#poses and points at this with a flourish

[decimatlas]

Under the ‘read more’ are the details of my OC, Zelda Klein, who exists in the Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan universe. This description contains spoilers for the end of the series, so please proceed with discretion. 

YOU ARE A WEAPON, AND WEAPONS DON’T WEEP. YOU ARE A WARRIOR. YOU ARE CHOSEN –––– YOU ARE NOT WORTHY. 

Tears of joy fell in the Klein household as their child donned yellow. It allowed them to live better lives, at the small price of the livelihood of their own. The goal was red. It was far more noble, a rightful sacrifice. To inherit a Titan was the highest of honors to them –– to die for Marley was perhaps the only thing higher. But that red would never come; her beloved comrades would be whisked away, and her family would mutter about how she wasn’t good enough. How she had failed them. 

But she was a Warrior. It was all she knew. It was her only purpose. Her steadfast loyalty to the Warriors proved to the Marleyan generals that she had potential to be an asset. And so, she was granted the privilege to keep her identity, but as mentor and teacher to a new generation. Despite her young age, Zelda would soon become the drill sergeant for the Warrior Unit – she would be the first face they saw in the morning, and the last they saw at night. She was the first Eldian outside of the Warriors themselves to be given any sort of power over the candidates, and she did not take this privilege lightly. 

As she grew older, Zelda slowly began to realize that her loyalty was not to Marley, nor was it to the ideals the Warriors were said to uphold. No –– her loyalty was to her own: her mentees, to the Warriors themselves, especially to her comrades who had bravely ventured to Paradis. A final shift stirred within her at the enlistment of Gabi Braun. She was so young, an echo of what she, Reiner, and her other comrades once were. And she was willing to cut her life short in the name of Marley. It stirred a conflicted feeling within her. This was her home, these people were her family. But were they being treated unjustly? Were children meant to be born with a goal to die? 

THE MORE YOU LOVE, THE MORE YOU SUFFER, THE MORE THE DEVIL OF PARADIS CAN TAKE FROM YOU. 

The Devil of Paradis came to reap some time later. He took her home, and two of the children she came to know as her own. She hardly had time to mourn Udo and Zofia before she was left with no choice but to jump into action. Find the others, the children – Reiner. Urge him to fight. Fight. Fight. If not for their lives, for that of their loved ones. She would join the battle to retaliate against Paradis – against the Devil himself. With no Titan abilities to protect her, Pieck would ensure Zelda’s safety, for to her and the rest, she was a Warrior in all but blood. 

THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS...

Growing up, Zelda had heard whispers of the Rumbling, but it was no longer a whisper. It was now a reality to all, and it threatened to mercilessly crush all she knew and loved. An alliance had begun to form – a small group from Paradis had the same goal as her: to stop the Rumbling, no matter the cost. If not for their lives, for that of their loved ones. Alongside familiar faces, and others that she had only heard of through Reiner, Zelda joined the alliance. She had no powers to offer, no skill with the gear they used to zip around, but she had her will, her mind, her skills in battle, her undying loyalty... and the albeit rusty ability to co-pilot for Onyankopon. 

THERE’S NO MORNING GLORY. IT WAS WAR; IT WASN’T FAIR.

Zelda had some memory lapses after she was salvaged, unconscious, from the mangled wreckage of the flying boat with Onyankopon. She was told she transformed into a titan, but she was somehow soon... herself, again. She would find that the Battle of Heaven and Earth was over, and she would eventually take on a new role as a Peace Ambassador between Paradis and what remained of the world. 

ALL THAT BLOODSHED, CRIMSON CLOVER.

Sergeant Zelda Klein.   Born in 833 in Liberio, Marley.  Former Warrior Candidate to inherit the Armored Titan. 

[rafesfuckdoll]

Since Day One

summary: Mr. Cameron your teacher was the most desired man in the entire school, but so were you for him.

warnings: p in v, unprotected s, harsh words, daddy calling, fem uni student x teacher smut, semi public, hidden, slut shaming (kinda)

word count: 1.6k

Rafe Cameron, otherwise known as... Mr. Cameron teaches history at your university. I don't think there is a single person who doesn't find him attractive, not one. All eyes in class were glued to him, making it impossible for anyone to concentrate. But you caught his attention. You were the one he fixed his eyes on. You were aware of the sexual tension between you two, yet unsure whether to acknowledge it or engage with it.

