on her lips as she traced the contours of your face with her fingertips. "You know," she said, her voice still thick with desire, "you need to have a bad day more often."

[idkhowtomakethis]

The Ghosts of Amity Park

Part 2

Danny could only dread this school year.

How was he supposed to go about nornal life when every now and then he'd just *poof* into thin air.

He'd gotten better at controlling it, but school was stressful, and stress tended to make his ghostly self take the wheel.

"Seriously, guys what if-"

"Danny freaking out isn't going to help," Sam asserted, wagging her finger at him like he was some sort if child.

He glared at her, glowy eyed and all. She hated when he did that, and he used that to his full advantage.

The consequences of her actions could bite her in the ass. They were already beating the shit out of him.

"You definitely can't do that at school," Tucker quipped, taking another bite of his ice cream.

Danny groaned, "Aren't you listening? I know! Thats the problem, I just start glowing or go invisible or- or I start floating! I swear its only getting worse."

Sam winced, drumming her finger anxiously against the sidewalk, "Maybe we should tell your parents?"

"Absolutely not! Are you crazy?! They'd flip their lids, for one- and then they'd probably go all experiment happy- I'm literally becoming the thing they hate!" Danny paused and stared into the empty road, "I am the thing they hate."

Tucker shook his head, "Dude you're parents love you. You're still their son, they won't hate you." He placed a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

Danny simply shrank into himself, "...we can't tell them. Not till I get- this," Danny gestured wildly to himself, "under control."

Sam frowned, placing her own hand on Danny's back, "We'll help however we can."

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

Thunder sounded, startling Danny from an already restless sleep. He sat up, senses telling him something was wrong.

It was more than thunder.

Danny acted on impulse; simply letting his feet take him where he needed to go.

The basement? Danny hadn't been down in the lab since the accident.

Now, almost two months later, he found himself looking at that energy conduit- but instead of a dark hole of copper and wires was a bright green glow.

His gut lurched.

A little boy stood in the center of the lab, the only indicator that he was not of this world? He was blue.

"Will you be my friend?"

Danny didn't know how to respond, the kid seemed pretty innocent, but he was also a ghost.

Instead he got closer, what was he even going to do with him?

"Do you have any friends?" Danny asked, figuring it'd be a bad idea to make any agreements with the dead.

"No, they all left."

"Well- that's sad," Danny paused. What was he supposed to do? He looked at the conduit, and back at the boy.

He hummed, reaching out his hand for the boy to take, "Do you know where they went?"

"I don't know," the boy sniffed, gripping Danny's hand.

It was cold as ice, frost crawled up his hand but it didn't hurt. Weird.

"Lets go find them," Danny walked towards the conduit, stepping into the green energy- something familiar filling his chest.

The world buzzed around him, and the boy next to him began to cry.

"You're not my friend!" The boy let go of Danny's hand and he ran into the the strange world before them.

It was warped and weird and Danny couldn't quite grasp it. It felt like it was trying to pull him in, but almost begrudgingly.

Oh come on, now he wasn't even good enough for the freaky spiraly nasty neon world that just...appeared.

Danny sighed, turning back the way he came.

As he stepped back into the laboratory, he noticed how different everything looked. Colors weren't the same everything was simultaneously less and more saturated; he felt like he had put on some funky sunglasses. His sense of touch felt dull- nothing was cold or room temperature, it was hard to describe but he felt nothing.

Should he be panicking?

Danny moved through space, but he didn't feel his legs moving.

As he passed the emergency sink, the mirror caught his eye.

Bright green eyes stares wildly at him, and he finally understood just why Sam hated it so much. His face and body were the same but he looked wrong.

Forget the white hair and green eyes, he was glowing and looked reminiscent of one of those insanely detailed cgi phantoms from a horror movie.

His breath hitched as he looked at his mouth. No- no it wasn't- it wasn't that weird green.

Danny opened his mouth wide, observing that his tongue and gums were in fact that same eerie green that glowed from his eyes.

He didn't like this. He wanted to be Danny again, not whatever this was.

He squeezed his eyes shut, "My name is Daniel Fenton, I am 16."

"My name is Daniel Fenton, I am 16."

"MY NAME IS DANIEL FENTON!"

