#other than watching so much big brother..

[witherby]

Hey El! I’m back and god this place needs a clean! *Iooks in the booth and sees a man sleeping* is this one of your employees or not? Also with truceJuice how would Kon and the family react to an over worked mouse?

You leave that little guy alone! That's Blorbo, he's my emotional support loiterer! I give him some leftover drabbles and he scrapes all the gum off from underneath my tables and warns me when the Health Department is coming. We have a symbiotic relationship.

And, hmm. I like this question! Let's walk it through!

How does your family + Kon react to you overworking yourself at Truce Juice?

Masterlist is Here!

Bruce:

Can't say shit to you and he knows it. This man is THE overdoer of overdoing anything. Trained his body beyond typical and atypical human limits. Used to train himself to sleep in 20 minute bursts in his prime so he could spend the other 23 hours and 40 minutes a day working on bettering Gotham day and night. Made contingency plans for every single hero and villain and antihero known to him just in case he might need to put them down one day. Bruce has never done anything with less than 110% commitment. It's not a surprise you picked up that trait, as much as it makes him both proud and worried for you. So, like the hypocritical coward he is, Bruce says nothing.

To you. He's gonna lament about it to the others, though.

Hal:

Not happy about it. You're grown, and you can do what you want with your time as you see fit, but if you happen to be spending more time at your cafe and less time at home, that's when he's gonna crack his knuckles and start bugging you.

"Hey, kiddo! I think you've stocked up enough ingredients to keep this joint running for the next 6 months. Five if Killer Croc orders anything more than once a week. Don't you think you're going a little overboard? Come on home and take a rest; I'll give you a ride."

Dick:

He's gonna try to get legal about it. If you're in there working beyond your posted opening and closing times, he's threatening to fine your business. You wouldn't want that, would you? Just call it quits for the day and go lie down! Everything is fine!

(This does not work. You hand him a fat stack of cash to cover the fine, call your brother a Blüddy pig, and oink at him until he rushes out of the store, embarrassed.)

Jason:

Enforces the Weekly Family Nap Time when you don't. He calls or texts you and says you've got five minutes to wrap up the most important shit, then he's coming. It doesn't matter if you lock the doors, he's getting in the building, he's hoisting you over his shoulder, and he's taking you home and putting you and everybody else to bed. Shouldn't have skipped dinner, idiot. Now you're in a big cuddle puddle. If you use your shadows to slip away, he's threatening to cause property damage. He'll take the heat on that if it gets you to slow down.

Tim:

You're stubborn and bull-headed like the rest of your family. Once you focus on a task you're very unlikely to pull your attention away from it unless you're made to. So he makes you.

He locks down your POS system until you call him in frustration, then gets you to give it up and come home.

"It's eleven at night, M. The place closed at seven. Come back and I'll reactivate it tomorrow morning before it's supposed to open again, I promise. Whatever you're doing can wait."

Damian:

Similar to Jason, he's slipping into the cafe after hours and leveling you with a disappointed glare. Unlike Dick and Hal, his little guilt trips and speeches actually work.

"When you were six years old, I watched you flatline in a hospital bed because of your poor immune system. And you hadn't even done anything to get yourself sick back then." He leans against the counter and watches you painstakingly adjust and readjust and re-readjust all the furniture in preparation for the painting crew scheduled to arrive in the morning to give the place a fresh look. You refuse to turn around and face him. "Why are you purposely working yourself sick again? Are you going to make me sit at your bedside in the ICU while you fight for your life over something you couldn't leave to the other staff? To the contractors you hired to do this for you? Are you trying to frighten the people that love you, Flit?"

You leave the furniture where it's at and go hug your brother, then let him take you home.

+ Conner:

Sometimes you're overworked because there's too much to do, and not enough hours in the day. You aren't the kind of boss to ask your staff to stay longer than they've been scheduled for (not realizing that they happily would if you needed the help), so you take on the mundane, often laborious, after-closing duties yourself.

Conner is attuned to your needs and desires. He doesn't have to convince you to pack it up and go home. He knows that's what you want to do. But you also have to take care of your business, and sometimes that means staying for hours past closing to supervise a major renovation, or coming in so early the sun hasn't even risen to receive a shipment of baked goods from across the city.

Conner doesn't force you to abandon those tasks to go home. But he does stay to help them along. Need something moved from one end of the café to the other? He's on it. Need something dropped off at another store? Leave it to him. Need someone to prevent the creepy window washer from staring at your ass? He's already on it.

And when it's all said and done, and you can finally head out for the night, Conner will carry you home.

[husbandjoel]

birds of a feather | joel miller

3 times joel miller’s plans to propose almost got foiled +1 time it did.

pairing: jackson!joel x fem!oc - oc is referred to as honey. joel’s pov

word count: 4.2k

trigger warnings: spoilers of tlou!! bad language, one sexual them if you squint v v hard lol (no smut), an age gap but not referenced in this! (oc is in her 30s), alcohol, trauma, violence and death. this is angst romance!

a/n: love u joel! again with most of my writing, the plot may not be accurate to the actual storyline, personalities and ways people react sometimes change for self indulgence. enjoy xo

gif credit: @mellxncollie

Commitment was a foreboding concept to someone like Joel Miller. Heart scathed one too many times as a result of his leniency toward letting himself open up his heart to the act of love. He had the broken watch and scar tissue across his nose to prove of his past commitments leaving an everlasting mark on his life twenty years on.

        Never settle down and get comfortable. Because, all would be lost at the end of the day.

        His concrete views of commitment altered slightly when he saw her in a fleeting visit to the Tipsy Bison with Tommy and Maria Miller after a hard days work. He was hook, line and sinker the moment she introduced herself, feeling thirty years younger with sweat building under his collar as he stammered his name out much to the amusement of his younger brother.

Honey had him ensnared and trapped, his heart thrumming when she smiled just for him that night. Her touches suggestive in interest, gentle against his bicep when they spoke closely about nothing, just so Joel Miller could listen to her sweet drawl for a few seconds more. He soon figured why the nickname Honey stuck.

       They fell in love without fault. Joel had made sure of it after their first encounter.

        She had pulled the pin on his grenade, and now he found himself carefully curating a bouquet of flowers with the local florist on his way home, picking her favourite flowers of the season; something poetic about hands that had seen much bloodshed, being so delicate not to damage the stems of the flowers for his woman.

        Now, Ellie Williams, his Honey, The Jackson Commune and therapy — thanks to some gentle persuasion from Honey — was the furthest his commitment stretched in his older years. As far as he was concerned, Joel Miller's cup was as full as it could be for a man that endured a great amount of loss.

He would happily live out his days in a house big enough for a reasonable sized family for just him and Honey, a kid that half filled that relatively deep hole left behind by his biological daughter and his woodwork for downtime in the evenings.

Honey, as sweet as could be, never asked for more than what they had together. A smile never leaving her face as she cooked their meals, added her touch to Joel's rather meagre interior design, and making sure Joel was taking his vitamins every single day.

"I want you to live forever." She had teased as he grumbled at the bright orange pills in his hands before throwing them to the back of his throat and swallowing with a swig of black coffee. She'd take her wins.

They were undoubtedly happy. No paper needing signed to solidify their devotion to one and other. It was shown through their actions.

Of course, that was until Joel Miller watched her fawn over a local's engagement ring. Her delicate fingers holding the other woman's hand up to inspect the glittering band around her wedding finger as her face feigned a brightness Joel hadn't quite seen on her before.

He blinked thrice, like he had just found a gold mine in the middle of the Commune. The dimly lit scenery of the Tipsy Bison caught the way the oval cut Moissanite reflected against her skin as she commended the woman's — now — fiancé at how well he had done. The imagery stuck in his head like glue. He wanted nothing more for flecks of shimmering diamond to catch her features as she walked around with a ring around her wedding finger; a stamp of his commitment to their love.

        Maybe a piece of paper mattered after all.

        The first time he was almost caught with his plans was right underneath Honey's nose. God, he could've held the shape of his heart as it beat out of his chest when she padded through to his woodwork desk, as quietly as she ever had before.

        He scrambled when he heard her call, thick fingers ripping at pages, forcefully crumpling them as he jammed them in the second drawer in his desk. Profanities under his breath, he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose, elbows thudding onto the wooden top, mustering a casual, brooding expression on his face.

Peering over the brim of his new glasses, his thumbnail scratching above his brow, as Honey peered in from the doorway, eyes bleary and plump lips pouted.

         She was so fucking beautiful.

        "Mornin', baby." He drawled.

        "Joel—It's, five o'clock in the morning." Finger pointed to the clock on the wall, "Your patrol isn't until eight."

        Joel shrugged, "Just workin', honey."

        He wasn't lying. Joel was just altering the truth for the next question. Unable to sleep, his mind was throbbing at the endless possibilities of how to prepare the best proposal on God's Green Earth for Honey, which included the ring. They'd never directly spoken about her idyllic design, although, she'd make comments in passing if she caught a secondhand one glistening in the Jeweller's shop window. 

        The clock ticked two in the morning when he crept out of the bed, leaving Honey, drool sliding down her cheek in a deep sleep. Joel wanted that vision forever.

And there he sat, forefinger and thumb twiddling his pencil, a facade of casualness as his lady folded her arms, hip jutting out with a sleepy smirk on her face.

“Oh?” She mused, “What are you working on?”

Joel cleared his throat, “Jus’ drawing some inspo for my next wooden piece. ‘M thinkin’ something Ellie would like above the mantelpiece.”

“Uh huh—” Honey nodded, her eyes darting downward to his desk and back up to his brown eyes, “—How can you draw without a notepad?”

Joel felt his mouth dry instantly, the slip of the mind when he had shoved the notepad into his drawer along with the crumpled evidence of three different ring designs he was mulling over. He couldn’t think quick enough for an articulate excuse as Honey hummed in suspicion, crossing the small space between them to lean over his desk with a creak; pressing a couple of kisses to his lips before sauntering off.

