#oh and probably last wish at some point

[eventiderookery]

and the corresponding one from our king's fall run directly afterwards

and this is why it takes forever for us to raid...

[fluffle-writes]

I wanna. Pick them up in my mouth and shake 'em around like a dog obliterating a squeaky toy

[gayymomgod]

there is a special kind of violence that comes from trauma derived from being invalidated within a school setting by those that are supposed to help you, esp as an autistic kid . especially since there’s no real way to get any sort of closure from that, at least. not in a way that matters, really

[yoshifawful64]

man, chants of sennaar was good. it's a puzzle game about deciphering language as you ascend a tower (with a few stealth segments sprinkled in) and it's super interesting and artistic

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn

[magentagalaxies]

giggling and kicking my feet while i'm lying on my bed like a cliche teenage girl bc bruce's assistant just sent me high-quality recordings of both shows where bruce announced the buddy cole documentary at the rivoli

[unproduciblesmackdown]

as "let's see if will roland's birthday prompts any billions production clues from posts castmates may make about it" continues to yield "no one's posting about it, while some castmates post about other people's birthdays," already having more thoughts abt [i'm sure he'll show up in at least one episode even if only to be written out] type things like:

a) would be insulting if winston is fired to serve a subplot about philip and taylor having some difficulty in finding their footing re: working together as coheads, like, we're good at anticassandraing things and have gone "lol what if philip & taylor disagreed abt quants in that philip preferred winston. which he feasibly could," so what if instead it's philip arguing that winston should be fired to streamline things or because everyone who's not taylor will want him gone b/c they dislike him, and in learning how to successfully work together, taylor's like well alright. like, don't pit these elements against each other the insult is instead just Anyone, higher ups or lower downs, wanting winston gone b/c they dislike him, so he's fired

b) winston getting bullied by anyone or everyone is seen as him distracting them &/or provoking it with his presence, so he's fired winston being friends w/tuk is seen as a bad influence of loserdom on the latter (or distraction, or annoying, or w/e) so he's fired some Problem that needs solving or otherwise some need to fire Some people that really doesn't have much to do with him gets him fired anyways. like 5x05 all over again, isn't it always. or even if he's particularly involved in some problem you know it'd be something other people could get away with just fine. see:

c) what's even "a problem" like that despite everyone being in a hostile workplace, winston is especially, and we're so graced with dollar bill back on the premises who has already harassed and threatened and assaulted him (not only limiting the lattermost to something like "did he hit you, and like, closed fist, and i mean pretty hard. well that's just what he's like, you're fine." or the way like sabotaging a toilet is just epic pranks and only a problem if something looks bad to theoretical investors and we should talk about what tmc people might be doing to deserve it) while rian has been holding down the fort bullying and using winston. perfectly in line with everything if this kind of thing prompting any hostility in turn is like, nobody blinks at the other stuff, wherein if anything everyone keeps trying to fix dollar bill's feelings for him and talk about how who he's being awful to needs to appease him asap, and rian simply Wanting to use winston as a chew toy is just taken in stride while separately people have already been motivated by theoretically looking out for her / supporting her in various ways as well. whereas if winston Acts like he regards her as a hostile party, which she is, rather than seeming to operate in good faith that they can have regular constructive basic respect interactions, which he does while those decent interactions seem to come through rarely and unreliably, then i'm sure he'd be seen as mean / starting shit / out of line / etc, especially when it seems him Disrespecting the Rules & Social Hierarchy that should disallow him from like, speaking unless it's to self-flagellate, means people see him as aggressive or whatever. basically the classic scenario like, kid's bullied at school, they're supposed to just ignore it or it's otherwise "not that bad" / stuff gotten away with, even if supposedly it's like well just tell an authority figure here, that won't/doesn't work, any resulting obvious tension/dislike between the kid and whoever is like "uh oh, a Both Sides problem" at best, same if there's a physical fight or something or else it's like well That was unacceptable and if it was initiated by Your reaction to all other kinds of terrible treatment for however long, you're the problem. not that i expect winston to throw a punch about it, but, figuratively / parallel to this scenario

d) winston is sick of his deluxe hostile environment, doesn't actually like whatever coheading changes, sick of rian and/or dollar bill specifically, and/or doesn't appreciate some other goings-on, like one that results in him even being threatened with firing, and gets to just quit as has regularly seemed like something he might want to do anyways since 4x11 and intermittently on

e) not really another Way to imagine they kick him out but was thinking how like, Is a reason we're shown that taylor and rian hugging in the middle of an office was seen by i guess winston alone gonna be further relevant at all and about him making anything of it, which, he really couldn't possibly be wrong about any inferences. but going :/ at the taylor and rian dynamic just as a spontaneous, contained event would be self-explanatory too. but had the thought of like, maybe it's all "well taylor's been here 5 seasons and is in a more prominent position than last season, throw a PR problem at them for the first time for real, just as a shakeup / something that throws them off" wherein like winston wouldn't even have to be there to be cited in something like yeah i was fired or quit or whatever else and my former boss is dating an employee i think. or seems to have a real personal preference for them if not personal somethingship. which is true lmfao like? even if winston ""wrongly"" assumes they're dating like "oh sorry these claims are ridiculous, i only proposed as much to this employee who i already was informally mentoring and do favor such that she was promoted offscreen after like half a season to be able to make trades and this only came up when her using that capacity to do some shit she could've been fired for had me like 'but i'll take the heat for it' b/c any feeling that i'd wanna fire you is worth working through as a personal problem, and that employee turned me down not only just b/c apparently dating through work is too much (but not hooking up through work) but because she's afraid of how much she could love me, and now we're further personal somethings or who even knows what's ever been going on and so who can say if we were supposed to have fully closed the door on dating or not, even." wherein like....someone then doing further research consulting with every named tmc employee, in this hypothetical (and ignoring any hypothetical new, named/dialogued hires) scenario all now Former employees except rian who clearly won't have been firedor quit at the start of season 7, b/c yknow god forbid lmao....like, oh i'm taylor's best friend so no comment except that when i'm mad at them i'll apparently say that i always thought they inhumanly don't have feelings and all, very helpful. then there's like, oh yeah i was taylor's employee and dated them until business misalignments lead to a less than ideal breakup, and then kind of an aftershock of that for fun i guess. and then yeah i was also taylor's employee and knew they were dating another employee and i disapproved if only b/c i told them it could look bad but then also one of the reasons leading up to my quitting was having difficulty getting in touch with them while the other employee lived with them at least part of the time and i didn't seem to be a fan of that bonus access re: discussing business getting in the way of the formal structure / chain of command or whatever at work as well which is part of what i was already there to file a complaint over, so....even just the "it does look bad / people do think you leverage status for access to sex through employees" like no but that's My boss though. but also just that yeah taylor has at least tried to date employees twice, and their personal preference does affect professional matters, though that's also just like, pick any place of work and any slice of it, may not be a meritocracy after all versus how much it matters that some people are popular and/or liked by the right people while others can be recognized as Good Employees on paper but be left where they are or antagonized by peers or higher ups b/c of "failing" at the popularity contest aspect. and this could just be some new Kind of problem for taylor, and/or their just having to question themself more. or else go "ugh leave it to winston" and shrug it off once whatever's smoothed over.

f) winston isn't fully written off but rather it's something zany like, the twist is dollar bill coming back (god forbid he didn't either) while mafee, who evidently sees taylor outside work despite it all, is like eh we'll get dinners sometimes too, and does not likewise return despite saying he's the one who'd consider it. winston, being fired, or having quit, or just being unhappy w/things enough to consider it, is like well you're kind of regular at me sometimes and can't yell at me abt loyalty to taylor if neither of us work for them and you have weird confusing ideas about how they should be loyal to you if anything, and i can do the work of 50 phds, and i know you don't know shit abt the math and quanting but if you just leave it up to me entirely, that's pretty much been my work experience thus far anyways. then he'd be filming on different sets, possibly more rarely, and also dan soder has been likewise elusive but is also on site on the two even vaguely or implicitly [s7 production] related pics will's turned up in.

g) idk billions feel free to prank us where once again between seasons we worry winston could be written off but then he isn't, but elusivity paired with suddenly now castmates w/no mention of him for [march 5th] and [we are doing any bday acknowledgments] overlaps that otherwise get posts, especially. weird even if he Was written out in ep one but okay then

[artdcnaldson]

okay but PLEASE elaborate on Olympics!Art AU

TeeHee

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), feral obsessive behavior, infidelity

A/N: And you would do it too, that’s all I’m saying. Also IMPORTANT note: I love Tashi, she is a mother to many. However this fic has a very obsessive reader who just wants to fuck a married man, at Tashi’s expense

Maybe you were a bad person.

You’d met Art and Tashi Donaldson before— a year back at an event held for Tennis’ rising stars. That was you, some other guys who had done well in the Juniors, a girl from an Ivy League, and more people that fell into the blind spots of your interest..