Danny opened his eyes. He was back to normal. Blue eyes, black hair, reddish pinky gums- all was in order.

Danny sighed in relief.

Maybe it was a fluke.

Maybe he was dreaming.

He hoped he was dreaming...but he knew he wasn't.

This would be the last time he came to the lab.

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

Part 1

[lostcerise]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬. [marius]

come and put your lipstick on my neck and my body, my baby just to show these bitches that you're mine.

prompt: lipstick stains; marius + his deep pockets cw: none.

he’s hardly shown much interest in lipsticks. the only times he’s ever engaged with such things was purchasing them as presents or viewing the year-end sales in pax group’s department stores. even then, he’s hardly ever been particular with the shade.

why bother picking out lipstick for a woman when he can just buy the whole collection? good question. because now he’s spent the past four hours, immersed in the many rows of lipsticks presented to him by pax group’s beauty boutiques just to hunt down one shade he’s been obsessed with.

“this isn’t it,” he puts down another shade of lipstick after swatching it against his skin. not even the big data lab can help him simplify his search. he’s been highly particular about the shade no. it has to be perfect. 

“um, sir? what shade are you looking for, exactly?”

“a soft, light mauve, like the color of raspberries. a little pink, but not too saturated or opaque.”

“how about this one?”

“—no. it has to be the color of her lips.”

the sales clerk’s jaw dropped. “i’m sorry?”

the woman managed to recover from her initial shock as marius went about through the rows of lip products presented before him, all of which were thoroughly scrutinized by his artist’s eye and rejected.

“well sir, you’ve swatched everything in the store. i’m afraid there’s nothing else i can offer you—”

“no. contact the production manager. there has to be something.”

“but sir, we just released the new collection for this season. everything in the store—”

“—i need them to make me a specific shade.”

and just like that, that’s how a lipstick shade became named after you. when word got out, sales skyrocketed and the shade went viral that supply couldn’t keep up with demand. in the succeeding months, revenue for pax fashion flew off the roof and the company earned positive reception for having a “romantic CEO” at it’s helm. but he couldn’t care less. marius is more than content with seeing that bespoke shade stain his skin with the shape of your lips. all these royalties and awards are just a bonus to the real deal he craves like a drug.

end.

reading notes: 1. initially came up with the idea while sorting through my lipsticks but eventually came together with charlie puth's lipstick 2. oh to have a bespoke lipstick shade made by a man. ©𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 @ 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫.𝐜𝐨𝐦

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 2.9 | Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | chapter moodboard

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, revenge, wc: 3.5k

…

Jake doesn’t sleep well anymore. This seems to be a settled fact. From the day that Dani died, he just doesn’t rest like he used to. When he was with you, things got better, for a bit. They’re bad again now.

Now, he spends his nights tossing and turning and wandering to the bathroom of his hotel room to splash water on his face to remind himself that his nightmares aren’t real. It’s been two days since he heard your voice, and growing harder to convince himself of reality.

Allen promised to check in in the morning. It’s technically morning now, as the breaching sun threatens the skyline. Morning. It’s too fucking vague. Dawn and 11:59 leaves Jake a lot of time to pace the San Diego shore.

Nothing settles him these days.

He leans his palms forwards on the bathroom counter, and cocks his head to the side. His therapist had once told him that it wasn’t helpful to try to remember the day Dani had died. It always ate at him that he couldn’t really remember receiving the news. He remembered the before, and god, he wishes he didn’t remember the after — but he could never remember hearing the news for the first time.

He remembers the abruptness of it all.

Convincing himself that her voice was still fresh in his mind in the evenings was the only way he could keep her alive. It hadn’t worked much. He doesn’t think of her in the evenings much anymore, and she’s still dead.

When your voice echoed in his ear a few minutes ago, it’s the first thing he thought of — that her voice outlived her.

The cold water drips down his chin, saturating days old stubble, falling in thin droplets onto his naked chest. His eyes are narrowed, smaller than normal and heavy with sleep. His shoulders are hunched. His skin looks barren without the trace of your touch.

His bed is unmade and the sheets are wrinkled from the sleepless night he’s leaving behind. He inhales deeply and considers just taking a shower and starting his day before the morning sun.

