#i wanna adopt paul

[robin374]

hello! I wanted to request some headcanons for the mercs (if yo don't wanna write for the nine of them it could be only heavy, medic, pyro & sniper)

So, I don't know if you've seen Gnomeo & Juliet? If you haven't, in the first movie there's a beautiful scene when they both met without knowing they're from the different colour and the iconic song with it is "hello hello" with lady gaga and Elton John.

SO, I made this introduction to request the (RED mercs) meeting the reader (fem, if possible) without knowing she's from the BLU team, and basically with the trope "love at first sight" and how it continues is really up to you!!

Sorry for bothering and thank you in advance, ♡♡

Love at first sight

Characters: Heavy, Pyro & Sniper

Notes: Romantic and lots of fluff. Edit: I FORGOT MEDIC SORRY

It's funny because the first time you saw eachother was at a forest fire. Suprisingly they didn't start it. They were having a walk around and saw a blinding light, it had a lot of different colours and there were bubbles everywhere.

Seeing that it was a entertaining scenery to see, they decided to get a closer look to the 'party'. For him, people around were laughing and dancing, they joined happily to the dances.

However, in reality, people were running away from the fire and coughing and crying. Strange, right?

You got caught between two logs of burnt trees. You were already accpeting your destiny when they appeared laughing while looking at you. You frowned, were they laughing at you? Or were they just happy to see that you were alive?

None of that, they were just laughing because in his pyrovision, you were caught against your will by an evil dragon. They were the knight that could save, this was their moment to prove you that they were worthy of your hand.

They easily took the logs out and took you bridal style out of the fire. You were so confused and felt so much pain that you didn't have any choice that to let them do whatever they were thinking about. They saved you live after all.

The next time you saw each other was in the battlefield, and instead of burning you to bits, they hugged you and 'saved' you from your own teammates. Now, everytime you see them in battlefield they keep scolding you for hanging out with such dangerous people. You should be more careful!

This happened on the only day that he decided to go out to town. He never leaves the base, only for important missions that Miss Pauling gives him. However, he decided to take a look at the town's library. He had been wanting to read something these days, but he didn't find time for it. Now that it was ceasefire day, he decided to go and see if there was something interesting.

You, on the other hand, went to the library to see if they had finally brought the book you have been wanting for weeks. You always asked the librarian but he was an old grumpy and mean man. You still think that he should adopt a cat or something, that would definitely make him happier.

You walked straight to the aisle where the book should be. Then, you saw it. Finally! You could read one of Dostoyevsky's books. However, the moment you reached out for the book, another hand went to take it too. It much bigger than yours, almost biger than the book. You looked at the man that was next to you. You two didn't say anything, until he talked. He asked you if you enjoyed Russian literature, you answered him a smile, and tld him that you had been wanting to read some of the recommended books.

"Shh!" The old man interrumpted the conversation that you two were having, Heavy guided you out of the library and told you that he would let you some of his books. He never let anyone his books, mostly Medic, but it was because they shared their books. He felt something warm in his cold little heart, the same feeling he felt whenever he was with his gun Sasha.

The next time you saw each other in battlefield. You had been launched up to the sky by Pyro and now you were falling in high speed towards him. He wasn't aware of that though, he was too occupied eating a sandwich to recover from a fight with the enemy Demoman. You screamed you were going to take advantage of the force you were having thanks to gravity and strike his head with your melee weapon. He finally noticed this and took a step to the side making you fall face first to the floor. After the dust cloud dissapeared, he took you from the ankle and lifted you. "Hi..." You innocently smiled while shaking you hand. "You read Heavy's book?" He asked you, still not processing that you were an enemy. You nodded, and made a comment about the book. Then, he took out his shotgun and threatened you with it. "There's one of you teammates near us, just play along."

Now the two of you have a sandwich break every battlefield.

He doesn't usually talk to strangers that are suspiciously in the road. But the moment he saw you with your mountain bike broken he didn't think much about it.

"You okay?" He asked you while he lowered the window. You looked at him, a man in a van. He surely wasn't dangerous, right? "Yes... My bike broke when I was returning home... Shit-ass bike..." You murmured. He laughed and got out of his van. "Let me help you." He said while taking the bike, it sure was broken. The wheel was punctured and the breaks were torn out. He put the bike inside the van and drove you to your home, which casually was near Teufort.

He nervously offered to accompany you to the bike workshop. The thing is that he didn't know that you had your own little workshop in your home. So, as a thank you you invited him to a cafe.

The next time you saw him was when you were returning from a mission that Miss Pauling gave you. You were still in your BLU uniform and was entering you base, until someone shoot you next to you foot, you looked up to see where it came from. Someone whistled and you saw Sniper in the RED base's roof. He left his rifle to the side and greeted you with his hand. You greeted him back and made a mental note to give him a visit next battle.

[britany1997]

Let’s Motor

I genuinely wasn’t expecting the response to Rev Your Engines that I got, I was feeling very insecure about my writing when I posted it and I’m crying that y’all loved it so much😭 (read part one here)

I’ve also decided on subsequent fics to indicate when I won’t be writing any more parts, so this will be the final part to this series:) hope y’all love it!

Pre-read by my motorcycle expert adopted brother @pixielostboy 🥰

Poly! Lost boys x GN motor expert reader

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

You rolled out from under your 1953 Buick wildcat, smearing your hand across your face as you attempted to wipe it clean of oil.

When you’d finished your shift for the night, your boss was kind enough to let you use the shop’s tools to fix up your own ride.

The tune ups were going well, but you still took your Harley to work instead, hopeful you’d run into the strange group of rockers from a few days ago.

You checked your watch and sighed. Lately you’d tended to drag your feet, just in case the biker boys did drop by, but after days of waiting, you’d finally decided they weren’t coming.

That is until you heard the familiar mumbling of four motors pulling up behind you. You chuckled to yourself as you pulled a bandana from your back pocket to wipe your brow and turned around.

Your face fell as you realized the sight in front of you was not the four weirdos you were hoping to meet again, but another group of leather clad bikers.

You sighed and turned back to pack up your things.

“Expectin’ someone?”

You whipped your head around to lock eyes with a smirking Paul, leaning against a broken down truck one of your coworkers had been fixing up.

“Hello again,” you raised an eyebrow as you wiped down your tools, “where ya been?”

“Been busy sugar,” he explained, “didn’t mean we didn’t wanna come.”

Your lips turned up against your will as you shrugged in reply, “maybe I wanted to see you guys too.”

Paul’s face lit up at your words.

“Why didn’t I hear your bike pull up?” you asked.

“Got one of those silent mufflers, bike don’t make a sound,” he told you.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. Silent mufflers? “What?”

“Kidding babe, just didn’t wanna move the bikes from the boardwalk, I uh walked over.”

You scoffed, “isn’t it like a five mile walk?”

Paul rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “yeah I uh, I walk fast.”

You snorted, “whatever Paulie, you want a ride back on my bike?”

“Yes please,” he sing-songed as he practically skipped over to your side.

You mounted your Harley before Paul slid in behind you. “Hold on tight yeah?” you told him.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice sugar,” he said as his arms slid around your middle. He squeezed your sides gently causing you to flinch.

“Maybe not that tight,” you laughed.

Paul moved his hands to rest on your hips as you nudged up your kickstand with your heel before reving your engine and taking off down the road.

The short drive to the boardwalk gave Paul’s hands many opportunities to wander from your hips, but luckily for him you didn’t mind too much.

You parked your bike to the side of Max’s video as both you and Paul slid off and walked toward the three other boys loitering near the pier.

“Well, well, well,” David smirked as he took a drag, “just couldn’t stay away could ya?”

You scoffed in mock offense, “excuse me, but this one,” you jerked your thumb towards Paul, “tracked me down at work for you idiots.”

David threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, “maybe we needed you to fix up one of our bikes again.”

You snorted, “they look fine to me.”

Dwayne rolled his eyes, “sorry about him, we really did just want to see you.”

You blushed as your gaze fell to the gorgeous brunette man’s shoes, “I kinda wanted to see you guys again too.”

“Wanna race?” Marko blurted out, bouncing on his heels in excitement.

Your head snapped up, “race? Race where?” you asked.

“Hudson’s bluff,” David spoke up, “you know it?”

“Yeah I know it,” you paused for a second, “what does the winner get?”

“A kiss from you,” Paul said smirking, as he leaned an elbow on your shoulder.

You rolled your shoulder, causing his elbow to slide right off you, “and what do I get if I win?” you asked.

“Four kisses,” Paul winked.

You rolled your eyes, “if I win I want…” you trailed off as you thought to yourself.

A lightbulb went off in your head, “I want that,” you decided as you pointed at David’s long black trenchcoat.

David’s jaw dropped, not usually one to be caught off guard, “…you want my coat?”

He regained his senses, “absolutely not, no.”

You pouted in mock sympathy, “scared you’re gonna lose Davey?”

He scoffed, “never.”

You shrugged, “then you’ve got nothing to worry about right?”

David bit his lip and weighed his options. There were four of them and only one of you. How could one little human beat four vicious vampires? You didn’t stand a chance.

David smirked and stuck out his hand, “deal.”

You smiled as you shook his hand, “alright then.”

It didn’t take the five of you long to clamor onto your bikes and line up parallel to each other.

“You’re going down,” Marko whispered from the left of you as Dwayne counted down.

You smirked, “we’ll see.”

As soon as Dwayne bellowed “go,” you were off.

You whipped through the beach, kicking up sand as you rode and making a mental note to clean your wheels later. Paul and David had an early lead, with you and Marko not far behind.

Dwayne trailed behind the four of you, but you suspected it wasn’t for lack of ability but more to teach David a lesson. Either way, you appreciated it.

As you turned off into the forest you pulled past Paul, flicking a wave in his direction as you left him in the dust. You smiled as you heard a soft gasp behind you from the shocked blond boy.

You leaned forward, your brow furrowing as you accelerated until you were neck and neck with David.