“I’m going back to bed.” She called through, “Keep on drawing, I guess.”

Joel stumbled through after her.

The second time happened when he spent his morning, the day after patrol, at the new Jewellers on the Main Street. He had managed to wrangle his way out of the house without Honey’s pressing questions on his whereabouts. He utterly adored that she cared about his whereabouts — even off patrol — when the Jackson Commune was only so big. He was never far.

Papers in hand, Joel had greeted the owner of the shop, Stanley, a sense of urgency in his actions as he tried to speed through the introductions to place his sketches down on the glass panels that held jewellery locked inside — quick to pull the wooden ring from the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Is this somethin’ you could make?” He asked as Stanley fingered the flimsy paper, he watched the bald man pull his lips into a thin line as he inspected his woodwork. Joel peered over his shoulder, out into the street from the window to make sure Honey hadn’t miraculously teleported to him. He looked back to Stanley with brows raised, “Well?”

“You’re quite the artist.” Stanley stated and Joel almost rolled his eyes from impatience. “Yes. It may take some time, but, if I alter a few minor details—”

Joel interjected, “—No cuttin’ no damn corners, this ring design and only this ring design.”

“OK. Then it’ll be January 4th.”

Three weeks from then. Just after the New Years Dance. Joel agreed with the timeframe, taking the ring back. He was confident that Honey would wait forever for him, three weeks would be a pure breeze in the face of a proposal. It gave him time to compile ideas on how to pop the question to her.

Joel could already feel the nerves creeping up the back of his neck.

With little time to have an inner quarrel with himself about the logistics of proposing to Honey and the possibility of her rejecting his open-hearted request for eternity with her, the bell chimed above the front door, his sixth sense, the Honey sense, prickling goosebumps on his forearm as he turned to see her stood, a brown bag of groceries balanced on her hip.

“Joel?”

“Honey.”

Stanley subtly put his hands holding Joel’s papers behind his back. His eyes shifting between the lovers.

“What are you doing here?” Honey looked between Joel and the owner, Stanley, whom she had acquainted herself with prior. She had a way with new residents, and or, the traders passing through the Jackson Commune to sell their goods. Her eyes went wide, “You’re not fixing your watch, are you?”

The mouth drying came for round two. His jaw clicking as he gawped like a fish, “No, baby. Jus’ meeting the owner here.”

Joel didn’t have a tendency to lean into being social. He often let Honey do the warm welcomes before thumbing over to him, telling them he’s her brooding partner who definitely bites — the joke usually going over their heads in the midst of infected biting to kill.

Not having the need to spend time embarrassing him, relieved he wasn’t fixing his broken watch, Honey sized him up as she stalked closer. On tiptoes, she pecked his lips, pressing at his chest when he tried to follow her lips when she pulled back.

Folding his arms, Joel threw the question back at her when Stanley backed away to give them a little more privacy for their PDA — Joel’s artwork tucked neatly into the band of his pants. “Say, honey. . . What are you doin’ here?”

“Oh, y’know,” She waved her free hand flippantly, “Getting my finger sized.” The words left her mouth and Joel felt like his chest caved inward as his knuckles went white from clenching so suddenly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing at her comment. Honey let out a laugh, “I’m kidding, Joel! Good lord, you don’t want to marry me that bad?”

She had no idea.

The third and final time happened just a day before their lives were flipped on their heads.

Joel had just returned from a briefing of the Patrol duties for New Years Day. Hands in his winter coat, he kicked the steel-toe capped boots against the steps to his home to rid of the excess snow, grumbling about the bitter cold as he reluctantly removed a hand from his jacket pocket to let himself through the front door.

His mind elsewhere, his body jumped for him as Honey appeared just a breath away from the doorway; a gasp leaving her own lips as she clutched her chest.

“Holy shit, Joel.” She breathed, “Can’t you knock or somethin’?”

Joel placed his hands on her hips to manoeuvre her back a few steps, “Into my own home? Don’t think that’s a standard custom.”

“Yeah—well, it should be. Infected can’t knock.”

“Yes, they can. Jus’ not like us.” Joel argued with a light tone, his fingers tingling from the sudden change of climate, “Where are you headed off too?”

“Oh. Maria asked for a hand with the New Years Eve Dance setup. One of the table legs broke and half the food ended up on the floor.” Honey gestured to the tupperware stacked on the bench Joel had built next to the door, “I just whipped up a couple of things for the buffet.”

Joel Miller almost caved in there and then. Proposing to her was no longer a want but a need. He wanted to propose so desperately he took a pregnant pause to think about getting down on one knee with just the prototype of the ring he had carved out for reference for her real one that was in the hands of Stanley, the bald headed Jeweller.

He loved her so immensely that even mundane acts of service to help others in the community made him swell his chest with pride that he could walk into the room with her and present her as his. She had given him a new perspective on their lives together, and he couldn’t be without her.

“Is there something on my face?” Honey joked at Joel’s silence.

Shaking his head and leaning down, he kissed her with a passion that was seen when drafted soldiers were bidding farewell to their loved ones in World War Two. Unsure if they’d make it back alive, they kissed their partners as if it were the only oxygen to keep them alive.

Honey made a squeal of surprise, not arguing against Joel’s momentarily passion at their front door. Her fingers threaded through his salted hair whilst they shared the kiss for a few seconds longer.

Reluctant, Honey parted their lips, her voice lowered to a whisper, “I have to go. Can I borrow your jacket?”

As she pointed to the brown jacket on the hanger, Joel nodded as she pulled it off and threw it round her shoulders, her hands patting the front down once she had zipped it up. Her brows pulled together as she felt the breast pocket, wasting no time to reach into it, pulling out the small wooden ring — making Joel’s vision go white.

He almost snatched it off of her. But, he was an intellectual man, and he knew that would cause more suspicion than if he thought of a little white lie on the spot.

“What is this?” She held it out and inspected it as Joel felt the sweat begin to dampen his forehead.

“A ring.” He couldn’t lie. It was obvious.

Honey gawked, “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. Tommy asked me to throw an idea of a ring together for him to give to Maria for an anniversary present.” Their anniversary wasn’t for another couple of months, but he continued coolly, “Jus’ some prototype before he gets it made.”

Honey grinned, “Your brother is a sweet one.” Without hesitation, she pushed the ring onto her own finger and gasped with glee as she held it up, admiring Joel’s handiwork, “Fits like a glove!” Yeah, cause it’s your finger size. “Does she know?”

“No, baby, so don’t go spewin’ the news.”

Pulling the ring off her finger, Honey crossed her heart, “You have my word. Now—New Years Dance Tax.”

What she was referring to was a self indulgent game she had created between her and Joel when they had first started dating. The premise of it was simple: whenever Honey wanted extra loving from Joel Miller prior to them parting ways, she’d demand it by calling ‘The Tax’ and Joel would have to comply with a couple of pecks to her lips for good measure.

They kept a list of the things she had called ‘The Tax’ upon on the fridge door, held up by a magnet of two lovebirds kissing.

Joel didn’t argue as he kissed her thrice. A squeeze of her backside in tow.

Satisfied, Honey picked the stacks of food up with the assistance of Joel, turning on her heel to look back at him, chin tucked to balance the tupperware, “How ‘bout you make me a ring too?” She grinned at his reaction, “OK. Stop flirtin’. Love you, bye!”

Joel doubled over with his hands on his knees as he breathed through such a close shave.

+1

Joel Miller never got to propose.

Death became him on his final Patrol for the Jackson Community. Abigail Anderson had murdered him to avenge her father who was killed by the very man.

His body had been returned with Ellie Williams, Tommy Miller, Ellie’s close friend Dina and the Patrol leader, Jesse.

Honey had been helping out with livestock when Maria Miller called out to her, face struck with a solemn look that spoke a thousand words to Honey before Maria verbally broke the news of his death to her.

        Later on, Honey stepped into the darkened room, where Joel had been laid to rest temporarily. Bodies upon tables, feet peeking out from under the blankets covering the rest of the graphic sights for their own dignity. Tommy Miller stood from his stool, the light catching the glistening tears in his eyes, cheeks wet from the ones that had fallen. He stared at her, hand clenching a bloodied sponge, lips wobbling as she tried to pull feet out of the cemented spot she was in.

        Joel Miller laid with the other bodies. His face uncovered, eyes open and sad, presumably the way he had died. Honey stared at his side profile, heart stammering against her ribcage that it thrummed so loudly in her ears. Death wasn't an estranged subject for her since the Outbreak, yet, she wanted to avoid the cruelty of it seeing her love lay cold and still forever.

        Braving it, for Joel, Honey stepped forward, jumping at the creak beneath her feet. Her eyes began to well the closer she got to his body, her hand instinctively reaching for Tommy's arm to ground her before her other hand reached for Joel's grey dusted hair, fingers locking into his once growing locks as her forehead came down to meet his temple.

        Sucker punched, she gasped so loudly, she ought to wake up the dead. Her fingers stroked the hair matted with blood on Joel's head, her eyes screwing shut as her nose began to run from the sheer force of her sobs.

        She loved his hair. She regretted making fun of how long it had grown that morning. If Honey had known his fate, she would've asked him to grow it forever. Because, forever now ended with Joel Miller in a body bag, his hair remaining the same length for eternity.

        The sobs wracking her body invited Tommy to begin to cry again. His hands placed on her shaking body as she gently pressed her lips to Joel's forehead. He couldn't digest the idea that his brother was at his final stop in life.

        They spoken so briefly a few nights prior about Honey. It had come as a surprise to Tommy when he pushed the envelope on the idea of marriage to his brooding older brother, only to find out he was ten steps ahead in that department.

        "C'mon now, brother. You gotta hurry up with it.” Tommy remembered teasing as they sipped on whiskey at the Tipsy Bison, "Think she might be the only one willin' to love you these days."