Then, his night-morning medley is interrupted. Three calm knocks on the door. He closes his eyes, shutting out his reflection and the fluorescent noise of the bathroom, and tries to reason with himself.

Two further knocks confirm to him that the sound is real. It’s not part of another one of his bad dreams.

Jake walks barefooted out of the bathroom, and leans up to the peephole. He’s unsure, really, of who he is expecting to see outside of the door at five in the morning, but the sight of two secret service agents standing there makes his blood run cold and his mind fill with thoughts of the first woman that he loved.

Though he can’t remember that day, he knows it was less of a formal affair. He can’t take more bad news. He pulls back the chain and turns the lock with little thought about what they could be there for, not wanting to let his mind linger on the worst possibility.

“Agent Seresin,” The taller one says, his thin lips stretching into a tighter line as he looks the man before him up and down. If Jake had been sleeping better, maybe he would have gotten dressed before answering the door. The morning air chills his bare chest and thighs, his underwear doing little in terms of providing warmth. “You’ll have to come with us, sir.”

Sir. The word makes the hair at the back of Jake’s neck prickle, and his stomach tighten. Sir, please calm down. He remembers hearing that on the day Dani died.

“Where is she?” Jake asks.

“We can’t say.” The shorter, dark-haired one won’t meet Jake’s gaze. That’s good. They would have told him if you were dead. “But we need you to come with us. Now.”

The entire West Coast network is abuzz as Jake is driven up to the house in the hills. As the count ticks over into seventeen hours since you were last seen, and four hours since that video was received, everybody who is anybody is working on your disappearance.

Allen was the first to report it yesterday. You had been gone for two hours already by the time he came to check on you, and found Jake’s bed empty. It’s his fault. He had assumed you were finally sleeping, and he had waited too long to check on you.

By the time he realised, you could have already been out of the country for all he knew. His experience in this field told him a lot of things — not a single one of them reassuring.

He first alerted the West Coast liaison. After confirming there were no active hits on your location in a six mile radius of the house, things went nationwide. He considered calling Jake then, but there were too many eyes on him to sneak a call.

Once nationwide, your parents had been alerted. Matthew landed on a private airstrip just after midnight, thirty-five minutes before the video footage was received. A dark, grainy two-minute long video with no timestamp.

The first thirty seconds is almost silent. The camera is focused, unmoving on your face. You’re staring at something above the lens, the man behind it, with pure venom in your eyes. You’re already hurt, bleeding from your nose and your hairline, your eye sore looking and swollen.

From the second that the voice first rings out, Matthew recognises exactly who it is. It’s the first question they ask of him — if he knows who could have wanted to hurt you. The answer is more complicated, because it’s not that Ellis would have wanted to hurt you specifically. Ellis would have wanted to hurt Matthew.

But, Ellis hurts all kinds of people every day, for reasons that span far beyond simple dislike. It’s why the debt between the two of them is something far beyond what money can settle.

The instructions on the video are clear.

Shadows dance across cracked concrete walls, the lone lightbulb wobbles on its wire above your head. Your wrists itch and burn, your arms stiff and your neck aching. You lost the feeling in your legs a while ago. The blood from your nose has dried around your mouth and chin, your eye has started to swell. Your head throbs.

You have been alone for two hours.

Occasionally, someone will pass by the door. No one seems to care much about checking on you. As the hours have dragged on, you’ve stopped moving so much. Getting out of your restraints is decidedly impossible. Your eyelids feel heavier and heavier with each slow blink.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

Your eyelids flutter, your vision blurred and unsteady as you search the shadows of the room for the voice. For his voice; Jake’s voice. Even like this, you know what he sounds like.

“Come on, honey,” Fingers brush across your hair, soft, unbothered by the blood crusted into your hairline. “Keep your eyes open. I know it hurts.”

It does hurt. You’ve never hurt like this before. Wrapped in bubble-wrap, hidden behind thick walls and tall fences — maybe if they hadn’t kept you so safe, it wouldn’t all hurt so bad now.

“Jake?” Your throat is dry, your voice is hoarse, the rag cuts into the corners of your lips.

“I’m here.” He isn’t, and the realisation makes you want to cry. You can pretend he’s here, and pretend he’s telling you to fight all you want. He isn’t here, and you’re tired.