When the class ended, you approached his desk to bring up a question about today's material. Altering your outfit to reveal a touch more cleavage. "Excuse me Sir". You remarked innocently as he stashed his laptop in his bag, hoping to catch his gaze. Turning towards you, he is taken aback slightly and his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of you adjusting your outfit. A soft sigh escapes him as his eyes roam over your form. "Well, hello. How can I lend a hand?" He responds in a playful yet serious way.

Smiling, you lock eyes with him and raise your head to meet his, emphasizing the height contrast between you two. "Well.. I was wondering if you offer private tutoring sessions? I don't really get history.. Sir". A smirk appeared on his lips when he heard your question. Taking a seat, he leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes locked on yours. He can pick up on the tension between you two and he's not ignoring it. "So, private lessons, huh?" You nod, curious why he's posing a rhetorical question as if it wasn't clear. With a mischievous grin, you place your hands on his desk and subtly showcase your cleavage. "Yes, Sir..".

After a momentary glance at your cleavage, Rafe's gaze returns to your face, with a spark of desire flickering in his eyes. "Hmm..." He murmured, followed by a brief pause. "You know what, I can help you out, kid. I can see you're really enthusiastic about learning, so I'll give you some assistance today. " He says as he rises from his desk. "Thank you very much, sir. Would you like to head to the library?" He gestures with a flourish as he extends his hand to you. "After you Miss.. Miss L/N." The library is a place of calmness on campus. Like my office." He grins at you as he leads you out of the door. Both of you get out of the lecture hall and make your way to the library. On my journey there, I take a moment to fix my outfit, raising the hem of my mini skirt.

Upon reaching the library, Rafe's attention is drawn to your revealed skin, his gaze filled with desire as he observes the way you sway in your form-fitting attire. You chose a desk located in the corner of the library for added privacy. Your intentions as clear as water. Following closely behind, he pulled out a chair for you and then sat down next to you. Seated comfortably, you lean in with your elbow on the table and your hand supporting your cheek. "Teach me.." 

At your words, his eyes brighten and he leans in closer, his gaze burning with intensity. "Very well, Y/N." He reaches to the book you placed on the table, that you used in class and starts flipping through pages until he finds what he's looking for. "Alright.. let's begin with... this" He said pointing at the page. Your eyes focused on the book. But your mind barely concentrating.

Rafe observes your distracted state, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Miss L/N, is there something on your mind?" Leaning in, he places his hand on your thigh beneath the desk and gently squeezes it. "You appear... preoccupied." His touch stirred butterflies in your stomach, yet you dismiss it with a shake of your head. "I'm perfectly fine, sir," he smirked wider, clearly unconvinced by your words. His fingers delicately moving up and down your thigh in a teasing manner. "Of course.." He says, his voice low and husky, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. "We shall continue." You said nervously and quickly.

He watches your lips intently, his thumb tracing over the sensitive skin. "I think that's a good idea," he replies, taking his hand off your thigh and leaving behind a comforting warmth. Silently nodding, you turn your attention back to the book. Briefly captivated by your cleavage and curves, he soon returned his gaze to the book in his hand. "Now, where were we? Ah yes." He flips through the pages until he finds the right spot. 

Rafe Cameron's voice trails off as he becomes lost in the words and teachings in the book. Unaware of the growing tension in the room. "The ancient texts speak of a ritual, a way to harness the power of desire and lust, and use it to fuel your own abilities." The library was quiet. Your thoughts could only focus on him being right beside you. The notion of him using his spare time to teach you was charming. Boldly, you inch closer and place your hand on his thigh. "Mhm.. desire and lust.." You repeat his words. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the weight of your hand on his thigh, a surge of energy coursing through him at the touch. "Yes.. desire and lust" His voice tracing desire. He becomes aware of the implication of your words, causing his heart to race a bit. With each passing day, he can't ignore the attraction he feels towards you. The tension between you is palpable as he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

He inhales sharply as he detects your hand nearing his expanding bulge.  The tempation is too great, and he gives in to the urge, whispering huskily in your ear. "I've craved you.." You face him, your lips on the verge of touching. You softly suggest, "How about we head to your office?" He couldn't resist grinning at your suggestion. His desire for you growing with each moment. He answers your question with a nod, his hand gently touching your cheek. "Yes, I do."