        "Yeah, I know, Tommy. Leave it be." Joel muttered into his glass of whiskey, feeling scrutinised under Tommy's playful glare. He kissed his teeth, clinking the empty glass with his fingernail as he stared further, "D'ya think she'd say yes?"

        Tommy had grinned, "Think the whole of Wyoming would hear her say it, if ya asked."

        "Hm." Is all Joel returned for the conversation. Now, as Tommy watched Honey grieve so openly over his body, his stomach twisted at the lost opportunity for both of them to catch a pocket of happiness after the great losses in their lives.

        Now. Honey had one strike more than Joel.

It was days after that she managed to step foot into their household. An eery silence blanketed over the home as Honey stepped over the threshold of the front door with her breath held.

Everything was just as they had left it that morning when Joel Miller kissed her goodbye, ‘Patrol Tax’ and all, eyes scrunching from the low winter sun peering through the windows as it rose into the skies. His second pair of boots — the ones that the soles were peeling away — laid at the door, one on its side from when he slid them off with a grumble when he lost balance, his arm bracing against the wall adjacent to regain balance.

She blew out hot air, her chin wobbling at the image of his shoes, knowing they’d never be worn again.

Making her way through their home, she had made it to his desk where he had spent most of his time carving out wood in shapes of animals. Wood chips laid fresh on the desk, just a few nights prior as he hacked away to make an owl.

Hands between her legs, Honey slowly sat down in his chair, she lifted her hands to smooth over the desk as fresh tears fell from her eyes. She could feel him there, even though he physically wasn’t present anymore.

“Joel Miller, you promised you’d live forever.”

Eyes drifting downward, she pulled at the top drawer of his desk, peering in to see simple things such as measuring tape, glue, a handful of pencils and a pencil sharpener with the pencil shavings still stuck in it. Again, her fingers went to the second drawer, slightly fighting with it as it became wedged.

It yanked open and Honey cursed as a box fell to the floor from the sheer, unexpected, force; her hands quick to pick up the velvet box, twisting it in her fingers to inspect it. She hadn’t seen the box before, and Joel wasn’t there to tell her to quit snooping, so she separated the top from the bottom; eyes wide at the gorgeous ring cushioned neatly within.

Maria’s ring. Of course.

She made a mental note to give it to Tommy.

Leaving the velvet box on the desk, Honey plucked the crumpled papers that had been flattened out and placed face down in the drawer. Turning the first one in her hand, it felt like a sharp punch to her throat. Breath seizing as she read the title written in Joel Miller’s chicken—scratch over and over.

HONEY’S ENGAGEMENT RING. FINAL PROTOTYPE.

Chest heaving, Honey blinked at the paper, turning it over and back again, her comprehension not computing that the ring was for, in fact, her all along. She looked up from the paper, thinking back to the times she had caught Joel in the Jewellers, even when she had tried the wooden version of the ring on just a day prior!

She couldn’t believe how naive she had been to his motives. Sobs elicited from the back of her burning throat as she pressed the paper to her chest where her heart could be heard breaking in two. Wishing that Abigail hadn’t murdered Joel Miller for revenge — so he could be back with her, so he could give her the ring when he was ready.

Honey stayed at his desk all night.

Bonus:

The funeral held for Joel Miller was a simple one. Unexpected and premature, but Tommy Miller knew his brother didn’t want theatrics if and when it came to his demise — whether that be the death of old age, or killed due to being bitten.

Being murdered wasn’t truly on the list of ways he could’ve died. Nevertheless, Tommy made sure Joel’s wishes were respected.

The turnout was more than expected, clearly, Joel Miller had touched more lives in the Jackson Commune than anticipated. Sure, he had softened during his time amongst them, more thanks to the two important women in his life: Ellie Williams and Honey.

The group travelled ten miles out of town to bury him. Flowers and notes in tow as the reached the empty graveyard ground that he would be lowered into.

Honey and Ellie held onto each other tightly as they stared at the casket that Joel was concealed in. Tommy Miller was on the other side of Honey, his arm wrapped around her shoulders — thumb rubbing the fabric of her jacket for comfort.

Separating from Honey, Ellie stepped toward the casket, her eyes catching Dina on the other side, staring straight at her. Ellie attempted to feign composure as she placed a few coffee beans, her eyes betraying her as they began to well with hot tears. Pressing her lips together, her hand smoothed the side of the wicker coffin before she stepped back in line with Honey.

She looked to the older woman with an effort of a smile, before Honey took her turn.

It was a hard pill to swallow that Joel Miller was truly gone from her life. Even in the days after his death, she would catch herself looking to his side of the bed in the morning, expecting his face furrowed with worry in his dreams, to be there. Splitting the vitamins for two people rather than just for herself. A hot plate of uneaten food waiting on the table that was discarded angrily the morning after.

Commitment to love was a terrible thing.

Honey stood before his coffin, staring the intricate weaving of the wicker for a moment before she reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a silver ring sized for his finger. She turned it in her hand, smiling softly to herself when the sunlight caught the imprint of her fingerprint that Stanley had pressed on the inside of the band as per her request. Pressing it to her lips, Honey tucked the ring neatly between part of the woven wicker, her forehead pressing against the side of it.

“Take your vitamins whilst you wait for me.”

[jman14102-blog]

Danse Macabre

An art piece I commissioned from @leafinqxi of a scene from an upcoming story I'm writing. They were fast, patient, and excellent to work with! I definitely recommend them! Thank you again for bringing to life O and Cyn, and the beginnings of what will eventually become the world's most toxic relationship.

The gramophone cranked to life, the music groaning and moaning until it was fully up to speed, filling the room with a sweeping, cascading song.

O winced as he turned, knees locking as he performed an exaggerated bow with his singular arm, winking, "May I have this dance, miss?"

Cyn's head rocked to the side, crooked little body shuddering under the change in balance. She was quiet for a moment, but then she moved, that ever-present smile unchanging as she shuffled forward, "Polite curtsy. Yes, you may."

They half-stumbled, half-walked into the center of the room as the crescendo in the song gave way to a woman's voice, every word, every note carrying with it a haunting, forlorn longing.

The maid's tiny hand found his and stretched outwards with it. Her head tilted forward and bumped off his chest, and a short laugh was his reply. She didn't pull away, instead pressing against him, rising on tiptoes, other hand trailing up, fingers searching, twitching with a nervous energy as they grazed against his shoulder. She couldn't reach, instead settling for gathering a balled up wad of fabric between her fingers. Her head drifted up, tilting slightly, eyes blinking, "I have never. Danced. Like this before. Big Brother is usually. Too. Busy. To teach me."

He looked down at her, a smile, an actual smile present there, as he gently but firmly guided them across the floor, "Well, that's a shame. Everyone here should know at least the basics. Turn with me, please?"

O twisted his hand, beginning to turn. Cyn released his jacket, maintaining her grip as he pulled her into a slow, halting spin. It was spastic, unsure, stumbling feet and disjointed knees dragging what should have been a graceful move into something ugly. She nearly fell twice, but O would stop moving each time and allow her to recover. He let her lead.

"Don't feel bad." He whispered, "Practice makes perfect."

Her spin finished, and Cyn tried to hide the flush lines on her visor as she replaced her hand on his jacket a little too quickly.

"Sheepish. Expression." She mumbled, legs quivering, her head turned to the side and pressed against his chest, "Much to learn. Yes."

They continued on like that. Slow and meandering. Their moves were clumsy, halting, neither of their bodies cut out for something this elegant, but still they danced. The earnestness, the want to drift among the moonlit shadows, guided their steps regardless. Any mistakes, any slips or stepped-on shoes, were quickly forgotten amid nervous giggles and the soaring music.

For the bespectacled maid drone and curious human girl watching through a crack in the door, it was absurdly cute. Something they'd spend the rest of the night gossiping about, snickering and smiling.

For the broken butler and the mangled maid, however, nothing changed. Time stretched on, and eventually their dancing was little more than the two of them turning in slow, simple circles. Both of her hands were now pinned to his jacket, his singular arm wrapped gently around her. Cyn's head was nestled gently against his core, feeling the electric thrum through her audials, eyes focused somewhere far away, smiling. O's head rested atop her's, chin squishing down the extravagant bow, eyes shut with a lazy grin.

"Another lesson tomorrow?" He sighed, breath ruffling her hair, her bow, "You have me now. Plenty of time for lessons."

Her smile grew, her hold tightened, she nuzzled further against his core, absorbing the warmth, the faint scent of oil, the tingle of electrodes and circuits. Her eyes glinted in the dim light.

"Yes." She said, and something vaguely resembling a symbol flickered across her visor for a split-second, so fast that none could have noticed. Her grip tightened further, refusing to let go, "I do have you now."

[moronwithoutmo]

hear me out, one of the ghouls just gets to absolutely make the fuck out with perpetua and they both get perpetua's facepaint all over their faces?

being brave and staying off anon for this one

YESSSS this is brilliant ✨

Omg this also makes me think of those pics where Mountain’s paint is smeared, and now I’m wondering what the reason was 👀

(They/she/he genderfluid papa V in this one)

~

The ghouls have been touring with Perpetua for about a week now, and they’re trying their best to warm up to them, but the new papa is so hard to read, definitely much less boisterous than their brother. Despite this, Mountain has been watching them closely.

Before they make their entrances onstage, Mountain pulls Perpetua to the side. He towers over her, as he does most humans, looking down into her eyes. Despite the masks they both wear, the feelings in their souls pass through this heated stare. Perpetua sees their drummer ghoul is projecting patience and acceptance between them, and Mountain can feel the anxiety and exhaustion churning inside of Papa.

A big clawed hand cups Perpetua’s frizzy curls, and that’s when he notices Mountain has let his glamour down, demonic power flowing out of him and knitting itself with his own undead essence.