Ellis’ terms have been circling your mind for all of the hours you have been alone. You, for her. Your father, in exchange for you, as to be delivered by Jake.

The government would never let it happen. Jake would never let it go. Your heavy eyelids droop shut and you leave them that way.

When they’re closed, you’re not here either. You’re at home, and in Jake’s bed. Your cheek is on his chest and he’s asleep, you rise and fall with each one of his breaths, your fingers smooth across the heart-shaped, thumb-sized birthmark on his hip.

The morning sun is shining, the bedroom walls are white and the mattress is soft. Jake’s right arm is draped around your shoulders, cradling you to his chest. There, it’s safe to fall asleep.

A little after nine, the bright sunlight spills into the living room. Another sunny morning, like the world hadn’t been turned upside down overnight. Jake has never felt quite so out of place in this house. It feels colder without you here. He stares at the dark, blank screen in front of him, sick to his stomach.

Your picture is gone, but the image is burned in his mind. Your bloodied, bruised face staring right at the lens, your lips pressed into line, adamantly refusing to speak. God, just speak. Do what they tell you to do. Please.

Slowly, he leans forwards and hits the button to replay the video. It’s his fourth time watching it, now. There it is again, your tear-filled eyes and the stubborn scowl on your exhausted face, the long fingers curled around your chin, angling your face towards the lens.

Jake has been filled in with some need-to-know information. Ellis Armstrong was an associate, and informant and a business partner of Matthew’s from before the elections. He’s a bad, bad man.

Outside of the need to know — Matthew is the only one who really knows the extent of what this guy will do, of what he has done on behalf of Matthew himself in the past. Of how far this debt reaches.

Matthew, I know that you’re far too much of a coward to face me in person. You have done an excellent job of avoiding me so far. How lucky I was that your clever little girl sought me out.

Jake turns his head. He studies the skulking man in the corner of the room, his head turned toward the ground and his fingers trembling as his hands wring together in front of him.

Things hadn’t ever seemed this serious back then. At the start of it all, it was just a little maintenance, making a little indiscretion disappear. Then, the favours had gotten bigger — and then they had stopped being favours at all.

Jake and Matthew are far from alone in this living room. They’re surrounded by agents with years of combined experience, government advisors and White House big-wigs. And yet, Jake is the only one that Matthew can’t bring himself to look at.

I know you won’t come to me yourself. That’s why she’s so perfect. We’ve all seen the news. If you won’t come to me yourself, the bodyguard will bring you to me. You, for her.

Apparently the message was supposed to reach Jake privately, which is why he was intercepted. He sits with the thought for a moment as he stares down the man who raised you; he would trade him in to keep you safe in a heartbeat.

That’s why the first point of call was to bring him here. Here, they have an eye on him. They can’t risk him trying anything stupid.

You have twenty-four hours to reach the location provided. Say goodbye, sweetheart. The faceless fingers curl into the hollows of your cheeks and Jake grits his teeth. His gaze flickers up, and this time Matthew is watching him.

“You’re going.” Jake tells him, from the spot on the couch where he had kissed you for the first time. Everything had unfurled here, in this house, up until Jake had taken you home.

It’s a shell of a home and it always was. Cold and white, almost clinical in its modernity. It’s the place you met but it’s not your home, and it’s not Jake’s. He just decided that. The two of you will have a real home.

His gaze is a cold green, steely and serious. There’s a movement around the room, uncomfortable murmurs of disagreement as the crowd prepares to stop the bodyguard. “This is your fault. You didn’t protect her, and she’s in danger. You’re going to fix this.”

“No, Agent, that’s not how we’re going to—” The serious looking man in the Armani suit, who considers himself responsible for Matthew’s safety here, doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

“I’m done with the plans.” Jake decides, pushing himself up from the couch. He makes no efforts to step towards the president, this isn’t a threatening motion, it’s merely a man who won’t stand back idly once again. He gives a cool shake of his head. “The plans are what got us here. You… deserve this. You fucking owe her this.”

Matthew swallows dryly, loosening his tie.

“Jake,” Allen steps up from his perch by the wall, giving a soft shake of his head as he reaches out to rest a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “We’ve got to keep our heads about this.”

It’s not a sudden thing, that the attitude in the room is that Jake is the crazy one here, but the mood shifts nonetheless as he rounds on the older man and points a finger squarely at him.