“Give up? You could still keep your coat,” you taunted him, keeping your eyes trained on the road.

“Not on your life.” he spit through gritted teeth.

“Suit yourself,” you replied as you pushed forward on the throttle, weaving in front of David and pulling up at the edge of the cliff.

David pulled to a stop in disbelief, “you…how did you…” he sputtered as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

You smiled, “increased the size of my rear sprocket by two teeth awhile back, helps the bike accelerate quicker,” you explained.

“Why didn’t you say anything babe?” Paul inquired as he parked next to the two of you.

You shrugged, “you never asked,”

“Pretty smart if you ask me,” Marko admitted as he joined as well, “I woulda done that too.”

“Looks like you’ve got a jacket to hand over huh David?” Dwayne teased as he came around to David’s side, playing with the hem of the coat.

David’s face flushed red as he realized. He moved to take the coat off when you stopped him, placing a hand on his.

“No need,” you assured him, “the look on your face is a good enough prize for me.”

David grumbled as the other boys dissolved into fits of laughter.

“You’re a good time babe,” Paul nudged you with his elbow, “we live just down there if you’d like to come in for a drink,” he offered smoothly as the others exchanged knowing glances.

“Sure,” you smiled, “I could go for a drink.”

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Taglist❤️:

@pixielostboy @bloodywickedvamp @6lostgirl6 @anna1306 @misslavenderlady @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @paulxbathbomd @peachpixiesstuff @ria-coolgirl @flower-crowned-lady @lostboys1987girl @ghoulgeousimmaculate @feardot-com @softchonk @gothamslostboy @arenpath @bitchyexpertprincess @memphiscity69 @kurt-nightcrawler @solobagginses @mickkmaiden333 @arbesa-mind @warrior-616 @consuming-karma @dwaynedelight @vampirefilmlover @its-freaking-bats @dwaynesluscioushair @hallotonia

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 6

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Wyoming (Part Three)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie strikes a deal with the mechanic.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.3k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, slow burn, horny thoughts, food mention, eating, handcuffs, one bed, shower, dog grogu, guns

Notes: None really. Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

A bell chimes when Din pushes open the door to Giddyup Auto, and again when he lets it swing shut behind you. 

It’s just as cluttered inside the shop as it is outside. Pornographic magazines have been stacked alongside NAPA catalogs and tattered notepads on top of tool boxes. Promotional branding from popular auto parts manufacturers patch the steel walls, occasionally broken up by snarky signs that read things like KWITCHERBITCHIN AVE and I CAN FIX ANYTHING EXCEPT STUPID. 

Country music crackles from blown speakers at the back of the shop, echoing off the tall ceiling. The rough, strained sound blends horribly with a high-pitched whir coming from beneath a 1989 Dodge Ram 250. 

Din inhales the scent of motor oil and metal shavings. Adolescent nostalgia wells up in his chest like pride, some vague understanding of what it means to be a man. The responsibility of maintenance. Caretaking and custodianship. 

He catches a glimpse of his adoptive father wringing his hands with an oil-soaked rag while rattling off the basic components of an internal combustion engine. Then he blinks it away.

Out of the corner of his eye, you adjust your grip on the wriggling dog, slipping one hand beneath his bottom and the other across his chest. Grogu huffs at the intrusion, but once he’s steadied to a higher vantage point, he seems pleased. His ears stand at attention, jowls sealed shut, the tip of his snout twitching with curiosity. 

Both you and the dog look around the garage with the same kind of wide-eyed wonder. Two explorers ready to investigate this whole new world. Din leads the way deeper into the automotive bay, following the shrill grinding sound to the old rusted-out truck. 

When he comes to a halt, so does the noise, then Paul slides out from under the truck on a creeper. 

“Hey there! Sorry, I didn’t hear y’all come in,” he gestures to the impact wrench in his hand as he sets it down. 

“Hi, Paul,” you greet him with a cheerful smile.

Rising to his feet, he beams, “Miss Charlie, how’re you today?” 

The twinkle in his bright eyes makes Din feel uneasy. Strands of gray streak his dark beard and pepper his slicked-back hair. Hard-earned wrinkles crease his face. He’s twice your age at least, and Din can’t quite determine whether his intentions are cordial or flirtatious. 

Either way, you hardly seem to mind. You perk up at the attention, taking a step towards him as you reply, “Can’t complain. Yourself?” 

“Oh, just fine. Annie get y’all set up at the motel?” 

“She sure did. It was nice to sleep in a bed for once, y’know, after being on the road for so long. Thank you for recommending it to us.” 

“‘Course. Yellow Seed’s been treatin’ you alright?” 

“Yeah! We got to poke around a little yesterday. Went and got supper at the Outlaw Saloon, which was good,” you glance at Din and chuckle a little, “The locals didn’t seem too keen on us. Got a few dirty looks, but that’s not surprising.” 

Paul laughs at this, crossing his arms as he leans back against the truck, “Well, you know, we small town folks don’t always like outsiders.” 

“I’m used to it,” you shrug dismissively, then your face lights up, “But, hey, I talked to the owner and they’re gonna let me play a couple sets tomorrow night if you wanna swing by.”

“No shit?” Paul grins and catches himself, “Pardon my language—”

“It’s fine,” you wave it off. 

“Playin’ a few sets at the Outlaw Saloon,” Paul repeats, shaking his head with amusement, “What kinda music you play?” 

“I know a little bit of everything. These kinds of gigs, I try to feel out the crowd. I catch a country music kinda vibe around here, so probably some Hank Williams Jr, Alan Jackson, Johnny Cash. Stuff like that,” you tilt your head at him, “Got any requests?”

“Know any Waylon Jennings?” 

“Sure, I have a few of his tunes up my sleeve. Any particular song?”

“Surprise me,” he winks. 

Din tries to retain his stoic demeanor despite the discomfort writhing beneath his skin. The dog must pick up on this, because he whines at his owner and starts to squirm in your grip. 

Struggling with Grogu’s protest, you ask Paul, “Is it ok if I set him down?”

“Go on ahead, darlin’,” Paul tells you, then turns to Din, “How about you? Settling in ok?” 

“How much will it cost to fix?” 

Paul raises his eyebrows and pushes off the truck, “Right down to brass tacks, huh?” 

“He’s not much of a talker,” you smirk as you set the dog on the cement floor and start roaming around the shop, leash in hand. 

“I can respect that.” His gaze lingers on your wandering form for a moment longer before he looks at Din and sighs, “Well, I had some luck calling around to a few junkyards lookin’ for salvaged or used parts. Found a good price for what I need. With that ‘n’ labor, it’ll run you twenty-five hundred, long as everything goes smoothly.” 

Din weighs the cost against his bank account, factoring in the motel room, gas to get to the next job, and food for a few days. It would run him dry. His stomach tightens and twists. Before he can formulate a response, you chime in. 

“Is there any way we can knock that price down?” 

Paul crosses his arms across his chest and gives you a sympathetic shrug, “Way it stands, ‘fraid I can’t.” 

You nod as you consider this, furrowing your brow at the floor, then look up at him, “What if we make a trade?” 

“A trade?” Paul frowns. 

“Yeah, or, you know. Some kind of a deal. We scratch your back, you scratch ours.” 

Paul’s blue eyes flick between you and Din, “Wha’d you have in mind, sweetheart?”

Din’s first instinct is to shut down the conversation. But when you glance at him as if searching for approval, he doesn’t protest. You turn back to Paul and nod over your shoulder, “I noticed your sign out front is pretty faded. I could paint it if you knock a couple hundred off?” 

Paul shifts his weight to one leg and wrinkles his nose. Not sold. You don’t let it deter you. 

“I’ve done murals before, so this would be a piece of cake. It looks pretty shabby now, but I can make it,” you smack your lips, “pop. Maybe it’d bring in some more business for you.” 

Shaking his head, he smirks at Din, “She’s persistent, ain’t she?”

“She is.” 

“I am,” you confirm with a wide, toothy grin, “Whaddaya say? I do the sign, take off $500?“

Paul works his jaw from side to side, then slackens and sticks out his hand, “Five hundred.” 

“Plus the cost of supplies,” you add. 

“Plus the—” he cuts himself off with an amused chuckle, “You’re somethin’ else. Fine. Five hundred plus costs.” 

When you shake his hand, a victorious, blinding smile spreads across your face. The corner of Din’s mouth turns up at the sight. He fails to correct his expression as you take a step back and glance at him. His heart skips in that brief moment where his eyes meet yours, before you drop your gaze to your feet and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Blush rises to your cheeks and neck, rosy splotches that bloom soft and full in his chest. 

“Whaddaya think, should $100 do it?” Paul asks. 

“I think we can make that work,” you nod, “Do you have paint brushes or rollers? Sandpaper?” 

“Reckon I do. Hang tight, I’ll get y’all some cash, ok?” 

Once he’s out of earshot, Din studies you, wondering out loud, “Why are you helping me?” 

“Rule number ten: Be a stand up tramp,” you shrug, crouching down to scratch Grogu between his ears, “Plus, I don’t know, it just seems like… the right thing to do.” 

Your answer perplexes him. He can’t come up with a response other than, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you grin up at him, then rise to your feet and change the subject, “I’m hungry. We should get lunch. And maybe get some groceries, too, so we—er, you don’t have to spend as much on eating out.” 

The authority with which you suggest this causes him to chafe. He wants to push back for no reason other than to reclaim the upper hand. Your reasoning is sound, though. It’s not a bad idea. 

“We can do that.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nods. 

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment, lips curving into a delicate smile. Something flutters in his stomach, frantic and timid, urging him to put up a wall between you. But he keeps his eyes anchored to yours despite his internal warning bells. 

The tight wire of tension slackens as Paul returns, counting a stack of wrinkled bills, “Here you go.” 

You step forward to accept the cash, “Perfect. Thank you, Paul.” 

“Are y’all gonna be able to carry everything back here, or do you wanna borrow my truck? Might be a little easier that way.” 