Tough lips land against Perpetua’s own chapped ones before she can make a move herself. Something snaps in them and they are all but climbing Mountain, scrabbling at his uniform (damn these smooth suits with nothing to grab hold of!) The claws on their gloves snagging on the fabric as sharp teeth clack together. The kiss is hungry and desperate; it’s something many would barely classify a kiss. Tongues meet and slip against each other, wandering outside of their mouths, the tang of paint not souring the experience. The earth ghoul’s big hands grip Perpetua’s waist and ass so tightly, he’s lifting him unknowingly.

Perpetua breathes a whine as Mountain sucks at his neck, paint coming off with it, and everything comes ringing back into reality as a stage hand taps them politely.

5 minutes until they need to be on stage. With no time to fix their paint, they adjust themselves while exchanging heated glances.

There’s always after the show in the tour bus…

~

Thank you for being brave, and thanks as always for the ask 🥰

[mariusrenathyrs-crashout]

Thinking about this post talking Sparrow verus Lark and the care and attention differences they both receive based off of how well or poorly they both are able to cope with their respective traumas and mental illnesses. Not to say it is Henry or Mercedes faults since I can't even imagine the situation the two were put in, especially with how viscerally and full heartedly Lark came to resent Henry due to the Rogue's Curse; but it meant that Sparrow in a way turned into somewhat of a Glass Child (idk if this term is still commonly used so forgive me if it's out dated).

I think this is something very sad about Sparrow when it's placed into the context of his actions and life. As a child he and Lark were pretty 50/50 when it came to feelings and experiences: they both experienced the kidnapping, Lark's homunculi body died which he experienced but Sparrow experienced watching his twin die and attempting to kill their grandfather for it, they both experienced the attack that happened to Walter resulting in his legs being cut off, and both experienced the last big battle. But Lark got cursed by that goddamn Rogue's Curse and Sparrow didn't, and because he did and because of Willy, he is the one that shed the blood of Henry releasing the end times.

Of course he had a lot to deal with with the guilt and self hatred and resentment he can to feel because of it, not only towards his father but himself and others. It just makes sense that Lark's change in behavior and his literal intentional reckless endangerment warrants Henry and Mercedes to shift focus to Lark; but I think this also leads to the neglect of Sparrow. Sparrow who originally was the one who saw this Eldritch deity in his dreams as a child and drew it, who saw his brother be "killed", was kidnapped and beaten to a literal bloody mess, who experienced much of the same things Lark did.

But Sparrow experienced uniquely to Lark was being tasked with watching over Lark by Henry, "watch out for your brother, okay?". In that moment Sparrow became parentified, he put his issues on the back burner all for the sake of normalcy and so his parents didn't have to worry about 2 children rather than the 1. He did so much to take care of Lark to the point that this continued to adulthood. Where Sparrow let Lark live in his house with him and his wife, his wife who Lark slept with and never told Sparrow, Sparrow who knew but never said anything to disturb the peace and didn't want his brother feel more guilty so he played ignorant. Who helped Lark try and sit upon the throne by taking on his visage and through Lark's mouth pleaded how it was both of their faults, that it was the twins responsibility to fix this not just Lark, not only so Henry could hear it but so Lark could as well. Who wanted normalcy so badly he named his son Normal and named his daughter Hero for what he couldn't be. Who loves Normal but is so afraid that Normal will grow up to be like him and tells his son it scares him so bad that Normal doesn't have a mean bone in his body and is willing to get hurt for others happiness. Sparrow who did egregious things to preserve his family, only to be told by his parents that his brother was forgiven because his actions weren't his own but Sparrow in all his sacrifices and willing to be the bad guy or neglected child was at fault and they couldn't forgive him. Henry hated how he got treated by his father, yet here he is, having put those same standards on Sparrow. He loves Sparrow, but doesn't like Sparrow.

Rip baby girl. I'm sorry everything sucked so bad and then your wife got shot and your house was burned down. You really never stood a chance, huh.

[momojedi]

Happy May 4th to all my Jedi friends out there!

This year we celebrate not only the 20th anniversary of ROTS, but also 20 years of Star Wars Animation. To me, that's my childhood and with that, a special reminder of how growing up has affected me.

Star Wars in itself has always been a safe space for me. At night, I would always lie in bed and dream of fighting stormtroopers and flying X-Wings. I would get excited watching the new season of Clone Wars after coming home from school and draw myself with lightsabers and Jedi robes. I found my first fictional crushes in Rex and Obi-Wan, too but let's... let's not get into that...

In fact, the Rebel Alliance was probably the trigger of my wish to become a pilot or an astronaut! I always wanted to fly over the world or see space up close, to me, it was the closest thing to piloting an X-Wing in person. But unfortunately, that has become impossible to me due to my illness - still, I want people to be able to experience that, too!

Experiencing Star Wars, living out fantasies and stories, that's something I want to experience more in my life. And I want to share it with others! Becoming an actor, that's unfortunately not likely for me, once again thanks to my wonderful medical issues. But writing, creating, producing... yes, that's for me. I want to build up new stories for this universe that's saved me more than once.

There are a lot of people out there with the same goal as me. I'm nothing special, I don't stick out and I'm not exactly good at selling my ideas well - but I have such a bright mind and so many ideas that I need to get out there and share with others. I don't believe in myself a lot and I probably give myself much less credit than I really deserve, but my imagination and writing is something I hold very dearly and it's a talent that I refuse to keep a secret from others. I think life has already taken so much from me, I deserve to share my passion with others.

I'm going to start working on small fan projects (less x reader writing and more proper stories, sharing ideas and concepts, maybe art, some 3D animation for college, etc.) from here on out, maybe that'll grant me some practice and maybe even some exposure, even though I don't really count on that. Still, it's far better than nothing. You can also check out my original SciFi novel "Fireflies" and its process on @thefireflyproject. It's a universe I've been building in the past couple of years now and I've finally begun putting into words!

I hope someday to have you read my name on a big Star Wars screen, game or show, as a producer or writer! (Hopefully animation, that's what gets my heart going.) I'm working hard towards this success and I hope you'll support this dream moving forward!

And with that, I'd like to thank everyone, people like @thecoffeelorian and @dumbasswhorebug who's been so patient and supportive through all my works on here (I see y'all, don't worry!), especially considering how introverted I can be. I made this blog to express my love for a franchise and I met so many kind people on here, too. Thank you all, you're the best Jedi brothers, sisters, and siblings I could ask for!

May the Force be with you!

Momo, signing out

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 23: Mexico - Close Calls

Pope wasn't lying when he said it would be an early wake-up call. It just wasn't Pope who did the waking.

The birds outside create a cacophony that grates on Rafe's brain. He attempts to hide, curling into Sofia and digging his head into the curve of her neck, but the sounds still find him. Just like they do the others.

They all grumble through packing, quickly scarfing down rehydrated oats before hitting the trail again. The morning sun heats up the world steadily, though the cool night air still lingers in pockets beneath the rainforest canopy.

"How much longer?" Cleo calls out, a few steps behind Pope.

"Only a bit more. We're coming up on—"Pope's eyes flicking from the map to the trail ahead. "Some waterfalls… I think."

"These particularly important waterfalls?"

"Not the ones I think we're looking for," Pope admits.

"Hey, Rafe."

John B sidles up next to him, his right leg favoring a lighter step than his left—the bandage Sarah and Kiara wrapped earlier this morning still holding strong.

"What do you want?"

John B smiles. "Ever think you'd be trekking across a Mexican rainforest with the likes of us Pogue degenerates?"

Rafe rolls his eyes—playfully. "Not once."

"Me neither," John B replies with a smirk. Almost in sync, they step over a thick tree root.

"You good?"

"With life in general?" John B trails off, searching for the thread.

Rafe nods toward the women up ahead. Sarah walks beside Sofia, her arm looped through his girlfriend's; mid-story, both laughing.

"Getting my sister pregnant."

John B blushes. "Ah. That."

"That," Rafe echoes.

"She's good. We're good," John B says with a little nod.

"Ever thought you'd be trekking it across a Mexican rainforest with a pregnant girlfriend?"

"Not once." John B repeats Rafe's earlier answer with a reserved sigh. "So long as she stays safe, I'm happy."

"Agreed." 

"Anyway, she's prepared." John B chuckles. "I've got all the gear, and she's lugging all the food. Stick with her if you get lost—else, you're shit outta luck."

Rafe can't help the low laugh. Of course, Sarah's pack is loaded with snacks. The little gremlin was getting more peckish by the day.

"It's kinda nice," John B muses, "not wanting to deck each other in the face."

"Yeah, well—there's still time." Rafe quips. "Don't know if it's a customary big-brother duty, but if anything ever happened to her on your watch…"

"You'd kill me?" John B finishes with a cheeky, all-knowing smile.

"Something like that," Rafe mutters, eyes rolling.

"Duly noted," Sarah's boyfriend replies, surprisingly sincere. "You know, Rafe, we just had a heart-to-heart."

Rafe glances over, taking in John B's smug expression, and nods with faux solemnity. "Only in your dreams, Little John."

John B laughs.

