#her name was basil if i remembered

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

I TOTALLY FORGOT ABT MY TINY CRUSH ON TACK THE COBBLER MONTHS AGO AAGGHAYGGH I FOUND THIS BELOW MY GALLERY HHBGGNKGKKNGMK I MISS HIM I MISS HIMM

THRHEHEEHEEE BABYYYB BBZZZRTTTT 😠😠😠😠‼️‼️‼️‼️

[moeblob]

Lander: Did you just call my romantic options I give to Gavvin "a multiple choice test"...... Basil: Yes. Lander: It's not a test - Basil: If there is a wrong answer in your mind to the options provided, it's a test.

Lander runs a convenience store (he got it after his parents died) and he has a huge crush on very broke Gavvin who showed up one day out of the blue. And so Lander hires him and lets him live with him in the back of the store and honestly it's love at first sight for Lander. But Gavvin is much more "mmmmm kinda wary of you for hiring a guy off the street you've never seen before but I accept the job thank you".

Basil unfortunately is a teacher who has to not only put up with his teenage students but also Lander (and their very weird friendship) and Gavvin (very socially awkward new guy in town who asks a lot of questions to him specifically). Basil is chronically done with everyone while everyone is like "ah yes, he can help me with my problems".

[trashmouth-richie]

masterlist

eddie x fem reader

chapter summary: how sweet it is, to be loved.

series summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

special thanks: to anyone and everyone who read a single chapter or kept up with this series to the end, thank you so much- this story wouldn’t be possible without your support.

author’s note: I can’t believe this is the final chapter for this series, I’m feeling so many emotions right now but mostly just love for Eddie and Tooty and everything in between. Thank you to anyone who has helped me beta ( @sweetsweetjellybean especially!)this story or fan girled with me over upcoming chapters. To any of the very talented artists who have made any art for this series, thank you so very much, each and every piece holds such a special place in my heart. To anyone who is mentioned in this story, thank you so so much, @loveshotzz @chechelia @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse and everyone else— thank you for allowing me to include you in this series. To everyone who has liked, rb’d left a comment or interacted in any way with this series— THANK YOU. This series has brought such joy & heartache to me, and I’m so lucky to have people enjoy it. 🖤

Cereal

Hotdogs

Bananas

Jelly —grape, not strawberry

Bread

Crackers 

Toothpaste 

Noodles 

Chicken thighs— babe are you making fun of me?

Heartburn medicine

You tap the chewed cap of your pen along the lined paper of a scribble heavy grocery list. Desperately wishing you had x-ray vision to see inside your cabinets and remember what you were in need of, you chew the cap again.

Giggling to yourself every so often at Eddie’s notes on the grocery list. Crossing off items he thought weren’t needed, mostly vegetables he didn’t like. And always making sure you got his favorites. And not, “that healthy bullshit cereal, give me sugar or kill me babe, I will not eat Raisin Bran” 

Peanut butter 

Sunny D

Thyme 

Heavy cream

Basil

Carrots

Onions

Chicken stock

Hey sweetheart can you please get me some candy? I like skittles but you know I love m&ms.. and twizzlers, it’s for the shop. :) 

The lady behind the desk chirps a name again, but you are still racking your brain on what else was needed. The soup you had planned on making tonight would be perfect for the chilly weather rolling in. November was coming in like a lion, ferociously cold and temperatures already dipping below zero. 

Eddie loved your potato soup, so much that he begged you to make it after another long, grisly week at the shop. 

He loved everything you made, even your chili that he doctored up by adding sour cream and Doritos to it. Bon Appetit he would say with a smirk on his lips, a heaping bowl steaming in front of him. 

The clerk behind the desk tutted and huffed, the schedule was getting behind.  

“Tooty Munson! Is there a Tooty Munson here?”

You glance up quickly at the sound of your name, “shit,” you breathe, “here, yes,” you scramble shoving the list and pen into your purse, buried amongst the gum wrappers and a spilled container of tic-tacs. 

The receptionist clicks her papers against the formica counter and holds her nose in the air, as if this job and you were beneath her. 

“He’s ready for you now.”

—-

“…alright, Ed, did ya look o’er those applications yet? ‘Tween you D and Mike I don’t think we are going to be able to keep up everything that we got on the schedule.” 

Wayne’s eyebrows are raised as he looks over the bifocals perched on his nose. He had been scouring over the schedules and the books for the better half of the afternoon since lunch hour—trying to figure out how to swing their overloaded schedule. 

It wasn’t that they couldn’t do the work, they were simply short handed. After Boom closed his doors  in Hawkins, he had recommended to his regulars that they travel to Bridgeport to Master Mechanics to see Eddie and Wayne. Business was booming, and the Munson’s could barely keep up.

Early on, Wayne and Eddie decided they would only be open until noon on Saturday’s but now with the packed schedule, they worked til almost dark every night of the week, including some Sundays.

Wayne rubs his short nails through his scratchy mostly white scruff, “we can’t have these boys workin’ like this, they’ll quit on us before you can slap a tick.”

Eddie was leaning against the doorway, a bottle of Coca Cola held limp in his hand, a greasy rag stuffed in his back pocket. 

“Yeah,” he yawns, stretching out his back, “let’s hire ‘em all, we need the extra hands, or I’m gonna need an extra back.”

Wayne grunts in confirmation. The highlighter squeaks as it’s drug across the phone numbers on the applications, “I’ll call ‘em first thing in the morning,” he straightens up his desk and shoves the papers into a drawer. 

His glasses clink as he folds them up and lays them next to a picture of the newlywed Munson’s. He leans back in his chair, the leather crinkling beneath his worn coveralls, “I’m callin’ it for the day,” he exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, “it’s been one helluva week and I’m shot, tell the boys to go home to their wives.” 

“and you too,” he points, “go take care of your wife, Ed, tell her I hope she starts to feelin’ better.” 

Eddie’s curls bounce as he nods his head, completely drained from the week, shit maybe he was getting sick too? “she went to the doctor today, probably just the flu, Max told her it was going around.” 

“Well then,” Wayne says, standing up and clicking off the table lamp, “take tomorrow off and rest–

both of ya, hear me?” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” 

—

Eddie’s tires crunch on the ice and hard packed snow of the driveway, a silent serenity, meaning he is only moments away from holding you in his arms, seconds away from kissing your lips, and if he was lucky, minutes from eating something delicious to fill his grumbling stomach. 

He throws the truck into neutral, killing the engine and tossing the keys around his finger. Tracks from your Jeep tires lead into the garage he had built last spring. A huge project that your friends were paid in beer and a bonfire when it was all finished. 

Thrusting his sore hands into his canvas coat, he ducked his chin into the zipper and braved the asthma inducing gust of wind to the front door as it whipped through his curls. 

The house was oddly quiet, only the hum of the refrigerator making any sort of sound. Usually when he came home you’d be playing the radio, or talking on the phone to Max or Nancy, greeting him with a pop of your head around the wall in the kitchen or from the hallway, the prettiest smile put on your lips. 

“Princess?” he called out in endearment as he untied his boots and put them on the shoe rack. His coatwas already hanging on its hook, usually next to your purse but your purse was thrown onto the arm chair, and your shoes were in the hallway like you had walked right out of them. 

He undid the buttons of his work blues, letting them hang at his waist like a mechanic cape. Socked feet trudge down the carpeted hallway, you must not be feeling any better, probably too exhausted to make it out of bed.

But Eddie was wrong.

You were perched on top of the comforter, coat still on but unzipped staring at the door waiting for his arrival, fuzzy socks on your wiggling toes. 

“Hey, handsome,” you said, trying to keep your pitch even. 

“There’s my girl,” his velvet voice wrapping around you like a hug as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for your left hand and kissing the finger that adorned the prettiest ring he’d ever bought, “how’s my beautiful wife?” 

It had been five months since you said I do. A June wedding in your own backyard, filled with friends who had served as family for years, gathered by your sides. 

“I forgot the potatoes,” you say blankly, a weird little smile on your face. 

Eddie sits down next to you, rubbing your thigh back and forth and letting out an exhausted yawn, “That’s alright, I can make us some grilled cheese if you’re up for—”

“I was looking at my grocery list, and couldn’t remember what I’d forgot.”

Eddie’s confused, but wants to reassure you that its no big deal, he’s a grown man he can certainly make supper for himself and his wife. “Sweetheart it’s okay, don’t beat yours—“

“Can’t make potato soup without potatoes.” And this time you laugh, kind of whimsically and in disbelief. 

His brows turn inward, still he just keeps reassuring you that everything is fine, “It’s okay Tooty, seriously. Let me go make you some—”

And for the third time tonight, you interrupted him, “doctor said that’s normal.”

He’s exhausted and is honestly more confused than he would like to admit, “what? The flu?” 

“No, no. “ you say, a twisted little smirk on your face, “forgetting things, throwing up in the morning, being exhausted… totally normal.” 

“Babe?” He moves to touch the back of his hand to your head, wincing when he realizes that he’s probably freezing.

“I was so scared the last time,” you whisper, teary eyed, “terrified.. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but now—.”

Eddie reaches for your cheeks, holding them softly, his eyes searching yours, desperate to figure out what the hell is going on, “what am I missing here? It’s normal to have… the flu?” 

“No, it’s not the flu,” you finally admit, looking up at him and rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs, 

“Eddie, I’m pregnant.”

— 

You could fill an empty pool up from the tears that sprung from Eddie’s eyes that night. He was overjoyed, holding you tight while he wept into your hair. Kissing your belly and whispering to the baby. Small streaks of tears flowing down your swollen skin and the faded scar across your lower belly. 

Each month that ticked by, Eddie’s worry only doubled. 

The day after you had found out, he woke early. Watching as your chest rose and fell as you slept soundly in the original mock up of his hellfire shirt.

It was threadbare, cotton worn so thin it was practically see through— but you claimed it as your own back in the early days of your new relationship, hands on your hips and the infamous pout on your lip as you playfully argued with him about how it was now yours. 

Dusk painted the diamond covered ground from the fresh snow over night. Falling as delicately as his lips allover your skin. Soaking up the dainty noises from your throat when he carefully slid into you, tears spilling from both of your eyelashes, love filling the room more sweetly than it ever had before. 

The soft cotton of the blankets hugged your curves, and he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he gazed down at his beautiful— now pregnant— wife. 

His sweet Tooty, carrying a gift more precious than gold. 

Kissing your cheek—he dressed quietly, scribbling a note on the bedside table about going into town for a bit, but to just relax in bed until he got home. 

-

You were having a dreamless sleep, not even sugarplums could dance in your head with the overwhelming exhaustion that your body was trying desperately to catch up from. 

Something cold then silky smooth brushed against your cheek, and a velvet voice sang a little good morning greeting into your ear. Your loving husband. Pressing sweet angel kisses behind your ear and on your eyelids. 

Your bedroom was lit with the glow of a warm sun in the afternoon light. Playing a yellowed hue of warmth across your comforter, pulling the caramel color from Eddie’s curls and making his eyes look like a dreamy cup of coffee swirling with creamer. 

His lips hug yours, both smiling into one another. Heart swelling more than your toes would in the months to come. 

C’mon, got a surprise for you, princess. 

The spare bedroom that was once a room for band equipment, then Max’s bedroom for almost a year before she eventually moved in with Gareth and Will, now held storage, was completely organized, and held a wide array of items. 

A crib, brand new and still in the box, a pack n play, a swing, every box of diapers ranging from size 1 - 5, baby gates, outlet covers, fancy locks for cabinets and drawers, rubber bumpers for sharp corners and edges of tables. 

