#i mean once you know to look for these features they become really obvious

[ratcandy]

finally being Taught how to sight identify some basic insect families and the way you gotta do it sometimes is just so.

like. the defining feature of this dragonfly family? Well you see from afar it looks like every other dragonfly. but look real close at its wing? and by god. there's a boot in there.

look at that. just the entire country of italy. a little boot on its wings. <3 what a wonderful little libellulid

BUT WAIT!!!!!! what if that boot... has no toes? well good fucking lird. that's a whole separate guy

Corduliid. And it's little toe-less boots. Isn't that crazy. Isn't that insane

[notmyneighbor]

instinct | doppel francis x female reader

rating | explicit

part 3/?

words | 4.8k

cw | explicit sexual content, light breathplay, breeding kink

ao3 link

fanart credit | kri_stasss on X

taglist | @maskedpacific @dreamndestiny @r-o-s-e-0

“We can’t do this.”

The words tear reluctantly from your throat when your mouth is finally granted a reprieve, the doppelganger’s lips now teasing beside your ear.

“Why not?” His voice purrs, punctuating this question by licking a stripe around the thin skin shielding the curve of cartilage.

Fuck. “Because it’s unprofessional, for one thing.” You try to make your voice stern but you notice the distinct waver when his mouth distracts you yet again.

“Given your behavior earlier, I don’t think you entirely understand the meaning of that term.” His teeth clutch your ear lobe, tugging lightly, and your breath escapes in a sharp hiss of sound.

“Are you still giving me shit for that? I said I was sorry.” You’re trying to hold onto your anger from earlier, to regain some sense of control and composure. But it’s becoming more and more obvious the cause is lost. His hand clutches your hip, his pelvis grinding against your body and your brain short circuits over the next lined up protest once again.

“And I said I didn’t believe you. I still don’t,” he reprimands, rolling his hips so the bulge at the front of his suit pants nudges your groin.

“What’s it gonna take to convince you, then?” Your fingers have mussed the mimic’s hair completely, finally abandoning that zone to move further down, nails scrabbling against your partner’s shirtfront.

“You could start by inviting me in properly. Bring this somewhere more comfortable. Unless you want me to fuck you up against the door. That’s also an option,” he murmurs, his tongue stroking up the arch of your throat.

“Jesus,” you hiss at his brazenness.

“Francis, actually.”

“You’re making jokes now, too?” This comes out almost as a squeak when his hand begins palming one breast through your blouse, his fingers managing to pinch your nipple even through the layers of clothing shielding it.

“Adapting to the situation.”

“You do this with all your police partners?”

He draws back to look at your features, his body suddenly going still. “No. Never. You’re the first. Why?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

“You’re jealous,” he decides, nipping at your bottom lip.

“No, I’m not. Why would I be?”

“Defensive, too. You can relax. It’s just us. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I know you’re a hardass.” Another kiss. “And I know your heart is in the right place. I know I’ve said this before, and you said you agreed, but I can tell you’re not really willing to trust me. You absolutely have got to work with me, not against me. Okay?”

There is nothing mocking in his tone now. The replicant stares at you with those dark eyes housed in bruised looking sockets and you find yourself surrendering a little. “I am trying to do the right thing,” you reply. “You don’t know how difficult it is, being a woman in this field, seen as something lesser just because of your very nature, something you have absolutely no control over…” Your voice trails off as you realize the implications of what you’re saying. “You do understand,” you say softly.

“I do. All too well.”

Your final surrender is issued in a gentle sigh. “You want to come in? Maybe take this somewhere more comfortable?” You echo his words from earlier.

His lips twitch in a smile. “Yes, I would.”

“Okay.”

He steps back to give you room to move. The sudden absence of the warm press of his body makes yours ache with longing already. You lead him to the bedroom, trying to push the rest of the doubts and misgivings from your mind.

Once you’ve reached your destination, you turn to face the milkman’s clone. You rest a palm against his chest, feel the thudding of his heart. Start small, you think. One step at a time. Don’t overthink it. Just do it. Let it happen naturally.

You slide your fingers to the top button of his shirt, unfastening that one and the one below it. Curls of dark hair are faintly visible beneath his now exposed undershirt. You lean forward to kiss his chest through that thin layer of fabric and he hums a little appreciative sigh. His fingers weave through your hair and tip your head back and his mouth captures yours. There is no teasing now. His tongue sets forth to map the interior of that warm, wet opening you offer, starting with the tip and then sliding along either side of the base. Another burst of heat sizzles between your thighs when he reaches for the fly of your pants, unfastening them and jerking them down to your thighs, along with your panties.

“Your scent has been driving me insane. Begging to be bred.” The hand forcefully knots in your hair, tugging your head back further, and you glare at the doppel, challenging him. “The real question is, do you want to be fucked by a man, or do you want me to show you my true potential?”

You refuse to answer, suddenly tight lipped, teeth stubbornly gritted but your nostrils flare, dragging air in sharply at this unexpected opportunity. You’re still struggling over the idea of intimacy with a replicant, who is supposed to be an enemy species, but the seeming wrongness of it excites you. You can feel the slick arousal oozing between your clenched thighs, your body way ahead of your mind.

“I want to devour you,” he says, and you can see the faintest hint of his teeth growing sharper, narrowing into points, the tongue no longer the modest replica of the human he’s impersonating. Devour me? Does he mean…? The clone’s pupils snap from abyssal pools to small specks surrounded by burst vessels. Your pulse ratchets up even further, caution whispering in your thoughts. He’s still dangerous, alliance or not. Each revelation of what truly lies beneath makes you shiver with a combination of fear and anticipation. Your lips part and you gasp when you feel his other hand at your mound, thumb wedging in between your nether lips to press firmly against your swollen, aching clit. A sharp point digs into the pink flesh bordering it, something claw-like that doesn’t penetrate, merely letting you know of its presence.

“Give yourself to me,” he rasps, the hand at your pussy lifting, settling at the neckline of your blouse before dragging down in one swift, sharp motion. The row of buttons surrenders, the threads severed and the plastic pieces scattering to the carpet.

“I didn’t like that shirt anyway.” You try to keep your tone light and playful, but it shakes as much as your body does.

The doppel regards you, the grin of those fangs now wolfish. “Are we cracking jokes now?” His words echo yours earlier. “Or is this merely false bravado? You’re terrified,” he says, the adjective caressed by the thick tongue coiled in his mouth, “but so brave.”

“Just don’t rip my brassiere. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I can see that.” His hand inverts, the backs of his fingers sliding over satin and lace. “Take it off for me. Everything. I want to see you laid bare.”

“You asking or ordering? Because I don’t—”

You’re interrupted by his mouth crushing yours. Oh. This was different. There’s so much of that tongue, now. The texture is smoother, the saliva coating it thicker. It’s more agile, too, no longer restricted by that fragile little tether beneath, free to roam, twisting and stroking your cheeks and palate and tongue before creeping back further and further. Deepthroated. Like choking on dick, only this has so much more mobility. Your gag reflex kicks in and your throat reflexively clutches, trying to expel this intruder but you remain resolute, forcing yourself to relax, to accept this challenge.

He withdraws and you gasp for air. You can feel the spit, some of it yours but most of it his, gushing over your lips and chin and trickling down your neck. “Oh, you’re good, sweetheart. Taking it so well. I’m going to love shoving my cock down there later. More of a challenge, to be certain, but I’m sure you can handle it.” He grabs one of your hands and moves it to the front of his crotch and your eyes widen. He’s not bragging idly. The image of that invading your mouth, your cunt, sends a fresh wave of arousal spilling from your channel. “Don’t make me wait any longer. Let me have you,” he growls.

You fumble with the hooks at the back of your bra, trying to divest yourself of your garments as hurriedly as possible. He still seems so methodical, unfastening the sleeves of his shirt, running down the remaining fastened buttons lining the front—not tearing through his own clothing, you notice—then easing out of his jacket and then finally pulling his undershirt overhead in one smooth motion, reaching overhead between his shoulder blades. You’ve managed to clear everything from your upper body and you sit on the edge of the bed to finish the job he’s already started on your lower half, watching raptly as his leather belt strap is slipped free of the belt buckle, pants and briefs thrust down and fuck, you’d known, you’d felt it in the palm of your hand, but still, the display in front of you was more than a little intimidating. His cock angles up and slightly to the left, leaking red, circumcised; like the original milkman’s, then, you suppose there is not a single detail he’s left imperfected, but that size surely is more of a reflection of his own, making you wonder not for the first time what he really looks like, beneath the handsome human countenance, scaled and monstrous, never meant to be viewed by human eyes.

Once he’s standing naked he finally moves towards you, pushing you back into the bed, your ass skidding along the top sheet, rumpling the material. Your head lands near the pile of pillows at the top, or close enough, anyway. You don’t care about the comfort of those cushions, already distracted by his mouth back on yours.

He doesn’t linger, doesn’t test your reflex this time, instead lapping his way down your body. He teases along your collarbones and slides between your breasts, then over each nipple, the sight of his hand grasping each globe to raise the stiffened centers into his wicked mouth terrifying erotic when you see those dusky claws digging into your flesh. You’re trying to stifle most of your noises of pleasure, mindful of the thin walls and your neighbors, but the doppelganger frowns over this, the tongue that has just painted a line to your umbilicus after outlining several of your ribs pausing.

“Don’t do that. I want to hear you.”

“The neighbors…”

“Fuck the neighbors. I want to hear the pleasure I’m giving you.”

You whimper but nod, neck craning to watch where that mouth is traveling, knowing exactly where its final destination lies. You feel his teeth scrape along one hip and the inside of your thighs that you spread for him, never piercing the skin but leaving red welts behind. Your body tenses in anticipation before he plants a surprisingly gentle kiss at the top of your mound, his eyes locked on your features. You know he’s smiling, even if your view is blocked at this angle. Then his tongue darts out, flicking your bud so sharply it’s like a slap, and you moan, your hips rocketing upward.

Francis’ clone wraps his arms around each leg, keeping you anchored and splayed for him, braced against his face. He sucks and lavs at your clit until you see stars. You could explode right then, but you want to see what else he will do, both fearing and longing for something to fill your aching insides.

You don’t have to wait long for your fantasy to come true. One finger thrusts into you, and you tremble, thinking that sharp tip must surely do damage, but he somehow manages the task, penetrating the muscular tunnel and curling around the spongey, sensitive tissue nestled near the front of your body. You reach for the replicant, your fingers knotting in his hair, grinding yourself against his mouth, against the pair of fingers that now corkscrew and spread and curl inside of you. His tongue joins in, stretching past those digits and exploring even further. It aches in the most delicious way, the feel of that wet, foreign intruder wriggling and stroking, marking the path that his cock will follow later. You can’t hold back any more, climaxing over everything the doppel has thrust inside, your entire body tremoring violently as you cry out and toss your head from side to side. He doesn’t stop, even after you’ve relaxed your grip in his hair and your body has gone limp and soft. The obscene slurping continues, your oversensitized clit twitching as you beg him for mercy.

At last the doppelganger grants you a reprieve, climbing back over your body, his mouth on yours again. You know what you taste like already, having sampled it before during self pleasure sessions, but it’s even stronger tonight, so deeply saturated on the mimic’s lips and tongue and even his chin, he’s drenched in your fluids and saliva and you lap it up greedily.

“You are the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs, his breath warm over your lips. “I could eat you out for hours.”

Even as intense as the orgasm you'd just enjoyed had been, you can’t deny there’s a little thrilling heated tingle in your core at this declaration. You have no doubt he could. Would. An entire day and night spent in bed, with him just ravaging your pussy with his mouth.

In a different timeline, of course; you can’t indulge in that idea now. There is still the case to be solved. You may be allowing yourself to be distracted by carnal desires at the moment, but the impending sense of time slipping out of your grasp has not abandoned you.

Francis’ doppel notices the change in your expression, the solemnity washing over your features. “You’re thinking about the case.”

“I can’t help it. I’m sorry.” You thread your fingers through his tousled hair and stroke his cheek. “It doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying this. That I don’t want to continue.”

“I have no intentions of stopping just yet. Not when that delicious pussy is begging for my cock,” he adds, nuzzling the side of your neck. “I’m going to fuck you hard, honey. Going to stretch you and fill you to the brim. You ready for it?”

Your breath shudders. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” Normally you’d balk at praise like that, but coming from his lips it makes you melt. He shifts positions, leaning back onto his knees, looping his hands around your thighs and tugging you closer. His gaze never leaves yours as one hand manipulates his erection up and down your slick sex, paying special attention to your still recovering clit before it presses against your entrance. He pushes, leans, and the air leaves your chest in a rush as he begins penetrating you.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse. Still more than you’d anticipated. Still unprepared for this sensation, even with the use of his tongue and fingers to pave the way. Burning. Speared fleshed stretched taut to accommodate his prick. Like being a virgin all over again, your body violated, reshaped, remade.

Your eyes flutter closed and you bite your bottom lip. He’s barely begun, still easing into you gently. You find yourself conflicted between wanting him to be buried to the hilt in one go, like ripping a bandaid off, and taking his time, letting you get accustomed to his length and girth.

“Look at me,” he says, and your eyes snap back open obediently, watching this creature that is now straddling the line between man and doppelganger, a little of both presented to you. He shoves in a couple of inches and you visibly tense, making him rest a hand along the side of your waist, thumb stroking small circles of encouragement. Despite his promise to fuck you hard, he’s being surprisingly tender and patient.

“Francis,” you whisper, letting your hand slide over his.

He huffs a little sound of pleasure at your caress, body leaning forward, the momentum burying him further inside of you. He lets his weight drop his hips down, his cock now finally sunk fully inside, his face greeting yours with a sloppy kiss.

“Oh, sweet girl. You’re so tight around me. Doing so well taking me.” His pelvis arches and then slams forward, knocking the air free from your chest again. “So brave. Letting me eat you. Letting me fuck you.” Another repeat thrust and withdraw, followed by another, the pauses in between shorter. The introductory period is clearly over. He nips at your shoulder, still not breaking the skin, but you’re beginning to wonder if he won’t do so inadvertently in the throes of passion. How much control did he actually have over his true form?

“Does it feel good?”

“It’s…hnnngh…” You’ve been rendered incapable of proper speech. It aches. Every part of you throbs. Sore, but also pleasurable. When you’ve recovered enough of your senses your body rocks to meet him, driving you further and further away from the discomfort and into something sublime.

“You’re mine, now. I’ll never let another man touch you. Another doppel. No one will ever have this. You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice sultry, lust and pleasure blanketing each word. The mattress creaks, the headboard sent against the wall—there goes my security deposit, you think wryly—and the lewd slap of damp flesh meeting serenades you. You rake a hand down his spine, halting when you reach the slight swell of one buttocks cheek, kneading the flesh. He growls, hips slapping harder, his mouth sucking along your collarbone. You know for certain this will leave a mark, the skin burning when he draws it away from the bone and against his tongue. At least he’s chosen somewhere you can conceal with your clothing.

You’d only intended to rest your hand in a similar location on his body, but the replicant surprises you when he shifts it from the strip of bone connecting his shoulder to the base of his throat, his hand squeezing your fingers, indicating what he wants. You’ve never attempted breathplay; you’ve always been pretty vanilla when it came to sex. But the doppel clearly had all sorts of kinks, and you think this is just one of many on a long list of depravity. Still shy, your first attempt is soft, and he growls disapprovingly, flexing again over your fingers until you comply, pressing against muscle and tendon and cartilage and his eyes roll back.

You can feel him try to swallow, hear the narrow wheeze of air before you relax your grip. He clutches your wrist before you can move it away, that impossibly long tongue stroking against the inside of your wrist. “I want to cum in you.”

You’re not on birth control; don’t even know if pregnancy is a worry with the mimics. Was it biologically possible? You’d just finished your period a few days ago so the chances that you’re ovulating again this soon aren’t likely, but fuck, why is it so stimulating to consider the idea of him filling you up, impregnating you, just imagine the scandal of that, a human and a doppel successfully mating…

“Do it,” you say out loud, granting permission.

“Yeah? You want it, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up, breed you…?”

“Fuck, Francis, yes.”

He hums approvingly, gifting one last kiss to your wrist before pummeling into you with renewed vigor. The dirty talk seems to have reset your release, and you feel another building.

“That’s it, good girl. Cum on my cock.”

“Francis, I’m going to…fuck…” Your back arches and you feel the wave of your orgasm crash against you. Your body spasms, massaging and wringing the prick inside of you and it sends your partner over the edge. He moans—so loud, you love it, never a fan of the quiet ones, but still, the neighbors—and you feel the answering shudder as his body begins pumping ropes of sperm into you. It quickly becomes apparent how much there is, spilling back out as he withdraws, only to replace that sudden vacancy with his fingers again, fucking his cum back inside of you. He presses his thumb hard against your clit and your back arches again, surging violently against him in another wave of bliss.

You’re both panting when he finally removes his hand from your body, slumping beside you. You stare at the ceiling, wiping absently at the perspiration that dots your forehead. The air smells like sweat, like sex, a nearly palpable humid layer of fragrance.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “God damn.”

“I take that to mean you enjoyed it.” You let your head tip to regard the replicant. His features are completely human again. Normal eyes now, pupils blown, bordered with clear white. His teeth flat edged again, revealed in the little half grin he offers you.

“Fucking hell. As if you couldn’t tell.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches for one of your hands. The claws have vanished. “I was fairly impressive, wasn’t I?”

You gape at him, noticing the little smirk that’s developing anew, and you release his hand to shove at his shoulder, rolling over until your face hovers near his. “You…”

“Me…what?”

“Yeah, it was great.”

“Thought so.”