“Really?” you grin and knit your brows together into a gracious expression, “We were thinking of grabbing lunch and getting some groceries, too. Would that be ok?” 

“Fine by me, just bring it back in one piece,” Paul answers, fishing a set of keys from his jumpsuit pocket and handing them to you, “Ford F-150 out front.”

“Thank you, Paul. I—we really appreciate it,” you tell him, then look at Din and raise your eyebrows expectantly. 

“Yes, thank you,” Din nods in agreement. 

“Don’t mention it,” Paul says, then ambles back to the old rusted-out Dodge, whistling along to some old country song. 

Keeping pace at his side as he starts towards the exit, you jangle the keys and ask, “Do you want me to drive?”

“Dream on, kid,” he scoffs, holding his hand out. 

“Worth a shot,” you grin and place them in his palm. 

“Would it be too predictable to put a horse on the sign?” you ask, frowning at your rough outline, “I feel like there are a lot of places out here that lean into the western motif, so it might be overdone. But the place is literally called Giddyup Auto, so…” 

When Din doesn’t respond, you glance up and can’t quite tell if he’s looking at you or something in your general direction. 

Stupid goddamn aviators. 

“You know, it’s considered polite to take off your hat and sunglasses when you go indoors.” 

Again, nothing. 

‘Off in lala-land’ if you’ve ever seen it. 

You blink at him a few times to no reaction, then raise your voice, “Did you hear me?” 

This seems to do the trick. 

It’s difficult to explain how you know his eyes are on you when they are. Maybe the microscopic tilt of his head or the twitch of his eyebrows. Mostly though, you would say that his attention carries a force. One minute you’re sitting there wondering if he’s looking at you and then—bam! It hits you. Absolute certainty.  

Anyway, he looks at you and asks, “What?” 

“Why do you insist on wearing your Unabomber costume all the time?” 

He frowns and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. 

“You know, because—Oh for cripes’ sake, nevermind,” you scoff and sit up in your seat, turning your notebook to face him, “Here. Tell me what you think.” 

He looks down at your notebook and pulls it closer. As he quietly studies the sketches, discomfort twists your skin raw. Imagining all the criticisms lingering at the tip of his tongue, you can’t stop yourself from speaking preemptively. 

“The first one is pretty boring, but I think the font adds a little flair. I’d blend shades of orange for the background to make it stand out and white for the text.” You prop your chin up on the heel of your palm and lean forward, pointing to the second option, “I like the covered wagon as a concept, but it would take me a long time and I’m not sure if it fits the vibe since wagons are kinda slow. The horse is fast, obviously,” you tap the third sketch and shrug, “But, like I said when you so rudely ignored me, the western motif is sort of tired in this neck of the woods.” 

Nodding, he comments, “They look… nice.” 

Such a way with words. 

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for additional input to no avail. Raising your eyebrows, you release a big sigh and fold your legs up into the booth, “‘Nice.’ Ok, sure. Well, let me ask you this: Which one is your favorite?” 

After a few seconds of contemplation, he taps the bucking bronco silhouetted over a mountain range, then pushes the notebook back across the table. 

“Why that one?” 

He shrugs, “It’s called Giddyup Auto.” 

Instead of pointing out that you said the same thing earlier, you mutter, “Sure is, big guy,” and flip your notebook to a blank page, then start jotting down a shopping list, “We should get something for the pup while we’re out. I feel bad for leaving him behind.” 

You wrinkle your nose at his silence, looking up to confirm that once again, he has drifted away. 

Curiosity gets the best of you. You follow his line of sight, craning your neck over your shoulder to see the waitress approaching with a serving tray. Din straightens when she sets a plate in front of him. 

“Ok, we have a breakfast platter number two,” she sets another plate in front of you, “And french toast with fruit.” Tucking the tray under her arm, she smiles between you and him, “Anything else I can get for you guys?” 

“We’re fine, thank you,” Din tells her, a small smile gracing his lips. 

She nods before turning to go, dragging his attention along with her. You watch him watch her, studying his wandering gaze. A grin spreads across your face. When he notices you staring, he immediately becomes defensive.

“What?” 

Dead giveaway. 

Suppressing a smile, you grab a butter knife and shake your head at your plate, “Nothing.” 

“What?” he asks again, this time more pointed.  

“I didn’t say anything!” 

He scoffs and hunches over the plate to shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth. 

After smearing whipped butter on your french toast, you pour syrup over your plate, glancing up at him when you ask, “Do you have a crush on the waitress?” 

“No.” 

Denial sours the word in the most obvious way. 

Raising an eyebrow, you cut your food into bite-sized pieces as you tease, “I didn’t take you for a liar, Din. But I also didn’t take you for the kind of guy who has a soft spot for pretty service workers, so what do I know?” 

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. And of course, you decide to push the conversation further. 

“I just mean… If you do—you know, like her or whatever—you should ask her for her number. Take her on a date. See if you can’t live a little while you’re holed up in this town.” 

“And what am I supposed to do with you in that scenario?” 

Twirling a chunk of french toast around on your fork, you shrug, “Maybe she wouldn’t mind your prisoner third wheeling. That’s probably not a red flag, right?” 

“Not at all.” 

You snort at him and he lets a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. It seems to soften the atmosphere, both of you relaxing back in your seats. While chipping away at your food, you ponder a little to yourself, then out loud. 

“Suppose your line of work, you don’t go on many dates, do you?” 

Frowning at the strip of bacon pinched between his fingers, he tells you, “Not in the traditional sense.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Instead of answering the question, he pops the bacon into his mouth. When he swallows and you’re still staring at him, he shakes his head, “Forget I said anything.” 

“Come on, Din,” you meet his flattened expression with a grin, “You so know I won’t let this go. Might as well just spill the beans.” 

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at you like a challenge. You narrow your eyes at him, tilting your head with equal determination. 

“‘Not in the traditional sense.’ So you do have romantic or sexual experiences, but society wouldn’t typically deem those experiences ‘dates,’ right?” 

He says nothing. 

“Hmmm… interesting,” you lean your elbows on the table, studying him, “You seem reluctant to talk about it, which indicates… Maybe you’re ashamed of it? Although, you’re pretty reluctant to talk about everything, so I don’t know how much weight to place on that. But you’re a trucker. Transient. Don’t seem like much of a ‘family man’ to me. So, what… you’ve gotta be a hookup guy or a sex worker guy, right?” 

The way he squirms at the question makes your chest tingle. 

“It could be both, too. I feel like you would be more of an opportunist than a strategist when it comes to fucking. Am I right?” 

His jaw shifts from side-to-side. He glances around before leaning in, “And you’re much different?” 

“No, not really.”

Most people would ask follow-up questions or awkwardly segue into a different subject, but not Din. He seems as content with your answer as you are with his. But where he goes back to eating, you feel a loose end rattling at the tip of your tongue and speak it into existence. 

“I think… I think people like us don’t lay down roots for anything less than the spectacular,” you search his face, “Right?” 

With his fork lifted halfway to his mouth, he pauses to look at you and nod, “This is the way.”

Din brings the shopping cart to halt in the middle of the aisle when you stop to examine jars of preserved nut and fruit spreads lining the shelves. 

You pull a big plastic container of generic peanut butter from the lineup and toss it into the cart, “Four dollars, twenty-nine cents.”

He jots down the price in your notebook and adds it to the running total while you wrinkle your nose at the ingredient list of strawberry preserves, then set it next to the peanut butter, “Three sixty-nine. Gotta love that food desert markup. What’re we at?” 

“Twenty seven, give or take,” he answers, crossing two items off the list. 

“What else we got here?” Sidling up to him, you peek at the paper, “Snacks. Wow, ok past me, very specific.” 

When you start walking again, he does too, and he wonders how you can possibly smell so good without the aid of perfumes. While not a definitive scent, it inspires a sensation much like when he’s parched and sets his sights on a glass of ice water. It’s enticing, like your very foundation radiates temptation. 

He cannot have this. This thing in his chest, gnawing at his bones, trying to escape. It snaps at the walls when you’re nearby, which is always. 

Maybe if he could relieve some of the pressure buckling under his skin it would quiet. But he can’t, so it doesn’t. 

It begs and pleads and promises to absolve him of consequence as long as he promises to move a little bit closer, hold his hand to your back a little bit longer—just one more second and I’ll be content. Maybe another. What if you slid your hand around her waist and pulled her body to yours? How would she react? I bet she would like it. I bet if you kissed her she would finally be speechless. Just a taste, please? 

He comes to a stop beside you and follows your gaze to the wall of chips. Hundreds of bags in all different sizes and colors, all of them glossy in the fluorescent light. 

“Well, big guy. What’s your chip of choice?” you ask without looking at him. 

Grinding his teeth together, he shakes his head. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, either. Too many of the same goddamn choices,” you step forward to narrow your eyes at a price tag, “Am I crazy or does that say five dollars?” 

“It says five dollars.” 

“What the fuck, that is obscene. Do we really need chips?” 

“Does anyone?” 

“I guess not technically,” you sigh and start wandering further down the aisle, so he follows you. “But we don’t have to be so utilitarian about it. Junk food is for the soul, not sustenance. And sometimes the soul needs something salty and crunchy, you know?”

Nodding, he comes to a stop and points to the display of microwave popcorn, “We could get this instead.”

“Six bags for four dollars,” you raise your eyebrows, “Salty, crunchy, and cost efficient. Hell yeah, I’m sold.”

He grabs the box of generic popcorn in question and walks it back to the cart while you meander towards the sweets. When he meets you in front of the cookies, you glance at him, “Original or chewy?” 

“Original.” 

“Ten four, good buddy.” You grab the blue package of chocolate chip cookies and toss it in the basket, “Do you ever get to say that on your radio? Have a real trucker moment?” 

“Yes.”

“Adorable,” you chuckle, catching his gaze for a moment before you look down and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Are you gonna help me with the sign today, or do you have other plans?” 

“What do you need help with?” 