You must’ve looked so sweet in your formalwear, approaching the couple with shaking hands so you could say just how big of a fan you were. You had no ill intent then, not when you were face to face with two people you’d idolized since you were twelve and watching the Junior US Open. That night you’d taken a deep breath as you stared at the ceiling of your home, feeling like you’d made it.

Sure, Art was handsome, and you’d lived the past decade harboring a massive celebrity crush on him, but he was married, he was untouchable. Art Donaldson oozed that sweet, devoted husband shtick. Anniversary posts, birthday posts, Valentine’s Day posts, Mother’s Day posts. He had a daughter, he posted about how much he loved being a dad.

You were fine accepting that your fantasies of fucking Art Donaldson were strictly fantasies. But that was before you qualified and had to see him every fucking day.

Art Donaldson, who held open doors for you, who talked to you casually, like he might an old friend. Art, who stood in the long line in the food court with you, ate something he probably shouldn’t have, and asked that you don’t tell Tashi.

And you’d smile conspiratorially, and assure him his secret was safe with you. The implication being that you’d keep that secret, and more. As many as he’d ask you to, really.

You’d see him on a practice court, running drills with his wife, and feel the heat of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You’d turn away, focus on your own game, practice until your hands were aching and sore.

“Where’s Mrs. Donaldson?” You asked one night after you’d been sexiled and had to sit out in the hallway waiting for your roommate to finish up. Art leaned against the wall, standing tall above you, so you had to crane your neck. You liked that point of view, on your knees looking up at him, you wondered if he liked it too.

“Oh, she’s staying in a very nice, very expensive hotel room with our daughter right now,” he said with a grin. “As soon as my events are done, that’s where I’ll be too.”

“Oh,” you said, bringing an easy smile to your lips. “Well, we’re all glad you’re here now.”

“We?” He questioned.

You gave a coy smile, batting your lashes so sweetly. “Maybe just me.”

There was a strange expression on his face for just a moment. Then he laughed like it was nothing. He wished you a goodnight and good luck in your matches the next morning, and disappeared into his own room.

You medaled in women’s doubles. They published photos of you and your partner biting the silver between your teeth. That same day, Art Donaldson took home gold. You were there to see the very end of his last match— every single collision of racket against ball, every step, every grunt of exertion. Your thighs clenched as you watched, fists balled up in the fabric of your skirt.

You wanted him in a needy, desperate sort of way. Like a groupie for a rock band, or a virgin being sacrificed on a mountaintop. You watched him celebrate with a kiss from Tashi and felt that same need like an open wound. Jealousy was festering in you like a rot.

The dive bar wasn’t what you’d expected. Something Art had found with a quick google search and a few minutes with a translation app. He’d knocked on your door to invite you, wearing the beaming smile of someone on top of the world.

“So you’ll come?” He asked after he told you all about it.

“Mhmm,” you said, heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ll come.”

And there you were— in a dress that hardly qualified as such— standing so close to him that you could smell his expensive cologne. His arm would brush yours, he’d glance over and apologize with a warm hand to your arm. You’d clench your thighs together and peer at him through your lashes. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

A few of the other players disappeared to play darts, or watch the late night coverage of the other sports still competing. You stuck by Art’s side, happily allowing his attention to fall on you completely.

“I saw parts of your doubles final,” he said finally. He was drinking a brand of beer you’d never seen before— something local, you supposed. “You looked beautiful out there.” Your eyes lit up, and then he added. “The way you were playing, I mean— it was phenomenal.”

“Well, I’m no gold medalist,” you said. You let your hand rest on his arm, and looked up at him. The fingers on your other hand toyed with the edge of the medal, warm from where it had been flush against his chest.

He swallowed. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, but he didn’t discourage it. Not one fucking bit.

It wasn’t lost on you that Tashi wasn’t there. Not that it was really her type of venue, from what you had gathered. It wasn’t lost on you that Art Donaldson was at a dive bar, drinking random Brazilian beers, instead of celebrating with his wife, with his daughter. Fuck all those posts on his instagram— if he really was a good husband, a faithful one… that’s the only place he’d want to be.

“I saw your match too. I ran right over after my ceremony to watch,” you confessed. It was hard to concentrate on anything else— you were standing so close to him that you were nearly pressed completely into his body.

His lips twitched in interest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhmm. It was incredible. You were so dominant out there, just taking what was rightfully yours.”

He swallowed again, gravitating closer. Your tits were practically spilling out of your dress— he probably got the perfect eyeful when he eased you closer with a firm hand on your lower back, when he looked down at you through blown pupils.

“You looked so fucking hot out there, Art,” you said, lips brushing against his jawline. “You can’t even imagine how it felt sitting there, watching you win. How turned on I got… how wet.”

Art exhaled a shuddery breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It must’ve been a while since he had someone want him this bad, you thought. Clearly he needed it— needed a pretty, sweet thing to tell him just how much they wanted him. You could be that. You could do that.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you whispered in his ear. His grip on you tightened and you had to suppress a giddy smile. “You can feel if you want. I won’t tell.”

He swore under his breath and glanced around. Everyone was too occupied or drunk to give a shit about what the two of you were up to.

He grabbed your hand, pulled you away into the bathroom. You looked pretty even then, in the flickering lights, sat up on the edge of the sink eagerly awaiting his attention.

When he wrenched your thighs apart, he was greeted by the pretty sight of your glistening cunt— sticky with arousal and need. His hand fit there perfectly, right where you needed it.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His fingers rubbed through your slit— wet and hot and aching for him. Your head fell back, knocking against the dirty mirror. “Want you to use me— whatever you want, just take it.”

And you meant it too. This was your teenage idol— a man you’d touched yourself to the thought of countless times. He owned your body, your sexuality, as much as you did. It was only fair he took from it whatever he pleased.

You watched with hungry eyes as he fumbled with the button of his pants, then shoved them down just enough to free his dick.

Your mouth fucking watered with the need to feel it on your tongue, nudging against the back of your throat. You weren’t opposed to begging— you nearly started before you got it into your hand.

Warm, thick, pulsing. Precum beaded at his tip, so you smeared it around the sensitive head of his cock with your thumb. He groaned, bucked into your fist once, twice before he moved your hand.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he said, slapping the inside of your thighs. You obeyed wordlessly, spreading yourself out invitingly. He pressed closer, so you felt him rutting his dick against your pussy, coating it in your arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

The words came out with equal parts disgust and awe. He probably thought you were a slut with the way you were throwing yourself at him. You wished he’d just call you that, spit it in your face.

Your cunt pulsed with need, aching to be filled up finally. The culmination of years of fantasizing. Art pressed himself against your entrance, sinking himself into you with the slow reverence of a man who liked making love.

He buried himself inside of you and had to stop moving to keep from cumming then and there. He was a perfect image of restraint— the way his fingers dimpled the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip.

Art wanted to be a gentleman— to give you time to adjust to the size of him, to ease you into it and let the pleasure be a slow, soft burn. He pulled out nice and easy, slid himself into your wet, throbbing cunt. That was all fine and good, but you knew it was just pretense. You were laid out and wanting, begging for him to use you as his own personal toy.

“I’m not your wife, Art.” You met his gaze, locked your ankles around his waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The first thrust, the first real one, knocked the air from your lungs. That silence didn’t last long— because you got what you wanted— he was really fucking you, bullying his cock into your pussy with the same need and desperation that you felt.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve— fuck— you’ve got no fucking self respect, huh?” He pounded into you, leveraging his grip to pull you against him, really impale you on his dick.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic. If he kept talking to you like that, if he kept fucking you like that, you’d cum.

“You don’t even care, do you? This fucking pussy’s squeezing me so tight— you fucking love this,” His voice was strained, interrupted by groans and pants.

You moaned, eyes rolling back. “Love this,” you echoed. When you looked down, at the sight of him splitting you open, of the ring of creamy arousal circling the base of his dick, you felt dizzy. Like you were standing on top of a tall building and looking down. Sort of out of body, tethered in the present by brutal thrusts into your pussy and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies joining.

Your fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing needy and insistent at your clit. So close to finishing that you wanted to cry and just ask to start over again, that you’d savor it more a second time.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned suddenly. You felt him start to pull out, to leave. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— not yet, you didn’t want it to end like that. “I have an IUD,” you lied through your teeth. You used your legs, pulled him closer, deeper. “Just keep going, don’t stop. I’m right there.”

He moaned against your throat— holding you tight, fucking into you with animal need. Your fingers moved against your clit with an insistent need. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. Your moans so loud that Art had to put his medal between your lips to shut you up.

And you were so pliant— letting him drill into your aching, used cunt, your mouth tasting like metal. You felt his rhythm falter— one, two harsh thrusts that knocked muffled moans from you until he came, painting your insides thick, creamy white.

He stayed buried inside of you for a while— panting, doing his best to catch his breath. You spat out the medal and it fell back against his chest, spit slick and shining. You reached up, ran your fingers along his face, reverently, sweetly. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and you tucked it away with delicate fingers.

