#not to rag on those people. there's nothing wrong with that but some games are just NOT going to work with you in that way

[celepeace]

Sometimes I'm surprised that monster hunter isn't more popular among the creature design and spec evo corners of tumblr, at least the portions that also play video games, and then I remember that it's just about as hard as soulsborne games (I'd argue some specific entries are even harder) but doesn't have any of the atmospheric or story elements to attract people. It gets by on sheer gameplay alone and isn't a pvp game either. There is no way to make the game easier besides picking one of the less mechanically complex weapons and git gud. If it wasn't for the neat dinosaurs I couldn't think of a game less alluring to the average tumblr user

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: again, a request :)

summary: delivery driver!nat, artist!reader (not part of the request, but i decided to add it anyway), g!p nat

warnings: brief smut (handjob), implied sex, forgetting to eat (not sure if this needs to be a warning but i’m adding it anyway), mildly creepy behavior but only if you squint

word count: 7k

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Hands splattered with yellow paint. A white overall. Messy hair and the smell of turpentine mixing with some expensive perfume.

Mundane things, but she won't be able to get them out of her head.

Natasha never knows what kind of people she's going to run into while doing late-night deliveries and, frankly, she usually doesn't care. All she wants is the money and maybe a solid tip — that's it. She does it for the extra cash, not because she's desperate for even more social interactions.

She's been doing this for a while now. Being a car mechanic at a small shop, her salary is far from sufficient. The $20 an hour don't stretch far, barely manage to fully cover her rent, so she decided to pick up a few extra shifts at night. Bless DoorDash for making those quite flexible as well, otherwise she'd probably be living in the streets now.

Again, she doesn't care who her customers are. She meets all kinds of people like this, and she's seen everything from teenage boys ordering Chick-fil-A for their 2am-gaming sessions to lesser known celebrities who can't be bothered to cook. Alcoholics and single dads, college students and people who just got home from partying. In the end, their faces will all be a blur, anyway.

Your name doesn't stand out when she accepts the delivery. All Natasha notices is that she's never delivered to this address before — a somewhat remote area, up on a hill, no neighbors and nothing to do. She doesn't question what kind of person would live in a place like that, even though she maybe should. What she also should do (but doesn't) is worry about driving up there by herself. It's the middle of the night, nobody else lives up there, and the cabin looks as run-down as it does abandoned.

When the motorcycle's headlights die down, so does the last source of light she has. All the house's windows are closed and dark. Judging by the looks of it, she's delivering food to ghosts.

Natasha swings her leg off the motorcycle and grabs the paper bag from the little top-box. She notices the residual grease on her hands a second too late, but decides it isn't important. The paper bag is full of stains either way.

Once she steps on the porch, a tiny light turns on. It flickers pathetically, barely holding on at this point, but provides enough light for Natasha to see your face when you open the door.

Doe eyes and paint on your cheeks, hair pulled back carelessly. Hands that look like they have enough color on them to make even the grayest days a little more colorful. Suddenly, she regrets not taking a closer look at your name. She would've remembered.

"DoorDash", she says, holding out the paper bag.

"Right!", you say, face lighting up and eyes turning more lively. Natasha feels her thoughts falter. "Totally forgot. Lemme just-"

You turn and, just like that, disappear in the darkness of the house. Natasha pauses, still holding onto your order, before snapping out of it. She glances into the hallway and tries to locate a single source of light, but finds nothing.

That is, until you seem to appear out of thin air again. She flinches slightly.

"Thanks", you say, wiping your hands on a rag. "Had trouble finding your way up here? I know one guy who got lost in the forest. Somehow managed to take the wrong exit. Never saw that pizza."

"No, no issues", she mumbles, handing you the food and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "It's dark in there."

"Oh, yeah." You nod and grab her hand. She stares at you, stunned, and then you smear the rag on the back of her hand. The streak of paint that's left behind glows faintly. "Glow-in-the-dark paint!"

"Seriously?"

"Looks great, doesn't it? I wanted to paint my bathroom with that, but decided against it."

Natasha hums, looking at the paint again. Her eyes meet yours. You give her an expectant look, as if you're waiting for something she can't place. All she's doing is deliver your food, after all. But you keep staring, so she shakes her head.

Enough. She has at least half a dozen more deliveries to get through before she can call it a night.

"Okay", she says, slowly, and steps back. "Well, uhm, enjoy your food."

You nod, already tearing open the bag of fast food and grabbing a fry. "Don't get lost on your way back."

She glances at you, seeming a little distracted. Then she nods and waves absently, already on her way to her motorcycle. The door closes behind her, a soft thud that cuts through the quiet of the night, and she tracks the vehicle where she left it.

It's an old, beat-up thing, but it's reliable. It gets her where she needs to be, it allows her to earn some extra money. She's thankful for her Harley, she really is. But in that moment, when she's hopping on her old Sportster and grabbing the handlebars, she wishes it wasn't the reason she's able to leave again.

. . .

Can doing what you love make you starve?

Maybe. Possibly. Actually? Pretty damn likely. That's your conclusion after working on a few new projects made you forget about eating for almost an entire day.

Aside from a bowl of Cheerios in the morning, topped with a bunch of sugar, you haven't eaten anything all day. Instead, you've been mixing colors and washing paintbrushes and filling your sketchbook. Doodles on walls and paper scraps on the floor, paint in your hair and a pencil between your teeth. One foot resting on the edge of your seat, you tug at the straps of your overall. The color on your fingernails isn't nail polish — it's paint.

You lean forward and inspect the little sketch again. At this point, you're not even sure what this is going to be. Another scrap? A comic strip? No way to know until you're at least halfway there. Maybe you won't know even then.

Music is making the floors vibrate. In front of you are a couple of cups. Some contain tea, others water you've been cleaning your paintbrushes with. You glance at them and resist the urge to take another leap of faith. You've had one too many sips of murky, paint-infused regret.

You turn toward the sketch again, but your stomach rumbling distracts you from the thick lines of charcoal and graphite. You sigh and shift, trying to ignore it and get back into that creative, pulsating headspace again, but it's no use. Your body is hungry.

As usual, you're not in the mood to cook. You're working, and you're scared of getting into another creative block, so you open the DoorDash app and order one of your favorites.

When Natasha looks at her phone, it's not just your name that stands out. It's the address. It brings back images of vines on the sides and tangling around porch railings, winding dirt paths, paint on the back of her hand and a heart that won't stop thrumming.

There's been a lot of this over the past few weeks. At first, it was just a coincidence — due to you ordering food at the most ungodly hours, not many drivers are available. Natasha is one of the few who are desperate enough to work past midnight. Just bad timing, in the end. Or good, depending on how you look at it.

Then, it started to feel like more. She's not sure why, or how, but it did.

It was the same for you. After a few nights of being too distracted and sleep-deprived to notice anything, you finally caught onto the fact that, hey, you'd been getting the same driver over and over again. And hey, you like that driver, and it's not just some case of classical conditioning due to the yummy food, but actually more than just that.

Natasha noticed as well. And now, seeing your name and address on the screen, your order up for grabs, she taps on 'accept delivery'.

The route to your house is familiar by now. The lack of light doesn't disrupt her ability to find her way to your porch anymore. The paper bag in her hands has ceased to merely be a way to earn more money.

You open the door and, as basically always, give her that slightly absent smile you tend to sport. Eyes just a little distant, like you're constantly chasing some cloud of thought in your head, and hands and cheeks smudged with some kind of art medium — charcoal, paint, ink. Natasha can't help but stare, her own forearms oil-smudged but concealed by her jacket.

"Hey", she eventually says, holding out the paper bag. "Your food."

"You were quick this time", you say, grabbing the bag and putting it aside. "No traffic? Or were you just that eager to get here?"

"A bit of both", she says. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You do tip quite generously."

You hum, eyes subtly tracing along her arms. They're hidden by her leather jacket, but you can tell she gets some sort of physical exercise. Workouts or something. Maybe manual labor. Whatever it is — it's working.

"Driving into the middle of bumfuck nowhere should have its perks."

"Oh, I can think of a few."

You shoot her a quick smile. "Hm", you say, briefly glancing into the hallway. Natasha follows your gaze and spots a half-finished painting. She decides not to comment on it, but the colors distract her for a moment. "So...any more deliveries tonight?"

"Huh? Oh, yes." Natasha nods, spinning her keys around her pointer finger. "Still got to get through a couple."

Tilting your head, you let your eyes linger. She tilts her head right back at you, but much more subtly. The air between you heats up, despite the chilly October air seeping into the hallway. Sparks fly and bodies subconsciously move closer. Just a tiny, harmless step. Nothing to worry about.

"Pity. I was going to offer you a fry", you say, peeling some dried paint off your thumb. "But I can't keep you from your adoring customers, can I?"

"Probably not", Natasha agrees, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step back again. It's getting late, and she needs to get her ass back on her motorcycle. Flirting with a customer probably isn't the smartest move, either. "Though 'adoring' isn't exactly a word I'd use for them."

"Why not?", you say, watching her walk back to her motorcycle. A black, rugged thing that makes perfect sense for her. "You're always on time."

"Maybe that's only your experience", she counters. "Like you said — eager to get here."

You lift your eyebrows. Natasha sits on the old Harley and lets the engine roar, a sound that cuts through the quiet night sharply. You can barely see her, that's how dark it is outside. But then the motorcycle's headlights come on and you feel your heartbeat quicken.

"Drive safe", you call out once you've pulled yourself together.

"Always do", she calls back.

As she drives off, you can't help but wonder whether it's still just a coincidence at this point.

. . .

There's a thin line between being romantic and being a creep.

You may or may not have been toeing that very line.

Ever since noticing Natasha works the night shifts, you started ordering food later and later. It went from 11pm to midnight, then to half past midnight. 1am followed, then quarter past.

Why? To allow her to linger.

What you don't know is that Natasha's been doing the same. Maybe even worse. She scans the orders, looking for yours. She doesn't even think about it anymore — it's just instinct.

With each delivery, she stays longer. Stalls. She lingers in the doorway, her voice hushed and raspy, silently trying to figure out what colors you used based on the stains on your hands and face.

And with each delivery, you become more used to seeing her. It turns into a routine, something normal. Like waking up to the movie posters taped to your bedroom ceiling and listening to the owls at night, you start to expect it. That shows a few weeks later, when Natasha pops up to deliver your birria tacos.

"Where were you yesterday?", you ask, sleepy and groggy, and grab the greasy paper bag. She lifts her eyebrows.

"You didn't order anything yesterday."

You pause and look up, blinking slowly. It's nearly 2am, and you really need to sleep. But you've been up, waiting to order something and have Natasha deliver it.

"You sure?"

She smiles faintly. "Didn't see your name anywhere. I'm pretty sure, yes."

"Oh." Your face falls and you scratch your cheek. The dried watercolor on it is irritating your skin. "I think I forgot about dinner, then."

"That's concerning."

You wave your hand dismissively. "Happens all the time", you say. "Maybe I need someone to remind me."

Natasha stops in her tracks when you give her an expectant look. There's no way you're serious, right?

But you are. You grab your phone and hand it to her. She looks at the screen, smudged and cracked, before glancing at you again.

"You deliver my food all the time, anyway", you argue, ignoring her soft sigh. "Why not cut out the middleman? Much more practical."

"And the reminding you-thing?", she asks, already typing in her number.

"That was a joke."

"It didn't sound like one. Here." She hands you your phone back and crosses her arms. You tuck the device into the pocket of your overall. "For emergencies, right?"

"Of course", you say, smiling. The exhaustion seems to have disappeared from your face.

It's a lie, and you both know it, but Natasha can't find it in herself to care.

. . .

"Seriously?"

"I ran out of charcoal."

"I had to drive all the way across town", she points out. "Plus, my number was supposed to be for emergencies only."

You lift your chin, silently challenging her. She doesn't seem too impressed, though, but the look in her eyes tells you she doesn't mind this as much as she pretends to.

"Food emergencies", she adds. "Not art emergencies."

"You still went and brought it."

Natasha only partially succeeds at biting back a half-frustrated, half-fond noise, and shoves the plastic bag into your arms.

The words do it yourself next time are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't utter them. God forbid she has to quit stopping by your house.

You peek into the bag and hum approvingly. Natasha watches you, first unmoving, then reaches out to touch the blue paint on your cheek. She swipes her thumb across it and smudges it further.

You look up, staring. She shrugs.

"Missed a spot."

"Very considerate", you say, lifting your hand to let your fingertips ghost across your cheek. Red and blue create purple.

Natasha shifts, but doesn't step away. Her eyes trace your face. You want her to stay, and she doesn't want to leave.

"No more bullshit", she adds. "Otherwise, I'll start expecting much bigger tips."

"You drive a hard bargain", you reply, cocking your head. "Can't promise anything, though."

She sighs, but the tiny smile betrays her. She can think of worse things than getting more excuses to see you.

"You're spoiled", she states. "How come you're always up this late, anyway? It's, like, 2am."

You shrug, turning on the spot and sauntering into the living room. Natasha, to your frustration, stays glued to her spot in the hallway.