He catches Sarah's eye. Her pleased smile as she quickly takes in him and John B before she turns back around. She leans into Sofia and whispers something that makes them both smile. He can't help the subtle smile sticking to his mouth longer than intended.

~~~~~

They reach the waterfalls Pope mentioned by lunchtime, mist rolling off the cascading drop, balancing the sun's heat and the humidity clinging to their skin. Granola and rehydrated lukewarm mac and cheese are all they're afforded.

Rafe's starting to miss the Mexican food they'd been eating all week.

Kiara steals the map from Pope as they start out again, wanting to double-check that he and his trusty compass actually know where they're going—because it feels like they've been heading deeper and deeper into nothingness.

But signs begin to show.

Small structures of old stone, half-swallowed by earth, are covered in vines that twist and curl like nature's security system. A darker tree line stands ahead—denser, more ominous.

And then they break through.

Another lost city.

No bigger than the last, but far more eroded—like time and earth decided this one needed to be swallowed whole. Trees and roots burst from the ground around what used to be homes, temples, and gathering spaces. Everything looks trampled by nature—yet somehow, still standing. Persisting despite centuries of decay.

There's a beat of awe.

And it's not just Rafe. The others—Sofia, Sarah, John B, Cleo, Pope, Kiara—stare wide-eyed, brains short-circuiting.

How has no one found this?

"What the fuck," Cleo mutters, for all of them.

What the fuck.

Just like before, they move in slowly. Stepping over crumbled pillars and debris, skirting thick vegetation that's long since claimed the land. It's darker here, the massive canopy blanketing most of the city—save for the tall pyramid at its center. Like the forest was grown specifically to hide it.

Still, the heat is heavy, trapped in the overgrowth. The buzzing of insects is relentless. Distant screeches echo through the trees.

"Wow," Sarah breathes.

"Once again, I ask how," Kiara says. "How does this place look like it's never been discovered?"

Rafe starts down a crumbling staircase—at least two stories tall—leading to an overgrown path that winds through what used to be, no doubt, a vibrant community. The others follow in small clusters.

"I'd love to pick Hollis's brain about how and why she had the artifact that led us here," Cleo says, her footsteps echoing on the stone.

"Too bad Groff killed her," Rafe mutters.

He stops at the bottom, scanning the ruins. Sofia's hand curves over his shoulder as she steps up behind him. Sarah glances up from the step next to him.

"She never mentioned anything like this to you?"

"No," Rafe answers flatly. "She only ever wanted my money." Sofia squeezes his shoulder lightly.

"So what—do we head toward the pyramid?" Sarah asks, stretching her back.

"Seems like the right direction," Cleo offers.

"It's the only direction," John B murmurs.

Sofia's voice floats in from behind Rafe, aimed toward Pope. "Where's the trail from here? Wasn't this only the midpoint on the map from the museum? Maybe instead of heading to the largest structure, we should focus on where we need to be."

Pope sighs. "That's the problem. Everything I've found shows no clear continuation of the trail. So... all we've got is exploration."

"Then let's explore," Sarah decides, already moving.

They follow without much hesitation—what else can they do?

The quiet returns, broken only by the chatter of wildlife. A few monkeys hang lazily from broken stones in the distance, watching as they creep further in.

"Does anyone else feel like we're not alone?" Kiara asks softly.

"I feel like we're walking into a damn trap," Cleo mutters, adjusting her pack.

Sofia brushes her fingertips along the carved face of a nearby wall. "This is incredible."

She never got to take in the last ruins—she was too busy trying to get them out alive.

Rafe follows just behind her, his hand ghosting over the same markings—but his attention isn't on the stone. It's in the shadows. The silence here isn't peaceful.

"I don't like it," he murmurs.

Pope and Kiara lead again, slipping through a narrow corridor formed by toppled columns. It opens into an overgrown courtyard, a vine-choked fountain in the center, and moss-covered steps leading to raised platforms—likely ceremonial.

"You think this was part of the same system as the last site?" Sarah asks, one hand absentmindedly resting on her belly.

"Could be. Layout's familiar... but this place feels older," Pope replies. "More forgotten."

Then, a sound cuts through the air.

They freeze.

Not an animal. Not wind.

Footsteps.

Human.

Cleo throws Rafe a look. Her hand's already on the hilt of her knife. John B shifts protectively in front of Sarah.

Rafe moves closer to Sofia, jaw clenched, scanning the brush.

Then again—voices. Low, muffled. Foreign. Male.

Rafe catches Sofia's eye. She's already saying it with her look before she whispers, "Dalia's men."

"Move," Rafe mouths. "Now."

Pope points to a half-collapsed structure. "There."

They sprint across the courtyard, crouched low, diving behind the wall and pressing into the foliage. A heartbeat thuds in his ears.

Moments later, two armed men enter the courtyard.

They're not rushing. Just scanning.

Rafe lifts just enough to peer over the wall. They're too close.

One of the men nudges a stone with his boot, muttering about "not being far behind." The other mentions "clearing the path to the temple."

They're headed to the pyramid.

Eventually, the men move on, disappearing down the opposite path.

No one breathes for a long minute.

"So we're definitely not alone," Kiara whispers.

"We're not the first either," Sofia adds.

"Makes sense," Pope says, adjusting his grip on the map. "We're up against a private militia with serious resources." The paper crinkles too loudly, drawing glares. Pope winces.

"We could camp out here. Wait until they're gone."

"And let the bugs eat us alive?" Cleo scoffs, already stepping back out. "Pass."

They follow slower now. Rafe offers Sofia a hand over the rubble. She wipes her palms on her shorts and gives him a soft smile.

Their movements tighten. Quieter. Close to the walls, ready to duck at the first sign of danger.

Then the hum of noise grows louder as they near the heart of the ruins—the pyramid.

They step out of a long corridor and freeze.

A massive field stretches to the pyramid steps. Armored trucks sit parked just outside. Men mill around—some searching, some resting.

They duck back into the crumbling doorway of a nearby building.

Rafe peeks out again.

"How the fuck did they get vehicles in here?" he mutters.

"Sheer will and good luck?" John B offers.

"Absolute disregard for nature and decency," Kiara adds with a sneer.

They're outnumbered. Outgunned.

"There's gotta be another way," Rafe murmurs. "We can't go through them."

Pope's already pulling the map back out. "If the layout's the same, we follow the perimeter. Stay low, avoid the plazas."

"Circle the city?" Sarah asks.

"Exactly."

No one argues. Boots still echo somewhere in the distance.

They move again. Quiet. Careful. The city thins as they approach its edge—roots thick, terrain uneven. The old roads are mostly earth and broken stone.

Then they see it.

A massive stone wall rises ahead, nearly hidden by growth and terrain. It curves out of view, separating the city from the jungle.

"What the hell…" John B breathes.

"I didn't even realize we were this close to the edge," Sarah says.

"It's not marked on anything I've seen," Pope adds.

They follow it for a few yards, brushing away vines and watching where they step—until something interrupts the stone pattern.

A gate.

Massive. Half-swallowed by earth. Unremarkable, save for the faint impressions of where hinges once might've been. But there's a path—clearly visible on the other side. Worn flat. Leading somewhere.

"This," Pope whispers. "This is it. Has to be."

"And now we have to figure out how to open it," Sofia asks, brushing the cracked surface.

Sarah leans closer. "Doesn't look like it's opened in a long time."

Pope steps back, turning slowly to examine the surrounding wall. That's when Pope perks up. Rafe glances where Pope is gliding to, a weathered mural carved into the stone beside the gate, partially covered in moss and dirt.

"Guys—help me clear this."

They all move in, scraping back vines and earth until the faded image reveals itself: two pyramids etched into the stone, one taller, one smaller, drawn side by side. Between them, a faint symbol—circular, possibly a key of some kind—hovering above the smaller one. The gate, represented crudely, sits beneath the mural with a line connecting it directly to the smaller pyramid.

"Not again," Cleo mutters. 

John B responds, "Wouldn't be a proper ancient mystery without a few trials and tribulations, right?"

"Let's just hope there's no booby traps," Cleo replies.

"Well, if there are poison darts, Rafe's taking that one," Sarah teases.

Rafe glares.

Pope's breath catches. "This is a map."

"And it's leading us exactly where we need to go." Rafe states, "The key—or whatever opens this gate—isn't in the one Dalia's men are raiding."

"It's in the smaller one," Pope confirms. "Just behind it."

"So… we go in through the back," Cleo nods. "While they're distracted."

Sofia steps back, eyeing the gate. "Let's just hope they don't figure that out first."

A beat of silence.

Then Rafe nods. "Let's go."

They all nod—except John B. The pogue shifts slightly beside Sarah.

"Wait," John B says. "Sarah shouldn't come."

Rafe stops short. He glances back, his brow tightening. "Why?"

"She's pregnant, man."

Sarah lets out a sharp breath. "Don't do that."

"I'm not trying to sideline you," John B says quickly, but his stance doesn't budge. "But going back toward a bunch of armed men with only half a plan and a wall mural? That's not smart."

"I'm pregnant, not fragile."

Kiara steps forward then, firm. "If something goes sideways, it's not just you we'd be worried about."

Sarah crosses her arms, staring them down.

Rafe shifts. "Look, I don't think anyone's saying you can't handle yourself, but if they spot or hear us, we have to run or fight… it's just not worth the risk. Not for you. Not for the baby."

Sarah opens her mouth to argue, but this time, even Cleo nods, arms crossed over her chest like she's already decided.

"We're not leaving you," Pope adds, handing her a walkie. "Channel four. Short messages only."

Sarah accepts it reluctantly. John B slips an arm around her.

"Don't be gone long," she says.

"We won't," Kiara promises.

Cleo readjusts her bag. "We'll hang here. If they regroup, we'll warn you."

Rafe moves beside Sofia as they break off. She adjusts her pack, eyes sharp. Ready.

"You good?" she asks quietly.

He nods. "You?"

She mirrors it.

He glances at Pope and Kiara. "Let's go."

They disappear into the brush, the pyramid looming ahead. The group splits.

~~~~~

Rafe leads, one hand near his sidearm, the other brushing aside vines and low branches as they creep the long way around the city. Sofia stays close, her hand gripping the back of his shirt when the terrain steepens. Kiara and Pope trail behind, silent, eyes flicking about on high alert.

The smaller pyramid comes into view through breaks in the canopy—partially buried in the jungle, its stone staircase cracked and uneven. Humble compared to the grand one towering beyond it, but unmistakably significant.

Then—movement.

Rafe freezes, throwing an arm up, stopping Sofia short.

Voices, low and fast. Male. Spanish?

They're just ahead.

Rafe ducks behind a crumbled wall, pulling Sofia with him until they're pressed shoulder to shoulder into the mossy stone. Pope and Kiara flatten themselves nearby. Rafe glances toward the noise—shadows shifting at the tree line, maybe twenty yards off.