You exhale through slack lips, then shrug, “Well, today is just prep. I have to scrape off the old paint, sand it down, and prime. It has to dry overnight, but I think I’ll be able to finish the rest tomorrow or the next day if we get up early…” Pausing to chuckle, you shake your head, “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What I mean is, you could help me with scraping and sanding. It’s a real bitch and would be easier with your muscle. If—well, you know, only if you want to. You don’t have to or anything…”

“I can do that.” 

Your eyebrows draw together as you search his face, “Yeah?” 

He nods, “It’s the least I can do.” 

As the two of you near the checkout line, a frail woman with closely-cropped white curls shuffles from a back office to the one and only cash register.

“How are we doing this? Splitting it?” you swing the backpack off your shoulder and start rummaging through it, “I should have some money in my wallet. It’s not much, but it should—”

He holds up a hand, “I’ve got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

That thing in his chest whimpers when you smile at him, big and bright and gap-toothed, sparing him a polite, “Thank you,” before you start unloading the groceries onto the conveyor belt. 

Balancing the tips of your toes on the highest ladder rung, you stretch your roller towards the unprimed stripe of sign, but can’t quite reach it. 

“Goddamnit,” you mutter, returning all fours to the ladder with a huff, then look back at Din, “Hey, can I borrow your tall?”

Your question bounces off him with no reaction. 

Between the visor of his cap and the tablet glued to his face, you can’t quite tell if he’s ignoring you or if he just plain old can’t hear you. All that’s visible is his furrowed brow. So you shimmy down the ladder and set the paint roller in the tray, brushing your hands on your jeans as you approach his lawn chair, waiting for him to notice you. 

When the brisk October air nips at your dirt-caked, sweat-soaked skin, you skip closer, tapping your foot against his calf, “Hey.” 

He jumps as if broken out of a trance, then raises his eyebrows at you, “What?” 

“Can you help me with something?”

His mouth flattens into a straight line. He looks down at the tablet, then turns off the screen and sets it aside to look up at you. 

“See the top of the sign, how it’s all shitty still?” you point at the evidence, “Can you get it for me? I can’t reach.” 

“Use the big ladder.” 

“I didn’t think to grab it before Paul locked up for the night.” 

He releases a big dramatic sigh, glancing down at the tablet before rising to his feet. As he passes you the handle of the dog leash, you grin and plop down in the warmed-up lawn chair, “My hero!” 

“Uh-huh,” he shakes his head and starts towards the drop cloth. 

Beneath the lawn chair, the dog wakes from his nap and tries to follow Din, huffing and puffing when the leash goes taut, then walks back to your feet and sits on your shoelaces. His big satellite ears stand at attention while his person shimmies up the ladder with a roller brush in hand. 

The two of you sit there and watch Din with the same level of ardent attention, both perched on the edge of your respective seats, unable to tear your eyes away for a second. 

At first you try to tell yourself that you’re not even looking at him, just mapping out the illustration you’ll start tomorrow. But the truth is, it’s hard not to be drawn in by the view. By his panoramic shoulders and muscle-bound arms stretching out the fabric of his flannel as he rolls the brush up and down, back and forth, spreading thick white primer across the freshly smoothed wood… 

Despite the waning sunlight and icy gusts spilling off the mountains, heat bubbles up to the surface of your skin. 

You know that once he’s finished, you’ll go back to the motel for the rest of the night. Given the thick layer of grime you each accumulated throughout the day, showers will likely be in order. Which, of course, means stripping down to nothing while he’s in the bathroom with you. And vice versa, probably. 

Your imagination wanders to his naked body and how it would feel against yours. What if you argued in favor of water conservation, asking him to join you in the shower? What if he agreed? How would he look at you without those sunglasses covering his eyes? How would he touch you if morals weren’t involved? 

Din climbs down off the ladder and walks over, taking off his cap to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “Is that it for today?”

He replaces the hat and takes off his aviators, cleaning the lenses with his shirt as he meets your gaze. The full force of his big brown eyes turns your saliva tacky and makes your heart stutter. He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. 

Fuck, did he ask you something? 

“Is that—? Oh, um,” you clear your throat, then nod, “Yep, that should do it. Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

Flicking his eyes around your face, he nods, then turns back to the drop cloth, where he starts consolidating all the painting supplies. 

With his legs stretched out across the perimeter of the bathroom’s tile flooring, back resting against the tub, Din types ‘Tom Boucheron’ into the search bar of a Portland-based web forum. 

The search yields 83 matches. He starts sifting through the results, scrolling past subject lines that indicate general complaints about property management like rising rent and evictions and gentrification. Every once and a while he comes across subject lines that take on a more conspiratorial tone, though, mentioning the weight of his influence or his ties to police presence throughout the city. When he finds these posts, he clicks on the thread, copying and pasting the urls into a separate document. 

He can delve deeper into these later, once he’s able to better focus. But right now, with the roaring cascade of the shower behind him and your enthusiastic rendition of Tiny Dancer by Elton John, this mechanical sorting is the maximum concentration he can muster. 

Squinting at the screen, he wipes away the fog forming on his tablet. Moisture reclaims the area just as soon as it clears. He sighs and turns off the device when your vocals start ramping up to a volume he can’t ignore. 

“—But oh how it feels so real, lying here with no one near. Only you, and you can hear meeee, when I say softlyyyy, slooowly—”

“Are you almost done?” 

“You ruined the best part.” 

“We’re going to get a noise complaint.” 

You scoff, then he hears the thunk of you turning off the water. In his peripheries, your arm stretches out from behind the shower curtain to snatch the folded white towel off the toilet lid. 

A few seconds later, the curtain pulls back and you announce, “I’m decent.” 

He climbs to his feet while you step out of the tub, one hand securing the bath towel around your body, the other grabbing his arm for balance. Once sure-footed on the pink tiles, you let go and murmur, "Sorry,” before opening the door and padding off into the motel room. 

Grogu runs into the bathroom to investigate as Din slips out and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. He tries to anchor his vision to the floor, but finds his gaze drifting towards your movements out the corner of his eye. Humming to yourself, you comb your fingers through dripping wet hair and pull a few articles of clothing from your backpack. 

“Are you gonna hop in too?” 

His eyes tick to yours as you turn around, clutching a pile of clothing to your chest. 

“Because, you know… if you need me to be in there with you or whatever, that’s fine,” you cast your gaze to the floor with a shrug.

He studies your bashful demeanor for a moment before responding, “I’ll have you sit in there with me once you get dressed.” 

Without looking up, you give him a nod and walk over to the bathroom. As you put on clothing, Din uses all his will power to stare at the ground. 

“What do you wanna do after that? We could watch a movie.” 

His eyes cheat to the mirror on the wall, where he watches your reflection wrestle with a t-shirt. He catches a glimpse of your bare back before returning to the floor and clearing his throat. 

“I thought you weren’t much of a movie person.” 

“Well,” your footsteps soften onto the carpet, then your voice is closer, “If you have a better idea of how to pass the time in a seedy roadside motel, I’m open to suggestions.” 

He meets your heated gaze long enough for something to spark deep within his belly. The air between your body and his thickens with a palpable magnetism. His lips part to respond, but only one suggestion plays over and over again in his head. The mad yapping of that thing in his chest. 

Before he can say or do something stupid, though, you look away and start fidgeting, “So, I’m dressed. Are you ready?” 

Swallowing his tight throat, he pushes himself to his feet and locks eyes with you, “Go sit where I just was and put your head between your knees.” 

“Wow, you’re taking this very seriously.”  

“Let’s just get it over with, ok?”

You roll your eyes a little, but acquiesce. 

Din trails behind you into the bathroom, shooing the dog from the room before closing the door. When he turns around, he finds you curled up on the floor, back pressed to the tub basin with your face buried in your knees. 

“Like this?” 

“Perfect. Stay like that, I won’t take long.” 

For some reason he expected you would stay quiet while he disrobed, but you just continue talking as if you were accompanying him on any other menial task. 

“I think it’s funny how you have me do this whole thing so I don’t see your dick, but when I need privacy, the most you give me is a turned back.” 

Din glances at the top of your head while unbuckling his utility belt, then turns to spread it out across the bathroom counter, “That’s not the only reason I’m having you do this.” 

“Then why?”

“Are you familiar with the concept of involuntary captivity?” 

While you scoff and most likely try to come up with a rebuttal, he shucks off his flannel overshirt, then unfastens his shoulder holster and lines it up on the counter below the outspread belt. His hands work without much thought as he systematically unloads all three of his pistols. Eject the magazine, count the rounds, check the chamber.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Ignoring the question, he moves the unloaded guns and utility belt to a high shelf over the toilet, then pulls off his undershirt. 

“Can you at least confirm you’re not gearing up to murder me right now?” 

If he wanted to tear your frayed edges, he could mention that you were begging him to do exactly that less than 48 hours ago. But since you’re somehow more irritating when in a foul mood, he doesn’t. 

“If I was going to kill you I would have already.” He turns on the shower and takes a step back to make sure you’re still covering your eyes, then takes off his pants. 

“Would you do it if you had to?” 

The question gives him pause as he pulls back the shower curtain. 

“Why would I have to?” 

“I don’t know, because they asked you to do it.” 

He frowns, “I wouldn’t do it just because someone asked me to.” 

“You wouldn’t?” 

The hopeful air in your voice eats at his stomach lining. Instead of answering or clarifying what he meant, he steps into the shower. 

“Ok, but let’s say they gave you a good reason, and you were going to do it… kill me, I mean. How would you do it?” 

“I’m not going to tell you that.” 

“Why not?” 

He shakes his head and grabs a bar of soap off the shower ledge and starts to lather it against his skin. 

“Are you ignoring me or thinking?” 

“Ignoring you.” 

“You know, I appreciate the honesty.“ Then, after a few seconds: “I promise not to leak your trade secrets, big guy. Come on, how would you do it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

With this, you go quiet. 

Silence fills the bathroom for the remainder of his time in the shower, but Din’s thoughts are as loud and intrusive as your questions. 