"Can't sleep", you say, crouching in front of the large sheet of paper and tearing open the new charcoal. "Working on something."

She hums, trying to catch a glimpse of you and what you're doing. She can see the corner of a paper, covered in a bunch of comic strips. Then, you crawl forward on your knees and your head comes into view.

"I'm surprised I see no coffins in here."

"Huh?"

"You know. Always up at night, afraid of the sun."

You lift your head, momentarily puzzled — you're spacing out already, and you're sleep deprived, and this late, nothing seems to make sense. Then, the meaning behind her words registers.

"You're asking if I'm a vampire?", you say, sitting on your knees and wiping your face with the back of your hand. Natasha's lips twitch as she sees you smudge the charcoal there further.

"It'd make sense", she replies. "Now you're refusing to answer, too. Guess there must be something to it."

"Well", you say, wiping your hands on your overall, "let me bite you and find out."

Natasha malfunctions for a solid three seconds. Once she's gotten her bearings, she rolls her eyes and knocks on the wooden door. You look up from your project and tilt your head.

"Deliveries?"

"Yeah", she says. "Two more, then I'm done for tonight."

You nod, disappointed but not ready to argue. You get up and pad back into the hallway. You're not even sure why — she can find her way back outside by herself, obviously.

Natasha keeps her eyes on you. Her hands are in the pockets of her jeans, red strands of hair framing her face. She sees the charcoal on your bottom lip and wonders what kissing you would taste like.

"I'll text you", you say, rubbing your lip to get rid of the charcoal.

Emergencies only, she wants to say. She decides against it.

She steps back, adjusting her jacket. She should leave. She needs to leave. Somehow, she can't bring herself to. She just stands there, watching as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, the light from inside catching on the paint smudges along your collarbone.

"See you", she says, voice lower.

"Yeah", you mumble, eyes on her.

She finally forces herself to turn around and step outside. The cold night air cuts through her jacket, but she barely registers it. She swings one leg over the motorcycle and puts on her helmet, then waits.

You're still in the door, the golden light spilling out from inside framing your silhouette.

Natasha shakes her head and kicks the bike to life.

The roar of the engine fades into the night, and you close the door.

. . .

Having your motorcycle break down in the rain is less than ideal.

Natasha swings her leg off the bike, frustration etched into her features, and crouches down beside it. She filled up on gas right before leaving, so that can't be the issue. She checks the cables and wiring, inspects the spark plugs, takes a look at the battery. Once she's done that, she curses and kicks the tire.

The battery's dead. She's screwed.

Running her hand through her wet hair — of course she had to forget her helmet today —, she looks at your house in the distance. It's almost two more miles, and it's pouring rain, but she's got your In-N-Out order in the top-box and, truthfully, she‘s itching to see you.

She tries starting the bike one more time, even if it's hopeless. The battery's dead, which means the motorcycle isn't getting anywhere. Accepting her fate, she grabs the handlebars and starts pushing.

Wet hands slip on metal, rain drips down her face. Her jacket is soaked, as is her hoodie. Her boot briefly gets stuck in mud. Raindrops feel like dozens of tiny whips against her cheeks.

By the time she's gotten up the hill and to your house, half an hour has passed. She's soaked to the bone, dripping wet, out of breath, her arms hurting — and somehow, she doesn't care about any of that. She grabs the paper bag from the top-box and makes her way to your porch. Cold, reddened knuckles meet old wood.

You open the door and stare at her.

Drenched, out of breath, her once light gray hoodie now the shade of cracked pepper. Water drips from the red strands of hair that are framing her face. Clutching the takeout bag like it's life or death, her green eyes staring right back into yours.

For a moment, neither of you move.

When she lowers her gaze to the floor, a puddle forming on the wooden porch beneath her, you jump forward and cup her face.

Kissing her feels like second nature. Her lips are cold and wet when they press against yours. Her cheeks are cold, and she smells like a mixture of perfume and rain-soaked clothes.

You tug her inside, only pulling away slightly. She's still out of breath, but for a different reason now.

She sneezes, turning her head to try and hide it, but you notice anyway. You help her out of her jacket and steer her to the couch. She sits down and off comes her dripping wet hoodie. Her shirt is soaked as well, so off it goes as well. Fingertips brushing against skin, you notice how cold she is.

"You're insane", you say, returning with a towel. Natasha glances at it and subtly raises her eyebrows when she spots the paint stains on it, but you've already started toweling her hair dry. "You'll get pneumonia!"

"I'll be fine", she says dismissively. "Just a little rain. My bike broke down."

"You could've called", you mutter, rubbing her hair with the towel. "Or texted. I would've called a taxi or something."

Natasha goes silent. She didn't even consider that option. Maybe part of her wanted to prove something. Hopefully, she succeeded. If not, this may have all been for nothing.

You go upstairs to grab some clothes from your room. Natasha stays on the couch, her eyes scanning her surroundings. She expected art supplies, many of them, and she also expected some messiness. But she didn't think it'd be so...comfortable. Lived-in. Warm, despite the chaos.

Paint splatters on wooden floorboards and half-finished paintings leaning against the walls. Charcoal sketches and pastel doodles, postcards on the walls. Mismatched furniture — most of it thrifted — and glass paint on the massive window. A teddy, with a knitted dress on it.

She smells tea and turpentine, with a hint of something floral woven into the unique smell. A glance at the dining table tells her it's coming from a vase full of lilies.

You return, bare feet padding against stair steps, and walk back to Natasha's side. You hold out a sweater for her to put on, nodding in encouragement, but she grabs your waist and pulls you into her lap instead.

It's unexpected, but not unwelcome. She tugs the sweater out of your hand and tosses it aside, then kisses you again.

Fingerprints of paint stain her face.

. . .

You don't stop ordering things. In fact, you only start to order more.

You know you're being an annoying little shit. It's clear as day, and your chats prove it.

You: bring me more

washi tape pls? — 1.04am

Natasha: you're fucking

kidding — 1.04am

You: the clear one with

the stars :) — 1.05am

Natasha: this isn't a

convenience store. — 1.05am

You: it is if you bring

me what i want — 1.06am

And, half an hour later, she was in front of your door. There was a striped bag in her hands.

Once she saw your smile, she'd forgotten all about her complaints.

"This is the last time", she said, letting you lead her into the house. You tilted your head up to kiss her jaw. "Don't even try to butter me up. No more running errands for you."

You know she doesn't mind, though. One night, as you're kneeling on the floor and gluing magazine cutouts to a painting, someone knocks. You get up and open the door and, oh surprise, it's Natasha.

The first thing you notice is that she looks exhausted. Circles under her eyes, her face even paler than usual. The poor excuse of a paper bag she's clutching is crumpled and grease-stained.

"You order anything?", she asks.

Of course not. You never order on Tuesdays. Not anymore, at least — it's the only night Natasha has off.

You tilt your head in silent response. Her jaw clenches, she shifts on her feet and drums her fingers against her thigh, and you finally decide to stop torturing her.

"Come in", you say, grabbing her hand.

"Figured you'd want something", she mumbles, padding into the living room.

"Uh-huh. Here, sit down."

She sinks onto the couch's cushions, sighing quietly. You straddle her lap and take your sweet time with her for a moment. Just look at her, run your fingers through her hair, gently push the jacket off her shoulders.

Her eyes meet yours. You smile softly and grasp her chin between your fingers.

"You must really like me."

She bites the insides of her cheeks, eyes staring up at you. No response — she doesn't know what to say, because denying the truth would be as uncomfortable as standing by it.

You trail your fingers along her jaw, then slide them up into her hair. You lean in close, so close you can taste her breath and feel her lips brush against yours, but not close enough to kiss her. Finally, Natasha grips your thighs in unspoken frustration.

You laugh quietly and lean in, deciding to go easy on her. You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth and guide her to lay down.

"Cat got your tongue?", you murmur, placing lingering kisses on her jaw.

"Just tired."

"And you decided to show up here."

"Nothing else makes sense this late."

The admission makes you pause, if ever so briefly. You kiss her, hands cupping her face, and feel her hands slip under your shirt.

Fingertips inch higher up and tug at your bra. The clasp comes undone, making the pressure around your chest disappear.

It's slow. Clothes come off, lips meet time after time. Straddling one of her thighs, you litter kisses and little bites on her neck.

"You should sleep", you whisper against her skin. Your fingers are fumbling with the zipper of her jeans.

"I will", she rasps, eyes closed. "After."

"You seem tired", you point out. You tug the waistband of her jeans lower and expose Calvin Klein boxers. An involuntary noise leaves you at the sight.

Natasha puts her hand on the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. Her other hand grips yours, slowly guiding it into her boxers.

You feel the heavy weight of her length in your hand and nearly moan. A few slow strokes are enough to get her to harden in your palm. You feel every vein, every soft throb, her quickening breathing like music in your ears.

There's something vulnerable about being in this position. Natasha is used to being on top, but with you, she doesn't seem to mind letting you take control.

Her head drops back against the armrest. With her neck exposed to you, your lips linger on her pulse point as you start moving your hand up and down her shaft. The pad of your thumb circles her tip, gathering precum and lubricating her hard-on.

She squirms underneath you, frustrated and restless, a silent request for you to pick up the pace. But you keep your movements slow and steady, drawing out the pleasure and letting it build gradually. Natasha's hips buck into your hand, her hand clasped over her own mouth to stifle moans.

She twitches and throbs hotly in your hand. You kiss her collarbone, your hand applying pressure to her cock. You're drawing her to the edge so gently she feels like she might lose her mind.

Your thumb traces veins and rubs the underside of her length. Another soft whine comes from her mouth. You lift your head to kiss her and swallow the pathetic little sounds she's making. When she comes, her body tenses through the slow, shuddering unraveling. Cum spills on your hand and you pull away.

Dazed, spent, out of breath. Natasha clears her throat, her cheeks flushed.

. . .

You only need to take one look at the bag she's holding to be able to tell.

"You forgot something", you say, paint-smudged hands on her waist as you steer her inside. Much to her dismay, you absently wipe your fingers on her hoodie. She shoots an exasperated look at the blue stains.

"You haven't even opened the bag."

"I can tell. You forgot the snail shells."

Natasha glances at you as she plops onto the couch. You put the bag on the coffee table and rummage through it. You were right — no snail shells. But you do find the requested Oreos and vanilla milk.

"You only eat trash, you know", she says, one arm tucked under her head.

You roll your eyes. "Don't even start with that."

"I mean it. Oreos and sugar-milk aren't exactly the most nutritious dinner."

"Oh, hush", you mumble, swatting at her. Natasha just grins and reaches out, grasping your wrist. "Hey, what-"

She ignores you. With one swift tug, you topple over and she's got you on the couch next to her. You grunt and adjust your position.

"You hush", she retorts, arm wrapping around you and snuggling you closer. "Always complaining. Would it kill you to be grateful for once?"

You huff, smiling. Natasha pinches your side and you let out a gasp.

"Hey!"

"Come on, say it."

"Forget it."

Her fingertips dance over your ribs. You shift and squirm, trying to get away from her grasp, but it's a halfhearted attempt.

"Come on", she repeats. "Say thank you."

Her fingers brush against the underside of your breast. Your laughter turns into a barely contained sound of pleasure.

Natasha laughs and slips her fingertips under the fabric of your bra.

"Say thank you", she whispers, "and maybe I'll be nice."

"So unfair", you retort. "Fine. Thank you."

"Mhm." She hums and kisses your cheek. "Better."

"You know, if you weren't the one delivering me stuff..."

"What?" She scoffs, smiling, and tickles your ribs. She knows better than to get offended by what you said. If it weren't for her delivering your orders, this never would've happened. Neither of you really know what 'this' is, but you both know you like it.

You squirm in her arms and bat at her hand. "You heard me!"

"Is that all I am to you?", she mocks, lightly cupping your breast. "I'm wounded. Truly."

"No", you say, not thinking. "You don't know how much you mean to me, I think."

Natasha goes quiet for a long moment. She feels your heartbeat speed up, rapid like a prey's, when you realize what you just said. But then she shifts and sits up, and she guides you to roll over, and you feel her lips on yours.

She never stays the night. She doesn't let herself get too close to anyone. She's seen you naked, touched every inch of your body with her tongue, yet staying the night always felt like it'd be too much.

This time, she stays. Fully clothed and keeping her space, she lays down. She makes sure not to breathe in the scent of your bedsheets. At some point that night, though, she wakes up. She reaches for you blindly, fingers feeling the air until they graze your arm.

She hesitates. Something has shifted, and she can feel it deep in her bones.

Finally, she pulls you closer. Tucks you against her chest, brushes her fingers along your spine.

. . .

Before she's even managed to open her eyes, you're up and about.

Digging through your closet, brushing your hair, making tea and toast and opening windows. Wind makes the curtains billow out and her hair flutter, so she rolls over and buries her face in your pillow. The sun isn't even up yet.

"Why are you up at this ungodly hour?"

"Watch the sunrise", you say, slipping into a tank top. "Paint a little."

