#i'm sorry if it ended up TOO long and rambly lol

[lee-blogs]

Still packing stuff and now i'm looking for a box for this.

My dad and i made it a few years ago for halloween, probably 2015/16 if i'm remembering right. It's made from a lays can, a wipes container from his work, and paper maché. I don't remember what the wires and front metal bits are from, but the middle actually lights up! It has one of those long battery-powered emergancy lights in it and some colored tissue paper

[donuts4evry1]

Hi!!! I love your account with all of its fabulous jellyfish information. And I wanted to know, where are you getting aforementioned fabulous jellyfish information? Is there a book or a website or documentary or smth? Do you have any recommendations?

Tysm and I CANT WAIT for the advanced quiz :DD

Oh!! I'm glad you enjoy it ^-^

I get my jellyfish research from a variety of places, actually. But since I'm kind of obsessed with collecting my information in one place, asks like these are my cup of tea :)

My main source of jellyfish lore comes from Wikipedia. Just like the legendary Hank Green, I ended up downloading Firefox's tree-tab extension so I can organize the tabs by natural taxonomic order. It's really quite relaxing, actually.

Wikipedia, understandably, isn't always the best source though (Take the pages for Cephea cephea and Atolla wyvillei for example. The Cephea cephea page is almost entirely blatant misinformation while the Atolla wyvillei contains an incorrect and misleading throwaway line)

That's why the next logical step is simple- Wikipedia references! This serves as a beginning into further jellyfish research.

Let's take the reference page for the Aurelia aurita, for example:

The information citing citation 14 was super interesting, so I pulled it up on another tab to read it, and got this:

Then I just had a field day reading it all.

One big site that's used as a reference on Wikipedia is humorously named WorMS (World Registry of Marine Species), which goes into the specific classification of pretty much every jellyfish taxon (it is very. VERY comprehensive). It'll tell you how many species are in a genus, what scientific name has become synonomized with another, and even link to the original documents that describe the species (though they may be written in a different language and come in a scan- so tough luck if you don't understand the language since um... it's pretty hard to translate a scan).

Eventually that wasn't enough, though, so I branched out into searching scientific articles myself. My personal favourite website to do this on is ResearchGate, since the UI is the easiest for me to use, but I get plenty of research from other sites and publishers. (And pssst, if you can't access papers through a school or an institution, there's always sci-hub and libgen 😉)

The rest just depends on to how savvy you are with google. I despise normal reporting articles on jellyfish (Most can't tell the difference between them anyways), so I skip those and simply go to the jellyfish papers themselves lol. I've found out a lot of interesting things about jellyfish just by searching random questions on google.

Um, but I suppose I do have extra stuff to add.

Apparently, making a video game for jellyfish is a surefire way to learn more about them (especially when you write them as sapient beings lol). You start to crave niche, specific knowledge of them- like um... If they sleep or not, or what things can make them sleep.

Um... Another thing I've learned about jellyfish? The japanese are absolutely OBSESSED with their jellyfish. Their jellyfish spotlight sites are incredibly detailed (if not a bit region-specific), and I honestly trust them more than I trust our English-speaking sites.

In particular, I adore kurage-ya.com and gogo zoo aquarium, though you definitely will not be able to read anything unless you have a good translator (Kurage-ya is written in such an adorable voice.... and gogo zoo is incredibly detailed. I suggest going onto both for full coverage of your jellyfish knowledge, though)

(I also suggest going on different languages of Wikipedia- you can learn SO much stuff that normal Wikipedia doesn't give to you. Like the Chrysaora pacifica and Nemophilema nomurai have more robust Japanese pages, and the Spanish page for Order Semaeostomeae is a lot more beefed up, haha...)

To learn more about niche jellyfish facts, I also suggest looking through jellyfish husbandry sites (Especially jellyfish warehouse- travis knows so much more about jellyfish than I do it's actually pretty crazy).

As for Jellyfish documentaries? I only know of a few good ones, but I'll list them here:

^^ (not a documentary, but the jellyfish warehouse is friggin awesome and they even have a youtube channel)

Umm... So yeah that's pretty much all the things I got for free.

I think any jellyfan would suggest Lisa-Ann Gerswhin's book, Jellyfish: A Natural History.

I'm pretty sure you can find it in any major bookstore or whatever (online, at least), but it goes super in-depth about pretty much everything you need to know about jellyfish.

She goes SUPER in-depth about things like jellyfish life cycle, jellyfish anatomy, jellyfish ecology- and SO, SO MUCH MORE. She doesn't stay in Phylum Cnidaria, either, branching out into Ctenophora and even Chorodata(?) (Since Salps/tunicates are also there ig).

If you want to learn about specific jellyfish species, however, I would honestly just stick to Google and write it yourself. She only highlights about 40 different jellyfish species, and only mentions the textually relevant things in their bio. I would use the book just to learn about jellyfish basics, tbh (since it primes you to learn about the more technical jellyfish language you'll inevitably encounter in jellyfish articles). Overall, though, Lisa-Ann Gershwin's book is incredibly detailed, in-depth, and gorgeous and I could not recommend it more to anyone.

Other than that tho? All the English jellyfish books kinda suck, and I'm seriously considering branching out to japanese books instead (There's one that focuses on 114 species of jellyfish and you can bet your manus that I'm salivating over it rn i am enamoured with Japanese jellyfish culture)

Erm... Anyways?

TLDR;

Wikipedia is a good place to start. Reading Published Scientific articles is where you can get the bulk of your information, but Jellyfish-dedicated Websites will also be pretty knowledgeable as well.

There are a choice few Youtube documentaries you can watch, but if you want to read an actual book, Jellyfish: A Natural History is your best bet.

[ram-bles]

Headcanons with Daisuke and Shy Reader? Thanks if you do :)

daisuke x shy!reader headcanons

[ requests/inbox: open ]

oh boy changing the mood with this one

fluff, gender neutral reader

⚠️ dude/bro used but in a gender neutral way lol

Sorry this took so long! I had to rewrite more than half of this since I forgot to save as draft the last time 😭

🌺 The first you've seen him was while processing your papers for the internship. He was busy double checking his own papers on his way out so he didn't notice you. The first time he sees you, was during the Tulpar boarding.

🌺 To no surprise, he approaches and greets you first, rambling on about how totally excited he was to work with you and the whole crew. You shook his hand with an awkward smile as you exchanged introductions.

Once the captain had given you both an overview of what you guys might do while on board, he immediately turns to you, jutting his hand out for a handshake. "Heya! I'm Daisuke!" You swore you were blinded by how bright this man smiled at you. "Dude, I'm like so so glad you're here. Everyone else here besides Cap' seems so— yeesh. Gloomy." You realized you've almost left him hanging and you almost dropped your bag trying to shake his hand. He laughs and you felt your face warm up in embarrassment. He switches topic immediately. "What's your name? What uni you from? - oh! What college are you in?"

🌺 You wouldn't notice it until later on that you'd often trail behind Daisuke, especially when you don't know what you're doing or how to help (he doesn't know how as well but he pretends he does).

🌺 Assuming that the rooms are very limited and can house two members per room (bunk bed icon by Curly's quarters door), you two got paired up since Swansea didn't want to be in the same room as Daisuke did.

🌺 A coin had to be flipped for the top bunk since Daisuke kept on insisting that you take it but you were also insisting that he takes it.

🌺 Even before the crash, he's either on his gameboy, magazines, or his iconic pink dumbbells when you guys have the free time.

🌺 Once comfortable enough, you two were inseparable. Always together by the hip outside intern work. The top bunk was useless since you'd both end up chilling at the same place, either sprawled against each other or claiming territories at each end of the bed doing whatever hobbies you two were into.

"Bro, you're kicking my faaaace. I can't see what I'm reading." You whined and tried pushing his leg away since you were scanning through one of the magazines he brought and he gives you a mischievous stare. "Daisuke, no." "Daisuke, yes." He pauses his game and throws it to the side, yanking your leg as you squealed and flailed around. You lose. But you both end up laughing as he locked you to his side, giving you a noogie, not long until Swansea busts in to scold you two for being too rowdy.

[might make a one-shot of this if you guys are interested?]

🌺 Hey, even if you guys are that close already and you don't chat as much, he'll be the one doing it for the both of you. I don't make the rules.

🌺 If you have inquiries with the other members, he accompanies you and asks the questions for you.

🌺 Daisuke pretty much drags you with him for whatever shenanigans he's up to. Don't worry, he takes the blame if you guys get caught and makes sure they think you're uninvolved.

[glitter-epoch]

Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.” 

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.  

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...” 

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling. 

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.” 

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked. 

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.” 

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory. 

i’ve been personally invited to the office.  

not like it’s the first time, though.  

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too). 

“lay down,” zayne commands.  

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up. 

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.” 

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.  

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.” 

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.  

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.” 

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.  

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad. 

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.” 

“and that’s bad?” 

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.” 

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.” 

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.  

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.” 

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.” 

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.  

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.” 

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.” 

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose. 

“ouch,” you hiss. 

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.  

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse. 

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.  

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says, 

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?” 

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.” 

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.” 

your eyes blow out like glass. 

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.” 

“oh, how nice of you.” 

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.  

he inhales at the sound. 

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly. 

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest. 

you bristle. “god, no.” 

“then why are you staring?”  

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say, 

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.” 

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”   

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think. 

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.” 

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.  

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures. 

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.” 

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.” 

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?” 

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.” 

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.  

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.” 

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine. 

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.” 

“it’s okay.” 

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill. 

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.  

you peel one eye open and then the other. 

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.” 

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.” 

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident. 

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.” 

“okay.” 

his brows lift. “okay?” 

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.” 

“no apologies,” zayne says. 

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.  

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.  

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.” 

well, i can’t now. 

“got it,” you grind out. 

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...” 

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth. 

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.” 

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.  

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.  

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?” 

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.” 

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.” 

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.” 

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.  

“no,” you gasp. too fast. 

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?” 

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.” 

oh, sure.  

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.” 

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying. 

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.  

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.  

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done. 

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.” 

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-” 

“watch.” 

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?” 

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.  

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.” 

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.” 

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.  

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand. 

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up. 

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.  

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs. 

“where?” you croak. 

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.” 

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.  

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word. 

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.” 

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.  

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more. 

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.  

“you like to watch me work,” he hums. 

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over. 

“shut up,” you bite. 

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving. 

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.  

his pupils are swollen. “sure.” 

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.  

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.  

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches. 

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare. 

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.” 

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.” 

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says, 

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.” 

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.” 

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins. 

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?” 

you swallow. “of course.” 

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds. 

“oh, sure,” you tease. 

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.  

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.” 

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’ 

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

[lowkeyrobin]

hawk x reader (theyre dating) and he asks about her scars? (theyre from sh) maybe it can be titled you drew stars around my scars? idk! if youre noit comfortable with this im so so sorry!

ooo sure yeah! ; and dw I'm cool w this kinda stuff, sometimes I just don't do it cause I can't think of a proper idea and stuff lol i can never make them super long or anything so i apologize ; but thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; also I do only do gn / they/them readers so everyone feels included/ that's what I'm comfortable with just as an fyi

HAWK MOSKOWITZ ; you drew stars around my scars

summary ; after finding your scars, eli draws stars around your scars

warnings ; language, self harm / relapse

word count ; 522

masterlist

You stand beside Hawk in your Miyagi-Fang / Eagle-Do / whatever the fuck gi, hands behind your back as you listen to Mr. LaRusso and Johnny ramble on and on about the Sekai Taikai. You'd zoned out after a while, not being interested on going to Spain for some karate championship. You couldn't even get into the All Valley, whoever thought you were tough enough to take on the world was mentally deranged.