When he pulled out, you felt that sinking feeling of loss and jealousy in your chest. He redressed in silence, turned away like he couldn’t stand to look at you, or the mirror. Shame rolled off of him in waves that you wanted to brush away.

It wasn’t bad, you’d assure him. You’re a tennis star, you’re the greatest in the world. You should have whatever you want, whenever you want it.

But you didn’t say that. You just tidied yourself up as best as you could and slipped back out into the bar. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

[snookienthusi4st]

I LOVE UR HCS PLSL MAKE MORE 🗣🙏🙏

i gotchu! lmk if you want the same or different characters bc i was thinking abt doing sm for light

l lawliet x fem! reader hcs

warnings: smut, overstimulation, food play, kind of angsty if you squint, au where he doesn’t die

nsfw under the cut

• yk unlike the other characters i feel like there’s a lot of ways you two could’ve met

• you could’ve been at wammy’s, light’s school, an assistant, etc etc but for plot’s sake, you guys met during the kira case with you as a task force member

• you’re smart but you can tell when an idea needs to be altered, he silently takes notice of that and pays more attention to you

• sometimes you’d catch him just staring at you, but he’s an odd character to begin with so you just brush it off

• when you two miraculously get a second in private, he ends up being the one to ask you out

• not immediately tho, like you have to know the man for at least a year or two before he even considers it

• like it’s dead silent in the room after matsuda and the others head home and he just starts talking and it catches you off guard

“y/n?”

“hm?”

“there’s something i want to discuss with you.”

“what’s that?”

• you’re patient with him, since the man has no idea how to vocalize his thoughts in situations like these

“i think i’m developing feelings for you.”

“oh, me too.”

• the exchange is straightforward and to the point, and he appreciates that you feel the same

• you two agree to keep things private

• less because you guys don’t want people finding out and more for safety concerns

• sometimes it bums you out a bit because you wish the two of you could go out on dates like normal couples do

• but then you get back home and find a bouquet and your fav sweet on the counter and you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way :3

• you’re friends with watari too, and he comes in and checks on you two smtimes when you’re in his office

• he’s a workaholic, but he’s exceptionally good at making time for you as well, considering how smart he is

• sometimes you pick him up a sweet from the store and get to headquarters like an hour early so you have a chance to see him alone before the day starts

• parallel play is a big factor in your relationship, like he’s working while you’re doing something in the same room w some small talk here and there

• and if you ask him to, he’ll always take a quick break and give you some attention

• last thing he’d wanna do as a partner is make you feel neglected, right? he’s so sweet i love him

• kisses are fleeting, kinda like near, but less uncommon

• whenever you two are alone, he’ll always kiss you at least once, whether it’s your hand or your face

• the most emotion you’ll ever see out of him is when you kiss him or hug him

• it’s subtle but his eyes soften a bit, kinda like when misa kissed him in that one episode

• he waits for what feels like forever, but eventually he does tell you his real name

• he just wanted to be sure he really is as in love with you as he feels like he is, since he’s never really been one to put his heart over his head

• would probably still be after the case is over, just to be safe

• sex

• funny enough, i feel like you’d be his first time, which makes him love you even more

• he doesn’t seem like the type to seek that stuff out

• yk until you guys start dating and it kinda hits him that he could literally just ask to have sex with you

• which is what he always does, we love a consensual king

• has a low libido, but one of his favorite things to do if you have a higher libido is overstimulating you

• like he’s fingering you and curling them into that exact same spot, drawing out orgasm after orgasm from your aching body

“i’ve got you, just give me one more..”

• as for oral, he’s 50/50 when it comes to giving or receiving

• well maybe 51/49, he rlly likes eating you out

• will have your legs shaking afterwards every single time guaranteed

• apparently it’s canon he can tie a knot into a cherry stem w his tongue so best believe he WILL get you where you need to be

• he’s really gentle with you, even when he’s overstimulating you, his movements are always soft even when they speed up over time to get you closer

• he rlly is the sweetest, sex with him will make you feel so loved and appreciated, which is exactly what he wants to get across :3

• his words are gentle too, everything he says in that charming fucking voice is just so ughh

“shh, just breathe..”

“that’s my girl, just hold it a little longer. you can do that for me, can’t you?”

• would be into food play on a rare occasion

• definitely a whimperer when you give him head, i don’t make the rules

• overall he’s incredibly careful and shows you just how much he cares about you

• i feel like he’s into reading!

• like you’re asleep with your head on his shoulder, and he has one arm around you and the other’s holding a book and skimming through the pages until he’s ready to sleep too

• plays with your hair

• no matter what length or texture it is, whenever you guys are alone, he’ll js have a hand running through it

• you play with his too, and it’s rlly soft considering how little effort he puts in to actually take care of it

• would be into bands like the cranberries and the sundays

• idk it’s js the style of their music that makes me think of him

• before the case was over, sometimes you’d have nights where you couldn’t sleep from how worried you were

• worried that something would slip up and that kira would get to him, that anytime you’d see him would be the last

• but on nights like those, he was always incredibly reassuring, touched that you even care about him that much

“what are you doing up so late?”

“..i couldn’t sleep, can i stay with you?”

“you don’t have to ask, come here.”

• and he sits you on his lap and plays with your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he works until you fall asleep in his arms

• you’re such a new feeling to him, he’s never wanted to put anything over work before, much less something as unreliable as a person

• but you’ve earned his trust and his love, and he’s never gonna let you forget <3

[hedgehog-moss]

Good news! I managed to find the last dandelions of the season :) I really thought I'd missed the window to harvest them this year; it's usually a late-April activity for me but it rained so much in the past couple of months, it just ruined my flower-harvest schedule.

The only dandelions left where I live are all in their wish-granting puffball phase, but I thought I'd try my luck at higher elevations—yesterday I called a neighbour who lives 150 metres higher, it went something like "Hello I would like to inquire about your dandelions and what stage of their life cycle they have reached." Neighbour told me if I hadn't introduced myself first she would have assumed I was a salesperson cold-calling to pitch a product ("You sounded so professional.") But she confirmed that she saw a few still-yellow dandelions during her last walk! Pandolf and I were immediately on our way.

Neighbour also told me that the cows were out in one of the pastures I was about to cross, but I didn't tell Pan, it was a surprise. He was so happy! Look at him bouncing his way towards them:

I was ready to call him back if the cows looked nervous, but instead more cows arrived to meet this visitor, to Pandolf's extreme delight (I had to call him twice before he deigned to stop greeting cows and join me on my dandelion search.)

Usually I just sit in a pasture covered with thousands of dandelions and I barely have to move to fill my basket, but in late May the harvestable dandelions are few and far between, so I had to walk long distances to find a couple here, a couple there—and I had to really inspect the tall grass, where they are much better-hidden than in April grass.

And guess what else I found in the tall grass?

A lion!

Worse! it's Texas :) I guess he is officially a recurring character. (Here's Texas' memorable introduction, for those who missed it.)

He makes Pandolf look small and scrawny!

I went to say hello to his owner but she wasn't home, so we returned to our dandelion field, followed closely by a suspicious Texas.

Sure, I'd scritched his ears and it was nice, but he's a diligent guard dog and unlike Pandolf he doesn't think friendly ear-scratching and malicious intent are two circles that can't overlap. But once I showed him my harvest he lost interest in us. Catching dandelion thieves is not in his job description.

Another animal I had to negotiate with were pollinators, who were clinging to the last few dandelions even though there were other wildflowers for them to feed from. They probably thought I was being similarly unreasonable with my single-minded focus.

I also found an adorable tiny spider in my harvest—she was dandelion-yellow and perfectly camouflaged to hunt insects in there! Here she is giving me a tiny spider high-five (or maybe angrily shaking her fist at me as I deprived her of this ideal hunting ground)

I let the llamas out to eat the weeds in my (still not planted) vegetable garden, like last week, as I started the long and meticulous process of destemming 400 dandelion flowers one by one. It started raining at some point but I had to stay outside to keep an eye on Pampe—it wasn't cold at all, and after the initial "oh no! rain" reaction, it started feeling pretty nice and meditative, sitting outside in the soft spring rain with the animals while preparing flowers.

I proudly told my mother that despite being one month late I managed to make 5 jars of dandelion honey just like last year, and she complained about shrinkflation seeing as I used significantly smaller jars than last year. I'm sorry but that's just called making clever use of packaging to meet unreasonable customer expectations in difficult times. Plus, I used 1 more lemon than usual in my recipe, so what this product lost in quantity it gained in quality. ("That's what they all say," she tutted)

(If my hen looks grumpy it's because she was sheltering from the rain under the table and I unceremoniously caught her and dropped her on top of it to enliven my photo. Not only did she get wet but she felt used, like a mere prop. She's back in her sheltered spot and it's been over 10min but you can still hear muffled resentful clucks when you walk past the table.)

[wonderjanga]

Marvel’s Lives

As you guys know, there have been previous champions. They’ve all lived different lives and such. Some have been men, some women, and are some genders that don’t exist anymore. Point is, no one life is the same.