"You're insane."

"Up, up", you say. You throw aside the blanket she's covered with and pat her butt. She doesn't move an inch. "Come on! I need your help with something."

That manages to briefly get her attention, but it doesn't last long. She slumps back into the sheets, her face hidden.

"Forget it", she murmurs.

"Nat", you drawl. "Please. It'll be worth it."

"Define 'worth it'."

You tug at her boxers, just enough to expose a sliver of her butt. She swats at your hand. It's obvious she's tired, so you decide to let it go for a while. As soon as she's out of bed, though, you're dragging her out of the house and toward a shed to the side.

You feel grass under your feet, tickling your ankles. Natasha trails after you, hand in yours, her red hair in a braid. The top she's wearing is one of yours, and it's covered in charcoal and watercolor stains. She's not complaining anymore — too distracting is the sight of you in nothing but an oversized shirt and her boxers.

But then, you open the shed. You reveal a red Fiat.

First, she just stares. The car looks relatively new. Maybe not brand new, no, but no older than about five years. Natasha's a car mechanic, so she can figure that out pretty easily.

"You have a car."

You nod and lead her into the shed. "Yeah. This is DaVinci."

She shoots you a brief, disbelieving look, then stares at the vehicle again. "You've had a car. This whole time."

"Mhm."

"...I've been driving around in the crack of dawn for nothing."

You wave your hand and lean against the wall, ankles crossing. "Not for nothing. It, I dunno...won't start. It cranks, but doesn't really do anything."

Natasha rolls her eyes. She lifts the hood and secures it with the rod, then takes a look at the engine bay. You stay where you are, subtly checking her out. A black tank top and cargos, her braid resting over her shoulder. Hands that are slowly but surely getting covered in grease.

You'd jump her bones, but you already made her roll out of bed for this, so she probably wouldn't appreciate you trying to make a move on her right now.

"Didn't take it to a shop?"

"Wasn't in the mood."

You earn an exasperated look for that. You shrug, and Natasha turns toward the car again. You have no idea what she's doing, truthfully, but that's fine. The view's nice.

"Coolant's good", she says, checking it for leaks. "Battery terminals are a little corroded."

"No idea what that means."

"Of course", she mutters. She frowns and tugs at a belt-like thing. Loose, which isn't a great sign. She unscrews the fuel filter and a nasty liquid drips out. "Jesus. When's the last time you changed this?"

"Change what?"

Natasha purses her lips and puts the filter aside. "I see. Neglect."

"You're being dramatic."

"You should've taken this thing to the shop ages ago", she complains, voice muffled as she leans deeper into the car. Tank top riding up slightly, you catch a glimpse of her toned stomach. Her biceps flex and you almost miss her next question. "Got a toolbox?"

You tilt your head and pretend to have no idea what she's talking about just to mess with her a little. She stares back at you, eyebrows raised. Once she leans onto the car, one hand on the side of the hood and the other covering her forehead, you saunter to the shelves in the back of the shed.

"Oh, thank god", she mutters. "You got a replacement filter?"

"Aw, honey. You believe in me too much, I think."

Another shake of her head. She steps out of the shed, walks to her bike, grabs something, and then returns. You eye the cylinder-like thing with the two tubes sticking out of it.

"That it?"

Natasha doesn't even respond. You do see her lips twitch, though.

She grabs the creeper you for some reason have and lays down on it. Again, abs. Muscles, covered in small grease stains, flex. You stare at them unabashedly.

She slides under the car and unhooks the filter. You crouch down to get a better view of her.

"Now what?"

"Changing the filter", she replies. Fuel dribbles down her forearms and she wipes it off with a rag. "You can thank me later, by the way."

"Will totally do."

She replaces the filter, tightens the clamp, then gives the undercarriage an encouraging tap before rolling back out. You're sitting on the floor cross-legged, shooting her a teasing smile when she reappears.

"What?", she asks, wiping the fuel off her arms.

"You're so good with your hands."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but kisses your cheek anyway. She changes the serpentine belt as well, then closes the hood and pats it. She nods at the car.

"Go on", she says. "Give her a try."

"'Her'?", you say, sitting down behind the steering wheel.

"Cars are always female."

"You learn something new every day." You put the key in the ignition and turn it.

The car seems to hesitate for a moment. It rumbles, cranks, and you're already about to give up — but then it comes to life, smoother than ever before, and you clap your hands.

Before she can register what's happening, you're out of the car again. You throw your arms around her and jump into her embrace, squeezing a little too hard. You hear a soft grunt from her.

"Hey", she laughs, "I'm covered in grease."

"Don't care." You pull away just enough to reach her lips. They're plush and warm against yours. "You're a genius!"

"I do what I can", she mumbles, a little too rosy cheeked and happy, and kisses you again. Walks you backwards until you're sitting on the hood of the car, slowly leaning forward so your back is flush with the cold, hard material. "What now? No more deliveries? I'm officially useless?"

"No", you whisper, tugging her closer by her pants' belt loops. "I'll find a way to keep you entertained."

Metal creaks beneath you. Sunlight seeps into the space. The shed's doors are still open. The air smells like grass, fuel and Natasha's cologne.

Her hands palm your sides, push the shirt you're wearing a little higher. Fingertips trail over smooth, soft skin. Her nose nuzzles your jaw, then you feel wet, hot kisses along your neck.

You wrap your legs around her waist.

"Think DaVinci can handle this?", she murmurs, one hand sliding around to the small of your back.

You pretend to think about it — and then pull her back in.

. . .

You're both on the rug in the living room, a paint-stained blanket draped over her lower half. She's on her stomach, arms crossed underneath her head and her eyes staring at nothing in particular. You're straddling her butt, a paintbrush in your hand.

You've had all kinds of canvases so far. Linen, cotton, in rolls or on panels. Small ones and bigger ones, raw or primed. Yet, none of them come close to the one you're sitting on right now.

Neither of you really talked about this. After sleeping together on the floor, though, surrounded by art supplies and sketches, Natasha’d rolled onto her stomach. You’d seen the smudges of paint on her shoulder. You’d brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck.

"You ticklish?", you’d whispered.

She'd shaken her head 'no'.

It may have been a lie. You can see her twitch ever so slightly whenever the bristles brush against the more sensitive areas of her skin. You put your hand on her shoulder and push her back down when she tries to shift.

"Not yet", you insist, trying to finish the painting of the two little bats.

"Whatever", she mutters. You smile and add tiny teeth to the creatures' mouths.

"It's cute."

"I look ridiculous."

"What?" You huff, getting off her and scooting away on your knees. You grab a different color and return. "Bullshit. You look adorable. Such a shame I'm not a tattoo artist."

She turns her head enough to look at you. Red strands fall in front of her eyes and you reach out to tuck them behind her ear. Your fingertips, stained in black and red, leave specks of paint behind.

"I truly hope you aren't being serious."

"Maybe, maybe not." You grin and wave your hand at her. "Come on, put your head back down. I'm not done with you."

"Oh, for fuck's sake", she mutters, but does as told.

Index finger dipped into black paint, you write the word mine on her lower back.

Natasha tenses, but only briefly. Her fingers curl into the rug underneath her. She exhales, her face buried against her arms again. She's enjoying this a little too much. Not just the feeling of your weight on her body, of cold paint on skin, but everything else as well.

It's been months. You still haven't given up your little routine of ordering stuff and then making her stay the night.

"I felt that", she mumbles, voice muffled.

"What?", you ask innocently. You decide to add a few hearts.

"What you wrote." She hesitates. "You mean it?"

You add another heart. You smile at your own creation, then peek at her face. You can't see her, so you tickle the back of her neck. All it leads to is a small huff, though.

"Is it important?"

"It's not not important."

"So it is."

"Y/N."

"I mean it."

Finally, she looks up. Her eyes search your face.

You haven't defined your relationship. You're staking your claim on her, anyway.

"I mean it", you repeat, seeing the incredulous look on her face. "I wouldn't have spent hundreds of dollars on deliveries if it didn't mean getting to see you."

"Yeah", she murmurs.

"I don't need the deliveries." You let out a slow breath. "I just need you."

The tips of her ears burn red. She shifts, swallows, like she wants to say something but doesn't know how. You nudge her side with your knee.

"Too much, too soon?"

"No." She laughs, dropping her face back onto her arms. "Keep going."

[parkerslatte]

Wasted Time

Dae-ho x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: gunshots. blood. ptsd.

Summary: As the the players fight back against the guards, Y/N notices Dae-ho cowering and covering his ears. She does her best to protect him.

Squid Game Masterlist

The room was silent as the guards stormed in, just as Gi-hun said they would. Y/N laid underneath a bed on her own. Directly in front of her, Dae-ho laid on the floor next to Jung-bae, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Despite the fact that she knew he was only acting, a twinge of sadness rippled through Y/N as she looked at Dae-ho’s unmoving body. After all, if Gi-hun wasn’t with them to warn them, this might have been reality. 

If anyone had told Y/N a week ago that she would be playing children’s games while fighting for her life, she would have just laughed. If anyone had told her that her best friend would be by her side as she fought for her life, she would have laughed even harder. 

Y/N had entered the game with Dae-ho, originally proudly wearing her number, 387, now she wanted nothing more than to rip it off and burn it. When they were both approached to play a silly game with the recruiter, they both jumped at the chance. Playing a few silly games for the chance to win money was the easiest decision the pair had made. Now they have seen how wrong they were. 

Once the guards burst into the room breaking up fighting, Y/N slowly closed her eyes as people fell back into the corners of the room. Bodies were scattered across the floor, some dead, others only pretending to be. The scene was already brutal itself and when Y/N glanced over at the ‘O’ side of the room and saw the blood staining their clothes and splatters on their face, it only amplified the brutality of these games. Y/N had watched helplessly as others were murdered right before her eyes. But she knew that if she stepped out from under the bed, she would most likely be lying dead on the floor. 

Just as the guards bent down to Dae-ho to pronounce him an eliminated player, he quickly shot up, grabbing the gun out of the waistband of the guard, sending a fast shot at him. Jung-bae followed suit, taking the large gun from the now dead guard. Y/N shrunk from her place under the bed. More and more gunshots sounded out as she looked around. Many others were still hiding under the beds.

Y/N’s gaze shifted to where Dae-ho was only to find him flinching away from the gunfire, the gun he had shot the guard with discarded by his side as he covered his ears. Her heart twisted at his scared expression. Despite his best at putting on a brave facade, she had always been able to see through it. 

Before she allowed herself to consider her next actions carefully, Y/N crawled out from her hiding place, carefully avoiding flying bullets. Luckily she didn’t need to go too far to reach her friend and the moment her hand touched him, Dae-ho’s body seemed to relax slightly, already knowing that it was her touch. Y/N shuffled along the floor and wrapped her arms around him, essentially shielding his body with hers. Dae-ho shakily held onto her as he looked at her. 

“What are you doing?” He shouted over the gunfire. “Go back and hide.”

“No,” Y/N said firmly. “I need to make sure that you are okay.”

The fear within Y/N was racing through her veins. The fear of the flying bullets and the situation she had found herself in and the fear of losing Dae-ho. He shook in her arms and Y/N only held him tighter. 

“You’re okay,” Y/N muttered, though she was mainly trying to reassure herself. 

Dae-ho’s breathing was ragged as the gunfire gradually began to die down as the guards retreated, leaving only one in the room. Slowly, Y/N released her grip and Dae-ho looked up at her. 

“Why would you do that?” Dae-ho asked. 

“Because you are my friend and I love you,” Y/N whispered. 

The words that tumbled out were true but felt strange on Y/N’s tongue. Those three words were three she had never considered saying to Dae-ho before they entered the games. They weren’t only reserved for a lover but the way in which they left Y/N’s lips had nothing but romantic undertones. Deep down she knew that her feelings had always been there but it had never been the right time to voice them. She would argue that a place where you could die playing children’s games wasn’t the best place either but when either of them could die at any point, it was the best time to bring it up.

A long sigh left Dae-ho’s lips before he slowly sat up, his eyes never once leaving Y/N. The intensity in his gaze made everything else fade away. It was as if just by simply looking into his eyes had made everything else fade away. 

Dae-ho genty held onto Y/N’s hands as his eyes turned serious. “Y/N–”

“Collect the guns!” 

Dae-ho’s head snapped and found the others grouping at the front. Dae-ho caught Jung-bae’s eye and he shakily stood to his feet. Y/N still held onto his hands as they rose from the floor, her grip only tightening. She didn’t want to let him go, not now. 

Before he could walk to join the others at the front, Y/N clutched his arm. “You don’t need to go.”

Dae-ho caressed her hand in his. “I’ll be okay.”

“Dae-ho,” Y/N began, “I saw how you were just now. Your hands are still shaking. I don’t want you to freeze up out there. There were limited guards in here, what happens if you go out there and you are completely outnumbered! If this is some way to prove yourself to the others–”

“I want to protect you!” Dae-ho exclaimed, cutting her off. “I want to get us out of here, I don't care what I need to do.”

