#i love dogs and i love the way that people love dogs

[alllgator-blood]

FINISHED THAT ONE COMIC I POSTED ABOUT ALMOST 30 FULL DAYS AGO?? I FINALLY REMEMBERED IT EXISTED AND FINISHED IT. I HAVE SO MUCH I WANT TO SAY ABOUT MY LAMB NOW THAT THEY'RE FINALLY THE MAIN CHARACTER IN A LONG COMIC, BUT it went on forever so I put it below the cut.

While we're above the cut, I have a bunch of REALLy good asks I'll be trying to draw for soon. But keep an eye out for a poll coming up soon...cause now that this is out of the way, I want another big project to have in the background and I have Big Ideas for Big Angst Comics........

OH YOU CLICKED THE THING, NICE. OKAY. SO:

Have I ever talked about how my lamb works?? I need to do more with them but I'm a bishop enjoyer to an obsessive degree. The lamb operates on the same kind of level as kallamar did during the breakdown comic, but on a more permanent, more stable level. After being told to hide for their whole life, to never show their face and not even being given a name......being beheaded by four gods and recruited by a fifth forgotten one who claims they're the Chosen One just made the lamb think "OH! None of this is real. My brain wanted me to feel important before I died, and this is my dying vision. Okay, I'll play along >:)" and now they're the equivalent of when you beat a game and replay it while picking the funniest/worst options to see what'd happen.

USUALLY their decisions are clouded by the assumption that nothing they do actually matters, but they're still......a person who held things dear and had standards while they were alive. So they love hijinx, but aren't like leshy who launches people out of catapults for fun, or kallamar who sees mortals more as lab rats than people living their own lives. They'll do some things for the lolz but their humanity definitely shows through when dealing with someone like shamura.

I think they went into the bishop slaying quest wanting to hate shamura, assuming they were an irredeemable antagonist that deserved to be vanquished. They were told by narinder that shamura was the big bad, so they figured there was nothing to it beyond that. But then they actually MET shamura, who wasn't at all what they were expected to be. Every other bishop is just like "RAHH I'LL KILL YOU" when you meet them, and then shamura is the only person who actually tells you about what happened, speaks to you like a person and not an obstacle, and doesn't seem bothered about the fact they're going to die. So that got them thinking....hmm...perhaps these people are slightly more realistic than I anticipated. Still gonna kill them tho

I'm not sure the lamb hates the bishops, especially after the realization that they're a fucked up family acting out in desperation rather than logic. When you're born into circumstances you know will eventually doom you (like being a sacrificial lamb destined for slaughter) you kinda...lose the ability to care after a while. They don't really *forgive* the bishops for the slaughter of their people, and definitely enjoy bullying them and kicking them around now that they're powerless mortals- but the initial horror of being born to die has subsided. Now that they're presumably in some kind of afterlife, and have better, more fun things to move onto now that they're the ruler of everything- it's not worth it to hate those five forever.

I think *because* the lamb has only been a god very briefly and still remembers mortality well, that's why they're the one god who does things "because they're funny" but also is respectful of people like shamura. It's like when you're playing GTA V and you accidentally drive over a dog while trying to pull over and look at it closer. Is it a real dog?? No but you're still gonna feel bad!! So like I said, in the lamb's mind they have NO reason to care about any of these people or show them mercy, but the fact that they're not as detached from mortality as the bishops were makes them a benevolent god. I'll be doing a comic about this very subject in the future and it WILL be depressing >:)

Also. Unrelated. But if you read this far, I feel the need to justify why heket and leshy suddenly have boobs in this comic. I'm sure it's obvious that I headcanon the gods don't have sex characteristics cause like...why would they need those. I don't want to draw that. But as MORTALS they would probably need to have all their organs intact to function properly, so pour one out for shamura + leshy who probably completely forgot they were transgender until they woke up in mortal bodies. NOT SURE HOW KALLAMAR WOULD REACT, I think they're more just horrified they lost all their tentacles

I debated doing another silly comic about the concept but I don't want this blog to get too raunchy, so instead have this epic ms paint art (I CAN MAKE THESE JOKES, I'M AFAB TRANS I DESERVE THIS ONE THING)

[goldenhallas]

1: Where in Thedas is your Rook from?

Her clan primarily roamed the forests of Ferelden

2: What is your character's alignment?

Chaotic Good, sometimes leaning a bit too much into the chaotic side

3: Race and subclass?

Dalish Elf, Veil Ranger

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

In the Veil Jumper camp, hanging out with Amelia and the other woman who's always with her. I like to think those three are good friends who love to gossip with each other.

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

Purple. She's a mischievous one.

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

Bellara. They're kindred spirits. They're so alike in so many ways - they're both very curious and excitable, they both have ADHD and trouble sitting still, and they both write to focus their minds. They also both have a little brother that they lost and dearly miss.

7: Romantically close with?

Davrin <3<3<3 she likes him from the moment she sets eyes on him, flirts with him a lot, and falls for him hard and fast and with all her heart. They have a lot in common when it comes to their adventurous spirits and the way Dalish clan life was never enough for them. And their senses of humour compliment each other, they have the best banter and love to tease each other.

8: Who are they suspicious of?

Lucanis, initially. He is an assassin, after all. Their friendship is the slowest to develop, especially once she chooses Minrathous over Treviso. They do eventually come to trust each other and become friends though. Ise has a fondness for Spite too. She thinks of him like a cute but naughty dog who likes to nip.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

Kinda sorta not exactly? Haha. She adores the Veil Jumpers and they adore her, but they're like a dysfunctional family. She's a chaos gremlin always getting into (and often outright causing) trouble, so Strife is perpetually cross with her, but part of that is because he's scared he'll lose her to one of her shenanigans someday. Their relationship is like… misbehaving kid and exasperated dad

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

She plays the elven lute decently well – a guy she dated for a while taught her how. She also loves to sing but is terrible at it.

11: Weapon of choice?

Bow and arrows

12: What is their orientation?

Straight. Loves men A LOT. Dates a lot because she's a hopeless romantic and wants to find the one - and she does, in Davrin :')

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

She likes being in the thick of battle. It gives her a rush. She enjoys killing monsters and demons, but with people it's more complicated.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

She knits! It's a focusing, calming thing for her. She knits a sweater for every single party member with the letter of their first name on them - including Assan and Manfred of course! And Lucanis’ says ‘L & S’.

She also likes to write fiction, mostly adventure and romance stories.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

She ADORES Antoine and Evka. They're instant besties. She also loves Strife despite their difficulties. Irelin and Amelia are dear friends. She doesn't like the First Warden much. Hates the Mayor of D'Metas crossing and leaves him to die (regrets it later because of what he turns into though)

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

Halla. She knits a lot of halla plushies in all different colours. Once she meets Assan she falls in love with him instantly and starts knitting griffon plushies too.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

She loves it. It's the only life for her. She gets restless if she's not on the move, seeing and doing new things.

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

Probably wandering the forest, stewing about Strife sending her away, wondering if it's still too soon to go back yet lol. The Veil Jumpers are family, she misses them dearly when she's away.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

When Davrin goes on his calling, and Assan goes with him, it'll shatter her heart. Likely, she won't live long after that and will quite literally die of a broken heart.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

Well... Solas’ arrogance pisses her off and she likes to poke and prod him, but she can't help seeing flashes of good in him. She senses his pain, sees the abused spirit of Wisdom peeking through and she wants to help him. But she'll still fight that motherfucker to the death if she must, her friends and loved ones come first always. In the end, she ends up saving him and reuniting him with Ghilana Lavellan, because its the most compassionate option, and she can see how good Ghilana is for him, how he melts for her, she can feel how much they love each other. And she's a sucker for romance. She definitely writes fanfic with Bell about the Halla and the Dread Wolf after.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

Lightning Quiver

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

Common and Dalish

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

She climbs into the tree tops. She finds being above her problems helps her solve them.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

Yes, she believes in the afterlife, as the Dalish do

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

Veil Archer. She was always a talented archer even before joining the Veil Jumpers, so it was just a matter of them teaching her their techniques to enhance what she already knew

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

Red fox. That cheeky, somewhat manic look in their eyes is very Ise, as is their resourcefulness and cunning, and the bright red fur/hair of course.

But also magpies! She's very curious, obsessed with collecting shiny trinkets and baubles, and is fiercely protective of her “nest”.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

Similar to how it is now, but with less darkspawn and elven gods lol. She went on adventures, veil jumping and exploring ancient ruins and collecting artifacts and shiny things, and learning about ancient elvhen culture.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

She's the leader. Varric told her to look out for the team, and that's exactly what she'll do. She never wanted that kind of responsibility, but since it has fallen to her, she'll step up and do her best. She never does anything half assed.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

The Wardens. She likes being part of something bigger than her, where she can adventure and fight monsters.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

Appearance wise, her bright red curls. Personality wise, her fiery, compassionate heart and undying optimism – the way she never lets the cruelty of the world make her bitter or cruel and always has a crazy plan to get out of any situation. Her lust for life. The way she's so full of love and wears her heart on her sleeve.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[with-my-calamitous-love]

romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours

chuuya nakahara x reader

more chuuya boyfriend thoughts, i love him. for the yail series, and something chuuya lovers can munch on while i work on the rockstar chuuya series

inspired by paris

chuuya nakahara, who many people think they know. a soulless, port mafia executive, a force to be reckoned with, a monster. who, with all his connections, hears many things about many different people: meeting, kissing, dying, everything between birth, rebirth, and death. who, suddenly, is too busy with you. did he see the photos? no, but thanks, though.

chuuya nakahara, who is so in love he might stop breathing. who is truly a romantic lover- roses, cards, gifts, absolutely spoiling you. who does have exes, and who knows people know- but who doesn't have it in him to care when it's with you. who makes cheap wine feel like champagne. who makes a few kisses feel like forever.

chuuya nakahara, who is a short-tempered, raging dog at anyone who stares at him the wrong way. who is a soft, loving teddy bear with you- it gives you whiplash. who orders his men to look after you when he's away on trips, but making sure they never cross the line to make you uncomfortable. who has photos of you all over his office, tangible evidence of his love.

chuuya nakahara, who finds that balance between showing you off and keeping you to himself. who holds your hand in public, takes you on fancy dates, and books the top floor of a hotel room so he can see the city lights reflect off your eyes. who is just as romantic cooking you dinner at home, dancing barefoot in the kitchen, listening to your laundry spin and floorboards creek. who will show you off when you want him too. who can just as easily put a privacy sign on the whole world, and stop time so its just you two, together.

chuuya nakahara, who is a manipulator of gravity, both literally and figuratively. whose touch makes you feel like you're flying, levitating above all those messes and all the pain in your life. who many would characterize as a player, but who is actually so, so loyal. who would open a vein in his arm for your happiness. who will not stop loving you, even if his heart gave out.

chuuya nakahara, who sometimes can't heave his heart into his mouth. who is so, so in love with you he can't find the words. who confesses his truth in swooping, sloping cursive letters, leaving you tokens of his love to carry with you everywhere. who has so much of you all over him, even when you aren't around. who wears your sweaters, your initials around his neck and your kisses on his chest. who sometimes takes your things when he's leaving for a work trip.

"chuuya, did you take my underwear?"

"no....?"

"CHUUYA?!"

"IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE YOU'RE AROUND!"

chuuya nakahara, who is so, so intimate. who makes you feel like your body is on fire, leaving no part of you untouched. who is so gentle one second, worshipping you with endless pleasure. who is rough the next, flipping you over and making it so that you can't walk for a month. who whispers filthy lines and praises in your ear, even when you can't form sentences. "s’en sortir si bien pour moi, n’est-ce pas ? tu vas encore jouir, chérie?"

chuuya nakahara, who you wish you could brainwash into loving you forever. who you are undeniably in love with. who has a young soul, taking you out till 4 in the morning. who wants to grow old with you, holding your wrinkled hand throughout the day. who loves you like you're 17, even when you push 70. who wants the only flashing lights to be the stars as he gets down on one knee, watching your eyes fill with tears as he makes it official.

chuuya nakahara, who you would say yes to again, and again, and again. who becomes your best friend, your soulmate, your husband, and your future with one kiss. who takes you somewhere else with the touch of his hands. who takes you to paris on your 5th anniversary, letting you watch the city go up in lights at midnight. whose blue eyes can only see you.