His mind becomes populated with scenarios in which you would end up in the sights of his pistol. Under what circumstances would he pull the trigger? 

He imagines you stealing from him. He imagines trying to escape. He imagines it coming down to you or the money. He even goes so far as to imagine it coming down to you or him. 

But each time the imaginary him goes to take aim, he falters. 

While Din tosses a bag of popcorn in the microwave, you survey the Room 10’s VHS collection. 

“Ok let’s see,” you tilt your head sideways and read the titles, “Aladdin, Batman Returns, Twister—”

“You choose.” 

Beeps sound from the microwave, then it hums to life. 

You pull Aladdin from the shelf and admire the familiar cover art. Little flakes of deteriorated plastic break off the exterior and stick to your fingertips when you trace the title. You wince and mumble an apology to the inanimate object before prying it open to pull out the tape. 

After feeding it to the VCR, you press rewind and hold up the cover to Din, “Ever seen this?”

When he takes a step closer to examine it, you note the details you’re not normally privy to. His damp curls and the heat of his pulse. Mostly, though, you become fixated on his eyes. Those devastatingly dark and warm eyes. His heavy brow and hooded lids, all the lines of age creeping out from the corners. 

He meets your gaze and you swear you hear the snap of his full attention locking onto you when he frowns, “Can’t say I have.” 

Somewhere far away, the popcorn starts popping. You feel yourself succumbing to his gravitational pull, subconsciously drifting towards him, and can’t really remember if you had a point in mind when you asked. 

“It’s-it’s good,” you nod, letting your eyes drift to his mouth for a moment before you shrug, “I mean, from what I remember at least. I was obsessed with it when I was a kid. It drove my grandma crazy cuz I’d make her watch it on repeat…” 

It doesn’t really register how much information you’re disclosing until his eyes get all wide and doughy, at which point you take a step away from him and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Sorry, um, anyway. I liked it.” 

He chuckles, causing you to grin, “What?”

“Nothing.” 

His face tells you it’s definitely not nothing. It’s something if you’ve ever seen it. Something so gooey and hot it makes you ache. Dangerous, that’s what it is. 

The VCR clicks and shifts gears, then the TV lights up with disclaimers. Taking it as a sign from above, you start back towards the bed and tease, “I totally get why you wear the sunglasses, by the way. Your eyes give everything away.” 

Rather than admit you’re right, Din raises an eyebrow at you, then turns around to pull the microwave open before the timer reaches zero. While you slide under the covers and prop the flimsy pillows up behind your back, he pries open the steaming hot bag of popcorn and brings it to you. 

“Thanks.”

He grunts in response and disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds, returning with the shiny metal handcuffs, “Lights on or off?”

“Off.”

When the lights go out, the dog jumps onto the bed, spinning around a few times before curling up into an adorable white ball. Din tosses the cuffs to your side as he crawls into bed beside you. Once you think he’s settled in, you offer him some popcorn, which he accepts. 

“Do I have to put them on right now?” you ask, in reference to the cuffs. 

He frowns and shakes his head, “I can wait until you’re ready.” 

Nodding, you study his profile in the dim illumination from the TV. You don’t even realize you’re staring at him like a full-on creep until he says, “Stop giving me goo-goo eyes and watch the movie.” 

Embarrassment flares up your neck and cheeks. You scoff, “I am not giving you goo-goo eyes,” and wriggle deeper under the covers, diverting your gaze to the TV. 

I will not look at him for the rest of the night, you vow. Even if he asks me to, or talks to me, I won’t look at his stupid face until the sun comes up tomorrow. 

You almost fulfill the vow, too. 

Well… almost might be an exaggeration, but you make it to the end credits and that’s further than you really believed you could make it. 

With the motel room all dark save for the faintest glow from the credits rolling onscreen, he asks, “Are you awake?”

You remind yourself of your promise and try to ignore him. If you say something, you’ll look at him. And if you look at him, you lose. 

“Charlie?” he nudges you. 

Fuck. 

“Yeah,” you glance over, and of course you catch his eyes, “Is it handcuff time now?” 

He nods, almost apologetically. 

“Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Go ahead.” 

When you exit the bathroom and turn off the light, you find the room cloaked in darkness. The only reference point you have is the red glow of 9:12 on the alarm clock. You stretch your arms in front of you and start taking cautious steps towards it.  

“Oh my god, I can’t see shit.” 

“Want me to turn the lamp on?” 

“No, I’ve got it.” 

Your fingertips brush up against the bedspread, then you follow the alarm clock beacon to the side table. 

“Here.” 

His hand finds yours in the darkness. You grab ahold of it, trying your very hardest not to dwell on the warmth of his palm against yours as he gently guides you. When you finally settle between the sheets, he releases your hand. You almost wish he didn’t. 

“Ready?” 

“Sure.” 

He closes the cold heavy steel around your wrist, then his. For a while, neither of you move. Anxious energy buzzes beneath your skin. You close your eyes in an attempt to trick yourself into being tired, but it only makes you notice how fucking quiet it is. 

Resigning from your motionless state, you start wriggling around in an attempt to get comfortable. Din is accommodating while you do this, letting his wrist ragdoll wherever you drag it. You lie facing the wall for a while, fondling the knife you have tucked under the pillow. It doesn’t feel right. You flip onto your back and stare at the ceiling. Same problem. 

Then, when you can’t stand it anymore—the dark, the quiet, the nerves—you roll on your side facing him. 

“Din.” 

“What?” 

“I can’t fall asleep.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Din.” 

“What?”

“I said I can’t fall asleep.” 

“I heard you the first time. What do you expect me to do about it?” 

You open your mouth to ask him to fuck you, but nerves rob your tongue. 

“Just talk to me for a while.” 

“About what?”

“I dunno, whatever you want.” You tuck your cuffed hand beneath your cheek and scoot a little closer.

His silence holds the weight of contemplation, so you prompt him, “What would your genie wishes be?” 

“Hang on, let me think.” 

A few quiet seconds go by before he clears his throat and rolls on his side to face you. The back of his cuffed hand rests against yours, which brings you a shred of comfort. 

“Financial security. Property rights to some land and a house, something out in the country.” 

“Like a farm?” 

“Something like that. Self-sustainable and off the grid. Maybe get a few animals and so I could live off the land.” 

“That’s the dream, right? Fuck off to the middle of nowhere and not have to rely on anyone?” 

“Yeah, that’s the dream.” 

You hum, then ask, “What’s wish number three?” 

“I… I’d rather not say.” 

Your gut instinct is to push back, but you resist the urge and instead tell him, “That’s fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

There’s enough sincerity in his voice that a tinge of guilt twists in your belly, and you feel obligated to bring up an earlier conversation. 

“I’m sorry, by the way. For pushing you to answer me when you were in the shower. Sometimes I don’t know when it’s time to shut the fuck up and let it be.” 

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” 

“Ok,” you wiggle around a bit and manage to find the perfect position, then close your eyes and release a content sigh. 

“What are yours?” he asks. 

“Mmmm… you know, I’ve thought a lot about this question—” A yawn swells in your chest, cutting you off. When it passes, your limbs feel heavy and warm. You continue, “I’d wish for the genie to be free.”

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, “And what else, world peace? An end to climate change?” 

“I hear your snark, sir, and I don’t appreciate it. No, I wouldn’t wish for world peace or the end of climate change. I wouldn’t wish for anything. Tricky bastard can keep his wishes, I make my own luck.” 

“Tricky bastard, huh?” 

Another yawn takes over. Lethargy seeps through your body, making your worlds come out slow and murmured. 

“Yeah, y’know… all the, umm… the fine print. Too many strings attached, I don’t trust ‘em.” 

“You sound tired.” 

You hum, snuggling deeper into your pillow, “You sound tired.” 

“Get some sleep, kid. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

“Mmmkay,” you mumble, “Sweet dreams, Din.” 

[l0stfoster]

I wanna know more about the harpies they interest me so deeply ‼️

HARPIES TALK TIME!! They're some of my favorites to think about. I'm gonna re-post the little bits of info about them from the original post ab Cursed here, just so this can be like a little collective master list of Harpy info :D INFO BELOW THE CUT BECAUSE I'VE LEARNED MY LESSON!!! If I add more info about harpies I'll likely edit this post

- All the greaser Harpies look out for one another. It doesn't matter if they're not from the same gang, or if their gangs have tension; you look out for one another. They may necessarily not be each other's flock, but it’s natural for them to stick together. - They flock together as much as they do because a harpy escaped Tulsa once, completely disappeared, and it set all the east side harpies into a panic. They can't leave Tulsa, so it's better to always have a connection to ensure you won't HAVE to leave. - The harpies love to play fight. They will absolutely beat the shit out of each other and then grab lunch as if nothing happened. All of the harpies have bird habits too. Most of them sleep on their stomach because catching your feathers underneath yourself when sitting up hurts. - Gifting culture and flock marking with feathers is a huge thing for them all. Almost all harpies have feathers from other harpies, though the symbolism with those isn't for flock marking and stands more as a general display of loyalty. - All harpies have an inherent aversion/fear of cats since felines are a pretty big predator to birds. Even harpies of birds of prey or the birds you'd traditionally see that go for cats have that built-in instinct to avoid. (Little fun fact, they're not fans of Umbra, and Paul abuses that. He has let Umbra gnaw on Tim's feathers before out of spite) - Not a single harpy can see glass, they're all victims to the DX windows. - Pretty much all of them can enter torpor willingly as well. Some do it more often than others, it's a preference thing. - Most of the harpies can't fly well in rain, it's just difficult in most weather conditions that aren't clear skies. However, bad weather doesn't stop them from trying; it just means there's an increase in broken bones and hurt birds for a day. - All of them can chirp, coo, whistle, copy voices, etc. Certain harpies are better at it, as the kind of bird they are makes it either easier or harder. The Shepards are a good example, being black vultures and all. Vultures don't have voice boxes and usually make low growling sounds instead of other noises. But since the shepherds are harpies and not full birds, they can make normal bird chitters and such but it’s raspy because they’re not really supposed to be able to make those noises. - They're very territorial by nature. - They generally don't eat bird meat for cultural reasons, but every now and then the birds of prey and scavengers do. It's sort of in their nature to be uneasy about it, though, and they're not fond of watching people eat bird meat either. - They all have hollow bones, so they're pretty damn light. - A lot of them affection bite. - One baby harpy gets adopted by pretty much any harpy in the proximity. Two's sister was a victim of every Harpy taking the chance to fly with her, preen her, etc. It's like that motherly thing where moms will whip around if they hear any child yell "mama", only it's that the harpies will be up and arms the second a baby harpy makes a sound. - On that note, though, the babies get bulled (lightly) for their goofy-looking wings. Mostly the ones who look like blended cotton balls as babies. Some baby birds are REALLY ugly. - They have a really good sense of smell and even better eyesight. I would not want one of them hunting me down. - Their talons are hella sharp and their nails usually get sharp as fuck too.