“Dae-ho, the only thing I want is you to be safe. If you died I don’t know how I could live with myself knowing that you died and I lived,” Y/N said.

“I need to help, Y/N,” Dae-ho said, clutching both of her hands in his. “I can’t let anyone down. I can’t let you down.”

Y/N leaned forward and rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. “I know that once you set your mind to something, you always follow through so there is no way to talk you out of this. But you better come back or I will kill you myself.”

A breathless laugh slipped past Dae-ho’s lips. His response wasn’t verbal as he inched forward and all Y/N felt after that was his soft lips against hers. Her body immediately melted into his as she wrapped her arms around him. For years, Y/N had only been able to imagine what it would feel like if she kissed Dae-ho and her expectations were shot out of the water. His hold on her was gentle, as if he were afraid that she would break in his hands if he held her any tighter. The kiss almost made her forget where she was. Almost.

“Dae-ho,” Jung-bae said, catching the attention of the two and cutting their kiss short. 

Dae-ho pulled away first, his eyebrows furrowed. “I love you too, Y/N. When we get out of here, I will finally take you on a date. I've been meaning to ask you for years.”

Despite their circumstances, Y/N smiled. “Where will you take me?”

“Wherever you want,” Dae-ho replied, his hand caressing her face as if tracing her features to burn them into his memory. 

“It’s a date then, Dae-ho,” Y/N said.

With a parting nod, Dae-ho left her to stand at the front with the others. Y/N slowly sat down atop one of the beds with the others staying behind. She watched as Hyun-ju explained how to use the guns to the group before they all left the room. Before he stepped through the threshold, Dae-ho glanced back at Y/N. Y/N offered him a reassuring smile, the only things he really could do. Once he was out of sight, Y/N let out a shaky breath. 

“He’ll be okay,” Geum-ja said, sitting down next to her. 

“I hope so,” Y/N replied, not peeling her eyes away from where he disappeared. 

“I couldn’t help but notice the kiss the two of you shared,” Geum-ja said. “Did you come here together?”

Finally Y/N tore her eyes away from the door. “We did. We’ve been friends for years.”

Geum-ja smiled. “That looked like it was more than friendship.”

Y/N’s lips tugged as she fought a smile. “That is only a very recent development.”

Geum-ja gently took Y/N’s hand in hers. “When we get out of here, you two should come to mine for dinner. Hyun-ju is coming. At this rate, I’ll be inviting everyone.”

“That would be nice,” Y/N said. “It’s nice to have something to look forward to after we get out of here.”

Geum-ja nodded before the two fell into silence. Y/N’s mind was still racing despite the small reprieve Geum-ja provided. Dae-ho was still out there and her biggest fear was hearing his number be called through the speakers. Y/N was sure that if he died within these walls, her will to survive would fail. There was nothing for her on the outside. She had no parents. She was stuck in a part time job she hated. She was up to her neck in debt. 

The only saving grace though it all was Kang Dae-ho. If she lost him, Y/N would feel that part of her would have died with him. Even in some of the darkest of times, he had managed to keep an easy smile on his face. Even in the damned games, he had managed to make her laugh on several occasions as if she wasn’t one step away from being killed.

A shaky breath slipped past Y/N’s lips as she closed her eyes, allowing herself to think about all of the happier times she had spent with Dae-ho. It was difficult as she was completely aware of the gunshots echoing through whatever building they were in. There were many things Y/N regretted in her life but the one at the top of the list was ringing that stupid number. She hated thinking back thinking of the smiles on her and Dae-ho’s faces the moment they put down the phone thinking about how they were about to play some silly games to win some money. Y/N should have known that it was too good to be true. 

There was movement from where the others had disappeared and Y/N’s head shot up just as Dae-ho ran into the room panicked, muttering under his breath. Blood splatters decorated his left cheek, slightly smeared across his face. Immediately she was on her feet. 

“Dae-ho,” Y/N said, stepping towards him. 

It was as if Dae-ho hadn’t processed her as he began to rummage through the dead guards pockets. He muttered to himself as he pulled out magazines and held onto them so tight that his knuckles were white. 

“Dae-ho,” Y/N said once more and his attention finally snapped to her. 

His eyes were petrified and Y/N could already tell that he wasn’t fully present. “The guards have extra ammo in their pockets.”

“You heard him,” Y/N said to the others in the room. “Get the ammunition.”

There was shuffling behind Y/N as everyone compiled but her attention was focused on Dae-ho. His hands shook as he held tightly onto the gun. 

“What happened?” she asked gently. 

“I need to take the ammunition back. We have none left,” Dae-ho said. “I need the ammunition.”

“We are collecting the ammunition,” Y/N said. “Dae-ho, what happened?”

“I–” he began but cut himself off as the ammunition was handed to him wrapped in a players jacket. 

Dae-ho spared one final look at Y/N before he quickly walked to the wide open door and stepped through the threshold. Though he didn’t take another step forward as he suddenly stilled, whole body shaking. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she was washed over in concern. 

“Dae-ho?” Y/N mumbled as she walked towards the door. 

Suddenly, the walkie talkie he was holding dropped to the floor as Dae-ho stumbled back and quickly ran back into the room, his breathing heavy. 

Y/N shared a look with Yong-sik before she rushed to where Dae-ho had hidden himself amongst the beds. As she approached him, her heart fell as she saw him slowly rocking backwards and forwards, hands over his ears as he muttered incoherently. 

“Dae-ho…?” Y/N whispered, trying to be quiet so as to not scare him even further. The feeling of all eyes on her was hard to ignore but Y/N persevered as she took another step closer to Dae-ho. “Dae-ho?” Y/N whispered once more.

His eyes shot open, full of tears. “Y/N?”

“I’m here,” Y/N said. “You’re safe here.”

“I’m sorry,” Dae-ho muttered like a broken record, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, tears of her own springing to her eyes. She had never seen Dae-ho had an attack this bad in years and the last time it had taken him hours to get to a point where he managed to speak. “I’m here.”

Slowly, Y/N held up her hand and a tear finally rolled down her cheek at the violet flinch from Dae-ho. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please let me get closer.”

The fear in his eyes was evident. Y/N didn't know what he had seen but it clearly brought back certain memories for Dae-ho. If she knew how to use the gun, she would march directly up to the front man himself and shoot him dead and she would smile. 

“Y/N..” Dae-ho muttered, his voice barely coherent. 

Y/N took another step forward, her hand still reaching out to him. The closer she got, the more Dae-ho’s body seemed to shake. He was still terrified. Y/N wasn’t even sure if he was really seeing her at all. 

Once she was close enough, Y/N engulfed Dae-ho in a hug, his head nestled against her chest. His body tensed but Y/N didn’t let go or speak until shel felt Dae-ho grip onto her jacket and relax into her. “You’re okay,” Y/N whispered into his hair. “You’re safe with me. I won’t let anything harm you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dae-ho mumbled over and over again. 

Y/N sniffed, trying her best to keep her own tears at bay. If she couldn’t keep it together, she had no clue how she was supposed to calm Dae-ho down. “Don’t apologise. Please don’t apologise.”

“When can we get out of here?” Dae-ho asked. 

“Soon,” Y/N said. “We’ll get out soon.”

Truthfully, Y/N’s hope of escaping alive with each second she spent in these games. With a lot of people who voted ‘X’ now dead, their chances of escaping were extremely slim if Gi-hun’s plan didn’t work. 

“Dae-ho!” Hyun-ju shouted, running into the room. “Where’s Dae-ho?”

“Hyun-ji,” Y/N said, announcing her presence. “Over here.”

Hyun-ju ran over to where the two were sitting, her eyes softening and filled with understanding upon seeing Dae-ho. “The magazines?”

Y/N nodded to where they were wrapped up on the bed. “What’s happening out there?”

Hyun-ju didn’t respond as a grim expression fell upon her face and that was all Y/N needed to know. Y/N instinctively held Dae-ho tighter as Hyun-ju loaded her gun.

“Y/N,” Dae-ho muttered. “If we don’t make it out of here–”

“We will make it out of here,” Y/N said firmly. “I don’t give a damn if I need to shoot every single guard until we get to the exit.”

Dae-ho lifted his head finally meeting Y/N’s eyes once more. They were still filled with fear and anxiety but he had stopped breathing heavily and seemed to be slowly coming back to himself. “I love you. I wish I had told you a lot sooner.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replied, caressing his face, discreetly wiping the blood away. “I wish it didn’t take me until now to admit it.”

“When we get out of here, let’s make our first date marriage,” Dae-ho said. 

“I thought our first date was my choice?” Y/N questioned. 

“I just think we have wasted enough time,” Dae-ho admitted. 

Y/N nodded tearfully. “I think we have too.”

The doors to the room opened and many guards entered. Dae-ho’s grip tightened around her waist as Y/N’s tightened around his shoulders. The guards marched in and fear instantly took a hold of Y/N. Despite her hope dwindling by the second, a small spark still remained. She and Dae-ho would get out of here alive. No matter what it took. 

[biancadoes1]

You have a lot of followers who are going to feel like Nic and Luke lied to them when they finally realize that they aren’t together. But in fact they never did. You wrote fanfic and got people to believe in things that aren’t there. I’m pretty sure you know this deep down. Nic and Luke are not playing an elaborate game with us to keep their relationship secret. There are no NDAs (what would it even be for, what bad stuff does this girl have on Luke? what is she gaining out of it! Nothing.) And Jake is not a decoy. All is exactly what it appears to be. Two people in separate relationships. I wish they were together. Unfortunately they aren’t right now. Maybe they will be someday. But it’s not their fault and they aren’t tricking the fans. It’s time to start letting you followers know you might have been wrong this whole time.

If people feel like Luke and Nicola have lied to them, they need to go outside and breathe fresh air. I'm not responsible for people who blindly follow what I say - I've made it clear numerous times that people need to make up their own minds and form their own opinions. It's not my issue if they refuse to do that.

NDA's are not only because someone has "bad" stuff on someone else. NDA's serve many purposes but you're just using that because it fits your little tirade. I've never said anyone with a possible NDA has "bad" stuff on anyone - certain people think that's the case but I don't. I just think there are some contracts in play to ensure privacy.

You're speaking as if you know things to be true but that would be impossible unless you're part of one of their teams. Are you? My guess is no since you're writing anonymously into a shipper blog because you don't like I'm saying.

I won't be letting anyone know I'm wrong because I don't know that I'm wrong. None of us know if I'm wrong or right. That's how ambiguous this situation is for those of who bother to look deeper beyond surface level gossip rag articles with half the information incorrect and/or missing.

If you don't like what I have to say, block me. If anyone thinks I'm misguiding people, I'm flattered you think I have that much power over the people who follow this blog, but I'm pretty sure the majority are here because they've also noticed the same things I do. So sorry that you don't.

Mind your business while I mind my own.

Thanks for stopping by.

[ladykailitha]

Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate Part 3

Here we are at the last chapter. Thank you for everyone who liked, commented and reblogged, especially those that left lovely comments in their tags.

This isn't the last we'll see of this universe, as the next one I want to do is Christmas. Steve talking to Jonathan about the camera and not just saying it was joint present from him and Nancy.

In this we have some people who just never learn, Eddie getting heart-eyes non-stop now, and the basketball game of the century.

Part 1 Part 2

~

Larry Wiggins learned nothing from getting decked in the face by Eddie Munson, Steve decided. He had been the worst of the “accidental” bullies.

If there was a massive collusion of some poor bastards, you could make a pretty safe bet that Larry was seen leaving the area. The teachers turned a blind eye to it because and he quotes, “You have no proof he’s doing anything wrong, besides as captain of the basketball team, he’s afforded a little grace because he’s under soooo much pressure.”

Steve was pretty sure he threw up a little in his mouth when he heard that from the principal, the vice principal, the basketball coach, and at least three other teachers despite him doing it right in front of them multiple times.

So just before the winter break it all came to a head and if Steve was honest, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the victim was one of Eddie’s own sheep.

Steve had really needed to pee in history class. It was horrible, but Mrs. Click adored him and let him go to the bathroom, then immediately turned around and told a girl that is she wasn’t on the rag, she had no need to use the bathroom until after class.

He felt bad about that one, because unlike students, Steve couldn’t do jack shit about the teachers. Not without losing whatever status he actually had.

He pushed open the doors to the boys’ bathroom and instantly sagged against the doorway. There cowering in the corner was one of Eddie’s freaks. He had curly brown hair and blue eyes, though one was shut from a reddening welt that no doubt would turn into a black eye later.

Then the bell rang and students came flooding out of their classes, just in time to see Steve dragging Larry out of the bathroom and throwing him against the lockers across from the bathroom.

Before anyone could protest Steve’s over-reaction, the little freshman came limping out of the bathroom.

“Gareth!” Eddie called out and Steve was distracted for a moment by the sound, let Larry out of his grasp.

But instead of taking off like what would have been the smart thing, Larry pushed Steve off of him.

“You would take the side of the little pervert, Harrington,” he sneered. “I caught this little freak checking under the bathroom stalls. No doubt he’s a fag looking for dick to ogle.”

