#listen listen i think i really cooked with this one

[08crll]

🎨💐 246; GYEONG-SEOK HEADCANONS.

sfw & nsfw! <3

desc: 1.9k words. i NEED this man, i wish he was real. an angel loses its wings everytime this man gets written ooc 💔 so hopefully this one is in character.

sfw. gender-neutral!reader.

★ this man LOOOOVES cuddles. look at him. it doesn’t matter if you prefer being the big spoon or the Iittle spoon一he just wants to feel you close to him before he sleeps and when he wakes up.

★ he's probably a little touch starved too. but he would never say it, not because he doesn’t want to appear weak or anything, he just doesn’t want to scare you away.

★ if u were to ask him what his love language was, he��d say it was quality time or acts of service but, really, that’s only what be wants to provide that for his partner. what he really want is physical touchh:( and words of affirmation!!

★ crafty guy. he would make u cards, letters and those paper origami flowers. it doesn't even have to be on special occasions, sometimes you just come home from your work and he surprises you with a new paper craft he discovered. made out of anything he could recycle. be it a receipt, a paper bag, newspaper.

★ very touchy. but not in a bad way. always asking if you're okay with it.

★ this man probably gets all flushed and shy when you call him handsome.

call him your good looking boy and he already has that sweet smile you always loved to see. burying his face on your shoulder as you run your fingers through his hair.

“what’s with all your sweet words?” his voice muffled by your shirt. you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“can i not call you handsome?”

“aahh.. quit it,” he rolled his eyes, pushing you down the couch and peppering your face with kisses.

★ loves hugging you from behind, especially when you cook or you’re at the grocery store. you’d be looking at the list of things you needed to restock on while he pushed the cart not too far behind you.

was it powder or liquid detergent? you thought to yourself, pulling out the list from the back pocket of your pants. then, out of nowhere do you feel arms around your waist, warm hands settling on your hips. “where's our cart?” you murmured with a smile. gosh, you were just starting to freeze under the cold air conditioner of this damn store.

“its fine. ‘just right behind us,” gyeong-seok reassures you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. he really couldn’t care less if people stare. he wants them to see how much he loves you. “is this okay..?” he whispered, his breath tickling your jaw.

you just chuckle, not bothering to give him a verbal response. instead, you lean back into his touch. your back pressed against his chest. his lips curled into a sheepish smile, pulling his head up to place a soft kiss on that sensitive spot of your neck.

★ definitely has multiple drawings and doodles of you in his sketchpad. never shows you because he’s afraid you might think he’s being a bit much.

★ musician!reader & him? perfect pair. art recognises art! when he hears you playing your instrument in a different room, he immediately drops whatever he’s doing and carefully walks to where you were to watch you do your stuff. if na-yeon is home, he’d definitely bring her with him.

★ always has his eyes on you even during times when he probably shouldn’t, like when the two of you are having a conversation with na-yeon’s teacher about how well she’s been doing in her classes. or when you were having dinner with your parents. you were explaining how you met him and he just admires you like he’s looking at you for the very first time.

★ adding onto the previous one, because of how often he just stares at you; you often mistook this as him spacing out and not listening but he actually was listening to every single word you said. your voice sounded like heaven to him, how could he not? when you ask him to recite what you just said, you were surprised to see how he got it right, word for word.

★ definitely the type to go out of his way to do something because he thinks you’d like it. during one of your library dates, he catches you picking up a book about poetry, complimenting the work inside and how beautiful people write when they’re in love. after that day, he definitely went home and wrote multiple poem drafts about you.

★ speaking of dates!! this man would be the type to apologise to you because he can’t take you to those fancy restaurants. you had to remind him multiple times that eating at fine dinings wasn’t really your thing anyway, that it made you self-conscious to be around such fancy people. he frowned, thinking you were just saying that so he’d stop apologising and you knew just how to cure that.

“you know.. i always did have a soft spot for library dates.”

his face lit up and ever since then, he never forgets to take you on your weekly library dates. it was a good place to unwind as well. killing one bird with two stones; spending quality time with you knowing that you actually enjoy being here, and being able to have some peace and quiet.

★ the protective and worried type!! always texting “are you home?” after dropping you off at your place. “are you tired? do you want to sleep?” as much as he’d love to text you up until the early morning even if it meant he had no sleep when he got to work tomorrow, he doesn’t want you to be sleep deprived.

★ i’ve seen other ppl say this and i just can’t get it out of my head; he’s probably insecure about himself whenever you introduce him to your friends and your family :(

when you invite him to attend a dinner party, telling him it was just a get together with some old friends from your hometown, he misheard you.

“you should definitely go! i know how much you miss your friends,” he beamed, giving you a thumbs up.

you furrowed your brows. “honey.. wait, no, i want you to come with me, yeah?”

he looks at you confused. you want to bring him with you? for what? he was never the type to be jealous of you attending events by yourself. maybe it was because he trusted you or maybe because he didn’t want to hold you back. he knew you to be too good for him. a single father, struggling to make ends meet and provide for his sickly daughter—it wouldn’t be much of a shock to him if you ghosted him out of nowhere or if you leave him for another person. please give this man some reassurance!!! :(

★ always wakes up before you in the morning. his fingers trailing across your face while he admires the way the sun shines behind you making it look like you were glowing. he really doesn’t know what he did to deserve you, but my god, did he consider himself the luckiest man alive for that reason.

★ loves it when you cup his face with both your hands. he’ll have the biggest and silliest smile on his face when you do so.

nsfw! gender-neutral & fem!reader.

★ a soft dom, but would gladly be submissive if you asked.

★ as we already know, he’s a very good listener, even in bed. he’s always listening to the way you moan, the sound of your whine, the pitch. does flicking his tongue feel good? he’d ask but he had a feeling that the sound of you already gave him the answer.

★ probably would prefer to be intimate in comfortable spaces. although he would never object if you offered to give him a quickie, each time he’d remind you of how you never needed to do this. that he’d take care of it himself.

“you don’t have to. it’ll go away. i can—”

“i want to. please?”

how could he say no to those eyes?

★ prioritizes your comfort above anything else, above his own. if you were in an awkward place, but you really needed to get off—needed him—he would hold your hand firmly. “i’ll take you home, come on,” he’d say as he pulls you next to him.

★ loooves having you ride him, but he worries that it’ll tire you out too much

★ when your face gets sweaty, hair clinging to your forehead with your mouth open, he makes sure to brush your hair back with his fingers. he wants to see your flushed and fucked out face clearly, wants to see if he’s doing good

★ always preps you beforehand. he can’t stand the thought of hurting you, even IF you’ve done it countless times before.

reaching for the zipper of his jeans as he gently swats your hand away. “i need to prep you first, honey..” he cooed, pulling your pants down. he knows how eager you are, but he needs to take care of you first.

★ the only times he wouldn’t prep you would probably be when he’d be the sub. you ordering him around, telling him what to do and what not to do

★ subtle touches doesn’t get him turned on right away (he’s more mature than that. he’s not a pervert) this probably also means that he’s a little oblivious to your advances, you’d have to tell him directly what you needed or wanted of him and watch as his eyes widen, looking around to see if na-yeon heard the two of you. “honey.. are you sure?”

★ there would be times when you’d show off your skin and instead of him getting aroused, he’d just be in awe of your beauty. i mean, he probably IS aroused but he just doesn’t go insane over it.

★ breeding kink, FOR SURE, but he always asks first.

“can i come in you, baby? please?”

“i’m so close.. ‘so close..”

“pleaseee...” paired by him whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

★ doesn’t like BDSM. i mean, he’s a father now. also hates the thought of hurting you purposefully. he’d also probably never say it, but he doesn’t like getting degraded as well :( just give this man some praises, he’s already sad enough as is!

★ saw ppl saying he has a daddy kink and im just like nooooo 💔💔 he has a daughter that literally calls him daddy, why would he ever want you to call him that in the bedroom?

★ his rhythm would be slow and gentle, wanting to feel all of you and be with you in the moment. you would have to beg this man to go faster

★ the type to hold your hair back during blowjobs. he’d probably accidentally pull on it when you flick your tongue over his tip, but apologies would quickly come spilling out of his lips.

“‘m sorry.. sorry, honey.. i didn’t mean to.. fuck, that felt good..”

★ always reminding you of how beautiful you are while his cock is buried deep inside you.

“you’re so beautiful like this.. taking me in so well..”

“yes, that’s it.. c’mon.. you’re so pretty..”

★ he makes sure you come before he does, and when he does come (whether it’s in you or on you) he takes a minute afterwards to take a breath while you feel his cock still half-hard inside you.

“i love you so much.”

“you did so good f’me..”

★ aftercare king 🫡🫡

a/n: there are literally no fics of him (x reader) on ao3 so i have turned to tumblr bc tumblr RARELY disappoints when it comes to content for side characters 🙏

[thoughtfulfiction]

While We’re Young

Author’s note: Anon requested, Hope you all enjoy!

“Wait,” you said, your voice breaking the comfortable silence in the car. You twisted one of your hoodie strings around your finger, tightening your grip on it and staring at Justin as if the realization had just crashed into you. “What if they don’t like me?”

Justin glanced over, his brows furrowing before his expression softened. His hand found its place on your thigh, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern through the fabric of your leggings. You were convinced that his soothing touch could change lives. “They’re going to love you,” he said simply, as though it wasn’t even a question. “My mom’s already planning to interrogate you about your favorite foods so she can cook for you. That’s her love language.”

You wanted to believe him, but your mind was already racing. “I mean, what if they think I’m not good enough for you? Or—oh god—what if I say something stupid and embarrass myself? Bad first impressions are impossible to recover from, and if this doesn't go the way we hope…” You trailed off, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten.

At the next stoplight, Justin leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “First of all, you couldn’t embarrass yourself even if you tried. And second, I’ve seen you charm complete strangers. My family doesn’t stand a chance.”

Despite his confidence, your nerves didn’t fully settle. “Thanks, babe,” you murmured, managing a small smile. “But what am I supposed to do with the next thirteen hours? That’s so much time for me to go through worse case scenarios.”

“And to make me listen to your Sad Girl playlist,” Justin switched gears to remind you, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Oh, absolutely.” You laughed, connecting your phone to his car’s Bluetooth, taking a break from your negative self-talk. The opening chords of your favorite melancholic ballad filled the car as you leaned back in your seat.

Justin groaned dramatically but didn’t complain. Instead, he reached over to squeeze your hand, the warmth of his skin a quiet and comforting reassurance that you’d carry with you all the way to Eugene.

The fact that he was bringing you was a big deal already but to know that he’d only really done this a couple times made you feel special. Even if he didn’t really say it, he was falling for you just as much as you were falling for him.

Justin pulled you out of your thoughts when he asked, “are you hungry at all? Because I’m thinking about stopping somewhere. I’m starving.”

“Oh yeah, lunch sounds good. I think I saw a Wingstop sign towards this next exit but I can look it up.”

You opted to sit in the car and eat, giving him a long winded breakdown of what you wanted to do and see in Eugene.

“I want the works. Walk me down memory lane. And definitely take me to Nike. It honestly feels illegal not to go to a Nike store where it all started. I’m sure you’re looking to add to your endless collection anyway.” You note with a laugh. If Nike made suits, he'd definitely be first in line.

He gave you a pointed look. “It was an endless collection until I met and started dating a thief. Do you know how many of my sweatshirts I found in your closet this morning while helping you pack? I was looking for the purple one for weeks.”

You laughed so hard you nearly choked on your fries, swapping spots with him after lunch so he could take a break from driving. “Well I’m sorry! It’s not my fault your clothes are so big and they smell like you. Anytime you’re gone I just throw one on and it’s like you’re always with me.”

“Nice save…Catwoman.”

You scoff. “I prefer Robin Hood, actually. Take from the rich and give to the poor. You’re rich, so I take from you and...give to me. The poor.”