You already knew who was going, the core four, Miguel, Sam, Robby, and Tory, Hawk, and one lucky other candidate, probably Kenny or Devon, maybe Demetri. You didn't mind knowing you weren't going to go, but felt bad to not be there for Eli. You knew this meant a lot to him, at least, as karate always meant everything to him after he picked it up.

After the conversation ended, you head to the side with Eli as he wanted to spend some time with you while practicing. You were on defense while he worked on offense.

You work with a straight face, off in another world while your boyfriend threw moves at you that you half ass blocked. Eli notices something concerning, plus your half assed moves and your zoned out look, quickly stopping with a worried look.

God damn gi was so loose on your arms.

"Y/n? You okay?"

You quickly blink and nod, definitely not reassuring to him at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup"

As you sit down in the car with Eli, you stare out the window, waiting for him to take you home. You were quiet and distant, having barely spoken a word to your boyfriend.

You'd been growing distant for a while, the lack of sleep, the urge to hurt yourself again. It ate away at you like a parasite, a leech sucking away your energy and positivity.

As he sits down in the drivers seat, he looks at you, a soft, concerned look upon his face.

"Are you okay?"

You nod, pulling your sleeves down over your arms.

"Did you relapse?" He asks quickly but softly, worried about your health.

You stay silent, knowing you couldn't admit the truth but also couldn't lie to him.

"Y/n..." He softly rests his hand over your arm, pulling your sleeve up. You stay silent and limp, giving in to him. "How- Why?"

You shrug. "They're scars. They're old."

"How old?" He asks, wondering how long he'd gone without noticing.

"Months" You reply, leaning your head on your hand, elbow perched on the arm rest on the door.

He calmly grabs a red Sharpie from his console, opening it before grabbing your forearm carefully. He presses the marker to your skin, causing you to look over with a raised eyebrow.

"What're you doing, Eli?"

He smiles, continuing to draw little doodles around your scars.

"Drawing stars and shit, making it look all nice for my favorite person"

Your solemn expression morphs to a smile as you watch him draw little stars and hearts and flowers around your scars. Drawing wasn't his forte, but it was the thought that counted.

"I love you"

"Love you too, Moskowitz"

[lynaferns]

Ok! I love analyzing details!

He also does a little pose when he's showing the boards

If you take a look at the video I attached in the og post there's a moment when he comes out from under the table and his whole body wobbles trying to balance himself (I think it's because of the head spin)

There are a couple of animation mistakes when he's cartwheeling, for some reason... He's arms and feet gets detached from the body

(It's so funny actually, idk, maybe I'm the only one that sees it whenever I watch a gameplay of this section, I haven't found anyone who noticed yet.)

Moon also has his whole body animated in the ruin level even though we will only see his head and hands maximum!

^he's stepping on sun :/

This one is so funny to me, I know that he's teasing the player but he looks like a child curious of what you are doing

This animation is hard to see because of the distance but there's a moment when he does a flip with the cable to ascend to the ceiling

He makes himself into a ball, rolls a bit in place and makes the opposite version of Sun jumping into the ballpit, with his legs inverted for some reason

Anyways, I love all of these details and body languages about the characters, they are so stupid I love them, it just fits so well with the characterization I have of them. Wish I had the motivation to write a story :')

Ok, it's been a month. It's nobody going to talk about Sun standing on his tips when he's welcoming the player to the daycare?

Look at this ballerina we have right here.

(Video I screenshoted from)

And I don't think it's an animation mistake or that thing that happens when you aren't going to see a part of the character, so the animators just don't animate that part. You can see from the players pov that he sudenly goes a bit taller and then back to standing normally

[archermind]

sickness and soup

Spencer Reid x f!Reader

Description: You have called Hotch and told him you are unwell, making you unable to come into work today. Soon after you ended the call, there was a knock at your front door… to your surprise it was Spencer. Spencer was tasked by Hotch with the role of making sure you get better.

Content: fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

Author Note: this is my first time having a go at doing this. If anyone has any suggestions or feedback, feel free to offer it to me. (pls i beg lol) i hope you enjoy <3

Working in the BAU can be pretty intense. Some of the main things I find difficult about my job are cases involving children, when the unsub is a sick and twisted psychopath and the worst of them all… calling my boss when I feel sick. I will be honest there is no easy way to call Aaron Hotchner and tell him you can’t make it to work. I would drag myself limbless and bloody into Quantico just to avoid having to tell Hotch “I can't make it in today, sorry!” 

After the long awkward phone call of having to explain to Hotch why I will be missing the day off work, I sat pondering if I was just a hypochondriac or better yet a baby to the familiar enemy of every woman, my period. I had been up through the night, hurling acidic bile up into the toilet bowl from the pain of womanhood tearing up my insides. Periods are a bitch. 

My phone pinged from the living room as I was brushing my teeth for what felt like the hundredth time. My feet plodded from the bathroom through to the living room. I smiled as I saw the notification on my phone. ‘Garcia<3’. I opened the message to be met by a photo of her eating soup. ‘Missing you girl!’. I smiled as I responded with my own photo of me sad pouting and sent her a message of ‘i wish i was there :(‘. 

I threw my phone onto the couch making my way to my room. I sighed as I approached the huge pile of recently washed laundry which was dumped on my designated, ‘I'm too lazy to put these away so I will just dump them here’ chair. I rummaged through the pile pulling out any oversized shirt and shorts I could find. Today has not gone how i anticipated, all i wanted was to miraculously be rid of pain and be sat at the round table hearing of the next kidnap, dismembering and murder. I groaned as I attempted to atleast make my bed but was met with a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. I gave up, throwing myself onto the bed like a child throwing a tantrum. 

Light knocks woke me from a deep sleep that I had no recollection of falling into. I quickly jumped up and made my way to my front door. I looked like a mess so when I opened my door to see Spencer Reid… if I didn't already feel like curling up in a ball and dying, I do now. Ever since joining the BAU i couldn’t help not develop a minor school girl like crush on him that only Penelope knows about. 

“Uh… Spencer.. Why are you here?” I questioned him, trying to hide my shameful appearance behind the door. I attempted a smile despite the shock I was in.

“Hotch told me i had to come check up on you but before i left Garcia told me to trust her and that this would make you feel… in her words ‘a hundred times better’” Spencer gave a warm smile as he forced a tub of soup towards me.

“Well it looks like there is enough for two. Would you like to maybe come and have some?” I asked him nervously as I shifted on my feet. 

He nodded as I opened the door wider to allow him to enter. I trailed behind him as he made his way to my living room sofa. I anxiously waited for him to say something to break the silence. It was unusual for Spencer to stay silent for this long. For as long as I have known Reid, it seemed he always had something on his mind that he was ready to ramble on about. 

“Erm.. you will have to mind the state of my apartment” I coughed as my mouth went dry from nerves, “i never really have guests and i haven't had a great morni-” i suddenly was cut off by Spencer as he started to ramble like i expected.

“Did you know that it only takes one droplet of contaminated air to catch an illness?” Reid cleared his throat before carrying on, “and i will be honest with you Y/N… i am not entirely sure why Hotch sent me because he knows i don't like germs”, i watched as he fidgeted with the buckles on his satchel bag. 

My mouth formed an ‘o’ as I realized Hotch didn’t tell him why I was actually not at work today. I started laughing, causing Spencer to avert his eyes to stare at me. Internally I felt bad but I couldn't help but find the poor boy sitting worried on my sofa humorous for his own unknowing. 

“Y/N, i’m being serious. It is not funny. Did you know most serious diseases are caused by airborne illnesses!” Spencer blurted out upset and confused.

“Spence… I'm not contagious." I started, as he gave me a confused look “i am ill from having really bad period pains” I announced as I hung my head in shame having to tell Spencer of all people that currently I am menstruating. Even though it is a natural human thing and I can't control it. 

To my surprise, Spencer stood up and walked towards me engulfing me in a hug. I found it weirdly unexpected. I half anticipated Spencer to run out the door and for the hills at the thought of me… bleeding. However, I found myself comforted by the warm hug. I was still so confused.

“I apologize Y/N if i made you feel horrible by technically categorizing you as contagious and disease-ridden” Spencer started chuckling as his chin rested atop of my head. I smiled at his apology. Although he never made me feel insulted, it was sweet to know he cared about my feelings enough to apologize if there was a misunderstanding. 

I walked into my bathroom, the room was dark but drowned in ambient orange candle lighting. The bath was full of bubbles and the steam from the hot water engulfed the room, inviting me in. Spencer had done all of this while I was finishing my leek and mushroom soup. Although it sounded disgusting, I found myself texting Penelope begging her for the recipe. The response was almost better than the soup ‘a chef never spills her secrets but for you my lovely… ofcourse’ i hummed gleefully as I placed the phone on the counter of my bathroom sink. I tore every item of clothing off and made my way to the calming bath. I settled myself within the bubbles as i leant back to rest my head and close my eyes. It was relaxing and just what I had needed. 

Time passed delicately, but soon enough the water lost its comforting warmth and my fingers' skin was being over-dramatic, wrinkling like I had been within the water for eighty years. As I stepped out of the bathtub, a faint knock was sounded from the door. 

“Are you okay Y/N?” Spencer shouted from behind the locked door sounding worried. 

“Yeah, I'm fine Spence.” i responded smiling at his caring nature

“Just checking because on average about 10 people die each day from unintentional drowning in swimming pools and bathtubs” Spencer rambled and I smiled in adoration, while I got dressed, that it always goes back to statistics with him. 

I opened the door and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I'm not about to become a statistic today”. 

Spencer returned the warm smile before guiding me back to my living room. I gasped at the sight. Spencer had set up a blanket and some pillows on the sofa. While also supplying me a heating pad, chips and chocolate. I turned to him and placed a hand over my open mouth. 

“Thank you spence!” I wrapped my arms around him tight and placed my head on his chest. I couldn't believe how thoughtful and understanding he had been. “This means alot you know.” I spoke muffled. 

“You deserve it Y/N, you are one of the most caring and thoughtful people I know at the BAU. i don't think you realize how much we appreciate you sometimes” Reid explained, “ or how much your company and thoughtfulness means to me Y/N”. 

I looked up to see Spencer turn a deep shade of crimson as he blushed. I smirked as I didn't know he even had it in him to hug a girl let alone compliment one. I had a small sense of happiness, boastfulness and achievement that that girl was me. The rest of the day, Spencer stayed to watch movies, talk and keep me company. That was until we both fell asleep… wrapped in a blanket… in each other's arms.

[nellasbookplanet]

Sorry buddy but I don’t agree ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

While on a personal level I would've wanted Molly back because I love him, fact is that the thematic narrative surrounding him became one of grief and acceptance. Especially when paralleled with already dead characters like Zuala and Caleb's parents, c2 largely became a story with themes of letting go and moving on from a tragic past while still keeping it in your heart.

Also, as I talked briefly about in the original post, getting Kingsley instead of Molly makes perfect sense, and we were in no way 'robbed' because we were never promised Molly back. Molly had been idealized and put on a piedestal and therefore literally could never have been back as that mythologized figure because that person never existed. Kingsley was just the ultimate manifestation of that which crystallized the themes of the whole campaign in one brilliant move.

(also, Molly was always built as a character that couldn’t be resurrected, even had they brought him back within an episode or two. he would always have come back as a blank slate forced to start over due to his lack of a soul)

I've been thinking about Mollymauk, as I'm periodically wont to do, and the fandom discussion about him as a moral compass. Because the interesting thing here is, Molly wasn’t a very moral character. He was an unrepentant scammer. He had no respect for interpersonal boundaries and would deliberately push and break them. Generally, he was an asshole. As far as actually having a strong moral stance I would say Fjord was the standout of early m9, and to some extent Beau.