A bookshelf full of baby books, how to’s for new parents, nursery rhymes by mother goose, books suggesting baby names and their meanings, and a guide on how to quit smoking. 

Tucked into the corner of the room by the bookshelf and near the window, was a rocking chair. 

 “Eddie,” you gasp, running sleep from your eyes, “wh-what is all of this?” 

He’s smiling ear to ear, trying to curb his enthusiasm a tiny bit. “I might have gotten a little carried away.” 

Turning towards the shelf you see a plastic sack, full of candy and bubble gum, and mints. “Edward Joseph Munson.” 

“Don’t scold me, mama,” he jokes, grabbing onto your hips and kissing your hairline, “I’m just spoiling our baby.”

God you loved this man, he’d break his neck to give you the world. He was the most loving husband, and now you got to see him step into a new role. One completely foreign to you both, only have shared the idea for a few moments before it was ripped away. 

You lean into him, holding him tight and working your nose into the crook of his neck. “You’re gonna be the best dad, Eddie.”

He doesn’t hide the tear that slips down his cheek, just lets it slide and collect under his chin, his voice is quiet when he asks, “you really think so?”

“I know it.”

—

Wayne and Karen followed behind the new family in his pickup all the way home from the hospital. They were going to stay for a few days, help you both get adjusted to life as parents.

Karen and Nancy had filled your freezer with casseroles, soups and fresh bread. It was a hot July day when you were scheduled for the c section, and when it was all said and done four days in the hospital was more than enough and you were ready to be at home, snuggled up with your new family. 

It was a battle of which Munson man could shed the most tears. Eddie and Wayne were both wiping away tears for hours. Overjoyed with emotions that everyone was healthy. 

“No you don’t,” Wayne said as you reached for the back door to grab the diaper bag, “you go right inside and get comfy, get them legs up!”

You do as your told, leaving Wayne, Eddie and Karen to carry the load in. The hospital stay was overwhelmingly sweet, but you knew Eddie was itching to get back to normalcy, still not liking the way he felt cooped up in the hospital even though it had been years since you both had the horrifying visit. 

Bags and suitcases are carried in and set into your master bedroom to be unpacked later, bottles and diapers are stacked and put into their respectable places. Karen starts warming up the chicken casserole she had prepared earlier that day. Wayne fussed around with the new dishwasher that he and Eddie had installed the month prior. 

Throughout the commotion you had fallen asleep, legs propped up in the recliner, but you woke to the sound of the front door closing, and there he was.

Eddie was holding them both, large hands cocooned around their swaddled little bodies, crooked into each of his arms. Something he was nervous about but slowly getting the hang of, the nurses told him he was a natural, and Wayne wept into Karen’s shoulder when Eddie introduced the twins to their grandpa. 

His normal obnoxious voice was murmuring low and quiet like a soft lullaby so as not to stir awake the sleeping little babies. 

He looked at them both, adoration and tears springing into his eyes. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. How he could have helped make something so small and delicate, he wouldn’t understand. But, he didn’t need to. 

A boy, born first— with his dark eyes and brown hair, and later the little girl, almost identical to his Tooty, and just as stubborn, both already wrapped around his fingers.

He murmured their names, and caught your eye as he said it, a smile so wide on his face that you were sure new dimples would bust through his cheeks, and you only heard the end of what he was saying. 

If you would have told yourself five years ago that you would one day own a home, get married to and have twins with Eddie Munson, you would have laughed on the spot. That loud mouth jackass of a guy you had once regretted letting move into your home, had moved right into your heart and never left. 

The demons inside you both were finally at bay, finding solace in one another in more ways than you had thought possible. Being loved by Eddie was everything you had thought love should be like. 

And you pinch yourself to make sure it's real, and each and every time, it is. 

“…babies,” he says, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes as he looks over at you, his family, “we’re home.” 

The end

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[tinyundercover]

pepper & felix

part nine

uh oh word count: 3.0k cw: talk of death and minor injury

MASTERPOST

Being released from Alice’s hand brought short-lived relief, followed by panic. 

Dark, plush walls closed around Pepper and Basil as they tumbled inside the pocket of Alice’s jacket, crying out in surprise. Terror struck Pepper like lightning, cold and sharp, and his heart was suddenly threatening to pound out of his chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Pepper swore under his breath, scrabbling for purchase within the dark, cramped space. Felix had held him a few times, but Pepper had never been inside a pocket, especially one that he did not consent to be in. Somewhere to his right, Basil was cursing too, her breathing quick and uneven.

“Fuck! Felix!” Pepper instinctively lunged for the top of the pocket and missed, slipping down the fabric walls. “Motherfucke—”

Both borrowers flinched as Alice spoke, her sharp reverberating around them. “Felix, hey— something just came up. I think I’m gonna head out too.”

Felix’s voice, soft and comforting, seemed so painfully far away. “Oh! Yeah, no worries at all. Want me to walk you out?”

“No, that’s alright.” Alice answered quickly. “But I’ll see you around. And— congratulations.” She laughed lightly.

Felix said something in response, but Pepper could barely hear it over his own heart pounding. His stomach, full of ice, seemed to weigh him down as he struggled to reach the top of the pocket again, Basil at his side, both of them hissing in exertion. 

Once again, they plummeted to the bottom of the pocket as Alice moved forward. The pocket swayed with each step, and Pepper immediately fought the dizziness away, trying to focus on Basil’s panicked breathing next to him. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Pepper, oh my god— oh my god, Pepper, what do we do—”

Pepper continued to shout Felix’s name until his throat was hoarse, but the familiar click of the front door made his heart sink. Felix couldn’t hear him. And now Alice was leaving.

Alice walked briskly, indicated by the rapid swaying of the pocket around them. Pepper’s stomach turned, and he felt Basil grab his shoulder in terror, both of them thrown off balance. His heart dropped. “Shit. Basil, we’re gonna— we’re gonna get out of here, I swear, I—”

He was interrupted by a monstrous noise aside, and he flinched, holding tight onto his sister. It took him a moment to register that the roaring outside must be from Alice’s car. 

“Where— where is she taking us?” Basil managed to ask through gritted teeth. Pepper let out a sharp breath, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he forced out, heart racing. Unlike Felix, Alice was unpredictable. Pepper knew almost nothing about her, and that realization made his stomach go cold. “I—”

“Fucking humans,” Basil hissed, burying her face in her hands. Her breath hitched. “God, I can’t believe this. I— she’s gonna kill us, she’s gonna—”

“No— she won’t,” Pepper assured, although his voice wobbled. A shaky hand scrubbed at his eyes. “She won’t, Basil, I promise.”

His heart jumped when he remembered that he had his bag with him, and he lunged for it, managing to yank his hook out in the tight space. Basil gasped sharply, scrambling back to make space as Pepper reached up, hook wobbling in his grip, trying to catch it on the lip of the pocket. 

He let out a sharp breath as his hook hit something smooth and solid, and with an icy feeling in his gut, he dropped the hook to his side.

“This pocket is zipped shut,” he said miserably, flopping back down. Basil’s breath shuddered.

Silenced by their own despair, the borrowers huddled against each other. Pepper’s stomach was filled with ice, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest with each passing minute. He felt the shoulder of his jacket grow wet with Basil’s tears, and he silently pulled her closer, squeezing his eyes shut.

The drive was short. When the engine of the car shut off, Pepper tensed, tightening his grip on Basil’s arm. Fear flooded back into his stomach as Alice stood up, swaying the pocket with her movement.

“We should have stayed in the walls,” Basil mumbled. Pepper stayed silent.

The next few minutes felt like torture. Both borrowers flinched with every movement, expecting the pocket to zip open at any moment. Pepper ended up shoving his hook back into his bag, praying that Alice wouldn’t think to confiscate it from him. 

He held his breath as Alice suddenly paused, the world outside quieting.

Pepper had known that they would be grabbed again, but it still made his stomach lurch to hear the zipper open above them. Both borrowers let out gasps of panic as a hand twice their size invaded their space, swiftly tightening around the both of them, firm and unrelenting.

The world spun around them as they were pulled out. Basil elbowed Pepper painfully as she immediately began to fight back, hissing and swearing.

Alice tightened her fist, pressing Pepper and Basil against each other. They were met with icy blue eyes and a frown as Alice looked them over, and Pepper’s breath shuddered, feeling his own heartbeat against the tough skin surrounding him.

Pepper didn’t want to think about what would happen if Alice tightened her fist any more.

“You two have some explaining to do,” Alice said sharply, eyes narrowing. 

Alice’s kitchen was slightly larger than Felix’s. The two borrowers were being held inches above the countertop, which made Pepper’s heart jump with false hope of escaping.

Basil did not stop fighting. She thrashed and kicked in Alice’s grip, while Pepper glared up at Alice, face pale. 

“We’re Felix’s friends,” he demanded. His voice shook. 

Alice raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”

“We are!” Pepper snapped, chest heaving against the pressure around him. 

The dark-haired human observed their struggling for a moment before digging through a cabinet with her free hand. Pepper barely caught a glimpse of a glass jar before the pressure around him vanished and he and Basil were being dropped inside, earning startled cries from both of them.

Cold, solid glass rushed up to meet them. Pepper let out a shout of pain as he hit the bottom of the jar, hearing his sister do the same next to him. He grabbed his arm, sucking in a sharp breath and squeezing his eyes shut.

The jar clicked as Alice set it down on the counter. Through his blurry vision, Pepper could see Alice placing both her hands on the counter, peering closer at them.

“What the hell are you?” Alice demanded.

Pepper ignored her, helping Basil up. His sister was cradling her elbow in a similar fashion to Pepper, wincing. 

A large hand tapped the jar, making them both jump. “Hey. Tell me what you are,” Alice hissed. Basil’s nose scrunched.

“I’m fucking annoyed.” Basil snapped, eyes dark and intense. “You— you just kidnapped us.” She wobbled on her feet and grabbed onto Pepper for support.

Alice’s lips thinned into a line. In an instant, the jar was in her hand, and the borrowers yelped as they tumbled back against the glass.

“All I know is that you two were sneaking around Felix’s apartment and spying on us,” Alice snapped. She rattled the jar, sending jolts of pain through Pepper’s body as he collided with the glass. Unable to keep their balance, both borrowers collapsed into the bottom of the jar, gasping for breath. “What the hell do you want from Felix?”

Pepper groaned, his blood pounding in his ears. Fear jolted through his body like a wave, and he shakily propped himself up on his elbows, squinting at Alice through the glass. “Nothing,” he forced out. To his left, Basil made a noise of pain, clutching at her jaw. “I told you… we’re Felix’s friends.”

Alice rolled her eyes, making Pepper’s stomach twist. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Yes!” Pepper’s throat was tight. “We were just stopping by. We weren’t bothering anyone. We didn’t— we didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You were watching us,” Alice corrected, lip curling. “Why? And what are you?”

Pepper had already turned his attention to his sister, who was sitting against the back of the glass jar, clutching her face. Pepper’s heart sank when he noticed the dark mark stretching from her jaw to her cheekbone.

“I’m fine,” Basil muttered as Pepper leaned closer, panic flashing in his gray eyes. “I’m fine.”

Pepper hesitated. “Basil—”

The jar impatiently rattled again, and Pepper collapsed against Basil, both borrowers hissing in pain. “Stop,” Pepper pleaded, staring up at the human. “You’re hurting us.”

Alice paused, blue eyes calculating. After a second of consideration she sent the jar back down on the counter and reached into the cabinet again, momentarily distracted.