“That would work better if I didn’t get most of that stuff for free, but that is a pretty solid comparison.”

After about 8 hours of you being on aux, you decided to cut him so slack and let him take over on music as you continued to drive, mouthing the lyrics of the latest song that was playing from his phone, quickly getting lost in the rhythm.

He glanced over at you, chuckling softly, nodding his head along to the beat. “I didn’t know you were an 80s rock fan.”

“I didn’t either but you played this a few weeks ago while we were making dinner and I’ve been listening to it ever since. Hate to admit it but this is kind of a banger." You smirked, tilting your head toward him. "You know…I won’t tell anyone if you sing.”

Justin immediately starts shaking his head. “No shot. You’re not doing this to me.”

You turned up the music, singing loudly and deliberately off-key as he sighed deeply, his head dropping back against the headrest. But to your surprise, he joined in during the chorus. Both of you were screaming the lyrics to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard, the car practically vibrating with your energy.

“What happens on the road trip stays on the road trip,” he said, holding out his pinky.

“Deal,” you laughed, locking your pinky with his before refocusing on the road.

A few hours later, Justin motioned for you to take the next exit. “Let’s hop out right here. I want to show you something,” he said cryptically.

The stop turned out to be a scenic lookout, the perfect place to watch the sunset with Mt. Shasta looming majestically in the distance. Justin laced his fingers with yours as the two of you walked toward the edge, stretching your legs after hours in the car.

“This is the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen,” you whispered, mesmerized by the golden and pink hues painting the sky.

Justin turned to you with a warm smile, his eyes full of something that made your stomach flutter. “Yeah… me too.”

You smacked his arm, keeping your gaze on the horizon. “Justin, focus. You’re not even looking at the scenery right now.”

“Sorry, I just got really distracted by the view in front of me. It’s kind of become my favorite.” He stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. His beard—something that came and went whenever he felt like it—tickled your temple, making you smile.

Turning around in his arms, you finally look up at him, the sight still stealing your breath even after all this time. His green eyes were softer in the glow of the setting sun, flickering between your eyes and lips as if he couldn’t decide where to focus.

“You’re my favorite view too,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Wouldn’t mind waking up to you for a while...the rest of my life even.”

The words hung in the air, fragile yet heavy with meaning. His brows lifted slightly, and for a moment, you worried you’d said too much. You hadn't even meant to say that last part out loud and you almost backtracked. But then, his lips curled into a small, hesitant smile, like he was processing the weight of your words.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and steady. His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “You—you see us doing this? Getting married, spending our lives together?”

The vulnerability in his tone made your heart ache in the best way. “Yeah, I do. Which is funny because I’ve never actually been with someone that I see a real future with.”

Justin didn’t respond immediately, but his actions spoke louder than any words ever could. His hands slid to frame your face fully, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if memorizing every detail. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to—but you didn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, it was soft and deliberate, like he was pouring everything he felt but couldn’t say into that one kiss. It wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was the kind of kiss that made the world fade away until it was just the two of you.

His hand gently cradled your head, holding you in place as if he was afraid you might slip away. You gripped the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, your heart racing as the kiss deepened. There was something so raw, so unspoken in the way his lips moved against yours—it wasn’t just passion; it was promise. Everything you saw, this bright beautiful future together? He saw it too.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting together. He let out a shaky laugh, his hands still cradling your face. “I’ve never actually been with someone that I see a real future with either,” he admitted, his voice hoarse but filled with a quiet certainty. “Until now.”

The kiss lingered for just a moment longer, both of you savoring the connection, the sound of your heartbeat matching the rhythm of your breath. When Justin finally pulled back, there was a brief moment of silence, a quiet understanding between you. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, giving you a small smile before pulling away completely to open the door of the car.

“I think we’ve stalled long enough,” he said, his voice a bit rougher than usual but still carrying that calm confidence you admired. “Let’s get this over with.”

You both shared a laugh, though it felt a bit nervous on your part as the reality of the day hit. You had no idea what to expect, but you knew this was a big moment for Justin—and for you.

Justin took the keys from your hand, giving you one last reassuring squeeze before getting in the driver's seat. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the jittery nerves you hadn’t even realized you were holding onto.

The final leg of the drive felt like it stretched on forever, even though only a few hours had passed since you were on the mountain. There was something different in the air now. The soft, quiet hum of the road felt more like a countdown to something important.

Every few minutes, Justin would glance over at you, a soft smile curling at his lips as if trying to reassure himself just as much as you. His hand eventually found itself encasing yours, his thumb making lazy circles over your skin. He wasn’t saying much, but his presence, calm and unwavering, was more than enough.

When the exit for Eugene finally appeared, you felt your pulse quicken. This was it. This was the moment.

“Here we go,” Justin murmured, his voice somehow more steady than his movements, as he guided the car off the highway and toward the familiar road leading to his childhood home.

The transition felt sudden, but not uncomfortable. It was a quiet moment of realization that everything you’d shared so far had been leading to this point. He was letting you in. You were meeting the people who mattered most to him, the ones who had shaped him into the man he was today.

As you approached the house, you could see the familiar outline of the porch, a few trees swaying in the breeze, and a small garage you guessed held memories of Justin’s childhood. The house was modest, but there was a sense of warmth and familiarity that seemed to radiate from the front door, even from the car.

Justin slowed as he approached, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours one last time before he parked the car. He looked over at you, eyes soft but serious, like he was searching for your reassurance.

“You ready?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with both excitement and nerves.

You nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah. Ready.”

And with that, the two of you got out of the car and walked toward the front door of his family’s home, the journey that had brought you here feeling like both an ending and a beginning.

The door swung open before you even knocked, and there stood his mom, her arms outstretched.

She was gorgeous, her dark hair a stark contrast to Justin's much lighter features. But she wasn't interested in him at all, making a beeline for you straight away. “Oh, you’re even more beautiful than he said! I’m Holly—come in, come in!"

You barely had time to process her words before you were enveloped in a warm hug, her energy immediately putting you at ease. Over her shoulder, you spot Justin’s dad, Mark, standing on the porch with a reserved smile, and Justin’s brothers are leaning against the doorway, smirking. Justin laughed softly behind you, side stepping you and his mom. "Alright, let her breathe please? It'd be helpful if she made it through this entire night without suffocating," he jokes as his mom pulls away, rolling her eyes as she gives him a hug.

A younger guy who looks almost exactly like a mustached version of your boyfriend greets you next. "Hi, I'm Patrick. Glad Mitch wasn't lying and you are a real person, but pro tip? You're way out of this dork's league," he says with a serious face, nodding his head towards his older brother.

Justin glares at him and doesn't respond, muttering something under his breath that only Patrick catches as he bursts into a fit of laughter. You give Mitch a hug—the familiar face of Justin's older brother a welcome sight. He was a first-year orthopedic surgery resident at UCLA, the perfect situation for him and Justin to live together again. You'd been able to meet him on several occasions which proved useful in easing your nerves about meeting everyone else. “How was the drive? Are you guys staying at the ranch tonight?”

“We are,” you replied with a smile. “I’m really excited to finally see this infamous place.”

Justin’s dad steps forward, his handshake firm but warm, his eyes studying you with quiet curiosity before his face softens into a welcoming smile. “Don’t let these two scare you off. We’re happy to finally meet you. Let's head inside, I think Holly already has the baby pictures set out and ready for you to go through," he smiles, patting Justin on the back as his son shakes his head.

"You're lucky your dad talked me out of making a PowerPoint Presentation because we were seconds away from watching a pre dinner slideshow." Holly says to him with a small smile as everyone steps inside.

Patrick's voice cuts through everyone's laughter, "she's not even kidding, it was about to have music included and everything but dad saved you. I was about to give her some of the best material." He looks over at you, overenunciating for emphasis. "Two words: bowl. Cut."

"See what I have to deal with?" Justin whispers, gently pulling you into his side. Mark and Holly exchange knowing looks but don't say anything.

The house smelled of cinnamon and fresh bread, like warmth itself had settled into the walls. Framed pictures lined the hallways—some faded with time, others vibrant and new—each capturing a story of childhood adventures and hard-won victories. The fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the cozy living room. This wasn’t just a house; it was a sanctuary, a place where love was stitched into the very fabric of its foundation.

On the table in the living room is a stack of photo albums from when Justin was a newborn all the way up until his senior year of college. Countless memories were shared in these frames, a clearly busy but joyful childhood filled with love, laughter and lots of sporting events of all kinds. You could see that this family valued quality time with each other and the home you were in radiated warmth and love.

You ran your fingers lightly over the plastic covering of one album, tracing the faded marker label: Justin – Year 3. Inside, a chubby-cheeked toddler grinned back at you, his tiny facial features stretched in a mischievous but slightly forced smile.

“He never changed,” Patrick teased. “Still hates cameras.”

His words made you laugh a little because it was true, but you also saw something deeper. A boy who had grown up in a home where love wasn’t measured in trophies or contracts but in moments. The same boy who had fought to protect his private life in the face of stadium lights and national attention. You understood now—it wasn’t about secrecy. It was about keeping his people, the most important part of him, safe.

Your gaze flickered to Justin, his fingers tapping against his thigh—a telltale sign of deep thought. He wasn’t just reminiscing. He was remembering what it felt like to carry all of this, to be seen as something larger than life before he even had a chance to grow into it. And yet, here, he wasn’t the NFL quarterback. He was just...Justin.

"He was the starter by the end of that season, kind of became the hometown hero from then," Mitch sighs, sifting through some of the photos. "Things kind of got chaotic after that, with comparisons and people talking on social media."

"It was annoying," Justin cuts in, "deleted my Instagram after that. Only got it back around the draft for endorsement purposes." His words are dry, like it was painful or embarrassing thinking back to that time.

You had always respected, even admired, Justin’s need for privacy. But sitting here, surrounded by the people who had shaped him, you understood where it all came from: it wasn’t just about keeping the world out—it was about keeping his world safe. The weight of expectations, the relentless scrutiny, the unspoken pressure to be perfect—it had started young. He hadn’t chosen to be private. He had been forced to learn how to protect the things that mattered most.

And that’s what this house and his family was.

His one refuge from a world that always wanted more.

"Alright," Holly says, breaking you out of your epiphany, "who's ready to eat?"

This was a family you could definitely see yourself being a part of. Justin seemed so much more relaxed and at ease here which was a stark contrast to what you'd seen from him recently. His job was unforgiving, unrelenting. And the fans? You thanked your lucky stars daily for the fact that Justin wasn't on Twitter, especially after the Houston loss. This is where he belonged, these were his people. They didn't care about the stats or the money or everything that came with it and that's exactly how he wanted to be treated. He had a home in these people. He'd only found that comfort and peace one other time since he left Eugene.

And that was when he met you.

Dinner went on seamlessly, Mark joking asked if you two had a wedding date set after watching his son not-so-subtly check in on you throughout your stay. There were inside jokes, little moments of laughter from your relationship with Justin like how you had to adjust to his crazy hours in the facility from Monday-Wednesday but Thursdays were the days that really mattered, it was just the two of you. And sometimes Mitch and Isabella. But those were the days that brought you even closer, those little moments, just like this one that brought you so much joy it felt like you'd explode. There was easy laughter, Patrick telling some story about Justin being so private and how much he likes to keep to himself that he never thought he'd see this day. You spoke up and reassured him that you think you've successfully peeled back some layers and found your best friend in the process. Out of the corner of your eye you caught Mitch giving Patrick a nudge. Even Mark cracked a little smile, but all you could focus on was Justin's subtle smile that spoke volumes, in his own unique way. After everyone was finished with their meal, you found yourself in the kitchen with Holly, helping her plate dessert while the guys debated football in the other room.

“He’s different with you, you know.” She nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel before leaning against the counter.

Your hands froze mid-reach. A small knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. “Different good or…?”