Gareth opened his mouth to protest, but Steve held up his hand.

“Or, he could be,” Steve scoffed, “and get this, looking to make sure no one was in the stalls so he go into the one he wanted? Like a normal person?”

Eddie and Gareth both snorted at the ‘normal’ description, but wisely kept their mouths shut.

Larry rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “You think you’re so hot, don’t you? You’re not even a senior but everyone around here walks around here kissing your ass and why? Because Daddy’s money. If you were as poor as these chucklefucks, the only kiss you’d be getting is mouth to mouth when someone finally put you down like the dog you are!”

Gareth threw back his head and laughed. Just started laughing and laughing, doubling over from the laughter, tears streaming down his face.

Larry raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck is his problem?”

“His dad owns three of this town’s car dealerships, dude,” Steve said raising both eyebrows. “Like he lives in Loch Nora.”

Larry’s eyes go wide. “What the fuck? Then why is he dressed like trailer trash?”

“Hey!” Eddie growled and moved to take a swing at the guy, but again Steve held up his hand.

“Dude is in designer jeans and high tops and you have to ask that?” he shook his head. “You really are stupid. How did you become captain of the basketball team again?”

Steve tapped his lip for a moment, his other hand on his hip. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right, you mom blew the coach!”

Larry lunged forward to take a swing at Steve but Tommy and one of the other guys on the team managed to pull him back.

“You want to put your money where your mouth is punk?!” Larry shouted, trying to get out of his restraints.

Steve looked him up and down. “You’re on. One on one in the outdoor basketball court. First one to twenty points wins. We need an unbiased ref...” he looked around until he found a black sophomore standing off the side. “You, you tried out for JV this year, right?”

The kid pointed to himself and looked around but Steve nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t make it, but yeah I play.”

Steve turned to Larry. “That okay with you?”

Larry nodded. “If I win, you quit the team and stop this fucking crusade you’re on.”

The crowd oohed and ahhed.

“And if I win,” Steve said with a knowing smirk, “you step down as captain and make me captain instead. And if you lay a single finger on anyone again, and you know what I mean, I’ll be sure to spill every dirty secret you ever uttered in the locker room. Don’t think that I won’t.”

Larry gulped heavily. The sound loud in the now dead silent hallway.

Steve stuck out his hand and Larry eyed it for a moment. He looked up into Steve’s steely gaze, then at the gathered crowd. He shook the offered hand and pumped it once.

“Saturday 10am,” Steve said with a grin. Larry nodded and Steve walked over to the kid who was going to be their ref and slung an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, kid, what’s your name?”

“Patrick,” the kid mumbled shyly.

“Well, Patrick,” he said, leading him away from the crowd, “the team will be down one player regardless of what happens, you should try out again.”

Everyone is left staring in shock as the two boys walk away talking about basketball.

Nancy, who had been watching the whole thing turned to Tina, “So that was hot, right?”

Tina just nodded, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She fanned herself with her hand and shook her head. “Girl, you fucked up when you let that one get away.”

Nancy bit her lip, but privately agreed. It had been a month, and Jonathan still wasn’t biting. Perhaps...

Perhaps she might have another, tastier option.

~

The bullying full on stopped as the whole school held their breath. Even the teacher had noticed the whispering in the hall, but time and time again, students would refuse to say why. The nerds sided with Eddie and his club, the popular kids sided with Steve, and everyone one else but the bullies wanted to keep out of it.

When the teachers finally reached out to the kids who were doing the bullying, therefore proving to the whole school the teachers knew, but didn’t care, the bullies had been forced into silence or admit to the bullying.

The morning dawn bright and clear. The frost clung to the windows of the school and a couple of the basketball teammates arrived at nine to shovel the outdoor court as it had snowed the night before.

Steve showed up with longjohns under his shorts and a sweat shirt with the team logo on the front. He stood there, basketball propped on his hip as he waited for Larry to arrive. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, headband over his eyes.

10:01am.

Patrick came running up the court waving a whistle. “Sorry I’m late! I couldn’t find my whistle and had to go to the store to get another one.”

Larry grumbled, but Steve just threw Patrick the ball.

Larry and Steve stepped up to the middle line and Patrick stood between them with the ball. The two players shook hands and then Patrick threw it in the air.

Larry got the ball first, but in the end didn’t even matter.

Steve was far and away the better player. Whether Larry’s mom had done favors for the coach to make him captain was irrelevant. Because it soon became clear that he had only gotten the post due to some kind of favoritism.

Steve outmatched him on defense and was the better shot, making more of his shots than he missed.

Larry started panting halfway through as Steve outmatched in a different and just as vital way. Stamina.

Kids from all the cliques were pressed against the fence. Nancy in the front, cheering loudly for Steve along side all of his friends.

Tommy H. was shouting obscenities and Carol was calling Larry names.

But there was the silent section who had come out to watch. The one whose very lives depended on the outcome of the game.

You could call it hyperbole, but Eddie didn’t. It was apt. In those few scant weeks of not having his friends bullied, his grades actually fucking went up. Because he could concentrate on homework, instead of if tomorrow was going to be the day one of the bullies went too far and he lost one of sheep.

He still called out the bullying when he saw it, but now knowing that there were other people watching his sheep too? He could actually rest.

And if that was happening to him? He couldn’t dare to image what it was like for the kids who were being actively bullied. That first breath of relief knowing it wasn’t just a one time thing. That it was going to keep happening. That they were going to be able to just function. Must have felt like a god damned miracle.

Steve moved past Larry and slamdunked his final two points making it to twenty.

Larry sank to his knees as Patrick ran out on the court. “With a score of twenty to fourteen, Steve Harrington wins!”

He raised Steve’s hand over his head like a prize fighter. The gathered crowd roared to life, even those who had been watching silently at the other end of the court. The ones who didn’t understand what a layup was or how fouling worked. They began cheering too.

Steve walked over to Larry and got down on one knee, draping his arm over the other knee. “Some people are bullies because their home life is shit, some people are bullies because they don’t know how to be anything else. And some people just like you who are just fucking assholes who like make others miserable. Get the fuck off my court.”

He stood back up and waved at the crowd.

~

Steve managed to find an unlocked door and slipped into the locker room for a well earned shower. He still would have to put his gross clothes back on but at least he wouldn’t be dripping in sweat.

He heard the door open and close but decided to ignore it. Whether it was a well wisher or one of Larry’s ilk, he didn’t give a shit. He just wanted to be clean.

“Steve?” a warm and very welcome voice echoed through the empty chamber.

“Eddie?” he called back, poking his head out the shower stall to see him.

Eddie grinned. “There you are, big boy.”

Steve was grateful for the steam already painting his cheeks red so that Eddie wouldn’t see him blush.

“Hey,” he muttered softly.

Eddie came bounding up to him with a big grin on his face. “I went home and brought my PE clothes for ya so you didn’t have to put that sweaty shit back on.” He held up his bag. “We’re about the same size in everything but thighs, so this should get you home at the very least.”

“Oh you’re a lifesaver!” he breathed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, I wanted to.”

Steve pointed down at his sudsy body. “Just let me finish washing down and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

A few minutes later he shut off the water and called out, “Hey can you grab me a towel?”

“I could...” Eddie teased, “but then I’d miss the show of you waddling naked to grab one yourself.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, after all the ball was in your court after your impromptu marriage proposal.”

Eddie licked his lips slowly and stalked over the low wall that separated the showers from the rest of the locker room. He looked Steve up and down, noting the high blush on his cheeks that had nothing to due with the heat. Or at least not the heat of the shower. Steve pushed his hair back and looked Eddie right in the eye.

Eddie smiled and reached out with one finger to trace a water droplet that had slid off of Steve’s collar bone to run for his belly button. Steve’s breath hitched as Eddie licked the water off his finger.

“I’m more than interested,” he murmured, leaning in close. “Just wasn’t sure if the offer was made in jest or if you were serious.”

Steve closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Then he opened them slowly to see Eddie with his eyes wide and expression hopeful. Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to the other boy’s. It was soft and it was sweet.

Eddie leaned back, blinking. “So yeah, definitely serious then. So how about this, sweetheart, why don’t you get dressed in the things I brought you and you go home and get changed. Then I pick you up around, say... five for dinner at the diner?”

Steve’s face transformed with his smile. “I’d say that sounds like a date.” He kissed him again. Just as soft and just as sweet as the one before.

“I’m going to get cavities if you keep that up,” Eddie teased, walking away.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked tilting his head in confusion.

Eddie came back to locker room. “Getting you a towel, obviously. As much as I wouldn’t mind a sneaky peek, I think I’d rather wait to see you naked, spread out underneath me.”

Steve’s jaw worked up and down but no words came out.

“Catch you later, big boy!” Eddie called out over his shoulder after handing the towel to him.

As he was leaving he bumped into Nancy.

“Oh sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t see you there.”

Nancy chewed on her bottom lip. “Is Steve in there? I couldn’t find him after the game.”

“Yep!” he replied popping the P. “I brought him some clothes he could change into.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

“Catch you around, Wheeler,” Eddie said giving her a salute.

As the door swung shut, she could see Steve in there happily singing a love song as he got dressed.

Nancy looked back at Eddie’s retreating form and then back at the now closed door. She sighed. She had a feeling that she was too late in getting Steve back.

He had moved on.

She blushed and ducked her head. Maybe it was a good thing. She needed to work on herself and Steve needed someone who was with him because they wanted to be and not just because he was the current available option.

By the time Steve came back out, she was gone.

~

Tag List: COMPLETED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @gringa-rae-jepsen @bluelightsinthevoid @mamafaithful @allmyworldsendwithtears @xxbottlecapx

10- @sadisticaltarts @yeahhhh-suga @ohimamarigold @imamixofeverthing @samsoble

[lizzy06]

Tsukishima Kei x Reader Fic Recs!!

(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

Haikyuu! Fic Rec Masterlist

Karasuno Fic Rec Masterlist

The Worst Kind of People ✨by fathomfive (fluff, humor, training camp)Tsukishima falls in with the wrong crowd, and makes some questionable decisions he can't back out of.

Bet ✨by @oreosmama (oneshot, humor)You ended up wearing a green bean costume to school the next day. Why? Ugh, don’t ask.[COMPLETED]

Red Pens Pt 1| Pt 2 ✨✨💖by @seokiloquy (soulmate au, fluff, teacher's assistant! reader, teacher!tsuki)

  Practice Makes Perfect ✨by @oreosmama (oneshot, humor, fluff)There’s nothing wrong with preparing to ask out the guy you like. Just make sure you don’t have an audience while you do it.[COMPLETED]

You Found Me by @mitsuki-murakami (soulmate au) A Soulmate AU where the location of your soulmate is written on your wrist. When you get closer to your soulmate, the tattoo will get darker. When the both of you are in very close proximity each other for the first time, the tattoo will turn hot and burn you, but will stop burning once you make eye contact.

Red Pt 1  ✨by @seokiloquy (soulmate au red string of fate) [COMPLETED]

simple stars✨ by @why-did-i-join-this-fandom(twoshot,soulmate au) [COMPLETED]

The Sound of Your Voice by @volleychumps (oneshot,soulmate au) [COMPLETED]

Hard, but soft by katcchi(oneshot, soulmate au)When you have their first words spoken to you on your wrist.[COMPLETED]

tainted colors ✨by @tooruluv (angst, fluff) in a world where you only see color when you’re in love, you’ve grown frustrated of the greyscale. but falling in love with someone you barely know was never something you planned. and, him not returning the feelings definitely wasn’t planned.[COMPLETED]

Painful soulmate meeting by kitty58732 (oneshot, soulmate au)You switch your bodies and you are on your period.[COMPLETED]

Misread by @peachiikawa (oneshot, fluff) soulmate's name on ur wrist[COMPLETED]

shock by @snake-house (soulmate au)[COMPLETED]

soulmate au by @haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles (oneshot, fluff) Injuries sharing

keeping a secret by crescentsteel (humor, angst, fluff)You love goading Tsukishima, and while he doesn't say anything about it. You know that he loathes you for it. Yet, why is it that you two suddenly find yourselves keeping a secret that even you couldn't fathom having. [ONGOING]

skin deep deception✨ by @azucanela (soulmate au, oneshot) In a world where the number of lies your soulmate tells each day is written in your wrist, Y/N has found that her soulmate has two moods. No lies, or dozens at a time.[COMPLETED]

Morning Whispers by @yourstarvic (oneshot, fluff)Tsukishima couldn't help but to admire you and tell you how much he loves you in the early morning.[COMPLETED]

Unfortunately It's Always You by queenofhyrule (friends to lovers, fluff, love confession) No matter who you date or how much you try.. it seems that you can't get that stupid cocky smirk and those beautiful golden eyes out of your head. This was ridiculous. You’re in college now. If you couldn't move on and find someone else.. was there any hope for you?[COMPLETED]

 Don’t Slouch by @oreosmama (oneshot, humor, fluff)You’ve got a bad habit. You know that. So why does that blond smartass in your class keep ragging you about it? [COMPLETED]

  Loving Tradition✨ by @oreosmama(oneshot, angst, fluff)Tsukishima has accidentally started a growing tradition with you: he will attend your home volleyball games, and you will attend his. But why does it hurt so much when you finally miss one of his own games? Surely he doesn’t like you that much… right? [COMPLETED]

In Time You Get Your Rewards by liillyliilly (soulmate au, fluff, humor)[COMPLETED]

Death of a party girl ✨by LemonCandle (soulmate au, fluff, angst, humor) (Y/N) never thought she would find her true love. Looking out the window of the hospital room she was confined in, someone unexpected stumbled through the door, changing her life forever.