Let’s say some female heroes are talking about abortion one day and out of nowhere Cap just chimes in:

Marvel: “Oh yeah, pregnancy is tough, man. Giving birth is not for the weak. I’m speaking from experience here. Anyone who doesn’t want that, shouldn’t do it.”

Female JL members: “What…?”

Black Canary: “Marvel, last I checked, you were a man.”

Marvel: “Actually, a few thousand years ago, I used to be a woman!”

Female JL members: “???”

Marvel: “I’ve been a woman, multiple times actually.”*proceeds to walk away like he didn’t drop that on them*

They’re all thinking he’s trans, but no? His words imply he’s fluid? The thing is though is that Marvel’s never really shown that he’s either. The question was later asked by Hawkwoman when he was making oobleck in the kitchen of the Watchtower

Hawkwoman: “Captain.”

Marvel: “Yes, Ms. Hawkwoman?”

Hawkwoman: “Are you a woman?”

Marvel: *looks up from his oobleck to her, looking confused* “No? Why?”

Hawkwoman: “Some of the other girls were talking about how you were a woman at some point.”

Marvel: “Ooooh that. I was a woman. Yeah.”

Hawkwoman: “So you’re not anymore. What did you look like as a woman, if I may ask? Also what is that?” *points to the oobleck*

Marvel: “Oobleck.” *offers bowl off oobleck to her for her to play with* “Also, sure. Just a sec.” *mutters a spell*

Hawkwoman: *pokes the oobleck*

Marvel: *poofs and is now a female champion from like seven thousand years ago. His suit also changed to the previous champion’s own suit* “Tada!”

Hawkwoman: *does a double take when she sees him* “You… Certainly have a darker complexion.”

Marvel: “Yeah. If I remember correctly, I lived in the Middle Eastern area back then. That’s probably why.”

Hawkwoman: “And why are you white now?”

Marvel: “My appearance changes every few a hundred years or so. That includes my skin color, gender, and other features.”

Hawkwoman: “Oooooh. Okay then.”

They proceeded to play together with the oobleck after that.

Like ten minutes after that initial interaction…

WW: “Shayera. There you are. I was wondering if you wish to spar with me.” *notices Marvel* “Who is this? A new hero?”

Marvel: *turns around, hands covered in oobleck*

Hawkwoman: *also turns around, hands covered in oobleck* “What’d you say? I was distracted.”

WW: “I was wondering if you wanted to spar with m…” *trails off when she sees Shazam’s lighting bolt on fem Marvel* “Brother?”

Marvel: “Hi, Ms. Wonder Woman.” *waves an oobleck covered hand*

WW: “Why’re you a woman?”

Marvel: “Ms. Hawkwoman asked.” *shrugs*

The three then proceeded to play with the oobleck together.

Then, there was the time someone asked Marvel about his religion when they heard he believed in the Greek Gods.

Marvel: *shrugs* “I’ve been multiple different flavors of pagan. Fun fact, a couple thousand years ago, I used to be a ritualistic cannibal. It was apart of the offerings and rituals of a shaman. Or at least the types of shamans of that time in that specific empire.”

JL member: “Do you still eat people now?”

Marvel: “That’s not important, the point is, if there’s a religion, I most likely at some point practiced it. Or at least the super old version of it.”

JL member: “Okay? But do you still eat people now??”

Marvel: “I guess I’m saying I’m kinda in between religions?”

JL member: “Can you please stop ignoring the questioning ?”

He continued to ignore the question.

Of course, the ritual cannibal thing isn’t the only one of the outlandish things Billy’s casually admitted to doing. Eventually though, things can get a little bit too much for some members.

Marvel: *telling them about another thing he did in a past life*

GL: “Okay! That’s enough, dude!”

Marvel: *concerned* “What? Did I say something wrong?”

GL: “No, I’m just confused as to why you’ve done all these things, man. Are these like side quests you under go? Or like…? What’s going on, pal?”

Marvel: “Nothing…? These are just things I’ve happened to do.” *shrugs*

GL: “So you’re willingly telling me you tried to trample someone to death with a horse just for funsies?”

Marvel: “Well, when you put it like that-”

Flash: “Wait, what about the time you told me you were a princess before princesses were a thing?”

Marvel: “I uh-”

Superman: “And the time you told me that you used your lightning powers to become a cult leader?”

Marvel: “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop tell you guys about myself.”

MM: “Captain, it’s not that we don’t want you to tell us about yourself. It’s instead that your stories seem to have no cause for them.”

Flash: “Yeah! Like why did you feel the need to become a cult leader? How were you a princess?? Why would you want to trample someone with a horse???”

Marvel: *shrugs*

Flash: “Wha- Don’t just shrug!”

Marvel: “I was a different person back then.”

Superman: “That’s a little too cryptic, bud.”

[solxamber]

Roommate Rumble || Vil Schoenheit

You and Vil end up as roommates due to administrative error. Unstoppable force (Vil's perfectionism) meets immovable object (your chaos). It ends up working out perfectly.

and they were roommates!!!!

You’re sitting in the most soul-crushing waiting room imaginable—stale air, uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the smell of desperation. You’re waiting for the housing office to process your late application, which, in hindsight, you should’ve done weeks ago, but hey, it’s college. Time isn’t real here.

Between borderline disastrous drinking sessions, last-minute assignments, and your general vibe of chaos, the fact that you’ve even made it this far is kind of a miracle. But now, thanks to your masterclass in procrastination, you’re about to get assigned a random housemate for the year. At this point, you’re too mentally checked out to care who it is. As long as they don’t steal your ramen, it’ll be fine… probably.

The door swings open, and in walks the most absurdly pretty man you’ve ever seen. Like, this dude looks like he stepped straight off the cover of a magazine. And not just any magazine—like, one of those high-fashion ones where people look all ethereal and judgmental at the same time.

You try not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s got this aura about him, as if he’s too good for this building, this situation, this plane of existence. He walks up to the front desk, where the housing clerk is, predictably, typing at the speed of a snail.

“I’m here to check the status of my application,” the guy says, his voice smooth but with a distinct undercurrent of annoyance.

The clerk squints at her computer, clicks around a bit, then frowns. “Uh… what was your name again?”

The guy rolls his eyes, but still answers with the grace of a runway model, “Vil Schoenheit.”

You nearly choke. Vil Schoenheit? Isn’t that, like, some kind of celebrity? You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him on billboards for fancy skincare products or something. Now you’re really trying not to stare.

“Uh… huh,” the clerk says, now looking vaguely uncomfortable. “It seems… we may have, um, misplaced your form.”

Vil stares at her, and you can practically feel the temperature in the room drop by several degrees. “Misplaced?” he repeats, his tone icy. “You lost my form?”

“W-Well, not lost,” she stammers, “more like, uh, temporarily… not found.”

Vil’s eyes narrow, and you have to hand it to him—he makes passive-aggressive sound like an art form. “And how, exactly, do you plan to rectify this?”

The clerk clicks around desperately on her computer again, clearly wishing she was anywhere else. “Well, um, we’re going to have to randomly assign you a housemate. Since we don’t have time to redo the whole process… y-you’ll just have to— Oh, wait!” She pauses, glancing between you and Vil. “You both applied at the same time, so you can just… be housemates! Problem solved!”

There’s a beat of absolute silence as you and Vil both process this. You glance at him, and he glances back, slowly looking you up and down with the precision of someone scanning for flaws in a diamond.

Finally, he sighs, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Acceptable.”

You blink, unsure whether you should feel insulted or… flattered? He says it with the same tone you’d use to describe a pair of shoes that don’t quite match your outfit, but are passable in a pinch.

You don’t even get the chance to respond because, let’s be real, your brain is still trying to catch up. Did Vil Schoenheit just say you were “acceptable” as a housemate?

Honestly, though, you shrug it off. If you’re being real, as long as he stays in his room and you stay in yours, who cares if you’re housemates with a guy who looks like he bathes in designer moisturizer?

“Great!” the clerk chirps, relieved to have avoided death by model glare. “You’re all set, then! Enjoy your semester!”

You glance at Vil one more time, who’s already looking like he regrets every life choice that led him here. Meanwhile, you’re just hoping he doesn’t judge you for eating pizza rolls at 3 AM.

It's three days into this whole housemate arrangement with Vil, and honestly, it’s not bad. You’ve barely even crossed each other’s paths, which works out perfectly. He does his thing, you do your thing—totally peaceful.

You stumble out of bed one morning, still half-asleep, grab the first set of clothes you can find on the floor (you’re 90% sure these jeans don’t belong to you), and zombie-walk your way to the kitchen. You’re already 15 minutes late to class, but who cares? Time isn’t real, and neither is your motivation.

As you shuffle in, you spot Vil at the counter. He’s sitting there, back straight, eating what looks like a perfect, Instagram-worthy breakfast. It’s all eggs and avocado toast and some kind of smoothie that’s probably made from fruits you’ve never even heard of. He’s impeccably dressed, even though it’s like 7 AM, and you can’t help but be mildly impressed. The guy is a full-time student, works as a model and actor, and still manages to look like he just walked off a red carpet.