She smiled, her eyes soft with something unreadable. “Good. Really good.” There was a wistfulness in her expression, something unspoken lingering in the air. “You remind me of someone.”

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking. “Oh?”

“His grandma. My mom,” she said, voice quieter now, like the weight of memory had settled over her. “She was the only one who could ever get my dad to slow down. He was always moving—always thinking about the next challenge, the next goal. But with her, it was…different. She had this way of pulling him back to the present, reminding him that love isn’t measured in achievements. That life isn’t just about what you do—it’s about who you share it with.”

Her eyes met yours then, her meaning unmistakable. “Seeing you and Justin felt very similar to seeing them together again. It’s really nice to see him be with someone who helps him to reel it in a little.”

Your heart clenched, warmth blooming in your chest. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing out a small laugh. “Well, he’s still a workaholic, so I might not be that good at it.”

Holly chuckled. “That’s just who he is. But I see the way he looks at you. The way he’s always checking in. You’re his home. His safe space.” She paused, and added softly, “And that’s all a mother could ever want for her son.”

You blinked back the unexpected sting of tears and watched as Holly swiped at her eyes. Before you could really process what you were doing, you were hugging her again. All the nerves and tension from earlier have completely vanished. Justin might not say much, but his actions had always spoken volumes. And now, hearing it from his mom—knowing that she saw it too—meant more than you could put into words.

The two of you walked back in with trays holding little bowls filled with apple crisp and a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top with caramel drizzle.

As Justin watched you, something settled in his chest—a feeling he hadn’t even known he was searching for. His mom was smiling at you in that way she only did when she had already decided someone was family. His dad—usually quiet, reserved—nodded along to your words like he genuinely enjoyed the conversation. His brothers, relentless as ever, had already started pulling you into their teasing.

And there you were. Sitting beside him, laughing like you belonged here. Because you did.

An hour later, after lingering goodbyes and a few last jokes, you walked side by side to his car. As Justin slid into the driver’s seat, he exhaled slow and deep. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying finally lifted. Maybe it was the fear of his two worlds colliding. Maybe it was the quiet, unspoken worry that you wouldn’t fit into this part of his life.

But you did. Seamlessly. Effortlessly. Like you were always meant to.

“Well,” you said, patting his thigh with a teasing grin, “that went great. Can’t believe you were so freaked out.”

He turned to you, feigning offense before shaking his head with a laugh. The sound of it filled the car, warm and easy. You joined in, your laughter melting into his as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

This. This is what home should feel like.

Justin leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “Told you they’d love you,” he murmured.

But as he pulled back, hand still wrapped around yours, the thought hit him like a slow-burning realization.

I think I might love you too.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

back to life. l Joel Miller

Summary: an attempt to return to normality

Warnings: angst, a little bit of smut (+18), lots of bad emotions, tw: depressive episode; Tommy, Maria and Ellie; violence

A/N: it's a hard time for me. but I found a moment to write this. sorry that I'm still stuck in this series, it's comfortable for me

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The next few days were really hard. Joel felt like every cell in his body was hurting him, even though it was you who had been through so much. The wounds were healing, the bruises were fading, but you were quieter and less visible. If it weren't for his willingness for you to take a bath, which Joel thought was the best thing for you, you wouldn't have gotten out of bed at all.

But Joel experienced something else during that time. In addition to fear for you, he encountered incredible human kindness and empathy. The people of Jackson seemed moved by what had happened. Soon, when Joel was on his way to the clinic about his collarbone, an older man who owned a bakery pressed a fresh loaf of bread into his hands and said with a smile that it was for you. 

Mrs. Russo appeared at the door the next evening, bringing with her a few of your favorite dishes. "I guess you don't have the head for cooking now. Take this, she's been enjoying it so much lately!"

Rory and his mother also showed up, and the boy handed Joel a bouquet of the first spring flowers, which he placed next to your bed. The small smile on your lips was worth everything.

Almost every afternoon, Ellie would sit with you, telling you that she absolutely needed help with her homework. Joel thought she was exaggerating and that she certainly didn't have that much to study for, but you were starting to get involved. Evenings were for the two of you, though.

Sometimes Joel would play something on the guitar, feeling your eyes follow his fingers as they struck the strings. He hadn't done it in years, but for you he'd pulled from his memory many of the songs he knew. Or he'd read books aloud. His warm, low voice carried through the bedroom, and you'd listen, clearly soothed by the sound.

Your bubble had to stretch, though, and it happened one evening. Joel came back later than usual, and then he convinced you to go downstairs. He led you out to the terrace and showed you something he had made for you. A wooden bench, very carefully crafted, with ornate armrests and fancy decoration. He had been working on it for a long time.

"It's so beautiful outside. I thought you might like to have your own place." he said, a little worried when he saw the tears in your eyes and your trembling lips. "You can spend time here, bask in the sun, read if you want."

"Nobody has ever done anything just for me." you said quietly.

And before he knew it, you kissed him, so truly. He hadn't felt the real you in a kiss for a long time, and now you were with him. In his strong arms, you were like a fragile creature, but Joel felt happy that you had achieved so much together. He believed that everything would be fine.

From then on, everything slowly began to change. You spent more time outside, and sometimes you went with him to the stables to take care of the horses. After a few days, Tommy and Maria invited you for dinner, and you showed up there too. When the dance was in Jackson, you went together, although you seemed hesitant about it, but Joel managed to talk you into a few slow dances with him.

"I want to take her out of Jackson," Joel stated when he and Tommy met up at the Tipsy Bison for a drink one day, "Just one day. We'll take the easy way out."

Tommy nodded, "It would do her good. Can she handle it?"

"She's tougher than we think. I can see she needs to get outside of those walls, even though she's still scared."

"And you're going to let her?" Tommy shook his head in disbelief, "What did she do to you, bro?"

"I miss her, you know... She's physically there, we sleep in the same bed, we eat together, we live together. But she..."

"I can see it in her eyes. What happened to her changed her... It would change anyone."

Joel took a sip from his glass. He didn't want to tell his brother that you hadn't slept together since then. No, Joel wasn't complaining. Your relationship had never been just about sex. But he still didn't know if he would scare you if he initiated it. You were sensitive and delicate, and although he knew you loved him, you didn't take that step yourself.

That day the weather was beautiful. The spring sun settled in the sky, and the forest and the surrounding area were beautifully green. You walked together, close to each other. 

Joel told you what had changed in the area recently, that the attic in the permanent barn on the other side of Jackson had caved in, or that he had seen a family of foxes sneaking past the camp during a patrol. He spoke as if you had been sick for a week, not completely cut off from life for almost a month.

You felt good, especially since he was next to you, and the care and tenderness towards you emanated from him. You wanted to go back to him, completely, but you weren't sure how to do it. Every day, every attempt, cost you a lot of strength. Guilts of conscience were churning inside you.

"I'm sorry, Joel." You finally said when you stopped at the edge of the forest.

Joel looked at the horizon, trying to see if the area was still safe for you, and turned around, surprised.

"What are you apologizing for, darling?" he asked, taking a step towards you.

You seemed so small to him, as if many things were pressing you to the ground at once, and you were barely able to stay on two legs. You looked at him as if you were about to cry.

"For everything." you finally answered "For having to take care of me. For every day that is so hard for you. I wish things were like they used to be... I don't know if I can. Maybe... Maybe..."

"Don't do that." he interrupted you, approaching you and taking your face in his hands "Stop here. What happened to us, what happened to you, is neither of our fault. But we'll deal with it, right?"

"How? I thought I was strong, but this..." you closed your eyes, and tears flowed from under your eyelashes. Joel patiently wiped them away with his thumbs "I keep wondering... Every shadow, every rustle makes me tremble. I've become nothing but a problem for each of you."

His strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you tightly to his chest. You snuggled into Joel with all your might. His arms were your shelter, the beating of his heart soothed yours. If it weren't for him, you would have fallen to pieces a long time ago.

"You don't even know, silly, how many people care about you and want to help you. They ask about you every day. You're not the problem, but you can't be strong all the time either. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about, because I tried to be. You and Ellie hold me together. Now it's our turn, we won't let you fall apart." He kissed the top of your head and sighed deeply "You don't even know how much I love you..."

It was late when you got back. Your clothes smelled of forest and wind, just like Joel's. You felt tired, but you were also a little lighter, more confident. He saw it in your eyes and promised himself that soon you would go out together again outside Jackson. 

However, Joel was most surprised when he felt your arms wrapped around his waist as he stood in the shower and the streams of hot water washed his body. You clung to his back, so gently as if you were afraid he would push you away. But Joel kissed your hands, and then turned around and looked at you with such love that you had never seen in his eyes. 

So you surrendered to this moment, because you wanted to, because it was him, because you wanted to feel alive again. 

And when you felt his cock moving deep inside you, when his lips caressed your neck, and the cool tiles imprinted on your back - only God knew how much life flowed in you again.

"Sorry, I wouldn't keep you from your work if it wasn't so important."

"Don't worry, the laundry will definitely wait for me." you chuckled as you and Maria headed towards the building that served as the city hall or headquarters in Jackson.

It was already late in the evening, Joel hadn't come home yet, and you were busy with the usual household chores. The following days were somehow easier and you were happy to have your strength back.

You went inside and Maria led you to the back. You noticed a few men in the rooms, who were also taking part in patrols. They seemed strangely tense to you, but Maria quickly drew your attention to herself.

"Listen, this could be an unpleasant experience for you." she said, her hand stroking your arm. "But we have to be sure."

"What do you mean?" you asked, frowning. "Did something happen? Something with Joel or Tommy?"

Maria shook her head, then pushed the door open and nodded for you to enter. It was a dark room and you noticed that the curtains were drawn tightly and the only light came from the lamps placed on the walls. In the middle, three men sat on chairs, they were not residents of Jackson. They seemed strangely familiar to you, but you couldn't...

Someone said your name and you noticed Joel and Tommy standing nearby.

"What's going on?" you asked quietly. "Who is it?"

Tommy cleared his throat. "We've been following them for a few days. We suspect that they attacked you. You, Sam and Anthony. One of them had Sam's private things."

You looked at the men again, now you understood. And they must have recognized you too, because they twitched nervously. Two of them looked away, trying to avoid your eyes, but one of them was staring at you wildly.

"I know that pussy." he muttered, a smile twisting his face covered with thick stubble "I thought you died in the woods. You're a smart bitch."

There was a loud impact, it was Joel who hit the man without thinking. His head tilted back, but after a moment his quiet laughter filled the room.

"Is that your pussy? How was I supposed to know that it already had its owner?"

"Don't you dare talk about it like that!" Joel growled and wanted to hit him again, but Tommy grabbed his arm.

He looked at you carefully. "Is that them?"

"He recognized her!" Joel hissed furiously "That should be enough!"

"I need to know!"

You weren't fully aware of it, as if your body had made the decision itself. Your head twitched in confirmation. That was enough.

"Get her out of here." Tommy ordered.

"Joel! No!" you groaned, but someone's arms grabbed you and forcibly led you out of the room. The door slammed shut with a bang. Even though you didn't see it, you knew what was about to happen.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[literallyjusttoa]

Realizing I also want to keep track of the songs Apollo mentions, so I'm gonna go back real quick and mention "You Send Me" by Sam Cooke, released in 1957, which he mentioned in chapter 2, and "Rise to the Sun" by Alabama Shakes, released in 2012, which he mentions in the opening of chapter 10. Listened to them both, and honestly, they're both great songs! And Rise to the Sun actually fits Apollo really well, I was genuinely surprised.

Going back also makes me realize that Apollo was going to sing an honest to god love song to stop Cade and Mikey. That image will stay with me for years, I think.