But here’s the thing: almost all of early m9 thought of themselves as horrible people. Fjord had been bullied so bad growing up that he still dealt with self-hate from it, and now suffered from survivor's guilt to boot. Caleb had killed his own parents. Beau, while she hated her dad, also had internalized self-hate and on some level thought she’d been such a shitty daughter she deserved his treatment. Nott was stuck in a body she considered monstrous. Yasha had survivor's guilt and knew she’d done bad things in her blank spots. Even when they did good, they didn’t think of themselves as good. Most of them were suspicious and asocial and faced the world with the same kind of distrust they expected to be (and were experienced in being) met with. (Jester was an exception, an agent of neither good nor bad but of amoral chaos)

But Molly was different. He was outspoken about loving life and people. He wanted to spread joy, even to people he didnt know or had even met: he slipped coin into people's pockets, hid a silver in a tree just so some stranger would one day be happy to find it. He openly cared for the party early on; was one of the first to step in and help Caleb when he went catatonic in battle. Above all, Molly had rules: where everyone else would agonize over what was the right or wrong or smart thing to do, Molly loudly proclaimed we don't leave people behind, and we leave every place better than we found it.

But the thing about Molly’s rules was, they were largely a cover. While the rest of the m9 thought they were bad even as they did good, Molly thought of himself as good even as he did bad. He scammed people, but made it a good and memorable experience, therefore thinking he gave more than he took. He charmed Nott and Fjord without consent, and when confronted would claim it was to help them. Out of the group, Beau saw through this, not because she was a better person but because she was a cynic. She saw that he caused harm, just as she did, and was personally affronted that he still thought of himself as good and tried to leave people happy, whereas she deliberately left every place worse than she found it.

I see Molly as a moral compass of the group not because he was actually any more moral than them, but because they made him their template. He was joy and brightness and he died trying to save them because it was the right thing to do, and they all chose to honor him by emulating his rules more than Molly himself ever did, because to them it was more than just a cover, backed up by genuine moral thought and discussion rather than small gestures. He taught them that it was possible to be kind of a shit person and still be good, to still love yourself and others. The idealized Molly they created never existed, and finally died for good when they resurrected him in the end and were met with a stranger, who they welcomed with the same love and care they would've expected Molly to show them.

[sweetmodel]

hiii ! out of curiosity , do you know how many years you have spent outside of this reality ? like you could be 18 ( for example ) here , but your consciousness has actually lived for 33 years ( another random example ) - also you dont need to share your real age because that is personal information !!! thank you so much and you are literally my favourite tumblr account

Hello! I'm going to be honest but I don't really add up time together. It just stopped making sense to me once I started shifting. Because like, okay you add the time you were in your intended reality, but what about the years before? I mean, you lived there too in the past, you now have all the memories and knowledge, do you add those too? Also to me time is just really 3D-centric so I really don't care about it. The more I shift the more I feel like I know less and less lol.

But rambling aside cause that's not what anyone asked for, here's how much time I consciously spent in each reality, without counting the past of each life and all of their memories:

1-Canon Winx reality, from January 2022 to March 2022, my very first reality;

2-Fairy-Demon reality (based on a book I'm writing), from January 2023 to December 2023. This is the longest I stayed in a reality without shifting back and forth;

3-Superhero reality (not based on any sort of media here, Its mostly a niche reality I built off a dream I had long ago), okay this one is tripping me up because Its also a TV series I'm filming and I'm not sure what has and hasn't happened yet but I would say... During June-July 2022, then I was there again from March 2023 to September 2024... But I skipped a few weeks because I was going through a break up there, if you read one of my posts you might understand what I'm talking about ;) ;

4-Wizard reality (based on the game Wizard101), January 2024 to end of May 2024;

5-Fame reality/life, from September 2023 to October of 2025. Technically the longest, but also I would shift back and forth from my fame life to the next reality I'm listing, so it wasn't two years straight;

6-Fairy-Angel reality (A fusion/mashup between Winx and the book reality), this is the one I currently keep shifting to and so far it has been from January 2024 to May 2024, and probably the one I will stick to because I'm still trying to digest my fame life lol.

I don't use/have "time ratios', when I shift back to a reality (whichever it be, this one or any other one) is exactly when I "left it off";

But anyway, thanks for the compliment! (And sorry for any typos Its really late here).

[legy]

hi! i'm caelum. you might know me from @goldentruths-pod or from posting online. im in a financial quicksand pit and i really, really, really need help.

i'm disabled and receive approx ~$950 a month from social security. this has gone from "rough but survivable" when i first started receiving SSI to "i am literally not making ends meet" in 2024. right now my current status is that i am covering my basic needs but any kind of extra purchases are impossible. and the extra purchases i need to make keep piling up because i just can't afford them. some things i need include, in vague level of priority:

dolphin, my cat, is years overdue for a vet visit. this is going to be $300 minimum, possibly more because she has an adversarial relationship with the vet. she needs dental work done which they had quoted me as being $1500 but ive been putting it off for so long that i would not be surprised if that's more expensive too

i have learned today that my gold crown needs to be replaced. really unhappy about this one. it was a miserable experience the first time (everything that went wrong did go wrong, i'll spare you the details) but what is relevant here is that my insurance does not cover this and it was $900 last time. insurance also does not cover extracting the tooth either so that's cool. i have some time before this one is due (my next consult is in july)

my phone is approaching "unusably broken". i've had it for close to 4 years now. the call speaker no longer works (i can only use the phone on speaker mode) and it struggles to run apps or a web browser which makes things like GPS pretty dire. this would be like ~$100-$150 probably, i havent done serious phone shopping yet

my driver's license is expired and i need to get a new one. this was $110 last time. note i havent driven a car in years due to the disability but it's really valuable to have a universally recognized form of photo ID and ive already been hassled over it being expired

god this one is so embarrassing to get into but i had to flee my previous apartment last year due to it escalating into a DV situation. the other tenants did not pay the heating bill, which was in my name (and my dumb ass didnt close the account because it was the middle of february and i didnt want to freeze them to death) so i have a $250 utility bill in collections. i might be able to dispute or debt forgiveness this one but tbh ive been so fucking drained given everything else going on and also my phone barely works so i havent pursued it. especially since i can't afford to pay it if i cant challenge it

i would really like to have a passport again. my previous one was destroyed by my landlord in 2018 but even if it wasnt it'd also be expired now. not sure how much this one costs. likely $200?

my food stamps were slashed in half (covid emergency ending lol) and do not cover my food costs for the month so im paying like $150 a month on food that i didnt have to previously. i can maybe fix this one but im slowly losing my mind from malnutrition from trying to not go into debt and also eat. so i havent had it in me to go 1v1 welfare bureaucracy and possibly make everything even worse

my shoes are probably two months out from fully decomposing. they were $100 three years ago and id like to get something comparable given they lasted me this long

the rest of my clothes are also very literally becoming threadbare, falling apart, or are too big and keep slipping off. i legitimately feel embarrassed to go in public these days because i dress so shitty all the time

insurance doesnt cover my HRT anymore so that's $30 a month i didnt used to have to pay

im sorry this turned into such a ramble. i'm in such a bad way right now, i have been for quite a while and the dental work news is really just the final straw. i can't really have a fundraising goal because due to the SSI asset limit i can never own more than $2000. & i'm aware both that this is the poor people sending each other the same 20 dollars website and that there are people urgently trying to raise money to escape an active genocide. but i held off from making this post as long as possible & idk what else i can do

anyway if theres anything you can contribute to help me i would appreciate it more than anything. at the very least i need to do something about my tooth.

http://paypal.me/hivehum

[sopuu]

Imma be real for a second and say I love the way Jesse has scars on your art??? Love it when someone gives a character who's been through a lot of physical (and mental) trauma some kind of scar. It just emphasizes to me that they went through that. And the effects of that stay with them.

Sorry I'm rambling

Tldr mmm scar art prettyyyy

exactly!! jesse’s gone through so much that i’d be surprised if he didn’t have any scars. and i like to think he’s confident enough to show them off not as injuries to his body but as a part of who he is, like a collection of experiences and battles he’s overcome. hence why i have his sleeves rolled up most of the time (and also rolled sleeves…so gender…)

he’s got a bunch of other scars i never get to show off so here’s some scar headcanons as a treat! i wanted to give each major one a backstory so it’s not just there for aesthetics. the others are normal battle scars tho

ramblings about the f-bomb scar and the face scar under the cut bc there’s a lot oops. ty for the ask!

can we talk about the damage the f-bomb did to him in game. or the lack of damage even. because there’s no way this man got out of a close explosion from the strongest bomb with ONLY ringing ears for a few seconds?? not that im complaining i’m glad he’s okay bfjkfh

either the order’s armour is made of impressively strong cloth and metal or minecraft block people are very tolerant to damage. although the logical explanation would probably be the damage can’t be shown realistically within the limitations of a minecraft game (not just on the pg side of things but also they are. made of a few pixels) idk it’s something interesting to think about lore/game development wise

if it weren’t for canon depictions i’d probably have the scar cover half of his body,, but i like keeping designs close to canon depictions so a big shoulder scar it is! i had it cover more of his back since he turns when being fished down to try and shield himself

as for the face scar! i’ve debated for a long time whether to have that as the origin bc i thought it was too cruel but it stayed in the end- it’s probably the hardest one he’s had to overcome despite it being the smallest major scar. every time he looks in the mirror he’s reminded of how he failed reuben. how can it be that he only gets a small scrape while his best friend loses his life? all because of jesse’s mistakes?

some OLD art incoming so shield your eyes but these are a few doodles exploring that! i was also testing the f-bomb scar on the face for funsies

eventually though, as he learns to accept his many scars he comes to see this one as a mark of the turning point of his life, both the good and the bad, and how much reuben and jesse meant to each other that they faced the world’s end together, knowing full well of the consequences. in a sense he carries reuben’s memory through that scar :]

anyways this is so long i’ll shut up now LOL

[ddollfface]

Can I please request a Yandere Hanayama Kaoru head canon?

𝐀 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

𝙆𝙖𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙮𝙖𝙢𝙖 𝙔𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣

Warnings; reader is afab/described a girl, yandere behaviors, stalking, I talk a lot, lots of ramblings, probably doesn't make any sense, bad writing, more stalking, Tumblr is trying to silence me, ngl Hanayama is growing on me... If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Bro, I'm so sorry that this is super rushed, seeing as I hit the word limit??? I'm super confused because I barely wrote anything, but whatever. A lot of my headcanons are based around @yandere-writer-momo. Also, sorry for being offline for so long lol, kinda forgot I had Tumblr ngl :/

Okay, to start this off, I think that realistically, it'd be very, very, very hard to get Hanayama's attention. He's shown to be stoic and stone-faced, only showing respect and warmth toward specific people (Baki and Shiba included). And I think it's important to mention that the people he does respect is due to their fighting spirit and/or strength, that or they were there during his childhood (like Kizaki and his mama).

And that's just for him to show basic affection toward them, not even accounting for being loving. For you to catch his attention, I think that you'd have to be either a really strong fighter (meaning having impressive skills of some sort) or have a strong will, either one will work. (Though, a lot of the time, both go hand-in-hand).

When I say a strong will, I don't mean you get up after being punched over and over, instead, it can just be standing up for others. Similar to Katsumi, I can see Hanayama being attracted to a person who's selfless, in the sense that they're brave. Someone who's willing to push through their fear and do it, whatever it is. Now, that catches his attention.