”Don’t. Don’t say a damn word to me — where were you?” he spits.

“I… she promised me—” Allen shakes his head dumbly, blaming himself more for this than your own father does. He’s blind with worry, that image of your bloodied face just won’t leave his mind.

“You promised me.” Jake bites.

Silence falls across the room for a beat. Manny wipes his nose with the back of his hand, squeezing his eyes shut as tears spill silently down his cheeks.

When he had gotten into this business, he had first felt invincible. A background in Tactical Ops and a pristine track record, he told everyone that he was perfect for the job. Then, he had met you and he had realised quickly he was out of his depth — but he liked you, and you reminded him that there was more to this line of work than the rules.

He hadn’t ever thought he would let you down like this.

“I’ll go.”

Jake turns his head. He isn’t impressed. He isn’t pleased. It’s barely enough, after what he has put you through. Looking at Jake, your father knows that.

“Mr. President—“

“Those were his terms,” His eyes are shut now. He can’t bare to look at the man before him, knowing that this wouldn’t be a difficult decision for him to make in the slightest. Jake would put his life on the line for you without thought. He shivers through an inhale, “We come up with a plan around them, and we get her out of there.”

“But, sir—“

“Figure it out. You can keep both of us safe. That’s your job.” Matthew exhales finally. Opening his eyes, he finds Jake once more and finds himself chilled to the core. The look on Jake’s face is finally, wholly sincere. If it came down to it, Jake wouldn’t give a fuck about keeping Matthew safe.

“Sir—“

“Figure it out, god damnit, or I’ll take myself.” Matthew bites out finally. It’s not like he has much of a choice in walking away from this, anyway.

When Jake closes his eyes, and thinks of you afraid and alone, it makes his choice easy.

Matthew feels like a clock within him has started ticking. As the men and women around him scramble to draw together a plan that will keep him and his daughter alive, he feels it counting down his last moments.

He tries not to look up, because when he does he finds Jake looking at him every time.

It’s like Jake can hear it too, that awful ticking. Time passing by. Counting down the moments.

“Catherine?” Matthew calls weakly, rubbing two fingers against his temple from his spot in the corner of the living room. His secretary turns attentively and graces him with her full attention. “I’d like to make a statement, and I’d like you to write it down. Do you understand?”

Jake can’t sit and listen to them anymore, but that’s not what makes go wandering. He starts out in the kitchen, looking out over the pool. The place he had first seen you. Then, he takes the stairs and winds up in his room. His bed is unmade here, as it was in his hotel.

His shoes are quiet against the floor as he walks over to the bed and lowers himself to the edge of it. His fingers smooth over the faint dips in the pillow, where your head had last laid.

Jake has money from his time in the Navy. From his work in the service. He hasn’t had much to spend it on. The job involves living with clients, expenses are usually covered, and his sisters won’t let him spoil his nieces too much. Enough for a house. One with a big bed, so you can stretch out all you want and still wind up draped across his chest.

The thought almost makes him smile, and then a lump in his throat threatens to make that smile spill into tears.

He hopes he gets that.

He can only imagine what you’re doing now. If you’re still stuck to that chair, if your eye is hurting you, if they have touched you again since. He’s not even sure if you have water. The one thing he does know is that you’ll be waiting for him. You’ll know that he’ll get you out of this.

A little after noon, the plan is as good as it is going to get. Twenty four hours since your disappearance, sixteen hours until Ellis’ imposed deadline.

Jake stands with his back to the front door as the President listens to the briefing once more. There are back-up plans on backup plans and protocols coming out of his ears, and Jake doesn’t care one bit.

Allen doesn’t like the look on his face.

“Jake,” The older man broaches the topic softly, trying not to alarm the already flighty ex-pilot. “I know you’re going to do what you need to do. I can’t stop you. But, if this goes south — and you’re responsible, you’ll never see her again.”

Jake knows what he’s trying to say. If he lets the President go, he’ll suffer the consequences. As much as he wants that house, and those lazy mornings in that big bed with you, he would let it all go if he could know that you would never be in danger because of this man again.

“I know the plan.” Jake tells him calmly.