Meanwhile, you’re over here in a mismatched hoodie and some band T-shirt from high school, hair resembling a rat’s nest, and the sheer determination of a person who’s willing to eat raw cereal to survive.

You try to be polite, offering Vil a smile. Or at least, what you think is a smile. It’s probably more of a grimace, to be honest. You’re running on fumes, and it shows.

Vil glances at you, eyes narrowing like he’s silently assessing every poor life choice you’ve made up to this point. Still, he says nothing, just gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment.

You head straight for the pantry, grab a box of cereal, and rip open a Red Bull. Breakfast of champions. You’re about to pour the cereal into your mouth raw, no milk, no dignity, when suddenly—

SMACK.

The Red Bull flies out of your hand, clattering to the counter, and you’re left holding an empty cereal box like some kind of fool. You stare at it in shock, then turn to Vil, who’s looking at you like you just summoned Satan.

“Dude??” You blink, genuinely confused.

Vil crosses his arms, expression disgusted as he points at the stove, where there are some leftovers of whatever perfect meal he made earlier. “That,” he says, enunciating like he’s explaining basic math to a child, “is food. What you were about to ingest is poison.”

You look between him and your spilled Red Bull. “Uh, that was breakfast?”

“No,” Vil snaps, “that was a caffeine overdose waiting to happen. And dry cereal? Have you lost the will to live entirely?”

You’re still processing the fact that he just slapped your breakfast out of your hands when you glance at the stove again. Your stomach growls, and, well, you guess your organs could use something that won’t actively try to kill you.

“Fine,” you mutter, shuffling over to grab a plate. “But if I’m late to class, I’m blaming you.”

Vil barely glances at you as you load up your plate with whatever masterpiece he’s made. “You’re already late,” he says flatly.

“...Okay, fair.”

You sit down at the table, expecting the silence to be awkward, but it’s surprisingly chill. You eat, Vil eats, and for a brief, strange moment, it’s kind of peaceful. You didn’t think breakfast could be… normal. Not with someone like him.

Just as you finish, Vil stands up, wipes his mouth, and gives you a small nod. “You’re welcome,” he says, like he’s just saved your life—which, in his eyes, he probably has. Then he grabs his bag and leaves the kitchen without another word.

You sit there for a moment, fork still in your hand, feeling oddly touched. Then you glance at the clock.

You’re now 30 minutes late to class.

Totally worth it.

You pass out at 4 a.m., your body finally giving in to the pure exhaustion that college life has inflicted on you. You're in that deep, blissful sleep when, at exactly 7 a.m., you're jolted awake by a scream so loud it feels like it rattled the entire room.

At first, you try to ignore it, desperately clinging to the last remnants of sleep. But after a moment, you groggily realize there’s no escaping it. You groan and roll out of bed, stumbling into the hallway with all the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie, not even bothering to change out of your mismatched pajamas.

Standing outside his room, on top of a chair(???), looking absolutely frazzled, is Vil Schoenheit. Hair still perfect, but his usual calm demeanor is gone, replaced by… well, panic?

“What the hell happened?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes.

Vil’s face is pale, and he gestures to the door of his room with a shaky hand. “There’s—there’s something in there.”

Your brain immediately jumps to the worst. An intruder? A stalker? A wild animal? Something actually dangerous? Vil shifts behind you, as you carefully open the door just enough for you to peer inside. You brace yourself, expecting to see something terrifying.

Instead, Vil points dramatically toward the floor. “There.”

You blink. And then you see it—a cockroach. A big one, sure, but still. A cockroach.

You turn to Vil slowly, your face a mask of pure judgment. “You woke me up… for this?”

Vil, now perched on a chair, crosses his arms indignantly. “It’s not about fear. It’s about disgust. I am not touching that.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“...No. No, you don’t.”

Resigned, you grab a cup and a piece of paper from the kitchen. You approach the cockroach like some kind of extermination expert, scoop it up, and open the nearest window. With one swift motion, you throw the unfortunate bug into the outside world, praying it finds a better life somewhere far, far away.

“There,” you say, tossing the cup in the trash. “Crisis averted.”

Vil, still standing on his chair like the floor is lava, steps down carefully, brushing off his clothes with an air of dignity as if he hadn’t just been screaming at a cockroach. “I wasn’t scared,” he says, straightening his posture. “I was disgusted.”

You nod along, patting him on the shoulder with the patience of someone who knows it’s best not to argue. “Sure. No problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Vil purses his lips, his pride clearly a little bruised, but he still offers a tight smile. “Thank you.”

You wave him off as you shuffle back to your room, your bed calling you back like a siren. As you flop onto the mattress, you think to yourself, He might be a diva, but damn, he’s gorgeous.

With that, you pass out again, hoping to squeeze in a couple more hours of sleep before the universe inevitably conspires to ruin your day again.

You and Vil have settled into an odd but functional arrangement. If not quite friends, you’re definitely acquaintances with benefits — and by benefits, you mean Vil keeps you from dying a slow death via your terrible diet, and in return, you serve as his on-call exterminator for the various bugs your old house seems determined to spawn. It’s a mutual understanding, and lately, he’s stopped questioning your life decisions. Well, not as much.

One afternoon, you’re sprawled on the couch, half-asleep and doomscrolling on some social media app, when Vil clears his throat. You jolt upright, momentarily thinking you’re about to get a lecture about posture, only to find him standing there, looking at you in a way that’s… almost awkward?

“What’s up?” you ask, genuinely curious because Vil being awkward is as rare as you cooking anything edible.

Without a word, he hands you an invitation, embossed with gold lettering and all. It's for a performance competition on campus. The kicker? Vil’s participating.

“You want me to come?” you ask, surprised.

He waves a hand, trying to look nonchalant. “Only if you’re available,” he says, but there’s a slight tremor in his voice. He’s trying to play it cool, but the slightest hint of tension betrays him.

You have no plans (unless eating ramen at 2 a.m. counts), so you agree. “Sure, I’ll come.”

The day of the competition arrives, and you actually dress like a normal human being for once. Vil didn’t give you any kind of ultimatum about your outfit, but you figure you should at least try to look like you belong among the living.

You’re in the front row — of course, Vil had VIP tickets to a performance competition. The crowd is buzzing, but you’ve barely noticed because your attention is glued to the stage.

Vil appears, bathed in light, and you swear you’ve just glimpsed into heaven. His voice is smooth and captivating, his moves are graceful, and his gaze? One hundred percent lethal. It’s almost unfair. He’s the kind of performer that could turn someone to stone with a look.

You’re standing there, feeling the ridiculous urge to brag to the people around you that he’s your roommate. “Yeah, that’s right, I share a bathroom with that guy.”

Then, Neige LeBlanche takes the stage. Now, you’ve heard the hype. Neige is the campus sweetheart, the kind of guy who probably smiles at babies and rescues kittens from trees. If Vil is the untouchable beauty you admire from afar, Neige is the best friend you’d want by your side, also weirdly gorgeous.

You expect another powerhouse performance. You’re bracing yourself for it. And then… he starts singing.

Wait.

Is Neige… singing a nursery rhyme?

You blink. The crowd is eating it up, swaying along like they’ve been hypnotized. Meanwhile, you’re just standing there, dumbfounded, the only person in the front row not bopping along.

You glance around, jaw practically on the floor. Is everyone here insane? The man is singing something that you swear you heard at preschool.

And then it happens. Neige wins. The audience erupts into cheers, and you think the universe is playing a cosmic joke on you. What the actual—?

“What the fuck?” The words slip out before you can stop them, loud enough that the people around you turn to stare. Apparently, your disbelief is showing. You even catch Vil’s eye for a moment, and he smirks weakly at your outburst, but it’s clear the loss stung. A little part of you feels something unfamiliar—anger on someone else’s behalf.

You don’t even stay for the encore. It’s either leave or throw something at the stage, and you’d rather not get banned from campus events. You march out of the hall, still fuming.

Later, when Vil returns, you can see it in the slight slump of his shoulders. The air of perfection is still there, but it’s a little cracked around the edges. That anger bubbles up again.

But you have a plan. A master plan.

Vil’s been telling you for weeks that you’d look decent if you just took care of yourself, and you’ve been brushing him off like the human disaster you are. But tonight, for him? You’re willing to make a sacrifice.

So, when he looks at you, barely meeting your eyes, you blurt out, “You can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes widen slightly. “What?”

“Whatever creams, lotions, skincare products—you want to use on me. Go wild. I’ll be your project for the night.”

Vil’s expression lights up like a kid who just found out Christmas came early. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to get this excited about transforming you from a crusty goblin into a passable human, but here we are. And honestly? You kinda owe him at least this much, considering he makes sure you don’t die from malnutrition.