"Did you hear that?"

"No—there. I saw something move."

Leaves rustle. Rafe tenses.

Sofia slips her hand into his. No words—just pressure. His thumb brushes over her knuckles as he listens.

Then, a sharp movement in the brush. And it didn't come from them.

Then chaos.

Gunfire erupts into the rainforest. Immediate. Wild.

The mercenaries fire blindly into the jungle, shouting over one another. Birds scream overhead and scatter. Bullets tear into trees and dirt. Rafe jerks instinctively, pulling Sofia closer, wrapping one arm tight around her, shielding her body with his.

Dirt kicks up inches from his boot. A branch splinters above Pope's head.

"Shit—" Kiara breathes, ducking lower.

"They didn't see us," Pope mouths. "They think it's animals."

More gunfire. One of the men swears, calling something about monkeys. The other laughs—dry and humorless. Rafe's heart hammers, chest pressed firm against Sofia's back.

She doesn't flinch. Just leans into him, calm, sharp-eyed. When she shifts slightly to peer through a crevice in the stone, her hand stays curled against his stomach, grounding them both.

He squeezes it. Quick. Reassuring.

"We need to move," he breathes.

Sofia nods against his shoulder.

He gestures right—away from the noise—toward a narrow path curling between two collapsed stone walls.

This time, she grabs his hand before he can turn.

"You okay?" she whispers, locking eyes with his.

He nods. "You?"

"I'm with you."

That's all it takes.

They move—quiet, fast. Boots barely touching the ground. Ducking beneath twisted branches, weaving through rubble and thick roots. The gunfire fades behind them. Then silence.

Almost.

Forest sounds return slowly. Birds. Insects. The whirl of distant wind.

They don't stop until the smaller pyramid looms closer, framed by tangled vines and time.

Rafe crouches behind a low ridge of rock, scanning the area.

No movement. No sound except their breathing.

They're clear.

He finally exhales, not relief exactly—but something like it.

Sofia leans her forehead against his shoulder, hand still wrapped around his wrist. "That was close."

"Too close," he mutters, pressing a kiss to her hair. He lingers a second longer. "You good?"

"I will be when we get out of here."

Kiara drops to one knee beside them, brushing leaves off her arms. "They seriously shot up half the jungle for nothing."

Pope peeks through the brush and lets out a low whistle. "Fucking idiots."

Rafe reluctantly lets Sofia go as they all rise. The pyramid is only a few feet away now. Its steps are eroded, and the entrance at the top is barely visible through the overgrowth.

The base of the smaller pyramid is partially swallowed by the jungle, vines creeping like veins over the stone. Whatever entrance once existed isn't obvious—at least not at first.

They fan out slightly, still close, careful not to speak too loudly. Even with the gunfire gone, Rafe knows better than to think they're alone.

"Here," Pope calls softly, waving them over. He kneels beside a low, jagged opening half-hidden behind a collapsed slab. It's not an entrance in the traditional sense—just a break in the structure. Narrow. Just wide enough to crawl through.

"You sure?" Kiara asks.

Pope nods. "There's airflow. And I can see the floor slope down."

Rafe crouches beside him, peering into the dark. It's tight but passable.

He looks at Sofia. "You up for it?"

Sofia arches a brow. "After that sprint through gunfire? Yeah. I'm good."

He smirks faintly, pressing a hand to her lower back, guiding her toward the opening. He follows after, with Pope and Kiara close behind.

It's cooler inside—musty and damp. The air smells old, thick with mildew. They crawl a few feet before the tunnel opens into a lower chamber. Rafe stands slowly, brushing dirt off his arms, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through cracks in the rock.

They're inside.

But it's different this time.

No grand ceremonial chamber like the last site. No vast open floor.

This one's more intricate. Instead of one large space, walls weave along the inner floor—almost like rooms, but with no doors. Nothing that would make any of them private. From up here, it almost looks like an ant farm—open, segmented, visible save for a few obscured pockets.

Sofia steps beside him, peering over the ledge. Her arm wraps easily around his waist, and he leans into her touch, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She whispers, "What kind of place is this?"

Unease itches down his spine.

They descend the steps together, tighter now, careful. Who knows if they're the first ones in here?

————————————

Next part: Coming Soon

*Hi. Sorry for the delay. Busy life things got in the way. But I've been on a roll with writing the next few parts, so it will be much sooner for the next chapter than this one.*

[ineedseveretherapy]

thanks for the tag @bagels-and-cream-cheese333

Fav character: Leo or Donnie, but for very different reasons. Leo is such a fun character to pick apart and psychoanalyze (not that you can't do that with Donnie, I just love my leo angst) and his complex insecurities are so fun to play off of for me (also personally he's a very easy character to get into the mindset of), also I heavily kin him. But I adore Donnie's chaotic attitude and violent goofy nature, he's more of a comfort character for me personally because every time he's something chaotic or stupid or silly it just makes me giggle (and I know that Leo in Donnie are really popular and overshadow Raph and Mikey but I dunno there's just something about those two that makes them a great punching bag for trauma but also incredibly goofy that just puts an itch in my brain)

Least favorite: Meat Sweats, there's nothing necessarily wrong with him I just find him kind of annoying

Character I think is attractive: DONNIE! DONNIE! DONNIE!!! Also Frida and April, GOD DAMN THEY'RE GORGEOUS. I always have to tell my girlfriend that her competition is a silly little goofy purple turtle with a large ass forehead and long list of federal crimes.

Fav villain: From the show I think i'd be Big Mama because I think she just had so much potential as a villain, but from the movie, the Krang definitely, cuz again I love angst and the Krang sure delivered my angst in the movie

Least Fav villain: Oh uh, does captain Piel count? Idk never really cared about him

Fav duo: Disaster twins, 100% Again I'm sorry I know that like everyone likes them and a lot of people kind of think they're overrated, I don't think that's the right wording. Anyways I'm sticking by my choice because Idk, I think I just I have a thing for the twin dynamic, also since in the actual show Leo was the one that Donnie showed the least affection too, like physical and what not, a lot of it was more sibling banter, which I also love but it also just tugs at my heart everytime I see fanart of Leo breaking down and Donnie comforting him OR DONNIE BREAKING DOWN AND LEO COMFORTING THEM, I just eat it up. But for second it's automatically Brains and Brawns because AHHH there adorable, also cuz of my personal headcanons

Fav Ship: LEOSAGI, KENDRATELLO!!!!!! GOD THOSE TWO SHIPS DESTROY ME AND THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH FANS OF KENDRATELLO!!!!

Why I like Rottmnt: Oh boy, get ready for an infodump. So I always knew about the TMNT franchise since I was really young because my brother was an avid lover of 2012 but it never really caught my eye (but then again I was watching Paw Patrol at that age so, yeah). Plus I think I remember watching a clip from the high school dance episode on youtube when I was bored. But I truly discovered Rise last year while I was watching tiktok compilations on spotify, I saw it and like I was intrigued by all the angst stuff so I looked it up on youtube and here I am. From an artistic standpoint the show is just beautiful and great to look at. The colors, the animation, the character designs, the style, it's all amazing! Also the comedy, which people tend to compare to Teen Titans Go. Which is not true because while yes it is silly and goofy, it's humor is done in the right way and it's also so much than that. Now the biggest reason for me is the psychology, if that makes sense. I love shows with complex arcs, character dynamics, and storylines, things I can really pick apart and play with. But out of those 3 things the most interesting thing for me is character dynamics. In Rise (I only have 2012 to compare it to since that's only other one if watched a good amount of), you can tell all the brothers love each other, that splinter loves them and that they love splinter. They have a strong bond that's affected in so many different ways due to there contrasting personalities and insecurities and what not, it makes for such compelling sibling dynamics because it's so obvious that they all love each other, but they don't always like each other, sometimes they can all be really annoying and I just adore how accurately the show portrays sibling dynamics. I love my brother so much, put that doesn't mean that we haven't fought and been nothing but a pain in each others asses, he was sure a pain in my ass all of last year, but it doesn't matter because he's my brother. Now comparing this to 2012 which I've watched like 4 out of the 7 seasons of, I did not like the turtles dynamics. Now recently I did see someone pointing out that while Rise portrays healthy sibling dynamics, 2012 portrays toxic ones, and I had never thought of that before which really gave me a new respect for the show. But I still don't like the dynamics, I hate how everyone shits on Raph's anger problems, I hate how everyone always plays Mikey off as stupid and reckless, I HATE DONNIE'S WHOLE PERSONALITY AND HOW HE TREATS APRIL, and I dunno, I don't think I have a problem with Leo, I haven't watched the show in a while so I might be wrong, I also don't like the way Splinter acts towards the boys. AND I'M NOT SAYING THAT 2012 IS A BAD SHOW!! IT'S A GREAT SHOW!! I think the storylines are cool, I think the villains are incredible, I adore Casey and Karai (April can go find a hole to wither away in), the action is amazing, and yes the dynamics are very complex, just not complex in the way I personally like but that doesn't mean their not good. Uh... I just realized how long this was... welp! I'm done anyways!

Sorry for the rambling, anywho here's the tags!!! @bootyshakerrr9000, @lowkey-loki245, @ellie11x-x, @lowkey-loki245, @eggbem, @mysticclementine

Calling all ROTTMNT fans

Hi i'm new and I've been seeing these on Tumblr, so I thought to do one :) Btw tag your Rottmnt friends to do this to!

Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is Donnie because he's funny XD)

Least Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is the Leader of the Kraang bc of what he did to Leo..)

A character you think is attractive(Can skip if you don't have one): (Mine is DONNIE >:))

Favorite Villain: (Mine is Kendra, or Big Mama)

Least Favorite Villain: (Mine is same as my least fav character)

Favorite Duo: (Mine is DISASTER TWINS)

Favorite Ship: (None tbh)

2 reasons why you like Rottmnt :3: (Mine is because it's a genuinely funny show, the humor in it is great, and the characters are so well done.)