There's a never-ending list of cowards who'll run with their tails between their legs at the sight of discomfort, willing to abandon everything just for their own gain, and Hanayama encounters these men all the time. Let's just say that it gets boring, annoying even. So when you see someone who's spitfire, ready to jump into danger for themselves or others. Now, that's impressive.

Whether or not they can actually carry through doesn't matter too much, it's the fact that they got back up, not letting their dignity lay to rest. Personally, I find that Hanayama would be far more interested in someone who's genuinely acting selfless in this way, acting from the heart.

Going more into his childhood, I think this type is rooted in Hanayma's relationship with his mother. Though I haven't read the manga, from the wiki, I've gained that he was close to his mother, loving her very much. We don't know much about her. Hell, we don't even know her name, but we do know that she was kind.

That's the only information we're given, but even from that, I can make an analysis. From this, I know that Hanayama was likely a Mama's boy, though still being trained to be a Yakuta. I don't mean Mama's boy in the traditional sense, I mean it in the way that she was his peace, his way out of the Yukuta world, his destiny. Being raised in a gangster lifestyle isn't easy, nor is it soft, so just imagine the damage that type of environment can put on a child's brain?

Horrible, huh? So I like to think that Hanayama's mama, before she passed, was far softer to him, giving him some sense of security. this is possibly why he felt such sorrow after she passed, discarding the natural pain we feel when our mama dies (seeing as there's a primal connection we have with our mama, but that doesn't matter too much at the moment).

Hanayama is a very monotone kind of guy, who, I imagine, doesn't like people with some type of alternate motive. Like, y'know how politicians or businessmen talk? Like they're hiding something from you? Yeah, Hanayama loathes those kinds of people, especially if they're trying to pursue him. I belive that he wants someone who'll keep his life steady; be his calm, if you will.

He wants someone who will be upfront, express themselves clearly, and won't keep what they're thinking from you. To him, this is a breath of fresh air. Hanayama is constantly surrounded by lackeys trying to kiss up to him, speaking with a hidden motive (which isn't really hidden in retrospect). If they're not trying to appease them, then they're quacking in their boots, ready to piss themselves.

But you're not like that, no, not at all. You're different. Hanayama can tell, you aren't some coward, instead, you're someone to respect. He can imagine you sitting next to him, all pretty as a Yakuza's wife. Yeah, he likes the sound of that. Well, the only problem is that you don't know who he is, not yet at least.

I imagine that you wouldn't know who Hanayama is, at first, seeing as he never spoke to you. He likely witnessed you acting selfless in some type of way, expressing your kindness by helping a grandma get across the street, something like that.

You didn't notice him, but he sure noticed you. At first, it wasn't anything too special. Hanayama just found you interesting, wanting to see what you'd do next, so he had one or two of his men keep a tab on you--nothing serious. It continues like that for quite a while, and Hanayama learns more and more about you. He knows that you like to sing when you cook, tapping your feet to the beat, and swaying side-to-side. It's cute, he thinks. And Hanayama feels closer to you, as if you know each other, like you're friends.

But then one of his men reports that you're not at home, not following your usual schedule. Instead, you were at some dingy cafe, drinking crappy coffee with another man, some slumbag who looked like he hadn't showered in a hot second. For some reason, which Hanayama doesn't know, he gets ticked off.

Someone as sweet, kind, and damn pretty as you shouldn't associate with someone like him, someone so gross.

He doesn't do anything, no, no yet. It'd be too brash, and too stupid. And Hanayama isn't stupid. No, Hanayama can keep himself composed, now knowing that he needs to get your attention. Afterall, he can't have you running around with other men, not when he's right here! Well... you don't know that, yet.

Few weeks pass, and you've completely forgotten the trashy date you had gone on, but Hanayama hasn't. You begin to notice new outfits appearing in your closet, clothing you certainly didn't have previously. They're far too expensive, too revealing for you to own.

You'll be confused, especially when these dresses, heels, and coats are no longer just appearing, but instead, being presented. Now, instead of being hung up or nicely folded in your closet, they're being laid out on your bed, accompanied by a pretty, black leather box with silk insides. A little note is stuck on top of the shimmering dress, causing you to gulp, looking around as a shiver racks through your body.

Who the hell is buying you a dress? (though, it looks far more like lingerie, seeing as you'd never be able to wear it out in public). You don't know, but you can't help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you lift the velvet cloth, feeling the lace slip through your fingers. Once you tried it on, listen, you couldn't help but feel curious, you gawked at how it fit you like a glove, hugging your curves, and accentuating your hips and bust.

It's fucking creepy, that's all you can think, but it gets worse, way worse. Throughout the weeks, you notice more and more gifts show up at your doorstep. The dresses get severely revealing, much to your discomfort. So do the notes. They get too detailed and too accurate to your day-to-day. By now, it's clear that you have a stalker, a rich one at that.

I'd have to say that this is the worst part of being with Hanayama: the courting. It's hella weird! You'll never feel alone, always having someone watching you, mostly Hanayama. He doesn't have his lackeys watching you anymore, seeing as he's far too jealous for that. He doesn't want someone as low at them to see you in such an innocent, vulnerable state. No, that's only for him to see.

Don't be surprised when he shows up at your door, your last hookup's head in hand and a bundle of roses in the other. After all, it's time for you to come home, no?

[ambrosialdesire]

Can I request yandere porco x reader who doesn't take him seriously/ isn't afraid of him or being bratty or whatever so he transforms to scare her

hellion

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS + BLANK BLOGS DNI

pairing: s4 porco x fem!reader word count: 5.9k warnings + tags: general yandere and obsessive themes, unhealthy relationships, past + current human-trafficking/purchase mentions, forced feminization/infantilization, stockholm syndrome development, forced proximity, torture/violence mentions (choking, starvation, drowning, tying up), drugging (sedation), prey & predator vibes, kinda psychological horror?, humiliation, slight praise, degradation, slight gaslighting, kinda mindbreaky, all characters are 18+ synopsis: you were an impulse purchase that he never thought he'd make before, and although he doesn't regret it, he's having a difficult time trying to soothe your feisty spirit. who knew that all it took was one transformation and a chase you'll never forget? a/n: i'm gonna be so fr idk how to write bratty characters LOL i rarely read bratty readers in general so i'm really free-balling this 💀 kinda simple and to the point compared to my other fics, esp since i've never wrote for porco before so this is like testing the waters and most likely SUPER ooc. it's also more of a psychological fic since i'm not in the mood of writing complete nsfw haha but i hope you enjoyed this anon! sorry it also took so long to be done but then took me like three days to make and edit 😅 (i still think it's a little sloppy, esp the end BUT that's what anon questions are for so i can sorta explain and piece it together more lol) again, hope y'all enjoy!! note: please keep in mind of the tags above and do not proceed if triggering or uncomfortable, especially if you are a minor!! do not read my or any other writers' dark content if you are underaged. this is a fictional work and does not reflect irl morals, do not believe this is how a real romance works or functions.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

He hated when you got like this, putting up a constant nonsensical fight against him.

You'd be a perfect candidate to be his successor from the way you bite down into his skin when he tried to touch you, scratching up his face when he got too close, and always almost managing to slip through his grasp to dash towards the open basement door before he tugged the chain wrapped around your throat back towards him, watching you bare your teeth at him angrily. You were truly a wild animal, that's why he chose you in the first place.

Porco wanted to tame this wild spirit of yours, simply for the fact to see if he could.

Little progress was made, he made your purchase not long ago in the slums of Liberio, where the truly wicked and evil roamed to sell and purchase anything deemed illegal by the Marleyan government. As much as he refused to take these kinds of assignments, preferring to be back on the battlefield with Zeke and Pieck, Porco was already in deep waters for fighting with Reiner again. Not his fault that the Vice Captain's face was so punchable. Thus, here he was, being forced to shut one of the operations down that was said to involve a human-trafficking ring. Down he went alone in disguise, shuffling through the disgusting sweaty bodies of devil scum drooling over a piece of fresh meat on the stage.

He remembered got a good view of the bidding, eyeing each fearful chained-up person with boredom until you were pulled up. God, you really were the star of the stage. Two burly men had to tug your fighting body onto the crumbling wooden stage, a mixed sound of what could be a snarl and screech emerging through your cracked and bruised lips as you refused to move any further. You put up a good fight against the henchmen, the crowd jeering at the display of tug-o-war.

Once they managed to get you to the middle, the auctioneer started to ramble on about your pricing. Your hands may be wrapped in cloth and tied together, but the minute he neared you to show you off, you struck him with a mean uppercut, almost pouncing on him once he fell over before the two men held you back. Even then, you were thrashing around on your wounded feet, spitting out curses and howls at the fuckers beneath you, telling them that you'd hope they'd all burn and rot in hell.

He's the only one that snorted at that statement, feeling all eyes on him.

Porco really wasn't any different from those around him as he raised his hand up, offering over a thousand for the wild girl, more than what the other fucks around him could possibly afford. It won't make a dent in his bank account either because once he takes you home, the authorities would've already been called to the place. He gets to keep his money and you, while Marley gets rid of more scum; a two in one deal. You glared down at him, a burning fire settling deep within the darks of your pupils as he grinned back in return.

You were going to be a fun little purchase, that he's sure of.

He didn't really want to, but considering that you were a snappy little thing, you had to be down in the basement of his home until he managed to get your temper under control. The chain was long enough for you to reach the bathroom down there from the bed, but not long enough to reach the door. Once you managed to slightly calm down, realizing that your new "owner" was unfazed by your act as he leaned against the wall, you cautiously settled on the bed. You were still tense, unsure of what his intentions are.

"You got a name?" Porco started, finally breaking the silence as he crossed over his arms.

"You have my papers, don't you?" Your eyes squinted at him, the raspy retort coming quick out your mouth. He did, but he didn't bother looking at them just yet.

He scoffed, pushing himself off the wall, slowly stepping closer to you. "Snarky one, aren'tcha? Just tryna be a little civil here."

"Civility? Don't make me laugh. Buddy, you're the one that bought me. I think we both know that any sort of civility you had has been long gone the moment you raised your stinkin' fucking hand in the auction and brought me down here." If your temper wasn't enough indication of a need of reformation, your mouth definitely was.

"I'm surprised you even lasted that long in the slums with that tongue and attitude of yours, most would've been turned into chopped meat without even a second thought." You were about to say something back before he slammed his hand into your face, pushing your head into the bed and prying your mouth open with his fingers. A gurgle of a scream erupted out of your throat as you struggled to push him off you, but no dice.

"But I'm not like most. Me? I could crush your skull whenever I want, maybe slowly pull each of your limbs apart so you'll feel each tendon and ligament rip away from your sorry torso." Porco pushed harder until you got the message, silencing yourself as your face ached and throbbed from the pressure, yet your eyes still held that same vindictiveness from the auction that never seemed to quite be quenched. Your jaw abruptly closed around his fingers, a pained hiss slipping out of his lips as the pearly whites grinded into his skin.

He's going to relish seeing that light die from you, when you finally realize that he's the sole reason of your living, that you should've been grateful from the start that he's the one that bought you instead of the beer-gut ridden trash that wasted away in the slums.

Porco finally removed his hand out of your mouth, drool and teeth indentations staining his fingers. Light steam was coming off of them, the superficial wounds closing up. He knew you caught that, eyes focused on his hand.

"Now, get some rest. Training begins tomorrow."

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

When he said training, he meant torture.

That's what you thought as you experienced every debilitating and humiliating ritual he forced onto you every day. You eventually learned his name because of someone saying it upstairs — God you wished that the floors above were as soundproof as the basement's walls— Porco, but you called him 'piggy' sometimes, despite him trying to train you into saying sir. Simple, but it got him irritated real fast.