[thoundcarriers]

 tis a very old au of mine about sniper who's lived all his 27 years in New Zealand and never got to be a mercenary. read more insanity under the cut lolol

in this universe, his biological father got inside the capsule instead of little Mun-dee. an hour later, he crashed somewhere in Australia and died. on the next day, some old married couple found his body and buried him on the lonely hill. Mundy and his mother never got to know what happened to him, and the latter did not give a single shit about it.

raised with the weird feeling of being lost and bitter taste of hatred of his mother towards the man who left them in an underwater cage, Mick tries his best to recover the schemes of his biological father, hoping for the opportunity of escaping, too. years later, he finds nothing and gives up. nor that he had any skills for engineering, too.

on the day of his 27th birthday, an unknown ship hovers above the glass dome of the city, and a female voice on the communication lines politely demands him to climb into the cabin this instant.

spy and pauling are happy beyond themselves - they finally found him. the sniper, even though he's clearly not remembering his past self. but they hope that he comes back to his original self eventually.

poor lad is confused and nervous, he's expected to know stuff he never did. he's told that as soon as he gets into it, he'll be back in no time. the problem is that he has never held a sniper rifle in his life, not mentioning about killing someone.

ms p comes up with a wonderful idea - his parents that adopted him must be still alive in that universe. there's no better teacher at shooting stuff than the Mick's papa himself. the only thing left to do is to convince them that Mick is actually their son somewhere in another world. and if they don't agree to help, it'd all be lost to hell. pretty easy!

surprisingly, the gang handle the old couple well after finding their village and introducing themselves. the old man doesn't trust them, always squinting and spitting behind their backs. yet there's the only thing he likes about that lanky guy - he doesn't complain much, spending hours under australian sun and soaking wet with sweat in his weird purple shirt, while learning the grounds of weaponry. miss mundy is on the contrary - really happy to have guests in their village and is pretty supportive of the young man she knows only for a moment.

for a moment, Mick catches the sight of someone's grave in the distance in his lense. for some reason, it fills him with rage he never felt, and it fuels him to train even more. i know i know most of it doesnt even make fucking sense. but let me dream aight. tagged as 'left alone au' on my blog is u wanna look up for some old cringe

[pastriibunz]

NIGHTMARE KAI-ME SEASON ONE, EPISODE THREE: FOREVER AND ALWAYS

Episode Length: 30-45 minutes

Theme: forever & always - original starkid cast of nightmare time

Summary: Paul Matthews and Emma Perkins are finally getting hitched, and their adoptive daughter, Kai Drew, is happy to join them on the ride! However, when secrets arise from Emma's past, the happy family's lives are turned upside down as the couple is forced to confront their skeletons in their closets, and Kai is forced to choose between the family she thought she knew or the truth.

EPISODE LINK:

NEXT EPISODE: S1, E4 - Revised Reprise

LETS FUCKING GOOOO

this took fucking FOREVER gang i did not wanna write this one 💀

BUT

The next batch of nmks I am REALLY excited to write (considering they’re majority non cannon)

I’m suuuuper excited Guys

we’re gonna get overarching nmk lore in the next few WEHEW!!!!

but for now enjoy this!

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU LIKED THIS!!! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!!

[hatchet-handle]

Do u have any hatchetfeild ocs?

I’m bored and wanna draw :p

(inhale) BOY DO I EVER—

Up-Down, Left-Right:

This is Ivy :) she’s Ruth’s girlfriend

and Virgil :) Richie’s boyfriend

and Leiah :) Paul’s Adoptive Daughter

and Raine :) a recovering Black And White survivor

and Aster :) the CCRP runner-up office slut

and McKenna :) my CharTed fankid :)

i am totally normal about them btw. also pleasee don’t feel obligated to draw all of them lol i don’t even have the energy to do that most days

[karenchasity]

WELCOME TO THE SOTBAW MASTERPOST!!!!

sotbaw is short for the spawn of the black and white. it follows kai drew, in her adventures being adopted and raised by the lords in black.

KAI DREW IS NOT MY CHARACTER. kai belongs solely to @pastriibunz and her custody has not transferred to me outside of this series.

kais age and condition fluctuate. sometimes shes dead, sometimes not. you'll know.

each lord has "papa" tacked onto their name. papa wiggly, papa tinky, papa pokey, papa blinky, and papa nibbly. nibbly is also called mama nibbly on occasion. paul and emma are dad and mom respectively.

IN CURRENT CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER THEY ARE: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,9,10,8,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22. minifics aren't included in this as they are generally less important to the main plot

AO3 UPLOAD

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST LINK

FICS-

number- title | song credit | lyrics you'll find in the fic | short explanation

1- i forgot my name again. | devil town - cavetown | "i still get a little scared of something new, but i feel a little safer when i'm with you." | kai, at 15, discovering that shes not quite as alone as she thought.

2- i truly am my parents child. | family line - conan gray | "i can run, but i can't hide, from my family line." | kai, at 17, fighting for what she wants.

3- deserves the same judgement. | average - sushi soucy | "you've got the skills of an idiot, who got too much praise." | blinky's thoughts and feelings after losing his daughter.

4- i'm losing on their side. | i bet on losing dogs - mitski | "my baby, my baby.. you're my baby, say it to me." | pokey's thoughts and feelings after losing his daughter.

5- make me love myself, so that i might love you. | saint bernard - lincoln | "when i am dead i wont join their ranks, because they are both holy and free." | tinky's thoughts and feelings after losing his daughter.

6- apathy's a tragedy and boredom is a crime | goodbye - bo burnham | "am i going crazy? would i even know? am i right back where i started fourteen years ago?" | nibbly's thoughts and feelings after losing his daughter.

7- you're scaring us and all of us- some of us- love you. | achilles come down - gang of youths | "soldier on achilles, achilles come down, won't you get up off, get up off the roof?" | wiggly's thoughts and feelings after losing his daughter.

8- what if i told you i made it? | inevitable - the guy who didn't like musicals | "what if i told you a story, that settled all the dust? i'm still the man you trust. it's inevitable, for us." | pokey and kai, meeting one last time in the starlight theater.

8- what if i told you i made it? | inevitable - the guy who didn't like musicals | | pokey and kai, meeting one last time in the starlight theater.

9- i won't let go of your hand | two birds - regina spektor | "say that they're always gonna stay together, but ones never going to let go of that wire." | emma and her thoughts as paul and kai leave.

10- you'll never settle any of your scores | little lion man - mumford & sons | "take all the courage you have left, and waste it in fixing all the problems that you made in your own head." | paul, discovering how it feels to lose your body, but not quite how it feels to die.

11- it's so cold and i don't know where. | another love - tom odell | "so i'll use my voice, i'll be so fucking rude, words, they always win, but i know i'll lose." | emma, waking up.

12- i wanna be your left hand man | riptide - vance joy | "i love you, when you're singing that song and i've got a lump in my throat 'cause you're gonna sing the words wrong." | paul and emma waking up. for real.

13- you're skin, oh yeah you're skin and bones | yellow - coldplay | "its true, look how they shine for you. look how they shine. look at the stars, look how they shine for you, and all the things that you do." | christmas.

14- someone just like you | share your address - ben platt | "i want a key to your house, i wanna pick up your clothes, i wanna clean up your mess, i wanna know where you hide your things, wanna be in your pictures, wanna share your address." | kai and max.

15- the land was godless and free | foreigner's god - hozier | "her eyes look sharp and steady into the empty parts of me, but still my heart is heavy" | kai's first try.

16- swinging at somebody i can't knock down | take me to war - the crane wives | "all the words i've swallowed, all the sharp things i've kept in my mouth, i am always burning up." | kai's second try.

17- i'm gonna keep doing it | breakfast - dove cameron | "do you wanna see a magic trick? cause you don't know, what you don't know, but i know." | webby.

18- honest with myself | i'm not a cynic - alec benjamin | "not every sunday is a picnic 'cause the sky ain't always blue." | wiggly.

19- blame i can't face | stick season - noah kahan | "now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes, and i'm split in half , and that'll have to do." | blinky, watching

20- i need something to rely on | somewhere only we know - keane | "is this the place we used to love? is this the place i've been dreaming of?" | little kai drew, exploring.

21- holding the world | epic iii - hadestown | "and i know how it was because, he was like me, a man, in love with a woman." | max.

22- finale.

EXTRA FICS AND FICLETS: COMING SOON

[foxes-that-run]

Can you confirm Benjamin Button was a gift from Harry?

Hi, Taylor adopted Benji on the set or Me! there’s a special BTS just for him.

However, his role/scene is a reference to internet speculation which Taylor has acknowledged that Olivia was a gift from Harry.

Olivia Benson Swift(-Styles?)

Olivia was adopted on 18 June 2014. Harry and Taylor had started dating again after the red backstage haircut, writing Style around Valentine’s Day 2014 and the anatomical heart tattoo. The date is a potential anniversary:

15 June 2011 Taylor had temper trap arm lyrics in St Paul, 1D in America, Harry MIA and on the 17 June she wrote she was blissfully happy in the lover journal.