[onlinedolly]

SAVIOR COMPLEX 2

au where leon has a pretty little captive he thinks he’s saved

cw: manipulative leon, drug use, p in mouth, slight degradation, mentions of cum, obsessive leon, i think dats it folks

an: not proof read guys don’t kill me…..also this is dark/dd:dne content if you don’t like any of the tags above mentioned please do not partake in my content. as always MDNI!

Leon in his mind, was a perfect, downright good man. He was the star of his force, helped countless people a day, and saved you. Leon had swooped down and rescued you as if you were a baby bird with a clipped wing (at least that’s how he looked at it). And since then, the past four months in his home, Leon had never been so far on cloud nine.

People at work noticed, pushing into him and laughing asking if he had a woman at home that finally got that chip off his shoulder. And Leon would laugh and retort that he had ‘something like that.’

You were the definition of perfect, doe eyed and sweet waiting for him the waltz through the door like he always did and wrap you up in a big hug. It’d been a little over a few weeks since he let you free roam the home, trusting you since the outbursts had died down due to the pills he had you on.

When Leon got home that evening you were waiting by the door per usual as you heard the multiple locks turn. He came through the door smiling when he saw your tinier frame.

“Today was rough baby, come give me a hug, hm?” He spoke, holding his arms out as you wrapped yourself around him.

“Bet it was,” You spoke back, pliant and kind as ever, “I made dinner.” Leon could smell it then, the waft of spices flowing into the entry way.

“What a good, sweet, thing.” He smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Dinner went like it usually did, with Leon filling your head with all of the gruesome details of the day. “Bet you’re glad you’re here, yeah?” He always asked after he was finished which caused you to nod your head eagerly.

You were a kind thing, he knows he says that a lot, but it’s true. Always had dinner on the table, listened to him so eagerly as he talked and winched when he told you about the death he witnessed at work. And maybe, okay, Leon stretched the truth a bit. A majority of his day was actually filled with paper work and a minor domestic case that came down to a misunderstanding, but you didn’t need to know that.

After dinner, like always, like a good girl, you open your mouth wide as Leon places the pills onto your tongue, shoving his fingers into the back of your throat slightly making you gag. You swallow them dry before looking up at him with a hazy love filled look. He grabs your face between his big hand, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your glossy lips.

“Why don’t we watch a movie, yeah? You pick tonight.” He spoke when he pulled away, running his fingers through your hair.

Like a good girl you nod eagerly pulling him upstairs into his bedroom (where you always ‘watched movies’), Leon laughing and following along.

Once up to his room you put a movie on, one Leon didn’t particularly care about, as you climb into the bed next to him, curling up. He smiles, places his hand around your hip and he pretends to listen to whatever nonsense was playing on the screen. His big hand made circles into your hip causing you to mewl under his touch.

“Missed you so much today sweet girl,” He spoke, gripping your hip a little tighter as you let out a shiver at his touch.

“Missed you,” You spoke dismissively, too intrigued on the movie in front of you.

“Sounds like you didn’t miss me too bad,” Leon spoke, referring to the way you were more inclined to watch the movie then talk to the man who saved you.

You gasp, “I missed you terribly, you gotta believe me.” You spoke out, looking up at him with glossy eyes. So well trained, he thought to himself. He loved the way you shook like a dog at the slightest inclination that Leon seemed upset.

“Why don’t you show me how much you missed me?” He spoke, pulling you closer to him by your hip. You knew what that meant, what Leon wanted when he asked that question, and before Leon could repeat himself you had his belt buckle in your hand.

“What a dirty thing,” Leon degraded, leaning back in the bed as you fumbled around with his belt. After a few moments you moved on to his pants, letting him lift himself up as you worked them down his legs. His cock sprung out, hot and angry as you immediately took it into your hands.

“Shit, not that hard baby, tryin’ to kill your old man or somethin?” He speaks running his fingers through your hair and pulling. You ease up on your touch, stroking him slowly at first until he quips an eyebrow at you causing you to pick your pace up.

“God—“ He groans, pulling harder on your hair as you wince in pain, “Feels so fucking good, baby, put your mouth on it. Don’t leave me hangin’.” He speaks out, tapping your jaw as you open your mouth and place your glossy lips around his tip. “That’s more like it, baby. *Good.*” He groans out, running his hand down your neck and back and you begin bobbing yourself up and down on his cock.

You choke a bit, still a little inexperienced, as you attempt to take his full length. Leon was big and thick, making it hard to fully take him down your throat. Leon’s a moaning mess underneath you as you bob your head up and down on his cock, hollowing your cheeks out which earns a deep groan from him.

Leon, unlike his words was a rough man, groping your tits and pulling your hair as he begins to rock his hips into your mouth, laughing a bit as you gag around his cock.

“Sweet thing, can barely take it all, hm?” He pushes further into your mouth as he says it, pushing past the ring in the back of your throat making you sob. You feel like you’re going to throw up and pass out all at once, but oh so determined you still sucked him down greedily, massaging his balls in your small soft hands.

Leon had never felt so blessed to have a thing like you as he shoves your head down, his bush tickling your nose. He was going to cum soon, you could feel it in the way his hips stuttered, his pace into your mouth quickening and becoming sloppier.

When he cums he pushes your head all the way down and you feel the liquid spurt down your throat as you choke and cry out. You’re forced to swallow like always, as Leon smushes your face down against his pelvic bone.

“That’s it baby, take it all like a good girl,” He growls out.

Once done he yanks your head up by your hair roughly and you whine as he grabs your face with a big hand, “Betcha your so glad I took you in, hm? Where else you gunna get dick like me babydoll?”

Your voice is hoarse and comes out as barely a whisper as you speak out, “N-nowhere sir.” You whine out, falling into his body in exhaustion as he lets go of your head, wrapping his big arms around you.

“I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” He whispers as he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

“The bestest.” You whisper back, falling fast asleep into Leon’s arms.

Leon was a downright, honest-to-good man, a star in his force, and the man who picked you up and saved you.

[darkdemeter]

☾ phases collection issue #6 THE NEIGHBOUR IS A WEREWOLF!

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x GN/Male/Female Neighbour!Werewolf!Reader mature 18+ — depictions and general fic about two pining neighbours, cute fluffy stuff, some sexual innuendos and undertones, a little bit of sexual themes towards the end — I think that's it? ✎ 2.5k She is the sweetest little thing you could have live right over the fence. Like a... well, dog, you'd been intrigued by her from day one and you've noticed... she has too. Little does she know, her "cute dog in the next yard" is quite literally that. A werewolf.

✎ ———

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

What would Wanda Maximoff do without you as her neighbour?

“Come on!” Wanda scoffs aloud, huffing with a drastic drop of her shoulders. “Not now… not now, please?” 

Her hands ring and strangle tightly around the circlet of her steering wheel. Face scrunched in her annoyance and ire, aware that she’s cutting it close to being late for work. 

“There a problem, Wands?” She jumps in her seat with a short gasp, blinking away the blur of mad tears. Fuck, not now. Of all people, please not you. 

Your hands rest to curl over the wound-down sill of her window, body hunched down from your taller height and only making the muscles beneath your white shirt bulge. The way they cut off in the rolled coils at your elbows, the slight give of the top’s hem hanging loose at your collarbone, causing a spread of heat to mask her cheeks. 

“Y-yeah, uh…” she looks away and down at the radio for a moment. Mindlessly and to distract herself, she plays with the buttons. “My car just suddenly shit itself and I’m going to be late for work.”

Tongue poked into your cheek, you give the hood a once over look with a sharpened appraisal. Fuck, how she could stare into your eyes for hours without growing tired. Their the most beautiful shade, sometimes catching in the light and she swears she catches this honey, amber shine in them for a second. 

“I can take you to work if you’d like,” you offer calmly with a shrug, “can fix her up for you while you're out at work.”

“O-oh, I—” Is she burning up? Wanda clears her throat, tempted to fan her face of its flush. “I’d appreciate it, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

You shrug again, cheeks pulling back into a toothy grin. She swears that with a small squint of her eyes she can make out the very faint way that your canines are a little sharper than anyone she’s ever met. Animalistically so. 

You’ve already pulled her door open and she quickly gathers her bag and gets out. Following alongside you, you lead her into your front yard and towards the open mouth of your garage. You pop open the passenger door of your car and she gets in, easing herself against the column seat of leather and doesn’t wait long until you get into the driver’s seat. It’s a very nice car, nothing too modern. A tan, light roof 1967 Chevrolet Impala with fine workings of white strips and restored wooden interiors. She can tell just how much love went into every detail.

“Alright, ready, sweetheart?” you tease with that sly grin and she nods, unable to trust in her words. 

From day one you have been a top neighbour. Welcoming and friendly, when she began to move her boxes into her new house, you were there at the truck’s side asking if she needed a helping hand. Of course, she took note of the scrap of metal sitting in your driveway that screamed for help more than her, but something about that charm you have made her accept instead. 

Eager, you began to haul in several boxes at a time, saving her at least an hour’s more work. 

She could never forget such kindness. It was scary to move somewhere completely new, heavy with doubt that she’d make any close friends so soon. Yet there you were, like a dog in the yard wagging your tail and hopeful, puppy eyes as you introduced yourself. 

From then on, you were always around in a way. Every morning when she’d make herself a cup of coffee and some breakfast, she’d see you out in your yard going about whatever it was you were doing that day. Touching up some of the broken pitches in the fence, weeding the hedges or— how she’d go bright red in seeing you in the farther corner of the backyard chopping logs of wood. 

She would quickly duck out of sight behind the floral pattern of her curtains just as you walked past, huffing, sweaty and carrying a load of wood that would take two men combined to haul. 

It was always a marvel and mystery of the things you could do, the small and sort of oddities she found. But it mattered little the moment she came home from work to find you half beneath the body of a car you were working on in your driveway, stereo turned up on full blast playing older music dated to the sixties at least. The way your stained jeans hug the muscle of your legs, knees spread to reveal the sturdy space of your lap and the junction between your legs. 

She had to think quickly and be smart in order to not get caught ogling at you when you spring out on the wheeled bed, tool in hand and hands covered darkly in car grime. How you always speak to her with that rumbly timbre edged into the vocal range of your voice, it sends tingles down her spine and shooting into her core, leaving her with a dampened spot in her panties that she has to now deal with after she shuts her front door at her heel. 

The things she would allow you to do with her if she just had the courage to ask. The things you would gladly do to her if she just gave you a chance. But there were other things that you’re better off keeping to yourself and those chores were often curated around a time when you knew she wasn’t home or when it was late and under the cover of night.

Those same tunes play quietly on the stereo ambience in the car. “You sure like this song,” she says with a short giggle. Humming and eyes flickering to hers for a second, your mouth spreads into a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah, it’s a good song. I’ve always enjoyed it.” Your days are fueled by the drone of your old music playing in the background. It keeps you calmer in the more rather… intense moments. 

“I like it.” Wanda now grins, toothy and bright and you can’t explain why, but it fills you with a sense of relief – maybe even pride - that Wanda has taken a liking. Ever since she moved in, this song has become more of a nail in the coffin for you, finally able to see her as at the edge of your own reality. 

‘Thank you, Elvis.’

Your arm reaches down and shifts the gears and speed off down the road.

Just as you promised, you worked on Wanda’s car throughout the day. Tinkering away with the engine, ensuring that the oil was done and changed and wiping your hands over and over messily with the stained rag tucked into your belt. 

“Fucking Hell, Wanda. You live next door to that? And you haven’t pounced on them yet?” Wanda feels her face grow hot, blushing with that sore pinkish colour as she attempts to hide in the high collar of her sweater. 

Her co-worker remains guilty of staring at you — or at least the lower half of you laying from underneath the car — and Wanda scolds her for drooling all over her pants. 

“I’m just saying, if you need a roommate—”

“Oh no,” Wanda quickly interjects, gathering her bag, “I will not become the proxy of a creepy, perv neighbour.”

“Wanda, please, I’m begging you! Just one night to sleep over. Huh, my car has curiously stopped working, do you think that they could uhm… see what the problem is?”

Wanda rolls her eyes with a loud sigh. “You’re so bad, and I mean that in a: ‘get home and have a cold shower’ way.”

Her co-worker shakes her head, her lips sinking inward. “Uh uh. I’m using my vibrator all night long for this one.”

Wanda’s nose scrunches but she fails to conceal her laughter. “Ew!”

She gets out of the car and begins to walk up the pavement of her driveway. She watches the allure of you roll yourself out with a finalising sigh only to find her gaze and grin widely. Those sharper fangs in full view. 