The next hour is nothing short of war. Vil is aggressively applying products to your face like he’s trying to sandpaper your soul clean. His focus is deadly serious, his hands precise as he rubs some fancy serum onto your skin.

Between all the smearing of moisturizers and the occasional Ow!, the two of you start talking. Or rather, you start griping about Neige’s performance.

“I mean, seriously? A nursery rhyme?” you groan, rolling your eyes.

Vil huffs, his fingers moving swiftly over your cheeks. “Don’t remind me. The judges clearly have no taste. What kind of competition rewards… that?”

“Right? I was ready to riot. Your performance was like…” You search for the right words as he smears something cold on your forehead. “It was like watching art come to life, and then he goes and sings Twinkle Twinkle and everyone acts like he just reinvented music.”

Vil laughs—an actual laugh, something deep and genuine that makes the tension in his shoulders ease a little. “You sound like you wanted to run on stage and throw him off.”

“Maybe I did,” you mutter, wincing as he pats something into your skin a little too enthusiastically. “Honestly, the only reason I didn’t is because I didn’t want to get banned from campus events.”

By the time he’s finished, Vil steps back to admire his work like an artist assessing a freshly painted canvas. “There,” he says, his voice softer now. “You look… acceptable.”

“Wow, high praise,” you snort, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Vil.”

He smiles back, something quieter and more genuine. “Thank you.”

You wave him off, already heading to your phone. “So… delivery tonight? I’m thinking chicken?”

Vil wrinkles his nose. “Not fried. How about sushi?”

“Deal,” you grin.

As you place the order, you can’t help but think—yeah, maybe you and Vil are friends now. Weird, slightly dysfunctional friends. But friends, nonetheless.

You’ve been working on this project for months. Countless sleepless nights, caffeine-fueled coding sessions, and a pile of stress larger than your student loan debt have led to this moment. It’s crunch time. You’re this close to submitting your final assignment. You think you deserve a break, so you go to order a coffee—just 10 minutes, tops.

But when you come back? Your laptop, your precious laptop, is gone.

You look around in disbelief. This can’t be happening. Someone stole it. The weeks of coding, months of planning, your entire project, everything. Gone.

You do the only thing you can think of when life throws you a sucker punch like this: you go drink.

You’re a few shots deep when your phone buzzes. It’s Vil. He’s asking, “Are you going to be home for dinner?” His voice is sharp, but you can’t even string together a coherent answer. You let out some garbled mess of a response that’s more slurred syllables than actual words.

There’s a pause, then a very clear “Send me your location. Now.”

Vil shows up at the bar like he’s stepped out of a luxury fashion magazine, a vision of elegance in this grimy little dive. You’re nursing what can only be described as a sad excuse for a cocktail, and he just gives you this look—disapproving, concerned, and about two seconds away from reading you the riot act.

He doesn’t say a word as he helps you out of the bar and drives you home. You can barely sit upright in the passenger seat, mumbling something about losing your laptop. You’re not even sure if he hears you.

Back at home, Vil sits you down on the couch and hands you a glass of water. “Drink,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You sip the water, slowly sobering up, though your mind is still a mess. Meanwhile, Vil is pacing back and forth like an actor in a drama, preparing for his monologue. And then it comes. He’s yelling at you, frustration and worry bubbling up to the surface.

“What are you doing to yourself? Why are you so determined to self-destruct?!” he demands. “You eat like garbage, you barely sleep, you pass out at random hours of the morning, and now you’re drinking like you’re on some kind of mission to obliterate your liver!”

You can’t take it anymore. His words break something inside you, and you just… fall apart. Tears stream down your face, and you sob, unable to hold it together any longer.

Vil immediately stops pacing, his expression softening in an instant. He crouches down in front of you, gently resting his hands on your shoulders. “Why are you crying?” he asks, his voice now quiet, almost tender.

You try to explain between hiccupping sobs. “My laptop—it’s gone. I… I worked so hard, and now it’s all gone. Someone stole it.”

Without hesitation, Vil pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice soothing. “We’ll figure it out.” He holds you like he can somehow undo the theft, like he can bring back what’s lost just by being there. And in that moment, you cling to him, sobbing into his shoulder as if the world could collapse around you and it wouldn’t matter because he’s holding you together.

You wake up hours later, still curled up on the couch, with a hangover so brutal it could bring empires to their knees. But something’s off. You realize you’re not just lying on the couch—no, you’re lying on someone’s lap.

You blink and look up. Vil’s sitting there, talking softly on the phone, one hand gently patting your head. You try to make sense of it, but the pounding in your skull makes that nearly impossible.

“No, Rook, I don’t care how you do it. Just find it.” Vil says into the phone, his hand still idly resting on your head. He doesn’t seem too concerned about you waking up—if anything, he seems almost like he’s daring you to go back to sleep.

And you do.

The next time you wake up, it’s to the world’s loudest human: Rook Hunt.

“Ah, mon ami, I come bearing treasures!” he announces as he swoops into the room, a grin plastered across his face. In his hands? Your laptop.

You sit up, blinking in disbelief. “What…? How did you get my laptop?”

Rook flashes you a sly smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, it was no small feat, but for Vil’s amour—”

“Rook!” Vil snaps, cutting him off with a glare that could freeze fire. “That’s enough.”

You look between them, still not fully understanding what just happened, but you’re too relieved to care. You practically leap off the couch and grab your laptop, hugging it to your chest like it’s your long-lost child.

Before you can stop yourself, you turn and hug Rook, then Vil, a huge grin spreading across your face. Then, in a moment of pure, unfiltered gratitude, you kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Vil blinks, momentarily stunned by the gesture, but before he can say anything, you’re already dashing back to your room to finish your assignment.

As you shut the door, you can hear Rook’s laughter from the other side.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters to himself, but there’s a warmth in his eyes. Maybe you are a walking disaster, a self-destructive potato. But you’re his favorite potato.

It’s finally the end of the semester, and a little notification pops up on your phone: Housing Applications Now Open.

If you apply now, you could get your old dorm back—no housemate, no interruptions, just you and your tragic life decisions. No one telling you to eat healthy or waking you up at ungodly hours over insect-related emergencies. Just you, alone, in your beautifully chaotic mess. And Vil? He’d probably go back to wherever he was before, maybe with someone like Rook who actually knows how to behave like a normal person.

You should be thrilled by this prospect. A whole apartment to yourself again. But instead, your stomach is doing weird somersaults, and not the normal “I forgot to eat breakfast” ones. This feels... different. Kind of like the time you ate that suspicious leftover curry, except this time it’s your heart that feels like it’s about to implode.

Oh. Oh no.

You sit there for a solid 10 minutes, staring at the housing application, feeling something suspiciously like heartbreak. And being the impulsive disaster that you are, you decide the best thing to do is to blurt out your feelings without any consideration for how unhinged it might sound.

So when Vil comes home, looking elegant and put-together as always, ready to greet you with his usual "Good evening..." you don’t even let him finish. You jump up, and before you can second-guess yourself, you blurt out, "I’m in love with you. Deeply. Hopelessly. In love."

Vil freezes mid-step, his eyebrows shooting up so fast they might actually fly off his face. There’s a solid beat of silence as he processes what you just said.

“…Excuse me?” He blinks, looking like you just told him you set the kitchen on fire again. “What did you just say?”

You gulp but there’s no backing out now. You’ve committed. “I said I’m in love with you. Like... seriously. I think you might’ve ruined me for life.”

Vil stares at you, and for a second, you’re terrified that you’ve broken him. But then—he laughs. He laughs so hard he doubles over, clutching his sides like you just told the world’s best joke.

You blink, baffled. “Uh... you good?”

Vil wipes at the corner of his eyes, still chuckling. “Oh, potato…” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “I love you too, you ridiculous creature.”

“Wait, what?” Now it’s your turn to stare in shock.

Vil sighs, but there’s a fond smile on his lips. “I was going to ask if you wanted to room together again next semester. But, you know... in a better apartment. One without bugs or whatever demons this place keeps spawning.”

You blink once, twice, processing his words. He wanted to room with you again? In a better place? Your heart does a little flip in your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you’re grinning like an idiot. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Without thinking, you pull him close and kiss him. It’s quick and impulsive, but somehow it feels right. When you pull back, you find Vil smiling at you with something soft in his eyes, like he’s genuinely content.

“Maybe I don’t wanna die young after all,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Vil raises an eyebrow, his smile widening. “That’s a start. Now, go drink some water before you pass out from dehydration.”

You laugh, content for the first time in forever. Maybe this whole “life” thing wasn’t so bad after all. At least, not when you had Vil by your side.