“Proud asshole. I’m going to have trouble walking.”

“Good.”

You playfully slap him again, fingers colliding with one pectoral muscle before you gentle that touch, guiding it up to his jaw.

He covers your hand with his, regarding you with those sleepy eyes, and you feel something lurch in your chest.

“Francis…”

“You know we’d get more accomplished if we got an earlier start in the morning. If I spent the night it would save us some valuable time.”

“You’re inviting yourself to sleep here?”

“No. I’m asking you.”

“We wouldn’t sleep. Then we’d be too tired to wake up in the morning, undermining the entire process.”

“I’ll behave,” he promises with a soft smile. “I won’t even lay a hand on you. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You’ll do no such thing. If you’re staying here, you’re going to be in my bed.” You sigh. “You really think you’ll sleep?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I will,” you concede.

“Am I that irresistible, then? This doppel that you claimed to hate?”

“I told you, I don’t hate you. I didn’t mean it.”

He nods. “Don’t say it again. I don’t like you lying to me.” His eyes flash and his grip on your hand tightens. “I did mean what I said before. You’re mine, now. I won’t let anyone else have you. You understand?”

A little nervous flutter makes your stomach quiver as you nod.

“Say it.”

“I’m…I’m yours now.”

“Good girl.” He relaxes his grip and lets his head loll back to the center.

You’re still not sure how you feel about this new habit of praise he’s adopted. During intimacy was one thing, but outside of it? Your natural instinct to dominate was bristling right now, objecting to being quashed down.

”I can hear those mental gears turning from here. You practically have steam coming out of your ears,” he teases, his eyes on your face once again. “Come on, out with it then.”

”It’s…I’m not sure how I feel about this ‘good girl’ stuff.”

”Ah. I thought it might be that. I think you secretly enjoy it. I wouldn’t do it out in public, of course. That’s just between us in private like this. And no, it doesn’t mean that I think I’m superior to you. You don’t need to feel threatened. It’s more like…affectionate, I suppose. Like a pet name.”

”I guess.” You mull this over. “I don’t know what to call you, though. Like I can’t see calling you babe or honey or…I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m so focused on this. It’s foolish, really.”

”I like when you call me Francis,” he says quietly.

”But that’s not really who you are,” you murmur.

”It’s who I am now.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Okay, Francis.”

The doppel heaves a contented sigh and stretches his arms. “Well, now that that’s been addressed, we should have dinner and discuss strategy for tomorrow. What do you think?”

“Yes. I’m starving,” you admit. You always got ravenous after a really good climax. “What did you have in mind? I picked last time, so I guess it’s your decision to make now.”

“How about pizza?

“Oh, that sounds good. With extra cheese. You don’t like gross toppings like anchovies, do you?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never tried them. We can get whatever you want.”

“Alright. The place on West Ninth delivers now, I’ve heard. We don’t even have to leave the apartment. We can have them bring soda, too.”

“Convenient.” His face turns to you again. “Do we have time for a shower, first?”

“Yeah, I think we can squeak that in after we order. But we’re just bathing,” you remind him. “No funny business.”

He adopts a mock hurt tone. “You really have no faith in me. I can be a gentleman when it’s required.”

“I think I like it better when you’re not,” you murmur, leaning over to place a kiss on his shoulder.

“Now see that is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place. Tempting me. Challenging me. Wasn’t it nice just to let yourself go for once? Let someone else be in charge?”

“Careful. That sounds awfully similar to the toxic masculinity bullshit I keep encountering at work.”

“Nothing like it.” He shifts positions, moving until you’re beneath him again, his hands lightly bracing your wrists. “I know what you need. Let me give it to you. It’s not about your career. It doesn’t extend beyond these walls. It’s just for us. It’s okay to surrender, sometimes.”

“When do I get my turn to be on top?”

He smirks. “Whenever you want, sweetheart. I’m more than happy to oblige. You can ride me—”

“—That’s not what I meant,” you interrupt hastily. “It can’t always be you being so possessive and domineering. It’s only fair that I have a chance to exert some of that, too.”

His features grown solemn. “I know. There are so many things we can explore together. So much pleasure we can share,” he murmurs, abandoning one wrist so he can graze his fingertips along your bruised collarbone, then stroking along the notch at the base of his own throat. “It’s not completely black and white, not all one way or the other. Compromises must be met. Here. Even back out there,” he nods towards an imaginary target to indicate the world beyond your residence. “I think you’ll find that if you loosen the reins a bit, people will be more cooperative with you. You won’t lose respect. You won’t be looked down upon. You’ll just level some of the imbalances out. I know your past experiences have colored your outlook. I know it’s hard to let those walls you’ve built up around you lower. I’m not asking you to destroy them completely. Just let people see what’s behind those boundaries sometimes.” He kisses your mouth gently.

“What happens to us when the case is closed and we’re not working together anymore?”

“We might be asked to team up again. But even if we aren’t, this doesn’t have to end. There can still be an ‘us’,” he says.

“I’m a little overwhelmed here,” you confess.

He nods. “Frightened?”

“Yes, that too.”

“Do you think I’ll harm you?”

“Not intentionally. Maybe not even physically by mistake. But in other ways…I don’t want to get hurt again. There’s a reason I’m single. Why I’m so defensive. A hardass, like you say. The reason I have those walls you described in place. It isn’t just about my career, about being a woman in a man’s world. I don’t want to ever let anyone hurt me like that again,” you finish in a whisper.

“I have no desire to see you hurt that way, either.” He combs his fingers through your hair.

“It’s a bad idea, Francis. Not just the sex. Being…emotionally involved. It compromises judgment. It can be costly at precisely the wrong moment.”

“I’m fully committed to this case. You know that. You are, too. I don’t see it as an issue.”

“But what if something happens? What if the suspect threatens me? Will you be able to stay calm? Not do anything brash?”

Francis’ clone remains silent, his lips pressing into a thin line at the thought of that scenario, his hand stilling, buried in your scalp.

“That’s what I’m talking about. The more time we spend together like this, the harder it’s going to get.”

“I won’t fail. Not the case. Not you,” he adds, caressing your cheek. “You have my word.”

[aibloomie]

since requests are open could I request smoke session headcanons with sally face? I sent an ask about it before but it wasn't a request, if you remember :)

take your time and it's okay if you don't write them

SMOKING WITH SAL FISHER AND LARRY JOHNSON

ahh yes !! i remember <3 I just HAD to write these for larry too so I hope that's alright (anyway guys don't do drugs, I feel like I'm obliged to say that 😎)

also just the thought of hugging sally and him smelling like cologne mixed with weed?? I need that

SAL FISHER

━ smoking sessions with sally usually take place up in the treehouse that literally only your friend group goes into. and ever since, the two of you like decorating the place and making it more cozy by adding some comfortable furniture

━ he isn't the laughing type, he doesn't get all giggly over everything you say or do. rather, he's calm because for once his head goes silent. but he'd definitely be amused if you were the type who found everything funny – it would make him smile and feel good. he's definitely the type who NEEDS company when he's high, otherwise it isn't a good experience for him because he could get paranoid

━ it's during these moments that the filter in his brain turns off for a while. he can't help but gaze over at you and watch the way the smoke hovers over your face when you exhale. he's more obvious with his feelings, becoming more touchy as the high hits and suddenly he finds himself leaning onto your body, relishing the comfort of being next to you.

━ he stares at you so much, just observing you. he has always found you very attractive, but god, your beauty is enhanced even more when he's high. he admires every single feature you hold

"you're so beautiful." sally says, looking up at you while he rests his head on your lap. you were with your back hitting the wooden wall because your body would surely fall over if you weren't stabilized by something.

you smiled widely and shook your head, "nah man, you're just high. your visions probably blurred." that applied to you, whenever you turned your head, everything felt like it was being slowed down.

sally shook his head, tickling your thighs with his blue strands of hair. "hey, I mean it." he then pushed his body up, looking right into your now lidded and relaxed eyes. he could no longer tell if the feeling of his heart pounding against his ribcage was because of the weed, or because of how you made him feel

━ the type who learns how to do tricks with the smoke !! if you ask, he'll teach you how to do some of them. and of course, he'll beg you to teach him any of the ones that you know.

━ he has the advantage of hiding that he's high really well because he usually has his mask on, but he still goes the extra mile to show that he is NOT high when he is. like when you two walk through the hallway practically leaning onto each other because you guys can't walk correctly. of course you had to bump into lisa cleaning something right?

"oh I haven't seen you two all day! be careful okay, I've been mopping so it might be slippery."

sal immediately tried to stand up straight, gulping before speaking to try and make his voice sound clear. "yeah, thanks." and as soon as you're walking away he's clinging onto you and asking if he sounded normal

━ he takes care of you really well !! he knows when you're at your limit and won't let you go overboard. and if you end up feeling sick then he'll be right by your side asking what you need and doing everything he can to make you feel better. you don't have to worry about "ruining" his high or anything, he just wants you to be okay

LARRY JOHNSON

━ he's so fun to get high with. he has a mixture of everything. the deep conversations that leave the two of you emotionally vulnerable and questioning life? check! chaotic karaoke as you two struggle to get your slurred voices out and eventually end up falling onto the floor? check!

━ HE GETS THE MUNCHIES like literally every five minutes he goes over to open his empty fridge and he comes back complaining. "dude! this sucks I have nothing, should we go buy something?"

"larry we can't even drive right now we're going to crash!" you whined, trying to get some common sense into him because hey, someone has to be just a LITTLE bit mentally stable in this situation right?

larry landed with a grunt onto his bed. "I'm too lazy anyway I feel like I'm melting, let's doordash yeah?" his voice was muffled because he was quite literally speaking with his face planted on his mattress.

and then larry can't type quickly AND he wants the entire menu so ordering doordash takes like an hour

━ larry doesn't make a strong effort to hide that he's high, because nobody in the town really cares. the adults and authorities simply do not get paid enough to care, the only person who might nag him about it is mrs. gibson but thankfully she rarely leaves her apartment. so yeah, he walks past people and does not even care that he smells like weed. he doesn't use eyedrops either, his eyes get glossy but not red.

━ he is definitely the type to come to school high, like this poor guy zones out so hard during class and is so confused when he's given a worksheet with math problems on it.

one time he turned over to the nearest person for help but didn't notice it was travis, "hey what are we doing again?"

"fuck off." travis retorted

"yeah okay."

━ he's kind of an instigator when he's high. you have an ex best friend you want to hit back up? he'll encourage you to go for it with slurred words, being all like "yeah dude, just do it and let me know—let me know what they say." and then the next morning he's like "what!? why did you send them that text? nonono, block them already!" then cue him chasing you around trying to steal your phone from you

BOTH OF THEM

━ the most comfortable place to smoke with both of them is in larry's basement with some sanity falls blasting in the background !! it's funny because sally and larry are drastically different in the way they act. so you'll just see sally laying down on the bed, his eyes closed because he's letting his body completely relax. and then there's larry whose mouth never closes because he voices all his thoughts

━ sometimes it'll only be you and larry talking because sally got the urge to play his guitar and he gets really focused !! so he kind of blocks everything out except for the noise that each string makes and the feeling of his finger pads pressing against them

━ sally is probably the most responsible one so he'll make sure that you and larry aren't doing anything TOO reckless. larry has the tendency of getting easily emotional so you and sally will have to provide him some comfort when that happens </3

━ the three of you have definitely gone to a store together at night for some snacks and ended up getting kicked out and banned because all of the shenanigans you pulled (most of it was larry)

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Three

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Ah this took ages to write but I actually really loved it- finally they meet!! Hopefully I got a few things about Detroit right too but I don't live there so lemme know if not! Also I appreciate all the love the last two parts have gotten, means a lot!

Warnings: Some heavier topics surrounding a rough childhood and abuse of substances.

Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2 || Em’s daughters are renamed here because it felt weird not to and also have different ages– doesn’t affect the story much but just a warning! Rosie's nickname is also Z:)

Masterlist

It was far too early to be up. Especially after the night I’d just had, tossing and turning until I’d eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion. Something I hadn’t quite anticipated after my call with Em, but sleep had seemed near enough impossible once I’d hung up. No real reason as to why, simply that my mind had gone from a dull sluggish buzz to over-fucking-load in a mere matter of seconds.

Thankfully I had a flight to catch which meant that, even though I looked like my mum after another week long bender, I would be able to catch a little sleep before landing in Detroit. 

Detroit. That was the singular thought my tired mind kept pausing on. Stupidly, it felt just like yesterday that Marshall had first bridged that gap between us and phoned me, only it had been weeks since then, during which the most unexpected friendship had blossomed. He’d called again that next day and the timezones separating us had been made all that more obvious, him having not long dropped his daughter off at school whilst I’d been returning from lunch. He never really had given me the real reason as to why he’d gone and gotten in touch again so quickly, only that he’d wanted to double check that I was still down to fly out and work on a song or two. 

It hadn’t phased me. Neither had the next few calls that had followed, nor the texts that I’d found myself composing to him at odd hours of the day. 

We’d spoken about music at first: “Who inspires you?” He’d asked me which had led into a ramble. Something I only ever tended to do with those who knew me best, never having really mastered the whole art of social interaction yet, even after the fame. But he’d let me go on, before I’d eventually spun the question back around on him and listened quietly to a passionate speech about the handful of artists that had transported him out of the tiny room he’d grown up in and into something other.

I mentioned my sister after that. Em had heard her shouting at the tele one evening whilst she’d played some game that always seemed to bring out her most profane language and laughed, asking after the roaring gremlin in the background. I’d told him bits and pieces, added to the story in odd quips and mentions over the passing weeks, enough that most wouldn’t quite catch on to what I’d been avoiding, but Lottie had been around more often than not and the man had quickly worked out that she lived with me. He’d never outright asked me the reason as to why, though I liked to think that he was simply waiting for me to tell him, because this thing that we had, it was all about building trust. And Marshall? He was almost as unforgiving with who he gave that out to as I was. 

Soon enough our calls and Facetimes had become a featured part of my day, one I actually looked forward to. But even saying that, I was still shit scared of meeting him properly.

As much as it might humour him for me to admit it, I was a big fan of his. Had been since I’d first heard Guilty Conscience when it had hit the UK charts. I’d been swallowed whole by the rest of his LP, had even nicked a cd copy of it off a stall down at the market, alongside Aquemini, because I’d liked it so much. In truth, one of my earliest memories even featured the man. It was of my uncle bagging tickets to Em’s first real show down in Notting Hill, his girlfriend at the time’s brother having managed to somehow score a couple on a whim. It had been all they’d talked about for weeks on end.

I’d been around long enough now though– having dived headfirst into the industry before dipping a toe in first– that I knew just how meeting your icons wasn’t all it was chalked up to be. Still, this felt different to us just bumping into one another at some show or a party. And, who was I kidding– it was entirely different. Impossibly so. I’d said it to him then and I’d reiterate it again, he had been the last person I had ever expected to call.

“Passengers boarding the 09:53 flight to Detroit, Michigan please head to Gate B7.”

I sucked in a deep breath at the overhead announcement, figuring that it really was now or never. Two weeks in a big old house working on music with Eminem, I supposed stranger things had to have happened. So instead of lingering on the inane concept, I popped an anti-sickness tablet and dragged my carry-on over towards the gate. 

…

Truth be told, I much would have preferred not having slept on that flight. God, I was still embarrassed, but even so I couldn’t help the muted giggle that bypassed my lips whilst I waited for my luggage to drift on by. 

I was just thankful that I’d had the foresight to wear a hat and sunnies the entire time. Mostly out of habit, yes, but also so that I could keep this whole Detroit trip hush hush, because Marshall really had gone above and beyond to bring me out here and so I didn’t want to reward him with a swarm of unwanted questions. Not that anyone would even add up the notion of me being here and allude that it was down to him. That was probably the most unlikely headline somebody could conjure up.

But back to the whole Flight from Hell. Well, I had the tendency to sometimes be dramatic so not Hell per se, it had just been humiliating. Being shaken awake only to realise you'd been drooling the entire time and the rest of the passengers had already disembarked was more than a tad bit mortifying, especially when the air steward’s eyes had widened a fraction when I’d tried to sort myself out and wake up. 

I wasn’t entirely sure if he’d recognised me, or if it had just been down to the fact that Marshall had put me in First Class— a matter which I had complained about, justifiably— and that I had one of those faces he couldn’t put a name to. But either way, I hoped he wouldn’t expand too much on it.

I caught sight of my suitcase just as it pushed its way through the heavy black flaps on the end of the conveyor belt and so I slid past a man in a bright green Packers jersey to grab at it. And even I had to wince at the sight of the offending article. In all places, really? I wanted to ask. Wrong fucking move there, mate. 

By the time I finally did make it out of the crowd that had amassed, it had been near enough an hour since I’d landed and so I had a few messages waiting patiently for me.

Messages  The Martian Blacked out GMC parked out front Tap twice on the back window

Then…

Flight ok?

My mouth quirked upwards on its own accord at the quick relay but I was quick to shoot something back.

Messages  Might have passed tf out Woke up and it was just me and the steward there:))) Also tap twice?? Do I look like James Bond to you?

Although I had to Google what the fuck a GMC looked like, I did eventually work my way out of the terminal to spot the sleek SUV sat a way down in the drop off zone. ‘Course he’d have his driver park there, I thought pointlessly to myself as I manoeuvred past a handful of tired faces with a polite smile. Though to him it was probably easier to deal with whatever fine he got plastered with than it would be for me to attempt to find the thing in pickup parking. Not that it would be all that hard, it was huge.

Anyway, by the time I managed to hone in closer on the vehicle I felt my nose scrunch up in slight embarrassment at the thought of having to knock twice, as though I really was some sort of spy or, more than likely, a dodgy dealer. But just as I approached, prepped to knock and give the driver my name, I heard the far side door open and a pair of shoes hit the rough tarmac. 