Rafe Cameron enters his office, his eyes flicking over to the desk before turning his gaze back to you. His eyes heavy with desire. With a gentle click, he secures the door and places the keys down before stepping towards you, his hands sliding around your waist as he pushes you against the door. "Let me see more of you." Your breath hitches at the sudden pin to the door. "Make me.." You reply in a quiet voice, moving your hips against his. He lets out a low growl of desire as he listens to your reply, holding onto your waist firmly while drawing closer to you.

"I've been longing for this moment," you say quietly, close to his lips. His lips curve into a smile as he moves his hand from your waist to gently lift your chin, meeting your eyes. "Have you?"

"Mhm.. the teacher everbody wants to fuck, and he chose me.." His eyes darken with desire from your sentence, his hand moving from your chin to your neck, gripping it. "And what do you want?" He asks in a stern dark tone. "Fuck me" You reply as you look into his eyes your mouth open from the grip on your neck while your eyes were locked with his.

He tightens his grip on your neck as he draws you in closer to him. "You want me to fuck you against the door like some desperate slut?" He whispers in your ear. Your head instinctively nodding in agreement at this point, yearning for his touch. "Fuck me like your personal doll". Your words ignite a primal desire in his eyes, causing his hand to move from your neck and slide down your body, lifting your skirt to uncover your thighs and panties. "You want me to use you, fuck you so rough until you're begging for me to stop?" You let out a quiet moan at the imagination of it nodding your head. "Yes.. yes please"

He lets out a deep chuckle as he moves in close to your ear. His warm breath brushing against your skin. "I'll make sure you can barely stand by the time I'm done with you."  His hands move to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pins you against the door again, His grip on your hip tightens as the other hands thumb brushes against the skin of your inner thigh. "Beg for me then." You whine a little at how he teases you "Please baby, I want you so bad". He swiftly pulls down your panties with a quick movement of his hand. "You want me? You got me". His whispered words were followed by his lips crashing into yours, his tongue entering your mouth as he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. You responded to his kiss by wrapping your arm around the back of his neck, seeking stability. 

His pants hit the floor with a thud, his hard cock pressing against your core. "Tighten your legs around me, babe," he chuckles, kicking his pants away and sliding one hand underneath you to lead himself into you. "Tell me if I hurt you" He pants out. His tip teasing your folds which already made moans escape your mouth. "Yes daddy".

As he thrusts into you, his groans mix with the sounds of your pleasure, his throbbing member filling you to the hilt. "Fuck, you're so tight baby girl.." He groans, staring to move, in and out of you with the force of a possessed man. "God, I've wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you" His hand grips your hips as he fucks you harder and faster. From time to time, your back colliding with the door.

[latin5mamii]

Mall date- Jude Bellingham

Genre: fluff;

Summary: A mall date with your boyfriend is more tiring than he expects...

Author's note: cute bf alert!!

You and your boyfriend loved going shopping together, and what you loved the most was the trip to get to the mall, especially if it’s a long drive.

He loves to drive and talk about anything with you,listening to music and singing along, even if he’s not a professional singer,thank god.

You settle into the passenger seat of Jude's car, the anticipation of the day ahead adding a sparkle to your eyes. The radio plays softly in the background, blending with the soothing hum of the engine as Jude navigates through traffic.

"You know," Jude starts with a playful smirk, "I still can't believe you listen to this stuff. Do you secretly enjoy torturing me?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "I just like what I like. And besides, your taste in music isn't exactly cutting-edge either."

He chuckles, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. "Fair point. But at least my singing isn't as bad as yours."

"Oh, please," you retort, feigning offense. "I'm a hidden talent waiting to be discovered."

Jude lets out a dramatic groan. "Don't quit your day job, love."

The banter continues as the journey progresses, punctuated by shared stories and easy silences that speak volumes about your comfort together. You steal glances at him when he's focused on the road, admiring the way his features are softened by the sunlight streaming through the window.