Pepper grabbed Basil’s shoulder, searching his sister’s expression. His stomach twisted at the sight of the dark bruise on her cheek, covering a quarter of her face. Pepper could feel similar bruises forming on his body, spreading from his elbows to his chest to his knees. His heart pounded.

Basil’s shoulders shuddered as she breathed, blearily scanning Pepper’s face. Her brown eyes were wet.

Pepper barely acknowledged the noises above them as Alice screwed a lid onto the jar. His gray eyes were suddenly welling with tears, and guilt rushed up to meet him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed to Basil, voice wobbling. “This is all my fault, Basil. I—I’m so sorry.”

Basil had warned him not to trust humans. He has willfully ignored her, and now she was paying the price.

He snapped his gaze to Alice as she spoke, her voice sharp. “Felix is sweet.” Her blue eyes flickered between Pepper and Basil, who were stiff and silent. “I don’t know why you were creeping around his place, but he has enough stress to deal with right now without you two messing with him. You’re staying in here until you want to explain yourselves.”

Pepper wanted to snap back and argue, but he glanced at Basil and decided against it. The last thing he wanted was to encourage Alice to shake the jar again.

He bit his tongue and elected to stay silent, huddling closer to his sister. Alice made a noncommittal noise and slid the jar further away until it was tucked next to the wall and a large glass ornament. 

“Still don’t want to talk?” Alice pressed. Pepper held his breath, and the human sighed, glancing at the nearest clock. It was getting late.

“Then you’re staying right here tonight,” she decided, stepping back. “You better explain yourselves tomorrow.” She gave them a long glare, making Pepper’s skin prickle, before she turned away, leaving them in the kitchen alone.

Pepper’s shoulders slumped in relief as Alice’s footsteps receded. He swallowed hard, taking several deep breaths before turning towards Basil again. “Are you— are you okay?”

His sister was staring straight ahead, her brown eyes watery. Her jaw clenched, and she muttered, “I’m alive.”

Pepper’s breath hitched. “I’m so sorry. For— for all of this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Basil said stiffly, turning to face him. Her gaze danced over his form, lingering on his neck where he was certain there was a dark bruise. “It’s… I just… I can’t fucking believe this. We're in a jar.”

Her shoulders shuddered with a dry sob, dropping her head back against the glass. “My whole life, I’ve been so— I’ve been so careful. I did everything right, and— and I slipped up once and now I’m in a jar with my brother. We’re both gonna die.”

Misery crept through Pepper’s veins, cold and numb. “Basil, she’s not gonna kill us—”

“Just because you blindly trust humans doesn’t mean I do,” Basil snapped, whipping her head so quickly that she winced in pain. Pepper fell silent, mouth dry. “This girl just kidnapped us and stuck us in a jar and you still think that we’re safe with her? What is wrong with you?” Her words were bitter.

Pepper blinked rapidly, inching away. A flush crossed his face. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he said hotly. 

Fresh tears were pouring down Basil’s bruised face. “I just—” she took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. “I just can’t trust humans like you can.”

“I don’t just trust all humans—”

“Pepper, we were in her fist, and you were barely struggling—”

“That’s not— I wasn’t— struggling wouldn’t have done anything!”

Basil huffed, turning her face away. She hesitated before bracing a palm against the glass, pulling herself into a wobbly stance. Pepper leaned back, gaze scanning her form for any invisible injuries. 

“Let’s just talk about this later,” Basil muttered, weakly twisting around to grab at her backpack. She struggled for a brief second before she retrieved her hook.

Oh. Pepper had nearly forgotten that they had their hooks with them— but what good would they even do?

“What are you doing?” He asked cautiously, vaguely wondering if Basil was going to stab him.

His sister ignored him, squinting up at the lid of the jar. Five thin holes had been punched through the lid, and Basil reached her arms above her head, struggling to latch her hook through one of the holes.

Pepper watched her for a moment, wincing every time she huffed in pain, before he shifted to lean back against the glass. He wrapped his arms around his knees.

Basil worked for a few minutes, wobbling on her toes. She was just tall enough for her hook to brush against the lid of the jar, but it couldn’t latch onto the holes without slipping off. “Fuck,” Basil grumbled finally, throwing her hook to the ground with an angry clatter. She flopped down a moment later, burying her face in her hands.

Empathy flooded into Pepper’s heart at her misery. “Let me try.”

His own hook was still tucked away in his bag, but he elected to use Basil’s hook instead. He picked it up, holding it above his head just like Basil had done.  

He had realized quickly what Basil had been trying to do. If they manage to latch the hook through one of the holes, they might be able to twist the lid off themselves. Pepper had little hope that such an unlikely scenario would happen, but they didn’t have many other options.

He stood on his toes, his ribs aching. The tip of the hook continued to irritatingly bounce off the smooth lid, making Pepper growl in annoyance.

He was very aware of Basil’s brown eyes on him. When he failed for the sixth time, she murmured, “I’m sorry for what I said.”

He spared her a glance before stretching up again. “It’s okay,” he said simply.

Basil could swear at him or insult him or punch him, and he wouldn’t blame her for any of it. The terror of the situation was gut-wrenching, and the thought that he might be possible for his sister’s demise made him want to throw up. She had every right in the world to be mad at him.

“I just… I just can’t believe this is happening,” Basil admitted hollowly.

Pepper swore under his breath as the hook bounced off of the lid for what felt like the hundredth time. He finally dropped it to the ground in a similar fashion to Basil, and collapsed against the wall, perpendicular to his sister.

He rested his head against the glass, sighing heavily. “Maybe Alice will tell Felix about us. And he’ll come rescue us.”

Basil went pale, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of another human getting involved. “…Yeah,” she mumbled. “Yeah, I hope so.”

Pepper tried not to think about how Alice had intentionally kept the borrowers from Felix for the entirety of the night. The likelihood of her sharing her discovery with Felix seemed very low.

Basil suddenly sat up straighter, eyes wide. Pepper blinked at her expectantly.

“Pepper,” she whispered. “Felix is your soulmate.” Her words came out in a rush.

He raised his eyebrows, rubbing at his face. “Yeah, man.”

“No, no, Pepper, you can call him right now.” 

He stiffened, staring at Basil. Her breathing was quick, her brown eyes blinking rapidly. She seemed just as terrified as him, but her face was brightening with a glimmer of hope.

Pepper’s stomach had gone cold. Panic was already seeping into his veins at the thought of contacting Felix. “No.”

Basil blanched. “What?”

“I can’t— Basil, I can’t tell him, not like this.” Pepper’s breath hitched in panic, and he pulled his knees closer to his bruised chest. “I’m not ready to tell him.”

Basil let out a breath, jerking back in shock. “You’re joking.”

“I’m sorry, I— I can’t—!”

“That doesn’t matter right now!” Basil hissed, running her agitated hands through her hair. “Pepper, please. This can’t be that important. Alice has already hurt us– we don’t know what she might do tomorrow. Please.”

Pepper clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly to stop the welling of tears. “I’ve been so scared to tell him that we’re soulmates, and— for him to find out like this, it’s just…” his breath hitched.

“He’s never gonna find out if you’re stuck in a jar forever,” Basil pointed out weakly. She shifted over to sit next to Pepper, placing a trembling hand on his arm. His shoulders shuddered. “I’m sorry, Pepper, I really am. I know this sucks, and… and it’s just awful, to have to do this. But… I don’t think you have a choice. We’re trapped.”

Pepper met her watery gaze. His eyes fell to the dark bruise on her cheek, stretching from the corner of her eye to the base of her jaw. His heart shattered.

With a sob, he threw his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

She didn’t speak, only rested her head on his shoulder for a long moment. He could feel the thumping of her heart against his own chest, quick and nervous. His breath hitched as he said, “Okay.”

Basil nodded gently, then shifted back to give him space. Pepper closed his eyes, mind swimming with trepidation. 

Would Felix hate him after this? 

With a shaky breath, he clasped his hands and held them against his chest.

“…Felix?”

---------

rest in peace alice!

TAGLIST: @smallsday @compact-katrina @satethesatelite @taters169 @entomolog-t

[seneon]

can you do an x reader with ulquiorra where he feels something for the reader? For example touching her hand accidentally and feeling the contrast between her body temp and his own? And that makes him maybe develop a beginning of a crush bc he has never touched anyone without killing them lmao

A TOUCH OF THE SUN ───── ulquiorra cifer x fem! reader. fluff and wc of 800+ i love love love him sm..

ulquiorra cifer, the fourth ranking espada of formal soul reaper aizen's army. he who is dispassionate and would immediately think of disposing of the uninteresting weak.

just how exactly would he react when an arrancar who portrays the element of ecstasy came into his view and pokes her way through that empty soul of his?

ulquiorra does not believe in the human heart nor does he believe in human emotions. all those emotions portrayed by his other army men were designed by aizen and his two other comrades. they never had such things called emotions in the first place. ah yes . . . they were all just like the fourth espada. cold, heartless, unknown to the blazing sun but an artificial one in hueco mundo.

not that he bats an eye at the arrancar girl of ecstasy, but she always makes her way to be around ulquiorra. the male finds it quite irritating and that she is much of a nuisance, always smiling and sprinkling her shine everywhere she goes.

today was no different than any other day. just as yammy left ulquiorra’s sight, you will pop out from the corner and spin your way to the aloof male. “hello ulquiorra, i made you something,” you took his hand in yours to give him the item you made for him.

but the cifer instinctively grabbed your hands before you could even hold his. the thing fell to the ground and your eyes followed it to the hard and cold floors. of course you'd want to automatically pick it up, but the grip the male has on you is quite firm and strong.

your eyes left the item instead and they looked at ulquiorra. the nihilistic and empty arrancar who holds your hand, slowly but gently easing his grip on your wrist. his basil green eyes locked onto your hands where his own cold hands laid upon.

what is this foreign feeling?

quietly, you watched the arrancar move his fingers around your wrist, slowly feeling every part of your wrist before he trails his cold fingers up to your arms. you didn't really understand what he's doing, but you know ulquiorra is feeling your skin and experiencing something he has never felt before.

“you are warm,” said ulquiorra, no changes in time as per usual and his eyes never leaving your hands. they were like something he had never known existed in this world. like your hands and your arms is something completely new to be studied. a foreign object.

“am i?” you asked, very much confused. who wouldn't be? a terrifying upper ranking soldier is holding your arm and feeling it while saying that you're warm. it was starting to weird you out.

suddenly, that hand of yours that he held was pulled forward so your hands hold his wrist now.

“do you feel the difference, y/n? how my hand is cold and yours isn't?”

your eyes widened. “hey you called me by my name and not girl!! is this character development!?” you unknowingly moved your grip to hold the cifer’s palm in excitement that you just heard your name slip out from his lips, something that he has never done before.

his eyebrow scrunched a little at your hand holding his hand. something in him stirred at the little gesture. something once again so foreign and unknown to him that has him all confused. ulquiorra withdraws his hands from your touch, his hands lingering around in the air for a few moments before he lets it fall to his side.

“i’m sorry, i didn't mean to,” you quickly apologised, face twisting into worry. “your hand isn't cold at all, ulquiorra,” you said in a soft whisper, barely audible, yet the arrancar could pick up your voice just perfectly.

you remembered the item you were going to give him and you picked it up, shoving it into his hands. "for you. a moon charm made out of ceramic."

it was silent for a few moments before ulquiorra turned around and slid his hands into his pockets, holding your charm tightly.