Jumping back a tad, my head swivelled left to better view the figure who was then rounding the car. My eyes widened at the sight I was met with.

His smirk at my evident shock was ascued by a heavy hood and the brim of a dark cap, but it was there. Stayed there actually, all whilst he easily manoeuvred my luggage from out of my hands and into the boot of his car, whilst I simply stood there stock-still. Eventually, he came to stand before me about an arms length away. I blinked and my gaze skittered over the rest of our surroundings before they finally returned to his tilted head and piercing eyes. His back was turned towards the airport, away from the trio which had since grouped around their suitcases to wait and a handful of people that exited the terminal one or two at a time.

“What, I don’t get no hug?”

The mirthful lilt of his deep voice surprised me and my mouth worked over a plethora of words that couldn’t quite take stage before I was laughing softly into the shoulder of his jacket, his arms coming up to wrap around me. 

It felt oddly surreal to finally meet him, even if I had been so caught off guard by his sudden presence.

In fact, I jolted back at the very thought and thumped his arm, my eyes narrowed even whilst my smile never appeared to falter. “Why are you here?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, arm moving to cradle the offended limb in sly mocking, before he huffed out a low laugh. “No, hello? No, wow, Marshall, I can’t believe you’re really here!”

My mouth gaped at the teasing tone he took on, much like something I’d heard on one of his songs, and then I was laughing too, shaking my head at his antics. “That’s how we’re playing this?” I quirked a brow, but eventually mimicked, “Wow, Marshall. Gee golly, I just can’t believe that you’re really here!”

Marshall dipped his chin in supposed approval, gentle eyes roaming over my face in a way similar to what I must have done when he’d first arrived. I wondered briefly what he saw but hastily brushed the thought aside. “The American accent still sucks, by the way.” He acknowledged just as he stepped forward to open the passenger side door, surprising me yet again as he slipped by me, “So if you’re goin’ into acting, take note.”

My glare was mocking at best, lacking any real heat as he waited for me to climb inside, it was only once I’d glanced back at him with a thankful smile that he moved to shut the door. I took in a sharp lungful of air at the quiet that then engulfed the car and watched him move around the front of the hood. He was achingly familiar and yet not at the same time. And it was such a strange thought to latch onto that I took the initiative to just take things as they came over the next few weeks, which turned out to work in my favour when he joined me in the car and the engine revved.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here.” I found myself saying as he slowly peeled his way out of the drop off bay. “Thought you said you’d have someone come get me.”

Em simply shook his head whilst I observed how his hands slid around the wheel with an effortless ease. “I said there’d be a car.”

My eyes widened to accentuate my point. “Exactly! There’d be a car! So I just figured a cab or something.”

His eyes flickered over towards me just as we came to a stop at the busy intersection outside the airport, then pulled away to look left and right again. “Well, you should stop figuring then.”

I couldn’t stop the eye roll I gifted him, even as I laughed heartily to myself and took in the comfort of privacy the car offered, as opposed to the flight I’d just been stuck on. It was then, whilst we merged onto the highway and followed into the flow of traffic, that I got the chance to really look at him. 

I was still attempting to get over my evident shock, having expected to meet him much later on, once I’d been dropped off at the house or maybe even a while after that. But it was nice to know that he’d driven all the way here to merely pick me up when he could have just as easily sent someone to do it for him. 

Marshall looked about the same as he had when we’d first phoned in truth, only it was easier now to see all of the minute details he offered the world, those tiny imperfections. 

The slight dip in his chin was much more prominent now what with the way his lips had since pursed in concentration. The skin there was smooth, as though not much time had passed since it had last been seen to by a razor, and it wrinkled only around his eyes when they narrowed into focus. His nose was pointed, whilst simultaneously being both strong and soft. He had eyelashes that I could only envy, dark and long, and freckles light enough to dot both sides of his face.

He must have felt my gaze on him though because he soon chanced a glance back at me with a single raised brow. My eyes slid away from his profile and instead I opted to gesture my chin out towards the tinted windows that encased us. “These legal?” I had wondered, but mostly asked just to steer his mind away from me having been caught staring.

With a short snort, his brow dropped and the beginnings of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “What d’you think?”

I chuckled in retort, having expected that, and then looked away again, out towards the grassy verge that separated the long stretch of road from small grey buildings that littered both sides in the distance. It was my first time in Detroit and I wanted to make the most of it, remember every part.

It was quiet for a while after that, Em having switched on the radio at some point after asking after my flight, the two of us more than content to just let the silence linger around the hum of something so familiar, music.

He pointed things out to me here and there on the journey, nothing of real importance but dropping comments that would either make me hum or laugh loudly. He was a funny fucker even when he didn’t seem to be trying, I figured that was what I liked best about him. 

We drove through Downtown Detroit at one point and I listened intently when he spoke about Ford Field, the home of his favoured Lions, and again when we stopped at a traffic light and he gestured over towards where the Fox Theatre sat. Even during the daylight it drew the eye.

Once we’d rolled away from the inner city and its skyscrapers though I felt myself relax further, pleased by the vast amount of green that I started to see. Most of the time I’d spent in The States often left me confined to the major cities, to their bustling crowds and hectic commutes, mostly because I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, what with venues and tours, interviews and recording sessions. So this would probably be the first time I’d get to see a slice of the country’s suburbs and it wasn’t all too different from what you’d typically see back home. Not exact sure, but similar in a lot of circumstances. 

It took me a while to realise that Em had been nodding his head along to the radio, following the beat in an exact tempo. The sight had me hiding my grin behind my sleeve but the move captured his attention and he must have seen the growing joy my glazed eyes gave away to when he peered over at me because his forehead furrowed. “What?”

Instantly I shook my head, “Nothing.”

His eyes darted out towards the road, shifting gears before the back of his hand shot out to tap the side of my knee. “What?” He prodded again and I was startled by the easy nature of his touch, remembering then that it was possible now that we weren’t stuck between screens.

I snorted softly, dropping my arm seeing as he’d already caught on to the grin. “Just strange, is all. Being here.”

I watched closely as he gave a slow blink and waited, propping my arm up against the window whilst slumping a little in my seat.

“Good weird, or bad?”

The answer had to have been obvious and yet, I still answered him, “The good kind.”

“Good.” He hummed and my grin softened at his own small smile. It remained there for most of the drive. 

I didn’t know what I had expected to see once we finally did pull up to the house, but it didn’t fail to live up to its owner's accomplishments. It was beautiful, big yes, but beautiful too. Terracotta in colour and with a long gravel driveway. He had trees and flowers around the fenced gate to further keep out any prying eyes, but they were vivid and lush. Pretty to admire. 

Marshall turned towards me once we’d slowed to a stop and I smiled, unbuckling my seatbelt before he huffed a chuckle, turning off the engine and moving to do the same. The door shut behind me once I’d jumped out and I let myself breathe in the change of air. Having been cooped up in the Big Apple for the last few days it was refreshing to be able to actually enjoy it and not just think about all of the heavy city fumes. 

I was quick to snap out of it though when I heard the slight beep that sounded from the back of the car when the boot reopened. “Hey, I can get that.”

Marshall's eyes cut over towards my approaching figure. “So can I.” He tugged the heavy suitcase out with one hand, “See?”

“Mature, Mathers.” I retorted, leaning past him to at least grab my carry on, but he was there too, our hands clutched the handle at the same time, his encasing mine. “I can get it.” I repeated, turning slightly in my stance to lift my brows up at him. 

He was close, thigh pressing into the ledge of the boot whilst his other hand still held onto the door stationed above our heads. “You’re my guest.”

His tone was gruff, low enough for only me to have heard, even though there wasn’t anyone else mulling about. My eyes shifted, flickering back and forth between his own. “Then let your guest get their way.” 

He blew out an amused breath, the weight of it fanned my face and had a few loose strands of hair fluttering. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn.”

I shifted and his knee knocked against mine. “Here’s the pot calling the kettle black.” I quipped with a growing smile.

There was the slightest shake of his head, his mouth twitched, and then he was leaning in closer. I held my breath. Waiting. For God knows what, when—

He snatched the bag out from under my hand.

“Marshall!” It was almost indignant the yell I made, shocked by the sly move he’d played and the fact that he’d already jumped back to make his way towards the front door before I could even properly react. I heard his bright laughter echo back to mock me.

“Too slow.” Marshall called in turn, shrugging as he shot a smug look over his shoulder. “Lock her up for me?”

The tap he then gave his right trouser pocket evidently had me frowning and so I looked down on impulse, only to spot a set of keys dangling from the belt loop on my jeans. Baffled, my head snapped upwards, just in time to see him laugh and wheel my suitcase inside.

I took a deep breath, then let it go.

“Such a prick.” I muttered to myself, though not unkindly, as I jumped up to grab the boot door and slam it shut, using the fob to then lock the monster truck up.

By the time I made it up the rest of the drive and through the front door I was a little less peeved about the whole thing, which was mostly down to me having been a little humoured by his methods of undermining.

“You treat all your supposed guests like this?” I blew out.

Marshall only greeted my entry with a snort. “Uhuh, that initiation we talked about? Starts here.”

Rolling my eyes, I stepped further into the entryway to observe, making the effort not to gape at the sheer size of it. Because in truth, he could’ve easily fit a half a dozen Harleys in the space between the door and the stairs.

“Where do we start the sacrifice then? Can’t imagine anyone would be all too happy about staining these pretty floors.” My toe skimmed a stark white tile as I said it, peering over at him through my lashes whilst I thought back to an earlier conversation we’d had and the fact that he’d actually remembered. 

“Basement, baby!” 

He used the term in ridicule, to accentuate the gaiety in the back and forth we’d just begun. His hands shot out wide in a gesticulative fashion and so I used the moment to grab at the handle of my suitcase he’d left by the door, thankful that the thing had wheels. I grinned at the small victory.

“You were saying?” I dragged out around a pleased smile.

Marshall shook his head at me, like he actually couldn’t believe I’d attempted to one up him— and managed it. Though he thankfully left it alone. Still, that was probably only due to the fact that he then said, “Want a tour?”

And who was I to deny?

“If you don’t want me getting lost, then yes please.”

He scoffed, but wore the ghost of a smile as he pushed further into the house, leading me this way and that until we finally wandered up another set of stairs onto the second floor.

“Bedrooms are there.” Marshall pointed out to me, hands stretched towards both the halls that lined either side of the staircase. “Mine’s just down here, Z’s too.” He explained further, gesturing towards the two doors on the far right side, Rosie’s bore a bright sign with her name and I was humoured to see that the usual silver handle had been switched out in favour of a neon pink.

He caught my slight smile at the sight of the door and nudged me with his shoulder.

“Quit it.”

I snorted softly, pursing my lips to dampen the grin I wore. “I didn’t say anything! But I do love it.” Honestly it was too cute seeing him all mushy like that, and the fact that he’d gone out of his way to make something like a door handle special for his daughter was endearing.

Marshall grunted out a hum, then took a deliberate step over toward a room a little closer, the door had been left slightly ajar. He pushed it open to reveal a room that could have resembled a hotel room had it not been for the much warmer sense of comfort it offered. I reckoned it was down to the little souvenirs and decorative pieces that had been jotted around the place, like the snowglobe of Big Ben and a little British flag, as well as the articles of clothing which had been laid out on the bed.

My attention caught on those first and I glanced back at Em, who was now leaning against the doorframe, to ask a silent question. The man shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed to the wood and suddenly looked a tad bit sheepish, “Rosie’s idea. Wanted to give you something, like, so you’d feel welcome or some shit.”

I let my fingers brush over the pyjama’s the little girl must have picked out. They were soft and dotted with tiny woodland creatures, bunnies and berries. My heart ached at the lovely gesture, never really having had anyone do something like this for me, let alone someone so small and sweet who had gone out of their way to make me feel welcomed of all things.

“You lucked out with her.” I murmured  and was granted a doting smile when I peered back up at the girl’s father.

“She’s aight.” Marshall reasoned, pushing out a small breath as he took a step further into the bedroom. “Room okay then?”

Smiling, almost a little stupidly, I chuckled in disbelief and took another peer around the room. “It’s perfect, thank you again for this.”

He rolled his eyes at me and made a gah sound, “Say thanks again and I’ll take you to the nearest motel.”

My eyes widened just as my jaw dropped, “A motel, really? Wow, and here I thought we were truly bonding.”

“You know what they say, don’t assume.”

Narrowing my stare into something a bit more intense I waited for him to crack, but he must have been half-alien or something because the man held his own much longer than I did. “You’re such a dick.” I eventually chuckled, shaking my head.

“Get used to it,” He retorted and stepped away to wheel my suitcase further into the room, placing my bag down on the end of the plush bedspread. “You tired? Figured we could grab something to eat once Z’s home if you’re down.” 

It was something I was used to, the whole jumping back and forth between serious and teasing, but I still found it sweet how he would tend to ask after me, simply to make sure that everything was still good.

I hummed in reply and took one last look at the pyjamas I'd been gifted. “I’m good, slept on the flight–”

“And drooled all over them First Class seats.” He butted in, earning himself a short glare which only proved to make him grin. 

I should have known to have kept that shit to myself, fucker would probably lord it over my head forever.

“Uhuh, hilarious.” I deadpanned before continuing on like he hadn’t interrupted, “What’re you thinking of getting?”

The question went unanswered because it was then that the front door sounded, creaking open on its heavy hinges before it rattled closed. I jumped at the unexpected noise whilst Em simply glanced back over his shoulder, “That’ll be her.” He commented, confusing me for a second when he raised his hand and started a countdown on his fingers, “3, 2, 1–”

“Dad!”

I snorted at the precise timing, Marshall already moving towards the door at the call of his name and so I went to follow. It was just as we made it back out onto the hallway’s landing that he paused, “I can keep her occupied for a while if you wanna settle in, take a nap or something.”

It was an offer and a half from any parent to attempt to keep their kid at bay, I mean I’d done it a fair few times with an excitable Lottie over the years, but I waved it off, smiling when the girl’s voice called out again. “Dad?”

Marshall leaned in closer, hand clutching the bannister, and lowered his voice whilst his face got all serious, “Get out whilst you still can.”

Huffing out a mirthful breath, I couldn’t quite hide my smile. “I’m good, I'm actually excited to meet her.”

He paused and observed me for a moment, as though he was trying to see the truth behind that sentiment, which made me unsure. But I hoped he did find the sincerity in my words because it hadn’t been a lie, I was nervous to meet his daughter sure, wanted her to like me and not feel as though I was suddenly imposing on her life, but I had genuinely enjoyed her witty remarks and scathing comments when we had spoken the night before. She reminded me of a little of a younger Lotts. 

Em eventually nodded at me, cheek dimpling ever so in a possible attempt to dampen his reaction, but before I could question it, the man was jogging down the stairs. “Up here, you monster. And what I tell you ‘bout yellin’?”

A familiar face poked its way out of the hall at the bottom of the staircase and the smile that dawned on it was beaming when she spotted her dad. “How are you gonna hear me if I don’t yell?” She replied, squealing when the man swept her up off feet and into a hug, peppering a line of kisses into her hair, “Dad!”

Marshall snorted at the reaction he’d garnered but eventually lowered the girl back down onto her feet, whilst I just stood at the bottom of the stairs watching them with a fond smile. “What?” He said in a put upon voice and ran a hand over the girl’s head, bulging his eyes out wide when Rosie pulled a face. “How was school, kiddo?”

Rosie pushed up onto the balls of her feet before she rocked back, “Good, I ran out to the car quick to get home ‘fore she gets here.”

The smirk the man took on was almost evil and he laughed when he cocked his head out to gesture behind the girl. “Just about managed it.”

A curtain of honey coloured hair swept over her shoulders when the girl twirled around on her heel, eyes widening in sudden surprise to find me standing there. “El!” She called out, a grin breaking across her features before she hurried over to engulf me in a hug too.

Even as surprised as I was by the gesture, I chuckled and lowered myself down to squeeze her back, smiling at Em from over the top of her head. “Hey,” I murmured gently, staying crouched even as we pulled apart, “Thanks for the pjs, they’re probably the best gift I’ve gotten in ages.”

That statement appeared to thrill the girl, who’s eyes twinkled under the soft lights, “I got a matching pair, guessed we could wear them tonight and watch a movie so you’d feel more at home.”

My heart burst at the thought, I was sure of it.

But then Marshall went to speak and I already knew what he’d been prepared to say, so instead of letting him ruin Rosie’s sweet plans, I was quick to jump in, “I’d love that.”

The smile she gave me was award worthy and she turned back to face her dad with that settled. “See, if you had gotten the same ones like I said, you could’ve joined!”

I snorted at the expression that then crossed Em’s face, his head jolting back a tad. 

“You really didn’t get some to match?” I egged the girl on, mouth dropping open in a feigned amount of shock.

We were both met with a disbelieving shake of his head as the man blew out a heavy breath and turned away. “I’ll watch what I want and wear what I want, it’s my house.” He threw back at us as he headed further into the house, murmuring under his breath, “Women.”

Rosie and I shared a conspiratorial grin before we made to follow after him. 

“It’s rude to just dump your friend, Dad.” Rosie commented once we’d wandered into the kitchen to find Em grabbing a couple of bottles out of the fridge, the girl slid onto a stool at the end of the island whilst I bit my cheek to keep from outright laughing.

Her words were met by an unimpressed stare that didn’t appear to phase her as she continued to swing her legs back and forth. The man let the fridge door slip close as he made his way over to join his daughter, handing her a bottle before sliding the other across the counter to me. “You got homework?”