Masterlist

guys I promise I don't hate neige I just hated the VDC ending I wanted to off myself fr

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

if i see anymore of your perfect art i will curl up and just die of perfection exposure you sick twisted evil mastermind creating such awesome pieces omg<333333

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Next pages gonna be difficult - I have only idea of what gonna happen so drawing sketch for them will take some time. Hopefully not so long

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[hitomisuzuya]

scaramouche x fem!reader. fluff. scara being drunk and in love. drunk voicemails. soft scara. college au

i have aventurine smut planned, but i have wanted to write something like this for a long time. the lyrics are from somewhere only we know by keane.

scaramouche had plans to go out last night. but you didn't feel well, so you told him to go out with xiao without you. to have fun and not drink too much. he protested at first, saying "what kind of a man leaves his woman to go out when she is sick?" complete with trademark huff, and crossed arms.

scaramouche hates being without you. really, really hates it.

the next morning, feeling much better, you rolled over and grabbed your phone to check the time. you discovered you had several voicemails. you'd been so deep asleep that you didn't hear the phone ring.

they were all from scaramouche.

"fuck, you'd better be asleep, kitten," came scaramouche's very slurred voice, "i really hate the song playing. i wish you were here so my ears aren't bleeding alone. i don't know why xiao fucking loves this song. it's stupid pop crap. i miss you. fuck, i am so in love with you. you should feel my heart. it goes skip, skip when i think about you. it's kind of annoying--" end of voicemail.

he must've hit the recording limit.

"hey kitten, listen, it's a song you like. more pop crap, but the piano is kind of clutch, not gonna lie," you heard shuffling for a moment, he must've been taking his phone from his ear and holding it out so you could hear the song. after a few moments of hearing shrilled music, he must've put the phone back to his ear. "fuck what's it called again?" you heard some drunk sounding humming before the voicemail stopped.

smiling, you went onto the third voicemail. you heard somewhere only we know by keane come through the speaker again. only this time, you heard scaramouche's slurred voice singing the song to you. "i felt the earth beneath my feet. sat by the river and it made me complete. you make me feel complete."

scaramouche stumbled and hummed adorably to the part of the song he didn't know. your smile widened. "oh simppllee thing, where have you gone..yeah, kitten where are you? i miss you. i'll be he medicine that makes you feel better. fuck how does this song go?" the voicemail ended.

the fourth one immediately started with scaramouche singing, more slurred than before. you found out later from xiao that he'd fed the jukebox at the bar with 5 bucks to play somewhere only we know over and over so he could call you back to sing the parts of the song he wanted to sing to you.

"i'm getting old and i need something to rely onnnnnn. fuck hold on, i wanted to sing this part to you first..no, did you hear the made me feel complete part? you make me feel complete," you heard drinking noises and a heavy sigh.

"dude, scara, she is probably sleeping. you are going to wake her up," xiao's voice interrupted.

"fuck off, you shithead! i'm serenading my kitten! go put another dollar in the jukebox, i'm not done, she needs to hear this!" the voicemail ended.

the last voicemail started with him humming somewhere only we know. "i need something to rellyy on." at this point, he was just singing random lyrics. "wait, hold on..made me feel complete. something to rely on..xiao! xiao! these fucking lyrics, these fuckers really wrote this whole song for her," there was some shuffling noises. "xiao, we gotta go fucking kill keane!"

he was deadass convinced the band was in love with you and wrote the song for you so they could steal you away from him.

later that day, you played the voicemails for scaramouche. 'oh my god..i got so drunk last night" he said, dismayed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

"what? i thought the voicemails were sweet," you said, grinning at him. you gave him a quick kiss on his lips. "i'm keeping them." you had to say that before he asked you to delete them.

he sighed. "fine. keep them. not another soul hears them," he hissed. he was incapable of saying no to you.

[hiwerethemountaingoats]

So this is a song about a couple of people in a car, and uh, it's kind of hot in the car, though it's cold outside, and the reason it's hot in the car is the seething temperature of their hatred. And they're sort of like, you know, it's one of those situations where you really-- [pause] Let's say you're in this car. You have probably at some point, the odds are pretty good you've been in this car. And, uh, at one point or another you look over at the speedometer and it says 75, you're riding shotgun, and you think, you do this sort of quick calculation. You don't really know, you know, you're not a physicist, much less a criminal investigator, anything like that, you're just a person in a car that you wish you weren't in, but you think, "If I pop the door and drop and roll and I tuck my elbows in, between here and the bushes at the shoulder, what's the damage I sustain," and you picture your lifeless, unconscious body rolling down the beautiful hill, and you see yourself as though in a Japanese film and think, "You know, I might make it; maybe I will look up and I will see the last bit of the car speeding away from me and I will count that as a victory." This song, this song is about people who have chosen whatever the opposite of victory is.

John Darnielle, introducing Family Happiness (Wexner Centre | Columbus, OH | April 11th, 2011)

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: angsty (very minimal), mentions of readers past relationship, some bond building, smoking, some tense moments

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4!! - part 5

————-

“Captain?” Soap yells from afar to get what seems to be prices attention. When he realizes that is indeed his captain he jogs to where John stands.

“What’re ye doin’ back?” Soap question a little confused, after their last two month mission John was granted leave for three months to recoup and rest. 

“Just came to turn in these files.” He says waving the Manila folders in his hands.

“You could’ve just done that online, you know.” And yes John does know and by the look he gives Johnny he also knows.

“What, trouble in paradise?” Johnny smiles widely at the guilty look on his captain's face.

“Something like that.” John replies clearly a little tense.

“Well, tell me about it.” He says waiting expectantly.

“Over some drinks Sergeant.” Price replies before making his way into the building and soap returning to the trainees.

————-

“Oh that’s fucked mate.” Ghost says.

“Captain no offense you’re a very intelligent and capable man but that is so fucking stupid.” Gaz states before taking a drink of his beer. 

“You thought oh I’m catching some feelings for her, let's just ignore her.” Soap says in a mimicking voice.

“No, it's not only that, I don’t have time to entertain dense feelings and she likely doesn’t share those same feelings.” His gruff voice replies as he takes a puff of his cigar and blows the smoke out into the pub they sit in.

“Did you ask her?” Gaz asks, already knowing the answer.

“Am I twelve? What grown man asks a woman if they have feelings for them usually there’s hints and clues you can pick up on.” Ghost grumbles in agreement from price earning a slap on the arm from soap.

“And she’s done nothing that may even give you an inkling that she’s into you mate?” Gaz quips in.

“Like “oh hey captain can you help me open this jar?” Or “price can you please help me fix this?” Johnny tries his best at a womanly voice. 

“First of all she doesn’t call me captain or price and second of all, yes she does that but it’s only because she needs the help.” They all look at him with blank stares.

“I bet you wish she’d call you captain.” Soap whispers but before John can reply Gaz starts.

“Captain, does she ever stutter when you talk to her?” Gaz asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“sometimes.” He excuses that as human behavior. 

“When she noticed your avoidance, did she get upset?” I mean you got a little mad at him that once but that was cause he was overstepping. 

“A little.” He replies not really seeing where it’s going until oh.

“Yeah cap, you're being naive.” 

“You should go back there, be kinder and less weird. She probably thinks you don’t like her and if that lasts too long she’ll start to actually not like you.” Well he obviously can’t have that.

“We need a mum anyways.” Gaz says under his breath and soap agrees. 

“What?” 

———————

“Hey you’re back.” You can’t resist the small smile that makes its way onto your face as John walks into the kitchen.

“Told you I’d only be a day or two.” He repeats his words from a couple days ago, hands awkwardly in his pockets. 

He notices there’s something different in your energy that he picks up on or maybe it’s his energy that has changed.

“Yeah but last time you said a month and we’re gone two.” He remembers that and sees your point then he thinks about the fact that you remember that. 

“Well last time I really didn’t think I’d be gone that long but you know.” He says not going into detail and just waving it off.

“Well I have a job to get too.” You say closing the package of blueberries you’d been eating out of then place them back in the fridge.

“On a Saturday?” He questions the unusuality of it.

“Yeah I had a woman call me this morning, said her wedding was next week and she really wanted me to be the one to give her her dream hair so I agreed.” 

“Okay then, I’ll see you later, doll.” He says as you grab your keys and purse getting ready to leave.

“Bye John.” You smile softly looking anywhere but him cause if you did the smile that lays on your face at the newfound nickname would be too evident. 

————-

“Hey so we’re just doing some highlights and a cut right.” You ask the woman in your chair as you drape the cape over her paying mind to her swollen belly and button it in the back.

“Yeah I actually have some pictures if that’s okay.” She says pulling out her phone to show you.

“Great, I’d love to see them.” You say getting your equipment ready.

She shows you and by the already light tone of her hair this will be easy work. You get everything settled and ready, mixing the bleach and color and sorting through the pieces you’ll paint.

“So what made you ask me to do your hair?” This is a question you always love to ask your clients. Was it social media or a referral or maybe something else.

“My finance actually recommended you.” Her fiance.

“Oh I don’t actually do men’s hair, who’s your fiance?” You question a little confused but clearly he might’ve just seen you on instagram or had a friend who’s been with you.

“Brian, he said he used to know you and heard you did really good hair.” No fucking way.

“Oh yeah I know Brian old friends.” You smile through the tears that threaten to escape your eyes. 