16 June 2012 Harry got lyrics from the same temper trap song tattooed on that anniversary.

18 June 2014 Taylor adopted Olivia wearing pink. model Steph Smith was there, posted to IG and started following both Harry and Taylor. Harry MIA but seen in Europe the day before and after.

What led to speculation that Olivia was a gift was that Harry can be heard laughing in the first video Taylor posted of Olivia a week later. This TikTok has Harry laughing and this laugh. Harry’s sister Gemma liked this post and later named her own cat Olivia also.

Olivia is a Scottish fold so it’s unlikely she was able to be adopted same day, my guess is the “first roar” where Taylor wears black, Harry laughs and Olivia looks slightly smaller was before she was picked up where Taylor wore pink. That tracks with clothes and how purebred cat adoptions work, famous people probably have options but kittens new all the time “first roar” means first met. This first roar video is still in Taylor’s instagram stories under “Ladies and Benji”

Harry also wrote Olivia the same year and famously said “Is Olivia even a person or is Olivia an emotion” Olivia being something that sounds like “I love ya”, a response to Say don’t go’s “I said I love you and you say nothing back.

Tumblr went with it which Taylor was aware of as keen user of Tumblr then and she has hinted of Harry as Olivia’s dad on the Reputation tabloid, in the End Game video (black/rep cat rather than Olivia) when she sings she doesn’t want to be just another ex-live you don’t wanna see.

And it was seemingly confirmed in the me! When Brendan presents Benji as a gift while Taylor wears a pink dress

(Side note on the Me Video: Brendan wore Harry’s Live on Tour Suits throughout, she called Olivia and Meredith young daughters (in French, Harry was dating Camille) and the paint at the end match’s the unreleased Two Ghosts video)

And finally on his birthday hits from the streets called Harry a cat daddy in 2019, the year Me! Came out. Well he is a Cat daddy in a double meaning, 🍉 and also Olivia’s real father.

[justforbooks]

Calvin Cordozar Broadus Jr. (born October 20, 1971), also known by his stage name Snoop Dogg (previously Snoop Doggy Dogg), is an American rapper, singer, songwriter, record producer, media personality, and actor. His initial fame dates back to 1992 following his guest appearance on Dr. Dre's debut solo single, "Deep Cover", and later on Dre's debut album, The Chronic that same year. Broadus has since sold over 23 million albums in the United States, and 35 million albums worldwide. His accolades include an American Music Award, a Primetime Emmy Award, and 17 Grammy Award nominations.

Produced entirely by Dr. Dre, Broadus's debut studio album, Doggystyle (1993) was released by Death Row Records and debuted atop the Billboard 200. Selling 800,000 copies in its first week, the album received quadruple platinum certification by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) the following year and spawned the Billboard Hot 100-top ten singles "What's My Name?" and "Gin and Juice". He was the lead performer on Death Row's soundtrack album for the 1994 short film Murder Was the Case, wherein Broadus made his acting debut. His second album, Tha Doggfather (1996), likewise debuted atop the chart and received double platinum certification.

In 1998, he parted ways with Death Row in favor of Master P's No Limit Records, through which he saw largely continued success with his albums Da Game Is to Be Sold, Not to Be Told (1998), No Limit Top Dogg (1999), and Tha Last Meal (2000). He then signed with Priority, Capitol, and EMI Records to release his sixth album Paid tha Cost to Be da Boss (2002), which was further commercially oriented. This effectively continued upon him signing with Geffen Records to release his next three albums: R&G (Rhythm & Gangsta): The Masterpiece (2004), Tha Blue Carpet Treatment (2006), and Ego Trippin' (2008); the former spawned the single "Drop It Like It's Hot" (featuring Pharrell), which became his first to peak atop the Billboard Hot 100. He then returned to Priority and Capitol—upon his hiring as chairman of the former label—to release his tenth and eleventh albums, Malice 'n Wonderland (2009) and Doggumentary (2011), both of which saw mild critical and commercial response.

During this time, Broadus starred in films and hosted several television shows, including Doggy Fizzle Televizzle, Snoop Dogg's Father Hood, and Dogg After Dark. In 2012, following a trip to Jamaica, Snoop converted to Rastafari and adopted the alias Snoop Lion, under which he released a reggae album, Reincarnated (2013), and a namesake documentary film about his Jamaican experience.

His thirteenth studio album, Bush (2015), was produced entirely by frequent collaborator Pharrell, while his fourteenth studio album, Coolaid (2016), was released the same year as his induction into the celebrity wing of the WWE Hall of Fame. In 2018, Broadus became "a born-again Christian" and released his first gospel album, Bible of Love in March of that year. In November of that year, Broadus was given a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. In 2022, Broadus acquired Death Row Records from MNRK Music Group (formerly known as eOne Music), and released his nineteenth studio album, BODR (2022)—preceded by the independently-released I Wanna Thank Me (2019) and From tha Streets 2 tha Suites (2021).

The Washington Post, Billboard, and NME have called him a "West Coast icon"; and Press-Telegram, "an icon of gangsta rap". In 2006, Vibe magazine called him "The King of the West Coast". ABC News journalist Paul Donoughue, cited him among the 1990s acts that took hip-hop into the pop music charts. Broadus received the BMI Icon Award in 2011. In 2023, he was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.

Broadus popularized the use of -izzle speak particularly in the pop and hip-hop music industry. A type of infix, it first found popularity when used by Frankie Smith in his 1981 hit song "Double Dutch Bus". The Guardian's Rob Fitzpatrick has credited his album Doggystyle for proving that rappers "could reinvent themselves", expanding rap's vocabulary, changing hip-hop fashions, and helping introduce a hip-hop genre called G-funk to a new generation. The album has been cited as an influence by rapper Kendrick Lamar, while fellow rappers ScHoolboy Q and Maxo Kream have also cited him as an influence.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[wiiltted]

Meet the Spraypainter!

DISCLAIMER: I HEADCANON MEDIC AS AGENDER AND BISEXUAL!! Medic x Spraypainter is Yuri!!! 😭

okay I wanted to make a proper introduction post for them .. and fair warning their lore is pretty intricate and detailed. If you don't wanna read it all I totally get it!

The Spraypainter is the tenth class, their job is to mark enemy territory, they also can assist other teammates by marking spies. They have a bratty personality and are very stubborn. They enjoy cats, drawing, spray painting, and researching random topics. They hang around Heavy, Chemist, and Medic the most.

TW: Experiments, kidnapping mentioned!!

They are Heavys adopted sibling, and lived most of their childhood in Siberia. Until one day, they had wandered out of the house and was kidnapped by Engineer's father, Radigan Conagher. He wanted to test the effects of Australium on the body; Needing a test subject, he kidnapped some random kid he found in the woods. (Can you tell I haven't fleshed this part out yet...)

Luca spent the rest of their childhood in a secluded lab. They don't remember what it was called really, but they knew that they were surrounded by trees and trees and more trees. They learned English from CMedic (classic Blu medic bc he looks like he'd be nice idk...) and also met young Engie. He tagged along with his dad at work sometimes. They got along very nice. Sometimes, Admin would bring Luca into her office and let them play with toys while she did her work. Somewhere deep down she felt a little bit bad for the kid, but obviously not bad enough to stop the experimenting on them. She also enjoyed the thought of having a kid, despite never having her own child. They filled that void for her just fine.

At some point, they were able to escape the lab. Somewhere at about 17, they spent days walking through the woods and hiding from the guard dogs at the lab. But hey, they made it out alive and that's all that matters.

From here their backstory gets kind of rocky. I'm not sure what their life is like from this point on until they receive a letter from Pauling, explaining that she needs them to work for her and Admin.

Some extra facts!

-They have a cat named Mojo

-Some Australium is still in their blood, although very little. The only reason the Australium lingers is because of the amount of times it was extracted and injected into their bloodstream. It kind of mixed with their blood. It doesn't give them any extra buffs or anything, but it did change their hair color to grey and also gives their blood a slight metallic effect to it.

-Their favorite color is blue and they hate their uniform.

-They are pretty rich, their shirt is expensive and they flex their richness off to spy. (These two don't get along)

Thanks for reading! I hope you guys enjoy them as much as I do... also if you have ideas for their backstory or anything please let me know!

[starcanwrecked-confessions]