“so that's how the word warm feels like. you're lucky i didn't kill you the moment you held my hands,” ulquiorra said and began to walk away, leaving you dumbfounded. his hand is really cold like he claims it to be. he is just as warm as any other living being. ulquiorra himself is warm.

but to the cifer, your warmth feels like a touch of the sun. him touching your hands alone is enough to make his cheeks turn into a different temperature. you gave him a sense of comfort the moment you held his palm in yours.

the arrancar of nihilism would never admit it, but he walked away in embarrassment that is coated with his stoicism. in truth, he wanted to feel your warmth a little bit more.

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[mikeru6]

i love her

DRAW YOUR OCS🔫🔫

My favorite child (do not tell the others)

[garbinge]

You, Me, and Italy

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader From these August Prompts:  Italy Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, angsty, mentions of suicide, death, grief, loss, broken heart, drug use, addiction, being high, someone close to ODing, uncomfortable, sad, mentions of sexual situations, it's based on canon mentions of suicide and death and grieving, but a little more in depth. So just be weary of any triggers one might have in reference to these things.

A/N: This is not apart of my Richie Jerimovich multichap. This is heavy. I try and steer clear of fics like this because of my own triggers and trauma around drug abuse and addiction but this just was an idea sitting in my head probably because of all that trauma. The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas

The kitchen was always your favorite place to be when you couldn’t sleep. Something about the ability to hear every single noise in a space where usually you’d be lucky to hear the person next to you speak at a normal tone. 

You had come in through the back, placed your stuff down in the locker that had your name written on a green piece of tape, your insanely patterned bandana was snug around your head just above your forehead, something you always wore when cooking. Now, the sounds of the water running as you washed her hands filled your ears and was followed by the clunks of pulling the knives out, the blade tinging as you set it free from its case. Now slicing, the quick quippy sounds of the thin slices of all the items you needed to prep. Basil, onions, garlic, fig, and parmesan cheese. All the ingredients you picked up from the grocery story that was still open this late. The chopping and the sizzling filled your ears in a similar way that music would fill someone else’s. It kept you grounded, kept you calm, kept you in the moment. 

“Late night snack?” A voice interrupted that tranquility but surprisingly, there was no reaction from your side. You kept steady as your hand tossed the garlic and basil in the olive oil, other hand equipped with a spoon ready to add in the parmesan ricotta mixture. 

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily.” Your voice was steady as you focused on the pan in front of you. 

Mikey looked down and laughed before he made his way from the office over to his best chef and best friend. He leaned against the prep area, hands crossed as you had your back to him. 

“You should toast the breadcrumbs.” Mikey said as he took in what you were doing. 

Immediately, your head turned to look over your shoulder and shot the man a look. “I’m a one-woman show here, Mikey. I’m getting to it.” 

“You know, I can help you out.” He had crossed his leg over the other now as he waited for a response. “Only if you want to.” His arms were now uncrossed as he raised them in a surrender.

Your head tilted, the only invitation he needed to start helping out. 

“I’m making arancini, fig and garlic arancini.” You specified. 

“Rice balls. You’re making rice balls.” Mikey teased. “What inspired the fig?” He asked as he toasted the bread crumbs at the stove next to you. 

“Remember when we went to that bar the other night?” You looked up at him, despite being a few feet down from you, he still towered over you in height. “While you and Richie were off doing God knows what, I ordered shit from the bar. They had this fig, arugula, and goat cheese pizza.”

“Jesus Christ, what fuckin’ bar were we at?” Mikey laughed at the fanciness of how it all sounded. 

“That place, Porta. I’d say it was more hipster than fancy.” 

“God, I don’t even remember.” Mikey laughed before placing his attention back on you and continuing the conversation. “So the pizza was good?” 

“It was, and I just kept thinking what would go well with fig and landed at a rice ball.” 

“Arancini.” Mikey corrected you with the biggest grin growing on his face. 

A laugh left your mouth as you took the sauce off the heat, wanting it to cool down slightly before pouring it into the egg mixture that was already placed in the fridge. 

The silence fell over the both of you and you both continued to move around the kitchen. Mikey stood with the bowl of rice in his hands, resting it on the prep counter as you stood over and poured in the egg mixture. Mikey was whisking it around rapidly, that way the eggs didn’t scramble. The smell coming from the bowl was filled with savory scents of garlic and sweet touches of fig reduction. 

“You good, buddy?” Mikey was looking at you as he stirred everything around. It wasn’t so much in reference to your current state, which was focused as you concentrated on pouring the egg mixture in, but more in reference to why you were here late. 

Buddy. Such a Mikey term. The two of you knew each other for years, meeting when you were smoking in the back of the restaurant you used to work out. To put it in simple terms, he poached you. He had just grabbed a bite at said restaurant, with his brother Carmy, a detail you found out later since Mikey came alone to the alley in the back where you had been taking a break. He asked if you had made the slow braised beef and proceeded to tell you about his restaurant. You never walked back into that restaurant again and started at The Beef the next day. 

As time passed, things got close with Mikey. The two of you just fed off each other, you vibed effortlessly and one day that led to more. You spent a majority of the night locked in the office making a bed out of the table, the floor, the bookshelf, anything that had an inch of a flat surface, Mikey took you. That however, never amounted to more. It was always just sex. There was no label on what the two of you had, no real dates, no holding hands, just stolen moments around the restaurant, late nights in the kitchen, nights out at bars, and overnights spent at each others places. But that never made anything awkward because despite their being no label, everyone knew there was something between you two. It was impossible to miss. The way you two got along, the way you spent every waking moment together, whether you were at the restaurant or not. But what the real dead giveaway was, you two moved in the kitchen like you had perfected a choreographed dance, every, single, time. There was never any missteps, any arguing, no bumping into each other, you just glided by each other, calling out kitchen terms and directions. It was a sight to be seen, everyone thought so. Including the family. Sugar and Carmy were impressed when you came by for the first time maybe a month into starting at The Beef. Richie had already seen how the two of you worked together but both Berzatto siblings were shocked by it. 

“Hey, you good?” Mikey repeated himself and bent down a little to look into your eyes. 

“Yea, sorry.” You shook your head from your thoughts. 

“I don’t buy it.” Mikey pressed you again for more information. “What’s with late night rice balls?” 

“You ever feel stuck?” There was no point in trying to hide what you were feeling from Mikey. 

“Uh, just every day of my life.” You let out a breath through your nose in a sort of chuckle. “I just, wish I could get out of here.” The frustration was littered in your voice. 

“Where would you go?” He set the bowl down now that everything was stirred, and he turned to face you. 

“Anywhere.” You turned too so you were facing him. 

“So let’s go.” His voice raised, like what he said and meant didn’t need planning, didn’t need money, he spoke it outloud like it was the easiest thing to achieve. 

“Yea, where?” You were about to start naming off places around here in Chicago as a joke but he was quick to answer you. 

“Italy.” 

You frowned but a smile was growing on your face. “Italy?” You questioned. 

“Yea, let’s go to Italy, we’ll eat all the rice balls in the fuckin’ country, we’ll learn how to make ‘em like a true Italian. We’ll eat our way around Rome, Sicily, Naples, it’ll be great, just me and you and Italy.” He was so energetic in how he spoke, his hands were in the air, his voice was echoing off the kitchen walls. 

“You, me, and Italy?” You questioned him as your head nodded in agreement. 

“You, me, and Italy.” Mikey nodded with the biggest smile on his face. 

____

Time might’ve passed and a lot of things might’ve changed, but sometimes stayed exactly the same. You were pushing through the back door of The Beef, bag and kitchen tools in hand as the clock ticked past 1AM. 

“Mikey?” You called out, expecting to see him appear in the kitchen. You called out again and heard nothing. It was odd, but also maybe not. He had been distant lately, you picked up on that when most nights he didn’t come back to your place. You knew things had been tough for him, he was having money issues and as a result moved back in with his mother, he was stressed. Every time you did get the chance to see him, he wasn’t fully there, sometimes you’d taste alcohol on his breath, others you could tell his mind was caught in a thought or 20. 

Moving to the lockers, you saw the door open just slightly and the lamp on illuminating a ton of paperwork. You saw his hand resting on the table and slowly peaked in. 

Now, you had your suspicions, they were probably more than suspicions, you knew. You knew Mikey was hooked on something. But you didn’t want to accept it. But there it was, slapping you right in the face. It had been functional, he had been functional, which is what made it easy for you to question, for you to say nothing. After tonight, you’d regret it, you’d regret staying silent, not giving in to your suspicions, voicing them out loud. 

You took in the sight of him, he was so out of it, you could see his glazed over eyes even from the distance you were at. The giveaway as if everything else wasn’t so obvious was the pills scattered all over the paperwork in front of him. 

“Mikey.” The urgency hit you just as much as the the scene of him. You were next to him in seconds, shaking him awake. 

The smile that filled his face as he stared at you, the smile that warmed your heart, the smile that melted you, the smile of your best fucking friend was breaking you. 

“What–what’re you doin’ here?” 

“How much did you take, Mikey?” You moved forward to the table to search for a bottle, a pill count, see how many were on the table, but Mikey’s hands began to grab your arms. 

“No, no, no, no, no. Stop, you’re ruining the fun.” Mikey complained, his voice was slurred. 

You pulled back immediately, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Your heart was beating fast and before your tears could even start falling, Mikey started yelling. “You’re ruining the fun!!” It was a repetition of what he had said before and all it did was secure your feet frozen to the ground. “That’s all anyone ever does anymore. Ruin the fucking fun.” He spun in the swivel chair like a child and when it stopped spinning he looked at the bookshelf and began speaking again, but this time more at a whisper. 

“Even my own fuckin girl. I can’t have anything.”  

You snuck out the door, searching for your phone in your pocket. The irony that in your hastiness, you spent more time looking for it than if you searched for it with purpose and patience. 

As you picked your phone up to your ear, your hand was shaking. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” You mumbled, taking your other hand to pick at your lip. 

“It’s 1 in the fuckin’ morning, I’m neck deep in shit diapers, if this is you and Mikey asking me to go out, I’m blocking your number for eternity.” Richie seemed stressed in a completely different way. 

“Richie, it’s Mikey, he uh, I don’t know, there’s pills, he’s awake–sort of?, he’s angry, I don’t know how much he took but he, he uh, I just need help, I need you down here, can you get down here, please?” The shakiness in your voice was the dam holding back your tears. 

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Keep him up.” 

With that Richie hung up and you were moving back into the office, you squatted down and turned the chair so he was facing you. “Mikey, babe?” You tried to keep your voice soft. His red, glossy eyes met yours as he plopped his head down to look at you. 

“My girl.” A little bit of hope filled his face, he reached his hand up to cup your face. The impulse to pull away was strong but you stayed there, you stayed there with him and let him speak to you. 

“You’re so pretty, you know that? So pretty. And you’re so talented, you can throw down, you know that? Best fuckin slow braised beef I’ve ever fuckin’ had.” 

The amount of compliments he was giving you, it should’ve had you elated, floating, with butterflies but instead it was making you sick–uneasy. And you just had to sit there and let him say it, over and over again. You were counting in your head, hoping that once you got to the 10th 60th second count, that Richie would be here. 

“Hey hey hey, you listening to me?” Mikey moved slightly to look at you, even in his fogged state he could tell your mind was elsewhere. 

“Mhm.” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared into his eyes. 

“You, me, and Italy, baby. You, me, and Italy.” The second time he said it, it was in a whisper like he was desperate for it to be true. Like if he said it low enough the world would grant him the wish. That’s when you really saw him, saw what was happening in his brain. Alongside that hopeful look was one of peace and happiness. The absolute gut wrenching emotion you felt in your heart when you realized it. How being high set Mikey free, set him free from his demons, in some weird twisted way this was the closest you’ve seen Mikey to his usual self. 