How could he? How could he give this woman everything you’ve ever wanted then send her to you to show off that goddamn-

“He says to tell you hi.” She smiles looking back at you not having a clue of who you really are. 

“Oh tell him I said hello.” You reply shortly.

“How’d you two meet?” You ask curiously.

“We actually worked together and when we first started talking he was actually in a relationship but nothing serious and the more we spent time together it just became clear we were meant to be together.” Her.

“So he cheated on his ex partner?” You say in a polite tone, one a girlfriend would use.

“Well I guess you could say that but according to him their relationship was over before it was over.” You smile at her nodding in understanding. 

Scream, you wanted to scream your fucking head off the rest of the appointment. But no you stood there politely and gave this woman the most beautiful hair you could’ve imagined you even took fucking pictures for her to send to you’re cheating ex.

—————

On the way home you cried out of anger not even out of jealousy, or sadness just anger at the audacity that man had and the years you wasted with such a fucking loser.

When you pulled into the driveway you turned the car off and just sat there. You sat there and pondered on everything. You’d always asked him for a baby and he’d said he would never be a father. You always wanted to get married and he would say “marriage isn’t my thing.” And yet he’ll do it all for another woman. A woman he really loves. 

But in the end you're glad it’s not you. It isn’t you that has to deal with that man child, it won’t be you who’s stuck with someone who isn’t faithful. In the end you’re the lucky one and finally you feel like you can let it go. 

So you dry your eyes and head inside, kicking off your shoes by the door and paying notice to John that’s currently in the living room. You walk over to the couch and sit a comfortable amount of space away from him simply testing the waters and watch the football game he has on.

“How was your appointment?” He says suddenly taking in notice of your puffy eyes.

“Good.” You reply in a whisper with a half smile.

“You’re lying.” He assumed maybe just an asshole client or the outcome wasn’t good.

“It was my ex boyfriend's new pregnant fiancé, who also happens to be the woman he cheated on me with.” You admit with a small laugh at the end with how ridiculous that sounds.

“You got cheated on?” He asks, thoroughly shocked not paying mind to the other details.

“And she’s hot.” You reply looking him in the eye. All he’s thinking is hotter than you?

“Did she know who you were?” This has to be the most mind fucking thing he’s ever heard.

“Not a clue and what's funnier is he recommended me to her.” You laugh again and it’s slightly scary how calm you seem.

“You’re not upset?”

“John I was over that man the minute he cheated on me. I’m only upset over all the time I lost wanting things he said he never wanted but what he meant was he never wanted that with me.” You say quietly between the two of you like it’s a secret. 

“His loss.” he says, offering you a small smile.

“I guess.” 

“No doll I know.” You don’t know what to make of that comment and just smile back at him. 

————-

Later that night after a long shower you step onto the outside patio for some fresh air not noticing John smoking a cigar beside you. 

“Jesus!” You jump slightly at the sight of his looming shadow.

“At this point just expect me to be everywhere.” He laughs as he exhales the puff of smoke. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” You reply before taking in the sight before you. John in Levi’s, a thermal and brown leather jacket, thick fingers holding a cigar between them lightly tapping it to drop the excess ash.

“I’m sorry, does it bother you?” He asks suddenly, concerned about whether that was in the policy or something. 

“No, not at all.” You smile shivering at the breeze that blows through the air.

He offers the cigar between his fingers by gesturing it towards you, you’ve smoked cigarettes but this thing looked like a cigarette on steroids. Nonetheless you didn’t decline the offer and hesitantly wrapped your lips around it giving it a small puff letting the earthy flavor consume your taste buds as you exhale. 

John watches you with longing eyes. Truthfully he expected you to grab it from him but instead you toked it straight from his fingers and shit it was hot. The way your lips wrapped around the very end had him running hot suddenly. The layers he wore were becoming overbearingly warm. 

“Do you ever wish you chose a normal career?” The question left your lips before you could think about why you were asking it and he clears his dirty mind before answering. 

“Not really, my job makes me feel like I have purpose and although my hands get dirty it’s for a good cause.” You nod as you look up into the blue sky that’s slowly becoming darker. 

“You do have purpose outside your job though you know that right?” You look him in the eye for a mere second then back up. 

He’s taken aback slightly by your statement and stays silent. He lets it settle in his thoughts and feelings. Wondering what prompted you to say it in the first place.

“Thankyou.” He replies shortly after. 

“You're welcome.” You reply gently.

“I’m going to head inside, don’t be out here too long you’ll get sick.” You say sliding the door open and he laughs in return. If you even had the slightest idea of the weather he’s lived in. 

———

You woke up the next morning bright and early, currently stood in the kitchen brewing hot water for tea and setting the coffee machine on. One for you, one for John. He was surprisingly still asleep although it also is still very early. He never sleeps past 7.

As you turn the heat off the stove, knocking sounds at the front door. Maybe a package you assumed as you made your way down the hall peeking through the small hole to see who’s out there and to your surprise it was a woman. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” She looks at you a bit taken aback.

“Does John Price live here?” She asks as her blonde hair blows in the cold breeze. 

“Yeah?” 

“I need to speak to him.”

“Okay I’ll be right back.” Was this a lover of John’s, maybe an ex wife or something. You knock softly at his door and nothing so you knock a little louder. Before you hear a grunt and the squeak of the hardwood floors.

“Morning, y’alright?” He asks with a deep sleepy voice. 

You take notice of His messy hair and pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips so you practically beg and will yourself to not look at his body. 

“Yeah sorry there’s a woman at the door for you.” You reply smiling when you notice the sleep marks on the side of his face. 

“Oh okay let me just put a shirt on, tell her I’ll be right out.” He can already guess who it is and quietly curses to himself. No peace of his ever lasted long.

You relay the message to her and offer her to come inside which she politely accepts but goes no further than the entrance. 

“I’m Kate by the way.” She offers her hand to you. 

“Oh nice to meet you Kate, are you a friend of John’s?” You pry.

“Oh yeah, a longtime one.” You should’ve known.

“We’ve been working together since he was a lieutenant and that was ages ago.” She laughs and you feel light with relief for whatever reason.

“Laswell.” A deep voice sighs out from behind her.

“Well don’t be too excited to see me.” She says to him.

You get the message to exit the room and do so. He walks with her to the kitchen, offers her a drink then they both go to his office and from the sound of it have a pretty heated conversation. Not that you were eavesdropping or anything.

———-

It was hours before she left and when she did John didn’t seem too happy. You walk to the door a bit after you hear it shut. John stands there running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” You stupidly ask as he rubs his forehead still standing in front of the door although she left 10 minutes ago.

“Yeah doll I’m alright.” He sounds tired and bothered. 

“Okay.” You begin to turn around getting the feeling he doesn’t want you there. 

“Wait, actually I have to leave tomorrow for a while..” He replies quickly. 

“Oh.” You try not to sound too disappointed.

“I’ll leave you a check for six months, if I’m gone longer my checkbook is in the bedside drawer. If you need assistance with anything I have a friend you can call please don’t do it yourself or have someone else do it.” He says as you stand there not getting past the eight month part.

“Six months or longer?” He meets your eyes seeing a hint of sadness.

“Yeah that’s what I can expect.” You suck your bottom lip between your teeth for a second not really knowing how to reply. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“What?” He replies at the random change in topic.

“Would you like to order too much food and watch a movie?” You ask again.

“Sure?” 

“I mean if you’re leaving for months and you seem upset about it then it’s serious and when’s the next time you’ll eat good food, you know?” You explain.

“Italian?” 

“Italian.” 

——————-

You both sit on the living room couch in the dim ambient light while “How to lose a guy in 10 days” plays on the TV, your choice. Empty boxes once filled with pasta and bread now are mostly empty. You tell John every time one of your favorite parts is coming on but not like you even needed to. He can tell by the anxious shake of your foot and slightly raised eyebrow.

“So does he ever find out that it’s for the em magazine and does she find out it’s for a bet?” He asks midway through the movie.

“You’ll have to watch it.” You whisper.

He laughs and for a moment in time he feels content, at ease for once. He feels like this is the moment he’ll recall in the next eight months when nights are cold and he’s spent. 

Your eyes are drifting closed before the movie is over and he watches you find sleep then returns his attention to the tv determined to finish the movie. Once all is done he picks the containers up off the floor quietly and turns the tv off kneeling to the floor to wake you.

“Doll let’s get you to bed.” He whispers in the dark. You're slightly disappointed you fell asleep but your drowsy mind doesn’t let you think too deeply as you bid him a goodnight and head to bed.

————-

The next morning he was ready to leave at 4AM. Big duffel bag in hand and a backpack. He thinks of waking you to say goodbye and even walks to your door. But he doesn’t not because he doesn’t want to but because he won’t want to leave if he does. Internally he curses himself for wasting so much time avoiding you the previous weeks. 

So he writes a quick note and of course the promised check and heads on his way.

—————-

Next chapter is already written and I’m so excited at the build up!!

Comments and reposts are always appreciated<3

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