[COMPLETED]

Seatmates be jeneru (oneshot, unrequited crush, jealousy) Tall, is wearing glasses and a little bit on the snobbish side. Then why are you seated next to Hinata? [COMPLETED]

god, i love the moon by aikeru(smut, enemies to lovers, crushes)the first time tsukishima meets you, he's a total ass. however, you're a salty bitch who holds grudges.[COMPLETED]

Compelled ✨by dudeandduchess (arranged marriage, angst, fluff, humor, smut, jealousy)There were three things in life that she wanted for herself, but none of them included having to marry Tsukishima Kei or staying with him for any prolonged period of time

Sour Candy by leesamess (smut, frenemies to lovers)The University AU, frenemies to lovers, only one bed with happy ending, cliché fanfic that's pretty much required to exist.[COMPLETED]

Hatsukoi ✨by Rainbend (hate to love, fluff, humor) you helps the boys' team soar to greater heights and meet new interesting people long the way while she figures out her feelings for Tsukishima Kei. Maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same way, too.[COMPLETED]

Kintsukuroi by deltachye(childhood friends, crush, slowburn) kintsukuroi to repair shattered pieces with gold[COMPLETED]

How He Shows You Affection by @jayeray-hq(oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

He’s My Best Friend by @jayeray-hq(oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

want vs needs by krystallisert(oneshot)In which Tsukishima learns the differences between wants and needs, and finds that maybe they aren't that different after all.

[COMPLETED]

[smaller-comfort]

For the blorbo ask: Let's go with Resh'an and ohhh, give me your thoughts on Sephiroth. As for which questions: 1, 6, 7, 13, 14, and 24.

1. who’s the Blorbo that you’ve never posted about on your blog?

I'm trying to think if there's any secret deep lore blorbo to unlock here, but I do periodically froth at the mouth about the Imperial Radch and Locked Tomb characters that I love. There's the Active Blorbo Roster and then there's all the characters sittin' on the bench in reserve, right?

And there are a lot of those- all the part 5 JJBA kids, Shanks from One Piece, Hakkai from Saiyuki, Mustadio FFTactics.

6. if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

I used to do a lot of 'interview the character' writing exercises when I was younger, but it's not really something that jives with my brain these days. So the boring answer is, I wouldn't say anything. I'm a bad conversationalist.

The *funny* answer- okay, so you remember the era of geocities websites with goofy "under construction" gifs and entire pages dedicated to script-style interactions between the site owner and their favorite characters, right. I had one of those. It was where I posted my multichaptered mary sue self insert oc/Sephiroth fanfic. I cannot for the life of me remember what it was called- no, wait, fuck, the title was "To Shed a Tear" holy shit I wish I hadn't remembered that-the oc was Rufus' sister and a member of the Turks, and look, it was 1998, I had to teach myself html somehow-

Uh. Anyway. So, ultimately, I would probably be apologizing to Sephiroth for all of that, and then maybe just asking for a swift death or something, idk.

I'd have nothing to say to Resh'an because in the ARG he's explicitly stated that he doesn't want to talk about his personal life with the rest of us, and I would attempt tobrespect that boundary. (Really, most of what I might say would probably get me banned from the Sabotage discord.) (I'd probably have to apologize to him for all the fanfic, too. *cough*)

7. what’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

Sephiroth was not involved in some kind of well adjusted five person SOLDIER polycule pileup before the Nibelheim incident. That man has never looked at another human being and experienced a sexual thought in his *life*.

(This does not prevent him from walking Zack on a leash when the occasion calls for it, but like. That's just being a responsible friend. Sometimes Angeal is busy.)

I'm open to a lot of different interpretations of Resh'an right now- the fandom is so small, I'll take whatever I can get and be happy about it, honestly. I'm sure there are people who think *I'm* the one getting him wrong, though, and on some level this idea pleases me in the blackened, contrarian corners of my soul. Sorry, I've taken your mysterious mentor character with a tragic past and turned him into a sopping wet rag with erectile dysfunction. (I'm not that sorry.) (technically it's not ED it's anorgasmia *is shot*)

13. is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

me, sitting on the front porch, sipping a shitty cocktail while watching Meteor about to obliterate the solar system: ...nah.

This kind of gets into like...Doylist/Watsonian characterization, right? The character is just going to do what they're written to do. So is there anything Square Enix could do to make Sephiroth stop being my blorbo? I guess they already did Crisis Core so like...It really doesn't get much worse than that. (I say this, but I haven't finished Rebirth! I am only vaguely aware of the major plot divergence stuff.)

All that said...Squeenix can't take the OG away from me. I'm stuck with the general background radiation of the Compilation, but the things that made me love the game, and the experience of playing it as a child, are always going to be mine. My particular take on Sephiroth exists largely independent of canon and the current fandom at this point.

For Resh'an- let him war criminal even harder! XD

Really, though, I'm steeling myself for inevitable disappointment around his canon backstory and the ultimate resolution of the story. This is not meant to be any shade on Thierry Boulanger's storytelling skills- but being part of the fandom for an ongoing story is always a unique experience, and it tends to leave you with complicated feelings towards the actual conclusion of the story, no matter how good it ends up being.

But if he and Aephorul turn out to be stereotypical anime rivals pre-immortality, I will be *extremely* annoyed (I say, as I write them constantly bickering and antagonizing each other). But I don't think that would even be a deal breaker for me at this point.

14. have you ever distanced yourself from your Blorbo / have you ever left a fandom because people in the fandom were being too toxic?

Maybe back when I was more active in fandom in general? My memory is too fucky to answer this properly, I think; I know there absolutely were people in AC fandom who made me want to eat paint, but I don't think they were why I left. Most of the time when I leave a fandom, it's because I get bored or lose interest or fall into a depression hole for half a decade. (The depression hole is what makes this hard to answer. From 2018-2023 I wasn't on tumblr or fannish twitter and I wasn't really reading fanfic or "doing fandom" at all.)

I've left/avoided certain fandoms because of non-fandom interpersonal blow ups with specific people- I've had several friend groups explode messily over the years, and avoiding some of those people meant avoiding fandoms we used to share. (FFVII was briefly, tangentially one of those for me back in 2009.)

Now, I'm more likely to distance myself from a fandom if I find it annoying, honestly. I spent like ten minutes in the In Stars and Time tag and very quickly determined that it was Not For Me, and that's totally fine! It's a perfectly lively fandom, it's just not my thing. Same with Baldur's Gate and Arcane (and to a lesser extent TLT); I just get the curated content from my lovely mutuals, and if there's anything else going on, I pretend I do not see it.

24 if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

Lemme just- *slam dunks Genesis Rhapsodos into the trash* And look! Nothing of value was lost. Nothing changes in the story that needed to be changed. The tragedy still unfolds, and it's 50% less idiotic! Angeal can stay. He's fine.

Maybe they've fixed the idiocy in Rebirth. I doubt it, though. Sephiroth's appeal initially comes partly from him being a bit of a blank slate- the players get a very limited window into who he is and what his whole deal is, and that vast *potential* is where some of the best (most unhinged) fanworks develop. The OG is very deliberate about how it treats Sephiroth as a villain- he's literally the shark from Jaws, hovering under the narrative. Twenty five years later he's one of the most recognizable video game villains in the world, so I understand *why* Remake went a different direction. But it's still a little disappointing. Sometimes leaving things vague and mysterious is good, actually!

Anyway, other than setting Genesis on fire- I don't know. Put him in one of those slutty turtlenecks with the boob window. It's what we deserve. (The serious answer- sort of- make him 2000% more body horror about the Jenova cells. Give him tentacles to go with the fucking angel wings.)

As for Resh'an- we've got three more games to go. He's sitting firmly in that sweet spot of unhinged potential; we don't know enough about his backstory yet for me to want it changed. So, really, the only change I'd make at this juncture would probably be to give the Great Eagle more tail feathers. It just *bothers* me, okay. Why are there only three.

[angel-of-the-moons]

hi!! i’ve recently been struggling with my eating disorder, and i was wondering if you could do a hobie x gf!reader where reader is having a really hard time eating and he comforts her and helps her eat? lots of physical touch and words of affirmation if possible - and if this req is uncomfy i get it !!

Awww hon I hope this helps you feel a bit better!

Let Them Eat Cake (Or Something)

Soft!Hobie x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Eating Disorders/Anorexia, hints of depression, bullying, some mental trauma, back at it again with the fluffy bullshit (Hobie also makes an inappropriate promise but nothing is detailed lol)

A/N: I myself struggle with eating disorders brought on by financial strains and mental issues (still do) so I totally understand this kinda thing!

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

It was the little things Hobie did to take care of you that most people probably couldn't imagine someone of his niche to do.

Things like peeling off the nutrition labels to things you'd buy at the grocery store so you couldn't stress over the calories (or lack thereof), buying those meal replacer shakes for you to try when you didn't want to eat; hovering over (respectfully) when you prepared your meals, saying little things to encourage you to fill your plate more.

"Ay, you should try this. Saw it online and heard it tastes pretty good with that, yeah?"

"Jus' a bit more, I can still see some on ya plate there. Almost done and it's less stuff wasted, right?"

He would even call or text you to eat one of the little snack baggies he'd prepped you full of healthy snacks. Even if it wasn't a full meal, helping you eat throughout the day brought him peace of mind so he wouldn't worry about you wasting away.

He'd read up on eating disorders and didn't like it one bit, so he devoted half his time with you around meals more focusing on you, even while he scarfed down his own portions.

Hobie had an insane metabolism, it was like he was constantly eating something in some way or another to keep himself going, and at some point you'd joked he had a black hole for a gullet.

But still, he would watch you out of the corner of his eye, taking your little mouse nibbles here and there, sipping your drink...

He knew that bringing it up front would only upset you, so he'd do little things to distract you from your thoughts of your food. He'd play little games with you. Like 20 questions. If you got one wrong, you'd have to eat another bite of your food. It would continue like that until your food was gone and you didn't realize it.

A punk with a heart of gold, Hobie Brown was. Though he'd never admit it out loud, even the members of his band would snort and laugh at how soft he was with you; though they understood completely why.

Today, you and Hobie went out for lunch, and you two attracted more than a few curious glances at your contrast in styles when you sat down to order. People just loved to stare, didn't they?

You idly played with your chips, pushing them around on your plate, your chicken sandwich sitting with just a few bites taken out of it.

"Ay, luv. Eyes bigger than your stomach, again?" Hobie asked, sipping his pop.

"Yeah... I just didn't think there'd be so much of it. I just..." You sigh, feeling defeated.

You'd had this problem since you were barely a teenager, and it only got worse after time. At least you stopped making yourself vomit up all your food.

You remember how badly it went when your mother caught you doing that.

In truth, you only started starving because... well. In school you were always insulted by the "prettier" girls. You'd always assumed you were pretty too, that's what your parents and relatives would always say. But being in the face of a gaggle of obnoxiously made-up girls rag on you in the lavatory, in gym class, or lunch... the pressure to be "thin" was hammered into you. If you looked like them, they would leave you alone.

And from there it went. You'd tried dating before, but none of your partners ever took care of you. Hell, one of them practically encouraged it and showed you diet pills online. You broke it off pretty quick after that.

Hobie was honestly the first to not automatically suggest you get locked in a mental ward, or just force yourself to scarf portions that were too much for your shrunken stomach to handle. Hobie was gentle and sweet, understanding with you.

Like he was right now.

"Well we can box it up and you can toast it up for later, alright?" He suggested.

His own plate was empty and your still practically full one wasn't lost on him. But he knew that directly pointing at the elephant in the room would only upset you.

His boot nudged your foot under the table and he gave you a smile, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah.... yeah I can do that." You smile back sheepishly, letting Hobie flag down the server so he could pay (his treat, after all) and get you a to-go box.

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Later that night, Hobie had reheated some leftovers from the night previous and toasted your chips and sandwich for you to finish off again; because ugh, nobody enjoyed soggy microwaved chicken and chips. And if they did they were a complete loon.

You sat snuggled up on the sofa, your food in your lap as Hobie's characteristically empty plate lay on the coffee table next to his propped up feet as the program droned on the television in front of you.

His hand rubbed your arm lazily up and down in a soothing motion as his eyes flicked down to your plate.

"You gon'a finish that, luv?" He hummed softly, kissing the top of your head.

"I..." You sighed down at the plate in your hands.