Rhea is described as dressing like a "Libyan queen of old" which is interesting, bc I couldn't find any reference to Rhea being an important figure during the period where Ancient Greece had footholds in the region. What's interesting though, is that Apollo definitely was. One of the two cities Greeks established in Libya was Cyrene, and some myths even call the native Libyans the founders of both Delos and Delphi. So like, I have no idea where Rick got the idea of Rhea being connected to Libya, but it helped me learn new things, so that's cool!

Another anecdote: When Apollo drives the sun chariot as a bus, Hermes always sits in the back, because that's where troublemakers sit.

The way Apollo describes his physical state, I'm convinced he's just constantly in excruciating pain. Like, all he does is get off the cot in the Apollo cabin, and he says that his "eyes felt as if they were being microwaved in their sockets." Bestie, what? Are you dying, wtf lmao?

Anecdote: Apollo once attempted target practice in Zeus' throne room. That feels like it might have been a more pointed thing.

Apollo sees Nero in his dreams for the first time in chapter 10, but he doesn't recognize him yet. He spends the rest of the chapter simply referring to him as "The man in the purple suit", "The ugly mauve-suited man", and simply "the ugly man" King behavior, honestly.

I know I made a post about it a while ago, but I still can't get over Apollo's outrageous claim of 33 mortal girlfriends and 11 mortal boyfriends. He has past that in Ancient Greek lovers alone lmao.

Rick does a really good job of writing these long flowing internal monologues for Apollo, only to cut them off with a short sentence that both allows for an easy transition out of Apollo's head and back to the action of the scene, but also simulates Apollo getting distracted in his own ramblings and then abruptly coming back to reality. Like, he goes on for three paragraphs about Nico and will, and then his past loves, and then his embarrassment over sharing his love for Hyacinthus and Daphne, only to end it all off with the short line "I am so confused." and then we're right back into the scene. It's a really great comedic bit, and it does wonders for Lester's characterization. (Also my god does Lester read so much like he has ADHD. Almost more than Percy to me, but then I think Lester's flavor of ADHD is much more similar to my own than Percy's is)

Anecdote: Apollo cosplayed Rocky at midnight showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Queen.

Apollo mentions that he filmed the orientation film on "a tight budget in the 1950's" which like, why? Maybe it's mentioned in the supplemental books somewhere, but why would a god ever be put on a budget for something lmao?

"Had I been a god, I would have turned her into a blue-belly lizard and released her into the wilderness never to be seen again. The thought soothed me." One, Apollo she is twelve dear god. Two, I love this as a character moment for Apollo (Stay with me here). Apollo comes from a culture that is so focused on strength and power and violence. The moment he loses control of a situation, he grasps for any way to get power back into his hands. And in these moments, his way of giving himself power is by reassuring himself that he could totally murder everyone here if he wanted to. Killing people is a way to assert control, it's a way that Zeus and the other gods assert control all the time. And there's an implication with Apollo using these lines too. By asserting that he can kill people, it's also an assertion that the people he is threatening cannot kill him. Idk it's just a very interesting way of coping.

Real quick fun fact! Lester describes the Oracle of Delphi in Greece as a "cavern filled with volcanic fumes" but that's not actually 100% correct. The oracle of Delphi in Ancient Greece was actually in the Temple of Apollo, with descriptions from ancient scholars putting her either in the cella or in an adyton that was below the main temple. There was a opening in the ground in this chamber, but it certainly wasn't a cave. Furthermore, the whole idea of Apollo fighting Python in a cave? From what I can tell, this is also not based in myth! Most descriptions of the fight between Apollo and Python that I can find in myth describe Python being coiled around the mountains of the Parnassus range, which is a terrifying image honestly. Just find it interesting that none of the cave stuff is actually a part of the Delphic Oracle. I mean, from what I can tell, the nearest mythologically important cave is the Corycian cave, which has nothing to do with the oracle and is also like a 45 minute drive away from Delphi.

I usually try to read three chapters before rb'ing, but I had so many notes on these two that I'm gonna cut it off here. Also, this has kind of just become pointing out shit I find interesting instead of focusing specifically on Lester-isms, but I'm def still gonna point those out, so the tag will stay. I just have so much to say about my little blorbo, sorry guys.

I think I'm gonna make a reblog chian of all the little phrases and Apollo uses throughout ToA, now that I'm rereading it. Bc like, he has such a unique way of speaking, and I really wanna dig into it, you know? Ok let's start.

He says "heavens help me" instead of "heaven help me" using the plural the same way demigods do with "oh my gods". I'm guessing this is an acknowledgment of other pantheons? Or I'm looking too far into it, I've just never heard this phrase with a plural "heavens" before.

He calls Cade and Mikey "Ruffians" . And he makes fun of the arrow for being Shakespearean.

He also refers to people as "Mortals" a lot here, which I remembered him doing, but now I want to keep track and see if he keeps that up throughout all the books, or if it peters out near the end.

"I thought how amusing it would be if I could make the snake tattoos around his neck come alive and strangle him to death" I honestly love how violent Apollo's thoughts can be sometimes. Like, you can tell he's someone who has done shit like this before.

I also want to keep track of all the little anecdotes Apollo brings up, so we'll start with the guitar contest against Chuck Berry in 1957, which apparently ended with him getting repeatedly stomped on.

"But something told me this was not she" II love how it's the little things that really get across how old Apollo is. Rick could've easily just said "It wasn't her" or something, but instead he had Apollo phrase this in a way that is far more formal, and more reminiscent of the grammatical patterns of old english. Idk it's just really cool.

(Side note that's not connected to Apollo: Meg's glasses are black? I feel like I've been living a lie, I've been coloring them red for years lol)

God his metaphors are just so striking. Like, I can imagine the phrase "Whatever was left of my pride turned into ice water and trickled into my socks" but I don't want to, because that's such a visceral feeling. I like that Apollo inadvertently proving how poetic he is by making the reader as uncomfortable as possible.

I think I'm gonna start crying out "Horrors!" when I'm upset to. I think I deserve that level of drama.

ahh the classic "My blessings upon you!" Again, I love how every little line characterizes him. Either it's overly formal, like before, or subtly arrogant, like here, or both. It's so fun.

I need to write him saying "Sacred Sibyl!" more. Because that is such a fun little term. Rolls right off the tongue, honestly.

I think I'm gonna leave it there for now, but trust that I will definitely be adding more to this later. Bc Lester-speak is so fun to really look into.

[heykaya]

Happy to see you posting again!

Can I ask why Alex is your favorite?

hehe glad I was missed :3

Reasons I love Alex:

Gives you a job.

Gives you part of his farm.

Gives you a safe place to live and a room of your own, even before you romance him.

Will never rape you.

Will drop everything to run over and save you.

DOL-town royalty is threatening me (a teenager)? Lol let me tell Remy to fuck off.

Will also tell Bailey to fuck off to protect you, even to his own detriment.

Hard working and muscular.

Muscular.

Muscular.

Cooks you breakfast every morning, even at Max dom.

Gently bumps his head against yours.

Will spank you (at high dom).

Will eat you for breakfast (at low dom).

Scenic horse riding dates.

Smart enough to make drugs.

Comes from a family of farmers, still humble enough to listen to PC’s Tending tips.

Introduces you to his father who gives you $10k.

Actually has social skills and isn’t afraid to talk to people on the phone.

Is funny + can dance.

He’s such a good dad 😭

(Also I’m into that housewife tradlife thing. I used to go for Eden but he’s pretty boring tbh. Plus, Alex cooks you breakfast while Eden feeds you his leftovers. seriously wtf is up with that?!)

Like his dad says, he is dogged (super stubborn and persistent). PC has the option to stop Alex from being so fucking insane. Pulling him back from fighting a group of Remy’s goons, discouraging him from drinking so much and dealing drugs - they all reduce his Love. It doesn’t make him happy, but imo it’s what’s best for him. But since this is a game where even the bad ends are temporary, I join in on the crazy shit.

His biggest flaw is paying PC less at high dominance. I’m willing to overlook this because of the super hot spanking scene + you can make a shitload of money from the fields anyway. If he makes you mad you can call him a weak little bitch during encounters lol (his insecurity is strength).

Fr despite all of Alex’s abilities, I don’t think he’d be able to flourish and protect the farm from Remy without PC’s help. An orphan and a struggling farmer. One found a safe home and a family, the other made his dreams a reality. And together, they lived happily ever after :D

As happily as you can in DOL-town, at least.

(Also to comment on the others)

Robin:

Initially found him cute, but the more I got to know him the less I like him.

Literally PC's babies are less demanding than Robin.

Robin does not deserve confidence.

Whitney

The only thing he awakens in me is violence.

Dismissed every time no mercy gg

I agree he's super hot though. I'll enjoy him via fanart instead.

Eden

(see above)

Avery

He shows up once a week, gives me money, and fucks off. Very appealing!

I think he's OK. Just remember that he's incapable of truly loving PC.

As a source of income he's fine. As a lover no because of above + his dates are really repetitive.

Kylar

This guy should not be outside.

Sydney

He's very sweet and I get the appeal, but he's not my type.

[scary-grace]

Guitarist!Tomura actually has me in a chokehold so a gc would be nice I just need to work up the courage LMAO

Guitarist!Tomura also has me in a chokehold, which is why it took me so long to write a follow-up! I really love him in this AU so there may be more to come.

“Okay, now that we’re done laughing at Shigaraki, first things first —”

“Laughing at Tomura-kun is the first thing,” Toga says. Dabi glares at her. “Don’t make that face! If I was singing love duets through the wall with my neighbor, you guys would never let me live it down.”

“Nobody gets to live that down. That is not cool band guy behavior,” Twice announces from behind the drum set. Then, like always, he changes his tune. “Don’t worry, Shigaraki! I think it’s sweet!”

“I think we should never talk about it again,” Tomura mutters. He turns to Dabi. “You were saying something, right?”

“Yeah,” Dabi says. “First things first. Does anybody have any new songs?”

The band always needs new songs, and everyone’s supposed to bring one to practice. In theory they should always have something cooking. In reality, they get a new song maybe every six practices, and only some of those are good. They’d be better if anybody liked taking feedback on their lyrics. But they don’t.

“I have one,” Spinner says, “but —”

“Is it about being a true artist and not whoring yourself out to the Spotify algorithm?” Dabi doesn’t wait for an answer. “No.”

“We could use it if we metaphor it a bit,” Spinner protests. He passes a piece of paper to Tomura. “Look.”

Tomura scans the lyrics. He likes some of Spinner’s phrasing, and the song structure works, but he can see a few too many lines about standing apart from the machine. And Spinner’s not the only one who writes like that. “Why don’t we just do a whole LP around that? Give it some characters and a plotline and then it’s not just an album. It’s a story arc.”

“You think we can pull that off?” Toga looks up, interested. “What about a love story?”

“No.”

“Hey, that could work!” Twice taps the kick drum for emphasis. “Like, think about it! The protagonists are falling in love amidst the machines and then they have to defeat them if they want to be together!”

“There’s no way we can pull that off,” Tomura says. Twice ignores him, and he looks to Dabi for help. “If we’re going to do a concept album, let’s do an album about a concept we actually understand.”

“Nobody’s going to listen to us if we’re just complaining about the system,” Dabi says. “We need a hook. The love story’s a hook.”

“Then one of us had better figure out how to write love songs,” Spinner says. “Because we all kind of suck at it.”

Dabi looks like he’s thinking about it, and Tomura wonders, like he does every so often, why he decided to let Dabi project-manage the band he started. “Okay,” Dabi says finally. “We’re calling practice for today. No more practice until everybody has at least one song to share.”

“Oh, come on —”

“How much of a song do we need to have?” Toga interrupts Tomura.

“At least two verses and a chorus. Instrumentation optional,” Dabi decides. There goes Tomura’s plan to weasel out of this by coming up with a melody and chord progression and calling it good. “Text the group chat when you’ve got something.”

Everybody else starts packing up their instruments, like this is settled or something. Tomura came up with the stupid concept album idea. He’s the one who has to put the brakes on. “We can’t just not practice,” he says. “We have shows booked next month.”