Porco was a strange man, you knew he was definitely not like the other men you've came across in your imprisoned life. Every wound you made on his person, no matter how deep you curled your nails into him or bite down as hard as you possibly could, he was left unblemished. Not even a fading scar or lasting indent, it was as if you've never injured him in the first place.

He bled, the taste of iron familiar on your tastebuds, but it really was like nothing occurred after a few minutes. You knew that he healed fast too, that weird steam came out of the wounds right after you inflicted it from what you could see with the lantern light, but you don't know why it did. Were you so out of touch from the outside for so long that new medical advancements were made?

He also disappeared for short periods of time, leaving you occasionally starving if he didn't leave enough food beforehand and surprisingly bored; he was really your only company nowadays, so it was quite frustrating to come to the conclusion that you'd even miss the bastard despite the shit he's made you go through. Once Porco came back though, he'd be a little nicer to you but that would last for roughly a week once you gotten sick of his company again.

He only sedated you when he needed your complete compliance or when he deemed you too much, your head rolling around weakly as he undresses and bathes you with him in the tub, the heightened sensation of calloused hands brushing against every inch of your skin. You may be out of it, but every other sensation was magnified. It was the only peace the two of you got with each other, even if you weren't a truly willing participant.

Porco was also quiet when it came to this activity, the steam and heat of the tub creating a slight flush on his tanned cheeks as he leaned back against the porcelain. His normally gelled-back blond hair would be damp and falling over his face, expression lax. You thought he was on the completely lankier side before since you rarely see him without the green coat, but no, he was quite muscular despite being pretty slender.

It made sense, he's lifted and thrown you like you weighed absolutely nothing, holding you down without much struggle, and letting you exhaust yourself while he looked completely normal.

He seemed disinterested in each other's nudity, though you did notice the first few times when he started the bathing routine that he took in every little detail of your body, eyes wandering more than usual. It's not like you could've stopped him and he never touched you sexually, only touching your privates to clean those areas. You've accidentally let out a quietly hitched breath here and there when he brushed those digits of his in-between your pussy, your drugged mind struggling to comprehend the feeling. You believed that he never noticed during those mishaps, not bothered in the slightest during it but whenever he got out of the tub first, it was pretty obvious he'd be partially aroused.

You wouldn't say that you were completely innocent in the act of staring at the other either, you've spotted his cock more than a few times and were slightly internally glad that he never took it for a spin against you. He must be a show-er more than a grower (if he was any lengthier hard, you might be in trouble), but he was notably bigger than the other disgusting men you've came across. Thank god for that, at least. It was finally nice looking at a man that wasn't built like a water buffalo in denial of balding and having the smallest dick around.

As time passed by, you feel like you confirmed your suspicions that he never really was interested in using you for any sexual needs, he was more into seeing how much it would take for you to break. Maybe he's done this to others to get his rocks off, but you'd never give into the sick man's perversions.

One thing that was prominent you've noticed while in his care was that he rarely made you do anything by yourself. He's the one that fed you with you on his lap, clothed you in stupidly feminine outfits from the start of the day to the night, bathed you alongside him. He cleaned and dressed any wounds you inflicted on yourself, but left surface scratches and bruises alone. Porco was in complete control and if you didn't let him take the reins, that's when the punishments rolled in.

Balancing books on your head as you stood on your tiptoes, if any of them fell or if you went back on your heels, he'd hit the back of your calves hard with a riding crop and restart the entire thing. Forcing your head over a bucket of freezing cold water, asking you difficult questions with no right answers to them, and pushing you down into it when you said anything that he didn't want to hear. He choked you out and left you intentionally starved for days when you refused to eat what he made, tied up and blindfolded in a tight closet with no indication of how long time had passed because you didn't want to wear what he chose, anything to ensure that you've learned your lesson.

You didn't, of course you never did. Whenever he asked if you had enough, you only just laughed at him and spat at his face, the punishments only ending once he got tired of it. Your stubborn attitude was the only thing keeping you sane in this world of yours.

No matter how much you were forced to endure endless embarrassment and shame, you'll never grovel or beg for mercy, not even shedding a tear for the agonizing pain you felt as you laid on the scratchy mattress every night. And besides, he wasn't the only one who tried and he most certainly would be the last once you figured out how to get out of here.

You felt a jab to your stomach, abruptly waking you from your short rest. The lights weren't even turned on, but even you knew that the next horrid day has just begun, a flashlight blinding you next.

"Morning sweetheart, you know what time it is? It's 3 in the morning, nice and early for our next session. Are you going to be good and let me put your outfit on?" The nicknames only started a few weeks ago, just because you were being obedient and compliant to his demands. It's to make you feel nice, to think that's what you should be doing to get on his good side.

Fuck, he's really insane.

Obviously since you were completely exhausted, you might as well let him take control again until you regained more strength. You nodded slowly, rubbing your eyes as he finally moved the light off of your eyes. He murmured something of a praise, stroking your head gently before going upstairs to retrieve the outfit. You sat there in silence, partially nodding off until you heard his footsteps near the door, body slightly stiffening.

You may not be outwardly afraid of him, but unconsciously, he made you become unintentionally afraid of the new fucked up punishments that he created. At a certain point in this life, it was undeniable not be terrified of something unexpected.

"A friend recommended this new place for women clothes since she noticed I've been in a good mood lately." Porco pushed the door open, a light pink babydoll dress in his hands. "Ain't it nice? Might be better than all the other ones I've put you in, the seamstress really has outdone herself, don't you think sweetie?"

Everything about it looked too short, ruffles and lace making most of the skirt and the sleeves overtly puffy. He may think he's putting you into something cute, but it was obviously something uncomfortable to wear. It's intentionally supposed to make you tick, you knew it was.

"It's..." You started, thinking about how to go around this without sounding offensive. "Pink."

He frowned, obviously expecting more from you but simply shook his head. Alright, that was a somewhat valid response.

"Still tired huh? Yes, most of your clothes are pink, but this one," He placed the dress next to you, along with the undergarments and shoes. "This one is for a special occasion."

Special occasion? A year must've already passed by since he purchased you, it wouldn't be all that surprising if he was celebrating that. You lifted your arms up and let him remove your nightgown, leaving you only in your underwear. Porco removed the dress from the hanger, turning towards you and pulling the dress over your head and arms, organizing it properly over your body.

Definitely too small now that you were wearing it, the bands around the arms making it feel like you were gonna lose circulation on them and your breasts nearly spilling out of the top of the dress, no matter how much he was adjusting it. The skirt was also way too revealing, just barely covering your panties but he soon tugged those off, putting on an even more scantily clad pair. He brushed out your hair, taking a few pieces and attaching a bow with it behind your head. The shoes were just simply white flats, the only part of the outfit that you had no problem with.

"There. Such a beautiful girl, wouldn't you agree?"

He cooed as he stood you up and dragged you to the bathroom, pulling off the drape that covered the mirror. You weren't allowed to use the mirror, that was what he said as one of the rules way back then. You didn't know why he asked that of you, but you've never seen yourself in years anyways, the details of your appearance foggy in each glimpse of a reflecting surface. The basement was dark too, the only sources of light being the flashlight or lanterns that Porco brings down here to see you. But this?

This was the first time you truly felt horrified at anything, bruises of varying colors littering around your skin, most prominently around your neck. You looked sickly, a pale complexion covering your skin, and bone-dead tired, eyebags weighing under your lower eyelids heavily. The only thing that looked decent on you was your brushed out hair and dress, despite how it squeezed at your almost feeble body.

"What... what did you do to me?" Your hands went over your face, feeling your very soul crumple into itself.

Porco snorted, his hand wrapping around your jaw and forcing you to look at the reflection. "Nothing. This is you, all you. The only thing I've done is the bruises but everything else is your fault."

You pushed him back, his body hitting the wooden door with a thud. Tears were starting to well up in your eyes since the first time in forever as you balled your fists at your side. You started wailing, curses slipping through your lips.

"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

"Y/N—" His tone was becoming angry, a warning.

Porco never said your name before.

You took off one of the flats and quickly threw it hard at the mirror, multiple fragments shattering off the wall. You grabbed the biggest piece that landed on the ground, feeling the palm of your hand cut open, warm blood spilling down your fingertips. Without a second thought, you lunged at your captor. Porco was stronger as he stopped you midway of your attack, but his hands slipped from the grip he had on your bloody hands and wrists, it was almost unnoticeable but not to you.

With the little strength you had left, you gave it your all, letting out a wrathful shriek as you jabbed the piece into his stomach, twisting it in as deeply as you could.

The world fell silent as you watched his blood seep through his shirt.

This was the first time you've looked into his eyes in the light and this close in general, the hazel color showing nothing but displeasure. You heaved slowly, taking in shaky breaths through your nose. Slowly, you released the shard and backed away from his still-standing body, the chain connected to you rattling along on the stony ground with your movements. Your eyes were still locked onto him, impatiently waiting for him to collapse so you can take the key out of his dying cold body.

Yet, that didn't happen.

"You're fucking pathetic, stupid even." Porco's hand reached for the mirror shard embedded in his gut, pulling it out with a slight hiss, as if it was nothing but a splinter. "If only, just only, you remembered that I can heal from any wound that your dumbass places on me, we wouldn't have this issue but I guess I gave your slow little brain one too many hits."

The steam was coming off of him again as he threw the bloody shard pack into the broken pile, your teeth baring at him.

"What the hell are you? Some kind of monster?" He laughed, pushing his hair back with blood, the red mixing in with the dark blond.

"Worse," Porco charged at you with inhumane speed, grabbing your throat and lifting you up in the air with one hand, your hands clawing at his forearm as black spots began to form in your vision. "I'm one of the worst monsters of them all. A Titan."

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

You awoke to find yourself in a forest.

Originally, you thought you died. It's been years since you've last seen the outside, even felt the wind's breeze go against your face and feel the rising sun's rays warm up your skin. Yet, as you opened your eyes, you reached out to the grass, feeling the smooth blades brush up against your fingers, you knew you were still alive.

Sitting up, you slowly took in the surrounding environment. Did Porco abandon you because he thought you were dead? A giddy feeling rose up from within, excited about the possibility of finally, finally having the freedom that you've desired for so long. You wobbly stood up, realizing that you were still in the outfit he made you wear, now stained with dried blood. Ugh, at least he should've had the decency to put you back in rags or something before dumping your 'corpse'.

How far were you from the nearest civilization? You'd be lucky if you managed to come across one before either dying of dehydration or starvation, hoping you'd run into an Eldian internment zone rather than a major Marleyan city. Maybe even dying here in the wilderness would be a better death than being around people again, considering that all of them would just disappoint you once more.

There was a sound of grass crunching, small branches breaking from behind you as footsteps drew closer.

"Awake aren't we?" Fuck. You turned around, seeing him standing back at a distance, still wearing his bloody clothes.

"I wish I wasn't now that I know you're here piggy. Goddamnit, why didn't you just fall over and die when I stabbed you?" You grumbled the last half, tugging at the bottom of the skirt dejectedly. From afar, you could imagine that his eyebrow was twitching in irritation once you mentioned the nickname.

"You're so annoying, you know that? It's been a year and no matter what I do to you, you still persist. Still convincing yourself that you can't be broken. You've really ran me dry to figure out what I can do to make that pretty little head internally pop, well, I got one more thing that'll make you finally listen to me." Porco fished out a small pocket knife out of his jacket, holding out his palm for you to see before he sliced the middle of it, blood immediately gushing out.

"I'll give you a 15 minute head start, timer starts when I transform. If you can hide or outrun me, I'll let you go free. No catches, you'll simply be free to walk among us again. But if I find and catch you," A cocky smile grew on his face, pointing the knife down at you. "You're going back to the fucking basement."

Wait. What does he mean by transform?