Before your heart could break anymore, you heard Richie’s voice behind you and he was slipping into your spot and picking Mikey up.

______

“You know I remember this one time, we went over to Mikey’s place, the one on Courtyard, me, Carm, and Richie, and it was Sunday, Braciole night. We walk in, Mikey’s got the game playing so loud in the background, we start prepping, cooking. I remember he told me not to put raisins in the braciole even though that’s how mom did it. And he just, he had this smile on for those first 30 minutes, like he had something planned, like he was in on the joke. But the thing is none of us knew what the joke was. And then, the door opened, we were all confused at who it was and then, this woman appeared. Mikey introduced her to us, he was so happy, and we were like shocked, cause Mikey, our big brother, the player, brought this girl over to our fucked up family Sunday night dinner. She didn’t care that the TV was loud, that we were even louder, that Mikey and Richie would tell the most insane stories, over and over again, and in fact, she moved around the kitchen like, well, like she’d known us all our whole lives. I don’t know if I ever saw Mikey so happy.” Sugar was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker while you sat silent on the other line. 

“You at the restaurant?” Sugar cleared her throat. 

“Standing right outside it.” You spoke up, trying to hide your tears from the story Sugar just told. 

“I’ll be there soon.” There was rustling on the other side of the phone, like she had started to get up and get ready. 

“Sugar?” You questioned, worried she was about to hang up. 

“Hm?” She hummed. 

“Thank you.” It was two words but sometimes you needed to hear it. How much Mikey loved you, he didn’t tell you often, but you felt it, you saw it. But now, that he was gone, that all that was left of Mikey for you was the things he left at your place, the memories you shared, you took the antidotes Sugar occasionally told you and kept them someplace special. 

“I’ll see you in the chaos.” Sugar replied back to you in which you did the same. 

For a few seconds after the phone call, you stood there, staring at the gutted restaurant, staring at the mayhem happening behind the glass, which was normal for the restaurant, whether it was in business or not. But right now, standing outside, in the peace of the quiet reminded you of those late nights in the kitchen, and you were destined to hold onto that peace for just a few more minutes. 

Eventually, you joined the chaos. Greeting everyone as you made your way through the renovation. Finding yourself getting swept up into something in the immediate first seconds you entered the front door. After an hour or so, when you wrapped up your job in the front, you made your way to the kitchen.  

“What’re you doing?” You placed your stuff down in the office as you walked past Richie, Fak, and Marcus who were gathered around someone’s phone watching a video, arguing back and forth. Natalie stood up from the chair in the office and placed a hand on your shoulder in a half greeting and walked over to the arguing men. Your eyes lingered on the office table and chair a little longer than normal, letting the memories flood into your brain for a short few seconds before you turned to put your attention back on everyone. 

“Scraping and painting and fighting over moving the lockers.” Marcus spoke up. 

You turned around and stepped out of the office, staring at them trying to attempt to move the lockers. Carmy had appeared now, yelling at them to keep it down and when the mention of Mikey’s locker still being locked was announced, that’s when everyone silences. 

“Just fuckin’ open it.” Carmy spoke up. 

A hat. June 5th, 2010. Taste of Chicago. The booth. 

You smiled at that. You weren’t there for the booth, but you heard all about it. From the family, but from Mikey, it was one of the many stories he’d tell you over and over and honestly, you’d do anything to hear him tell it 200 more times. 

Carmy handed the hat to Richie, and as he turned around his eyes fell on your. 

“Yo, uh, I got something for you.” He said and walked right past you into the office, searching for something. As everyone went back to working, you turned and took a few steps towards Carmy as he moved the papers around looking for something. 

“So, uh, we’re sending Ebra and Tina to culinary school, for them to stay sharp, learn some new shit, and uh, I–we, Syd and I figured you didn’t want or honestly really need that, so uh–here!” He proclaimed the last word louder than the rest as he found the envelope with your name written on it and handed it to you. 

You looked down at it for a second and then back at Carmy, you two didn’t talk much in general, but you definitely didn’t talk much about him. 

“You and Syd…” You started to say as you mindlessly tapped the envelope against your skin. “You uh,” You wanted to say that the two of them reminded you a lot of you and Mikey, the effortlessness in the kitchen, the way their ideas just bounced off each others and how they brought this new sense of life to each other. But it was that last thought that weighed heavy on you. There was a point that Mikey brought a new sense of life to you and you did the same to him but unfortunately that emotion, that feeling, had changed at some point, at no ones fault but it didn’t stop you from not cherishing it more. “Just, don’t take it for granted.” 

“Yea, yea.” Carmy nodded, getting where you were coming from but also not really wanting to get into it and you were okay with that because you didn’t want to get into it either. 

Carmy’s eyes moved down to the envelope and back to you. Taking the hint you nodded. “Right.” You said quickly and began to rip the envelope open. As your hand reached in and pulled out the papers in the envelope, you saw the word United and then followed by a seat and time and that’s when you saw the airports. 

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport. 

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked. 

“It’s what Mikey would’ve wanted.” Carmy nodded and walked by you, taking his hand to rest on your shoulder and then tap it as he exited the office. 

You stared down at the tickets, trying to take in everything. 

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”  

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Lightning Makes The Roots Grow Deep

Basil Stilt x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 19: Voyeurism

Summary: There's something watching in the woods.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry). I don't know how this became what it is.

Warnings: sort of magical realism, Basil becoming a sort of Green Man, plants growing out of people, cut to black sexy times, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1101

It had started when leaves began to grow from the scar tissue along Basil’s face. It wasn’t painful, just odd. But then again most things had been strange in the last few days… months? How long had it actually been? 

He often woke with berries on his eyelashes, the small red fruits falling when he first opened his eyes to the new day. 

He ate less. Began to just sit for hours by the window to soak up the sunshine. On rainy days he opened them, hung out bowls and cups on string to catch the rainwater and drink it down. There was nothing else like it. No other food or liquid, even tap water sustained him in the same way, nothing else quenched the deep ache in his chest. 

After a long time, when the vines from his skin had begun to twist and creep down along his arms and across his chest he had left. Finally. 

He wasn’t sure where the energy had come from, the drive. He just simply walked out of his flat in the dead of night. 

His car, the poor thing had sat dormant for years, started the second he got in and put his hands on the wheel even though his keys were still somewhere upstairs in the reminiscence of his old home. 

He drove for a long time. Out of the city and further still. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but something pulled at his nerves, an urge he could not deny. 

Basil didn’t know the name of the place when he arrived, surely a national forest of some sort. But it was the right place. 

As he walked further into the trees his muscles relaxed, the cobwebs in his lungs cleared. He was home. 

. 

“Are you sure there’s no bears?” Elizabeth asked sincerely, and Barry laughed. 

“No fucking bears, I promise.” He grinned. 

Elizabeth didn’t look so reassured. “Are you 100% on that?” 

Jamie, her boyfriend wrapped his arms around her. “No bears.” 

“Hmm.” She didn’t look so impressed. 

“I wouldn’t be here if there were.” You say, trying to comfort her. 

She gave you a brilliant smile. “Okay, you I trust.” 

You laugh, all four of you saying goodnight as you went to your respective tents. Elizabeth and Jamie shared, Barry to another, and the last was yours. 

Part of you was sure that this whole trip was secretly Jamie’s and Elizabeth’s attempt to set you up with Barry. He was nice but there was something you couldn’t put your finger on. Something just didn’t seem right. 

It’s difficult to sleep. You’d expected the cold and had packed well for it. It was the noise that was getting to you. This forest seemed louder than any you’d ever been to before. Busy. As if it was teaming with life ten times the usual amount. 

Somehow you manage to get to sleep for a while. A little after 2am you wake, needing to pee. 

You sigh and pull yourself out of your sleeping bag and grab your torch. Even though you were just going to duck behind a tree didn’t mean you weren’t going to get lost. People who got lost were people who thought they couldn’t get lost. 

You stepped as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake the others and walked around the back of a large tree and peed quickly. 

You’d just finished disinfecting your hands when there was a snap from the distance. You jolted, looking up in the direction quickly and shining your light. There was something there. Between the nearest outcrop. Like… light? Soft glowing orbs of dark pink and red. They floated like bubbles, a seemingly high pitched soft sound emanating from them. 

You don’t remember following them, one moment you were there by the campsite and the next you were deep in the undergrowth, mud high up on your jogging bottoms from your journey. 

“What?” You frown, blinking hard and trying to shift the wave of dizziness that floats next to your eyes. 

Panic doesn’t grip you, doesn’t sink in despite you not knowing where the hell you are. Instead, you feel sort of… warm. 

There’s a faint light blue glow up ahead filtering through the trees. A ranger’s station or something. You walk further in, closer to the light and…

You stop in your tracks. 

The forest is glowing. All manner of plants, flora you have never even seen in a textbook cover the clearing. Soft moss lines the floor. You lightly touch the bark of the closest tree, it’s warm. Not uncomfortably, not in a way that would make your skin crawl. It’s nice, soothing. 

It’s only then that you notice the figure in the middle of the clearing. You pause, swallowing as he looks at you. 

He says your name softly.

“How… how do you know…?”

“I’ve been watching,” he pauses, turning his head so you can see the leaves growing from his face. He moves closer, seeming to float across the moss. “You… and the others.” Lightly he touches your cheek, you can feel the vines that run along his fingertips. 

“What… are you?” You breathe, unable to take your eyes away from his skin, how the ivy twists in his hair and the moon seems to glow in one eye, his other dark like the night itself. 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours and opening your mouth with his own. You moan, shiver as his hand trails down your neck, his hand resting just above your heart. 

You pull him closer when he licks into your mouth. He tastes like fruit, sweet and heady and when you pull back small flowers have budded and bloom along the side of his face. 

He places his hand on your hip and minuscule vines grow and slip under your clothes, pushing them from your body and tearing them away with small thorns that do not touch your skin.

You gasp, heat rising to your skin. 

“It’s alright,” he whispers, kissing your cheek and jaw. “You’re safe. I promise.” 

“I…” You swallow, words escaping you as he sucks a love bite into your skin, pulling you flush against him while he traces his hand down and lightly teases your nipple. 

When your mouth opens in a soft moan he groans, letting his fingers sink further down your body and stroke along your centre. You can feel the vines from his hand run along your skin, start to twist and stroke along your thighs. 

He licks into your mouth the same moment he sinks his fingers inside of you.

Thank you for reading!

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[h0tb0x1nnac0ff1n]

Very excited to see your page grow ! 🤍 sorry for the long request 😣😣❕

Can i request a Daryl x fem!reader where the reader’s whole love language was cooking for people before everything went to shit? But because to the outbreak and where they ran from place to place.. she just could never make anything and because lack of ingredients which sort of kills her morale.

However, when they’re staying at Alexandria.. One day she gets one look at their pantry and is strangely super excited and very much productive for the whole afternoon. Which causes confusion among the group because “woah reader is rlly happy, wonder what’s up.” And it’s because she can finally cook the food she loved to make and it’s now time for Daryl to test-taste each and every single dish made all with her love 🤍 .

Just some wholesome fluffiness bc i personally imagine Daryl had like food made by someone for him. He deserves the best as he just eats everything up bc its made with all of our love 🤍🤍🤍

Hello!!! I think this is an amazing idea! Can I just say that I’ve found my people 🤧

Here’s to my first X Reader on here 🥂

Warning: Talks about food/ fluff/ killing walkers (normal TWD stuff)

HOPE YALL ENJOY❤️

You a chef or something’?

For as long as you could remember, you always loved to cook for the people closest to you.

You would make them their favorite foods and the look on their faces when they would take that first bite was enough to make your entire day.