"'S all right." He mumbled into your hair. "But ya do worry me, baby. How about this... if you finish your food.... hm."

He looked at the ceiling and you could tell that he was faking thinking of something serious.

You knew it especially when he gave you a cocky smirk.

"If you finish your food, I'll do that thing you really like, for you, eh?"

"Hobie!" You snort, rolling your eyes at him.

"Oh? Not what you want, hm? How about..." He tapped his chin with his free hand, once again making a grand gesture of "deep" thought.

"Fine fine... how about we go to that li'le art museum you've been goin' on about?"

Your eyes light up and you look at him.

"Really?"

"Yep! Really. But only if you finish your food." He put a finger under your chin and kissed your nose.

"And eat breakfast tomorrow."

"Deal!"

Hobie smiled to himself as you tore into your food with motivation.

Being Spider-Man didn't always mean fighting the oppressive regime they were stuck with. It wasn't always about thwarting criminals in the streets.

Sometimes it was about coming home and making sure his girlfriend had enough to eat.

And that was plenty for him.

[hootbon]

Since I saw someone else talking about their fucked up ideas, I am too lol because I suddenly remebered them. But, pretty much just how my lore making brain decides to look at characters.

Kinger: He’s a king chess piece, obviously. He didn’t have to work for that position, unlike the queen, no chess piece can ever become the king, but a pawn can prove itself and become a queen, in a way. Kinger is now forced to be a lowly magician, because he never had to work for anything on his way up. Cracks from pressure, knowing he didn’t do anything, and now has to make up for it, whist his queen, the one who worked to gain that role, is no longer around

Ragatha: A rag doll, something that is quite literally a toy, old, not many people would chose that sort of doll over the newer kinds. Tossed around, ripped, lost, decapitated— so what? It’s a doll. If the doll breaks, you can just sew her back together again. If she does something wrong, you can watch her unravel in front of your eyes until you decide to stitch her back together again, though no one really cares for fixing her. She can be replaced easily, and so easily broken, used and abused by people endlessly, that’s what she’s made for. If she gets too chatty, you can just take out your thread and needle to shut her up

Pomni: A ballerina, she looks quite beautiful when she dances, she is a living ‘doll’, a puppet. A puppet by the strings, not much she can do, but be there helplessly as the ringmaster tugs them. A puppet, also a doll, are just used by someone else’s hand, she has no control over what they might make her do in the circus, and she never will.

Gangle and Aingle: The two sisters, ‘twins’ even if one of them doesn’t actually exist. A false persona, a forever toxic relationship, in a way. Bound to someone who looks like you, is always around you, but acts nothing like you do, wants to be the opposite of you, in a way. With all that ribbon, Caine could really tie the loose ends of the circus, like the abstraction issue for example…

Zooble: Quite handy with a thread and needle if they do say so themselves. Almost like the druggie of the whole group, they let intrusive thoughts kick in one day and than… they could never have enough. Dysphoric, their body never looked normal anyways in the first place, so it didn’t matter if they took parts of those now gone and tried to use them to fill the void of their own ever ending spiral of lack of self-esteem, right? They never liked the person in the mirror, so they change it every day, it only feels normal to be scavenging the halls after hair raising screams of pain can be heard in the hallway, sewing parts together to make something they enjoyed. A bad habit? Of course not, they never see it that way, they are simply making use of what others never appreciated, and now aren’t around to appreciate

Jax: The fluffy murder set bunny, we all love him. His silly little pranks go from sudden silly string ambushes, to agonizingly terrible ways for any mortal being to die— good thing you can’t! Caine would never let you. He’s just a bunny, a sweet little guy who wants nothing else but to put a smile on your face— well, that’s a lie, all he wants now is to satisfy his needs, and out a smile on his face. What is he thinking? You’ll probably never know, ever since Kaufmo disappeared for a few hours and came back, starting to act differently from normal, Jax acts like it’s the end of the world. Silly Jax, it’s just all fun and games! Kaufmo needed some help, so Caine got our friendly twins to help tie up those loose ends!

…Basically random shit, character design analogies and random ominous comments I thought of on the spot for these guys

.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Was It Worth It? ↠ Hancock x Reader

➼ Word Count » 0.8k ➼ Warnings » Possible Spoilers for the Ending, Angst, Vomit ➼ Summary » Hancock comforts Sole after they blow up the Institute.

With your shoulders slumped and arms hanging limp, you mindlessly walked through the excited crowd that had formed in Sanctuary. Everyone had come to celebrate after the destruction of the Institue and it was hard not to see why. Their biggest threat had been taken out in the span of a few hours—this was huge, especially for the people involved with making it happen. Of course, people would celebrate. You just wished they didn't have to do it right outside your house.

People clapped and shouted your name as you passed, some even giving you firm pats on the back and their thanks. You weakly smiled at it all, only wanting to shut your door and leave them all behind. Wanting to go back to the house you've seen so many times before. The house you had lived in before the war. The one that you planned on raising Shaun in. The house that had now since been overgrown by the surrounding shrubs. The house that you were looking at right now.

Hancock watched as you slipped away into your house, too high on Mentats to really put the pieces together and realize you weren't acting like yourself. But when Cait challenged him to a drinking game, he's quick to go find you. He needs a partner and who better than the person of the hour?

He didn't know what he'd walk in on when he stumbled down your ruined hall, but seeing you curled up on the floor wasn't it. For a minute he didn't even think you were real, certain that he must've been hallucinating, but as your tears continued streaming down your face he decided he needed to comfort you. Real or not, he wanted to be there for you.

"Hey, hey," He soothed, sitting beside you on the floor, "What's going on?"

You stared at him with blurry, tear-filled vision before sobbing into what was supposed to be Shaun's first stuffed animal.

You tried. You tried so hard to make everything work out—to not kill your son. But every attempt you made at peace and understanding was swatted away. The last thing you had, ripped away from you in the span of those last couple of hours. As a parent, you prayed you'd never have to see him laying on his death bed but not only did you witness it, you were the one who caused it. You doubted you'd ever be able to bounce back from something like this—you weren't even sure if you deserved to.

You felt Hancock's arms wrap gently around your shoulders, pulling you to lean on him as you wept. "Just let it out."

And you did. You cried until you threw up. Vomiting out the window of the old bedroom as your cries of guilt were drowned out by the party happening around you. You lay limp on the window sill for a moment, Hancock's hand rubbing small circles on your back as your insides ached.

Watching everyone celebrate hurt. It broke you way more than you could've ever imagined. And as you stood away from the window, peering back at Shaun's room, still intact from when you left it, you questioned where you had gone wrong. How did everything go so south?

"What you've been through," He began, wiping the corners of your mouth with a rag he had gone to go grab from the kitchen, "isn't something that's easy to come to terms with." You stared at him silently, eyes still flooded with regret. "But look at how many people you've saved—think of everything that's now possible for not only them but yourself as well. There's nothing setting anyone back anymore, you've made us free from that constant state of paranoia."

"Was it worth it, though? Maybe if I gave myself a bit more time, I'd still be able to have a relationship with him—maybe it could've ended peacefully."

"This was peaceful, sunshine. You're sacrifice made peace."

"It's hard to believe that it's that simple." You started to choke up again as your gaze met the Institute flag you had hung on one of the walls to hopefully convince your son to come to live with you—to really meet with everyone you've encountered, however, he didn't like the thought of being in a place so unclean.

"We'll all be here to help you through this." He spoke, wrapping his arms around you once again and holding you against him.

"Thank you." You whispered, over and over again, till he kissed the top of your head and you started feeling dizzy—dizzy from your lack of water and all the energy you spent mourning. He picked you up when he felt your body start to weaken, carrying you over to your bed and laying you down across the mattress. You passed out quickly as he threw a blanket over you, kissing your forehead once again before stumbling his way back out to call the celebration off and allow you to rest.

[robobrainmurdermysterytheatre]

I see the same question/argument about why there's so much garbage in Fallout 4 pop up bianually, but I think a better question is WHERE is all of the garbage coming FROM?!

The loose garbage that's sitting in the streets has to be from *after* the war. Source: when you live in a place that gets windy and rainy ever all that shit blows around and blows away and gets buried in the dirt. We've had bricks in our yard get buried in 1 season by the soil.

Maybe you could argue the city where the ground is primarily concrete that stuff didn't get buried. But then you have to consider a couple of other things. 1 - Concrete poured on the ground is susceptible to breaking up in places where there's seasons, like Boston. Cold, snowy winters, wet springs and falls, and dry, hot summers do a number on concrete that's not maintained. I'm imagining the most vacant lot where I live - which has similar seasonal weather - being like 5-10 years vancant and unmaintained where I can see the concrete breaking up and desinigrating and nature reclaiming it then multiplying that by 20-50.

Maybe they used special, hardier retrofuturistic concrete in the Fallout universe, and we can dismiss the idea of the ground being somewhat dirt where there used to be road, which brings us to 2 - Boston sits on a river and I'm guessing multiple other waterways that feed it. The garbage is going to go there. The same seasons that mess up concrete would eventually carry the trash into the waterways when it's windy or rainy or the snow melts.

So the 200 year old garbage should be gone. Where is it coming from?

The average contemporary American generates a fuckton of garbage because we buy everything from the store and everything from the store needs to come in some type of packaging or container for loss prevention and/or hygenic purposes that we then throw away. A little over 100 years ago, that wasn't the case. It's only with modern manufacturing technology and supply chains that we're able to package every god damn thing we consume in a way that is financially feasible for the companies manufacturing those things.

210 years after the bombs drop in Fallout, society is not back to that level of manufacturing and consumption. There appears to be a limited amount of manufacturing occurring. They're probably not manufacturing products with packaging that is going to create really persistent garbage, namely plastic. Plastic is a byproduct primarily of natural gas refinement, which is not something we see happening in Fallout - correct me if I'm wrong, though. I haven't played the first two games.

The lifestyle most people seem to be living in Fallout wouldn't generate a lot of garbage. Like people did 100-200 years ago, people likely use everyday items until they truly wear out then repurpose them until they're next to nothing. Clothing is a good example: wear it til it wears out, then cut it into rags to use until those get threadbare or gross. They can go in the fire that warms your house or that you cook on when that happens. Heck, I'm not 100-200 years old, but I grew up poor, and my dad did that! Waste from creation, for example, if you build a table out of wood, likely gets repurposed as well. Scraps big enough to use for smaller projects get used, smaller ones go on the fire. Containers for food storage likley get reused and repurposed if they get gross not thrown away in the streets.

So yeah, there is no reason for garbage to be there. Bad job, Bethesda 🙄 /s

The real, secret, answer is that the garbage piles are there to hide the janky edges of the sidewalks and buildings and other objects that dont sit level or sink into the ground or don't have textures when you look at them from the side or whatever. You can see this in the settlements when you have the scrap everything mod and remove a lot of those leaf and garbage piles on the edge of buildings, roads, etc. Or you can walk up to a suspect garbage pile in downtown, open the console, click the garbage pile and tyle "disable" and find all sorts of fun jankiness. Just make sure to type "enable" to put it back unless jank is your thing, lol.

[astral-space-dragon]

The thing you said about LIR is literally my thoughts. I don't have a problem if people create a whole new OC to be Nero's mom but pulling up misinformation from nowhere and believe it to be canon is so crazy to me. "Vergil watched LIR died so he did what he did!" "We got an official information about what Nero's mom look like!" "Bury the light is about Vergil love for-" WHERE DOES THAT EVEN COME FROM???

Oh, exactly and same thoughts.

I'm personally neutral on the concept of LiR (and I don't have an LiR OC) and a lot of what people come up with are pretty creative! Adorable a lot of times when soft!Vergil is added to the equation.

But until Capcom themselves confirms or denies that the random background character is who people are hoping she is, all of the LiR in art, fics, and such is (technically) just an OC. And I personally don't see Capcom doing that either any time soon, mainly because they have a bit of a track record of being willy-nilly and, a lot of times, vague with small lore details from their IPs. Especially Devil May Cry.

People can have their fun with the background character! That's all well and good! More creative power to them. But in the end, that background character is just a background character that is just Kyrie reskinned from a game that was essentially incomplete and went through A LOT of development hell (with all respect).

As long as people are normal about it, let people have fun. As I said in my tags, I see too many people give LiR, what I call, the Virgin Mary treatment. And to many times, I've seen LiR fans attack those that have OCs that are not LiR. I, myself, have been a target a few times for daring to have an OC for Vergil that's not LiR.

It's the exact behavior of how some people in the Lion King fandom (a fandom I'm not even lying lmao) gives a certain semi-canon character the "Lion Jesus treatment". I will not be naming that character as I'd rather not have the TLK fandom reign hellfire on me and I am not in the mood lol

Again, this is coming from some who is neutral on the concept of LiR. Have fun with it, but keep in mind that nothing was confirmed from any Capcom employee. Have fun with that 5 seconds of footage all you want. But do keep in mind that the LiR that you have in your art/fic is technically an OC. Nothing wrong with that in the slightest. Just something to keep in mind.