“So you’d better get writing, then.”

“Yeah. More writing, less singing to your neighbor through the wall,” Spinner says. Tomura glares at him. “Maybe you can write a song about that.”

Tomura will write a song about that when hell freezes over. But he needs to write something, or the band’s not going to practice at all before their first gigs of the school year. A concept album about humans falling in love while standing up to the machine or the man or whatever. This is going to be a nightmare.

When Tomura gets home, his neighbors are just as noisy as ever, except for you. You’re quiet. Are you even home? Tomura tries to write, but it’s hard to focus when he’s so busy listening. He’s still not sure if you heard him singing along with you, but what if you did, and you got so embarrassed that you’re never going to sing again? If someone had told Tomura this morning that he’d be upset that one of his neighbors wasn’t making noise, he’d have told them they were out of their mind.

And then he hears it, just past midnight — quiet humming from the other side of the wall, a tune that’s vaguely familiar. This time, when the words pick up, Tomura doesn’t sing along. He just listens as you mumble your way through the first verse of The Last Shadow Puppets’ Miracle Aligner. “Often the humble kind, but he can’t deny he was born to blow your mind — or something along those lines —”

It’s not Tomura’s favorite song from that band, but given that you like the band enough to get their songs stuck in your head, your taste in music is at least decent. Tomura won’t be able to decide if it’s actually good until he hears you sing a few more songs. And speaking of a few more songs — Tomura picks up his pen again and scrawls out a single lyric across the top of the page. Screw a concept album, for now at least. He just has to start somewhere.

One lyric turns into another, turns into a verse and the start of a chorus. Tomura writes until two am, your voice brushing softly against his ear.

[hn-undercover-9503]

uh oh look who got possessed at 4 in the morning and stayed up for another hour exorcising the demons (writing idea)

post-wano zosan/sanzo {platonic or romantic, doesn't matter which way} that spawned from me thinking too hard about the death pact

Most of his crew have already either passed out from the party, or are still recovering inside of the shogun's castle. Last he saw, Franky and Jinbe were the only ones still awake and mingling with the Wano residents. It was almost surreal, this grandiose party, after such a huge battle where there were no less than three times that he was sure they were dead.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It's well past midnight by now, and yet, the lanterns of the Flower Capital burn just as bright as they did hours before. They light up the night sky, thousands of them drifting into the clouds, high among the stars. Sanji hasn't been able to take his eyes off of them for the last hour. His head is pleasantly foggy, stomach full and body at ease. It's especially nice after the special level of hell all of them went through today. Sitting outside and watching the lights over his head and listening to the sound of a country celebrating the end of its long reign of suffering–it’s comforting, in the kind of way he feels like it's been a while since he felt able to bask in.

But they aren't dead–Sanji and all of his crew are still alive, and victorious.

Some would probably chock up their win to luck, or to random chance. Sanji knows better. He understands that there's one reason, and one reason only, that he's able to sit here on this deck and stare up at the beautiful lanterns containing the dreams and desires of a whole country. And as of right now, that reason is off sawing logs about three rooms away from him.

He could fall asleep out here, he thinks. The weather is perfect, and the noise of the crowd is surprisingly comforting. It's easy for all of it to fade into the background, becoming a soothing hum in the back of his head as his eyes slip closed without him even thinking about it. His body still feels heavy, and honestly, he can use the rest. He may not have been as grievously injured as some of his crew, but he's no stranger to what it feels like to be overworked. Even in this new, strange body, he knows he shouldn't be keeping himself awake after going through what he did.

Unfortunately for him, fate is a cruel mistress.

Just as he feels himself about to drift off completely, there's a dull pain from his side. He sighs, not having the energy to launch an outright attack on whoever's dumb enough to jab him in the ribs when he's sleeping. Instead, he opens one eye and glares up at the figure leaning over him until his tired eyes finally focus.

"Oi," the mosshead grunts, poking him in the side with the scabbard of his newest sword, before seeing Sanji's awake and resting it over his shoulder. "I gotta talk to you, Cook."

Sanji groans, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. His body cries out its protests, demanding he lay back down and promptly pass out for about thirty eight hours, but he ignores it for now. He sits up and turns a half-hearted glare onto the swordsman as he lowers himself to sit on the deck beside him.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Marimo?" Sanji grumbles, looking back up at the sky. It's a far less irritating sight than walking fungi keeping him awake. "You look like shit."

Zoro grunts. "Could say the same for you."

"I'm better off than you, shitty swordsman." He quips back immediately, digging into his pocket for his cigarettes purely on instinct. "You didn't have to lug me around a whole castle for several minutes, now, did you?"

"Shut up," Zoro tells him, but there's not an ounce of bite to his tone. He's clearly just as exhausted as Sanji is, probably more. So then...

"What are you here for, Marimo?"

Zoro is quiet for a while–too long, in Sanji's opinion. He looks away from the sky and catches sight of a downturn to the swordsman's lips, his eyebrows pulled together like he's trying really hard to use his singular brain cell to formulate his words. Sanji purses his lips and waits for it.

"During the fight," He begins slowly, slurring his words and drawing out the syllables. "You called me on the snail."

Sanji turns away, looking out over the sprawling crowd still partying on. Okay. That makes sense. He should have known that's what this would be about. He frowns.

"You asked me to kill you, cook." Zoro continues, now glancing at him directly and settling him with a glare that could have knocked out a hundred men. "I want you to tell me what the hell that was all about."

“Why, disappointed you couldn't hold up your end of the deal, Marimo?” He tries to deflect with a smirk right off the bat, but he knows it hasn't worked before he even finishes speaking. Zoro's glare hardens, and Sanji just sighs.

“It's not something I really wanna talk about.” He admits, pulling out his lighter and lighting himself a cigarette. “And it worked out, so you don't need to worry about it. Really.”

Zoro is clearly unconvinced by his assurance. “It's got something to do with you running off to marry that girl, doesn't it?”

“Not…exactly.” He clarifies, which he knows explains nothing. Zoro huffs out an agitated breath.

“If you don't tell me, I'll hafta cut you for it.”

Sanji chuckles. “You and I both know you're in no shape for a brawl right now, Marimo. So heel.”

Zoro rolls his eye at him. “Just–tell me.”

“Why do you wanna know so bad, huh?”

Zoro crosses his arms with a scoff. “You asked me to kill you, dumbass. And you expect me to just shrug it off?”

“Wow, who knew moss could think? So you're sentient after all, huh, Marimo?”

Zoro growls and digs an elbow into his side. It's clear by the pained hiss he lets out afterwards that the action hurt him more than it did Sanji.

He winces and runs at it anyway, if only so he doesn't do it again. After taking a particularly long drag from his cigarette, he breathes out a cloud of smoke and leans back on the deck, face turned up to the sky again. “Fine. But if you really want the whole story, you're gonna be here a while.”

Zoro grunts again and then he's setting his swords aside to lay back next to him, also looking up at the sky. “Just tell me, stupid cook.”

He sighs again, more smoke escaping from his lips. It fades away against the backdrop of night sky, stars, and lanterns. “You got the story of my family from Luffy, I assume?”

“Bits and pieces–I know they weren't your family family.”

Sanji smiles, because of course Luffy would describe it like that. “Yeah. Well, turns out I made a mistake. Using that bastard's weapon, his raid suit–it…did something to me.”

Zoro shifts from beside him, and when he glances over he's sitting up on his elbow to look down at him. “The hell does that mean?”

“My siblings were all born superhuman. Reinforced bodies, crazy fast healing, the works. I wasn't like them. I was just a regular old human.”

Zoro frowns at him. “That a bad thing?”

“In the eyes of the bastard, it was unforgivable.” Sanji shrugs, taking another drag just for the sake of it. “But I preferred it that way–once I got older, at least. My mom died to make sure I got to stay human. I owe everything to what she gave me.” His eyes burn as he prepares his next words, and they stick to his throat when he speaks again. “But because I was a selfish idiot…I wasted her gift.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, swirly?”

Sanji takes a deep breath and another drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs completely and settle his racing heart. “The raid suit. When I wore the suit, it must've triggered something. When I was fighting Queen, my body felt strange. It'd been happening for days, but I didn't think anything of it before. And then Queen got me trapped and I should've been dead, but I wasn't. I could feel my bones shattering, my organs rupturing–but when he let me go, I was fine. Like nothing even happened.”

“So you got strong bones and super healing. Who gives a shit?”

“...those aren't the only traits my siblings share.” Sanji pinches the end of his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “They don't experience emotion. At all. It's why they make the perfect war machines. Can't feel bad about destroying a country if you can't feel anything.”

Zoro stays quiet for a while again, and this time is even more nerve-wracking than the last. Anxious, Sanji forces himself to sit up on his elbow and look over to him. His face is impassive, unreadable. Sanji's heart rate speeds up again.

Finally, Zoro grunts yet again. “You're stupid, cook.”

“Wha–” Sanji sputters for a second before the words catch up to him. “Oh, fuck you! I give you my whole story and you're insulting me?” He throws himself back into the deck with a huff. “I don't know why I even bother–”

“You feel too much to never feel anything, idiot.”

Sanji blinks, turning his head again to look at him. He's sitting up now, hunched over and glaring at him. There's no heat behind his steely gaze, though.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” This time, Zoro jabs a thumb into his side and Sanji lets out an undignified yelp, pushing out of his reach before he can get any more bright ideas. “Your dumb bleeding heart is too damn big to feel nothing. And you're stupid for thinking it could ever come close.”

Sanji scowls at him. “You don't understand. There was a moment there when I lost control. I thought I–”

“You thought? Thought what, shit cook?” The swordsman barks out a laugh. “Thought you did something terrible and evil, huh? Something that would make you wanna die to my swords?”

“I thought I hit a woman.”

Zoro stares at him for a second before bursting out laughing. “Well? Didja?”

Sanji grits his teeth and reaches out a leg to land a kick to his side, even as his body screams more protests. “Of course not, asshole! I would never–”

“Then shut up about it, would ya?” Zoro yawns, shoving his leg away haphazardly and laying back on the deck with his arms folded behind his head. “That when you called me?”

He frowns, turning back to look at the sky again. “Around there.”

Zoro lets out a deep breath, eye slipping closed. “Looks like I was worried for nothing.”

“Maybe you were.” Sanji admits quietly, watching as the lanterns bob and sway on the sudden breeze. “...hey,”

Zoro grunts instead of replying with words, because he's a caveman at heart.

“I know you think it's stupid…but if it did happen. You'll still keep up your end, won't you?”

The swordsman is silent for so long that Sanji's sure he's gone to sleep. But when he turns around to look at him, the other is staring right at him. For some reason, the look in his singular eye raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Course I will.” He eventually says, laying his head back. “But it won't. So shut up and go to sleep.”

Sanji smiles, laying back onto the deck once again. He shuts his eyes, and the pleasant hum of festivities sets over him once more. “That was the plan, at least until a certain mossball decided to interrupt me.”

“I don't need a fucking deal to kill you, shit cook.”

“I'd like to see you try, Marimo.”