But when everything happened, cooking food that actually tasted good was the least of your concern, breaking your little chef heart. But when you walked into Alexandria for the first time and saw the plethora of food they had, your heart practically sung.

“What type of herbs do you have?”

“Just about everything, basil, thyme, rosemary, paprika. You name it we probably have it.”

“Where did you get all of them?” You said with a little giggle in your throat.

“Out scavenging, this area used to be a huge neighborhood so there was lots of herbs and seasonings that were left behind”

You were so excited for all of the possibilities! You could make so many different foods and you can now FINALLY show off to everyone how much you loved to cook. But there was one person who you especially wanted to impress.

He sat outside of the house cleaning his bow you and Rick’s group had decided to stay in until you could trust these new people.

You walked up to the house with a huge basket of cans, herbs, seasonings, and just whatever you could put into a meal.

“What gotcha all skipping down the street like a child?” the bowman said with his southern twang, an accent you been hearing since you joined the group back at the quarry.

“Just some herbs and seasonings”

“Whatcha gonna use tha for?”

“Uh, cooking?” You said in a questionable tone.

“Do you want me to cook you something?”

“Nah, you don’ gotta do tha. Whatcha gonna make with all of those anyway?”

“I have lots of ideas on what to make, you know it’s been a while since I cooked, maybe you could come inside and taste everything?”

Daryl gave it a second of thought, but in his normal gruff voice “Fine, but you gotta cook what I ask for”

“Okay!”

Ever since you first met Daryl and the quarry you always thought he was a hard working man. Always went out and got food. He was a survivor, a man the world couldn’t take down no matter what it threw to him.

When he saved you after the walkers invaded the camp, you began to not just think he was a cool guy but also to have a sense of respect for him.

“What do you want me to cook you?”

“Well, I got this squirrel that I plan of skinning, be nice to do somethin with it.”

And that got you thinking. “Maybe we could do a stew, or a baked squirrel, or maybe-“ “Woah, calm down ther’ just make a stew that’ll be simple enough all righ’?”

“Okay, a stew. Hmm.” You go inside the house and walk to the kitchen placing down the basket, and you start looking at the seasonings, and vegetables in your basket. You pick out the cucumber, carrots, squash, flour, and eggs “How many squirrels do you have?”

“I got five”

“Okay, I can make a broth from the squirrels and make a minestrone soup”

“The hell is a minestrone soup?” “It’s a soup from Italy, filled with vegetables.”

“Well okay, tell me when it done”

You gave him a big smile and turned around to get started on this soup, you had Daryl skin the squirrels for you, you baked the squirrel and toon of the meat, then placed the meat in a bag and put it in the fridge for the stew. You then got the bones and some meat from the squirrel, put it in a pot filled with garlic, carrots, onions, and you put it to the top of the got with water. Then you let it cook on the stove top for HOURS.

The next day you strained the broth and started on the soup. You chopped up the vegetables and you made the pasta. Using the flour and eggs you used 3 parts flour, and 2 parts egg. You than mixed with your hands and used a rolling pin to flatten it out. Daryl than came up to you to check what you were doing “Why ya just now startin tha?” “I had to make the broth, that took all night.”

“Ya didn’t have to do tha it justa soup I woulda had you make me somethin else if I knew it would take that long.”

“Don’t be an ass Daryl I’m doing this because I care.”

“But why do you care, why do ya care about the way food tastes n all tha, it jus ment for ya to survive.”

“I know, but mankind invented art, and I believe cooking is an art. You deserve some good food after everything you do, just let me show that I care.”

“Fine, just stop being philosophical.”

“That a big word even for you Mr. Dixon.” You joked.

He just scoffed and walked away. ‘Finally some peace to myself’ you thought. You loved that man you do but sometimes he can just get in your nerves. But you know he’s an ass out of love.

One hour later, the soup is finally now just simmering in the pot. You decided it would be a good idea to make a cake because you think Daryl might appreciate it for taking so long to cook the soup.

You ran down to the little ‘Grocery store’ they had down the street and picked up some sugar, butter, and vanilla flavoring.

You devoted to them start on the cake, also making your own butter crème frosting. After two hours, everything was perfect.

You decided to set up the table and piped open a glass of red wine.

“Daryl ! Dinners ready!”

Daryl walked slowly into the house to see you dressed in a beautiful floral summer dress and some fake pearl earrings from the mall back when you were in the quarry.

“Wha’ with all this?” He asked not knowing how to react. All he knew was this beautiful woman whom he adored had made him a meal that smelled sweeter than anything else.

“I thought you would enjoy it, so I decided to get some wine, and the nicest bowl I could find”

“Well, tha’ sweet of ya, wish I dressed up a bit more now.”

Daryl was wearing what he usually does, his t-shirt with his beautiful arms showing, with his angel wing vest and his cargo pants with boots.

“You look just fine Daryl, not like we have many clothes anyway.”

Daryl silently agreed and sat down

You served him the soup with a slice of buttered Italian bread and a glass of wine.

You sat yourself across from him and Daryl instantly started to eat.

“Oh wow-“ Daryl’s face looked as if he had never eaten before.

“This the best soup I ever had”

“Are you messing with me?” Daryl had never really given many compliments to anybody, so him saying so ment a lot.

“I’m serious, the carrots are nice, ion think I ever had squash before so that new.”

“Aw well thank you Daryl”

“Nah thank you, so tell me sunshine” and nickname he had given to you that just made your heart flutter.

“Why is cooking so important to ya?”

“I think it just the feeling that, I can make people happy, that I could make them something and they would enjoy it.”

“Mm” he replied nodding.

After dinner you and Daryl had a slice of the cake you had decided to bake last minute, he also said that the cake was and I quote “Fucking amazing”.

You two decided to hang out and talk while you both cleaned up the kitchen.

“Hey Daryl.”

“Ya what’s up sunshine?”

“Do you think I could cook for you more often? I mean I hope you liked it”

“Woman, I loved your cooking, imma be coming over every nigh’ now.”

You were so happy to hear that, Daryl actually loved your cooking. You felt so happy you couldn’t hold back your smile, making your face a bit red.

Daryl smiled and continued wiping down the table.

After that you decided to go to bed, Daryl had decided to as well, but he slept downstairs still.

You kissed him a goodnight kiss on his cheek and walked up stairs. Thinking about the day, Daryl fell asleep with a smile on his face excited for what tomorrow will bring.

.

.

.

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THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!!!!! So sorry if it shitty but thank you all for reading my first x reader on this app 🤧 ❤️

[plausible-possible-perhaps]

can I say. can I say. we are all talking about the ending with Eve because of how much it shows Oz' oedipus complex but him? as a white man ? who has capital and political power? forcibly (cause she got no real choice here) casting Eve, a black woman, in the role of a mother figure? as a completely depersoned vehicle for him to project onto, as a mommy-caretaker for his emotional needs who has to tell him she loves him and is proud of him so she doesn't risk him using his power and status as a white man to hurt her and the marginalised community she's part of? chills. genuinely messed up

Hi, Anon! I really thought Eve was going to somehow make it out, and one thing I've noticed is how Oz often gives his female counterparts a fate worse than death. Francis is now forever stuck with her psychotic son, unable to move or speak (as he also broke his promise to prevent that). Sofia would much rather have died than be sent back to Arkham, but Oz used her as a scapegoat and put her in her own personal he'll. And now Eve, a woman who was basically betrayed by the man she thought she could trust, is essentially being forced into this demented role-play.

It's important to remember how Eve was fully prepared to die for her girls when Sofia visited her apartment. So when she realized Oz enabled their murders, Eve didn't mind selling him out. She is completely sound-of-mind and knows what dangers linger as Oz lives, but she's given no choice but to put on a facade and pretend like she doesn't know anything, pretend that she's his mother and proud of him. So yes, as Selina said in the first movie, the powerful white men of Gotham only care for their own. Oz, despite the sweet way he talks and how he makes it out like he advocates for the discarded, doesn't care about anyone but himself. I think he could know Eve fears/hates him, but as long as she "stays in line," he'll keep her around-- but there is never a doubt that when he's threatened, Oz won't hesitate to throw Eve out to the wolves, just as he did with his own crew, Sofia, and Vic.

He's such a despicable character; he's a rat, a cheat, every name in the book. He lies to others in an attempt to keep up his "man of the people" delusion. He uses all three persuasive techniques, but none of them are true. There is a sliver of myself that wants to believe that Eve is somehow in contact with Selina, and that she won't have to stay hostage forever; hence Sofia's smile while reading the letter, knowing that Oz will never be safe, but I don't know.

ALSO ALSO! I keep hearing about the "Eve is Clayface" theory! Basically, Eve Karlo is the equivalent to Basil Karlo (the original Clayface), and Sofia's comment on which "face" Eve will wear at a given time is quite...interesting. I'm not sure if I believe it, per say, but if it means that another rogue is going to have it out for Oz, I support it!

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[lennsart]

Hello all, remember that one time I lost my mind over a very badly translated french Zelda Encyclopedia ?

Remember how I said there'd be a part 2 ?

Did you think I had forgotten about it ?

Well you're right. I very much did.

But I remembered now, and I am not done screaming. This book personally insulted me, alright ? It pretended to be a useful tool to feed my obsession and was actually only pain.

And fun, I had to admit. Turns out that correcting it with my sister has been perfect enrichement for insane Zelda fans. We sighed a lot and shouted even more.

(But honestly, it's a bit sad how bad the book is. Like, were the translators so rushed that they made it with a bad internet translator and didn't double check ? Or did they just cared so little ?

Ok, my funnier theory is that they paired one guy who was lazy and knew fuck all about LoZ and one guy who was decent at their job... And only let the first guy do the final proofread.)

But anyways, case in point, here are my evidences !

And if you thought last post was long, wait 'til you see how I realized I don't have a 10 pictures limit on computer :]

Firstly, a thing that made me laugh as I saw the pictures I gathered for this very serious case is the clear gradual lack of respect me and my... Research Partner had for the book :

There's a "sticky notes" era, a "pencils 'cause we aren't gonna waste so many sticky notes at worst we'll erase" era, and a "we don't give a fuck anymore get the markers out" era.

Last time I divided the mistakes in three categories, "Lore mistakes", "Translation mistakes" and the dreaded "What the fuck mistakes". They are... Inegal, to say the least, but let's keep this system !

Translation Mistakes

And I mean it in the sense that "the french translation have different names and stuff than the english one and this book ignores them", not in just general translation... Because if you go that way, this entire book is a translation mistake !

But here we go :

Little details, but they left "Koroks" written this way when the french version is "Korogus", they left "Impar" (the character from Twilight princess) when in french her name is, well, Impa, they left "Mia" for the name of the remlit when it's "Miou"...

As you'll see along the way, my research partner got very mad at the book and wrote a lot of funny comments. Here you can see that next to where the book says that the river zoras "become violent", she wrote "not all zora" in all caps, which I find hilarious.

And she's right ! Don't badmouth Echoes of Wisdom Dradd, he's a cool dude !

Here, the book pretends that the kikwis all have sort of teas as their name. English reader, I hear you get offended : "The book is right !"

NOT IN FRENCH IT'S NOT ! Here, kikwis have herbs inspired names, not tea.

Well, I was going to make a joke about "DO YOU REALLY WANT TO DRINK PARSLEY OR BASIL TEA ?" but apparently they exist, so. My bad. Can we still agree that these are not types of tea ? There's tea with parsley, but the parsley is not the tea, right ?