Rosie’s eyes flickered from her dad to me, then back again, “Maybe, but it’s Math.”

“Well, we ain’t goin’ nowhere til it’s done.” Marshall told her with a small shrug, even though I’d seen his eyes widen at the thought of having to deal with numbers and sums. “Get changed and we can start on it, okay?”

The girl emitted a soft sigh but ultimately moved to jump down from off the stool, “You any good at Math, El?”

Biting down on my smirk, I ignored Em’s murmured warning of the girl’s name and answered, “Not bad, I might be a little help.”

“Anything’s better than my Dad’s attempts.”

“Yo, I try.” Marshall was all too quick to quip back in retort, his arms now crossed over his chest as he stared his daughter down with a slight frown.

Rosie’s smile was precious, but her eyes told another story. I knew then that she understood exactly how to keep her dad wrapped around her finger. She was a little menace and I already loved it. “I know, Daddy, my teacher said that my English homework was the best she’d read in a while.”

Em actually seemed to take pride in that and so I guessed he’d had a hand in that homework too. His daughter also appeared to take note of the fact that he was pleased because she hurried off then, calling out over her shoulder once more, “Be back in a sec!”

“Yellin’!” Marshall yelled, defeating the whole purpose of his previous argument, before he sighed and gestured me over towards the seat Rosie had just vacated. “See what I have to put up with?”

Scoffing, I moved to take up the stool whilst he picked up a few stray notes lying on the counter and placed a glass that had been left behind at some point into the sink. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Wait til she’s thirteen and debating the point of riding a dirtbike to and from school with you.”

Em barked out a real laugh at that as he turned his back on the sink to shoot me a look that said ‘Really?’

I heaved a put upon sigh, fingers toying with the water bottle I’d been gifted. 

“That’s not even the worst of it.” I told him as my mouth worked over a smile, “Before I left she asked if she and a few friends could stay at the house alone whilst I was away, because, and I repeat, ‘If there’s six of us then that basically equates to one whole adult’. I’m still genuinely scared that she went through with it even after I said no, keep checking the security cameras to make sure there isn't a herd of teenagers working their way inside.”

He wore an amused smirk but I noticed there were more than a few questions hiding behind his stare. They’d been there for a while now.

“You can ask.” I eventually said, appreciating the atmosphere his home offered, from the warm walls and the pictures that decorated the place, to the odd bits of mess that made the too large house look lived in.

Em worked his tongue into the curve of his cheek and watched me for a moment, before he eventually settled his forearms against the counter and leaned into it. “Kinda figured you took care of her, even before you mentioned that she was your sister.”

My gaze flickered down to the water droplets that clung to my fingertips, the bottle sweating from the change in temperature. “Yeah. I mean, I’m a lot older than her, so we sort of lived through different shit but I went through a lot as a kid, with like my mum and all the issues she had. When I found out that she was pregnant again it was through this woman who used to work with her at the local greengrocers when I was little. I just remembered thinking that I didn’t want that baby going through the same thing I did.”

My mind flashed back to the memory. Thinking of Annie’s wrinkled face and the relentless rain that had only just begun to let up. She had congratulated me.

“I was sixteen, had long since packed my shit up and left, but I’d never had the money to get too far. So I’d still spot her out and about.” I licked at the corner of my mouth, unwilling to meet his eye. “I went to see her after I’d heard, mostly out of anger. Her new boyfriend had moved in and I remember just being thankful for the fact that my brother had a friend that didn’t mind putting him up. She said she wasn’t using, just fags and the like, a cider here and there. Was surprised to see me, though she expected a big song and dance about the new baby.”

I picked at the water bottle’s label.

“When Lotts was actually born, her dad was locked up proper– facing sixteen years for armed robbery. Mum had her in a ward two months early and ended up leaving her there to go visit him. She was a preemie, tiny, too tiny, you know?” I murmured and could still picture her that small. “Mum she came back that same night mostly for a bed to sleep in, but had already found herself a fix. The nurses must have noticed that something was up, they’d asked to run blood tests and shit, but mum wouldn't have it. Would come and go during visiting hours whilst Lotts was in the NICU. I stayed, only leaving when I had a shift to work, and even then I’d come running straight back.”

Marshall just stood there listening and in truth I was thankful that he hadn’t thought to interrupt me to offer words of comfort or probe deeper. Although his eyes were serious when I finally managed to look over at him, listening intently.

I rubbed my lips together before getting on with it, “I moved back in with her when Lottie was finally able to come home. Ended up taking care of the kid when I was still just a kid myself, only so that she didn’t get tossed into care or fucking overdose on whatever shit mum and whoever else left lying around. It was just the two of us for a while, before my brother, Danny, came back. He’d gotten caught up in something with these older lads on the estate and was still at school, so I worked nights down at this pub under the table to keep up with rent and he’d watch over her for a few hours. It was there that I started performing just for extra cash, like on mic nights and stuff.”

Em squinted and for the first time he opened his mouth to contribute something, “That’s where you got found, right?”

I was sure I hadn’t mentioned that in any of our conversations and so I could only guess that he’d done a little bit of digging on me, the thought made me want to laugh but instead I simply smiled. “Yeah, some scout just happened to be passing through.”

He hummed, taking that in.

“But by the time anything really came about, my brother had long since gone off to join the army and Lottie was seven.” I mentioned, eyes jumping back and forth between him and the bottle I still clung to, “I’d always taken care of her, but then I was suddenly needed elsewhere to make these dreams come true, to make money, to give her a better future.” 

I knew that he could relate to that, to the utter struggle and fear I’d faced, terrified it would all fall through and I’d be left with nothing again.

“I didn’t really have a choice about leaving her though so she stayed with a neighbour at first, then her dad’s aunt who was nice enough to pop round sometimes, she was an older frail woman. I managed to actually land something eventually and started work on an album, but even after that the weight of anxiety had settled and I was working so hard just to keep all of these producers' attention.”

I swallowed thickly at the next flashback that had hastily followed. 

“Shit went down while I was over here in The States.” 

I felt sick each time I thought about it, hardly even dared even attempt to bring it up even to those few that knew. Lotts didn’t really remember any of it though, didn’t recall the hospital scare or my frantic need to make sure that she was okay for weeks after it had happened.

“I flew back that night and managed to sort of work things out. Threw a fucking toaster at my mum’s head I was so angry–” I snorted stupidly, “It missed. But after that I couldn’t trust her. She’d lost any sort of love I’d held for her. That was about five years ago now though, so she’s a bit different. Trying, she says. But Lotts stays with me until the very second I can’t help it.”

Blowing out a shaky breath, I willed my gaze to meet his and was taken back by the intensity of his stare.

“Sounds like a piece of work.” Marshall eventually commented and it honest to God made me laugh, allowing me to fill that hollow in my heart for a second and be grateful for the ease of it, because I really wasn’t too sure if I’d been about ready to cry at his kitchen table. “But I get it.” He added, “I think it’s great what you did for her, too. She probably won’t realise that til later but you should hear it.”

I glanced away, eyes suddenly stinging and tried to smile. “Yeah, well.” I tittered, wiping the corner of my eye discreetly, “She’s staying with her now and it’s got me on edge.”

Marshall moved around the kitchen island to place a careful hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly before he ended up dragging me into a one armed hug. “You’re tough. Which means she’s gotta be too. I’m sure she’s just doing what kids do and messin’ around with her friends. Remember that’s all I did growing up, anything was better than bein’ in that house.”

A small snort escaped me as we parted, though he stayed near. “Because that’s so reassuring.”

He clucked his tongue and grinned, knocking shoulders with me, “I was a good kid, didn’t do nothin’ bad.”

“Uhuh,” I felt the need to drag out, “The image of an angel, Marshall Mathers.”

“Too fuckin’ right.”

“Dollar!”

It seemed we both jumped at the sudden reappearance of Rosie, who came sweeping into the room with a finger pointed at her father and an armful of school supplies. The skin between my brows pinched in confusion before the man beside me answered her, giving me the explanation I needed.

“For what?”

“You swore.” The girl shot back at him and climbed onto the stool beside me to settle her notebook down as well as a few pages of paper and pens. 

Marshall ended huffing, unable to deny that he had and moved towards the cupboard by the large, sliding glass door. 

“Maybe don’t eavesdrop on conversations. Reckon you owe a dollar for that, girlie.” He’d since grabbed a plastic tub and I was honestly surprised by the sparse amount of notes that were hidden inside it. Em must have spotted my surprise though and equated it to what it meant because he spoke again, “It gets emptied every couple a’ weeks and that monster over there gets to choose what we spend it on.”

Rosie perked up at the mention. “Last time I got him to take me fishing.”

“Fishing?” I wondered, blinking at the revelation. I looked back at Marshall and laughed, “I’m sorry but I can’t imagine you in that scenario.”

“Ha ha.” The man said impassively, widening my grin whilst he tugged two dollars out from his back pocket and shovelled them into the jar before he returned it to its rightful place.

“He only caught one.” Rosie piped up, already having written the date in that backwards way the American’s preferred, “It was real cute.”

I raised a brow and shot it Em’s way. “Cute?”

Rosie’s smile was big and bright, “Yeah! He said we had to let it go though ‘cause it was so small.” 

Marshall rolled his eyes and then pointed between the pair of us. “You two keep this whole thing up imma go out to eat by myself. Bunch’a bullies, I swear.”

Rosie and I broke into a fit of giggles at that which only made the man’s expression flatten that much more, he waited for us to get over it before he looked between us and the notebook which had been laid out. “Enjoy Math, I’m gonna go grab a burger.”

“No!” I laughed brightly, spinning on my stool when he started to walk back around the island, “We want food too.”

“Yeah, we’ll start a riot, we're that hungry.” Rosie told him and I couldn’t muffle the rest of my giggles. Marshall merely rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Math, then we can talk food.” He declared, tickling his daughter’s side as he slid in beside her to get a better look at the worksheet she had. His eyes widened. “They got you using letters now too?”

Rosie’s laughter filled the kitchen and I got a first row ticket to watch her and her dad’s light ribbing as we started in on the first question. The sight of it made my heart swell in truth, it was just so easy to see how much love they held for one another.

[pansy-picnics]

A vat7k related question.

What do you think is Hugo's gender identity? Cus I want to hear what you think Hugo's gender is and the story behind it.

EHEHEHE personally i think she’s genderfluid and uses he/she/they pronouns…….I think he was kind of an uncracked egg up until the trials though. like, he’s been in survival mode for so long that he’s never had the time or luxury to really think about himself or his identity….i think he’s had a lot of different disguises over his career though, and those personas are either male or female depending on what the situation calls for so he’s not a stranger to dressing femininely either.

but yeah…i think for a long time hugo just identified as male by default cuz like…what else would he be LOL. if he had any doubts at all they weren’t significantly hindering him or anything so he just buried them with all the other of the emotions he doesn’t want to feel. but like the closet is made of GLASS and this becomes especially obvious when she teams up with 3 other teenagers who are also transgender so sometimes she’ll just Say Shit and they all turn around and look at her like “…….🤨”

i have this very vivid scene in my head where varian comes out to the gang as trans and hes clearly really uneasy abt it. and hugo doesn’t know what to say so he just tries to relate by saying the first thing that comes to mind and goes “oh yeah i get it i mean. sometimes i wish i was a girl but like not all the time yk” and nuru and varian both just stop and stare at him

hugo, getting nervous: …Sorry that’s probably not the same thing forget i said anything

nuru: No i think we should talk about this?

anyways yeah….other than her traveling party giving her some weird looks nothing actually really came of these conversations bc hugo would refuse to think about herself even if you put a gun to her head

fast forward to post-trials though, and hugo’s been living in the castle with varian for about six months…it was REALLY messy for both of them while she was adjusting, but at this point shes finally started to let her guard down a little, and all of a sudden she has SO much free time and she has no idea what to do with any of it. she’s stealing collecting things, tinkering with all kinds of useless little gadgets, rapunzel is teaching her tons of little arts and crafts projects. overall shes pretty content despite everything. So anyways then the gender crisis hits them like a fucking freight train

honestly i’m like half joking when i say i think it started bc they just kept forgetting to cut their hair. like one day they looked in the mirror and they’re like “wow my hairs getting so long i kinda look like a girl lol. Wait”

AND AS FUNNY AS IT IS ITS SO. WILDLY UNFAMILIAR TO THEM. like all of a sudden theyre SO insecure for as far as they can tell, NO reason and it drives them CRAZY. i dont even think that hugo dislikes their masculine features after coming out, i think they embrace them if anything but its just like…going from 0 to 100 so fast and suddenly being so hyper aware of themselves in a way that they NEVER were before…having to realize that they’re definitely Not cis. it’s fucking TERRIFYING!!!

not to mention it hits him all at once during a time when he’s still frankly really paranoid about him and varian’s relationship, and he’s kinda walking on eggshells bc deep down he’s convinced that var’s just gonna get tired of him eventually and kick him out. its like he’s just waiting for the final nail in the coffin despite the fact that there is literally no coffin.

All that being said i think it takes him a while to work up the courage to talk to varian about it. and he knows he won’t like. hate him for being trans or anything (I sure hope he wouldn’t, at least, seeing as he is literally also trans) but varian’s already done SO much for him and helped him through literally everything already….he doesn’t want to burden him any more than he already has. he also cant comprehend that someone can just Like him, like, as a person, so he’s convinced himself that varian must see something specific in him right now and he’s afraid that if he changes himself drastically in any way then whatever varian saw in him just. won’t be there anymore. If that makes sense

as for who he actually goes to first- honestly i think it’d have to be lance. at least in my head lance was the first person hugo really started to bond with aside from varian….he didn’t start letting his guard down with rapunzel until quite a while after that. also i think he’s worried that if he tells rapunzel she’d end up accidentally spilling something to varian (which is like. Valid bc she’s a horrible liar) he’d definitely write a letter to nuru, too, but nuru is also in another kingdom, and that message takes a while to get to her, so it’s more something they talk about after the fact

when he finally does get a letter back after dumping this revelation on her it’s just like

“dearest hugo. upon reading your letter i desperately wanted to tell you that i told you so, but i realize that would be in poor taste, seeing as you are clearly struggling right now. Moreover,-“ /j

regardless of who she tells first, they obviously all support her and encourage her to talk to varian as well…And ofc varian hypes her up to no end when she finally does. i wanna say it’s a sweet emotional scene but i feel like varian was also under the assumption that she figured out the gender thing like a year ago /j

hugo: ,,,,so like. i don’t think i’m a guy

varian: . yeah?

hugo:

hugo: TFYM “YEAH”?????!!!!???

varian: D. DID WE NOT ALREADY KNOW THIS?

hugo: ,???? NO???!!???!

jokes aside though as soon as hugo does decide he wants to explore his presentation more varian immediately consults rapunzel who gets WAY too excited about it and it kind of scares hugo a little bit. /j like Do you want to cut your hair? Dye it? Do you want new piercings? TATTOOS????

they eventually just settle on getting her a few new pieces to add to her wardrobe and that works out fine. varian sees his girlfriend in a dress and loses his mind etc etc. All is right in the world

[ohitsjustgen]

Bakugo x Soft Reader

_______________________________________________________

Fluff, fluff and more fluff and maybe a bit of insecurity?

_______________________________________________________

It was the weekend and you came to visit bakugo. You walked up to the front door and began to ring the doorbell. Knowing that he was probably in the middle of training you ring it continuously.

Since bakugo's parents were out of town for a business trip you wanted to check up on him..just to make sure he was ok..and to make sure he didn't burn the house down some how.

Bakugo, who was still training hears the doorbell and huffs to the door to answer feeling a little agitated. "Who is i- oh it's you" he says calming down his anger a bit. He makes a 'Tch' sound with his mouth after a long silence.

"Is right now a bad time? I mean I can come back some other day if you're busy." Trailing off on the last part of your sentence you look down at your feet, slightly intimidated by the man's presence.

Somehow your shy, quiet personality and bakugo's angered, loud, personality collided to build a relationship. Who would've known?

With his red irises examining your facial features he sighs deeply. He moves aside and crosses his arms. "Nope, it's alright you can stay. I was training for the exam coming up next week but I'm a little tired anyway." He says uncrossing one of his arms to rub the back of his neck.

Not wanting to be too hopeful you look up at him making sure it was really ok. "Are you really sure? Like I really don't want to bother."

The blonde haired boys face changed a bit and the annoyance started to become obvious in his tone as he answered in a cold manner. "Yes I'm goddamn sure hurry before I change my mind"  He says letting another "Tch" leave his mouth before turning around and entering the house. You, not to far behind him, follow like a lost puppy begging for food.

"Why exactly did you come here dumbass? He asks coldly. He walks into the kitchen and opens the modern fridge to pull out a bottle of water.

"Well, I just thought maybe we can hangout? We haven't done anything together since we've been official" You state sitting onto a barstool at the island his kitchen equipped.

He pops open the bottle and takes a swig letting the cold liquid slide down his throat. All you see from your position is his adams apple bobbing up and down with each swallow.

When he's finished he twists the cap back on and looks at you with his ruby red eyes. You can tell he's thinking about something..but what?

"Fine" he finally says "But only for a short while ok? I don't want you to think I need you or something understood?"

You vigorously shake your head in agreement. Once again the 'Tch' sound was made before he starts to think for a moment. Once he's done he speaks but this time in a less irritated tone. "Let's go to my room to talk I guess"

"Ok!" You say hopping off the stool. You follow behind the blond boy letting your eyes examine everything you pass. "Your house is nice bakugo" you say trying to soften the mood a bit. The angered boy doesn't respond though he just huffs at the compliment. Before long he feels bad for not responding "Thanks I guess." It was more of a mumble but you could care less. He accepted the compliment and that's all that mattered.