A flash of blinding lightning appeared abruptly right in front of you, gusts of wind nearly knocking you over. You covered your face to try and shield yourself from the sudden weather change onslaught, the sound of something crunching forming loud in your ears. The light finally faded away after a few minutes gone by, a huge shadow hovering over you instead. Hesitantly, you peered up out of your arms and gaped in horror as you stared at the monster in front of you.

Where Porco once stood, a bony skull-like faced Titan stood before you on all fours, a mane of familiar blonde hair wrapping around its head like a lion. It had a shorter and muscular stature than most Titans you've seen in books before your kidnapping, still towering over you but not as much as a normal Titan would. White-tipped claws on each of its digits were prominent on both its hands and feet, digging into the soft grassy ground beneath it.

What the fuck? What the fuck?! Your captor was the Jaw Titan user the entire time? Is that why he disappeared every now and then? Holy shit, you knew what the Jaw Titan user's dick looks like.

Its small hazel eyes glared down at you through the skull-like mask and you felt frozen to the spot, too afraid to make any move. Was he even still in control of himself in there? A guttural growl came out of it then, snapping you out of it.

Porco's waiting for you to move, he... he wants to chase you down. You have no other choice, and you'd rather put up another fight than to lay down belly-up.

You took off the other flat that still remained on your foot and threw it at the face of the creature, soon dashing as quickly as possible into the lush forest. In your head, you knew your outfit was going to be an immediate sore thumb in the surrounding greens and browns so you started to rip it apart as you ran, trying to scatter the pieces as much as you possibly could to throw off the trail. All you were left in was your thin underwear and even that was a risk to keep on, but it was all you had left to preserve the dignity you were barely holding onto.

As you ran, you felt every stray branch dig into your already-damaged skin and every breath you took in felt like needles in your nostrils. It was better than nothing, better than getting immediately caught by that thing. You don't know how much time has passed since you started running, all you knew was that you must've wasted precious seconds when you gawked at the atrocity of a Titan.

There was a whipping sound and then a thud, trees cracking and breaking behind you. The echo of birds flapping away from the source, cawing in alarm rang loudly in your ears and you felt immediate dread crawl up your spine. Your head start was up, he's coming.

You still ran as fast as you could despite the burning in your underused muscles, trying to find somewhere decent to hide in. An overgrowth, a bush, anything at this point. The sounds of whipping and cracking were getting closer and closer, panic bubbling in your stomach until you missed a step, falling over and knocking the wind out of yourself.

You cried out as quietly as possible once you got air back in your lungs, slowly sitting up with damp dirt clinging onto your bare skin. Taking a glance at the ledge you fell from, an idea popped in your mind. Underneath, it was wide enough to fit your body and deep enough for you to hide in, so long as you could cover yourself up with leaves and dirt. The sound of a gurgling snarl close by meant that you had little time to put your plan into action, and you grabbed the nearby shrubbery in handfuls, crawling into the space as fast as you could.

Laying on your back, your place the gathered materials on your body, completely covered from head to toe. You didn't know how it looked on the outside, but it had to be something that could be overlooked when he was searching around. It had to be because you were not going back, you refused to.

The close rumble of the ground almost had you scream out in terror, but you put your hands over your mouth as tightly as you could, your breaths shaky out of your nose. The thuds grew closer and closer, body jumping with each passing step, and then it stilled. You could slightly see what was going on outside, heart dropping when you immediately spotted him.

The Titan was just standing there, completely still besides his head moving around to scan the area. He must've figured out that your clothing trail had gone cold or that it was fake the entire time, but the one thing you knew was that he was quick to catch up either way. A hissing sound, almost sizzling, broke the silence. You watched as Porco's original body appear out of the creature's upper back, right near the neck.

What. The. Hell.

"You're here, aren't you?" His voice was calm, no hint of frustration or irritation. Porco had too much pride to proven wrong, he was confident that he tracked you in the right spot and you hate that he was correctly onto you.

"Your footsteps stopped not too far from here, y'know. You tryna hide now? Ran out of stamina? Twisted your ankle?"

You clenched your eyes tightly together, praying that he'll give up, that he won't find you. Never in your wretched life have prayed before, but you'd start worshipping the very god that'll manage to make sure that Porco won't look in this shallow cavern.

"Fine. If you don't want to reveal yourself—"

There was another sizzling sound, your eyes opening and seeing that he went back into the body, the creature beginning to move once more. The Titan then opened its bony maw, revealing a second pair of sharper teeth before an ear-bursting screech projected out of it, your hands shooting to your ears to try and cancel out the horrid sound. The scream kept wailing aloud like a never-ending storm alarm, your head beginning to ache. It felt like it was going to pop the longer it went on, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Silence.

There was a slight ringing in your ears, but the screaming was gone and when you looked out of your hidey-hole, he was no longer standing there. Did he actually give up? You stayed still in the divot, head throbbing and heart pounding against your ribcage. You'll even wait until the next morning if it meant for any kind of confirmation that he was gone.

Suddenly, a claw came down on the roof of your cavern, the sharp tips just barely missing your body. It ripped away the dirt and rock, the sunlight blinding you as you sputtered out the pieces that came down on your face from the removal. Complete fear radiated off your expression as its unnerving mask stared down at your trembling form. You... lost.

You think that its — his — eyes were gleaming with glee right now, seeing how pitiful you looked, filthy and damaged. His hand reached for you, body stiffening as the fingers curled around you, picking you out of the hole carefully. The body of the Titan slumped down and the same hissing sound came out of the back of it, Porco reappearing once more.

"Took me only 30 minutes to find you, what a pathetic attempt of a run," He insulted, leaning his body over the fuzzy head of the creature. "Though, I will have to give props to you with the hiding. I wouldn't have spotted you until you moved in the hole from the scream."

"P-please... make this th... thing stop touching me." You almost whispered, the coldness and rough texture of its grip tight around your body. You hated that you were directly forced to stare at it, its eyes blank but still glaring deep within your soul.

"You afraid of it? You scared of the big bad Titan?" Porco taunted, his arm slightly moving and the grip tightening around you even more. You let out a strangled cry, your breathing becoming erratic. The feeling of the jagged bones jutting into your flesh like squeezing a balloon to its limit, the imagery of your organs bursting out of you, began to make you hysterical.

"Please s-st... stop! P-please! I... I don't want to die! Porco, I'm begging you! Get me out!" You started sobbing, blobs of tears flowing down your cheeks. You hated him, but you hated this monster even more. To think that they were truly real, a true threat to your fragile existence, it was something that was horrifyingly difficult to mentally process.

Porco gawked at your sniveling body, not even trying to wiggle out of the Jaw Titan's hand but still crying out to him for his help. This is what he wanted right? To see you completely give up, to depend on his assistance, to save you. He felt so fuzzy and dizzy on the feeling, almost like he drank too much liquor. Just to play around with you a little more, his hand twitched, causing the Titan to squeeze you even more.

You screamed out in fear once the pressure got even more narrow, your cries resonating louder within the deep forest as you simultaneously begged him to stop. Aw, how adorable but alright, he's had his fun for the day. This might've gotten the message across, let's see how long it'll last or else he'll have to do this again and again if he had to.

"Will you finally listen to me?" He finally spoke up, your teary eyes immediately meeting his and nodding furiously without hesitation.

"Yes! Y-yes I will!"

"And what do I want to hear from you?" You sniffled, looking completely drained of all fight.

"I-I'm sorry... s... s-sir. I wo... won't ever do i-it again."

Porco thought he never felt such euphoria in his life until he heard your apology, a wickedly proud grin growing on his face. He pulled himself out of the Jaw Titan's back, watching the creature start to steam and deflate as he reached for you, peeling its fingers off of your body and helping you down. Unexpectedly, you latched onto Porco once you got on the ground, your arms wrapped around him tightly in a vice hug. You... never did that before.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You repeated over and over again, your tears wetting his coat. "I won't fight you again, I-I promise sir."

His hand reached over to your head, light stroking the tangled strands as you trembled against his body. "That's what you get for being a bitchy brat, you don't want me to do it again right?"

You shook your head in response, gripping onto his clothes even tighter at the thought of being chased by that thing again.

"Then you gotta listen to me better, okay? You listen, no Titan. And now that I'm reminded of your bad manners, you've torn up that pretty dress of yours earlier. That wasn't cheap, you ungrateful bitch. How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Worry began to fill up your still-teary expression as you pulled your face out of his shoulder. You were taking every insult with a grain of salt, dismissing them completely. "I-I'll do anything to make it up to you, sir."

Porco really wasn't any different from the devil nuisances down in the slums, an excited shiver going through his system. If you're really offering anything, then he might as well get what he deserved out of you, he's been waiting a year for it after all. He lifted your face with one hand, rubbing away a smudge of dirt off of your skin with his thumb.

"We'll discuss what you can do about it later. Now, let's go home and get ourselves cleaned up, you smell like mud and look like shit." Another apology slipped through your lips as he moved forward with your hand in his, the corners of his mouth curling upwards with pure joy.

The animal within you has become neutralized, the flame dying and being left behind with the fading Titan behind the two of you.

Porco finally got what he paid for.

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Pitaya Dragon x dragon!reader, who turns out to be the actual mother of Snapdragon cookie? Like... reader didn't leave the egg on purpose, something happened and they couldn't really come back to the spot they left the egg at, and they find out that the egg hatched in their absence and now sees Pitaya as their parent, even though reader actually is supposed to be, but they get together and so it kinda works out?

Sorry if this is complete nonsense I'm righting this at 3AM lol

Basic summary of my confusing ramble: a request of headcanons with Pitaya Dragon Cookie x dragon!reader who's Snapdragon cookie's ACTUAL mom

Thx

They will never admit it aloud, but Pitaya Dragon Cookie was absolutely furious when you first revealed yourself to be Snapdragon Cookie's mother. They're attached to the little dragon, and knowing that you just left your egg makes them furious!

Of course, the fact that you didn't realize that it had been that long was quickly revealed. You were being chased by dragon hunters, and with no other option, you had to leave your egg behind. You were too greatly wounded and fell into a hibernation as you healed.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie is a little sorry when they see your sad look when Snapdragon Cookie clings to them instead of you, but they have no idea why they offered to co-parent with you.

Your relationship with them blossoms from there, with you teaching Snapdragon Cookie how to harness their powers while you and Pitaya Dragon Cookie grow ever closer.

When you two do eventually end up together, Snapdragon Cookie is more than elated. They're cheering and whooping, and it lets you both know that you did make the right choice.

[joeyalohadream]

I wish you would write a fic where Bucky gets a call that Gale has been in an accident or something, goes to pick him up, Gale isn’t even badly hurt but Bucky still loses his mind and Gale ends up comforting him lol (if u can’t tell im a sucker for hurt gale and hurt/comfort in general lol) .

Also i saw u posting that u feel like u ramble/write too much and i just wanted to say, im so obsessed with ur writing that i eat up anything u write like if u were to post ur shopping list i would probably read it and love it so PLS ALWAYS WRITE TOO MUCH. Thank u for sharing w us ❤️‍🩹

Hi! So sorry this took me so long!

aaaand thank you so much, anon! Your kind words made me feel all warm and fuzzy! (p.s. my shopping list is cat food and wine LOL). I'm glad you enjoy my rambling!

Here is the fic I wrote for your request! 4,047 words of a bit of angst and fluff and some sweetness. Hope you like it!

If you'd rather read a word count like that on AO3, find it here!

It’s six o’clock and John is hungry.

His day had been a good one, but a long one. Flying right seat to several cadets on their second week of actual flying. Witnessing the joy, the reverence the young pilots had experienced behind the yolk had brought back memories of a time when flying had been his favorite thing in the world. Back before it was tainted by terror and death and dread.