When you reach the mall, Jude parks the car with a flourish, flashing you a grin before opening your door with exaggerated gallantry. "My lady," he quips, offering his arm.

"You're such a dork," you laugh, linking your arm with his as you walk into the bustling mall.

Inside, you indulge in leisurely shopping, Jude eagerly helping you pick out clothes and occasionally holding up questionable items for your opinion. "What do you think?" he asks, modeling an outrageously patterned shirt.

"It's... bold," you reply diplomatically, struggling to stifle a giggle.

He throws it back on the rack with a mock sigh. "Guess I'll stick to football jerseys."

You continue browsing, occasionally getting stopped by fans who recognize Jude. He graciously poses for photos and engages in light-hearted conversation, his charisma shining through as he thanks them for their support.

As you explore the mall, Jude's stomach starts to growl. "I'm famished," he declares dramatically, checking his watch with feigned surprise. "How long have we been shopping?"

"Not long enough for you to starve," you tease, rolling your eyes playfully.

"I'm a growing lad," he insists with a wink. "I need sustenance."

You find a cozy cafe where you settle into a corner booth, sharing a hearty meal and swapping stories about your day. Jude delights in ordering an indulgent dessert, his eyes lighting up at the sight of a towering sundae topped with whipped cream and sprinkles.

"You're going to regret that later," you warn, amused by his childlike excitement.

"Nonsense," he replies with mock indignation, digging into the dessert with gusto. "I have a bottomless pit for a stomach."

You laugh at Jude's antics, shaking your head affectionately as he continues to devour the ice cream with unabashed enthusiasm. He insists on finishing every last bite, occasionally getting a dollop of whipped cream on his nose or chin, which only adds to your amusement.

"You're making a mess," you tease, handing him another napkin to wipe his face.

"I can't help it," he replies with a sheepish grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ice cream brings out my inner child."

"I can see that," you say, chuckling softly. "But you're my favorite child, so it's okay."

He mock-gasps in mock-offense, dramatically clutching his heart. "I'm honored to hold such a prestigious title."

After the snack break you literally find your boyfriend almost falling asleep on his feet waiting for you to get out of a shop.

“You literally spend hours running all over a football field and now you’re almost falling asleep, are you serious?”

“Shopping with you is tiring,more than a football match”

He says stroking your head and bringing it close to his shoulder. You can't do anything but wrap an arm around his waist and hold him tightly to you.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Royal Duties

I wrote three little one shots for the pole just in case lol so now I'm posting all three

Pairing: Gil Galad x Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning light filters through the tall windows of the grand hall, glancing off the polished stone floors and casting a warm glow over the rows of nobility gathered to witness court proceedings. You sit beside Ereinion, the high-backed throne beneath you feeling almost too formal for the mood between you and the king. Ereinion leans forward slightly, face carefully composed, yet his eyes flick over to you with the faintest glint of mischief.

As a particularly haughty lord delivers a speech about his region’s contribution to the realm, you barely manage to keep a straight face. Ereinion clears his throat softly, disguising a chuckle as he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “I don’t think there’s a single person in this hall who doesn’t already know how ‘noble’ his house is.”

The corners of your mouth twitch, and you turn to him, casting a sidelong glance. “Do you think he’d notice if we slipped out the back?”

“Not if we leave the guards with a very good excuse,” he replies smoothly, casting you a look that suggests he’s half-serious. Then, with the practiced grace of a king who’s held this position for centuries, he adjusts his expression to one of benevolent patience, looking for all the world as though he’s deeply engaged.

The lord finally finishes, and Ereinion, without missing a beat, offers him a solemn nod. “Thank you for your… continued service,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips as the lord bows himself out of the hall.

The moment he’s out of earshot, you lean toward Ereinion, unable to hold back your grin. “Shall we give him a new title? Perhaps Lord of Long-Winded Speeches?”

He bites back a laugh, the sound escaping in a soft breath. “Consider it granted. I’ll have the scribes make note of it.”

The two of you exchange a look, and for a heartbeat, you’re just Ereinion and… well, not the queen, not here under the judgmental gaze of court. Just the two of you, sharing an inside joke.

After several more interactions with various lords and advisors — all of whom seem to be vying to one-up each other — you and Ereinion finally manage a brief escape. You slip into one of the palace gardens, hidden by high walls and leafy trees, where the murmur of court life fades into a distant hum.