Those adoring, puppy-like eyes and the ever so slight tilt of your head. 

“Hey, Wands.” You scurry outward that bit more and stand, your towering height shadows over her and the afternoon sun paints against your back and shoulders. Your hair is mused and slick, your clothes and smears of your skin in dire need of a wash and your hands are covered to the elbow in a gradient grime.

“Hey, Y/N. Working hard?” 

You chuckle lowly and nod. You do your best to wipe yourself clear to no altering difference. But Wanda finds the charm in the way you look. It’s something she can sense about you that you enjoy a good scalp scratch. She becomes internally greedy and wishful to coddle you and perhaps have an excuse to see you wrapped in nothing but a towel around your waist and skin glowing with the shiny jewels of the dribbling shower water. 

Just as you’re about to invite Wanda to finally test out her car’s health, you pick up the rapid pace of heels clapping on the driveway and see another woman who approaches fast. “Who’s this?” you ask. Wanda, stumbling over her words, introduces her co-worker to you.

With a dip of your chin and lashes framing the unsure, almost shy quarter of your gaze ducks away and only relax when able to find Wanda. 

“H-hi, I’m having car issues of my own. Could I trouble you to take a quick look?”

One of your brows quirk up. You can smell some form of arousal on this woman and the way she looks up at you, blinking, you already put two and two together. You give a shrug on your shoulders anyhow. “Sure.”

You make your way over to the car that you know is in working order by the smell of the freshly changed oil and the tinge of the hot engine. You pop the hood open and quick as anything, you identify the problem. 

Wanda’s entire body grows cold then hot under the stare of your eyes, a little narrowed and pupils raised up to seemingly sink out of view. She thinks she catches that strange anomaly of amber gold flash in your eyes.

“What did you do?” she whispers with a quiet hiss. Her co-worker looks sinfully sheepish and holds up a small object in her hands. She answers quickly with a huff. “I took this thing out.”

Both women go still when your fingers pluck the object out from her hand, a dark smirk crossing your lips as your glare turns to look Wanda up and down, taking her in in her entirety. How did you reach them so quickly without making a single sound?

“Found the problem.”

“O-oh!” 

You adjust the stolen piece back into its proper place and push the hood down with a hard, resounding thud and slap your hand down in it, announcing your finished work. 

“She’s ready to go. An easy fix.”

Wanda has to shoo and shove her dear, embarrassed co-worker back into her driver’s seat and waves her off, watching the poor girl drive home dejected. No harm, no foul to the woman but she wasn’t the one you were interested in. There was little point in indulging in lesser affairs when the one you truly wanted stood no more than a few inches from you. 

“She’s a sweet girl, really. She just…” Wanda’s eyes shy away from yours the moment you snort, smirking down at her and she scratches at the shell of her ear. Was there really an excuse for that kind of behaviour? Maybe not, but Wanda has questioned herself once or twice after a semi mind-blowing orgasm session to her vibrator at the thought of you and why it was that you never appear to be seeing anyone, or bring a single person home for even a one night stand? Plenty of her other neighbours did. And her co-worker’s attempt to try and get her foot in the door couldn’t be blamed fully. You have this roguish appearance, intimidating yet somehow friendly. Wanda never once has had to worry about any sort of trouble such as robbers breaking in because she feels assured and protected that you’re right next door. 

Little to her knowledge, you’ve caught the odd robber trying his luck at busting the lock of her front door in the middle of the night. And there you had been, standing with a shovel in one hand, a thick and sturdy chain in the other and hidden behind the picket fence. 

All you had to do was let the wolfish glow of amber show and ask with a rumbled tone, “What’d you think you’re doing?”

And the robber high-tailed it, complexion paled in comparison to the dark attire he wore.

Your hands pat and paw at the roughened texture of your jeans. With a cock of your head, you indicate to Wanda to follow you. “Come on. Let’s see if my day’s work paid off.”

Giddy and cheeks finally cooling down, Wanda joins you and she slides in. She puts her keys into the ignition and turns it, the car’s engine purrs to life with a steady rumble and she giggles aloud, hands clapping together.

“Shit, that sounds better than before.”

You lean down until your face appears in the window. “Glad to hear it.”

“How can I repay you?” The question leaves over the plump of her lips before she could even register it. 

Would it be wrong to use this as your chance? Your brows line into a considering furrow, lips twisting into a pursed form before you respond. “How about a date tomorrow night?”

You worry you’ve gone too far but when her cheeks fold back into that dimpled, toothy smile and her dark lashes flutter, abashed and her face glowing red, she nods. “Sure, I’d like that.”

The engine purrs low before the rattling kink silences it, shutting it off. 

“It’s really beautiful up here,” Wanda sighs with a smile. 

“Yeah. I like to come up here when I need to get away from things in the neighbourhood.”

Her eyes finally fall away from the view to find you and you turn your gaze to hers. 

“Even me?” she asks smoothly. 

Easily in her tone you register the sounded jest but all the same, it pulls a quiet and caught whine from your throat. 

You shake your head. “No. You’re the only thing I hate leaving behind when I get away.”

You see the way her creamy green eyes move, flittering up and down from your own eyes to your lips then back up. You cannot help but copy the motion. 

She moves in and something inside you, a desperate hunger, meets her halfway and begins to pull her from her passenger seat until she straddles your waist. 

[8-evil-annoying-catboys]

the most you can do to “put the cat to bed” at night is to have a designated room for the cat to stay in at night, keeping a litter box and cat furniture in there. if you have a lot of breakables, this might be an ok idea, but really, it won’t save them, the cat(s) will just break them when they’re bored during the day, so you should have them put away where the cat(s) can’t reach them at all times and play with your cat(s) for at least 15 mins daily (even if you don’t have breakables, this is just proper cat care, they need the enrichment).

im always astonished at how little so many people know about cats, even people who HAVE cats. you can’t control cats. you can train them, but that’s not the same thing, and only very few cats will still do the stuff you’ve trained them to do without a reward waiting on the other side, so if your cat is only motivated by food, for example, good luck trying to get them to do anything without a treat. that’s why you need to catproof your house.

some cats can open cabinets and so you need a baby proof lock on any cabinets that have chemicals or other dangers, and anything else you simply don’t want your cat(s) to get into. cats can and will jump up on the kitchen counters, and if you ‘discipline’ them by yelling at them or spraying them with water, they’ll just stop doing it when you’re there but continue behind your back (and start to dislike you), so you can only mitigate this by 1) getting a motion-controlled air canister that lets out a puff of air to startle them when they jump on the counter so they’ll stop doing it (this works because it doesn’t matter if you’re there or not, and unlike ‘discipline’ it doesn’t deteriorate your bond with your cat bc it’s not you doing it, as far as your cat is concerned, the counter is doing it), 2) putting a door or room divider or something in the kitchen doorway so they can’t get in the kitchen unsupervised, or 3) just cleaning your kitchen counters before and after you cook, so it won’t matter if your cat(s) goes/go on the counter bc you remove any potential contaminants before cooking and remove any potential dangers to your cat(s) after cooking. lots of cats do actually need outside time, but it’s super dangerous to let them free-roam, so you should build a catio or harness-train them—and many cats CAN be trained to walk on a leash and harness, with a lot of patience and positive reinforcement (aka lots of treats), but you shouldn’t expect them to go on a walk the way a dog would: you should carry them through the threshold to reduce the risk of them running out the door when it’s open (cat walks out the door independently = “the door is my ticket outside,” cat is carried out the door in your arms or a carrier = “my human/harness/carrier is my ticket outside”), and THEY decide where you go, NOT you.

i wish people knew as much about cats as they do about dogs. ignorance of cats is what leads to people thinking they don’t love humans or even each other (not true, cats are very social creatures and many are even clingy once they get comfy with you, they just generally aren’t as obedient or trusting or dependent on humans as most dogs), and people mistreating their cats & then blaming the cats for acting out even tho their needs aren’t being met (most often, people don’t play with their cats, and then the cat gets bored and destructive, and the human labels the cat as the problem even tho a healthy cat that plays enough will not destroy things or attack you for no reason, healthy cats only do that stuff because they’re BORED AS FUCK—most episodes of My Cat From Hell are literally just people blaming their incredibly bored cats for acting out bc of boredom, and jackson galaxy saying “your cat is bored, play with them” and teaching them how to play with cats properly and also telling them they need to clean the litter box more often or get more litter boxes so their cat doesn’t go to the bathroom outside the box or helping them set up cat furniture so the cat can feel safe and comfy in the home they live in or other stuff that should be cat owner knowledge 101, but, for some reason, just isn’t)

[devildomditzy]

Mammon/Asmo would object to a wedding. They might not even know the people, they just like drama

Who's Most Likely to... Object at a Wedding?

That would be Asmo and Mammon

(And oh my god you gave me a great idea)

Link to the masterpost

"I object!"

Gasps resound around the crowd at the shrill voice that erupted from somewhere in the group. Well, one side of the crowd. Namely your side, your relatives and friends all shocked by the scene unfolding in front of them. As for the demon's side - well, groans accompanied by eyerolls fall over the section, all as everyone in the room looks to Asmo, standing from his seat with his hand raised to the sky, puppy dog eyes making direct contact with yours.

"Oh come on!", Mammon yells next to your side, letting go of your hand in favor of facing his brother and pointing accusingly in his direction.

"Whaddya mean you object!"

Asmo glares back with a smirk, hands flying to his hips. "I mean MC should be marrying mwah! Not some scummy idiot with a gambling addiction!". He folds his hands together, bringing them to his face, tilting his head, looking at you as if you were an injured kitten. "Poor thing."

"Hey! Why dontcha say that to my face, ya self-obsessed air head!", Mammon calls back in response, beginning to step off the alter. You give Barbatos, who was officiating the ceremony, your most apologetic smile as you grab Mammon by the back of his collar, preventing his tirade further.

Your family exchanges worried glances, with murmurs of "What's going on?" and "Someone do something!" echoing through the room.

"I already did!', Asmo giggles, smiling as he looks om at his brother. "And so, I object."

"W-Well, I object to your objection!", Mammon yells, still raring to make a run at his little brother.

You swear you hear Lucifer audibly groan among the commotion.

"It's not up to you!", Asmo sing-songs, taunting him.

"It's not up to me? I'm their groom for cryin' out loud!", says Mammon, increasing angry. He shakes loose from your grasp and starts his march towards the fifth born.

"Mammon, don't make me-", you begin before Asmo cuts you off.

"Yeah, Mammon, don't make them choose! Why don't we just swap places? I'm sure they'll be much happier with me!"

"Mammon!", you call after him, but its no use. You can tell when your first man is seeing red.

He makes his way through the aisles, grabbing Asmo by the collar.

"Oh my~", he coos in response.

You've just about had it with this mess, and it seems you're not the only one. Barbatos clears his throat from next to you where he stands at the ready.

"MC, I do believe its time to do 'the thing' that you were mentioning."

You sigh in annoyance, handing him your bouquet momentarily. You face the two pain-in-your-asses causing a ruckus and clear your throat, balling up your firsts at your side.

"STAAAAAYYY!!!!!"

Both boys suddenly fall to the floor. Hard.

In fact, all the brothers fall to the floor.

"Whoops."

There are moans from the seats behind where Mammon and Asmo now sit on the floor.

"Oww", Levi whines.

"What the hell was that for?", complains Belphie, who sits up, rubbing the side of his head.

"No, it was necessary", Lucifer sighs as he stands, brushing off the front of his coat, looking up at you. 'They're all yours."

Everyone's attention now snaps to Mammon and Asmo, who look up at you pathetically from their positions.

"You!", you say, pointing at Mammon, "need to learn to recognize when Asmo is just trying to get under your skin. Seriously, how do you not know by now? You've known him for what now? A gajillion years? And why would you think for a second I'd leave you for anyone else? When I'm literally standing next to you trying to become your lifelong partner!?"

"And you!", you shift yourself, pointing at Asmo now, "know I love you. And I know you love me. But we both know that love is strictly platonic! I get you like to mess with Mammon, but did you have to do it on my wedding day?"

"Sowwy!", Asmo baby talks, knocking himself in the head lightly with his fist. "But this is just the rehearsal, right? I'd never do this during the real thing, silly! But I thought that the mood was so drab that we could use some drama!"

"Are you fuckin' with me right now!?", Mammon stares at his brother in disbelief.