Once you eventually made it to bakugo's room you couldn't help but to look around. It's a pretty nice room with lots of various things in it, mostly his hero equipment and stuff he uses for training. Although it is a bit messy. 

"Sit" he says pointing to his desk littered with notes and books. You do as you're told and sit at the desk. He does the same action and sits on the edge of his bed.

"..."

"...."

Honestly, the atmosphere was so thick you could cut it with a knife. So of course you would try to make small talk.

"Your posters are cool" you say pointing at them. One was a poster of All Might and the other was of A hero agency you didn't quite recognize.

He grunts at your compliment.

Seconds go by but with how thick this atmosphere was it felt more like hours.

"Ugh what's the point, I'm sorry for coming I'll just see myself out" you say attempting to exit the room.

Bakugo quickly gets up from the bed and grabs your arm to prevent you from leaving him..from exiting his life. He looks at you with..guilt in his eyes? He huffed and closed his eyes, releasing your wrist from his veiny hand.

"Look just because I don't want you to think I'm needy or whatever don't mean I don't want you..here with me." The blonde strokes his arm feeling bad about the situation. He sits back down on the bed and pats his lap. You comply and sit onto his lap. Looking into your (e/c/e) he speaks again saying; "I'm sorry if I act a bit cold sometimes, I'm trying I really am. I do like it when you come to visit sometimes." knowing him personally you know that when he looked away he felt slightly embarrassed.

"Really?" You ask looking up at him with doe eyes.

"I may be too prideful to say it out loud but..yea"

Hearing this you hug him tight but gentle as he whispers out the words

"I love you Y/N"

As he hugs back just as tight you whisper it back

"I love you more Katsuki"

A/N: So cute 🥹 maybe a bit of character development is in place?

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Apostle | One Day | Romantic

In spite of the bride being beautiful at the wedding in Cana, John only has eyes for the brightness surrounding you. 

Requested by Heather

“Okay, that’s— Ouch, that’s a bit tight!”

“Sorry,” Mary quips, “I’m not that good with braids… Uh, let’s see, it’s becoming a bit loose here—” 

“It’s fine, I’ll just—” 

You stand from your chair and tuck your hair behind your ears a little, walking over to the mirror. The braids Mary has attempted to create are a little asymmetrical, but neat enough. You give her a kind smile over your shoulder, which she mirrors nervously. 

“I don’t do other people’s hair all that often, and I—”

You let out a small noise at how apologetic she is, causing her words to hitch

“Mary, it’s fine. They’re very pretty. Thank you.” 

She smiles a bit.

“Are you serious? Aren’t you just saying it to make me feel better, now?” 

You give a small shake of your head, looking back at the mirror to tuck a few stubborn strands into place. 

“I’m serious. Have I ever lied to you?” 

Mary hums and smiles a bit, rubbing her neck. “Ah, I guess not.” 

“I really appreciate this, Mary. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.” 

You slide your veil back over it in a way that it is still visible that something has been done to it.

A knock on the door and the voice of a slightly rushed John sounds from the other side. “Can you girls hurry? We have to leave before we—” 

You pull open the door before he can finish his sentence, and for a moment he stands with his mouth wide open on the threshold as he takes you in. It is obvious your (h/c) locks are differently placed than normal, and it frames your face in a certain way that has John’s heart skip a beat inside his chest.

“We’ll be right there.” you pipe up. It takes John a second to gather himself before he clears his throat. 

“Oh, um… Yes, of course. Your… Your hair, it’s… Uh… Different.” 

You nearly frown a little but manage to keep your face in check. After all, it doesn’t necessarily sound like a compliment.

“Ah, thank you. Mary fixed it for me.” 

John gives you a slow nod, trying his best to tear his gaze away from your face. He clears his throat once more, blinking as he steps back. 

“Ah, don’t be late. Jesus wanted to leave in a few minutes so that we’ll be arriving a short while before the ceremony, and… Well, you know.” 

“Of course.” 

The former fisherman pivots on his feet and heads back towards the others. Mary gives you a small, knowing smile.

“What?” you query when she raises an eyebrow at you. That look must mean something, although you aren’t certain what message it is supposed to convey.

“Nothing, just that I’m sure John thinks you look very pretty like that.” 

Your cheeks flame again at the notion. 

“It… It didn’t really sound like he enjoyed it a lot. He just said it looked different.” 

“I think he didn’t really know how to use his words.” Mary reassures you. You huff and shake your head, running your clamming palms down your dress.

“Nonsense, that’s just wishful thinking. John wouldn’t like me in that way, no way.” 

Mary hums and gives you another one of these looks.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n). Let’s go now, okay? The others are waiting for us.” 

You join the rest of the group, then head out to your meeting place, a little outside of Capernaum, where Jesus had agreed to catch up with you as well as a few other people - Thaddeus, Andrew and Simon as well as the two Jameses tag along as well. 

It’s already midday when you arrive, with the older son of Jonah reassuring his brother that everything will be alright, when Jesus walks up to the group with a kind smile on His features. 

“Perfect day for a wedding, huh?” 

“Master.”

“Simon, Andrew, Mary, (Y/n), James, John, Thaddeus. But where is uh…” 

As Jesus pauses in search of John’s big brother, Thaddeus is met with a piece of fruit against the back of the head and flinches.

“Uh-oh.” Jesus muses as James chuckles above you, already armed with another fruit. “Raining figs.”

“Figs for the journey.” James explains.

“Ah, how we won’t even need to stop for lunch!” 

He gracefully drops from the tree and lands on his feet, dusting down his tunic. 

“Thank you James.” Jesus says.

“Yes Master?” The curly-haired James standing in front of you asks, causing Jesus to straighten His back.

“Ah… Two Jameses. How will we solve this dilemma?” 

“Well, what if, uh… I go by Big James?” the taller James proposes. 

The others laugh a bit, including you.

“Is that acceptable to you, young James?” 

“Yes, I think that’s fair, Master.”

“And a sense of justice, too.” Jesus muses. “Then is settled. Now, to the road, my friends. The bride and groom await!”

A newfound tinge of excitement swells inside your chest. Weddings are always a fun celebration to attend. 

The ragtag group of people sets out to Cana, and you start your trek chatting with Mary about little things. “Have you ever been to Cana?” Mary wonders, at which you shake your head.

“I haven’t. Have you?” 

“No, and I also have never been to a wedding, either.” Mary responds.

“Ah, for me it’s… I think… My third one. My first one was my brother, the second one was Simon and Eden.” 

Mary’s lips part in surprise as she looks over her shoulder and you follow her gaze, but instead of meeting Simon’s face which you had expected to find, you look into the eyes of John. Your heart skips a beat as he quickly turns away, his jaw tightening. 

He looks like he has been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Had he been staring at you? You swallow hard as you mull it over — no, you’re certain that is definitely not what he was doing. Wishful thinking, nothing more, you remind yourself.

Upon turning back to Mary, you find her oblivious to that little moment you just shared with John. 

“How was it?” Mary wants to know. You absentmindedly hum, a bit puzzled by that probably quite insignificant encounter. It replays inside your mind over and over again.

“It was a good day.” 

Mary frowns. “Are you okay, (Y/n)?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” 

You clear your throat and attempt to redirect the attention on the casual conversation. “Anyways, let me tell you everything about the wedding of Simon and Eden…” 

As you explain all the ins and outs of your friends’ wedding, you carry on through the plains of Judea, on your way to the party. The promise of good food and wine at the end of the road lights everyone’s spirit enough to not complain about blisters.

—

Cana is what you expected — a small village, about half the size of Capernaum, with not much going on. You’re certain that most guests roaming about at the local inns are actually wedding guests that have already arrived early, living too far away to head back home in between the days of festivities.

Jesus leads the group through the narrow streets, knowing where He has to be. For a moment, you look over your shoulder to see if everyone is caught up with the rest, and feel your heart flutter when you sense John’s eyes on you again. Not much unlike last time, he swallows hard and tears his gaze away with what almost looks like effort. You could swear there is a hint of pink on his cheeks, but perhaps it’s the searing afternoon sun that has left him flushed.

You arrive at a set of double doors. Jesus pushes through first, revealing that the preparations are already in full action. “Knock knock, can we come in?” An older woman tosses aside a small bouquet as she flings herself in the arms of Jesus. Your Teacher chuckles and lifts her off the ground a bit to meet her embrace. 

“Hi eema! Oh, how are you?” 

You smile at the gentle greeting in front of you, finding it sweet that Jesus is so close to His mother. 

“I have missed You!” she muses softly, cupping His face as she gives Him a once-over. “Look at You! It’s been a while… Have you been eating?” 

“I have been eating.” Jesus reassures her, putting a hand on her shoulder as He turns towards the group. You smile at Jesus’ mother as she takes you all in.

“These people have been helping me to eat, so…”

“Hi, how are you?” she steps forward and starts introducing herself as Mary. 

“My students.” Jesus clarifies as she goes through the line-up of people eager to meet her. Mary is a kind woman who clearly loves her Son a whole lot. You hadn’t expected otherwise, really. 

“Shalom, I’m (Y/n).” You shake her hand as she meets your gaze with glittering eyes.

“It’s so nice to meet you! And you are?” 

“I’m John.” You startle at bit, not realising that the man in question had been standing so close to you.

“Hello John, shalom! And you two are…” She points between you, and a confused frown appears on both of your faces, “You know, married?” 

“Oh— Oh no!” you quickly say, shaking your head as you take on an almost defensive stance. Your cheeks flame as John sputters an equally negative answer.

“No— We are just friends!” 

Mother Mary tilts her head a little. “Not betrothed, then?” 

You let out a nervous sound as you shake your head. “No— No… No, we aren’t.” 

She gives you a look alongside a small, high-pitched murmur — you are unsure what it means — and carries on introducing herself. You let out a shaky breath as you plant your hands on your hips, turning to John, who seems equally as flustered.

“Well, that was awkward.” you try to lighten the mood, causing John to scratch his neck. 

“Yeah… Yeah.” 

You clear your throat and take in the place in front of you as to avoid both eye-contact and making the situation even more uncomfortable. Flowers and candles adorn the place, tables already having been set, and servants are rushing about to get everything in order. 

“This is nice.” you murmur. 

John’s eyes are on you again, but you don’t notice it. “Yes.” he whispers in response, “Very nice.” When you turn over your shoulder to give him a small smile, he quickly looks at the scene of the wedding again, at the slightly crooked chuppah, and for a second, something flashes inside his mind that he quickly shakes off. The thought is long enough to make his heart soar inside his chest.

When he turns back to you, he notices you’ve already turned back in the direction of Mary Magdalene, and he lets out a shaky breath as he watches you walk off. 

Behind him, Thaddeus smiles at what’s happening in front of him. 

The day carries on. You and Mary help out Jesus’ mother with the final preparations and get to know more about the bride and groom. You find out that the groom is Dinah’s son, Asher, and that the parents of his bride Sarah aren’t as keen on the idea of her marrying a man of lower stature, at least by their standards. You have never understood parents who don’t want their children to marry out of love rather than out of convenience or political gain.

A few hours later, the wedding begins with drinks, food and music. You sit with the other women as you sing blessings over the newly wed couple. The bride and groom are positively glowing and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to stand there in the finest gown with your hand in… 

…You don’t dare finish that thought. Instead, you concentrate on singing the right words as you hold the shoulders of Mary Magdalene and a woman you don’t know. A large smile spreads over your face as you dance around the tables. 

A little away, John does the same with the men, a little off-key but not too bad, and even though he is thoroughly enjoying himself with the task at hand, he can’t help but let his gaze go over to the other table. He instantly finds you. It isn’t difficult to, for you stand out to him like a bright star in the night sky.

The way your (h/c) hair flows from under your veil as you dance the other women, the way you seem to be so at ease, it all comes together into a beautiful picture that John cannot tear his gaze away from. You look like a dream, with your smile reaching from ear to ear and the way your eyes sparkle, like the moonlight dancing on the Sea of Galilee. He could drown in them, he’s sure of it.

For a moment, John imagines that same thought that had been crossing his mind earlier — the two of you under a similar chuppah, saying your vows to one another. He allows the thought to linger this time, entertains it, almost tripping over his own feet, and as the song draws to a close, he almost forgets the cue to applaud. He is almost jealous of Mary and the other woman for getting to touch your shoulder and hearing you sing up close, even though he thinks it’s silly to feel that way.

The evening carries on with wine, blessings brought by the banquet master, and more music. Even though the food is wonderful, John can’t help but let his eyes drift from time to time. You’re having the time of your life. He can’t shake a nagging feeling inside his chest. The sun sets and the courtyard is illuminated by candles, bringing your features out even more. The former fisherman knows he isn’t supposed to stare, but he can’t help himself, tracing the edge of his empty wine cup with his finger as he sits with a few others at a table.

“She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?” Thaddeus whispers at John, who quickly seems to snap out of his thoughts. 

“What?” 

“You’re staring at her.” 

John lets out a scoff. “I’m not staring at (Y/n).”

Thaddeus chuckles lightly and gives John a look, smirking. “I didn’t mention her name, so you just confirmed it.” 

The younger son of Zebedee swallows hard and looks away, not liking the fact that he is apparently being obvious about it at this point. “Is it that clear, huh?”

Thaddeus hums. “I’m surprised you haven’t walked up to her yet to talk to her.” 

“I… I can’t. I’ll just make a fool out of myself.” 

The former stonemason shrugs. 

“By all means, do what you feel like is best. But I have seen the way you two look at one another.” 

John’s cheeks flush.

“You… She… How does (Y/n) look at me, then?” 

Thaddeus hums and takes a sip of wine. “Can’t you have a little faith in me, John? Just go up to her and talk for a bit. Try to figure out what she thinks about getting married herself some day.” 

John nearly chokes on his own saliva. “Are you trying to say I should ask her to marry me?” 

“Not yet— Just… In general, I mean. There is no rush behind all of this, you know? Just ask what she thinks of becoming a wife, and try to figure out if she hints at her feelings for you.” 

“Her feelings for me?!” John sputters.

Thaddeus hums, grinning a bit. 

“Oh, John. Have some faith, okay? Go talk to her.” 

“Now?” 

Thaddeus nods. 

The younger son of Zebedee stands, wiping his clammy palms down his tunic, and starts walking in your direction, hoping to have some of your time. 

Thaddeus clears his throat, causing him to halt.

“John?” 

He turns and looks at his friend.

“Yes?” 

“I pray that your wedding is the next one we’ll be celebrating.” 

[skellebonez]

And What If I Think Of You As Family Now?

SPOILERS FOR LEGO MONKIE KID SEASON 4.

In which MK is very lost while contemplating his new form and Macaque tries his best to actually comfort him for once.

This is just a little fic I wrote because I REALLY wanted to explore Monkey MK and what the revelations may mean for MK and Macaque moving forward. I like the idea Mac becomes a very reluctant uncle/big brother figure to MK on accident.

AO3 LINK!

MK poked at his face.

Poked again.

The soft pinkish orange mask that framed his eyes did not come off on his fingers.

He reached his hands over to the side. Pulled on the side burns that now framed his face.

Yeah. Yeah, they were still there.

He pulled the sleeve of his jacket up, looking at the fur that he saw glitch onto his arm multiple times.

It was still there.

"I… think it may be permanent, kiddo," Macaque said behind him. "... color's good on you?"

"What?" MK looked back, staring at the immortal standing behind him in the doorway to the bathroom in confusion.

"Your, uh, your face mark," Macaque continued. It was so obvious to MK that he was feeling as uncertain and awkward as the Monkie Kid was. A far cry from the usual snarky and assured dramatic and theatrical man that MK was used to. "Looks. Good, with your... fur and all that."

MK nodded slowly, turning back to the bathroom mirror to stare at himself again.

He almost couldn't believe he was looking at himself. But it was him. His face was staring back at him. It just.. had a few extra features.

A few... monkey demon features.

This was the first time he had been able to actually get a good look at himself since the... what was it that happened in the scroll? Glitching? Glamour glitching, that's what he thought Macaque called it. He had a glamour on.

He'd... always had a glamour on and he never knew it. Pigsy never knew it. Macaque never knew it. Sun Wukong...

No one knew. No one knew until the ink demon curse had done something to make it crack. Macaque called it an embedded mental glamour, something someone else had to have put on MK since he was born given the strength. Someone had done that to him without him knowing for his entire life.

Someone who no one knew.

Correction. Given his encounter with a certain ancient teacher, MK was pretty damn sure there was ONE person who at least had a guess. But would he actually be forthcoming with the information? Probably not.

The only thing anyone seemed to be forthcoming with lately were their own opinions.

He tried not to think about the fight they were all in only a few hours ago. How Yellowtusk and Peng had come to capture them on orders of the Azure Emperor. Of course Azure Lion would have started to call himself that, when MK looked back on the situation he could see how self-important the man who may have once been his Sworn Uncle thought of himself. That was probably why he sent his Sworn Brothers down to capture them instead of capturing the group himself.

More important things for the new emperor to handle.

He tried not to think about how Yellowtusk made him question who he was and where he came from, tried no to think about how the elephant had questioned where his fur and tail had gone since their last encounter. Yellowtusk, however, hadn't been the problem. He was more muscle then banter, only hitting where it hurt at just the right moment when pointing out how MK's "true form" could have been an asset logically in battle and questioning why he would refuse to use it.

It was Peng that caused his current predicament.

"I know why you're not using it," they had said with the sneer they wore when they hurt his friends in their first meeting. "You don't want us to think of, what? Your mentor?  Brother? Your father?"

MK has screamed that Sun Wukong was not, in fact, his father.

And then.