[kosmicthen]

i gotta tell you the thought process of the creation AND the Funny Haha Struggle story (not that funny but it is funny to me now) during the time i was working on this (2nd week of december 2024)

the inspiration/thought process notes:

obviously demonyawa’s jake and maria official illustrations for the spotify single versions of memories and titua

i was binging blue period at the time

listening to bawat piyesa by munimuni on loop — an opm song about grief and not knowing what to do without the person who is gone

and i thought of this famous art trope where character paints their loved one? i’m not sure where it originated but it could also be character carves a statue of loved one too— a bunch of the cool cn/jpn/kr artists keep cooking that prompt up but atm i CANNOT think of the specific i can share

so painting side is different soft coloring style than the foreground (mark/nicole) who are lined and more refined yay yippee cool im insane like that

now to tell you what happened to me during the creation of these:

when i finished sketches for both parts and jake’s coloring, i got really dizzy and nauseous!!! not a good sign!! i was talking to a friend in the ph but i said im hopping off call bc of dizziness

i thought that i was staring at the screen too long cause i was working with really saturated colors so i stepped away till i was yk better. i struggle with motion sickness too btw so i assumed this was my brain making me motion sick

guys. i. didnt feel better. APPARENTLY I WAS STRUCK BY THE ILLNESS. like i was physically sick the next 48 hrs. i find out ive got some stomach virus bc the ppl i lived with had it too. IT WAS SO BAD. i couldn’t eat bc it would immediately get out of my system (trying not to describe it grossly), but i couldn’t sleep bc i was so hungry…!! it was so bad its sooo laughable!! i only had like 2 hrs of sleep bc of my hunger meter was KILLING ME

and the funniest thing to me. listen.. i… i had another until then idea on the works before i worked on this “bawat piyesa” mark and nic pieces— and you know what that was? MARK BORJA SICK FIC/COMIC 😭😭😭 i make this LOSER SICK WITH THE HORROR OF A FEVER AND HE TRANSFERRED IT TO MEEEEEEEE WITH HIS MIND?!?!?

AND I HAD COLLEGE FINALS THE NEXT DAY?!?!?? IT WAS SOOO OVER!?!?!

there was nothing i could do abt it except take meds, sleep a bit, and eat nothing but soup and white bread and apples,, but i also had to be on this waiting period for the final online exam for my class to unlock 😭😭 so in the middle of all of that, i just started working on the bawat piyesa pieces when i didnt feel dizzy.

so yeah I HAVE NOOOO IDEA how i powered through all that. but i hope that you guys know now that these pieces were made through resilience. i am just so happy these artworks were so well received, and i still made it the vision that i wanted

i cooked at A Cost, but at least, I Made Peak

but also don’t neglect your health!! i could have never made it through if i just ignored the sickness. i never want to be that hungry ever again 😭😭

anong gagawin kung wala ka? dito ka na lang habambuhay.

version that only has maria and jake

[tgmsunmontue]

White Hot - 4/? - Hangster

A TGM AU - Blacksmith + Metal-artist Jake and History Teacher Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE

PART FOUR

                Jake’s never really watched or followed baseball, being more into football when he was at school, and his family also being very much into football. But he’s been to some games before, knows how the rules work. But he wants to know what team Mr Bradshaw supports, because he’ll have a team that he’s ride or die for, Jake knows it. He’ll have to save that for a first date question. And for the season to start before he tries listening to some games while he works. Sue him, he’s hopeful.

…            …            …

                After the initial fascination Bradley is too busy to think about Jake Seresin, mind circling back to the curriculum, new administration processes, learning the kids’ names and schedules for try outs. Continuing to get to know his new colleagues and starting to form a new social group, and hopefully some friends. It’s always harder as an adult and moving to a new city, let alone state. However he’s finally been invited along to a social event that isn’t a staff meeting or parent-teacher conference, and he’s a little nervous.

                Javy, the English teacher who has been the friendliest, has assured him that everyone will be nice, but he’s the only one Bradley will know. While most of the people in the team are also teachers, they work in different schools. However if he gets stuck on topics of conversation there’s always work as a fallback. Plus they have a quiz to win. He enters the bar, and it’s busy for a Wednesday night, but he realizes most people must be here for the quiz night. He sees Javy waving and heads over, relieved.

                “Hi.”

                “Hey man, glad you could make it. This is Rueben, Mickey, Neil and Callie.”

                Bradley files the names away, he’s good with faces and names and information, which he guesses is why Javy invited him along.

                “Welcome to the team man. Javy said you teach history?”

                “Yeah. And geography.”

                “Sweet! Callie teaches Info-Tech and design. Neil is cooking –”

                “Culinary arts!” Neil snaps.

                “Yeah, that. Mickey does math and I teach physics.

                “Wow. We’ve got a really good spread…”

                “Yeah. Because Javy is hypercompetitive against all the other teams…”

                “Ah…” Bradley says with dawning realization. “So I was brought in to increase your chances of winning then…”

                “Of course. You’ve got like… our weak spots covered plus you probably know stuff about baseball.”

                “Baseball?” Rueben asks with interest.

                “He’s our new coach…” Javy offers, nodding his head in Bradley’s direction. “You want a drink man?”

                Bradley nods, says he’ll take whatever is on tap, grins and feels a little more settled, it feels good to be socializing. He makes himself comfortable on a chair around the table, the others are asking about where he went to college and the conversation is flowing easily, and he accepts the beer Javy slides beside him with a quiet thanks. When the conversation suddenly stops he wonders if it’s something he’s said but realizes all eyes are fixed behind him and he turns to look, wonders what they’re all looking at.

                “Natasha…” Javy says, and he sounds amused and Bradley is certain there’s something else going on, something he’s missing.

                “Javy. Who’s the new guy?”

                “Bradley, meet Natasha. She’s the enemy… member of the team we have to beat.”

                Everyone else at the table groans and Bradley is definitely missing something, but he’s pretty sure it’s all in fun, because Javy and Natasha are just grinning at each other, although there’s maybe a little more teeth than strictly necessary.

                “Bradley. And what do you teach Bradley?”

                He wants to ask how she knows he’s a teacher, however he’s sitting at a table with five other teachers so he guesses it doesn’t take a genius.

                “Uh. History.”

                “Wait. You’re the new history teacher…” she says, and her eyes are sweeping over him with renewed interest and Bradley swallows, if he was standing he’d take a step back, suddenly feels like a piece of meat on display.

                “Uh. Yes.”

                “Hmm. I think we spoke on the phone a couple of weeks ago. I work at the historical village.”

                “Oh,” Bradley offers, isn’t what sure what else to say. Javy is looking at Natasha with a raised eyebrow, expression calculating and Natasha is looking at Javy with narrowed eyes and Bradley looks at the others who either look resigned, bored or amused.

                “You’re due to come in next week right? With your class?”

                “Uh, yes. That’s right.”

                “Hmm. I look forward to seeing you there. Javy. Javy’s team.”

                As one the others all lift their drinks to toast her as she walks back to her team and Bradley turns back to face them all.

                “They’re married," Neil offers.

                “What? Who?”

                “Javy and Natasha. But they’ve been on separate quiz teams since before they got together, and losing team has to do the dishes and take the trash out… and that’s where we stop asking questions.”

                “It’s why Javy is so competitive.”

                Bradley lets out a laugh, glad to have an explanation for the weird level of intense energy he’d just had to endure. When Natasha’s team, the Historical Harlots, play their spot prize of steal a point to take first place away from Javy’s team he finds he’s not at all sorry for their loss.

[softgh0stbites]

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ Something Pink, Something Borrowed

A Vincent Valentine Week Prompt! Day 1 Pink/Glass/Kiss

Rating: SFW Pairing: Vincent x Reader Synopsis: What does Vincent get the girl who cherishes everything? He wants to make her feel special, offer an apology for all she has to put up and at the same time appeal to her affections. Though he doesn't want to stumble over his words, maybe there's another way? Maybe the language of flowers isn't so bad after all. Notes: Just a cute and sweet drabble I cooked while being in a car for 3 hours. What flowers do you like? And have you ever been gifted flowers? Anyway, enjoy~ Music I listened to: Fade into you by Mazzy Star and Angel by River Styx [Unhealthy obsession with this song for them lowkey]

˚❀　.　˚　　✦　　✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.　˚❀　.　˚　　✦　　✿　.　˚　. 　 

The day was bright and warm—spring had snuck up on everyone like a gentle embrace. The center of Kalm was alive with movement, people bustling about, getting their homes in order for the new season. Pastel fabrics swayed in the breeze, and the rhythmic sound of footsteps against cobblestone filled the air. There was idle chatter, children’s laughter, a distant bark as a dog chased after giggling kids with sticky candy-covered fingers.

And despite the warmth of it all, Vincent felt completely out of place.

He rarely ventured into town when it was this crowded, much less left the security of his upper-floor room at the inn. The happiness in the air made something inside him squirm like it was pressing him toward an inevitable interaction he wasn’t prepared for. As he wove through the crowds, he made a conscious effort to look unapproachable, his usual armor against unwanted conversation. He wasn’t here for idle pleasantries anyway. He was looking for something specific, a place he had seen once when you arrived but had given no thought to until last night when overhearing your conversation.

Vincent wasn’t usually one to eavesdrop on conversations, but your voice had been involved, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy hearing you speak.

-----

You had been helping Aerith carry drinks back to your table at the pub, both of you engrossed in conversation. Tifa had gone with Cloud to get supplies, Cid was busy with learning new navigation equipment, and cait sith- not really sure what he was up to. Vincent had straightened slightly from his usual slouched position in the corner of the establishment, trying not to make his attentiveness too obvious as he lazily draped his arm over the back of the bench. He was only here because he didn't trust sleezy drunkards not to try to follow you two back so despite your insistence that they would be okay, he came along anyway. His eyes followed you, but you hadn’t noticed yet. Good.

"Do you have a favorite flower?" Aerith asked, her face lighting up with a bright, eager smile, clearly thrilled to finally have someone to talk to about it.

"I’ll be honest, I don’t know enough to pick one. But I used to read about flower language all the time!" You admitted, a faint blush dusting your cheeks as you scratched behind your ear. "Kind of silly, I know."

Vincent’s brow furrowed slightly. Flower language. He had never given much thought to it before, never had a reason to but the way you spoke about it, there was a quiet sincerity there. Did you see meaning in those kinds of things?

Aerith gasped, clapping her hands together. "Of course not! Flowers have been an important part of history. It’s not silly at all! The language they hold—" she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hands, "—even back then, people used flowers to say the things they couldn’t put into words. And I think we both know a few guys who aren’t the best at talking."

She playfully nudged your ribs just as you were taking a sip, making you choke slightly as a few drops dribbled from your mouth. You wiped it away with the back of your hand, grimacing softly.

"Yeah, Cloud is pretty quiet unless you prod him too much, huh?"

Aerith gave you a knowing look. "Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed your little telepathic connection with Vincent." She took a swig of her drink, eyes twinkling mischievously. "You’re practically attached at the hip! You sure stare like you want to be."

Vincent stiffened. Telepathic connection? His clawed fingers curled slightly against the wood of the bench. That was an exaggeration. Surely.

Your hands flew to your face, groaning in mortification. "It’s that obvious?"

"Mmmhmmm," Aerith hummed, grinning. "But that’s okay. I think it just means you find comfort in each other, right? He’s around the group a lot more when you’re there." She pointed out matter of factly.

Vincent exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking toward the wall. He wasn’t aware he had been that obvious, maybe he should tone it down and give the both of you some space. It didn't bother him per say, just complicated the moments you two were able to hide away in the corners and sneak intimate moments. Particularly that old storage closet on the HighWind, it had become his favorite place to linger by, seeing as most of the time you pulled him in there it ended with the both of you breathless, your clothes disheveled and his hair out of place.

"Really? I never noticed…" You shyly toyed with a loose strand of hair, gaze flickering across the room until it settled briefly on Vincent.

His eyes snapped away instantly, fixing very intently on the faded menu beside him on the wall.

"He makes me feel really safe," you admitted quietly. "Even though his gaze is… intense sometimes. I don’t think he means to be. At least, not usually?"

He barely kept himself from shifting in his seat. Safe. The word rang in his ears, foreign yet something else. The way you said i made it sound like a miraculous compliment. He may have felt a little grateful for his superhuman hearing after all.

"Well…sometimes I want to know how he feels," You hesitated, continuing but lowering your voice. "It makes me think about love languages. What do you think guys like that want?"

Vincent’s opposite hand twitched slightly where they rested against his knee. Oh, this would be interesting.