He grins, glancing around to make sure no one followed, then gives you a low bow, offering his hand. “My lady, might I steal a dance?”

You raise an eyebrow, taking his hand with mock formality. “I thought we’d save that for the next dreadfully dull council meeting. Just to keep them on their toes.”

“Good point,” he replies, spinning you under his arm in a quick flourish. He catches you in a mock-dramatic pose, his face so close that you can feel his breath, warm against your cheek. His eyes linger on yours, and the flirty banter fades for just a moment as he holds your gaze.

“Should we head back?” you murmur, aware that duty awaits — and that the more time you spend away from court, the more questions you’ll face.

But Ereinion only shrugs, his smile unmistakably mischievous. “Let them wonder. The king and queen deserve a moment to themselves, don’t you think?”

Ereinion’s hand is warm in yours as he spins you down the marble halls, your laughter mingling with his in the quiet, echoing corridors. The two of you move in perfect sync, each step lighter than the last. He dips you dramatically, and you stifle a laugh, whispering, “You know, this isn’t exactly dignified for the High King and Queen.”

“Good thing we’re in the far wing, then,” he replies, grinning as he pulls you upright again. “Besides, a little undignified behavior keeps things interesting.”

You can barely reply as he whirls you around, catching you just as you’re about to stumble. This side of Ereinion, so full of laughter, the sharp edge of command nowhere to be seen—it’s a rare thing, and you savor every second.

Just as he’s twirling you under his arm again, a figure appears at the end of the hall, stepping out from around a corner with raised eyebrows and a barely suppressed smile. Elrond crosses his arms, watching you both with an amused shake of his head.

“Oh, how regal,” he drawls, a glint in his eyes. “The High King and Queen, so tirelessly devoted to their duties, I see.”

You straighten, feigning the most queenly look you can manage despite the laughter bubbling up. “Elrond,” you say sweetly, “do you think I wouldn’t relegate you to writing our correspondence for Lord of Long-Winded Speeches?”

At this, Ereinion throws his head back, his laughter filling the hall. It’s deep, genuine, and utterly without restraint, echoing off the high ceilings as though he hasn’t laughed this freely in an age. Elrond stares, visibly startled, as his king—the indomitable Gil-galad, ruler of the Noldor—doubles over, still clutching your hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

You join him, feeling the tears gather in your eyes as you squeeze his hand tighter, both of you struggling to compose yourselves. Elrond looks between the two of you, his expression utterly dumbfounded.

“Truly,” Elrond finally says, “I’ve seen many things over the years, but this…” He shakes his head in mock exasperation, trying and failing to hide a grin of his own. “I’ll leave you to your… ‘royal duties,’ then.”

With a smirk, you give him a little wave. “We’ll leave you to your actual duties, Elrond. Someone’s got to keep up the kingdom’s standards, after all.”

As he walks away, muttering under his breath about “giggly rulers,” you turn to Ereinion, whose face is still lit up with laughter.

“Shall we?” he asks, still a little breathless.

You both head down the hall, still snickering quietly, leaving a thoroughly shocked Elrond behind. And as you walk hand-in-hand, you can’t help but feel that these moments—the ones stolen from duty, spent in laughter—are what make this life with him complete.

[balsee]

Hear me out? What if reader gave Sanji an apron that says “Kiss The Chef” she got it as ‘a joke’ and now, any time he makes/cooks something for the crew he only puts it on just for her and asks for a kiss before he gives her a plate of food. 🤣

I HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR! <33

It started as a joke.

It's nearly lunchtime on the Thousand Sunny, and you innocently make your way from your bedroom onto the deck, holding your purchase behind your back. The rest of your crew was so wrapped up in their own leisurely pleasures that you walk by them, completely unnoticed, and make a beeline for the kitchen. Upon entering, you see Sanji putting together a plate of finger sandwiches, and he doesn't even notice as you walk up to him; he's much too focused on putting little garnishes on the plate. (Cucumber roses, you notice. You could die on the spot it's so cute).

You clear your throat. "Sanji?"