my most petty grievance/annoyance to the point where i think its almost funny is i really hate the paul is richies uncle headcanon for hf but not because the hc itself is just whatever , ppl r always tying characters together thats what fanfiction is, but i dont like that everyone immediately adopted it as canon and now looking through pauls tags on archive and tumblr is near impossible cause its 90% prudes with one tgwdlm mention and the tumblr tags are cluttered enough with hockey rpf and bible passages (is that only me??) so . its not one concrete tag everyone agrees on that i can block too so its just roulette of if im actually gonna see the character i wanna see today

~~~

[ballwizard]

i just love flora so much as a character like. she's a sheltered weirdgirl who spent her entire childhood in a town where she was one of MAYBE five actual living residents at a time. and then she gets adopted by an equally weird professor and finally gets the chance to explore more and experience the world and she's SO excited to be involved ever, even when it's dangerous. she loves to experiment with weird food and always wants to prove that she can be useful.... in my beautiful mind she would get really into hobby engineering both pre- and post- curious village, with her interest in it peaking afterwards... (unwound future spoilers under cut but more analysis and ideas)

i think post-unwound future she would take up an apprenticeship under don paolo tbh. she gets to learn about his engineering prowess and gizmos and he gets an extra set of hands and a lab assistant.. they get into wacky shenanigans of course, and help layton out when he's in trouble :-) i think she would have so much fun with it. I also think hanging around paul would help her figure out what SHE wants to do; so much of her actions revolve around being helpful to others that she rarely gets to do things for herself, and so taking time to pursue a hobby she enjoys is super beneficial for her. paul encourages her to work on her own and pave her own way, but is still there for her to lean on, or get help from, or springboard ideas off of. they hold a little "press conference" for whoever among the Layton team is in town and show off all the gizmos they've built recently (Paul's idea, to help her with her confidence) and consistently I think Layton is both impressed and a little bewildered. Mad inventor flora rights. I KNOW she's building some weird shit. Maybe in particular shed focus on automatons.... Though it might be a little on the nose lol. maybe shed focus on animals.. i think it'd be cute if she had a little robot bird partner... i have a lot of ideas i wanna doodle out but that was my ramblesesh for 2day.

TLDR: FLORA DESERVES TO GET TO BE HER OWN PERSON AND PURSUE HER PASSIONS 💥💥💥

[ohmygillygoshoppler]

Let's hear them secret scientist headcannons, Ma. Pretty please 🙏🥺

huehuheuheuhwlhbsjhbclah~ y’all know what it is, mostly rambling I wrote most of this waiting for the dentist lol

Drew (Audrey do not call her that omg Saturday)

Mama’s albino. Isee it with my eyes and just feel it in my bones. She’s pale, her hair is pale, I she even had baby blues in TGIS so, yeah. 

Drew isn’t a huge fan of chocolate, opposites since Mom Monday had a thing for cocoa. Maybe she doesn’t have a thing for sweets in general? Like I can see Drew as more of a FoodSnack person rather than SweetSnack person. She’ll be like, “I want a snack,” And spend like 2 hours prepping the stuff for a food item that will be gone in 20 minutes and somehow, she’ll find a way to convince Doc to “help” with the cleanup after.

She always wanted a big family, But only managed to have Zak. She loves her family regardless, it's just not the way she thought they'd be. I mean, come on; Her and Doc are so romantic all the time, like there’s no way they woulda stopped at just one. If she could have given Zak a sibling, she would have, but it wasn’t in the cards. So, adoption, lmao.

My girl is a mystic through and through but she is not mystically inclined. She could tear out her hair and make a deal with the devil, and still not be able to conjure her own magic at all, but she is so well versed in it, you’d think she was a sorcerer or something. (Maybe she could, oh I dunno, help her magical buddies out with that know-how, huh?)

Doc “Solomon” Saturday

My guy has some serious PTSD and OCD issues that he hasn’t quite sorted out, and I’ll bet he’s scared to go into it given all the times he’s started talking about it, only to immediately shut himself up about it.

Like, seriously, my man needs a therapist.

I’m laughing and wringing my hands together like Argost himself thinking about all the fun times we’re gonna have with mr. Magic Doesn’t Exist now that he’s gotta help his new Angel Daughter find her friends. Sorry Solomon, but you’re gonna have an aneurysm.

Doyle Blackwell  **Professional Uncle

Such a cool dude, he can’t drink alcohol because he’s too cool to get buzzed (he's allergic to alcohol and will turn beet red after one drink help this poor man)

I get a lot of, “I dont deserve an apartment,” vibes from this guy so I say he needs more “Chillin at home with the fam,” And less “Shitty hostels wherever the cheapest.” Also man needs a gf (or bf, ffs nobody want him fr!!11!)

He's bi, and I know cuz he told me lmao

Paul Cheechoo (Uncle Bear!👏🏼 Uncle Bear! 👏🏼Uncle Bear!👏🏼)

Okokokokok, so I am super super projecting here because Cheechoo deadass reminds me of an uncle who is A.) also native af, we’re not Inuit but were fuckin n8v; and B.) also a fuckin geologist lesgoooooo

So guys got a big family, huge actually. Lots of cousins and nieces and nephews and aunties and uncles and such- making it a bit hard and a bit sad keeping the whole Secret Scientist thing away from his family. Especially after the Weird world incident when he became withdrawn from them, fearing Argost might do something horrible to his kin. So, he kept mostly to himself, confiding only in his fellow scientists.

I feel like his sarcasm and friendly demeanor is so sweet and endearing, especially for someone so friggin big, I mean good god- Look at this man. The friendly giant trope always gets me, so what? BUT! That being said, I’d like to think that sometimes my guy forgets how big he is… Like, we’ve seen how this guy gets tossed around like a ragdoll, maybe he also forgets he’s a brick shithouse, given all the times he’s gotten his ass whooped.

Man is Golden Retriever coded, and I wanna eat him alive for it./pos

Arthur Fuckin Beeman

My man! *kills him again and again and again and again an-*

Also, I love how we all saw this man, we all looked at each other, and we all said, “Yeah, he's autistic af.” Like, it's very clear that this man’s brain works… differently from others.

My brother once said, Liaos from Dungeon Meshi if he didn’t want to eat the aliens he just wanted to hang out and honestly…. Werk.

Does this man deserve an arc? Not really, but do I wanna put him in a few fucked up situations? Hang him upside down and shake him till all his tokens fall out? Maybe. Maybe Zak’ll help me, too. Shit…

Miranda Grey (Big Grey)

Ooooooohohohohohohohohoooo~ We hardly got anything with you, Doctor. Which means I can do whatever, and I both hate and love that-

I know you love your sister~ I know you’re sad about her betrayal~~ I know you’re hurting, girly, I know your devastated inside and you can’t do anything about it because so much shit is falling apart around you and now your sister fucked over the only people you can call friends, fuck you Miranda! Eat shit and die! ILY!!

I reeeeeeaaaaly think she’s guilty about what she’s done to the Saturdays, especially Zak, so maybe she might try and say or do something to try and make amends, but how? Thats a good question… I wanna know too, lmao.

Abbey Grey (Little Grey)

Ooooooooooooooooh~~~

I have plans for you, stupid bitch……

Agent Ex husband

The scariest mfer in all existence, most stifled man in all existence, omg. If War were ever made a fucking human, Epsilon would be his fate, and holy fuck- Yeah. Stoic? Check. Bound by a strict code of ethics/honor? Check. Big As Shit? Check. Scary????? Umm, yeah. My mans a Horseman.

Wants to be loved. Wants to rest. Wants to have a cigarette for the first time in years. Wants some coffee with extra cream and sugar. Does he deserve it? No,not really. But he does need it. His soul needs a good kneading, like dough.

However, he is fucked up for the way he raised Francis and how he’s always shutting hom down and telling him how his thoughts don’t matter like, damn, just tell the boy he aint shit why dont you-

I feel like, if I give Francis an arc, Epsilon should have one too. I wanna know more about him- surprise surprise- and what makes him tick. We see in the show that there is some care for Francis, we see as much when he gets so mad at Francis for not quickly following his instructions, but that begs the question; does he actually care, or is he protecting his interests, so to speak? Lots to learn, lots to pick apart.

[lemmylemons]

Steve Fox’s tekken 8 ending should’ve been Paul Phoenix handing him an adoption certificate and going “here, sign this” and then it cuts to Steve smiling a little bit and tearing up slightly because he’s happy to be considered a part of someone’s family. (Bonus points if Marshall Law is also part of this ending.)

See that would be nice, I love Steve sm (hate playing him, bitch can't kick lmao) but I love him and I wanna adopt him myself

One thing i wish Bandai would expand on us him and Nina,.like obviously they aren't gonna have a relationship, but I've never seen anything about how exactly Steve sees Nina besides her not wanting anything to do with him (which us completely understandable on her part given the lore)

[thedepressedweasel]

A Tale of Many Pokémon Trainers (aka A Tale of Ash and His Rivals)

Let's talk about Ash Ketchum, Gary Oak, Paul, Tripp, Burgundy, Stefan, Bianca, Sawyer, Shauna, Trevor, Tierno, Alain and Gladion. Some Pokémon trainers are kindhearted individuals and some are a bit rude and only one of them are downright nasty and abusive.

Starting with the kindhearted ones:

Ash is the most kindhearted Pokémon trainer of them all. Wanna' know why? Because even when his Charizard was rude to him, he still refused to give up on him and then when a random Pokémon trainer's Poliwrath froze the poor dragon half to death, Ash managed to save his life. Ash would also do anything to protect his Pokémon, especially Pikachu, whom he has to rescue from the one and only Team Rocket everytime.

Bianca, Stefan, Sawyer, Shauna, Alain, Gladion, Trevor and Tierno are kindhearted ones too. However, they all have their own personalities. bianca, for example, seems to be a bit melodramatic at times, especially when either she fails to catch a certain Pokémon (in this case, a Minccino) or her Pokémon team loses. As for Sawyer, he genuinely cares for his Sceptile (even as a Treecko) and he's super cute! Shauna, on the other hand, is a bit more interested in Pokémon Princess Contest thing than actually battling. As for Alain, he's a bit abrasive, yes, but still, he genuinely cares for his Pokémon (and by extension, Mairin and when her Chespin is half-dead, he seeks to save the poor thing's life with the help of Ash and his Greninja). Gladion, too, is a bit abrasive, but he still cares for his Pokémon, even going so far into rescuing his Silvally from Faba; he also cares deeply about his sister and is willing to do anything to protect her at all costs.

Now for the rude ones:

Burgundy is a bit rude, especially to poor Cilan. Georgia, too is very rude, especially to Iris (mostly because Iris is a Dragon-type trainer and Georgia's main Pokémon is a fucking Beartic, which appears to be an Ice-type polar bear). Gary Oak, on the other hand, used to be very rude to Ash most of the time before he eventually learned to change his ways, which allowed him to get better. Tripp, too, is a bit rude to Ash, even calling him a "hillbilly" from having hailed from Pallet Town for good measure. Yet in the end, they still genuinely care about their respective Pokémon.

Then there's only one more trainer who is actually nasty and cruel and that's Paul! Yes, you read that right! That motherfucker abuses his Pokémon (even going so far into abandoning them for not being able to live up to his rigid expectations) and has never loved anybody. I mean, remember what he did to poor Chimchar? No wonder Ash adopted the fire chimp and helped him heal from his trauma; in turn, this helped him evolve into Monferno (and then Infernape). He's also a sore loser, unlike Tripp (who appears to handle his defeat very well despite his rude behavior).

So there you have it, folks! Thank you for coming to my TED talk!