"Not right now, no. I was 'fucking' with you about three minutes ago", Asmo winks., before continuing.

"But, sorry Mammon. I didn't think you'd take it that seriously. I mean, we all know you two were made for each other. Why would I really have a shot with MC anyway? Why would any of us?", Asmo looks sheepish as he crosses his arms, shaking his head.

Mammon blinks heavily and looks back to you as you stick out your arm, helping him to his feet. Asmo smiles as he watches.

"I mean, do you see the way they look at you?", he questions, prompting Mammon to blush deeply as he looks into your eyes.

You smile, walking backwards as you lead Mammon back up to the alter.

"Sorry!", you apologize brightly to your family. "It's always something", you shake your head, laughing.

"Now, may I...", Barbatos asks you, searching both of your faces for acknowledgement to proceed.

"I do!", Mammon blurts out, red as can be.

"Mammon, we already said I do", you giggle, grinning brightly at him.

"R-right. Yea, alright", he says, barely paying attention as he turns to Barbatos. "C'mon, can I kiss them now?", he asks, pointing at you.

Barbatos makes a small sound of defeat as he stops his speech, opting instead to smile. "I don't see why not."

For the first time today, the crowd is filled with cheers instead of startled gasps as Mammon grabs you and - of course - dramatically dips you, sealing your lips with a kiss.

He pulls back and smiles.

"I can't wait to do that to ya again tomorrow."

[certifiablyinsanez]

Stolas has probably spent the majority of his life wishing he was dead. He sang to his little daughter “when I’m gone you’ll be okay”. He’s made it clear that he places little value on his life. Before Blitz arrived in his life, he was probably hanging on by a frayed thread, his daughter being the only thing keeping him alive. But with his certainty that his daughter hates him, what does he have to live for? As someone who was passively suicidal for 13 years, I can say definitively that it isn’t enough to only stay because of the people you love. The suffering is just too great. The reasons someone stays alive are often unromantic, minute, and seemingly insignificant. More often than not, you’re only still alive because you can’t actually make yourself do the deed. You wait for the right day, to do it in the right way and the stars just never align to make it happen. Your days blend together in a haze of misery with tiny seeds of hope sprinkled here and there, and then one day you realize that maybe you do want to live. You never see it coming. You never plan for it or expect it to happen, or know when it’ll arrive. Blitz is that reason, that blazing light in an endless darkness. The shooting star that burst through a night sky as dark as pitch. The reason to live that surprised Stolas with how much fire it put back in his life, how much joy, how much light, even when it was causing him pain. Stolas Goetia, who has spent his whole life surrounded by glittering jewels and castle walls, able to summon the skies of stars and suns, had no light in his life until Blitz arrived. Blitz is the light.

Blitz has had to be stone for most of his life. In his childhood he had to brace his little spirit against all the odds, because he was an imp who had weird dreams, and was surrounded by people who had no faith in him. And the few people that loved him were lost to him. With no home and no family or friends, one can only imagine how hard his life was for many years after that. He had to steel himself, become hard and heartless just to get by. He still had dreams and ambitions but remained deeply lonely for many years. “You tried the solo act, it didn’t work out very well.” He’s a wounded dog that doesn’t know why he bites. He’s convinced he’s a walking curse, that he does nothing but hurt and leave misery in his wake. And because of all this, he didn’t bother trying. He allowed himself to take and leave nothing behind. He allowed himself to hurt because whether he tries or not doesn’t matter because the end result is always the same. Stolas was another thread in his tragic tapestry, but his thread was bright gold in a sea of beige. Blitz tried to ignore the thread. What’s one more? But it shimmered too brightly. It was too beautiful, too rare, too exquisite to disregard. His heart, sick and small, was removed in a strange twist of fate, and Stolas put himself in the hole that was left behind, giving parts of his own heart that overflows. Stolas is his heart.

[lycanthropebard]

Oh, OP, this was one of my favourite things to daydream about lol. I shall be the opposite of brief and I thank you for the opportunity to gush. 💖

Wardens:

Aelzalia Tabris - eventually, into her relationship with Zevran, she adopts several blight orphans in Ferelden but I don't imagine they have any biological children. But as Zevran will tell you, they love trying. I've played around with the idea of how cute their babies would be but I feel like this is more loyal to their story. (Also, Sigrun is there. Sort of a polycule I guess?) I imagine any kids they adopt would grow up to be very active citizens, charitable people, etc.

Tahlihal Surana - As far as I had decided for him, he's Kierran's dad! They're a pretty nice, blood-magic friendly family, though Tahl's views are (at least when I conceptualized him) "elf extremism" so I don't know how that would fare with Veilguard's canon, but eh, let's pretend we're going by Origins-only canon and leaving that open-ended.

Gwendolen Amell - Yes, yes, yes! She's my beloved baby girl and she gets a fantastic happy ending after a lot of painful, terrible bullshit. I fleshed out her canon before DAI even came out, so the way her story goes is that she has three children - two sons named Niall (named after the mage who helped her in the fade) and Konall, and a daughter Amellen (named after her maiden name/family she lost). Her LI in my canon was supposed to be Cullen (this is DA2 canon, before a lot of the retcons and... other developments surrounding that character) and it was supposed to be a really satisfying culmination to years of mutual pining and misunderstanding and individual growth. But I could totally see that happening with a different character; either way - that's her happy ending, three kids, loving partner, and a cuddly dog. Definitely a dog. She had a big family when she was a child but she actually lost every single one of them over time, and I love the idea of her being able to heal that by creating her own loving family in a safer environment, where they won't be persecuted for being mages.

Avalon Cousland - She romances Leliana but honestly, Ava's very pragmatic and would absolutely have a child for influential reasons but not for romantic ones. At the time I made her, I was picturing her going after Bann Teagan (if unromanced) to secure more influence for herself since she's honestly not interested in the Wardens. Though this could easily happen with any noble with good enough connections, and I love the idea of the tension she would have with Nathaniel Howe, but no proper relationship/family from that, unfortunately. I'm not even sure if the relationship with Leliana would last by the time of the Conclave, I'd have to replay the game to decide how power-hungry Avalon would really be.

Zhivka Brosca - Nope, too traumatized by her mother's abuse, too much trouble letting someone in. Unfortunately, things end on a bitter note with Alistair that just sours things even more. She tries to be there for her sister and nephew though, as much as she can between Warden business and all that. Motherhood, as a concept, is very dark territory for her.

Hawkes:

Guinevere Hawke - I have several versions of canon with her since she's my favourite Hawke lol, but she definitely wants to have kids. My main canon with her is with Anders, and that results in a lot of tears for everyone. (I shan't go into details because you seem to want the cute stuff.) I also have an AU where they do have kids, despite the odds, and it's wonderful. They're both extremely happy. They definitely have at least one daughter, maybe one more son and daughter after that. I imagine they would be named after Guin's family - names like Leander (for Leandra), Mallory (for Malcolm), and Bethan (for Bethany), all derivitives instead of letter for letter namesakes.

However, in one of my other version of canon she gets with Sebastian and they do have kids, though she's still not as happy as she would have been just... elsewhere. Normal. Away from nobles and expectations and appearances. Probably would have adored a life with the man all the more if it was in the countryside, not Starkhaven. (So, if it was exactly what she always wanted with Anders instead of a life on the run as a criminal.) Definitely seeing that version of events with a minimum of three kids, though I haven't thought of names. It's likelier they would have Vael-related names though, or a mixture of both.

Ruze Hawke - she's very neutral on it, though she's a sensual, embodied person, so she would find the experience fascinating and deeply meaningful in her own way. I never really thought of her having kids before but in the version of events with Fenris I feel like it wouldn't happen, biologically. I'm not sure why, I just don't see it. But in the version where she's with Merrill, I imagine Merrill would be absolutely down for it. (Biological or adopted, whichever.)

Inquisitors:

Lorelei Lavellan - YES, huge big yes. She and the Iron Bull have a son called Quartz. (Lorelei's twin brother is a geologist, and Quartz is one of his favourite minerals.) The boy is like a smaller, leaner version of Bull, and he's incredibly tall compared to Lorelei. Very Vassoth-esque, horns and all. Probably a huge science nerd.

Gawain Trevelyan - No, Gawain and Dorian prefer to be uncles to Gawain's many nieces and nephews instead. The process of having a biological child would be a bit too complicated, and Dorian has his own anxieties around parenthood and his own experiences with his family and the expectations of heritage, etc.

Tell me about your Dragon Age OC babies. Like does ur Warden/Hawke/Quizzy have kids with their partner? I need to know!!!

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

you get what you give | franco colapinto

💾 synopsis: It’s 1997, and you’re in your last year of high school, working at Hot Topic, living in a one-sided feud with the boyish, too-charming Gap employee across the hall. Then the universe decides to ruin your life by making him your coworker. tags: kind-of-enemies-to-lovers, teen drama, 90s aesthetic, fluff (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 3.7k words) | (nobody fact-check this, please, i was born in 2003, and i'm not american)

The first time you saw Franco, he was across the food court, leaning against the Gap counter like he was in a catalog. Some preppy kid with khakis that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, laughing at something a coworker said. Meanwhile, you were stuck behind the register at Hot Topic, trying to explain to a middle schooler that no, they couldn’t return their Metallica shirt just because their mom found it “too satanic.”

It wasn’t hate at first sight. Not exactly. It was more like… an allergy. Like every time you looked over at the Gap, there he was: Mr. Perfect Hair, smiling at customers like he actually liked them, folding sweaters like he loved his job. And every time he noticed you looking, he’d wave. Wave. Like you were best friends or something.

Alex, your coworker, thought it was hilarious. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“Or maybe he’s just annoying.”

“Both can be true.”

You ignored him, because whatever Franco’s deal was, you didn’t care. It’s not like Hot Topic and Gap were at war or anything, but they might as well have been. You sold fishnet tights and Slipknot hoodies. He sold pastel cardigans and golf hats. Oil and water. Cats and dogs. People who get the vibe and people who definitely don’t.

It became a thing, though. The waving. The smirking. The way he’d send clueless Gap customers to your store “because they seemed more… alternative.” You started sending preppy moms his way just to balance the universe.

But it all came to a head one Friday, right after you’d clocked in, when your manager pulled you into the back room.

“Got some news,” she said, all chipper like it wasn’t going to ruin your day.

“What?”

“We’re short-staffed, so I hired someone. He’s got retail experience, great attitude –”

And then, like the universe had it out for you, Franco walked in.

“Hey!” he said, all teeth and dimples, like this was some meet-cute and not a complete disaster.

You just stared.

It’s not every day your entire worldview gets flipped upside down, but here you are, staring at Franco in the Hot Topic break room like he’s some alien who crash-landed in the wrong parking lot. He’s got that same stupid perfect smile on his face, like this is totally normal. Like he belongs here. Spoiler: he absolutely does not.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s a regular Friday and not the start of your personal hell. “Guess we’re coworkers now.”

Coworkers.

Coworkers?!

You whip around to face your manager, who’s calmly flipping through a clipboard, completely oblivious to the emotional collapse happening two feet away.

“Is this a joke?” you ask, pointing at Franco. Like maybe someone’s about to jump out with a camera and yell: Gotcha!

“No joke,” your manager chirps. “Franco has retail experience, and he really impressed me in the interview.”

You look back at him. He’s still smiling. Why is he still smiling?

“You interviewed him?”

“Of course! We’re short-staffed, and Franco’s going to be a great addition to the team.”

You don’t even know where to start. The khakis. The tucked-in polo. The fact that he probably doesn’t know the difference between Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails. This guy is going to sell chokers?

“You’re kidding,” you mutter, but no one’s listening.

Franco finally speaks up, still with that ridiculous, infuriating charm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fit right in. I mean, how hard can it be?”

Oh, he’ll fit right in, all right. About as well as a cat fits in a mosh pit.

It starts with the name tag.

Franco’s first obstacle as a Hot Topic employee isn’t even a customer – it’s the little plastic rectangle that refuses to clip onto his perfectly pressed shirt. After a solid minute of fumbling, he finally slaps it onto his chest, crooked, looking way too proud of himself for such a small win.

You, meanwhile, are trying to decide if it’s worth quitting your job just to avoid this nightmare.

“Maybe untuck your shirt,” you suggest, glaring at him. “You look like you’re about to sell Bibles.”

He looks down, confused. “But isn’t this the uniform?”

“No. The uniform is not looking like you have a trust fund.”