Ellis isn’t an unintelligent man; he knows that if Jake was going to be able to deliver Matthew successfully, it wouldn’t be alone. That makes things a little easier — they don’t have to be as sneaky.

But, if Ellis has a feeling that the trade is a set up, they’ll both be dead. Jake won’t let that happen.

It’s just himself, and your father for the journey there. It’s two hours from your place, and there’s practically a motorcade escort most of the way. Once they hit the five mile out mark, security drops back, and for the first time — they feel alone.

“So, what did you actually do?” Jake squeezes his hands around the leather of the wheel, with no real interest in small talk. He shoots a look towards the cars in his peripheral, and then at each mirror. Last, comes his scope of the skyline. Habit. He was a good agent.

There’s no point lying anymore.

“You’ve got to understand, Ellis is a powerful man.”

“More powerful than the president?” Jake scoffs.

Matthew makes an uncomfortable sound of consideration. He wouldn’t expect Jake to understand.

“Having powerful friends makes him more powerful. You know?” He tries to explain it anyway, it beats listening to the silent radio and the tyres rolling. “I let him do me a lot of favors. Money, marketing, making people go away.”

He looks across and studies Matthew’s face for a moment.

“Not with money.” He realises, watching the stretch of road. There’s one turning, the only one Jake can see. That’s it.

Matthew looks ahead of him, colourless as he gives a weak shake of his head. “No. Not with money.”

It’s already in his head that your father is a scumbag, but it stings Matthew to realise that Jake isn’t surprised by this. It shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care about what someone like Jake thinks — and he supposes he wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for you.

“So what’d you do to him?” Jake prompts.

“I tried to get away.” Matthew says quietly. The wheels turn and the car pulls into an empty parking lot at the rear side of an old hangar. “Put some distance between the two of us — between him and my family, my career. It’s not the kind of thing he was willing to let go.”

“Go figure.” Jake answers bitterly. The car pulls to a stop and the ticking rings out loudly in Matthew’s ears. Jake turns his head, green eyes colder than ever. “You ready?”

…

tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

[itsabouttimex2]

Sooooo... How do you feel about the season 5?

In short? Mid. 6-6.5/10.

In long…?

A severely rushed season that bit off way more than it could chew. A season that had the characters pull powers from their asses more frequently than ever before. A season that had shitty “dramatic” moments for the sake of having dramatic moments. A season that lampshades issues instead of fixing them. A season with so, so much wasted potential.

It basically boils down: everything they wanted to do COULD have been good, but they just didn’t have the time.

I’ll go into some varied details below. I’d also like to make clear- I’ll be tagging all of my Season Five Posts with “Lego Monkie Kid Season 5” and “LMK Spoilers” until August 1st. Then the gloves are coming off and I’ll stop tagging them.

(I still liked the season, for what it’s worth- and you can watch it in full here! I’ve got some drafts and bots cooking as we speak!)

This was a cute send-off to Flying Bark! It was nice of them to acknowledge, in some way, everything that those dears did for the show- because Lego Monkie Kid would NOT be where it is without them.

Significantly less cute-

The absolute kick in the fucking face that constantly superimposing old footage over newer, worse footage is.

You don’t want us to be constantly reminded of the animation downgrade- that’s the literal last thing that anyone wants. Why would you constantly remind us that it used to be better?

What the fuck does this accomplish? Okay, let’s make comparisons, cause that’s the only thing that can result from pulling this shit-

This is what happens when you constantly reference the older, superior content.

PEOPLE CONSTANTLY NOTICE THAT YOUR CONTENT IS WORSE.

Also, why is it so saturated? How do you make a Lego Minifigure look like he has jaundice?

It’s just a bad look to constantly reference content you can’t live up to. I’m hoping they’ll just recreate old content instead of sloppily pasting it into the background of the show- it’ll be less jarring.

Alright, what else…

———

Yay, I called it! Nuwa is not MK’s “loving though bereft mommy”! Which I had been guessing ever since the Celestial Pagoda leaked, actually-

I mean, come on. He’s literally stealing the stones away from her as she reaches to take them back.

And the Season confirmed it! Nuwa might’ve be been MK’s creator, but she certainly wasn’t his momma.

And you know how the series subtlety clues you in to how little she cares about her “son”?