Your tags: (Mine: @donniecrazy20, @geese-ball, @mycomars, @tonystarkwasrobbed, @ihateitallsomerandomguy, @yourlocalmia, @sockkllyy, @strawberryswirl4321)

[a9saga]

i don't know how but they found me - downside // i know this song sounds super 80s like all idkhow songs do but it also feels extremely like the academy is...

[a-lonely-dunedain]

finally got to introduce Halbarad to Puddin, went far better than expected! Puddin wasn't upset about Halby at all and they've just been playing most of last night and all morning

[zvahlne]

THERE'S MORE???? I MISSED THESE???? i'm so happy rn

now. that said.

i am sensing that soon i need to make an actual lore post to explain all of this. but for now! (note: this one is definitely sad i gotta talk about her dying LMAO so. prepare? got a little into this one..)

first, context, recap, pre-gene breakdown, emma and him were never close, but she was incredibly close to dante. she only spent time with dante, and really only even talked to dante, out of everyone in boboros. it wasn't personal, she was just a really shy, quiet kid, and dante was the only one she felt safe with... but gene took it personally. he tried to force that relationship, but predictably, that did not work! it only made the situation worse. (i want to note though - he wasn't awful to her during this time. it's more like a distant family member who really wants a hug at a family gathering and gets a little pushy about it, but all the time)

it's sad to me, because if he'd waited and let her initiate, if he hadn't scared her away, she would have loved him just as much. she did love him, before everything...

gene took her with him after getting his revenge on dante. after finding that he couldn't manipulate emma's memories, next best thing was erasing dante's memories of her (if he remembered her, he would know that someone remembered him. that's no good!). emma would NOT shut up about dante (this is, unfortunately, the most she's talked to gene ever) and he was 1. worried that might ruin his awesome cool revenge if he just let her be and 2. pissed him off. but he didn't want to flat out kill her, because despite everything, she was his little sister. something in him loved her still.

so he proceeded to erase everyone else's memories of her too, so that FINALLY, there would be no one she could talk to but him. oooh gonna hide behind dante's legs instead of talking to gene?? TOO BAD, he has no idea who you are! gotta talk to your big brother gene now, idiot!

absolutely deranged of the man but you know when you're having an evil breakdown and getting revenge on your village who wronged you you may as well go all the way yk

so now emma is a little girl no one remembers, and so gene takes her BACK WITH HIM to the nether. it's awful for her. he thinks it's pretty shitty for him too! it's hard taking care of a kid and it's harder taking care of a kid in the nether. it doesn't help that emma hates him, and doesn't even thank him for the work he's putting in here! wow! and she still won't shut up about fucking dante! HE DOESN'T REMEMBER YOU. GET OVER IT.

he's less human than he was when he took her with him originally, and he's getting frustrated. and now, he's had a thought. she'd be easier to keep 'alive' if she was a shadow knight... and if she dies, well. that solves the problem too!

(the vastly preferably end is that she comes back, but he's hit a point that he thinks he's ready to accept the alternative. personally, i think he'd have been more upset than he realizes if she hadn't come back)

and so...

emma died in the nether. i've cycled through a few deaths over the years (current thought? fell in lava. but it could have been mobs, or even other shadow knights). that's not the important part: the important part is that gene lets it happen. he doesn't make it happen, he doesn't do it himself - but he stands by while it does. he watches. and emma knows this, she saw this, her last living thought was desperately wishing for her big brother to save her, and her first unliving thought was that he didn't.

for gene's part, he did encourage the shadow lord to make emma a shadow knight for him to mold! that's... something...? but he didn't get confirmation on that before he let emma die; he just floated the idea, and let it turn out how it may...

emma was filled with enough hate for gene, that even as young, and completely untrained as she was, she was brought back. she's told him this, that it was hate for him that brought her back - and he's shrugged it off. whatever keeps her here.

whether gene killed emma is up to one's own interpretation... he would say he didn't! she got herself killed. he'd saved her enough times. and she came back stronger, he even trained her, so he did her a favor.

...emma never says he killed her, either. she thinks it's worse that he just watched. she'll never forget that moment. there was no urgency on his face. no distress. only intrigue. morbid curiosity. like he was watching a bug struggle in a spiderweb, wondering if it would wiggle out before the spider devoured it.

THIS IS MY SECOND TIME WRITING THIS POST BECAUSE TUMBLR CRASHED AND KILLED IT

@plutoonwheels tags:

QUESTIONS ABOUT EMMA?? IS IT MY BIRTHDAY???

mcd emma lore under the cut but first a sketch of her<3 she's not usually smiling but she can smile for this post. as a treat

did dante's lore go to em?

nope !! gene still did all the "someone needs to remember" stuff... emma was always meant to be an addition to the lore, not a subtraction... i partially came up with it as a kid because i thought it was a clever way to explain why dante would never have brought up emma - he doesn't remember her! so he CAN'T mention her!

but SHE remembers him - so actually ("crazy for Dante if his sister turns up as a guard and he's just gotta pretend he doesn't know her"), SHE'S the one pretending not to know him! the first person who finds out she knows dante is laurance, because laurance sees her staring with a deep longing sadness at dante all the time and assumes she's yearning romantically... to which she protests in horror "?!? HE'S MY BROTHER!??!" without thinking and then she has to explain EVERYTHING to him lmao

(i fear dante is like. the last to know. because she keeps telling everybody not to tell him. then when he finds out, he doesn't believe it, and gives emma the cold shoulder while he tries to sort it out. she lets him, because she's not sure he should be talking to her anyway... but it wasn't meant to be forever! dante just needed a few days to process! but... then he doesn't see emma for 15 years. haha .)

they make me so sad

is emma a knight of phoenix drop?

her lore is currently undergoing a little reworking now that i'm better at writing + rewatching diaries, and this is one aspect i'm reconsidering, BUT - at time of writing - emma is not a knight of phoenix drop at any point! she kind of is in everything but name - she'll do anything to protect aphmau and phoenix drop, and has the means to do so, and is close with many of aphmau's knights. but she doesn't like fighting, and she doesn't want to be considered a knight.

gene was a knight. she never wants to be like him.

that taste will never get out of her mouth. and she wasn't officially trained as a knight; any training of that sort was from gene in the nether. so she really doesn't like associating with it, and she isn't technically qualified.

at the same time...

dante is also a knight, and she could never be good like him.

somehow she's torn between "i don't want to be a knight because they're bad" and "i don't deserve to be a knight because i am bad".... and BOTH feelings are fueled by her family issues!

so she doesn't consider herself a knight, and rejects any suggestions she should officially become a knight of phoenix drop. she doesn't need to be a knight to protect people she loves, so long as they allow her to <3

(if she DID ever become a knight though, i think it would be between s2 and s3! which is an era i haven't really explored for her with canon in mind so i plan to get to that tehee)

as for the last name - if you're willing to loan that to me i actually LOVE that, "emmalyn alighieri" is so pretty??? and i love the explanation ..

okayyy tysm for reading if you did!! as i say every em post. i love emmalyn questions. if you ask me an emmalyn question i will be so excited.... everyone who has taken an interest in emma, you're so cool forever <3333

[technikki]

i adore thinking about the fucked up tpn stuff that was either not considered during the writing process or deliberately left unexplored.

tpn really said 'each house has about 6 shipments and receives about 6 new children to replace them each year. the minimum age a child can be shipped out is 6. tpn begins with conny's shipment in october, after which dominic is the only remaining 6 year-old at the house' without even considering the implications of that. how about 'we know literally nothing about anyone from the age group between anna+nat's and thoma+lanni's groups because theyre all gone by the time the story starts' also literally no one ever brings them up. or my personal favorite of 'isabella painstakingly hand-made little bunny for conny's 6th birthday. conny turned 6 in september, about a month before she was shipped out' like do you think isabella was at least a little pissed about that. i like to think she was

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[madamechrissy]

Your best friend's dad Toji headcanons

Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Content warnings- ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS interacting with this, heavy NSFW! Big age gap (Toji late 30s, reader is 21) some manipulation (both of em lol) masturbation (toji) and oral sex (both recieving) obsessed Toji, the oneshot will be much more in detail lol. If you don't like Toji being called 'daddy' don't read lmao, taboo ass themes.

Full oneshot now- Daddy Likes Crazy Girls

Your best friend's dad Toji who used to be so affectionate, but the past couple years he's been... closed off, indifferent to you? He had Megumi so young, it was more like he played a big brother role, really, you used to talk to him about anything. But lately he just grumbles a hello and pats your head, much to your dismay.

Your best friend's dad Toji is so hot you've had this crush on him forever, but of course you try to hide it, and eventually you have it under wraps- when you're about nineteen or twenty you start catching his looks, the ones he doesn't think you see, and you may or may not wear next to nothing when you stay the night, just to sleepily smile at him in the morning, watching dark green eyes dilate.

Your best friend's dad Toji can't stop thinking of all the ways he'd treat you so good, when he listens to you crying about a break up, thinking these pathetic dudes probably couldn't even get you off, in fact he's sure that they haven't. You don't look well fucked, like you should, with your shy little smile and the way your tits just sway in those tank tops with no bras, driving him insane to no end, so that now he just avoids you.

Your best friend's dad Toji has lost how many times he's stroked his cock to the thought of you, especially when you sleep on the couch, you spend all kinds of time here instead of your dorm with your roommate who apparently always has guys over. More peaceful for you here, and instead of tucking you in he openly stares at your parted lips, at how your tank top twisted and your tit is almost out. He'd throw a blanket over you and head to his bed, stroking himself and trying to stifle the moans, picturing how he'd make you cum over and over again.