He untucks the shirt, but it doesn’t help much. He still stands out like a Gap model in a Halloween store.

And then the customers start rolling in.

The first one is easy: a kid looking for a Blink-182 tee. You grab it from the shelf, hand it over, and move on. Franco watches like he’s taking notes for a science experiment.

The second one? Not so easy.

It’s a girl with jet-black lipstick, multiple nose rings, and an attitude. She narrows her eyes at Franco, who’s manning the register for the first time.

“Do you have this in an extra small?” she asks, holding up a spiked belt.

Franco looks at the belt like it’s a snake. “Uh… let me check in the back?”

“There is no back,” you hiss from across the counter.

“Oh. Right. Um…” He flashes the customer his best smile. “We don’t have it in extra small, but maybe a small could work?”

The girl rolls her eyes so hard you’re worried they might get stuck. “Forget it,” she snaps, storming out.

Franco turns to you, bewildered. “Was it something I said?”

“It was everything you said.”

But it doesn’t stop there.

Later, he mispronounces Misfits as The Misfits. Then he spends five minutes explaining the return policy to a guy who clearly just wanted to buy a patch and leave. By the time someone asks him about gauges, he’s looking at you like he’s about to beg for help.

“Are you sure there’s no training manual?” he asks.

“This is the training,” you shoot back. “Sink or swim.”

But the thing is, he doesn’t sink. Not completely, anyway. Somehow, between the awkward stumbles and clueless questions, he manages to charm almost every customer. Even the goth kids seem to tolerate him, if only because he’s so obviously out of his depth.

And when your manager comes by to check on him, he’s suddenly the picture of professionalism, rattling off sales numbers like he’s been working there for years.

You glare at him as she leaves, impressed.

“What?” he says, grinning. “I’m a fast learner.”

You groan.

It’s halfway through Franco’s second shift when the universe decides to really test your patience. You’re at the register, ringing up a pair of fishnet gloves for a kid who can’t be older than twelve, when you hear the sound of trouble brewing near the band tees.

“Oh, my God,” someone laughs, loud and mean. “Do you even know who that is?”

You look up and see them: a group of older teens, all decked out in leather jackets and studded belts, surrounding Franco like a pack of hyenas. He’s holding up a Black Sabbath shirt, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh…” Franco starts, clearly scrambling. “Yeah, of course I do. It’s… uh… classic rock, right?”

The tallest guy in the group snorts. “Classic rock? Bro, this is Sabbath. Tell me you’re joking.”

You can see Franco’s face turn red from across the store. You should probably step in, but there’s a part of you that kind of wants to see him squirm. He’s always so confident, so perfect. It’s nice to see him stumble for once.

But then one of the girls pipes up, flipping her bright purple hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know why they even hired you. You don’t belong here.”

That hits a nerve. You shove the cash drawer closed and storm over before you can think twice.

“He belongs here more than you do,” you snap, stepping between Franco and the group. “Unless you’re planning on buying something, get out.”

The tall guy raises an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you harassing my coworker. Go be a jerk somewhere else.”

There’s a tense pause, but eventually, they back off, muttering insults as they leave the store.

When they’re gone, you turn to Franco. He’s staring at you like you just pulled him out of a burning building.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Can’t let them scare off the new guy.”

He grins, that same easy, infuriating grin. “So you don’t hate me?”

“Don’t push it.”

You turn to walk back to the register, but you can feel him watching you, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel annoying.

It’s after the dinner rush, which is mostly just bored teenagers roaming the mall with nothing better to do than browse graphic tees they can’t afford, when Franco starts humming. It’s faint at first, just a couple of notes, but it’s enough to get under your skin.

You lean over the counter, glaring at him while he pretends to be absorbed in folding a pile of shirts he definitely refolded twice already. “Are you seriously humming The Cure right now?”

He looks up, wide-eyed, like you caught him committing a crime. “Uh, maybe?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why?” He shrugs, all innocent. “What’s wrong with The Cure?”

“Nothing.” You grab a stack of bandanas and toss them onto the shelf. “Just didn’t peg you as a fan.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.” He grins, that boyish, can’t-you-just-love-me grin that’s probably charmed a hundred Gap moms into buying extra polos. It makes you want to throw a mannequin at him.

But then he says, “You know, my mom hated this kind of music. She used to blast Hanson in the car and call it ‘family bonding.’”

You freeze mid-fold, staring at him. “No. Not Hanson.”

“Yep.” He leans against the counter, totally unashamed. “Full-on MMMBop era. It was brutal.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “That’s horrifying.”

“Tell me about it.” He shakes his head like he’s reliving some great tragedy. 

And now you’re laughing, actually laughing, and you hate how easy it feels. It’s not supposed to be easy with Franco. He’s supposed to be the enemy, the preppy intruder in your kingdom of chains and leather. 

The store quiets down again, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence between customers. You’re at the counter, sorting through returns, when Franco asks, “So, how long have you been working here?”

You don’t even look up. “Too long.”

“Like… since it opened?”

“Not that long.”

He chuckles. “You just seem like you’re good at it. Like, you know exactly where everything goes, how to deal with customers, all of it.”

You pause, caught off guard by the compliment. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious.” He leans against the counter, closer than he needs to be. “It’s cool. You make it look easy.”

For a second, you don’t know what to say. You’re not used to this version of him – the one who’s not joking or smirking or trying to win people over.

“Well,” you mutter, focusing way too hard on a stray thread on your sleeve, “someone has to hold this place together.”

“Guess that makes you the boss, huh?”

You look up, and he’s smiling again, but it’s softer this time, less Gap-commercial and more… real.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. “Guess it does.”

And just like that, you’re back to folding shirts, pretending your face isn’t warm, pretending you’re not replaying the way he said it in your head.

“Hey,” Franco says after a minute, breaking the silence. “Thanks for not letting me completely crash and burn today.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But he just laughs

A few days later, you’re mid-shift, reorganizing the clearance rack and silently judging whoever thought mixing Korn and Nirvana shirts was a good idea, when you hear Franco call your name.

“Hey!” He’s jogging over, holding a black eyeliner pencil in one hand and a spiked cuff in the other. “Okay, hear me out.”

You look up, already regretting your decision to give him the time of day. “What.”

“I was thinking.” He plops the cuff down on the counter like it’s Exhibit A in a trial. “Maybe I need a vibe adjustment. You know, to fit in better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, you burst out laughing. “You? Adjust your vibe? You are the Gap vibe.”

“Exactly,” he says, unbothered by your mockery. “Which is why I need to commit if I’m going to survive here.”

You shake your head, going back to your rack. “You’re insane.”

“I’m serious!” He grabs your arm, dragging you toward the accessories wall. “Help me out here. What do I need? Eyeliner? A chain wallet? Should I dye my hair black? What screams ‘Hot Topic employee’ to you?”

You yank your arm back, glaring. “First of all, no one dyes their hair black on a whim. Second of all, even if you doused yourself in black nail polish and combat boots, you’d still look like a golden retriever.”

He blinks at you, confused. “A�� golden retriever?”

“You know what I mean.” You gesture at him like he’s Exhibit A now. “You’re too happy. Too friendly. Even if you dressed the part, you’d still give off this, like, boy-next-door energy.”

“Wow.” He folds his arms, smirking. “Didn’t realize you’d been analyzing my vibe so much.”

You groan, shoving past him to grab a random shirt off the rack. “Fine. You want help? Put this on.”

He takes the shirt, holding it up with a frown. It’s oversized, black, and has some vaguely satanic-looking band logo on it. “This is… a lot.”

“Exactly.” You throw a studded belt at him for good measure. “Now go try it on.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t argue. He just shrugs and disappears into the fitting room, leaving you to wonder if you’ve actually broken him.

When he finally comes out, you almost choke. The shirt hangs loose over his frame, the belt is slung low around his waist, and he’s added the spiked cuff for good measure. He looks ridiculous.

“Well?” he says, holding his arms out like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “What do you think?”

You tilt your head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You look like a lost theater kid trying to go goth for Halloween.”

He grins, completely unoffended. “So… nailed it?”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Except for the part where no one here is going to believe you’ve ever listened to anything darker than Matchbox Twenty.”

“Ouch.” He puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. “You’re brutal.”

“And you’re hopeless.”

But as he stands there, grinning like he’s actually proud of himself, you realize something weird. He looks kind of cute.

“Alright, fine,” you say, tossing a pack of black nail polish at him. “You want the full experience? You’re painting your nails next.”

He catches it easily, still smiling. “Whatever you say, boss.”

It’s the end of the night, and the mall feels like a ghost town. The food court’s shut down, the arcade’s lights are dimmed, and you’re counting down the minutes until you can lock up and go home. Franco’s behind the counter, you’re halfheartedly restocking chokers when he says, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You look over your shoulder. He looks serious, which is rare for him. Too rare. “What? You need me to explain the difference between Slipknot and Korn again?”

“Ha-ha.” He leans on the counter, “I’m being serious.”

You roll your eyes but put down the chokers. “Fine. Ask away.”

There’s a pause. He’s tapping his fingers on the counter, like he’s working up the nerve. Finally, he says, “Why do you hate me so much?”

You blink at him, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke, but his face is all earnest curiosity.

“I don’t –” You stop, because of course you do, or at least you did. But now? You’re not so sure.

He’s still looking at you, waiting, and for once, you don’t have a snarky comeback. You just shrug. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, but there’s no edge to it. “When I first started here, you looked like you wanted to set me on fire.”

“Yeah, well, you kind of deserved it.”

He laughs, and the sound fills the empty store in a way that makes your chest feel weird. “Fair. But… why?”

You chew on your lip, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. But something about the way he’s looking at you – like he actually cares about your answer – makes you cave.

“Because you’re you.”

“Wow.” He raises an eyebrow. “Great explanation. Totally clears it up.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “Fine. Because you walked in here all… perfect. Perfect smile, perfect attitude, perfect everything. And this place? It’s not supposed to be perfect. It’s messy, and weird, and full of people who don’t fit in anywhere else. You showing up felt like…”

“Like I didn’t belong.”

“Yeah.” You exhale, relieved he said it so you didn’t have to. “Exactly.”

He’s quiet for a second, and you’re about to make a joke to fill the silence when he says, “You know, I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere.”

That shuts you up.

“Not at Gap, not at school, not even at home half the time,” he continues, voice softer now. “But here? I don’t know. It’s different. And it’s not just because of the music or the clothes or whatever. It’s… you.”

Your heart skips, and you hate how easily he can do that to you. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He looks up, meeting your eyes, and suddenly it feels like there’s no space left in the room. “You make it feel like it’s okay to not be perfect. Like it’s okay to just… be.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Words are stuck somewhere in your throat, and all you can do is stare at him like he’s said something impossible.

“I probably sound like an idiot,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I mean it. And if I have to spend every shift here proving that I belong, I will. Because, honestly? This is the first place that I've ever felt comfortable in.”

Your chest feels tight, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. Too close. Not close enough.

“Franco…” You’re not even sure what you’re about to say, but he cuts you off.

“I know. I’ll shut up now.” He steps back, flashing that same boyish grin that used to drive you insane. “Just thought you should know.”

And before you can respond, the store phone rings, breaking the moment.

You grab it, mumbling something about it probably being the mall office, but your hands are shaking as you pick up.

When you hang up, Franco’s already by the door, keys in hand, waiting to lock up. “Ready to call it a night?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Cool. See you tomorrow, boss.” He winks, pushing open the door and stepping out into the empty mall.

You watch him go, your heart still racing.

It’s been a few weeks since The Conversation. You and Franco have been in this weird limbo ever since – like you’re both too scared to bring it up again but also too aware of each other to act normal. He still grins at you like he knows a secret, and you still pretend it doesn’t make your heart race.

But tonight, something feels different. The shift was slow, the music quieter than usual, and now the two of you are the last ones left, locking up the store.

Franco leans against the gate, twirling the keys around his finger like he’s in a teen movie. “So,” he says, breaking the silence, “what’s your excuse for staying late tonight? Organizing the chokers by shade again?”

You shove the gate into place and glare at him, though there’s no real anger behind it. “What’s your excuse? Waiting for me to do all the work as usual?”

“Obviously.” He flashes that stupid grin, but this time there’s a bit of anxiety behind it.

You should brush it off, make some sarcastic comment and walk away, but instead, you lean against the counter and cross your arms. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“Me?” He feigns innocence, pointing at himself. “I’m not the one who’s been dodging eye contact for three weeks.”