Nuwa didn’t give him a name. She had hundreds, maybe thousands of years to think on it- but no. No name.

We mortals name our pets, our vehicles, our art. We love them enough to bestow monikers.

Nuwa didn’t even bother to name her own sapient mortal creation.

But when he makes a move against her, does something she doesn’t want, takes destiny into his own hands?

She calls out to him with one word- not “son”. Not “MK”.

Nuwa angrily calls him “mortal”.

Becuase that’s all he ever was to her, really. A mortal pawn. A handmade puppet.

Someone designed to fulfill a sacrifice. Even though her intentions were good, MK’s sole purpose by her hand was to shoulder the weight of the world like a good little hero.

So… a potential “villain” in the making?

———

Lampshading the fact that you’re doing the “macguffin hunt” again does not excuse doing the “macguffin hunt” again.

Lampshading the “apocalypse after apocalypse” plots doesn’t make them any less exhausting.

Lampshading Macaque’s lack of narrative consequences does not undo the awkward and weak redemption arc.

———

They changed Mei “no longer wielding” the Samadhi fire, I guess.

Ignore that she never displayed a hint of concern or sorrow over “losing it” because now she’s sad and worried (after backlash from the fans over her losing it) about losing it.

Like, Subodhi knows so much about the world and the universe that he’s aware of his existence in the ink scroll- but he gets Mei not having an interplanetary level threat inside her wrong?

I smell a retcon.

———

Macaque’s redemption arc is still shit. I’ve got a whole rant queued to release soon, actually- I imagine it might be the final time I comment on his arc until Season Six.

To put it short- Macaque still falls upwards into redemption. No pushback or difficulty or introspection. He’s just a magically better person without any onscreen development to make the change believable.

But they reference this at one point?

Sun Wukong points out that Macaque escapes the trial without any punishment, and is just allowed to mope in place of an actual consequence.

So maaaaaayybeeeee they’ll do something in Season Six? I’ve lost all faith that he’ll ever be an interesting character again, though.

He’s essentially just “brooding rival #80058”. Instead of being a character that calls back to Seasons 1-3, from 4 onwards he’s just a brand new dude who totally didn’t commit any atrocities with a smile on his face- and he’s a worse and more boring character for it.

———

If I haven’t misjudged the intent, I think Monkie Kid will be going back to being an episodic series for the extent of Season Six. Again, they lampshade the “apocalypse after apocalypse” thing, yeah?

And now they have a perfect formula- find someone who’s having trouble with their new power, and help them.

And we might see Bai He again???

Let’s hope for a good breather season!

———

Rest in piss Li Jing their asses did NOT cook with you sorry papa

You could’ve been interesting in the writers didn’t try to pull a “loving father” bait and switch after you got like four scenes of being a raw jackass

If they were going to deviate from the source material and make you a good dad couldn’t it have just been:

“Li Jing, you were not invited to the trial!”

“STF that monkey son of a bitch hurt my baby boy-“

“Father I’m 300-“

“Hush son, let daddy take care of this- that monkey son of a bitch hurt my baby boy when he stole the Samadhi fire map!”

Maybe next season you’ll get to be interesting, hun.

(I’m still writing for Lotusfam though)

———

Drama for the sake of drama. 0/10 scene. Could’ve just had the interruption come AFTER they held hands, but no. Gotta drag shit out for the shippers or whatever. There was no reason to prolong this reunion.

I’m really not a fan of the “just wait another season for it”, mentality. Stop stretching shit out. You had a chance to do something sweet and heartwarming, and chose not to for the sake of trying to drag a conclusion out.

Ugh.

———

Characters just pull powers out of their ass for the sake of forcing dramatic scenes.