It eases something within him to know that he can still find the beauty in it after years of growing to hate something that had once been the thing that made him feel alive.

But it’s Friday night now and his feet will be firmly on the ground for the weekend. A weekend that was supposed to start with a homecooked meal, lovingly prepared by Gale.

With Gale in school and John working full-time, they spend most of their week like passing ships. Evenings are typically a rushed affair of leftovers or a meet-up at the diner half way between the base and Gale’s campus.

Friday nights are John’s favorite though. Gale is out of class by three and home by four. He spends the two hour stretch of time between then and John’s arrival at six cooking the most delicious meals John has ever tasted. A skill he’d developed while trying, and mostly succeeding, in putting some meat back on to their bones after they came home.

But it’s six o’clock and there is no dinner waiting for him. The lights are all off and Gale’s truck is not in the driveway.

He walks through the house, turning on a lamp here, flipping a switch there and tries to temper the feeling of dread that starts prickling under his skin.

After everything they’d been through, it had taken them both a significant amount of time to quell the unrealistic expectation that something was wrong whenever they weren’t within sight of each other.

Neither of them had fully managed to overcome it. Gale calls his office at least twice a week from the payphone at school between classes just to say hello.

John pours himself a glass of water and takes a sip, leaning against the freshly painted cabinets. The soft green hue offers a peaceful warmth in the small kitchen. It had been their project last weekend.

Gale sometimes stays late after his lecture to help some of the younger students that struggle with the concepts. His genius.

But he doesn’t do that on Fridays because Friday nights are their nights.

So why isn’t he here?

He pushes off the counter and takes two steps to the icebox. Opening it reveals the steaks that Gale had prepped for tonight. He contemplates getting them out and trying his hand at making the meal but shuts the door and the thought down immediately.

Despite spending his time practically draped over Gale’s back, chin hooked over his shoulder on the Friday evenings he is home in time to watch him cook, John hadn’t managed to pick up the skill.

Instead of studying the technique, he studies Gale’s confident movements as he chops and tenderizes and slices and measures and stirs. Gale’s hands create nourishment for them while his own hands typically trace the soft skin a Gale’s still too flat belly, the delicate curve of his trim waist, sometimes drifting to skim his pert rear if Gale lets him get away with it.

The thoughts bring a smile to his face. But looking at the clock on the wall that tells him Gale is now over two hours late wipes it away.

He walks back to the front door and out onto the porch to stare down the long driveway that leads up to their home, willing headlights to turn onto it. But time ticks by and the sun is dipping lower on the horizon and Gale still isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

John knows the route Gale takes to and from campus. He’d driven him several times back before they’d acquired a second truck. He fingers the keys in his pocket, wondering how much Gale would rib him for driving the hour to his school when it turns out he just lost track of time.

But it’s Friday night and Gale doesn’t lose track of time, especially when time is leading to them spending their evening wrapped around each other.

John flinches as the silence of the evening is interrupted by the sound of their telephone ringing in the kitchen. Relief floods him a moment later and he slams the screen door open and takes long strides back into the house.

“You better have a good explanation for why I’m not eating a big, juicy steak right now,” he says into the receiver, a smile already pulling at his lips as he waits for Gale’s exasperated tone to filter back through to him.

But there’s silence for a beat and then a throat is cleared and then John’s heart starts to pound a little faster.

“Um, hello,” a voice that is distinctly not Gale comes through the connection. “Is this John Egan?”

“Yes,” John replies, switching the phone to his other hand, hoping it’s less wet. It’s not. “Who’s this?”

“I’m a nurse at Lakeside Memorial,” she supplies and John’s knees go weak. “I’m calling because your friend, Gale Cleven, was brought in about an hour ago. He was in an accident.”

Words won’t form, but some unintelligible noise escapes his mouth in response. For a moment, he’s not in their softly lit, freshly painted kitchen. He’s in a phone booth in London and it’s the worst moment of his life.

He went down swingin’.

The cord stretches its length as his legs decide to stop functioning and he slides down to the floor, back pressed against the green cabinet doors.

“Mr. Egan, are you still there?”

Is he? Or is he back on the bombed-out streets of a city he never should have gone to?

“I’m here,” he grinds out as he closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. Pictures Gale in front of him, one hand planted on his chest, the other cradling his cheek. Breathe, darlin’, he’d say. He’s said it to him countless times since they’d reunited back in the Stalag. He’s said it to him in their bedroom, in their yard, in this kitchen. He needs to know if he’ll ever hear him say it again. “Is he okay?”

“I can’t give out medical information over the phone,” the nurse tells him, and John tightens his grip on the phone, anger rising, but she continues before he can spew it over the line. “But Mr. Cleven asked me to call you himself.”

He takes a deep breath, the slightest bit of relief mixing with the dread coiling itself around his heart.

“You understand?” The nurse’s voice is back in his ear. She couldn’t tell him how he was, but she told him enough to let him know that he was well enough to be talking and that’s enough for him to know that Gale is still here. He nods and then remembers he’s alone.

“Yes, I understand,” he says. “Lakeside Memorial?”

“That’s correct,” she confirms, sounding patient. John imagines she makes these calls every day. He wouldn’t like that job. “Come in through the emergency room doors and we’ll get you sorted.”

“Thank you,” his voice wobbles a bit too much, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. There’s a click over the line that tells him she’s hung up, so he lets the phone drop and then presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and presses hard. He chokes on his next inhale and feels his shoulders shake.

But Gale needs him. He’s hurt and he wants John to come to him and he needs to get up off this floor, right now.

The room sways a bit as he gets to his feet, head feeling fuzzy. He thinks maybe he hasn’t been breathing correctly since the nurse’s voice came through the phone instead of Gale’s.

Breathe, darlin’.

In through his nose, out through his mouth. It helps a bit.

----

Physically, He slides into the driver’s seat of their new pick-up truck and starts the engine. That phone call left him with only questions and his hands sweat as they grip the leather of the steering wheel. His foot feels numb as he presses it to the gas in order to go find answers.

Mentally, he’s sliding into his seat on a train car that’s leading him to a destination with no answers to be had, no sweet smile or soft laughter or dazzling blue eyes waiting for him. No joy, only pain. No Gale. Because he went down swingin’.

The crushing sadness that had invaded every nerve in his system after he’d walked out of that phone booth all those years ago suddenly feels like it never went away. Like he could wake up and realize that this year of domestic bliss hadn’t happened. Like Gale wasn’t his and Gale wasn’t here, and Gale wasn’t anywhere. He shakes his head, as if he could physically knock the horrible images out of his mind.

Headlights shine through his windshield, streetlamps coming on along the road as the sun continues setting. He knows the way to the emergency room. It’s on the way to Gale’s campus. His body operates on auto pilot to get him there, his head is in the clouds or in the dirt or somewhere else entirely.

He needs Gale to be okay. It’s hard to breathe again.

Gale would be so angry at him for driving like this. Gale will be so angry with him for driving like this.

----

It takes him a moment to realize why every head in the room turns to him when he walks through the door. His hands shake as he straightens out his uniform jacket and runs fingers through his curls, realizing he forgot his cap. Not very officer-like to be out in public without the proper uniform.

To his surprise, it takes barely a word from him for a young orderly to lead him to Gale. No argument about how he’s not family, even though he is Gale’s only family. No odd looks about why it isn’t Gale’s wife or mother or father coming to see him.

He thinks his feet might be numb and he finds that odd, but they still put in the work and follow the man in scrubs to a row of curtained off exam rooms. Further relief crackles in his chest when he realizes they’re headed for one specific curtain. Gale isn’t in surgery or in a private room. He’s in the same kind of place John had sat a few months ago when he’d needed stiches on his thumb.

Maybe he’s okay.

Please be okay.

His heart rate increases as the orderly gestures him forward and then turns to leave. He takes a steadying breath, ducks around the fabric and is greeted with two sky-blue eyes and a sheepish looking smile directed his way.

“You’re here,” Gale breathes out, the sound of utter relief in his voice. John stares at him. He thinks the numbness in his feet might be creeping up into the rest of his body. “John?”

The small smile Gale had thrown him upon his arrival is wiped away as concern twists his features and John wants to laugh but all he can do is stare for some reason. He’s staring intently at the younger man, watches as his brows furrows and he shifts on the plastic wrapped table he’s sitting on.

“John,” Gale tries again, a wince pulling his features down for a moment. “You with me?”

The curtain draws open. The shrill sound of the metal rings grating against the pole makes John cringe and snap his gaze away from Gale to take in the sight of a white-haired nurse with a friendly smile, kind eyes and a clipboard in her hand.

“Is this the friend you mentioned?” She addresses Gale, walking over to where he’s sitting awkwardly hunched on the exam table. “The one you served with?”

John swallows and straightens his shoulders as the nurse’s eyes find his. He hears Gale clear his throat and mutter a quiet, “yes, ma’am.”

His hands are sweating where they hang uselessly at his sides. He can breathe easier than he managed to on the drive over, now that he has Gale in his sights, but his heartbeat is too fast, rabbiting away in chest like its being chased by a predator. His eyes flit from the nurse to Gale and back again and he knows he should speak, but his tongue feels heavy, and his mouth is dry, and he feels like maybe he should be the one sitting on the exam table.

“Nurse Amy,” Gale comes to his rescue. “This is John Egan. John, this is Nurse Amy. She’s the one that called you after making sure I was alright.”

Gale is looking at him with understanding and patience, concern and a little bit of what looks like desperation. His beautiful face is all bruised up, small cuts around his temple. Just like Regensburg. There’s blood on the collar of his shirt, not a lot, but it’s Gale’s and it’s not supposed to be on the outside of him, not ever again.

John’s breath hitches and Gale leans forward, eyes softening. “Which I am, John. I’m alright.”

He hears the nurse make a tutting sound, but he can’t take his eyes off Gale again. Ever again, maybe.

“X-rays came back, Mr. Cleven,” she says, all business. “You were correct in your self-assessment. No broken bones.” John watches as Gale nods as her, but his eyes immediately drift back to John. “But you do have a slight hairline fracture in your wrist, so we’ll need to wrap it.”

“Fine,” Gale clips out, polite but impatient. “Can you just give us a few minutes? Need to talk to my friend here about the truck.”

“I’ll be back in ten to wrap that wrist up for you, try to keep it still,” she agrees and then she’s gone and they’re alone.

“I don’t care about the damn truck,” John finally finds his voice, even if it sounds rough to his own ears.

“I know that,” Gale cocks his head a bit, his own voice sounds a little off now that John’s ears aren’t ringing as badly as before. “What’d you want me to tell her? Get out so I can have a moment alone with my fella?”

John wants to laugh; he loves it when Gale teases him. But a choking sound comes out instead and he shakes his head and just breathes. Gale starts to slide off the table and it makes John stumble forward, hands outstretched.

“Wait,” he says as he reaches Gale’s knees. He looks him over again, hating the evidence of any kind of violence on a man as sweet and gentle as Gale. “Just, stay there. Don’t move.”

“John, I’m fine,” Gale reaches out with his left hand, his right laying motionless across his lap. John’s eyes trace over the abraded skin and the already swollen looking joint. “Can you say the same?”

John pulls a face but can’t contradict the man sitting in front of him. He needs to pull himself together. Gale is here, he’s not blown to bits over Germany or lost behind enemy lines. But any kind of unknown right now is too much for John. He places a hand over one of Gale’s knees, lets his thumb start a back-and-forth motion, lets the repetitiveness of it soothe them both.

“You’re in the emergency room,” John points out. “People that are ‘fine’ don’t really get brought here.”