He glances up from his work, and immediately breaks out into a grin. You'll never get over that, how easy it is for Sanji to smile at the sight of you. It's as if your mere presence alone was enough to make him happy, and while you were never the self-deprecating type, never did you think that you would have that sort of affect on someone.

"Yes, darling?" He asks, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Lunch is almost ready, but if you're hungry now, I can give you a small plate of fruit salad until it's time to eat."

You smile. "No, thank you, Sanji. Actually, I have something for you."

At this, Sanji blinks. "You do?"

"Yup!" you're starting to fidget, unable to tamper down a giddy, goofy smile, and he notices.

"What is it, love?" he asks with a laugh, and you bounce on the balls of your feet before you pull your hands from behind your back in a dramatic flourish.

It's a pink apron, with the words, "Kiss the Cook" in black cursive printed across the front; a red kiss mark replacing the dot of the letter 'i.' "Ta-da!" you sing, brandishing the apron. "Do you like it?"

Sanji seems at a loss for words, and whatever he's currently feeling, he manages to mask. "Where did you get this?"

"At that spring island we left yesterday," you explain. "I saw it in a window when I was shopping with Nami, and I thought it was perfect for you."

"F-for me?"

"Yes, silly, it's a gift!"

You're expecting Sanji to get embarrassed, or to take it in a way that clearly shows he's forcing himself to like it; but to your surprise, he positively melts.

"You got me a gift?" his voice is almost awed, and before you can say anything, he takes the apron from you. "Thank you, darling, really." You're a little taken aback, he's so sincere that you laugh.

"It was a joke, Sanji. A gag gift. I don't expect you to wear it."

"Of course I'm going to wear it!" he insists, and his usual lovesick enthusiasm comes back. "A beautiful, enchanting lady bought it for me! How could I deny such a heartfelt display from you?" and then to prove his point, he puts the apron on. "See? It's perfect."

***

You soon realize that the apron poses a problem. Sanji isn't embarrassed to be seen with it on, far from it, actually. But when Zoro made some crack about him being 'whipped' one evening in regards to the apron, Sanji had kicked him out of the kitchen after dinner was over, claiming that the "empty-headed, brain-dead" swordsman was too stupid to understand the importance of such a gift. And while you were happy Sanji ended up liking your little joke, a new problem starts to surface.

He'll put the apron on only for you, and tries to get a kiss.

"Y'know, for a simple kiss, I can sneak you another slice of cake." he said one night, when the dishes were cleaned and he was piping frosting along a pound cake.

"In your dreams, Sanji." you sing, and swipe a finger of icing before heading to the door.

He had tried several times after that, so sly and genuine that you almost felt bad for shooting him down. On his fourth attempt, he begs outright, completely and utterly shameless.

"Can't you see what you're doing to me, Mon coeur?" he asks, a steaming plate of paella in one hand yet to be given to you. "A kiss from you would mean the world to me, there's nothing else that would compare." he leans in ever so slightly, slightly pink-faced and pleading; there's a ruined look on his face that has your blood spiking dangerously. "What more do I have to do, sweet thing?"

You scrutinize him closely. Seconds tick by.

Sanji starts to compose himself, an easy smile on his face, as if he hadn't just made a fool of himself mere seconds ago, and his voice is soft. "Ah, don't worry, I'm just teasing. Perhaps another time--"

Before you can back out, you lean forward and kiss him, true and sweet. Time stops in a moment of pure perfection before it resumes. In a flash you pull away, but the soft feeling of his lips against yours remains. "There you go!" you smile at him, as cheerful as ever, and quickly take the paella from his hands before heading to the door. Normally, you don't eat food on the deck aside from sweets, but you want to hide your shaking hands and the incredible blush rising to your face.

As the door swings shut behind you, Sanji all but collapses onto the counter, and thinks that he's never been more grateful for a joke.

[naomijoestar]

⋆.ೃ JJBA SCENARIOS ࿔*:･

Masterlist here <3

genre: comedy, fluff

warnings: none

characters: jonathan, joseph, jotaro, josuke, giorno, jolyne

notes: GN!reader // i tried making this funny and lighthearted, so i hope i succeeded :)

You were infront of your mirror, wearing JoJo’s clothes and posing dramatically, until they walked in on you!