“Yeah, because you’ve been staring at me like a creep,” you shoot back, but your voice is softer than you mean it to be.

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you in that way that makes you feel like you’re under a spotlight. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” You know exactly what he means, but you’re not making this easy for him.

“About this.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “What’s there to talk about? You’re annoying, I tolerate you, the end.”

“Uh-huh.” He steps closer, his grin turning softer, almost shy. “And that’s why you blush every time I call you boss?”

“I do not blush.”

“You so do.”

You groan, turning to fiddle with the register just to give your hands something to do. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you like it.”

Your head snaps up, ready to argue, but suddenly you’re tired of pretending.

“Okay, fine,” you say, throwing up your hands. “Maybe I don’t hate you. Maybe I even… like you a little. Happy now?”

He blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually admit it. “Wait, really?”

“Oh my god.” You bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make me say it again.”

He laughs, soft and disbelieving, and when you peek through your fingers, he’s standing right in front of you.

“For the record,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like you too. More than a little.”

Your heart does this stupid flip, and before you can chicken out, you grab the lanyard around his neck and pull him into a kiss. It’s quick, clumsy, and absolutely perfect.

“Wow,” he says, breathless. 

“Shut up.”

But you’re smiling, and so is he.

“Okay,” he says after a beat, grinning like an idiot. “But just so you know, I’m totally telling everyone you kissed me first.”

You groan, shoving him playfully. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughs, grabbing your hand before you can pull away completely. “Too late."

[cardigan-ns]

Humble Bragging

Pairing: Declan O’Hara x Rupert’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: At a Venturer Campaign, your father’s best friend won’t stop giving the eyes at you, causing your father to get suspicious of the dynamic between his best friend and his daughter, leading to a drunken row.

Note: Reader is 21.

“Come on, Gertrude!” You sigh as the O’hara’s dog decided your lap was the most comfortable to lay on as you sat in the garden of The Priory. This caused a laugh to erupt from Caitlin and she pet the dog. “Have you any idea when your dad is getting here?” The youngest O’Hara asked you, her little school-girl crush on your father made you laugh, the countless nights you’d be up with your father in the living room casually chatting and commenting on everyone in Rutshire, he’d always say just how funny Caitlin’s crush was, you had to admit though, she was brave for being so open about it, if you spoke about your admiration for Declan, people would have knives and pitchforks ready at your dismay.

“Uh, I think he said after he’d done polo with Bas.” You tilt your head as you fake unknowing the answer, and you pet the dog, suddenly out pops Maud from the back of the house and she had a glass of Buck’s Fizz and a fan at her ready, she lays on the reclining lawn chair and sighs. “Your father around?” She asks, having such a weird affiliation with him, when she’s clearly married. “Your husband around?” You ask her to remind her where her loyalties should lie and she chokes on her words then and there, giving you a scorn. “You’re a right brat, you know.” You smile proudly, and nod. “As a matter of fact I am, or did you forget the man who raised me.” You glared at the woman, sick of her making unnecessary comments about you and Rupert as if he was a god and you were a peasant, when in actual fact if your father had heard Maud’s comments he’d call her desperate for attention.

The dog had finally leapt off of you and ran around the garden, Caitlin followed suit with her. You needed to be confined by 4 walls and a ceiling, it was strangely suffocating outside, with the distaste of Maud, and the small talk that only seemed to consist of the man who raised you. As you entered the large home you found yourself wandering into the kitchen, opening the fridge and spotting a bottle of wine, and you desperately opened it and found a glass and poured some in, taking a large swig. “Slow down there, you’re gonna be plastered before we’ve even went to the bar.” Declan’s voice erupted from the kitchen door and you turned on your heel to look at him, as you guiltily swallowed the wine. “Sorry, it was already open I swear.” Liar. But declan dismissed you with the wave of his hand and continued to pull down his Venturer T-shirt which he had only seemed to scramble on as he spoke to you. You had yours on too as moral support, and a lovely white skirt to go with the summers day.

“Your dad called, he’s already at the venue.” Declan spoke as he took the bottle of wine from your hand and poured himself a glass too. “Is he serious?” You rolled your eyes, “He promised he’d take me with him.” You slightly huffed, still shocked at the disappointment Rupert Campbell-Black always brought to your wellbeing. “Love, don’t sweat it, Caitlin and Maud are staying here I’ll give you that grand entrance you so desperately wish to have. I’m just as important in Venturer as your old man.” His hand touched your shoulder assuredly and you just smiled, because what the fuck else were you meant to do.

“Get your shoes on, and we’ll go.” He drank his wine and lifted his car keys off of the dining table and left the room. You slipped on your heels and followed him out the door to his petite mustard car, it fit who he was as a person tremendously. As you sat there, the radio was rather loud, you assumed declan probably drowns out the trudges of his day to day life with it. As he drove off of his stoned drive way, and onto the country roads to the bar, he asked you a simple question. “Do ya think we’ll win?” He grinned as he turned a corner, and looked at you briefly. The smile on your face told him everything he’d need to know. “Oh believe me, you will, Tony has nothing to offer the god forsaken world of television.” Declan erupted in laugher and scratched his chin, “You’ve a right mouth on you. Gets me every-time.” The way he said it with such conviction, as if he’d been thinking about you and your rude mouth for a while, led a shiver to rush down your spine, the car was that minuscule you’d think he could feel it, but that’s absurd. You’ve done a great job at hiding your sheer obsession with the man, but by god is he good with words.

As he pulled up towards Bar Sinister, you trembled at the thought of being in the room with Declan while your father was around. Even though nothing was happening it still felt almost illegal. “That’s us, love.” Declan sighed as he turned the ignition off by the turn of the key, unbuckled his belt and unlatched the door. He awaited you to hop out of the car before he could lock it and you followed one another into the boujee local pub. There was a man at the front entrance taking photos for his very obvious job as the paparazzi, Declan put his arm around you to shield you from the flash of the camera. “In we go.” He spoke in tune as he held the door open for you and you began to notice the decorations of the place, the people cheering at Declan’s appearance and the logo of venturer plastered everywhere.

“There’s the man of the hour!” Rupert came over and nudged Declan’s head in spirit of camaraderie. “What took you so goddamn long, I’m almost pissed!” Your father barked as he swayed his pint of beer almost pouring it on Declan’s shoulder. You sway around the opposite side of Declan to push your father away, his eyes giving you a joking scorn. “Christ, darling, you’re acting like your mother.” That retort caused you to walk to the bar in the hopes Basil will cheer you up with his gentle charm. Your father sickened you sometimes, always absent, never considerate of his words, unless it was to Freddie or Declan, not even his own daughter.

Declan eyed you from across the room, saw how you ordered pure orange juice, a stark contrast from the wine you downed in his country kitchen, it confused him, yet comforted him that you weren’t letting Rupert’s words send you into an unneeded frenzy of self-destructedness. You weren’t even aware of his eyes on you, you were too busy watching Basil make a cocktail for Lizzie, as he gave you a step-by step. Declan was being swayed to the sound of music by Sebastian and Rupert as they chanted for the hopes of their victory in the bid. As you sipped the orange juice with bits in it, as punishment your dad yelled over to you, “Look at you, all sinister and gloomy, cheer up!” He swung pint glass to his lips and chugged the remainder of the drink, leaving a scoff to escape your mouth, causing Declan to shove Rupert off him and he approached you. “Up, we’re going outside!” He grazed your shoulder and he looked pissed off but he was just tipped off by the carelessness of one Rupert Campbell-Black.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

As you walked outside to the beer garden, Declan ushered you to sit down. You looked rather glum, not needing anyone else to mention how you’re dragging the vibe of the night down. “Your dad’s a cunt.” He spoke abruptly, causing you to huff a laugh at pure surprise. “Could say that again.” You replied as you swirled your glass of depressing orange juice. He took you in, really took you in, his eyes scanning the sadness in your eyes, the frail feeling of your body leaning against the table, how your hand rested on your face as you bunched some of your hair with your fingers to keep it in place, how the pout on your lips sent a feeling of uproar within him at how careless you’re treated.

“I’m serious, love, you’re here to support him and he acts like you just appeared into thin air.” His brow was stern as he felt his words deeply, your eyes rolled from the glass to Declan, how his brown ones were already on you, like a hawk. “Venturer wouldn’t be what it is without you.” The affirmation of Declan’s words were a feeling of thrill you’d never expected to feel, no matter how hard you try, you can’t deny his words, he says them with such truth behind them you can’t help but feel inclined to believe him. “This whole ordeal is dumb. My dad’s just drunk.” The way you play it off like you deserve to be treated like this makes Declan more than upset, you’ve been belittled your entire life just to be expected to take it.

“Drunk or not he’s being a prick to ya.” Declan’s hand grasped the wooden outdoor chair until his knuckles went white. You looked him up and down weirdly, so unbelievably confused at why it got to him so bad, it’s not like he was the perfect father to his own kids. “My dad flips like a switch, Declan, you know this. In one minute he’ll come out and beg me to dance with him to one dumb fucking song.” You abandoned your orange juice and stood up, causing Declan to follow every movement of your limbs. “You deserve to be shown how wanted you are.” You give him a weird look, he’s clearly steamed out and you don’t wanna open your brain to the possibility he feels the same forbidden feelings you have for him.

“Dance with me.” He stands up now, his gaze meeting yours as you laugh at his absurdity. “I’m not joking.” His finger brushes the underside of your right palm and a shockwave sends it way down your spine. “It’s not like he’s going to.” The brush of his accent paints the receptors in your ears and all you can seem to do is nod. He leads you back inside. You don’t know what the fuck just happened.

As you reappear your dad greets you with a kiss to your temple and hands you a glass of wine. “Thought you’d snuck out on us.” His grin made you smile sharply at how easily he brushed over completely tearing you to shreds, good old father behaviour. As music played on the speakers, you looked over at Declan who remained beside you, he gave you a faint upturn of his lips, and nodded to the dance-floor where Lizzie and Freddie had already found their feet. You handed your dad the wine again. As the upbeat song seemed to speedily come to an end as you and Declan reached the floor, a longing ballad began to play, typical, you thought. Declan’s expression didn’t change, it didn’t feel weird to him, maybe you were just on the verge of breaking down by how much you feel for him.

‘I still Haven’t found what I’m looking for’ by U2 began to play and Declan’s hand met yours and he pulled you closer to his stoic frame. You felt out of place for some reason, maybe because you and Declan’s dynamic remained casual to everyone else but you felt as though he was the only one in that goddamn village that actually cared about your existence. His free hand grazed your back, starting up higher, feeling as though going too low would cause him to get a bruised lip from your father. “You’re doing good.” He assure you as you almost stood on his foot, with a small smile he spun you smoothly, before pulling you right back to him. As you swayed with him, one of his fingers raked through your hair as it began to fray into your face. “Thanks.” You breathlessly whispered as the feeling of his touch left shockwaves running through your body, even the sight of him caused you to melt in his hands.

From across the room your father remained holding the glass of wine, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched you dance with O’Hara. It unnerved him a little, how you would glance at him, it didn’t sit right with him, but as it were, he couldn’t do anything about it without being irrational. Your head rested on Declan’s chest as his rested atop your hair as you two moved in harmony, as the song came to a peaceful close, other couples and friends of the sort were swaying on the floor too, leaving Rupert even more reason to not approach you and tell you off.

The song ended and everything went back to normal as it didn’t happen, which left you a bit shell shocked by the lack of intimacy, you both walked to your father and you politely took the white wine glass off of him. “Thanks for minding it.” He just gave a nod with thinned lips as he struggled to make eye contact with Declan. “I’m going for a smoke.” Rupert quickly retreated to the beer garden, briskly.

As you sipped your wine you felt a hand on your lower back as Declan leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I think we made someone uncomfortable.” He grinned as he usually does, and you nudged his arm, as a means of telling him to grow up, yet even you couldn’t help but break out into a fit of laughter.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The night ended and Declan was you and Rupert’s lift, you drove down the road and your head rested on the armrest of the backseat with your eyes closed, you heard your father speak. “Pull up in here.” Declan looked at Rupert oddly. “That’s not your house, mate.” He huffed and you then opened your eyes, your dad then turned over his shoulder and glanced at you, “I’m well aware.” The way his voice sounded made you uneasy, you knew it was because you danced with Declan, he’s suspicious, his inner debater coming out. “So you want me to pull into my own house, are you expecting to crash on my sofa? You’re right up the road, you can hold out two minutes.” Declan protested and Rupert just shook his head and snapped his fingers, “Now! Anytime today please, Declan.”