Aerith pursed her lips in exaggerated thought. "Hmmm. Touch." She dramatized it by saying it breathily with a teasing look.

You went rigid, face heating. "Ahhh… maybe," you mumbled. "But I was thinking more along the lines of gifts, quality time, words of affirmation…"

Vincent slouched even further into the bench, his legs spreading wider as a couple of ladies happened to glance at the empty spot beside him. One look with his glowering eye was enough to have them turn around and perish the thought of approaching.

Love languages? He supposed he had heard of it before, but the idea of applying it to himself felt somewhat foolish. A man like him, who had spent decades trying to erase himself, thinking about something as trivial as love languages? He supposed he did have a soft spot for the classics of all things.

Aerith sighed dramatically. "That’s a tough one. I don’t know him well enough to say, but—" Her gaze lowered to the hands wrapped around her mug, her expression softening. "There used to be someone I loved. He would always drop by unexpectedly, like he always had the time to do so." She smiled wistfully.

Vincent studied her expression carefully. He knew that look. It was the same way someone smiled when trying to mask old wounds.

"Ah! That’s cute, spill more." You linked your arm with hers, trying to comfort her a little.

Aerith chuckled, lifting a hand to toy with the ribbon in her hair. "That’s how I got this. He gave it to me as a gift, and I never could let it go… even when he disappeared."

Your eyes seemed concerned, you reached up, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. She beamed at you, as if to say she was okay talking about it. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"It’s okay, I’m mostly over it. And anyway," she paused to take another swig, "We were talking about you. So, what is it that you think he likes?"

Vincent was still staring at the menu vaguely, eyes reading the faded lettering there. Raspberry sorbet. He had never had it before, but he had been reading the word over and over long enough that he could almost taste it. Sweet.

"He seems like a more traditional person, I guess… maybe at one time he would've liked dates?"

His breath stuttered, his hand coming up to his face, gazing at his empty leather glove. At one time. That was true, wasn’t it? At one time, he had been a man who could have entertained the thought of simple joys like dates. But those years were long past and the world had moved past simple walks on the beach hand in hand, probably. Picnics on Sundays with watermelon in the summer, rolled up button down shirts and bare feet in the grass. He remembered thinking he would court a woman someday, bring her lavish gifts from his corporate job, be home on time for dinner, but even then his bodyguard work never allowed him those luxuries. That life was entirely foreign now and not something he was sure of.

"So no Golden Saucer raves, check." Aerith made a swishing motion in the air as if marking off an invisible list.

"What about you though, what would you want?" She asked as you were still concentrating on what Vincent could possibly like.

"I think flowers is a good place to start, I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic," Your signature lop sided sunshine grin in place made Vincent's lips smile under his cowl. He could do hopeless and romantic, it wasn't too far off from his own views really.

-----

Vincent let out a silent exhale, pulling himself back to the present as he picked up his pace through the streets of Kalm. He didn’t know why your words lingered in his mind, but they did. You had considered him—his past, his nature, his preferences. In a way it felt good to be noticed by you.

You’d taken a leap of faith with him, putting yourself in a vulnerable position and gave him something he didn’t know how to ask for. The least he could do was acknowledge it, even return the gesture. He wasn’t good at these things, but he could at least try for your sake. His steps carried him toward the center of town, but instead of the busy marketplace, he turned into a quieter alleyway where a wooden sign swayed in the breeze, adorned with a cascade of trailing ivy.

Mira’s Floral Boutique

He hesitated. Standing outside a flower shop felt more daunting than hunting Sephiroth himself. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear the absurdity of his thoughts. Why was this so difficult?

His fingers flexed at his sides, his body caught in an awkward limbo between entering and leaving before anyone from the group saw him lingering here.

Then, before he could overthink it, he stepped inside.

The chime of a bell overhead rang far too loudly in the small shop. He grimaced as the sound echoed, announcing his presence before he even had a chance to collect himself.

The space was quaint, filled with the soft scent of earth and blooms. Clay pots were stacked near the door, ferns and ivy hung from wooden beams, their long vines brushing against his head as he moved. He ducked slightly, feeling out of place—like some great beast trying to navigate a dollhouse.

His crimson gaze scanned the shop, looking for something—though he wasn’t quite sure what.

A rustling from the back caught his attention as a small, elderly woman shuffled out from behind a shelf stacked with yellow carnations. She looked old enough to have seen several lifetimes, her wrinkled hands covered in dirt from tending to the flowers. She squinted up at him, eyeing his dark attire with curiosity before waving him down.

"Ah, there you are! Can't see ya with those legs," she chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m assuming you’re here for the flower deal?”

Vincent swallowed. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Was there a deal? He could just nod and pretend. God, no, that wouldn’t work. He exhaled slowly, shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh…”

Great start.

The woman’s expression twitched with amusement.

"You're not used to this, are you, young man?" she teased.

“…No.”

She let out a knowing laugh, motioning for him to follow her toward the back of the shop, where buckets upon buckets of fresh flowers lined the walls. He had never seen so many colors in one place. The sheer variety made his mind stall. How was he supposed to know what you like when there were this many options? Roses, gardenias, some kind of bleeding flower- oh, bleeding heart. Nice.

"Alright then," she said, dusting her hands off on her apron. “Are these for someone special?"

Vincent hesitated tearing his gaze away from the stressful choices he was about to make, his grip tightening slightly at his sides.

“…Mm.” A hum of agreement, she could think that if she wanted. Make it out to be whatever.

A rolled-up piece of wrapping paper lightly thwacked against his arm. He blinked, mildly stunned, as the woman squinted up at him.

“She’s either special, or she’s not, young man.” She scolded and shook her head. “Now, tell me about her.”

Vincent stiffened. His first instinct was to shut down the conversation entirely, but she was already walking toward the flowers waiting for his answer. He wasn't used to speaking about someone else to some random stranger, but something about the old woman seemed earnest. It wasn't like she was going to run down the road gossiping about this strange, lanky man who walked into her store with his gun still attached- He hoped.

He swallowed, choosing his words carefully as he didn't know exactly how to explain you.

"She’s… steady.”

The shopkeeper hummed, plucking a stem from one of the buckets absent-mindedly, it seemed like she did this a lot.

“She doesn’t push, but she doesn’t waver either,” he continued, voice low. "She’s perceptive, she listens." He tilted his head, one hand steady on his hip as he put serious consideration into it.

The woman smiled knowingly. "That’s rare," she mused. "Most people only listen to reply."

Vincent’s gaze drifted over the petals of a flower near him, the way they curled delicately at the edges. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, not really sure why he was suddenly becoming an open book to the florist about you.

"She makes space for people, even when they don’t know how to ask for it."

The shopkeeper nodded approvingly. “You talk about her like she’s something worth protecting.”

He tensed at that, but didn’t refute it.

With a satisfied hum and a tap of her fingers on the counter, she started plucking flowers from various buckets. Her steps shuffled through the shop, the wood creaking beneath her feet in protest. “Alright, I have just the thing.”

She selected a pink camellia, its soft petals full and vibrant. “Admiration and deep respect,” she explained, handing it to him first to let him smell.

Vincent studied it in his palm. That was a good start. She waited for him to bring it to his nose, he nodded his head in approval. It smelled sweet, soft.

Next, she added a few sprigs of blue salvia, their tiny blossoms delicate but striking against the soft pastel pink of the camellia. “This one means I think of you.” She shot him a glance. “Seems appropriate, considering you’ve been standing here looking like a man lost in thought.”

His jaw ticked slightly, but he said nothing. His eyes fixing her with an unamused stare.

Then came bellflowers, their lavender hue complementing the bouquet. “Gratitude,” she explained. “For the quiet kind of devotion, for the things left unsaid.”

Vincent’s fingers curled slightly around the stems as he collected them one by one.

Finally, she plucked a few delicate statice flowers, their clusters of violet petals weightless in her hands. “This one,” she said softly, “is for remembrance. For missing someone, even when they’re still near.”

A sharp pang pressed against his ribs, a sense of understanding settling deep in his chest. Though he wouldn't let it show as he shrunk further behind the red of his cowl.

The woman said nothing more as she wrapped the bouquet with a simple ribbon, tucking the stems into a soft white parchment before pressing it into his hands.

“There,” she said. “That should do it.”

Vincent looked down at the bouquet, the colors blending together in muted beauty. The weight of it felt different. More intentional than anything he had carried in a long time. It was like all his words were staring back at him in the face, yet the only people hearing it was in this room.

“…She’ll like these?” he asked, voice quieter than before a bit uncertain if his silly idea was truly just that, ridiculous.

The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. “If she’s anything like the way you just described her, she won’t just like them. She’ll understand them.”

Vincent nodded once, slowly, before pulling out the gil to pay. He tucked the bouquet carefully into the crook of his arm before turning toward the door. He could hear the shopkeeper call out to him once more about extra gil he was leaving behind, but his just raised his hand in acknowledgement. He figured since he was being so generous today a little extra spending wouldn't hurt his agony image.

The warm breeze met him as he stepped outside, ruffling his cloak and carrying the scent of fresh blooms with him. The bouquet felt heavier in his grasp than it should have. For the first time in a long while, he was bringing something to someone instead of pushing them away.

His skin tingled, his mind a restless current of thoughts—how you would react, what you would say, and, perhaps more troubling, what you might tell the others. Would you tease him? Would the group pry? Had he been too boring? Too traditional? Too old?

His long strides slowed, deliberately wasting time as the afternoon sun dipped behind passing clouds.

Was he being too traditional?

What even was dating like in this time? Generations had passed—what if the rules had changed? He had discarded his ideas of fun the moment he became a Turk, and after the experiment… did he even understand people anymore? What if he had gotten you all wrong?

A familiar voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

"Ah, Vincent! I’ve been looking for you. I heard it’s going to rain soon, so I brought an umbrella! I've been looking all over, Yuffie said-"

Like the chime of the bell in the flower shop, your voice pulled him back, parting the murmur of the town around him. His gaze dropped first to the scuffed sneakers stepping into his path before flicking up to meet yours.

Instinct took over. His arm shifted, subtly tucking the bouquet beneath the folds of his cloak as if it would disappear behind the curtain of scarlet.

---------

Your eyes missed nothing. He was lost in his head before you even approached, you could tell by the way he was studying the ground below, the way his strides faltered.

You opened your mouth to ask, but before the words could form, a single drop of rain struck the tip of your nose. You blinked in surprise before laughing softly, rubbing at the spot with your sleeve. The sky had been clear earlier, but you supposed the clouds had been creeping in while you weren’t paying attention.

Still, your focus drifted back to him—Vincent, standing there stiffly, shoulders tense as if he were bracing for something. You knew him well enough to recognize when he was uncomfortable. The shifting crowds, the open space—he didn’t like being seen like this.

So you did the first thing that came naturally. You reached for his hand.

For a second, it almost felt like he didn’t want you to. His fingers remained rigid, unmoving, and you braced yourself for the possibility that he might pull away. But then, slowly, his hand relented, letting you take it.

You didn’t say anything, only gave a light tug, guiding him away from the bustling street. He followed without protest, his long stride easily matching yours as you led him toward the bridge by the water wheel. The hum of the town grew softer as you stepped beneath its arch, the sound of rushing water covering the world beyond.

It was quiet here. Private, sort of. The way he preferred things.

Still, he hadn’t said a word.

Your eyes flicked toward him, watching as he remained unnaturally stiff. His arm was still pinned to his side, his cloak folded awkwardly beneath it like he was hiding something.

"Hey, you okay?"

Your fingers squeezed his gently, a small tug to get his attention, but he was already leaning against the wooden railing that kept people from falling into the water, unmoving. You let go of the umbrella, it becoming cradled by the blades of grass.

You frowned, scanning him for injuries, fingers adjusting his cloak that wasnt pinned to his side.

"Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "No, It's nothing."