THESE ARE DOGSHIT SCENES

THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE. THIS IS DONE SOLELY FOR THE SALE OF “MUH DRAMATIC FINALE” AND IS BAD

ITS BAD WRITING TO HAVE CHARACTERS PULL NEW MAGICAL POWERS OUT OF THEIR ASSES FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMA

IF WUKONG HAD THIS POWER FROM THE START HE SHOULD’VE USED IT AGAINST HIS FUCKING LETHAL ENEMIES AND NOT SAVED IT FOR HIS PRECIOUS STUDENT

MK NEVER LEARNED TO USE THE FILLET SPELL. THE WRITERS PULLED IT OUT OF THEIR ASS TO FORCE DRAMA BY HAVING MK TORTURE HIS MENTOR LONGER THAN EVEN THEIR ACTING ENEMY LI JING DID WITH A CIRCLET THAT IS CANONICALLY TIGHTER THAN HIS FIRST

WE SEE HOW FAST HE IS WHEN HE FIGHTS THE AZURE LION

MK CAN MOVE FASTER THAN WUKONG

HE COULD’VE BEATEN HIM THERE IN AN EQUALLY CLIMATIC RACE

I FEEL NOTHING WHEN I WATCH THIS BECAUSE IT IS FORCED DRAMA FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMA

—————————————————

💚💚💚

[calware]

You might've answered something like this before but how do you pick colours for your art? Your choices are always so striking, visually interesting and delightful. I would love to learn your ways. (also hi)

WAAHHHH THANK YOU <3 <3 (also hi!!) first of all i do have a post from quite a while back with some general tips that you can check out, but my process has changed a bit since then so i can definitely elaborate a little bit more!

observation

this first tip is not very straightforward (sorry) but something i try to do is pay attention to the colors and lighting in the real world and try to remember what moments really stick with me. like when you're watching the sunset and the light from the sky washes everything in pink and tints the buildings orange, or when it's dusk and the light blue of the sky contrasts with the dark blues of everything that's in shadow, or looking in a lake and all the greens, browns, and blues mix together in rich jewel tones

i try to keep track of these things & the emotions they make me feel (almost like taking notes in a mental journal) so i can try referencing them when i want a certain drawing to feel a certain way. AGAIN this is really not straightforward and i don't really know how helpful it actually is...? but i find that observation can be a really helpful tool and i find myself doing it a lot

references

sort of the same as the last point BUT using preexisting photos and artwork instead! this one is more straightforward because you can actually reference them as you are drawing. i said this in the other post i made but i think that looking at other images and asking yourself "how is the artist/photographer using the colors to make it look this way? how do i recreate that?" and using that as a way to study their use of colors can be really helpful. if you find a drawing that has cool colors, try using those colors in your own drawings and see how they look!

that said, i would try to avoid color-picking things directly because i find that if you try choosing them on your own you 1) gain a better understanding of what you're doing 2) have more control over what you're doing and 3) you can "push" your colors in ways you might not if you color-pick directly

play with contrasting hues

i think this might just be a personal preference, but i find that i'm not as big of a fan of monochromatic images, and i prefer it when drawings utilize a wide variety of hues. this goes especially for ones that implement more contrast in the hues (not necessarily where the colors have more contrast in value, but rather contrast as in they're further apart on the color wheel)

for example, in this drawing, everything is washed in green light except for rose's skin, which is a very saturated reddish-brown. this is sort of what i mean by "pushing" the colors because, in a realistic setting, a person sitting in green lighting is going to have a more greenish-looking skin tone (like in this drawing). you can see this in how the whites of the drawing—her hair and eyes—are greenish, but i made the stylistic choice to not do the same with her skin to create contrast between the two hues

i edited the one on the bottom to match the green-ness of the rest of the image, and the effect is pretty noticeable! green light makes people look less lively, almost sickly (which is good to use if that's the feeling you want to show, of course)

another small example of this is in this drawing where i use a couple of different hues in davesprite's body. overall, it registers as orange, but i like to ever-so-slightly introduce a bit of green to contrast with the orange, letting the lightest values tip into the greens instead of stopping at yellow to contrast with the muted red in the wings. the darkest values are purple, which also contrasts with the yellow parts. the only hue missing from this image is blue! the colors are all still analogous, and the greens and purples are a lot less saturated than the oranges and yellows, so nothing clashes and overall leads to a more subtle contrast

the colors on the top are the ones from the image, while the ones on the bottom i see used a lot more commonly—which isn't a bad thing! i just think it looks nice to use a wide range of hues because of the way they complement each other :)

other than these strategies, my process varies greatly depending on what i'm working on, so it's difficult to get any more specific than this (unless you'd like to ask about the process of a specific drawing!) there isn't really any step-by-step method i use for every drawing i make, usually i am doing something different each time based on the goals i have for the project