“Fucking Christ!” Declan muttered under his breath as he turned into The Priory, and swirled round the fountain and parked by the front door, the living room light was on, Maud must’ve still been awake. “Out you get, sweetie, we’re going to have a chat.” Your dad’s smile, his fucking smile, you rolled your eyes and got out of the car and were met with the cool nighttime breeze, you made eye contact with Declan over the roof of the car, he was just as anxious as you were, “Right then, shall we?” Your dad led you both into the mansion, like a man possessed.

As you entered the large house, your father slipped off his coat. “Maud, come out here please.” He echoed and Declan created a fist with his hand as it rested in his trouser pocket, “Right, Rupert what the fuck are you doing?” You kept your eyes on the floor, following them to the kitchen, where Maud met you halfway, questioning what was wrong, noticing the sulking look on everyone’s face and the suffocating silence in the house.

Rupert swirled around the dining table, pulling out a seat, asking you to sit down, you do as he says, and sit down, and he puts his hands on your shoulders, the O’Hara couple standing there confused at Rupert’s drunken behaviour. “Declan here, has decided on his own accord that it’s okay to prey on my daughter.” You whip your head around and look at your dad, as the three of you yell a “WHAT?!” Rupert removed his hands from your shoulders and put them to his hips. “Maud, your husband was slow dancing with my child, touching her face, swaying with her, whispering sweet nothings, all the while I could see everything.” You hold the bridge of your nose as the vein in Mauds head pops out, Declan only bites his cheek, the fist he’s making growing tighter.

“Okay, first off, I’m not a child, I am Twenty-fucking-one! And it was a fucking dance. What’s your deal?” You complained as your father only walked towards Declan and grabs him by the shirt, “Do you get off on that, huh? Is this revenge for the hatred you so clearly still have for me? I’ve given up everything for this company, and this is how you repay me?!” Rupert bitterly spoke, then Declan’s fist meets Rupert’s in a firm clip. Maud shrieks and puts her hands to her mouth in aghast shock. You just sit there, eyes wide.

“It’s only because you don’t give a single fuck about her. Why’d you think she’s here everyday? It’s not because she likes the scenery because every house round here is the feckin same!” This time Declan has Rupert by his collar and corrected him. “You were verbally violating the poor girl and she needed someone. It was innocent, but you’re so up your own arse you’d believe anything you want to, wouldn’t ya?!” Declan shoved your father, as the rest of his body made an impact to the tiled ground, you stood up and scrambled to your dad, lifting his head up, his cheek was bleeding and purple, by this point Maud had left the room fed up with their childish antics and went to bed.

Rupert stood up and looked at the both of you. “You a make a great pair, you can spend the night since you love it so much!” Rupert left the room, grabbing his coat and slamming the front door, as he made his walk home. Declan’s eyes saddened seeing your heartbroken ones, your eyes glossed over as your father practically abandoned you on some suspicion. (Which he was correct on)

“Oh, love, c’mere.” He sighed as he pulled you into an embrace, your eyes finding shelter in his cotton shirt, dampening it with your tears. Now you know it can never be, but the way his hands ran through your hair, the way his kiss was placed atop your head, you were swooned Every. Single. Time. “Let me make a bed up for ya.” He rubbed your back as you followed him upstairs, he let you get under the covers of the spare bedroom and he sat at the end of the bed, making sure you were okay. “You just sleep this off, I’ll sort it out for you in the morning.” Declan kissed your forehead and turned the bedside lamp off, he stood up straight and gave you one last look-over. “Goodnight, sweet girl.” You hated watching him leave, knowing he was going to be sleeping beside someone else tonight.

[asher-agere]

For the ask game:

🦄🎡🔥🌷 :3

No pressure to answer any of them! I wish you a lovely time zone ^^

YAY ASK GAME. Also “I wish you a lovely time zone” is my new favorite way of saying that-

🦄 - What animal do you have the most plushies of?

Last time I was asked this I just guessed- But this time is for real! The winner is… My cat plushies! I have 10.5 (One is half unicorn…). I thought dogs would win cause of my Cinnamoroll obsession but I only have 8 :0

🎡 - What’s something nostalgic you do when regressed?

Honestly a lot of regression for me is about making a new childhood rather than reliving my own! Howeverrrr I’ve always loved to play with Legos! My dad loved Legos hehe so I’ve been playing with them since like birth

🔥 - Babble about someone you really love!

Hehehe… My time has come…

@sasha-romeave IS THE BEST CAREGIVER AND LITTLE BABY AND SHE’S SO MUCH FUN AND SO AMAZING AND I LOVE THEM SO SO MUCH. SHE DESERVES ALL OF MY LOVE EVER

@babyniigo BEST BIG SIS EVER. GENUINELY MY FAVORITE BLOG EVER AND THE FIRST PERSON I FOLLOWED (Not counting my friends who helped me learn to use tumblr-)

@twinypwupy BEST SIBBY EVER. I’m not in the fandom they post for a lot, which is sad BUT THEIR POSTS ALWAYS LOOK SO SO PRETTY AND THEY’RE SOO MUCH FUN TO TALK TO GUYS

@sunny-silly AHH SUNNY. LOVE YOU SO MUCH. THEY ARE SO SO FUN TO TALK TO. I LOVE GETTING TO SHARE MY IDEAS ABOUT CHARACTERS NOT MANY PEOPLE KNOW, AND SUNNY CAN ADD TO MY IDEAS. AND LIKES MY IDEAS. AND WE SEEM TO ENJOY SIMILAR THINGS AND IT MAKES THEM SO SO AMAZING TO TALK TO

@starb4byy MY NEW RP PARTNER. THEY WRITE SUCH BEAUTIFUL AMAZING WONDERFUL WORDS AND THEY’RE SO SO CONSIDERATE AND GIVE THE BEST COMPLIMENTS

🌷 - When/why did you start regressing?

I started regressing around 2 years ago! Give or take a couple months. I started regressing because I realized. Hey! I remember like 10% of my childhood! And I feel miserable! What if I just. Y’know. Tried again? Then I’ve been hooked! I did stop for like 6 months after losing a caregiver though, definitely a low point-

YAY I FINALLY GOT TO BABBLE ABOUT PEOPLE I LOVE. I love each and every one of you! Those 5 are just like the ones I interact with most, they’re in no specific order, except for my caregiver who’s obviously in first place! Sorry guys but no competition there

[gairfowl]

I’ve been thinking a lot about this scene from Episode 8.

It’s very brief, but there’s so much food for thought in it. It’s the only scene in the series where Jopson has more than a fleeting exchange of words with anyone other than Crozier, and juxtaposing these two specific characters against each other is so heavy with potential.

Jopson’s character is defined by loyalty and duty – to Crozier specifically, and to his job more generally. Hickey has no sense of loyalty or duty. His character is defined by self-preservation and the desire to survive at all costs.

At this point in the story, Hickey despises Crozier. By extension, he probably despises Jopson, too. Likewise, Jopson, who is invariably cheerful and polite when around officers, has nothing but contempt for Hickey.

The dialogue’s very brief:

Hickey: Why is Sergeant Tozer being held? Jopson: You’re lucky you weren’t just shot, Mr Hickey. Hickey: Do you have a sudden gift for aim, Mr Jopson? Jopson: Everything we ate growing up started with a gun. My aim’s fine, Mr Hickey. I’ve shot smaller hawks than you.

Jopson’s smiling when he delivers that last line. He’s amused that Hickey thinks he’s soft, that he doesn’t know how to handle a rifle. He’s in control of the situation.

Hickey’s face is briefly emotionless before he looks away and rearranges it into a smirk. I read another post on here recently – can’t remember the OP's name, sorry – that suggests Hickey smirks when he’s embarrassed, and I think there’s something to that. When he’s feeling powerless he can’t allow himself to feel fear or anger; he deflects it all into appearing amused by the situation. It’s how he regains control, by not giving anyone the satisfaction of rattling him.

From here I’m just extrapolating from what we’re given, but I feel this tells us a lot about both of them.

My headcanon for Hickey is that he grew up in extreme poverty and a highly precarious environment. He was an orphan raised in an institution, or lived in an abusive and unstable household. Either way, he missed out on love and stability at a critical developmental stage, and it damaged his sense of empathy. He is not completely unable to care about others – he asks about Tozer, he acts to save people from the fire at Carnivale – but it’s always secondary to survival, and he finds the idea of devotion to others a bit pathetic.

We know Hickey resents the officers. He resents Neptune for being a dog that, in his opinion, gets treated better than he does. So I imagine he also resents Jopson, but it’s resentment mixed with contempt and disgust. Rather than allow himself to feel intimidated, he can easily move those uncomfortable feelings around to “this man is beneath me” – Hickey would never degrade himself by being a servant, especially not to someone he holds in such low esteem as Crozier, and he takes the opportunity to make himself feel better by getting a dig in.

However, Jopson isn’t easily intimidated. Mainly because he’s got the gun, but also because of how he sees himself. My headcanon here is that although Jopson is also from a humble background, he was probably better off than Hickey. And more importantly, he was loved. He had people around him who modeled kindness and respect for others, and probably emphasised duty as a core moral value.

He doesn’t see service as degrading. He takes pride in it. He has a deep respect for Crozier, and having just been given a very unconventional battlefield promotion of sorts, he knows Crozier respects him too. That’s a source of strength for him. Plus, you don’t really need to go deep to consider why he’d hate Hickey; the little bastard just murdered Irving.

In the next scene, it’s Jopson who walks Hickey to the gallows and loops the noose around his neck, and he looks damn satisfied doing it. Barely a minute, all told, but damn, I just love the potential of Most Loyal Guy vs Least Loyal Guy / Good Boy vs Absolutely Terrible Boy / Teacher’s Pet vs The Shittiest Kid In School. (Couldn’t decide on best shorthand for it so you get all three, lol.)

BONUS ROUND -

You know what else makes this fascinating?

Fucking GIBSON. Gibson and Jopson never interact on screen and I wish they had because Gibson is the other shared connection between Jopson and Hickey.

Gibson is a steward, but he has no particular attachment to the officers he serves. He, not Hickey, is the first crew member we see discussing mutiny. Whereas Jopson seems to belong in officers’ country, Gibson is almost always depicted outside it.

Gibson and Jopson presumably cross paths all the time as Terror stewards, but we have no idea what they think of each other. Does Gibson envy Jopson’s closeness with Crozier or does he, like Hickey, think being attached to the person you’re serving is pathetic? Does Jopson have any suspicions about Gibson’s relationship with Hickey or his growing dissatisfaction with Crozier’s leadership? I don’t know, the canon doesn’t go there! But it’s interesting to think about, right?

[taesansbeloved]

YOU ARE THE PERSON THAT COMPLETES ME.. JUST LIKE THE LAST PUZZLE PIECE. (엔하이픈)

synopsis: 1000 piece puzzle date with bf!enhypen. Warnings 🚨 fluff, skinship, petnames. Not proofread 👍🏻

(Hyung line)

Nova notes: HIHI ❣️ ..... I know I've been gone for a while BUT I HAVE MADE MY COMEBACK. This was based on this request! Thank you so much for requesting this anon! Maknae line coming soon! Also I've had some people tell me about some spelling mistakes in my korean so thank you so much for telling me because I truely had no idea. Enjoy my loves.

Heeseung (희승)

You have somehow convinced heeseung into solving a 1000 piece Venice landscape puzzle. He wasn't really opposed to the idea, he just had a shitton of work, but you worked up your girlfriend powers and got him put of his godforsaken work chair. "Okay, how do we do this?" He asked sitting opposite to you on your carpeted bedroom floor. "First things first, search for the corners then work our way inwards." You replied feeling giddy. You and heeseung got to work, searching for the corner puzzle pieces, losing some puzzle pieces, and heeseung throwing his usual flirtatious comments. "Baby, where is this piece~" heeseung sang out looking all over for one of the last pieces of the puzzle. "Well, crap. I don't have it." You said throwing your hands in the air. "This calls for a break." He said, pulling you by the hand and resting you on his lap. After a few moments of comfortable silent, you said "we're never gonna find that puzzle piece, are we?" Your breath hitting heesueng's ear shell as his face was buried in between your neck and collarbone. "Nope." He replied, popping the 'p'.