"Does it really matter? It doesn't change the fact we know what you are. Just like him? You're a MONSTER."

MK didn't know exactly what happened after that. Just that... he changed. The same glitching happened and he felt something shatter and then he just.

Couldn't change back.

At least Yellowtusk and Peng had retreated, so afraid of the burst of power that the shattering of his glamour had let out. MK couldn't help it, it had burst out of him unbidden and sent everyone flying away.

He still felt bad for Nezha, who was standing closest to him outside Peng. But, unlike the bird, he had someone to catch him as he went flying back (MK felt he needed to thank Sandy for being a literal wall of a man). Peng had to be picked up Yellowtusk as he ran, nearly knocked unconscious by being sent into a nearby wall.

The worst part about all of this was that the thing they were trying to get, the artifact they were sure might be the thing to fix the slab... hadn't even worked in the end.

A waste of time that only earned MK more questions and a form he did not feel comfortable in.

He traced the marking around his eyes, noting that the color was… very similar to Sun Wukong’s own…

... Master Subohdi had said he was born of Sun Wukong's rock, but not in the same way... could Peng have been right about them being related in some way?

"Macaque?" MK asked softly. "Is this… who I am? Is this who I really am? Was the other me just… fake?"

"Kiddo, you…" Macaque said with a sigh. "I wasn't ready for an existential crisis, mother of f-"

"Was Peng right?" MK continued. "Am I a monster?"

"NO," Macaque countered instantly. "Bird brain can stuff it, they have no idea what they're talking about. You're MK. Always have been, always will be."

"I only have that nickname because Tang thought it was cute when I would get excited about the Monkey King," MK said with a half-hearted laugh. "That isn't even the name Pigsy gave me."

"Doesn't have to be your given name," Macaque said with a shrug. "You chose it out of all the ones given to you, that means you are MK. Simple as that."

"I guess," MK muttered. He reached up, scratching at his side burns.

They felt so odd against his cheeks. He'd never liked having longer hair for some reason, the feeling of it on his neck and face uncomfortable for him. That was why he kept his hair shorter, pulled up with his headband and the hair gel Tang had introduced him to.

He winched as some kind of chirp came out of his mouth in response to his scratching.

It was only a few months ago that MK had been trying to mimic the chirping of the monkeys on Mount Huaguo. He would have been ecstatic if that sound came out of his mouth then. If he had discovered this form at another moment, long before this.

MK didn't realize he started crying until he looked back up and saw a few tears rolling down his face.

"I… come here, sit on the floor," Macaque said softly, suddenly. He waved his hand, gesturing for the other to follow him.

MK looked at him wearily, unsure of how willing he was to move from his spot in front of the mirror. But eventually he gave in, turning away and leaving the bathroom.

The other sat on the couch, tail thumping on the couch beside him as he gestured to the floor in front of him.

"Back to me, sit however you like."

"Uh... o-ok..." MK said softly in confusion.

He sat down as instructed, his legs crossed comfortably. His tail didn't seem to know exactly where to go, and he didn't blame it, swishing and thumping against the floor in agitation.

"If you get uncomfortable you need to let me know," Macaque said.

MK didn't get the chance to ask him what he meant before the older monkey demon's hands were on his head.

No.

In his hair.

It only took a few seconds for MK to realize what the other was attempting to do, the motions and the way he carefully picked and parted his hair all too familiar. It was something that Sun Wukong had done to him multiple times when he and MK had thought he was just a normal human.

MK's tail slowed down in it's thumping, instead slowing down to swish at his side calmly. He thought he might want to do something about that in the future, the idea of his tail giving so much of his inner emotions away in battle making him concerned. Besides, he would need to learn how to use it properly to grab things and the like anyway.

They sat there for a while, Macaque grooming through his hair and picking out all the dirt and knots leftover from their battle earlier in the day while MK just. Let him. It was odd to remember that Macaque had once been one of his first major enemies. He manipulated MK to steal his powers (though, as explained in a long conversation later, that was not his original plan). He tormented his friends in the shadow play (though he refused to explain why he really let them all go in the end). He'd worked with the Lady Bone Demon (the fact he actually had no choice and was desperately trying to escape her hold on him was picked up by everyone once they thought about the ritual and his actions during it, though Mei's continued distrust of him after that was still validated by everyone whenever she questioned why he was helping them now... even by Macaque, actually).

But now they sat there in Sun Wukong's living room. Where Macaque had just recently had him play a game in his own weird attempt to give him a life lesson. One on the couch and one on the floor.

One would think they had been friends much longer with his comfortable MK was becoming as the hands worked through his hair and removed his headband. He didn't bother to stop the other, not when he felt how carefully he removed it and watched how he carefully folded it on the couch next to him.

"I'm sorry you couldn't have your first proper social grooming session with…" Macaque trailed off, hands stuttering in their movement for just a moment before picking up where they left off.

"It's ok," MK said with a chuckle. "Monkey King did this so much before we found out about all… this that it probably wouldn't feel any different."

"And this does?" Macaque asked tentatively.

"Yeah," MK said with a slight nod. "Like… like I have 2 different brothers doing i-OW! Macaque, what the hell!?"

"Sorry!" The word was said too fast, too loud, foreign in the darker haired monkey's voice. "... I just… didn't expect… I have no idea why you've been so chill with me out of everyone, MK, then you pull out the family comparing card? Brother, really?"

"Would uncle be better?" MK offered smoothly. "Weird estranged uncle that shows up at family reunions."

"THAT'S NOT THE- the point, kiddo…" Macaque trailed off, sighing as he went back to his work.

MK smiled at the lone monkey that always hung around him or Macaque always climbed into his lap, curling up and going to sleep. MK felt his hands itch to groom through his fur, instincts catching up to him. But he didn't want to disturb the little one or do something wrong in accident...

He saw Macaque's tail come around to tap him on the shoulder.

"We'll get him back," Macaque said firmly.

"How do you know?" MK asked.

"He's Sun Wukong," Macaque chuckled, gesturing to the cottage they resided in. "He's gotten himself out of worse than this, that means we can get him back. Besides, would Peng and Yellowtusk have been sent after us if we DIDN'T possibly get close to something Azure thought would work?"

"Maybe," MK admitted with a nod. He looked down, realizing his fingers had started running through the fur on Macaque’s tail as he looked for knots or bugs without even thinking about it. "...thanks for trying to make me feel better."

"Don't think too much about it," Macaque said as he finished his grooming through his hair. "Jeez, MK, how much product do you use in your hair? My hands feel gross."

"I'm sorry for wanting to look COOL," MK countered with a haughty chuckle. "Besides, I picked it up from my... dad."

"Tang?" Macaque inquired.

"Yeah," MK confirmed with a hum. "Feels weird to call him dad and not Mr. Tang. Pigsy and I never really called each other father and son openly until now."

"Things change, kid," Macaque said with a chuckle as he stood up. He made a pointed effort to keep his hands airborne and far away from his clothes.

"Does this mean I should call you Uncle Mac?" MK asked as he stood as well, gently placing the sleeping monkey on the couch. "Or something else?"

"Absolutely neither," Macaque said, his tone light with a chuckle under it. "I'm just Macaque, your not so friendly neighborhood shadow demon. Now I'm gonna wash my hands and get something to eat, I'm starving. You want me to grab you anything before your friends get in here?"

"Pigsy's making us food, you know," MK said with a raise of his brow.

"... he's making you food," Macaque said with a confused tone.

"Us," MK corrected. "You're part of the group, you know."

"... oh," Macaque said in a tone MK didn't know how to place. He had a far off look on his face for a moment, not looking at MK despite looking in his direction, before his eyes widened in some form of surprise. "Uh. Still washing my hands, BYE."

Mk didn't even have the chance to yell out a "wait" before Macaque vanished into a nearby shadow.

"That guy knows how to make an exit," came not even 5 seconds later, Pigsy's voice shocking MK into a yelp.

"How long were you standing there!?" MK asked, hand on his chest. His heart was racing, the relaxing mood from earlier shattered in an instant.

"Since around 'Uncle Mac'," Pigsy answered with a smirk. "You'd probably have more luck callin' him Mac and Cheese with all the walls that guy has up. What were you two doin' in here anyway? You... you good, son?"

"Yeah," MK answered honestly. "Yeah, like I said, I just needed some time to think. Macaque helped me out with that, pulled me out of my head when I started overthinking all... all that stuff from earlier."

"With the bird brain?" Pigsy asked with a snort and a growl. He'd been angry since they came back, since MK changed even. He'd been high-strung and on edge, snipping at everyone that he needed time alone and that time was best spent cooking. Usually Pigsy let his answer out openly, but this quiet anger? This meant he was way more upset than he wanted anyone to know. "When we get our hands on that jerk I'm gonna turn them into fried chicken. Or at least make them think I'm gonna. Then we're gonna get some answers about all... this."

"Do you… would you be less upset if I was a pig demo-"

"NO," Pigsy said instantly. Firmly. "No, MK, that's not what I'm upset about. I'm... I'm sorry if me snapping about wantin' to be alone and all made you think that. I'm not upset you're a monkey or at you. I'm upset you had to find all this out like… like this. I'm upset because my son deserved better than this."

MK didn't realize he was crying again until his dad wiped the tears running down his face away. Until he pulled MK into a hug and tucked his face into his shoulder and let him cry more.

"You deserved to know all this sooner, kid," Pigsy said. "But it doesn't change anything."

"Except that I have fur," MK muttered into Pigsy’s shoulders. "And a tail."

"Not literally, ya doofus," Pigsy said with a chuckle.

The two stood there for a moment, just hugging each other as tightly as they could. It reminded MK of when he was smaller, when he was younger, of when Pigsy would comfort him after a mean kid bullied him for not being able to ride his skateboard as well as the other kids (and now that he thought about it, his balance was way better now that he had a tail... huh).

"Food's ready," Pigsy said after they finally pulled away from each other. "We kinda made up a table outside for everyone to eat together, I just need to grab some stuff from Monkey King's kitchen first. I'll meet you outside."

"OK, dad," MK said with a smile.

~

Pigsy watched as MK rushed outside, ears perked as he listened carefully for the sound of the door to shut and rushing water to turn off.

"You too, 6 Eared Pain In My Ass," Pigsy said with his arms crossed and foot tapping. "MK wasn't lying when he said the food was for you too."

There was silence for a moment and the chef worried that, once again, the shadow monkey had decided to escape an awkward situation of having to interact with the man (who had thrown a spatula at him, to be fair). But he didn't have to wait long, noticing a shadow growing close to the window before Macaque popped himself back out to watch MK reunite with his friends outside.

"... he's a good kid," Macaque said softly. "Almost too good... almost."

"Means I did something right by him," Pigsy said softly. "I... wasn't the perfect dad, but I tried my best."

"Must have worked out somehow," Macaque mused. He was... oddly subdued compared to his normal bombastic nature. "... How... I know it's not the same but like..."

"You wanna know how to be a good guardian," Pigsy said. Not even asked, it was a statement.

"Hate to admit it, but... Kid's grown on me," Macaque said slowly. "He's one of the only people even to try to give me a chance, even if I was a jerk to him. Now I'm worried about him, and... with Wukong gone there isn't anyone to show him the ropes of being one of us."

"Then it sounds like you need to learn how to dad from a dad."

"I am NOT going to be his dad," Macaque snapped instantly. "I would rather he call me UNCLE any day."

"Then I guess Uncle Mac and Cheese better get his ass out to the table and interact with everyone else."

It was so worth seeing the offended look at the immortal's face.

An hour after everyone else went to bed Pigsy found a visitor outside the room he and Tang were sharing, asking him how to cut fruit for his new family member.

[bidokja]

I was joking a while back that the actor they have playing KDJ for the orv movie was too handsome for him and a friend who's read orv was like "KDJ is actually secretly attractive!!" And I just felt my soul leave my body right then

SIGHS...

Okay. Buckle in. I'm gonna finally actually address and explain and theorize about this whole...thing.

I'm not gonna cite any exact chapters cause it's like 11:30 and I've got an 8 hour drive in the morning but I'll at least make an approximate reference to where certain things are mentioned. Also, this post is just my personal interpretation for a good bit of it, but it's an interpretation I feel very solid about, so do with that what you will. Moving on to the meat of things:

There is one (1) instance in the web novel that I know of which describes specific features of Kim Dokja (especially ones other people notice). This takes place when members of KimCom are trying to make Kim Dokja presentable to give his speech at the Industrial Complex (after it's been plopped down on Earth). This is when they start really paying attention and focusing on Kim Dokja's appearance since they're putting makeup on him; I still don't think they can interpret his whole face, but they can accurately pick out and retain more features than usual. If I remember correctly they reference him having long eyelashes, smooth skin, and soft hair. These features can be viewed as (stereotypically) attractive.

Certain parts of the fandom have taken this scene and run with it at a very surface level, without realizing (or without acknowledging at the very least) that this scene is not about how Kim Dokja looks. This is, in part, due to not realizing or acknowledging why Kim Dokja's face is "censored" in the first place, and what that censoring actually means. I think it's also possible that some people are assuming the censorship works like a physical phenomena rather than an altered perception.

I'll address that last point first. The censorship of Kim Dokja's features is not something as simple as a physical phenomena. It's not a bar or scribble or mosaic over his face. If that were true it'd be very obvious to anyone looking at him that his face is hidden. But his face is not hidden to people. They can look at him and see a face. If they concentrate on his eyes, they can see where he's looking. They know when he's frowning or grinning. They see a face loud and clear. But what face are they seeing? Because it's not really his, whatever they're seeing.

No one quite agrees on what he really looks like. And if they try and think about what he looks like, they can't recall. Or if they do, it's vague, or different each time. We notice these little details throughout the series. Basically, Kim Dokja's face is cognitively obscured. Something - likely the Fourth Wall, though I can't recall if this is ever stated outright - is interfering with everyone's ability to perceive him properly. This culminated in him feeling off to others; and since they don't even realize this is happening, they surmise that he is "ugly."

Moving on to the other point about what the censorship means: To be blunt, the censorship of his face is an allegory for his disconnect from the "story" (aka: real life, and the real people at his side). The lifting - however slight - of this censorship represents him becoming more and more a part of the "story" (aka: less disconnected from the life he is living and the people at his side). The censorship's existence and lifting can represent other things - like dissociation or depersonalization or, if you want to get really meta, the fact that he is all of our faces at once - but that's how I'd sum up the main premise of it. (The Fourth Wall is a larger part of the dissociation allegory, but that's for another post).

So you see, them noticing his individual features isn't about the features. It's not about the features! It doesn't matter at all which features got listed. Because they could describe any features whatsoever and it would not change the entire point of the scene. Because the point isn't what he looks like. The point is that they can truly and clearly see these features. For the first time. They are seeing parts of him for the first time. Re-read that sentence multiple times, literally and metaphorically. What does it mean to see someone as they are?

This is an extremely significant turning point dressed up as a dress-up scene.

---

P.S. / Additionally, I'm of the opinion that Kim Dokja is not handsome, and he is not ugly. He is not pretty, and he is not ghastly. Not attractive, nor unattractive. Kim Dokja isn't any of these things. More importantly, Kim Dokja can't be any of these things. The entire point of Kim Dokja is that you cannot pick him out of a crowd; he is the crowd. He's a reader. He's the reader. Why does he need to be handsome? Why must he be pretty? Why is him being attractive necessary or relevant? He doesn't, he doesn't, it's not. He is someone deeply deeply loved and irreplaceable to those around him, and someone who cannot even begin to recognize or accept that unless it's through a love letter masquerading as a story he can read. He is the crowd, a reader, the reader. He's you, he's me. He's every single one of us.

[m-ayo-o]

i t s ⋆ w r i t t e n ⋆ i n ⋆ t h e ⋆ s t a r s ⋆

zodiac event : ♍︎ VIRGO afab reader x LEO GRIMMJOW JEAGERJAQUEZ ♌︎ genre: explicit smut! grimmjow gets needy for his crush... wc: 2k note: @electronicwitchcollection hope u enjoy ^^ i write bleach again :o

He’s impressive. You recognise him instantly after hearing his name and almost fearing him for so long. But now you get a chance to work alongside the espada, you can finally see him up close and you know he is a force to be reckoned with. His passion and energy are unmatched and there’s a dangerous fire in his eyes, paired with that stupid grin that makes you feel faint. 

But you realise very quickly that he’s a complete attention whore. He has an ego the size of the fucking moon and you swear you’ve caught him staring at his reflection on more than one occasion. It’s not normal. 

He thinks he’s irresistible. When in reality, you’re starting to find him irritating.

Especially when it becomes obvious that you’ve caught his eye. I mean, you’re the sweet and kind medical aide to the espada, and being so beautiful, who wouldn’t look your way? But him? And with the way he goes about trying to grab your attention in his usual arrogant, snarky ways just isn’t working. He’s left confused, now starting to get up in your face, teasing you and looking for a reaction.

But you’re so calm and patient, you could do this all day. 

If it weren’t for your slightly clumsy nature, you wouldn’t have ended up in this situation– on his lap, in the medical room.

His impatient and demanding aura just had you making simple mistakes– misplacing your supplies, bumping into things and rushing around until you got all dizzy and tripped over one of his long legs that he had spread wide. 

You’re glad you didn’t end up on the floor, but where you landed was a little more embarrassing. He extended an arm and just whipped you up before you fell, making your head rush as your eyes eventually cleared to find yourself sitting on his thighs. 

“I– I’m sorry–” before you could get your excuses out he silenced you by slowly shaking his head and just telling you to get on with healing him. 

You fidget around and try to get up, but he places a big hand around your wrist.

“Do it here.” 