His voice was slightly strained. And—was that pink on the tops of his cheeks? You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him look quite like this.

Your lips quirked, curiosity sparking. What could possibly fluster Vincent Valentine? He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, as if he was in some kind of trouble.

"Does it have to do with whatever you’re hiding then?"

You leaned in, pressing his hand to your waist, tilting your head up to meet his eyes with a knowing hum. You were teasing, but only a little. Mostly, you just wanted to see what he would do.

His crimson gaze flickered to yours, unimpressed. A long-suffering sigh followed.

"You miss nothing, do you?"

"Sorry," you grinned. "Someone taught me how to be extremely observant."

He huffed—whether in amusement or exasperation, you weren’t sure but after a beat of hesitation, he finally moved.

"Fine."

With careful precision, Vincent unpinned his arm from his side, shifting his cloak away to reveal what he’d been hiding all this time.

A bouquet.

The rain started to fall down harder, the sound of it pelting the water snapped you out of your haze.

Soft pink camellias, delicate sprigs of blue salvia, the gentle violet of bellflowers and statice—all tied neatly together with a simple ribbon.

Your breath caught, eyes widening just slightly. You had expected something a lot more practical like maybe he bought himself a new weapon or at most a saucy magazine- although the idea of it would make you giggle. The idea of the Vincent Valentine viewing half naked articles of women with his skeptical gaze was hilarious.

Vincent said nothing, only held the bouquet out toward you, his expression unreadable but his body language screamed cautious. Like he wasn’t sure what you’d think about this gift.

You took your time viewing his outstreatched hand wrapped in the flowers, the delicate arrangement of soft pink camellias, sprigs of blue salvia, and violet bellflowers carefully tied together. It wasn’t just a bundle of flowers—it was intentional. Thoughtful. Him. It made you smile thinking of him having trouble picking out any of these, possibly having to ask for help. That alone made your heart flutter, he went out of his way to do something for you even if it made him nervous.

For a moment, you just stared, your fingers hovering over the petals like they might vanish if you touched them.

"Vincent…" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His expression was unreadable, but his grip on the bouquet was firm, as if bracing himself. He wanted you to say something more, anything to ease him, maybe change his mind about tossing them entirely. He looked somewhat adorable with something so fragile in his grip, this tall man wearing dark leather with layers of belts and a warning sign practically hanging from his neck that said, 'Danger'

You exhaled softly, finally reaching forward, your fingertips brushing against the pink paper wrapping before you took it from his grasp, cradling it like something precious before you brought them to your nose. The pinks, violets, and lavender colors all seemed to compliment you as well, almost like a miracle. The petals ghosted your lips as you tried to commit the smell to memory, you're certain you would be sneezing later. Your eyes caught the movement of a little bell charm hanging from the end of the ribbon, it's glass reflection glimmering.

"They're beautiful."

The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

You traced the edge of one of the camellia petals, your heart warming at the meaning behind them. Admiration. Respect. Then the salvia—I think of you. And the bellflowers—Gratitude. Even the statice, nestled among them—Remembrance. You swallowed, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. He might not have said the words out loud, but he had. In his own way. Your fingers curled around the stems, holding them close. He thought about this. He thought about you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest.

Stepping closer, you tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, the corners of your lips curling into something soft. His crimson eyes searched yours, still cautious, still waiting.

You didn’t make him wait long.

Rising onto your toes, you pressed a feather-light kiss against his cheek, just above his jaw before sliding to the corner of his mouth. You pressed a little more firmly, but still gentle. It wasn’t rushed, nor fleeting. Just soft. Intentional. The way he deserved.

When you pulled back, you lingered in his space, just close enough to feel the warmth of him beneath his cloak.

His breath had hitched—so subtle that most wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. The way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

"Thank you, Vincent," you murmured, your voice warm, sincere, "You did so much for me today,"

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, slowly, his gaze softened. He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head just enough that a few strands of his dark hair fell across his face. It looked like your gentleness had brought him back down to you.

"Hm."

That was all he said. But then, just as you started to pull back, his fingers ghosted over yours—the metal of his gauntlet cold, his other hand warm. Before you could react, he grasped your hand, his grip steady but careful not to wrench you out of place. In one smooth motion, he pulled you closer, guiding you against his side beneath the cover of his cloak. It wasn’t forceful, nor awkward.

Your breath stilled for half a second, heart drumming against your ribs as his warmth bled into you.

You glanced up at him, but he didn’t look down—not at first. His eyes remained forward, as if this was nothing of note, as if it was just practical—a way to shield you from the cold, the wind, the world outside of this moment. It reminded you of that moment on the hill, where you had finally mustered the courage to get close to him.

But then, after a pause, he spoke, voice quiet.

"You're welcome."

And though it was just two simple words, you felt them float down deep in your chest.

Because for a man who had spent years keeping others at arm’s length, this—his warmth, his presence, the way his hand curled ever so slightly around yours—was something far more than words could ever convey.

And you squeezed his hand in return, letting him know you understood.

Your eyes widened though as realization struck.

"You totally eavesdropped on me and Aerith yesterday, I knew it!"

Horror flashed across your face as you stared up at him, clutching the bouquet to your chest. How else would he have known about the flowers?

Vincent let out a long-suffering sigh, and though he didn’t say a word, you could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

How diva of him.

"You were loud," he countered, voice flat, as if that was a perfectly reasonable excuse.

"Loud?!" you gawked. "It was a normal conversation—oh my god, were you lurking again?!"

He huffed through his nose. Not a denial.

Before you could press him further, he shifted, his hands lightly guiding you until your back was pressed against his chest. The bouquet was still nestled safely in your arms, but now, Vincent’s cloak draped over your shoulders, encasing you in a warm cocoon of crimson fabric.

Then, to your absolute surprise, he rested his chin on your head.

Your mouth opened—then closed. Opened again. A fish out of water.

Did Vincent Valentine just cuddle you? Voluntarily, out in the open?

"You’re lucky this is cute, because you'll still owe me an explanation later." You murmured, feeling a bit shy suddenly.

"Sure,"

You huffed, shaking your head with a small smile, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you adjusted your hold on the bouquet, inhaling the soft, lingering scent of the flowers.

"You know," you mused, "this does make us look like a very romantic couple. People are probably passing by and looking at us, thinking, ‘Wow, what a devoted lover, buying his partner flowers and wrapping them up in his cloak.’"

You expected him to reject your notion that you were a couple in the first place, not knowing if he wanted to label what you had between you anyway.

Instead, he scoffed, "Then stop talking, you'll make them look more."

You grinned. "But it’s cute—"

"Stop talking."

"I bet Aerith would—"

His hand gently covered your mouth.

You laughed against his palm, feeling the softest shake of his head above you. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, you knew the truth, that Vincent Valentine had absolutely eavesdropped on you.

And judging by the warmth of his embrace, the brush of his lips on the top of your head, he didn’t regret it one bit.

[whimsy-beetle]

This was unavoidable, i was going to make a crossover au sooner or later (i think i cooked tho)

I will now ramble about the implications of bug Jekyll and Hyde in Hallownest.

Everything takes place in the golden age of Hallownest, in the city of tears. Jekyll is an upstanding citizen and renowned doctor/scientist (he ofc lives in the fancy side of the city). I decided to keep his motives the same as in the novella (initially i was going to make him want to get infected, mixing soul and infection to make the potion and separate his infected and uninfected selves, but i remember coming up with some inconsistency issues and certain parts that didn't quite fit the original story so I scrapped that in the end).

I settled on Jekyll making the potion with soul (i think this fits exceptionally well since Lanyon calls jekyll's studies pseudoscience in the book and the use of soul is frowned upon in hallownest)

Hyde is uninfected in the beginning, just does whatever he wants (in a very mischievous matter, as one does) but later gets infected to distance himself from jekyll and to be even more of a menace (he still has his consciousness when infected, like xero. Especially because of this line the use of 3rd person towards the end in the last chapter.

Oh yeah, i think jekyll's house and laboratory would look something like this [in game it would be only one room, kind of like Lurien's room atop his spire (yes, i consider lurien's house to only be that room, not the entire tower)] but with more soul sanctum equipment and smaller (please appreciate the screenshots from my "psychoanalyzing bug architecture sigmund freud style" folder)

worry not i will draw his room sometime (for now i only have this rough sketch with fucked up perspective)

shenanigans ensue

[xxplastic-cubexx]

was talking to my brother the other day after i rewatched dark phoenix and he was like 'why is everyone so mean to charles in this movie?? were they always this mean to him ?? is it cause he's bald now- he lost his pretty privilege??' and i fear i havent recovered

[bakudekublogblog]

talking to normal people about mha is always so enlightening because someone told me they didn't like season six and i was like???? THE BIBLE??????? YOU DONT LIKE THE BIBLE??? BAKUGOU KATSUKI RISING?? THE APOLOGY??? THE CHASING AFTER HIM TO FIGHT SHIGARAKI, THE REVEAL KATSUKI HAS BEEN WORRIED ABOUT IZUKU, IZUKU'S FERAL RAGE WHEN KATSUKI IS STABBED, KATSUKI BEING THE ONE TO FIND IZUKU AND THEN THE ONE TO BRING HIM HOME??? YOU DONT ENJOY THE SACRED TEXTS?? and then i'm like oh right not everyone is a fujoshi high on that sweet, sweet bkdk yaoi

[jadelemonadee]

ok laplaces angel with seabury let me cook let me cook okay the king is the little “it’s the norm for animals” voice since he’s the main root of most if not all of seabury’s political beliefs or something idk and maybe the main thing is him having this whole realization that perhaps his beliefs don’t exactly perfectly align with his morals and that he was never in the right to begin with??? (with the loyalism thing and him being a pacifist) because yk the whole “oooooh could you take a look at me am i bad am i bad am i bad am i really that bad” right guys right haha right????/)/) please ive been having these thoughts conjuring up in my head for several months but idk how to put it into words and still be coherent 😭😭😭 this is so cringe ok bye don’t even read this (or do……😳😳😳😳)

listen to it pleaaaaase 🥺

[akkivee]

and since i’m kinda on the topic of kuukou’s origin, i’ve mentioned on here stage kuukou’s writing has always rubbed me the wrong way, but since i hated that about myself, i was trying to come around to liking him lol. tragically nelke rebooted the thing before i got to put it in practice, but i had been toying with the idea that the way stage kuukou is is bc that’s kuukou’s true origin

like stage kuukou was callous towards everyone really lol, others were too bogged down by their situations and didn’t have the means/strength to get out of it and he wanted nothing to do with it. it contradicts what he’s been shown to do in canon; unami refusing to acknowledge she needs help but he wanted to do help her anyway, coaxing out permission to save a hostess bc she was in trouble and he wanted to help. whereas stage kuukou saw haru wanting to help his family but wound up being scammed and didn’t want to help him at all, saying why should he help when haru’s clearly given up on himself lol

for all it is contradictory, it does fall in line with two situations in canon actually. in the dhbat manga, kuukou beats up and thoroughly charms his merry gay band of thugs, and they want to be like him so they ask him how should they clean themselves up. kuukou brushes them off like how tf should he know lmao, but there’s kuukou kinda being a little callous towards them. and then he was also initially dismissive towards jyushi, primarily bc he was being forced into it lmao, but he did sit thru hitoya explaining to shakku why jyushi needs the training in the first place and still wanted to refuse lol

so i’ve been thinking, maybe kuukou before we see him at 14 ready to drop everything to help ren, was a lot more dismissive of the human struggle and may have paid a heavy price that changed his mentality about it 🤔

[penisbilt]

the bittersweet but absolute flood of relief that comes from admitting defeat at living independently, to have to move back in with parents. we tried! we gave it our best shot for almost 3 years! but living like this (being on our own) is just not possible for us at this time of our lives. we've finally proved it to ourselves that we can't do it. it'll be okay to let ourselves rest now