(Just for fun, our kikwis are named : Basil (for basil, shocker I know), Jasmi (for jasmine), Pirsel (for "persil", parsley), Romar (for "romarin", rosemary) and Lorion (probably for "laurier", bay leaf. This one is less obvious so I'm not sure)

So here it's a little worse than the other times because in the text, they used the literal translation of "The Imprisoned" from Skyward Sword, except in the title they used the correct french name, "the banished".

They really said : Here's a description of le Banni ! He's called le Prisonnier.

WHY

Ok so this one is a little funny to me, bear with me alright ?

In Phantom Hourglass, one type of enemies are the Phantoms in the Ocean King temple, right ? Well, Phantom in french (literally AND in Zelda, wonderful) is Spectre.

Alright ? So what do the book say about Phantoms ? That they are Fantômes. Fantôme is a word that is phonetically the exact same as Phantom, see ? But it means ghost. Not phantom.

(I mean, they're synonyms, you know ? So phantom kinda means ghost and fantôme kinda means spectre, but It Is Not The Translation in the game so it makes it worse)

Actually, it was funny, but as I explains it it makes me a little mad. It was one google search away...

URGH and it's just the same thing again, yes technically the literal translation for "Triforce of Power" would be "Triforce de la puissance", but is it what it is in french ? NO, IT'S TRIFORCE DE LA FORCE (strength). I was alright with random characters name getting mispelled, but FUCK THIS ENCYCLOPEDIA, THIS ONE IS LITERALLY IN MULTIPLE GAMES LIKE EVEN IF YOU DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT LOZ YOU KNOW THAT AT LEAST

All of these are details, but damn Zelda Encyclopedia, I know I'm insane about these games so maybe it's not that deep, but you're writing for the french fans, THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS WRITE THE FRENCH VERSION OF THINGS

Whew, ok, this is starting to annoy me I feel, so let's change subject, why not ? Here are the :

Lore Mistakes

There are not a lot of them, but they made me gesture widely at the book trying to form a sentence that, if I had managed, would probably have been "Where the fuck did they get that from ?"

Which means that there's a possibility that it's right, but seeing this bitch's track record, I'm going to assume it's not.

Here are pictures of Kokiris, what is the description ?

"Since they're the Hylians' descendants, they look a lot like them."

Since

WHEN ?

Like, genuinely, help me there. Am I the problem ? Are the kokiris supposed to be descended from the Hylians ? And if they are, where is it cited ? I literally almost completed Ocarina of Time for the second time and cannot remember it being hinted at anywhere. Like yeah, they look alike, but aren't kokiris separate forest spirits ???

The tone of the book also annoy me, like "since they're hylians' descendants", as if it was common sense. SIR I PLAY THESE GAMES SINCE I'M OLD ENOUGH TO HOLD A CONTROLLER WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR INFO FROM

It's making me question whether I'm stupid or if it's just bullshitting me right now !

This one is a graph about the different worlds in LoZ. My problem here is that... Well, firstly, my problem is that there is the Sky and the Skies, but I guess that this is like... TP Sky and SS Sky, maybe ?

The real problem is that between these two categories they put "Minish World".

Minish World ? You mean, like, Hyrule ?

...Ok, I'm jesting, they probably mean Cloud Tops and the Wind Tribe. But in that case... Say that ? They make it sound like all the Minish live in the sky ! Precisely between two versions of the sky !

Are minish angels...? No, better question. ARE MINISH OOCCA ??

This one annoys me greatly for several reasons, but I'm going to be so so brave about it :

As you can see, it's a representation of the LoZ Timeline, with two games highlighted : Link's Awakening and Phantom Hourglass. It's because this is talking about when Link goes in adventures in parallel worlds.

So firstly, fuck Majora's Mask, right ?

And then, the thing I have underlined is saying that those events happened in "both case after Ganon was slayed".

See how they say Ganon and not Ganondorf. See it, 'cause I'm not going to make any comment about it because it's nOT THAT IMPORTANT

Quick reminder : Ganondorf got defeated but Hyrule was left destroyed in Wind Waker (third branch of the timeline). Ganondorf's plans were foiled before he had time to do anything in Majora's Mask (second branch of the timeline).

You know where Ganondorf didn't get defeated ?? IN THE FIRST BRANCH OF THE TIMELINE. THE ONE WHERE LINK'S AWAKENING IS.

Really, why go out of your way to say that if it's Not Fucking Correct ? This book wakes up some kind of ancient wrath in me that should only belong to children whose snack got confiscated in school !

Ok, as I said earlier, there aren't many lore mistakes, but that's good because they are the ones that makes me question my sanity the most. Let's go to the category you're probably waiting for :

What the fuck mistakes

Starting with a tame one, but :

This book is incapable of saying the word "regent". It is literally saying, for both Hilda and Midna, that these "princesses" are the "queens" of their kingdom.

No they're not, they're princesses, you just said so, IT'S NOT THE SAME GODDAMN TITLE !!

So this one almost made it to the translation mistakes, but it's in the 'what the fuck' ones simply because it's so poorly translated that I'm not even sure what they originally meant.

It's talking about Spirit Tracks' Tower of Spirit, and you can read "Sparkling trains are activated thanks to the gathered energy."

Excuse me,

Sparkling Trains ?

My guess is that they're talking about the tracks, but even then, they're not called "sparkling" ? And if they're really talking about the tracks, they're then talking about the Spirit Tracks. You know, the ones the game is named about ?

Then, a question : WHERE THE FUCK DID "SPARKLING" CAME FROM.

In the same style, but this time I simply hated it too much to put it in Translation Mistakes : Remember the Fused Shadows in Twilight Princess ? Well in french, they're called Shadow Shards.

What do they call it here ? "Melted Shadows". Not fused, not shards, I'm losing my fucking mind

As I have written on my sticky note, this one is a very disrespectful one. Ciela, the fairy from Phantom Hourglass, has the same name in french and in english, but somehow they still managed to write "Chiela".

Why is it so disrespectful ? BECAUSE IT SOUNDS LIKE "SHIT" IN FRENCH. SPECIFICALLY, IT SOUNDS LITERALLY LIKE THE SENTENCE "SHIT HERE". CIELA IS A PRETTY NAME, DAMNIT

Actually, it annoyed me so much that I went out of my way to show that thIS BOOK KNOWS HER NAME ! THEY DON'T HAVE ANY EXCUSES !!!

JUSTICE FOR CIELA !! FUCK YOU, FRENCH ZELDA ENCYCLOPEDIA !!!!

Honestly, it's funny to me now that these first pages had sticky notes. Ah, the good time from when I still had a slither of respect for this book...

Here, it just describes every Light Spirit from Twilight princess with animals : "goat, monkey, butterfly, snake". Firstly, they don't look exactly like animals, secondly...

Butterfly ?

I mean, Eldin has always looked like an owl to me ? Ok, the wings are vaguely butterfly-shaped, but it has a body and a face ?

Was Eldin a butterfly all along ? Am I going insane ? (ok yes I am, but reader, do you really see Eldin as a butterfly ???)

Oh ok, so now we just don't translate anything anymore. Remember how this isn't the first time this encyclopedia does that to me. You're right, why bother, I STILL HAVE TO FACT-CHECK THE BOOK ANYWAY, MIGHT AS WELL LEAVE IT AS IT WAS IN ENGLISH.

You know what else we could do ?

Leave actual mistakes in the book ! Let's forget a whole ass word in a sentence ! And why stop at random words ? Let's not proof read the title of the games ! Twillight Princess with two Ls ! What's next, MINISHIP CAP ??

(I said last time I'll never get over it, well, I didn't)

I think on my first post someone commented that the LoZ offical books weren't very accurate to begin with, and I hear that... But I still think there's a difference between accuracy and whatever the fuck this encyclopedia has going on

I spared you (and myself) some longer paragraphs that would have been harder to translate, but I swear to god it sounds like it hasn't been written by a human sometimes ! It's like they just put the whole book through a translator, and then went back to ADD some more mistakes ! I genuinely don't understand how an official product can be that bad !! It is hilarious, but also I want to bite through it sometimes.

I hope at least you enjoyed watching me lose my mind again ! It is fun to share how bad this book is, and I have to admit I had good laughs out of it. We haven't even attacked the items list yet... I'm scared ! But if I find atrocities, I'll report them here too.

(Maybe in like, 6 months, but I will !)

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

Now that I have your attention:

[jevilowo]

I have an idea for an Omari Au

Instead of being a roleswap where Mari kills Sunny, it's like. Canon divergence.

So canon happens, Mari gets mad at Sunny for screwing up the song and throwing his violin down the stairs and Sunny accidentally pushes her. BUT! She doesn't land on the violin.

Basil still took photos and is still like "omg you killed Mari quick let's do an overcomplicated plan where we pretend she hung herself" and Sunny still goes along with it. But while they're setting up the noose, Mari wakes up.

She still got a massive bang on the head, but she didn't land on the violin so it wasn't fatal. She sees Sunny and Basil carrying her but she doesn't really know whats going on so she just mumbles their names. The two boys fucking PANIC and drop her and lowkey have breakdowns over how she isn't dead and oh my god we nearly actually killed her.

They drop Mari and Sunny tells Basil to go back inside and call an ambulance while he watches Mari, who in the meantime went unconcious again. Sunny sees the noose, still swinging there and he feels nothing but guilt over what happened.

On the spur of the moment, he decides he should punish himself. After all, he nearly killed his perfect older sister who did nothing but love him unconditionally. He hates himself.

He wonders what it would have felt like for her, and before he's processed what he's doing he's stepped up on a box and put his head through the noose.

He doesn't actualy mean to kill himself, but he slips off the box and the noose does its job. Mari comes to again, and what she sees of Sunny's hanging body from her angle on the ground becomes her Something.

When Basil sees what happened, he fucking skedaddles in panic. He has no idea what to do. So he does nothing.

Eventually the ambulance arrives and takes Mari and Sunny away.

Mari spends the three years Sunny spend hiding in canon in a coma. She had dreamspace explained to her enough by Sunny, and as the last things she saw were her brother, dreamspace kind of takes over her mind.

She still plays the role she did in canon: supporting from her picnic rug while the others go on adventures. In canon, Mari tries to make Sunny forgive himself, and in this Sunny is trying to make sure Mari stays oblivious to what happened as she doesn't remember and hate him.

However, Mari wakes up in the real world after the three years and that's where things start Occuring.

I haven't actually beaten the game yet myself (my puted deleted my progress when I was in Sweethearts Castle and I haven't felt like putting in another 6 hours since) but when I do (or watch a playthrough) I can develop further.

The dream before she wakes up is the same as canon, except as it's from Mari's picnicy POV the player doesn't see much. It's kind of similar to White Space in canon, Mari just roams between a toy piano, a computer and Mewo and there's a few cutscenes where she wonders why she's confined to the Picnic. Basil disappears (she sees this in like a vision sort of thing) and then she wakes up! Gasp!

She wanders her room in the hospital for a while, picks up an oversized syringe and even heads out into the corridor, but she's stopped by a nurse and she falls unconscious again.

Mari is still stuck at the Picnic back in the dream, saying nothing and smiling while her friends and Sunny talk (yeah he gets to talk here lol) about how they're going to help Sunny surpass his fear of heights, and then she's left alone again.

In this, whenever the party aproach a canon save point, the Picnic blanket crumples up with Mari and her things inside it, and it's dragged through a tunnel of sorts before popping out at the save point.

So on her second night, she decides to use her syringe to cut through the blanket and she does. She holds onto Mewo and the basket so while the blanket rolls off, she still has the cat and the ability to save her progress.