“Wasn’t my choice,” Gale grumbles, looking petulant and John kind of wants to shake him a bit. “You looked worse than me when you walked in here. Are you okay?”

“Tell me about all this?” He motions to Gale’s face, frowning and ignoring how Gale looks annoyed at him for brushing past his own question.

“Just got a bit banged up,” Gale tells him. John squeezes his knee and eases a bit at the eye roll it gets him. “Hit my head on the window when I hit the tree.”

“You hit a tree?”

“So that I wouldn’t hit the dog that ran out in front of me.”

And John wants to reprimand him. Wants to remind him that it’s a golden rule on the road not to swerve and cause more damage just to avoid an animal. But he also knows that the man in front of him would rather suffer these consequences than to ever take the life of someone’s pet. It’s one of the thousands of things he loves about him.

“Of course,” he returns, finally allowing a small smile to graze his own lips. It wobbles a bit at the look of relief it brings out in Gale’s eyes. “You’re really okay?”

“Mild concussion and a bruised jaw and you heard about the wrist. Everything else is superficial, I promise.” Gale tries to soothe, but all John can think of is how much worse this could have been. He closes his eyes, his breathing picks up a bit and then there’s a warm pressure on his chest and a matching one on his cheek.

“Breathe, darlin’,” Gale’s low voice whispers out between them and John shudders, letting his weight fall forward a bit against the strength behind Gale’s hand. “Just breathe. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

It takes him a few moments to grasp it, to accept it. Gale is hurt. But he’s okay. He’s going to be okay. The dueling sensations of relief and fear war inside of him to brew a nasty storm that leaves him feeling exhausted.

“This one really freaked you out, huh?” A thumb strokes over his cheek and John leans into the sensation. “I’m sorry, John.”

“God, baby,” John lets out on an exhale, opening his eyes and finding those beautiful blues looking right back at him. “I think I’m gonna have to homeschool you from now on. Can’t let you outta my sight.”

Soft huffs of laughter ripple from Gale and he looks up at him, amusement dancing across his face. “You an expert in advanced physics, Major?”

“You might just have to switch your major, Major.”

Gale grins at him and shakes his head and it feels so good to make him happy. It’s John’s favorite thing in the world.

“How about we settle for you driving me around again for a while? Just like old times,” Gale asks. “I might’ve totaled the truck.”

John nods an affirmative, ignoring the way the mention of their truck makes his pulse spike unpleasantly again. Gale removes his hand from his face, a grimace pulling at his brows as he lowers the injured limb back to lap.

“She told you to keep that still,” John chides, feeling foolish for not remembering sooner. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

Gale smiles up at him, a little innocent, a little playful.

“Whatever you want, John.”

This time the spike in his pulse is a pleasant one as he imagines all of the ways he can take of this man in the coming days.

“I’m holding you to that,” John tells him. It’s his turn now to reach out and cradle a bruised jaw, he frowns again at the bruising painted across the delicate skin and lets his thumb caress it for a moment. Gale’s eyes fall shut.

“It’s almost been ten minutes, Bucky.”

“I know, Buck.” He leans down and presses his lips to Gale’s forehead, lets them linger for a moment. Then another. Noses his blond hair and breathes him in. Overly bright blue eyes watch him step a respectable distance away to await Nurse Amy’s return.

He feels unsteady, but less like he might shake apart. Gale smiles at him from the table and he feels a little better.

----

Nearly an hour later, Gale’s wrist has been splinted and wrapped, he’s holding a bottle of painkillers that John knows he’ll have to fight to get him to take and he’s clumsily signed the abundance of paperwork with his left hand. It’s completely dark when they exit the emergency room, walking close enough together that their shoulders brush as they move.

A few steps from the truck, Gale stops in his tracks and John halts to match him, worry ratcheting back up.

“It’s Friday night,” Gale mutters, sounding a little frail. John pictures them savoring steaks and roasted vegetables and a pie after dinner and understands where his thoughts have strayed. After living in such a state of hypervigilance with stakes too high to contemplate for years of their lives, they now take the time to enjoy every slow moment of peace they can get together. Missing one feels monumental sometimes. John will just have to make this weekend one to remember.

“Hey,” John reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow and the next day. And every day after that.”

Gale gives him a small smile, nods and lets John usher him to the truck, waiting patiently for John to open the passenger door for him. He stops again, one leg in the truck and looks back at John, brows pulled down in a frown.

“Are you sure you’re good to drive?”

John can’t help but laugh. “What? Are you going to drive us home, Mr. Concussion?”

“It’s only a mild one,” Gale grumbles. John rolls his eyes and pushes Gale up and into his seat, shutting the door on him before he can protest.

When he gets himself behind the wheel, Gale’s hand covers his before he can put the key into the ignition.

“Buck,” John starts, but one look at the concern in Gale’s eyes stops him from complaining.

“Think maybe, you started panicking when that nurse called ya.” There’s understanding in Gale’s gaze and John swallows heavily, images of a phone booth blurring with their soft green cabinets. “And I don’t know if you’ve really stopped yet. I hate the thought of you driving over here like that.”

And John understands where he’s coming from. They both have their bad days. They’re growing less frequent all the time, but they’ve been a witness to nightmares, to bouts of sadness and rage and fear and panic. He hates to see Gale like that, and John knows the feeling is mutual. The thought of it happening while one of them is alone is a reality they have to live with.

“I had to, Buck,” John points out. He doesn’t bother denying the allegation. “The only way I was going to be okay was to make sure you were okay.”

Gale ducks his head slightly for a moment, still not used to being the most important person in anybody’s world. But John’s been slowly teaching him how to accept it and he can’t help but smile when tired blue eyes lift back up to meet his.

“Slide your sweet self over here and let me feel ya while I drive,” Johns lifts his arm and rests it along the back of the bench seat. “That’ll be enough to keep my head on straight while I get us home.”

A moment of contemplation later, Gale slides over until his shoulder is tucked under John’s armpit. He rests his uninjured hand on John’s thigh, fingers gripping the fabric of his trousers and John smiles into his hair before reaching around him to start the truck.

“Take the back roads?” Gale looks up at him through his lashes and John’s heart rate finally settles into a normal rhythm now that it’s reason for beating is resting against him.

“You read my mind, sweetheart,” John presses his lips to the top of his head and turns onto the unlit road leading away from town, away from prying eyes.

Gale turns his body slightly on the seat and makes himself comfortable, settles with his head pillowed on John’s chest, arm draped over his waist. John lets his arm rest around his back, holding him close and planning on never letting him go.

[cossmoluck]

FINALLY finished this

turns out soon means one week+ in my little lizard brain, that's cool

anyways!!! meg

megalo don content,,, food

also, as a treat for making myself take so much to finish this, some of my AU lore rambling thing under the cut (warning, pretty long)

in my design, most of his exterior Nitro armor is removable, being an extension of the augument inside his body, which pumps Nitro both through his lungs and bloodstream, crossing from front to back through his torso. His tubes would be attached to certain openings around his body, which could also have 'lids' put on for safe closing. Every area where the Nitro pumps directly into his body would have 'Nitro burn'- a less proeminent glow than the one in his fueled up form. I, as many others also do, like to think that his mask actually comes off (I haven't drawn him unmaksed yet, but I'll get to that too eventually). One headcanon I have is that when you take his medallion in game, what you take is actually his mask and use it.

For his body I went for a slightly leaner strongman build, as he doesn't seem way too bulky in his non-fueled form, but he's still considerably bigger than most others. I tried to give him a 'scarred shark' look, and gave him burn scars on one arm from a misfiring Nitro Fist hit accident

also his hair look so so fluffy in game and for WHAT

(note, this is all to be taken as an AU. i am by no means well versed enough in Fortnite lore to make something close to canon or actual on point headcanons lol,,, tl;dr at the bottom!!)

i feel like the whole theory with Meg and big chuggus being somehow related is true, but not necessarily in the way others present it usually i don't think they're snapshots of each other in any way, i just think that they've been basically created 'for the same purpose', maybe in the different 'realities?' I'm not 100% sure how the zero point reset worked considering Midas was technically the same and all

so let's say Chaos had created the Slurp legends and Slurp creatures back during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict i like to think that Meg might have been created sometime during then too- a more refined variant of the technology used on big chuggus, enough for him not to end up as brain dead as big chuggus himself (sorry big chuggus)

Megalo Don could have been a fleet leader for the naval forces, as he has an overall very reoccurring military theme with his insignia and stuff. Maybe he was hired by Chaos to aid him and willingly allowing Chaos to modify him into the 'perfect leader', boosted by slurp into near perfection I believe his Oasis style would be what his 'original' look was, with Slurp coursing through his pumps instead of Nitro

so how did he turn into the Meg we know? during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict, his crew got destroyed, probably, and they somehow ended up punished to the Pandora's Box, but not dead like Midas, just punished there I like to think that there is not only one Pandora's Box, technically, and that they're basically some sort of even higher security 'prison' for things deemed disasters under certain circumstances, putting mortal beings into their own personal hell. The ones imprisoned in the Pandora's Box arent necessarily 'dead', like shade Midas in the Underworld, but they're not alive in the full sense either. This particular Nitro filled Pandora's Box sprouted there, leaving behind veins of pure Nitro in the depths of the earth through which the Box had erupted.

in the Pandora's Box, stuck in an infinite purgatory loop of fighting and dying, the slurp that fueled his crew quite literally rotted into Nitro, and Megalo Don himself basically 'rusted' from the rot. The Nitro, essence of death, in a way, compared to Slurp, slowly and surely altered Meg's brain, turning him from a calculated leader into a terrifying tyrant, with nihilistic views regarding his crew and conquest, as he saw them all die over and over again… Another case of 'rotten' slurp beings being Sludge, maybe, as he could perhaps be read as a Slurp creature gone 'bad' (slurp to nitro)

Meg's mind got clouded with the only thing he could comprehend anymore- Nitro coursing through his veins, through his ship, through anything in the living hell he experienced in the Pandora's Box. (Ultrakill flesh prison sounding aah) Obtained by conquest or murder, with destruction being the only method he could even comprehend using to get it, his very life seeming to depend on Nitro at that point, and being released into the world again brought him bo purpose than to seize back all of his Nitro and keep fighting more and more

after he and his crew escaped from the Pandora's Box, Meg had intercepted a boat droning the Island from SHADOW, which had went to scout out Helios after Midas' escape from The Underworld, unaware of the Pandora's Box opening right then, and getting caught in the sandstorm. Meg had just the luck to capture Chaos (or a snapshot), the very man who had taken away his humanity and turned him into a (now) Nitro-fueled beast. From them he also took the island plans, which helped his crew settle in as fast as they did, the Redline Rig digging for Nitro the very moment they got there and the Nitrodrome building itself over the abandoned Fencing Fields, repurposing the fizz machinery there into the dome's car destruction traps

i also like to think that Meg has a father/daughters bond with Scarr and the Machinist, with the Machinist maybe being one of the original scientists on Chaos' team, whom had helped him stabilize his new equipment at the time, and Scarr being a dedicated member of his fleet since before getting banished into the Pandora's Box. Initially, both Scarr and the Machinist would have admired him for his courageous leadership and respected him as a leader, but through their decline in the Pandora's Box, their found family bond only strengthened, with the two of them being probably his only subordinates he actually cares about

i also like to imagine that he had made most of the transmissions particularly silly in hopes of having them tune in on either patrol or at the Nitrodrome and make them laugh with the over the top commentary

tl;dr: i headcanon megalo don as an ex-slurp legend made by Chaos who had rotted to nitro in the Pandora's Box. His Oasis style is what he looked like pre-Box. Also the Mechanist and Ringmaster Scarr are his found family daughters