He looks you up and down, seeing your resolve start to crumble. But you still look hesitant, and he really doesn’t want you to get up, so he grits his teeth and tries to use his manners. 

“Please.” 

He’s still got that resting, aggressive look on his face but you can tell he’s trying to be polite. So you indulge him, turning yourself to face him before starting to work on his wounds. You would have to get up close and personal with him anyway– but this might be a little too much. He just continues staring you down as you complete your work with patience and dedication, trying to ignore that your noses are inches apart and you can basically feel his breath. 

When you’re done and about to relinquish him from your touch, he holds onto your arm and presses your palm to his bare chest, where you were just finishing up. He gives you a strange look now… kind of sad and longing? But it is him, after all. How serious do his thoughts even get? 

“Do you like me?” 

You’re stunned. Aside from his insufferable arrogance and self obsession, you admit that he can be incredibly fun to be around… exhilarating, in fact. You just wish he’d treat you normally, as if you were friends? It would make everything so much easier. So in that regard, you admit you like him a lot– if only he’d show that side to you a little more often. 

So you give him a smile and a nod, “Of course.” 

He knows there’s a caveat in there. He scans your features, desperately trying to figure you out. You see hesitation in his feline eyes before he asks, sounding unsure of himself for once– 

“Do you think… I’m attractive?” 

Your eyes go totally wide as you give him a surprised smile. 

“Grimmjow, sweetie, you know looks aren’t everything?” 

He gives you a deep frown and sighs dramatically. He doesn’t want to give up but he’s kind of concerned that you see absolutely nothing in him. 

Until you lean into him a little more and whisper in his ear– 

“You’re too attractive for your own good, you idiot. Stop acting like a dick already and I might start falling for you, ok?” 

She’ll– what–? 

Now you’re giggling and starting to sit up again you admit it was a backhanded compliment... and you may have wounded his pride.

“Wait? You think… I’m a dick–!? Hey, [name] that’s not–” 

He’s nearly as shocked as you are with your next move. You suddenly press a kiss to his cheek, leaving the stain of your lipstick on his skin and he shuts up instantly. 

But upon hearing that hint of a confession from you, it gives him the confidence to bring his nose up to yours and look into your eyes. 

“So if I… stop being a dick… I can kiss you?” 

Your heart is caught in your chest and you can feel your face getting very hot. You give him a little nod, making your noses rub together while you study the brilliant blues in his irises and those pretty turquoise markings. 

He brings his lips closer and steals his first kiss, then pulls away as if to ask for your permission to continue. You lean into him and he presses kiss after kiss to your lips, until you’re humming softly into his mouth and pulling him closer. He’s been dying to taste you, and it’s been utterly worth the wait. 

“Gorgeous–” he purrs into your neck and starts dragging your uniform off. The buttons down the front of your dress make it easy for him to strip you and soon you’re completely bare, in his clutches. 

You give him a smile– seeing such a needy side of the fiery man is making you so soft for him. He wraps his arms under your bum and picks you up, his sudden intensity making you nervous. He steps to the nearest wall, pushes you against it and starts grinding himself into your core, ravaging your body with kisses. He completely takes over your senses until all you can feel are his strong hands pushing your thighs against the wall, his lips, his body. 

“Touch me” he growls an order that you can’t ignore. One hand remains holding tightly onto his shoulder while the other snakes down his crotch, slipping his pants down hurriedly. 

“That’s it– hahh–” now he can feel you properly, your wet folds over his shaft, you see his eyelids flutter with pleasure and he loses a little more of his dignity when he begs to fuck you. 

“I need you so fucking bad–” 

“Mmh– “ you moan now, feeling the contact of his hard cock that’s ready to split you open– “Grimmjow, you wanna fuck me?” You ask so innocently, teasing him a little more. 

He gives you a desperate look. 

“I…” he breathes heavily and kisses you again, “need to fuck you– “

“Hmm,” you grab the base of his cock now and start rubbing him through your folds– and when his tip reaches the centre of your slick entrance he fucks his hips up and gets exactly what he wants.

“Oh, that’s better.” 

He’s in control now. 

His voice has regained all its power, now he’s impaling you on his dick and pressing you so hard against the wall all you can do is grab at his muscular shoulders and accept every inch till your mouth hangs open with a loud moan. 

“That nice?” 

“Mm–hmmhhm–” you hum incoherently, to his pleasure, as he starts up a steady rhythm. He doesn’t fuck you crazy, like you thought he would, but just keeps it slow and sensual as he builds you up. 

“Making a mess of me already, sweetie?” 

He looks down at all your juices on his cock and that annoying smirk returns to his face. 

You bring a hand up to cover his mouth and he looks so confused. 

“S-stop… smiling like that– ‘swear you’re gonna make me cum– “ 

He gives your hand a playful bite and you return to gripping at the back of his neck. He presses his forehead down against yours and smirks over your lips, his body rubbing relentlessly on your clit, and the smooth tip of his cock pushing so deep you just– 

“Hn-g– I– I’m– “ you hiccough, but he knows what you’re trying to say. 

“You’re… mm–” he can feel you now, squeezing over his shaft, “you’re cumming, huh?” 

He bucks his hips with that grin on his face and pummels you into the wall. 

“That was fast, pretty girl–” he teases.  

You start to feel the blunt edges of his nails dig into your ass where he’s gripping you so hard and you let out a few needy whimpers. 

“Grimm–jow– th-that hurts– “

He ignores you, picking up his pace and starting to groan into your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your soft muscle.

“Grimmjow– wait, wait, please– “ 

“Ugh–” he grunts, tiring of your whining as he steps back towards the medical bed. He sinks onto the mattress with you on top, like how you were sitting earlier. 

“You do it then.”

He releases your ass, leaning back and watching you squirm over him. You get a grip on his meaty thighs and start rising up and down over the thick length of his dick. You can’t deny it feels good like this, watching him enjoy your body as you throw your head back and your wet hole takes every inch of him. 

But he can’t sit still for long. He can feel his own release building up now, especially when you keep moaning, telling him how good he feels and how much you’ve been wanting his cock. 

“Faster–” he orders and smacks your ass, now leaning forward and taking the plush fat there in his big hands. He grabs you and brings you up and down with so much force, like he’s trying to get deeper. 

“Grimm–jow– o-oh— my ghh–” 

“Stop saying my name like that…” 

He wants to go for a bit longer but if you keep opening your mouth like that… 

“Grimmjow– like this?” you moan with a dizzy smile on your face and he buries his face in your tits, moving his hips in a frenzy. 

“I’m gonna cum inside you– don’t fucking argue-” 

He states and sucks on one of your nipples till you scream and cum again. 

“Mm– that’s it, good girl, such a good pussy– mine now. You know I can’t share–”

You nod and tell him what he needs to hear. 

“Y-yours– Grimmjow– “

“What’s mine?” 

He grabs your neck and pulls you down to glare into your eyes. 

“My– pussy– ‘s yours… “ 

“Mm–” he moans and brings you into a deep and heated kiss, sliding his tongue over yours, holding your hips right down on his lap and fucking his cum into your womb. You know he wanted to get it right at the back– you pray that your birth control is strong enough. 

“Again–” he pants, barely coming off his first high before he’s sliding you off his cock and watching the cum drip out, repositioning you, rather ungracefully bending you over the bed (that you don’t think will hold up much longer). 

“Wait– ! “

He takes a fistful of your hair and pulls your head to the side. 

“What?”

“J-just need to– catch my– breath–” 

He pauses and taps his tip on your ass, starting to work down and spread you open.

“Fuck now, breathe later. C’mon, I’ve had a crush on you for ages, just let me have you again–” 

Oh fuck. He said it. Ok, maybe this could work. You admit to yourself and giggle, feeling him start to get impatient for you. 

“Ok, no more teasing and being a jerk?” 

“I’ll do whatever you want.” 

~

You feel bad for doubting his sincerity at the time, wondering if he was just dying to get his dick wet again, but he proved you wrong. So wrong. Now, you have none other than Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez answering to your every beck and call. It’s magical? The espada tease him, but he worships you. He doesn’t give a damn. And now you’re finally his, he has something to be truly smug about.

bleach | m.list | zodiac event

[wannaeatramyeon]

Ok random thought, but what if Jake wore his hair down in illegal gambling arc because he wanted to save money, so he didn’t buy pomade? Like he did when he ate ramyeon for weeks straight🥹 Had to share it with somebody, you came to my mind

Sneaky sneaky, giving me brainrot. This is VERY indulgent. VERY rambly. More so than usual. Honestly, I dont even know what this is.

Jake Kim x Reader: Hair Pomade

G/N. Gambling arc. Jake has a new hairstyle.

You didn't mind Jake's new hair, though you did mind why he had to wear it that way.

A part of you couldn't help but think that if your own features fit together as nicely as his does, you would never have any of your face covered up. Even if it was just his forehead, fringe sweeping over his eyebrows.

It just seems a waste to hide any of it.

"What, you don't like my new look?" he would ask with an exaggerated pout, after you brushed his hair back one too many times as he lay his head in your lap. It was clearly said in jest but you could identify some of the tension and hurt beneath his carefully casual demeanour.

That in itself was strange.

Jake barely ever cared about his looks. Coupled with the way he's become impatient and irritable in the last couple months, you could tell something had been brewing.

You did try to poke and prod at whatever was lurking in his mind, to figure out the source of his issues. You never got an answer. Every time you did though, you would get the old Jake back. Just for a few days. Where he was all smiles, attentive and affectionate until whatever burden he had hit him full force again.

Other changes caught your eye too. Don't think you've missed the way he's been more frugal lately, previous dates are now replaced with mostly hanging out at yours.

Again, you didn't mind. But add that to the fact you've seen him dropping a little of his bulk, skin losing its usual glow and you've also seen the amount of ramen (and only ramen) he has been eating-

You can put two and two together.

For whatever reason, you conclude, Jake is scrimping and saving. And that includes cutting back on hair pomade.

You barely have two wons to rub together yourself. However, the hair pomade, or lack thereof, made you a lot sadder than it really should.

Just that whatever Jake had to do, whatever he couldn't share with you, meant that he couldn't have that little routine he has followed for years. Since before you two got together.

That time to himself each morning, where he would get his hair just how he liked it. Smiling a little to himself once its styled in his usual way. A little peace before the chaos of the day truly started.

Maybe you over egged the significance of this, overthinking and spiralling. Nevertheless, you did what you could.

When Jake pulled the little tub out of a gift bag, the one he always used with the black container and white font, he mistook the gift for him as your own personal preference.

"You hate it that much?" Again with the lighthearted tone, yet his eyes are tight.

"No," you reach up to kiss him and ruffle his hair, "I just know how much you liked to wear it swept back... and maybe I'll cook tonight? You've had enough ramen for a lifetime."

Jake swallows down the lump in his throat.

He doesn't know what to say. Has it been that obvious with how much he has been struggling in the last few months? Of course you could clearly see through him. He should have known better than to keep it from you.

Jake can't tell you everything, but perhaps he can tell you some things.

The tightness in his eyes is replaced by a wetness. He doesn't look at you, he can't. If he does he thinks he might crack.

Jake keeps his eyes downcast, staring at the tub gripped in his hand.

The hair pomade, that really should be insignificant, that meant nothing - means everything to him.

[aspiringsophrosyne]

Leitmotifs in Across The Spiderverse.

Let's talk about how the music of Across The Spiderverse tells us more than what might be obvious. Spoilers for both movies from here on out: you've been warned. 

EDIT: added in one more very important instance.

For those who don't know or need a reminder, a leitmotif is a musical signature associated with a character, an idea, a situation, or some or all of those things together. And for the first Spiderverse movie, Daniel Pemberton made excellent use of at least two big ones. 

To see what I mean, check out this video. If you haven't already. It highlights how music helped tell the story of Into The Spiderverse. 

While this video exclusively covers the leitmotifs in the soundtrack of ITSV, once you know what they sound like, you can hear their inclusion in ATSV.

For instance, Miles' personal leitmotif (that ties together the themes that makeup Miles-as-a-person's journey) shows up both times he attempts to tell his mother that he's Spider-Man.

But the Spider-Person theme, in particular, is all over the place in ATSV. This is fitting, considering it features so many Spideys. Not only is it front and center in Peter B.'s theme and is hiding out in Gwen's, Pavitr's, and Hobie's themes, it demonstrates how Miles-as-Spider-Man has developed between movies: playing throughout My Name is Miles Morales. It's one of the first things we hear when we see the young hero again.

This is an evolution from before, as for most of the first film, the Spider-Person motif plays incessantly for the other Spiders but sparingly for Miles. Whenever it was used for him, it was to show he'd reached a new station in his learning and growth. It plays for him when he first thwips away from Doc Ock and intertwines with his personal theme during his leap of faith to show that he's finally become Spider-Man.

So to have multiple iterations of the Spider-Person leitmotif jammed into the song that plays when we first see Miles again shows how much he's grown.

However....the other places it plays in the movie can give us clues about the nature of the conflict between Miguel's Spider Society and the newly formed Spider-Band. To illustrate this, I want to talk about three specific moments where it's prominent in the soundtrack.

During Nueva York Train Chase, Miguel busts out of the train like a horror movie monster and calls after the younger Spider: "Who do you think you are? Really!?"

Miles answers: "My name...is Miles Morales. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. I'm pretty sure you know the rest, jerk!" He then proceeds to drop, kick Miguel in the face, and then nail him with a ball of webbing.

This is around 2:05 of Nueva York Train Chase on the official ATSV soundtrack by Daniel Pemberton. What do we hear after Miles declares this and then (temporarily) eludes 2099?

The Spider-Person leitmotif.

It's not much later that we hear it again. When? At about 2:25 in the track The Go Home Machine. When Margo Kess, Spider-Byte, decides not to interfere with the titular machine and keep Miles in Nueva York.

This moment is critical. Miguel is trying to stop Miles. Even if the machine doesn't take him home, it gets Miles out of the older Spider's clutches and gives him a chance. And when he gets away, what plays? The Spider-Person leitmotif. The music tells us that at this moment, in trying to escape and save his father and not halting his escape, Miles and Margo are acting like Spider-People.

The music is on Miles' side. The music tells us that Miles is acting like Spider-Man by resisting the Spider-Society. He's doing the right thing.

And on top of that, what do we hear after 2:35 of Start a Band? The moment where Peter B. looks outside and sees Gwen waiting for him? The Spider-Person leitmotif. It tells us that in taking Hobie's watch and gathering her band together, Gwen's acting like Spider-Woman.

It then plays over and over again until the credits role. The music is telling us that the Spider-Band's mission marks them as Spider-People. They are living up to the title. They are doing the right thing.

I don't think the music is the only thing in the movie that points the audience to that conclusion. There's also a lot of subtext, meta, and suspiciously little information about how Canon Events and the multiverse generally work. But this is one of the simplest ways the movie tells us that Miles and the Spider-Band are in the right. 

[twynte]

The way Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu is a gay allegory with gay people!!!

Like,,, with Hikaru and his “otherness”, the body-horror, the strong desire to belong. It’s layered. Hikaru (and possibly Yoshiki?) are queer and yet that’s hardly on their radar, hardly something they’re trying to hide (possibly they haven’t even realized it themselves). What they’re really worried abt is people finding out about Hikaru’s.. situation. There’s naivety to it. They’re only focused on what’s in front of their faces.

Mokumoku uses Hikaru’s possession as a means to illustrate the uncomfortable situations and fears that most queer ppl experience at least once without having to directly tie the situations to the queer community. His queerness and his hauntings are separate, and yet they run parallel.

Where there is creeping dread there are two boys trying to hide an extreme monstrosity from their small town…

Some notable scenes in which i am referring to:

1. When Hikaru was overwhelmed with the fear of Asako asking him “Just what are you?”. The manga panel that follows where Hikaru’s features are covered by his obsessive thought “how does she know”. —Hikaru’s fear of being found out, called out

2. The notion of the hauntings spreading, the town “growing strange”.

3. Hikaru and Yoshiki visiting the summer festival, where Yoshiki can pass under the arch while Himaru cannot. —Having to hide yourself while surround by strangers. Trying to keep yourself safe.

4. Again at the festival when they’re sitting on the ground with shaved ice and Hikaru is pleased that Yoshiki doesn’t recognize him as Hikaru. “It’s because you know I’m not the real Hikaru”…

5. The dragonfly scene where Yoshiki is explaining the slight difference in dragonflies. “Natsuakane and Akiakane look pretty much the same, but they’re entirely different species”. —An obvious jab at Hikaru’s possession, and further, a homophobic sentiment.

6. After becoming more Familiar with Hikaru, Yoshiki transitions from calling him an ‘it’ to a ‘he’.

etcetera etcetera . . .

[eatmyassssssssz]

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, actual love, obvious relationship pre-fic, civilian!reader, soft crying because he's too kind, he loves you, like a lot, soft smut, kiss-y smut, könny is a big ol' slut for thighs.

enjoy!!

he wraps his arms round your hips, holding you close to himself, peppering your head with kisses. he'd just got comfortable enough with you to not wear his mask around you.

once he'd finished kissing your head, you turn around to face him and look up at him for just a few moments, admiring all of his features, admiring his jaw, his bridged nose, his clept lip, his everything.

he might, in his own head, not look perfect, but to you, he was nothing short of angel like, perfection, innocence in a 6'10 military man who can kill people with little to no regard.

"könny, i love you. i really do." saying 'i love you' between the two of you was rare. not because you didn't, but because you wanted to keep the meaning of the word 'love' sacred, something to be blessed upon, not a greeting, or a casual word, or something you can say infront of people. for sensitive times, sensual times, close times, between the two of you and the two of you only.

he kisses your nose, and whispers to you. "i do too, maus, i love you too." he meant it with every cell in his body. every single cell in his body continued for you, his heart only pounds in his chest when you speak with him, he feels.

he may not be the most handsome, or the richest, or the most experienced, or the most important to others, but to you? to you he was. to you, hes perfect, everything you want and could ever need.