I'm not entirely sure what goes on from this point, but it likely involves Mari going on her oen adventures in these mysterious areas below the Headspace, maybe even having Stranger join her party at some point so they help each other figure out what's going on.

At the end of every night, Mari emerges from the tunnels and is found by her worried friends who take her back to the playground and she wakes up

The secon time Mari wakes up, Hero visits her in hospital where Kel did in canon, and he offers to sneak her out so she can see everyone. Really he's just desperate to talk to her again, and she isn't saying anything now and he thinks going outside may help. I'm thinking maybe he started interning at the hospital over the summer if he still was forced to go to medical school, and so knows how to sneak her in and out.

Like I said, not sure what happens from here but Basil feels even more guilty from contributing both to a death and a serious accident, Aubrey hasn't dyed her hair yet (she's waiting for Mari to wake up first) and Mari still doesn't say anything. She's amnesiac to be fair, and only remembers who Hero is from her dreams.

This whole au thing was inspired by me thinking about Mari as a character. We barely know anything about her other than that she was the perfect sister/girlfriend/mother figure to everyone. Maybe that's why she was a perfectionist. She was seen to be so perfect all the time and felt pressured to act that way.

Sunny's entire life revolved around her, they always spent time together and she's the reason he had friends in the first place. But what if Mari wasn't 100% fine with this? She loved her brother, sure, but maybe she just wanted something that was just hers. Not her boyfriend's, not Aubrey, Basil or Kel's and not even Sunny's.

Thus, the piano, and subsequently the recital. She got to be on her own for five minutes every day doing something she enjoyed (...to an extent, she got very frustrated when she fucked up) while her parents were forced to actually pay attention to Sunny for a while.

It's implied they were quite neglectful (didn't see Sunny drowning that one time, was away from the house long enough that the stairs and hanging incident went off without a hitch) and I'm sure this only added to Sunny's clingyness to Mari.

Which was why he got so upset that he couldn't spend time with her every second of every day when she started up with the piano. I'm not villainising him, obviously he was just a kid with neglectful parents, but I am saying that maybe he overreacted a little. Mari couldn't have been spending hours and hours at the piano everyday and even if she was he still had his other friends like right there, and he'd have more time with her after the recital.

So of course when he got upset and their friends started pointing it out Mari was all but obliged to include him somehow. Thus, the violin. And, perhaps, just a little resentment on Mari's end.

The violin that Sunny kept missing notes on. Mari was better at the song because she had practiced for longer, but it was easy to forget this when it kept happening. Over. And over. And over. And...

Eventually the resentment built up. Sunny was going to ruin her performance, the one she had put so much effort into practicing. Was he even trying?!

And so they argued, the violin was thrown, Mari shoved Sunny and he shoved back and–

We all know what happened.

So yeah the au idea came from my long long train of thought. Hope this ramble makes sense lol.

Oh yeah I'm thinking I might call this au like Kyojakuna (infirm), Konsui jōtai (comatose) Yowai (fragile, frail) or some variant bc Mari isn't a Hikikomori she's literally just stuck in hospital lol.

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 15: WEDDING NIGHT Basil Hawkins 𝘹 F! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: @lady-winter13 ➡ Sorry I completely forgot to add the gender so let’s try again! 🙈 Could I please ask for kinktober 15. wedding night 🤍 with basil Hawkins from one piece? With female she/her. Thank you a sorry! 💗 tw: mdni. very romantic sex after the wedding. oral. penetration. mentions of pregnancy. wc: 924 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Long locks grazing your face, there was nothing but him and you that night… Both have said “yes, I do”. Both have decided to start a new journey, piracy would not suffice by itself if there wasn’t a person with whom share the One Piece with. The wedding had been amazing. You all drunk, partied, ate, and had fun.

Hawkins slowly peeled you off your white dress, with delicacy and love. Something like a wedding dress should be kept safe, but your skin is what mattered to him the most.

His permanent serious frown had been replaced by soften eyes, adoring, praising, your special lingerie. The finest white lace, a sexy second skin Basil is dying to rip too.

A sweet love, but still so passionate you couldn’t wait no more. His lips reached for yours, impertinently. And melted in one lustful kiss, you slowly walked back until your shins hit the bed.

Him and you fell to the mattress, where rose petals abounded. Your husband took your arms over your head, kissing after your exposed neck. In a delicate motion, he also plastered the pleasing pain of little bites.

“I love you, my wife…” he murmured, tickling your chest with his blonde wavy locks. “I love you, my husband…” you purred, caressing his cheek with loving and protective touch.

Though having made love uncountable times, that time felt absolutely different. The ring adorning your fingers shone the brightest with the warm dancing lights of a thousand candles in that room. And the sound of the waves crashing on the shore so close to your love nest mixed perfectly well with desperate panting.

Hawkins kisses travelled the mountains of your breasts and the holly valley in between them. Down, down he reached your belly button where he stayed long enough to whispers how much he was dreaming of listening to a new heartbeat inside you.

“Soon, my love…” you murmured, trying to hold tears. It wasn’t necessarily urgent nor a reality, but how could speak louder about his love than wanting to bring new life with you?

The magician that enchanted your heart, with whom he only could let his guard down, kept lowering his kisses until your mound of Venus… he made you tremble with just breathing closely to your sex.

Slow pecks over the lace of your panties, that soon turned more and more see through… your wetness was taking over all of it. But as much as he loved how the lingerie looked on your beloved anatomy, he still preferred the natural taste of your skin.

Taking all of his time, Basil pulled your coverings down. Slowly, enjoying the graze of his hands from your hip bones to the bridge of your feet, he undressed you completely.

A kiss in your inner thigh, a bite then. You flinched, smiling. A kiss on your entrance, then the tip of his tongue on your labia. You moaned, louder this time. And from the tip to his whole mouth, devouring you so deliciously, with taste buds rejoicing on the ambrosial taste of your intimacy.

Your hands reached for his hair, grabbing a fist full of it and pulling it along with your arching back, the more he indulge in your sex.

Several times you whined his name loudly and so lustfully, and perhaps bad words you couldn’t quite remember abandoned your lips too.

Basil, whose heart he could swear was about to jump from his chest, smiled the more you quivered and tried to close your legs trapping his face in between them. If the chances of surviving to such deadly pleasure, were no more than 1%, he would have taken them without a doubt.

And the closer you were getting to climax, the more you pleaded for him to kiss your lips. You wanted him, once and for all, inside you. So deep, and for the rest of the night…

“Come here, come here please” you begged.

Basil stopped; he couldn’t say no to his magical wife’s desires.

“But my love… you haven’t finished, yet” he murmured, still touching your sex but crawling on top of you.

“I only want to finish if I have you inside of me tonight, Basil…” you said, causing that man to shake. None of his predictions could have told him how magical your wedding night had turned…

He sighed, in pure need, in pure desire. And your toes helped his black trousers to slide down his legs. Your hands, to unbutton his ruffled white shirt.

Many were the scars his battles had left on his chest, and you loved each and every single one of them. And while you waited for him to finally bury in you, you traced those scars with the tip of your index finger.

He got greedy, though, and didn’t immediately penetrate you. He played with the wetness of your femininity, mixing the sprouting honeys one with the other’s.

You were burning; he was already moaning without even going deep into you. And your heels carved on the small of his back, because you couldn’t wait no more.

“Please…” “Yes, my magic star…”

Slowly, steadily, securely, and lovingly, he let himself slide in. Both moaning at the first sensation of the intrusion. Your walls spasming, milking, getting tight around him. Him throbbing, getting harder, pushing against the pressure of your womb.

And maybe, just maybe and for the first time… his eyes filled with tears, of joy, of love… because that night had been the first of the rest of your lives living them as one… 💖

taglist: @stephisokay @henriooo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @fushiguroshotwife 💖🙆‍♀️

[thepublishingpress]

A Civil Conversation

(Alt. title: Midnight Talks)

Zuko was feeling rather proud of himself. He had done it. He had managed to convince the Avatar to let Zuko teach him firebending. They had given Zuko a chance. Zuko absently poked at the fire with a stick. Though, not everything was ‘sunshines and rainbows’, as his mother would put it. He shuddered when he remembered the Southern Water Tribe girl’s threat. 

Hm. Perhaps betraying her was not the best idea.

He’s broken out of his thoughts when he hears footsteps. Zuko tenses; he’s ready to defend himself if Katara has come to deliver on her threat. 

“Um… Hi?”

Definitely not waterbender girl. “Hi.” Zuko narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. “Are you coming to make threats at me?”

Water Tribe boy chuckled. “Nah. I think my sister’s already taken care of that, don’t you think?”

“How…?”

“I saw her walking out of your room with a grin, and when I asked her what she did, she said the whole story. So, no, I’m not gonna bother you with threats of extreme bodily harm.”

“Um. Thanks…?” Zuko said hesitantly. The boy gave a shrug in response. “May I ask why you have come to visit me?”

“Wow, so formal,” The non-bender snorted, “I just wanted to ask you some things, since, you know, I didn’t have much time before.”

“Alright,” Zuko said, nodding, “Ask away.”

The other boy plopped down beside Zuko. “You’re the Blue Spirit?”

“I-uh…” Zuko blinked in surprise. Out of all the questions the non-bender could’ve asked, Zuko was not expecting this. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Oh! Cool!” Exclaimed the younger boy. “We’ve seen the Blue Spirit in posters and whispers around Fire Nation towns, you know.”

Zuko bowed his head. “Thanks, I guess, but how did you know?”

“Aang told us.”

The Avatar. His name was Aang. Zuko filed away the 12 year old’s name for later use. “Oh. I see.”

“So…” The boy in blue swung his feet like a child. “If it’s, um, not too personal, why’d you leave?”

“I…” Zuko paused, thinking about his answer. “Something felt wrong, I suppose. There was something missing that I knew the palace, my home could not provide. I felt discontent. But now…” Zuko trailed off.

“Now…?” Water Tribe boy pressed, curious.

“I feel more complete.”

The fifteen year old boy smiled. “Good for you, then.”

“Thanks.”

“So!” The non-bender said, clapping his hands together. “About you joining the team…”

“I won’t betray you, I promise,” Zuko blurted, “I know I betrayed you before, but I was unstable, but now–”

“Ah, ah, ah,”  The blue eyed boy shushed him, “It’s not about that. I think we can trust you, for the most part. What I am saying, though, is that if you are to join this group, you need to know about the members, hmm?”

“Oh. Right.”

The boy beside Zuko offered him a grin. “Let’s start with me! You know I’m from the Southern Water Tribe, and I’m fifteen!”

“You’re a year younger than me.” Zuko noted.

“Mhm!” The boy continued chattering, talking about his life in the Southern Water Tribe. Zuko eventually relaxed and they fell into a conversation, comparing each others lives, searching for similarities to bond over.

Finally, the Water Tribe boy glanced at the sky. “I should go to bed now…” He said quietly. He smiled. “It was nice talking to you, Zuko.”

“You too, um…” Zuko mentally smacked himself for not asking for the boy’s name. He had always called the members of the Avatar's group certain names in his head, such as Waterbender, The Avatar, Blind Earthbender, and Boomerang Boy. Said boy, however, laughed it off.

“Sokka,” He told Zuko, “It’s Sokka.”

“Good night, Sokka.” 

“Good night, Zuko.”

Yes, joining Avatar Aang's group was a wonderful idea. 

~*~

lol happy (early?) new year everyone!! finally got out of my writer's block and artist's block (if that's a thing ofc) just in time hehe hope you have a great 2024! <3 - basil dela cruz

(P.S: i love the idea that zuko has no idea what the gaang's real names are, so he made up nicknames. it's so silly and i simply adore it <3333)