I am not ragging on those that like the character and are all cool about it. It's the rabid ones that this is about

[bullet-prooflove]

Downer on the prompt list? Hellz yeah!

I’m always ready for a war again

It’s late when Downer turns up on Marcus’s doorstep. Marcus half expects it. He turned up at the other man’s house tonight, asked you not to marry Downer, to run away with him instead. The thing about you? You’re honest to a fault, it’s one of the reasons he fell in love with you. There was no doubt in his mind that when he left that house that you would tell Downer exactly what happened.

When Downer shoves Marcus, El Padrino lets him have it. Afterall he’s in the wrong here, he stepped into another man’s territory, tried to take his girl. He deserves the other man’s wrath, his anger. He knows what it’s like to be loved by you, how it feels like seeing the sun rise everytime you smile. He also knows what it’s like to lose you, to feel a hole in the centre of your chest that you just can’t seem to fill.

“You came into my home.” Downer snarls, jabbing his finger into the other man’s chest. “Tried to convince her to come back to you.”

“I did.” Marcus says as he turns his attention to the decanter of whisky on the sideboard. He pours himself a drink before turning to face Downer. “It doesn’t matter she chose you.”

“It matters.” Downer snaps at him. “Because you’re still the same self-centred asshole that you were back then.”

Marcus laughs and it’s a bitter sound that resonates through the room because he doesn’t deem what he did back then as selfish. He was saving you; he tells himself. You could have been hurt, killed.

“When the Niners put a hit out on me, she was fair game.” Marcus informs the other man. “I was protecting her…”

“No, you were protecting yourself.” Downer retaliates, his eyes blazing. “When they put the hit out you realised that she was a weakness. You could have told her the truth, you could have told her anything but instead you picked the things you knew would hurt her, that would drive her away. Do you know what you did to her?”

Marcus looks away because there’s some truth in those words. You were a weakness, another button for his enemies to push, a way to gain leverage over him. He’s spent months telling himself he was saving you, but truly he was only saving himself.

“You destroyed her.” Downer spits, his voice ragged and harsh. “She couldn’t trust after that, couldn’t engage with people because all she saw was pain.”

“But you fixed that right?” Marcus retorts, draining the rest of his glass. “By taking her to bed, by fucking her.”

“No, that’s not what happened.” Downer says, his tone softening. “I just reminded her how loved she was. You took that from her Marcus, you made her feel like she wasn’t worthy of anybody else, and I will never forgive you for that.”

That’s the heart of the matter, the real reason that Downer’s angry. Not because El Padrino turned up on his doorstep or he asked you not to marry him. It’s the fact he made you feel worthless, that he decimated your self confidence and then he had the audacity to try and claw his way back into your life as if it was nothing.

“You fucked up.” Downer says quietly as he opens the door to let himself out. “And that’s on you.”

@librarian1002 @thanossexual @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @msjava1972 @fleureeee @kmc1989

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Any thoughts you’d like to share on the other origins characters? Anything you like about them :)

Again, haven't played the game so these are my general thoughts based on a few romance compilations, YouTube Shorts, and memes. If anybody would like to rectify this, please Venmo me $500 so I can buy a PS5.

Shadowheart

Admittedly don't know that much about her other than the emos love her and she follows a goddess of loss. Looks like her arc is all about questioning institutions and her god, which I think is very sexy of her. If anybody has a quest line compilation video to recommend so I can see her whole story, please send it my way.

Lae'zel

The other origin character I admittedly don't know that much about. Still love an arc about questioning the system she was raised in and her god. Again, very sexy of her. Fish out of water stories are some of my favorites. Pair that with a hardened character learning to enjoy the gentler things in the world, and you've got yourself a banger. I should really look up her quest line at some point to get a full view of it.

Karlach

Best girl. Strong muscles, soft heart. I want her to be my best friend IRL. She deserves better and if there is any way to get a better ending that allows her to stay in Faerun, the studio needs to get on that ASAP. In the meantime, I'm going to stay in the part of the internet that says she's fine don't worry about it. I'm hugging her and there is nothing you can do about it.

Wyll

Sweet boy. A perfect boy who did nothing wrong ever. Yeah, yeah, sold his soul to a devil, but he had a good reason. Plus, he was seventeen. Nobody should let a seventeen year old make any decisions ever. I do need to find a good romance compilation. He needs more love. His friendship with Karlach is everything to me.

Gale

People really need to stop complaining about this man. I see too many being ragging on about how he's not over his ex and keeps bringing her up. "With you I forget my goddess?" That isn't him saying with you he forgets his ex, he's saying with you he forgets his god. How are we all not collectively swooning? And he's a nerd who will info dump about his passions? Sign me the fuck up. His comfy pjs and burnt out gifted kid swagger has bewitched me body and soul.

Astarion

Guys, you've seen my blog. I'm obsessed with him.

The moment I saw this asshole pop up on my dash, I knew I was going to love him. He was the reason I decided to finally look up a romance compilation once I realized my computer was too old to let me run the game. He's my type to the point of parody. Literally anybody who knows me, knows this guy would end up being my favorite.

His arc is about bodily autonomy and trauma. He's allowed to not be the perfect victim. He's angry and violent. He's selfish and terrified. And he is, sadly, one of the few characters who, as part of his arc, realizes he can say no to sex and he can be loved without it.

My point is, it should be no surprise to anybody that the ace community loves this man, and anybody complaining about it should shut up.

If you want to write your sexy Astarion fanfic, there is nothing stopping you. More power to you. I've seen the graveyard scene too. I recognize that regaining his autonomy and being able to have sex with somebody he cares about is part of the healing process.

At the same time, if writers want to interpret his arc is him realizing he never wants to have sex again, and that being okay; let them. We need this. There are so few characters like him out there.

At some point I do want to write an hour long video essay about his arc and how it's resonated with the ace community specifically.

Anyway, those are my general thoughts. I feel like I just swung a bat at a hornet's nest with that last bit, but what's life without a little danger?

[richmonds-disaster-bi]

I just know that when the press gets wind of Charlie, everyone will speculate about him being Jaime's kid and a whole bunch of people saying mean and hurtful things about Jaime's competence as a parent. What they don't count on is not only Roy going angry protective, but Ted, Beard, Rebecca, and every single Greyhound coming to Jaime's defense, even Will chiming in about how good he is to Charlie. Jaime is super touched, and when Charlie makes his debut at a game, safe in the arms of Roy or Ted, Jaime and the lads all give him a kiss before they step onto the pitch, instantly making him a media darling. People start to see for themselves how good a parent Jaime is, how fiercely protective he can be, and that he was put in a terrible position by his and Charlie's deadbeat dad and rose to the occasion that would have sent many running. People start to respect the new and grown up Jaime Tartt.

YES

Once the press get wind of Charlie, they assume Jamie is the biological father and that it' a result of a scandulous one night stand. The press, especially the gossip rags, run a lot of stories about Jamie being a play boy and not being good fathe material, questioning why anyone would give him primary custody and predicting that it might be a disaster

Jamie, while it hurts, doesn't really pay it much attention and turns his focus to where it belongs: Charlie. That's his priority. Nothing matters more than Charlie, Roy and the team, and Jamie has matured enough to ignore the gossip in the media.

Roy, on the other hand, is furious because no one sees Jamie for what he is outside of those who personally know him and it makes his blood boil. For once, Roy goes to go to Rebecca to ask for a presser but when he gets there he finds the Diamond Dogs already there with Rebecca and they're discussing how to combat this and show everyone how amazing Jamie is with Charlies and debating the best ways to do that which makes Roy pause because fuck Jamie is loved and it makes Roy feel things

No one tells Jamie the plan, until he gets the notification that the team has released an offical statement and video. In the video, it's just different members of the team and Higgins, Rebecca, Will and Keeley all talking about how great of a man and father figure Jamie is. He's even more touched to see Roy actually opening up a bit and telling some personal stories (and then calling the media 'fucking blind idiots living in an asshole they can't escape')

People are still a bit wary because this is Jamie Tartt. The man who left football to go fuck around an island, but they're proven wrong when they see him with Charlie and see snippets of his life from team posting things with Jamie's permission

Charlie making his offical match debut when he's over six months old. Roy has him strapped to him at the enterance to the tunnel and as everyone comes out, they stop to give Charlie little high fives and pull funny faces at him and get little pats from a giggling Charlie and good luck kisses until Jamie is last and Charlie just lights up (and Roy does too but no one will mention it).

It makes people see just how much Jamie has grown

[whattimeisitfic]

3, 16, 29, 30, 32

Ask game answers. I’ll put a below the cut thing because I don’t want to force anyone to read or scroll past my blocks of texts of they’re just scrolling for fun pictures in any of the tags. However if you ARE interested in Lucifer-centric angst fics PLEASE consider giving my Ao3 fanfiction “What Time Is It?” a shot! _______________________

3 - Tell me about one of your fics you think is underrated/underappreciated.

Okay, not a Hazbin Hotel or Luci fic (go figure I’ve only posted two and both are pretty well liked) but a Voltron one (again, go figure, the onky other thing I have publish. At least on Ao3). It’s one of the one-shots I have in my collection fic (probably why it’s under-appreciated). It’s called “Notice Me” and I won’t go into too much detail b/c this is definitely NOT the fanbase for it, but basically it’s just some yummy angst, pining, and just Lance feeling like shit after months of being ragged on. With a delicious little panic attack that I had lots of fun writing (there’s nothing wrong with me I swear—)

16 - Is there a type of fic you would never write?

Hmmm… that’s a good question. Definitely nothing that’s like… the really taboo shit like incest or non-LGBTQ related M!preg (sorry y’all I am NOT on the Lucifer birthed Charlie train). Also will probably not, as of right now, ever write a Lucifer ship fic with any canon characters (expect MAYBE Lilith, but even then it won’t be the focus). It’s just… NONE of his ships appeal to me (maybe b/c I just want him so bad but I didn’t say that). And obviously angst is where I live so I probably wouldn’t write anything super smutty. I’ll read it any day of the week, but I’ll stay in my little bubble of giving Lucifer a million mental breakdowns tyvm!

29 - What's your most popular fic?

Gee. I wonder:

30 - What do you struggle with most when writing?

Hmmm… this is a good question. I think there are a couple main things.

One, trying to fulfill the wishes of my ducklings while also not taking forever w/ certain plotlines. Obviously I’m not gonna please everyone all the time, but I try to include requests pretty soon after I read them if I don’t have a specific plan for them to show up in the future (B/c otherwise I WILL forget).

Two, sometimes motivation is a real bitch man. I’ll have all these ideas floating around, then open my fic and realize I can do ANY of that yet because I’ve gotta finish writing this specific part that I’m stuck on how to make it flow right. Also this is gonna sound weird but sometimes I think I straight up zone out while writing. Like if I’m bored, I’ll write and convince myself that everything I just put on the page was trash B/c I didn’t absorb any of it.

Three, proof-reading. I love it and hate it. I need to do it B/c if you’d SEEN some of the whack ass typos I’ve made you’d been pointing, laughing, stomping me into the dirt. But it also takes so much time. It’s much better in the tummy angsty chapters where I’m genuinely excited to read through it again. I’m always so worried about my lacing in certain scenes, whether it’s too fast, too slow, etc. Though, I have noticed, I am a LOT easier on myself when I proof-read in the morning or afternoon as opposed to at night. Which is a little strange but whatever.

32 - What's a fic you'd love to write, but probably never will?

Oooo… there are a LOT of like… ‘head fanfictions’ that have been kicking around up here for YEARS that I know I’ll never get around to B/c like… ugh. Here are a few that are Lucifer/Hazbin Hotel based:

Cast of HH reacts to the show fic. Okay, call me cringe but I actually eat those types of fics up and there is NONE out there. I just want people to react to how BAD Lucifer’s living and mental situation is right now and coddle him, is that so bad? But I know I never will because those kinds of fics take SO! MUCH! WORK!

When I’m not thinking of this fic, there’s this other general concept that gets rolled around with Lucifer basically like… sacrificing himself for both Heaven and Hell in front of like… everyone. He lives in the end b/c like they all cliché stand in a circle and sing and their ‘good’ energy comes together to help him. But like it basically gets heaven and everyone to see him in a new light and realize just how much he ISN’T the monster he’s been pained to be. And what rlly hurts is me imagining his ‘last words’ to be something like: “I didn’t fuck it up this time.” Because. You know. Angst.

OOOO and one where like… it’s set somewhere in the future where Heaven is actually being nice and giving the Hazbin Hotel a chance. Multiple sinners have been redeemed at this point and the angels are down in hell having like a celebration at how far things have come. Lucifer feels both jealous that HE will never get that chance, and just absolutely hates himself because like ALL THESE SINNERS got the chance to go back, but he’s too horrible of a person to be able to have that forgiveness. Lots of feels that I actually DON’T wanna say too much about B/c after WTiI is finished I may want to try and make this happen. I’m only putting it under THIS ask because… u know… I have no clue where my headspace will be if/when WTiI does reach its final chapter. ________________

Thank you for sending in the asks! These were so fun to respond to!