"i don't deserve you." he coos at you, his accent soft, his arms hugging your waist lovingly and full of sweet feeling.

"kön, you know i don't like you saying things like that..." he nods in reply to your disapproval. "yes, i do. but i really don't."

"don't make me hug you to death, mister!"

"oh nooooo!" he laughs lazily. this was the real him, the real könig, not just the operator behind KorTac or the man who can shoot a gun or the man who's killed many.

he hated that him. he loathed it. but moments like this? moments like this runs his mind dry of any negative thoughts. all thats in his mind is how he loves you and everything you do and how every single second with you is the new best second of his life.

he sighs lovingly, mind filled of appreciation that he managed to get someone as perfect as you. "oh, i love you.."

"you already said that, könny."

"yes, but you need to know it off by heart."

"i do, but I'm not going to refuse it."

he smiles softly, a dimple on his face becoming more obvious. his downturned smile was encapsulating all of his adoration for you.

"sweetheart, you're perfect. please don't refuse it."

"mhn, i won't."

kisses became longful kisses, longful kisses because sensual kisses, sensual became needy, needy became begging.

"oh, i love you, honey, i do, oh, i do.." he whines out as you rub the fabric of his boxers, specially teasing his poor little sensitive tip. "i know, baby, i know...just take that stimulation for me..be good." he nods in response. you discard his boxers after 5 more minutes of torture, swiping the pad of your soft skinned thumb over his delicate cock.

"p-please..maus!"

he bucks up one more time before a long bead string of cum leaves him, tears running down his delicate face.

@lillianastuff

@madamemelancholysstuff

@ask-the-virtual-council

@hearts-for-william

[humbledragon669]

S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P3 - Paris (1793) and St. James’s Park (1862)

Alright, first thing’s first for this scene. For those of you that haven’t seen the script, the translation of the executioner’s entrance speech is as follows:

Ah, the music of the blade, and the joy of the people. Beautiful, no? Now, let us inspect your neck.

Alas, nothing of hidden meaning there. Something I did pick up on when I was watching this scene back is that just after the executioner’s (Jean-Claude) entrance, an execution takes place offscreen. It’s talked about, and we are informed that the victim here was female. In what seems to be a really dark bit of humour here, it actually sounds like this is a botched execution. The audio for this scene is below - you’ll need to listen carefully as the script continues over the background soundtrack, but to me it sounds like we hear the falling of the blade, followed by a female scream that does not stop when we hear the thump of the guillotine hitting its target.

Jean-Claude even laments over the poor work that the executioner does, and that Aziraphale is lucky that he will not be executed by the inexperienced knave. I have a pretty dark sense of humour, but even I feel like I would rather believe the screams we can hear are of a spectator, perhaps a loved one of the condemned, distressed at the scene. *shudder*

Moving on to something a bit lighter, we have a reminder of the noise we should be associating with Crowley’s time freeze miracles – that little wobble board noise played over the miracle whoosh (not to mention the underlying tingly sort of noise that can be heard throughout the scene as the time freeze stays in place). Just why Aziraphale doesn’t realise that Jean-Claude has frozen until Crowley actually speaks is a mystery to me. Too caught up in his own impending administrative perils perhaps. What is less mysterious is how the angel feels about Crowley’s unannounced arrival in his cell.

There’s no denying that Aziraphale is delighted that Crowley has appeared – that little smile is pure reflex and he all but breathes his name. I’m sure some people will read it as relief as his friend showing up just when he needs help, but I am not one of them. The painfully obvious once over that he gives Crowley tells us everything we need to know about Aziraphale’s true feelings here. And then there’s that “good Lord” line – it’s not the only time we hear somebody refer to Crowley in this way. It’s an interesting choice of words for sure and if it wasn’t for the way that the angel is drooling looking at Crowley, who I should point out hasn’t exactly positioned himself in what one might call a demure pose, I’d say that he was trying to sound disdainful.

We’re treated to the first (chronologically speaking) mention of the book shop in this scene. There are a couple of other sources that fill in some gaps for us on this front – Neil himself confirmed that Aziraphale bought the land for the shop in the 1630s and the Script Book contains a deleted scene that shows the book shop would be opened in 1800. Seeing as it’s a feature of the series that will become so integral, it’s nice that we’re given a bit of its backstory.

We’re also given a bit of insight to Aziraphale’s insatiable appetite for human food in this scene. Whilst we as the audience have already been given some context around this, it’s only now we see just how strong his attachment to food is. After all, he abandoned his book shop opening plans and travelled to Paris at the height of a revolution that targeted the aristocracy whilst dressed head-to-toe in finery just to get some crepes. Crowley’s expression of disbelief when he finds out that this foolish errand has been driven by pastry-lust feels as though it embodies the thought process of everyone bearing witness to this conversation:

Aziraphale doesn’t appear to think his actions are out of order though. What’s interesting is that his attention is engaged not by the dressing-down he’s receiving, but by Crowley’s use of a particular phrase:

There’s an incredibly subtle eyebrow raise at Crowley’s use of the word “nibble” – it comes a split second before he talks about Aziraphale’s choice of clothing. It’s a real blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, so I cut it and slowed it down a little to demonstrate:

As if the angel hadn’t given enough of a clue about how he’s feeling about Crowley’s presence. Honestly, he needs to tell his face to stop giving away his heart’s desires so obviously. Though I’m not sure how much of his heart is involved in that flirty little expression.

At this point we find out that Aziraphale has been reprimanded for performing too many frivolous miracles, to which Crowley responds that the angel is lucky he was in the area. This does raise an interesting question about Crowley always being around when Aziraphale most needs him.

There’s something quite knowing about this exchange – as if they know luck really didn’t have anything to do with it. I don’t think that they were in Paris together, or that Aziraphale even knew Crowley was in Paris - the bit of the conversation about the book shop opening and Crowley’s disbelief at the purpose of the trip is enough for me to believe Aziraphale genuinely didn’t know of the other’s proximity. I do however think that it’s unlikely this is the first time that Crowley has “conveniently” been in just the right place at the right time for Aziraphale, and that they both know there’s more at play than luck. My money’s on Crowley always knowing exactly where Aziraphale is, somehow managing to keep tabs on him in a non-creepy way, purely because he knows the angel has an uncanny knack for getting into trouble. For confirmation of his love of being Aziraphale’s knight in shining armour, see season 2, episode 5.

Right before we see the manacles miraculously fall off Aziraphale’s wrists, we can, if we’re really eagle-eyed, see another one of those micro-expressions that betray Aziraphale’s feelings. It’s off the back of Crowley’s indignant response that he has somehow been entirely responsible for the Reign of Terror currently occupying Paris. It’s minute, but it conveys so much to me – Aziraphale knows that Crowley isn’t really interested in causing anything so heinous and is basking in being reminded of that.

It’s worth noting the leagues of difference in Crowley’s reaction to being told “thank you for the rescue” and being called “nice” as we saw in episode 2. Here he simply (vehemently) tells the angel not to say “rescue”. No violence, no grabbing of lapels, no hissing in Aziraphale’s face. The words might be different, but the sentiment is most definitely the same, and yet the two reactions are light years apart. If I might be forgiven for referring to my own head canon for a moment, this actually makes sense. As a reminder, it’s my belief that Crowley and Aziraphale actually form a romantic relationship as of the day of Adam’s birth, some 200+ years in the future from Paris. This reaction we see from Crowley in the Bastille is a genuine and simple one, whereas (I believe) the wall slam at Tadfield Manor is the beginning of some sexual role play. It’s no wonder the two reactions are so different really. That said, I do not think Aziraphale isn’t playing some sort of role play game here – his insistence that he was unable to miracle himself out of the cell is rudely undermined when he performs a “frivolous miracle” just to change his clothes so that the two of them can go to lunch together. If Crowley’s preference for playing the hero was known to him, it suddenly makes sense why Aziraphale wouldn’t just miracle himself out of the cell, safe in the knowledge that Crowley would do it for him. He even defends his choice to miracle his own clothes to the demon, and it’s a pretty weak excuse.

I think it’s just a shame we don’t see Crowley’s face when he hears this, but what we do see is Aziraphale’s expression of resignation when he realises that he has to miracle his own change of clothes. It’s as if he knows the game has come to an end so now he has to stop the pretence of not being able to help himself. It’s charming really. What’s also interesting is that in switching clothes with Jean-Claude, he condemns the man to an almost instant death, yet he seems to have no qualms about the consequences of his actions in the slightest. He doesn’t even react to Crowley’s little dig that Jean-Claude was “asking for trouble” dressed in Aziraphale’s clothes.

The last exchange of this scene still delivers with subtext – it’s interesting that Crowley asks Aziraphale what’s for lunch whilst showing no preference whatsoever. He doesn’t even look affected when the angel declares joyfully that crepes are the first thing on his mind. Given that I believe Crowley to take much more pleasure in watching Aziraphale eat than eating himself, I think this question more likely means “what do I get to watch you eat for lunch?”. It’s a pleasant, light way to end this scene, which has had its fair share of dark humour squirreled away in its corners.

The first thing I noticed about this scene is that the placard announcing the date and location are different from all the other instances where this device is used. Firstly, both the location and date are on the same side of the sign. Secondly, this instance is the only one that doesn’t thrust itself upon the camera lens, instead being submerged in water. It stands out as being different, but I don’t know that there’s anything of meaning in it other than it’s used as a way to set the scene.

Speaking of setting the scene, we have another instance of David Arnold’s musical mastery with his treatment of the main theme for the soundtrack as we zoom in on Crowley and Aziraphale. The use of the harpsichord gives it a more Baroque feel, rather than being of the Romantic period that 1862 would actually fall into. To me it summons thoughts of Austen-era balls and olde-world courtships with their highly formal etiquette, all which would have taken place about 100 years prior to this scene, so I do find it interesting that it’s been chosen to orchestrate the theme in this way. Nevertheless, it’s a very pretty arrangement and definitely makes us feel that we’re still in England in a time when society had strict rules that needed to be adhered to.

Quick side note: the jacket Aziraphale is wearing in this scene appears to be the same one from the paintballing scene, which he says he has owned for over 180 years. This scene takes place approximately 155 years before the present day of this season, so even at this point he’s already owned that jacket for more than 25 years.

There’s a strange formality between the two of them in this scene, right from the start. Crowley doesn’t even look at Aziraphale as they’re talking to one another, staring stubbornly straight ahead.

Crowley opens the conversation with, what I think, is a really strange line:

What if it all goes wrong? We’ve got a lot in common, you and me…

It consists of two very different ideas that I just can’t seem to make have meaning when you put them together in one sentence. Not only that, I can’t even really make much sense out of the second part of the sentence – it just makes me want to utter the age-old phrase “and…?”. If anybody has any ideas on this one, I’m all ears.

This weirdly awkward meeting continues with Aziraphale’s belittling of Crowley from his first words, which he tries to shrug off, only to have the angel continue to make light of their companionship, claiming that the only thing their partnership is good for is to satisfy the agreement, making sure they “stay out of each other’s way”. This whole interaction just feels so out of character for the pair, particularly given that we’ve just seen them gleefully heading off to have lunch together not 30 seconds previously.

Crowley’s summation of his fall from Heaven here could be telling us a lot about his state of mind when he was still an angel – to me it sounds as if he’s saying that his mindset hasn’t actually shifted very far, and that it wasn’t a sharp sudden descent into his demonic state of being but a gradual (and willing) move. It’s a very different point of view from what we know Aziraphale holds: that there are only two states of being for ethereal beings – good or evil. It’s something we see a lot throughout the series – the comparison of the two opposing opinions on morality, along with the idea that Crowley is much happier in his “limbo” state than Aziraphale, who constantly fights against the notion that he is anything other than purely good.

Despite the fact that it’s painfully obvious that Crowley is really struggling with what he’s asking (there’s a little gulp before he mentions things going pear-shaped that says an awful lot, not to mention the attempts at deflection with his talk of ears), Aziraphale really isn’t listening to his friend in the slightest. Apart from the word “pears”. Surely Crowley should know by now that any use of food-related language is going to send the angel into fantasyland?

Aziraphale really proves that he hasn’t been listening at the point where he finally starts paying attention, though in an ironic twist he has to ask Crowley what he’s been talking about. The further ironic twist is that he starts listening at exactly the point that Crowley will only communicate his needs in writing (I’m not sure why it was necessary to write down the words “holy water” when they’re standing in broad daylight having a conversation out loud…). He’s clearly distressed at Crowley’s request though and his instant refusal to get him what he wants prompts the demon to look at him, albeit briefly, for the first time in this scene.

As little light side note here, I love how Crowley’s handwriting looks so childish on the slip of paper he hands to Aziraphale:

It feels so appropriate for his character that, even after 6000 years, he really has no interest in investing time to improve his writing skills. And what’s with the underline? Trying to convey how important he feels his request is? Whatever the reason, it just compounds the idea that this note was written with someone with the emotional IQ of an amoeba, which is far from the case.

We start to see how distressed Aziraphale is at what he thinks Crowley is asking for at this point.

He impassioned plea comes complete with a little gasping breath before he speaks that’s almost heartbreaking. What I find really interesting about the way he handles this situation is that his distress turns to anger very quickly. When he tells Crowley that he would be in trouble if their liaisons were ever discovered, I read that as him appealing to the demon to try and remind him that they are both at risk doing what they’re doing. Not only that, but there’s no way that he’s going to provide Crowley with an “easy” way out, which I suspect is his way of telling the demon that he doesn’t get to leave him behind. Pity he has to use a word that’s pretty aggravatory to try and hammer his point home – I think his choice would likely be driven by what Heaven would call their meetings, rather than how he sees them, but Crowley has already been told he can’t have what he’s asking for and is in no mood to allow Aziraphale any slip ups at this point.

That word clearly rubs Crowley up the wrong way (and rightly so I say, fancy trivialising 6000 years of companionship in as base a way as to call it “fraternising”). In his defence, Aziraphale does try to take it back, but it’s too late – they’re both too emotional charged at this point to see any sense. Crowley’s scathing response that he has plenty of other people he can “fraternise” with is perhaps not meant as a snipe to undermine their friendship further, but an angry declaration that whilst he might do that with others, it is not how he would choose to describe the interactions with the angel. If that is the subtext, Aziraphale misses it, seeing only the insinuation that Crowley is claiming he has plenty of people he can hang around with, making him less important.

Despite the seriousness of the subject matter driving the argument, we are once again leaving this location and time period with a bit of lightness.

My instinctive response to Aziraphale’s awkward storming off and disposal of Crowley’s note, along with Crowley’s snotty closing remark? A little groan followed by the disdainful muttering of “bloody children…”.

As always, comments, questions, discussions, all welcome!

[jellyaibo]

breaking my silence...i fuckng hate this "genre" of object show gijinka and im tired of acting like it isnt . bland

(using ii gijinkas as my guinea pigs for this, considering i really ONLY see these kinds of gijinkas in the ii side of the osc)

they are just. all the same build, usually same hairstyles and fashion theres NOTHINGGG that differentiates one persons gijinka from another because thats how similar they look to me, also if i were to color these do u think it would make it more obvious who is who? (if u cant already tell who is who obvs. its tt, fan & pickle but ohhhh my god THERESS NO SAUCE)

this might just sound fucking insane on my part but also even though these gijinkas dont have natural skintones (obvs trying to match the objects) they completely lack any features that say they ARENT white (i mean like very eurocentric) finding one with afro hair is like looking for a needle in a haystack (im being so serious ive barely seen any . kind of diversity like that)

and not even just diversity in races too, because 99% of them are all tall and skinny they just completely lack any body diversity (once again, very eurocentric yk yk) and because of that they have. awful silhouettes (unless they have VERY defining features which is fucking rare, so unless you have a really unique design a lot of people probably can't tell who is who unless you either squint really hard or have them be colored in)

my point is . these gijinkas just dont look good like at all. (im not gonna kill anyone for making gijinkas like this btw but ill def squint at you rlly hard but thats just me) and i think people should try to go and experiment with more expressive and fun designs that can make these blokes rlly stand out more!!! (something as simple as just, giving them acne, making them shorter/taller than they actually are, wacky hair n cool disability aids etc. just fucking go nuts!!! diversity just. makes better designs imho)

i designed these kinda on the spot (im sorry pickle) and like. even if they might look a little bland imo they have way more personality than the designs above!!!!!!!!!!! its not hard lichurally all u need to do is get an idea n try it

also i didnt know where to put this but like. another example of why i think these gijinkas just fucking suck: i uhhhh made my loser gijinka into one

her joy? her happiness? her personality and transsexual swag? GONE. SUCKED AWAY FROM HER BEING. she is a HUSK

my final note(s) on this is like. just go experiment brah im sooo tired of seeing these ohh please im so exhausted...EVEN IF U ARENT CONFIDENT IN UR DESIGNING SKILLS . GOING AND TAKING THAT FIRST STEP IS GOOD please just go nuts ohhh u wanna go nuts so fucking bad . theres many many references for different bodies n details n shit AND U DONT EVEN HAVE TO LIKE. STUDY EVERYTHING TO BECOME "GOOD" at this . just . freaking go for it

and my final (final) note is uhmm very petty but idc but the artist that popularized this kind of object show gijinka isnt the best person so like. yeah that is one of my top reasons on why i dont like em LMAO

uhhh and yeah thats it thats pretty much all sorry for rambling im just a tired little biracial boy oohh im so tired heres a lollipop 🍭