Jay (정성)

It was a random Tuesday night and you were bored out of your mind. Then, you heard the faint strumming of a guitar coming from Jay's office room. Making your way to his office, you spotted an abandoned puzzle set in the junk shelf. Now you were on your way with Jay's office with a mission. "Knock knock." You announced your presence as the strumming stopped. "Come in, my love." You heard Jay say from the other side. "Hello." You greeted, a soft smile on your face as you make your way to where he was sitting. "Hi, dear." He said as he put his guitar aside, gripping you closer by your waist, pulling you I'm between his legs. "So.... wanna build a puzzle with me?" You asked, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. "I would absolutely love to build a puzzle with you." He replied with a tender smile and starry eyes. You both spent the rest of your evening building the puzzle talking about everything and nothing.

Jake (재윤)

Let's be real, jake is the one who proposed this idea to you. And how could you say no when he's giving you these adorable puppy eyes. "Okay, baby, you work on the middle part and I work on the corners." Jake explained and he dumped the puzzle in between you two on the ground. "Why are you giving me the hard part?" You asked with a frown. "Baby, no. It's the important part." He winked at you as he gave you no room for more arguments. "And then she said- no!" Jake's story about the girl that was hitting on him at the bar was cut off by his dog, layla, running over your puzzle, ruining all of your hard work. "Layla! Come on!" You exclaimed as layla continued running around for her toy. You and jake stared at you decapitated puzzle, now strewn all over the living room floor. "Well, damn." Jake said as his eyes lit up all of the sudden. " Let's build a pillow fort!"

Sunghoon (성훈)

Sunghoon was sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly when all of the sudden he felt warm air on the shell of his ear. He turned his head to the side and saw you watching whatever was playing on his phone. "Hi, there." He whispered as you looked at him with a playfully glint in your eyes. "Hi, love." You said with a tone he recognised oh so well. It's the tone you use whenever you need something from him. "What do you need, dear?' He asked with a soft voice. "Soo.." You stretched out while walking around the couch to sit beside him. "I spotted a poor abandoned puzzle sitting in our room and it was just calling our name." You exaggerated making him let out a small chuckle. "Bring it over." He said as you let out a squeal in excitement as you ran over to grab the puzzle. The rest of evening was filled with laughter and puzzle building. Until, "babe, where's the last piece?" You asked as Sunghoon was discreetly looking for said last piece for the last 5 minutes. "I hate to break it to you, but I can't find it." He replied as you stared at him with a wide open mouth.

Do not copy this post. Spam likes = blocked. Spaming and plagiarism are not tolerated. Respectfully follow these rules :)

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

here and now, unhaunted: dovquez [g]

@dovquezdecember bingo + mouth

Marc’s front wheel slams against the side of his own. Dovi wobbles, kicking up sludge and mud. He’s down just like that, sliding on the ground, the bike making a reedy, spluttering noise.

It wasn’t a very hard crash. The corner is narrow, slow—more annoying than anything. Same goes for how he hit the ground. Dovi gets up unsteadily, cazzo stuck on his teeth, then realizes he isn’t dizzy at all, just loose-limbed, relaxed. Amusement curls in the hollows of his chest.

Ahead, Marc has stopped, is running towards him.

He tugs off his helmet. Breathes in the December cold.

Marc takes off his helmet too. His fingers dig into it erratically, the redredred plastic of it, and there’s the cut of his troublesome mouth, pinched tight and tense. His eyes are huge, liquid, staring straight into him—Dovi’s met street dogs with more shame than that. Then considers that someone else might not read it that away. Might see malice in Marc. An insult.

“You could’ve told me we were riding for a title,” he says, deadpan, his voice flat.

Marc’s back straightens. His smile seems knife-thin, deliberate. Strained. It is the thing about Marc—bit of a naked razor, bit of a jerk. Wound tighter than people would like to think about. Dovi snorts out a laugh, pours the dirt from inside his glove.

“I didn’t ride you like this when we were fighting for a title.”

Like hell he didn’t. Dovi levels him with a look, and Marc raises his hands in a mock surrender.

“You know you can’t overtake here, seriously,” Dovi mutters.

He cradles that red-hot flicker of irritation close. Lets it unfurl into the usual harmlessness. Because it isn’t a title fight, and even when it was—

Marc shrugs carelessly. He doesn’t fidget, not really, not anymore, but he keeps looking from Dovi to the snow-licked track. Keeps—thinking, probably. All very obvious. “I know now.”

There’s a moment of suspended silence between them, before Dovi turns back to get his bike up. Marc makes a noise, a faint intake of breath, jaded, ripping around the edges, rooted to the spot. He makes an addendum to his notes—he’s also met street dogs less wary than this.

“That’s a grid penalty, for sure,” he calls out over his shoulder, pretending to shake his fist at him.

Marc frowns. Runs his tongue over his teeth. “But—do you want to?”

Dovi, well. He knows Marc now. The sharp-edged shape of his hurt. There’s no waiting, feeling it. Crystalline tears to mania to a bloodsport. It shouldn’t—charm him so much.

“We still got some fuel,” he says. Smiles.

It’s the easiest thing in the world, to forgive him, to coax him back down. Marc drops his shoulders from somewhere around his ears, rushes on to help him with the bike. From up close, he’s a lovely, devastating thing, shinning with sweat, cheeks pink, the cut of his leathers almost demure. Dovi could—reminds himself sharply that they have dinner to get through.

That it is cold as fuck out there.

Want lingers in his stomach anyway, tugging like a fishhook. Marc, evidently, doesn’t help one bit. Opens his mouth wide and breaks into a loud, shameless cackle. He stares a little, then a lot more. At the cut of his lips, chapped, broad. At the flash of his too white teeth.

Dovi remembers—was it in 2012? Marc, baby-faced, un-fucking-manageable already, looking up at him through his lashes, wrapping his tongue around the fork he’d been holding.

Christ.

“You’re starting from the back of the grid,” Dovi tells him. Doesn’t tug Marc for a kiss.

It’s a very close thing.

He bristles, indignant, gesticulating broadly—that’s way too much time spent in Italy, down to the pathos of his offense. Dovi hides a chuckle in his hand.

“That isn’t fair!”

He shakes his head, helpless as always. “Do you listen to yourself when you talk?”

“Dovi!”

It’s only when he puts on his helmet again that Dovi realizes he’d been smiling.

They don’t race after that, though. Their laps are lazy, sedate, Marc a heartbeat behind him, so overtly, deliberately careful he sighs. It isn’t even subtle. When he slows, so does Marc. When he leaves the insides open, Marc doesn’t lunge.

So he didn’t learn risk management. Dovi shakes his head.

Night falls early. It gets colder, darker, more snow on the track. His fingers creak, protest. Marc’s arm can’t be doing better, he realizes, and that fine needle prickle of worry gets him to get off the bike and herd them inside.

Inside where it is warm, and Dovi can tug off Marc’s gloves, help him out of his knee sliders. He doesn’t mention the way Marc holds his shoulder, or the way he watches him.

“Are you—” He tries, trails off, horribly clumsy in how brazen he is.

Dovi squeezes his wrist once, very light. “No, not really. Bolognese or carbonara?”

He already knows the answer. Carbonara—too heavy for the season.

Marc still watches him. Breaks into a smile that Dovi doesn’t think he even notices. “Carbonara,” he says, and Dovi—

He isn’t such a difficult thing from up close, Marc. Exactly as troublesome as promised, maybe, but not difficult. Not bad.

They eat to the noise of cutlery scraping against the plates. Things unsaid.

“Did you have fun?” Marc asks, earnest, earnest enough to ache, a smear of white sauce in the corner of his mouth.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” He doesn’t budge an inch, bull-stubborn, expectant. “Of course I did.”

Dovi leans in. Cleans that stain with the pad of his thumb, then guides Marc for a kiss with a touch on the hinge of his jaw.

There’s a noise, soft. The kitchen melts away. Marc clambers into his lap gracelessly. There you are, Dovi thinks, triumphant, and keeps him close, a hand on the flat of his back, dinner going cold around them.

[azuritethehermit]

Maybe a fluffy Treebark fic with Ren helping Martyn with his listeners' abilities

Sure thing anon!!! Thanks so much for the ask <3

To be honest, I dont know much about the powers that the listeners have. Mostly because there's just not as much info on them as there is with the watchers. But I'll try my best to satisfy you.

I suppose it's mostly up to headcanon.

(WAAAHHHGG I'm writing abt the personas not the real people)

"Wait, so you have powers?" Ren asked him quickly, his face lit up. Of course, this silly nerd would want to geek out when he finds out his friend has superpowers.

Martyn totters his head a bit, "I mean, "powers" is a bit of a stretch, but yes, I suppose." He pauses for a moment, "I don't really know how they work, though."

"Dude! That's so freaking cool. " He slams his hands down on the table between them. "What kind of powers?" He asks excitedly, tail wagging.

"Nothing that I can really show you. It's more like listening, I guess. I can hear whatever I want from wherever I want." He explains, Ren gives him a bit of a confused look, so he continues, "There's a way I can, project it, in a way, but I don't know how."

Ren tilts his head to the side, "You know what a watcher is, right?" He tilts his head to the other side, "of course you don't" Martyn facepalms.

"It doesn't matter, look, you can help me." He says to the hopeful looking.

"What can I do?" He bows dramatically, "Ren Diggity Dog at your service." He looks up and winks.

"Right, okay, I need you to like run as far away as you want, talk to yourself, then come back after about 5 minutes." Martyn urges him shooing him away with his hands.

Unfortunately enough for Ren, he was very willing to do this, and knowing the wonderful, charismatic man he was there was only one way for him to do this. Or there was only one thing for him to say. If Martyn could even hear him, that was.

He thought about what it was he would say exactly when he got where he was going. Eventually, though, he made it to the center of the wood where he began speaking. "Man, that Martyn fella is quite a catch." He giggles to himself. "I wish that I, Ren Dog, could love him forever and ever." He knew this wasn't true. He'd die eventually, especially here, in this game. He, however, did not let that stop him.

"I just imagine kissing him, and hugging him, and holding him." He knows he's getting sappy at this point, but there was only a 50/50 shot Martyn was even listening. "Martyn Littlewood, my gorgeous companion-"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Martyns voice was suddenly heard from all around him, he looked around rapidly his face burning a red hot.

"I was simply only speaking my truth, Martyn," he's says incredibly, self-satisfied.

"You better get your ass back here." And that was all he said before the seeming Astral projection went away.

If he was nervous before, he didn't know what the feeling was now. Maybe regret, except he didn't really regret what he said, even if Martyn didn't like it, he could always just go make alliances elsewhere, even though that may hurt. He trekked the few mile journey back to their base slightly worried.

He walked through the door, looking around lightly, Martyn was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, a weight fell on his back. He almost fell forward, sending himself into fight or flight. "What the fu-"

"Ren." Martyns voice was soft in his ear.

"Martyn?" Ren said quietly.

"Were you messing around?" He asked the other.

"No, uhm, no, I wasn't." Ren was the last person you'd expect to get shy when confronted about things like this. Ren the ladies man, he was a charmer what else could he say.

"Good." He turned Ren around, now they were face to face, eye to eye. This really had nothing to do with discovering his powers.

"So, you've got special abilities, eh?" Ren smiles.

"Shut up, oh my god." He pulls Ren in for a kiss. A long awaited deep kiss, they both had clearly been wanting for some time now.

Martyn pulls away slightly, "You know this is futile."

"Let me enjoy this with you." He looks into the others' bright blue eyes. They seemed sadder

"Okay," He responded, a slight smile on his lips. Martyn placed one hand on Rens neck and the other on his cheek, Ren leaned into it like the dog he was. He placed another kiss on the others lips. This one was softer. It was more deliberate it felt like happiness.

Now it was getting darker, and it felt colder. The bed was close, and they were closer. Ren held Martyn close these fleeting moments were something he was going to hold dear. Martyn was maybe hiding from the cold, but his head was buried deep into Rens chest and their arms and legs were tangled up in each other. It was a domestic sight to see, true happiness in a place where it didn't exist.

Love in a place where it wasn't supposed to be created. Maybe this was what the listeners had really sent Martyn on this mission for. Maybe it was to make the watchers angry because if there was one thing they despised, it was people finding solace in the games.

Martyn didn't care, and Ren was blissfully unaware they love each other here and now, and for however long, this goes on. From now to the next one, and all the ones after that.