Your best friend's dad Toji has girls over at times, and you can't help but feel upset when you see them, which is so stupid, but here it is, these feelings that arise, knowing they're going on dates with him, wondering if he'll see you any other way. One day after a particular date he comes in the dark kitchen, startled to see you sitting in one of the seats, sipping on a beer. 'The fuck, doll do you ever go home? And are you old enough to drink this shit?' you uncross your legs, and damned if your shorts aren't loose enough that he sees a hint of your pussy. 'I'm more than old enough, you know, I'm Gumi's age' Toji scoffs, cracking open a beer and leaning against the counter 'yeah, a fuckin kiddo still'

Your best friend's dad Toji pauses with his lips almost to the bottle when you step closer, fingers trailing up his dress shirt, his dark hair falling over his brow as you tilt your head, looking at him for the first time how you've wanted to. You've lost count how many times you have played with your pussy, how many times under boys you pictured Toji instead. 'Did you get off, Mr. Fushiguro?' Toji sputters now, how you make a man like him speechless is diabolical. 'the fuck you say, doll?' Toji manages, and you smile as your hand trails lower. 'You've helped me so much, I could help you cum if you want' he scoffs, gripping your wrist then 'don't fuckin' tease me, won't end well for you'

Your best friend's dad Toji shows you just how well it ends, when you're on your knees in the kitchen, and he's shoving his cock deep in your eager mouth, fucking your throat so good tears prick your eyes. 'F-fuck... s-so good I.... shit...' he's stuttering, as you take his cock down your throat, your nails gripping at his thighs, looking up at him then. 'Gonna cum if you- stop, shit you-' you keep sucking his veiny length, throbbing and twitching as he yanks on your hair, pulling you off before he busts, just in time for the door to click, and you both seperate before a sleepy Megumi finds you.

Your best friend's dad Toji doesn't come to you like you'd expect, no he avoids the shit out of you even more, and soon you're imagining this was all some odd dream. He doesn't even acknowledge it, so you go back to dating your ex, and try not to come over anymore, Toji misses you, fuck he does, but he's trying to not engage with whatever demon mouth his kids bestie posesses. Toji even sees you out while he's on a date, his jaw locking when you're at the other table, young and seemingly in puppy love, your eyes lock when you see him, and Toji's date is fading into the background just a bit. When you get up to go to the bathroom, Toji excuses himself, just to come behind you and press you against the counter, barring you with his strong arms, as you murmur- 'Mr. Fushiguro..."

Your best friend's dad Toji mutters 'so did you get off on your lil date, doll? with the kid?' you hear it, the tenseness, the jealousy, as his huge, strong hands slip up your little black dress, and you whine out just a bit, before glaring. 'What if he did? what if he gets me off so good, Mr. Fushiguro- ah!' Toji's done with you then, he's got you turned so you see your own blush and glittering eyes in the mirror, slipping his hand down between your thighs and rolling rough fingertips on your clit, towering over you, taking over your senses in this bathroom. 'Bet he ain't got shit on me' he murmurs, before rolling your clit in circles and hearing you hiccup, whimper, head falling back as his other hand grips a breath 'tired of ya fucking teasing me' he then leaves you there, gasping and needy, sucking on his fingers and moaning about your taste.

Your best friend's dad Toji does not like it when you bring your boyfriend over, even if it is Megumi's other friend, not when you're sitting on his lap and kissing him while the three of you game, all giggling. He scowls right at you, only for you to give him a knowing little smile, one he thinks about fucking right off you, until you're just open mouthed and drooling. He's jerking his dick right off in the bathroom while the three of you spend time, endlessly thinking of positions he'd put his kid's best friend in, bend you over, drink your pretty pussy up, make you call him daddy. As his cum squirts out of his reddened, drooly tip, he exhales, trying to pull himself together, surely two can play at your stupid little game.

Your best friend's dad Toji starts to go to every one of Megumi's games now, he used to catch a few, but he loves to go every time because he knows you cheer for the team. You kiss your little boyfriend's cheek and bounce around in your cheerleading skirt, all while you see him with a new girl in the stand all the time, acting so unbothered by you. When you're asking Megumi about it, he shrugs muttering 'they don't come home after the games, maybe he's trying to look hot to the PTA moms? he's weird' huh you think to yourself, seeing his glint in narrowed eyes, which only makes you want him more, the shithead that he is.

Your best friend's dad Toji watches as you 'drop something' just to bend over in your cheer skirt, with nothing under it like it should be, making him lose his mind when you smile brightly at him, talking about a party all of you are going to after. Toji can't stand it when he's at home, waiting, imagining everything you're doing, fucking dying to have you, he jerks off so much it starts to hurt, and it's all your fault, which you would delight in knowing truly. When you come back over in the damn cheer outfit the next day, and Megumi isn't home yet, you sigh. 'Oh, then I'll come back later-' Toji stops you then, locking the door with a click. 'Oh you'll cum alright'

Your best friend's dad Toji has you up on his kitchen counter, thighs spread, pulling your panties up so that your wet spot darkens them, and he sees the plump lips of your pussy. 'real slutty, where's your shorts huh?' you smile at him, then gasp as he grips your chin, and your head falls back against the wall. 'I want you to see' you finally admit, and he glares at you. 'and why the fuck you torturing me!?' you gasp at him. 'it's you who torture me!' 'nah, doll, you know what you're doing, and I'm tired of it, gonna shut you the fuck up' Toji yanks your panties off as you gasp. 'gonna make you forget any dumb college boy has ever touched you' he says, before he sinks two thick digits, moaning as he watches your pretty face get fucked out.

Your best friend's dad Toji laps at your little clit, as your hands entwine in his inky hair, and he feels like it's so wrong, you're like at least sixteen years younger, your his kids best friend. Shit you practically lived here, but once he gets a taste of your slick pussy, he's done for. He's got you cumming all over his fingers in minutes, and you're drunk off it, as he keeps licking, scar brushing your inner lips as you pull him closer. "Mr. Fushiguro..." You're whining out, and he smirks, pulling back and spitting right on your pussy, watching it drip from your twitchy clit to your soppy little hole. 'don't call me that right now, not when you're about to cum all over my face again, huh?' you eagerly obey, earning his chuckle 'guess this is how I get you to listen'

Your best friend's dad Toji slurps up more of your cum, obscene in the little kitchen, and you're fucking his face, his fingers, all while his cock his throbbing in his sweats, and you're whispering 'Toji!' he slaps your pussy then, loud in the room, with wet sticky fingers, you scream out at it, cunt throbbing around nothing, ready to be filled by him. 'Please, please...' he chuckles again- 'please what, doll?' you're shattering as he scissors his fingers in and out of your soppy hole 'please fuck mee, please!' he moans against your cunt, rubbing himself where the precum has leaked out past his boxers and even to his sweats, nipping at your clit as you cum again. 'want me to actually fuck you, huh? show you how a man does it?' 'please Toji...'

Your best friend's dad Toji carries you to his bed, the place he so frequently pumps his cock to the thought of you, eyeing your already fucked out face, smirking down at you as he spreads your thighs. 'then need to ask me properly, huh doll?' you blink in confusion, as he leans over you, cock still under his clothes, gripping your wrists as you wriggle, aching for him. 'I said please though!' he presses a kiss to your lips, and you taste yourself on him, moaning into his mouth. 'say please 'daddy''

Permatags- @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @loafteaw @aldebrana @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @labelt-san @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster

[bmpmp3]

i NEEED to be more annoying about being mixed race in public i keep forgetting how dire it is. sometimes i point out stuff in like visual culture classes about like a magazine cover with a biracial model or something and it blows peoples MINDS because the whole class forgot mixed people were real

[stompandhollar]

Honestly the most revolutionary thing about Gravity Falls to me is its commitment to sincerity.

I’ve been listening to Alex’s podcast where he goes into the details of each episode with different storyboard artists and writers who worked on the show, and it just baffles me how… cared for the story is. Right now in media there’s been an uptick in satire, and shows making fun of themselves for existing, or taking the piss at their own content to “win” fans to their side. It’s like whimsy is gone from so many pieces of media. But Gravity Falls just doesn’t… do that. It completely embraces itself. Weirdness and all. And so does the team behind it. I’m not used to something I care about being so cared about by everyone surrounding it.

Here’s this cartoon, written and illustrated by an entire team of people saying, “no, we’re serious. we mean this. we made this on purpose and we made it important.”

Throughout the podcast, Alex discusses little ins and outs of each character, offering so much deep internal struggles and enriching the story even farther. And listening to him unpack it with the utmost sincerity just warms my heart. Each character is so dynamic because they were cared for by people who imbued them with sincerity.

That’s exactly why we get quotes like “Shame is powerful, but it grows in the dark,” as Ford realizes the trauma he’s hidden for so long is being embraced by his family, diminishing it’s weight on him through their immediate support.

It’s why we get Alex describing Stanley with quotes like; “I always in my gut thought of him as somebody with a huge well of sadness, a loss of human connection. And that need to please? That need to get laughs from the crowd, and putting on a big show? He’s trying to get from them the affection he never got from his family, and that he lost with his brother.”

Or detailing how Mabel might be a goof… but half the time she’s doing a bit, because she’s really more mature than her brother and doesn’t want him to grow up too fast. She’s trying to help ground him and bring lightheartedness into his life. Because she knows otherwise, he’ll become too self isolated.

And those two mini character studies he dropped so casually in these podcast episodes just… color the show. It’s why the show survived so well even after ten years. It’s gruff-old Stan always calling his niece “Pumpkin” and “Honey”. It’s the family always holding hands without it behind laced with a joke, and falling asleep on one another in the car. It’s Alex explaining that people toyed with other endings, other plot lines, other twists, but it was always going to end with Stan and Ford mending the family tie they severed thirty years ago. Because that was their story. Messes and family and care.

Ten years ago, watching it for the first time as it came out, I felt all that. But now, as an adult, knowing that all the other adults who made it felt the exact same way? :,) What a special story we all got to grow up with, and get to continue being apart of.