Jonathan Joestar

You’re striking the most elegant pose, Jonathan’s fancy coat draped over your shoulders, trying to look as noble as possible. Jonathan bursts through the door dramatically, as if walking in on a duel. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Good heavens!” he gasps, covering his heart like he’s been hit by an arrow of fashion.

He dramatically kneels down, bowing as if in the presence of royalty.

“You wear my clothes better than I ever could! You are��� the true Joestar!”

He’s so sincere that it’s almost ridiculous. You try not to laugh as he swears loyalty to you, as if you’ve just become the Joestar heir.

Joseph Joestar

You’re in Joseph’s hat and scarf, throwing dramatic poses like an action hero in front of the mirror. Joseph slams the door open, doing his classic point.

“OH NO! YOU DIDN’T!”

He rushes over, gasping theatrically.

“You’ve stolen my STYLE!”

He grabs the nearest object (probably something completely random, like a broom), and starts mimicking your poses, going all-in with the ridiculousness.

“We’ll settle this with a pose-off! Loser buys dinner!”

You end up in a goofy battle of increasingly absurd poses, while Joseph cheers like you’re in a fashion show.

Jotaro Kujo

You’re mid-serious JoJo pose in Jotaro’s long coat and hat, looking tough as nails in the mirror. Jotaro silently walks in, spots you in full pose, and just freezes. For a solid five seconds, he says nothing, deadpan expression intact. Then, he lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Yare yare daze…”

But just when you think you’re about to get scolded, he pulls his hat down, hiding his eyes, and starts walking away.

“You’re not pulling it off. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

He comes back, slides in next to you, and strikes a way cooler pose without breaking a sweat. He stares at your reflection for a beat before muttering,

“It’s about attitude.”

It’s so unexpectedly cool you just gape at him, and he leaves like nothing happened.

Josuke Higashikata

You’re posing in Josuke’s iconic pompadour jacket, spinning in front of the mirror like you’re a rock star. Josuke barges in, his eyes immediately zeroing in on his jacket.

“NOOO! What are you doing in my precious jacket?!”

He’s torn between laughing and panicking, hands flailing.

“That’s, like, designer, dude!”

He rushes over, pulling at the jacket gently as if it’s fragile. Then he notices how cool you look mid-pose and suddenly freezes.

“Wait a sec… actually, you kinda look—”

But before he can finish the compliment, his eyes shoot wide open, and he throws a dramatic arm in front of you.

“No way, it’s still MY look! Get your own style, punk!”

You both end up laughing as he mock-fights you for his jacket back.

Giorno Giovanna

You’re dramatically posing in Giorno’s sleek suit, gazing at yourself like you’re the protagonist of a fashion magazine. Giorno walks in with his usual composed demeanor but stops mid-step when he sees you, his hair glowing like a halo.

Without saying a word, he pulls a golden rose from… somewhere (seriously tho where does he get those), and gracefully walks over, placing it in your hand.

“You… are perfection.” he declares with a flourish, like he’s coronating you as the new king of fashion.

Then, as if possessed by the spirit of the most fabulous model ever, Giorno joins you in posing—no words, just intense eye contact and synchronized majestic poses. The two of you end up striking so many fabulous poses together that the room practically sparkles.

“We are unstoppable.”

Jolyne Cujoh

You’re mid-action pose in Jolyne’s signature string-covered tank top, trying to channel all of her badassery. Jolyne kicks open the door like she’s about to fight a Stand, then just stops dead in her tracks when she sees you.

Her face scrunches up, trying to figure out if she should laugh or yell.

“What… the hell are you doing?!” she finally blurts, trying not to crack up.

You sheepishly explain, still frozen mid-pose, and she bursts out laughing, practically falling to the floor.

“You look ridiculous!” she says, wiping a tear from her eye. But then, as if flipping a switch, she goes full dramatic mode.

“Alright, if you’re gonna wear my stuff, you better work it.”

She jumps in front of the mirror next to you, both of you trying out increasingly ridiculous and over-the-top poses like you’re at a photoshoot. You’re both laughing too hard by the end to even finish.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Encore.

Pairing: Yandere!Fontaine Trio x Lumine (Genshin).

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Kidnapping, Nonconsensual Touching, Loss of Bodily Autonomy, Implied Stalking, and Bondage.

Lumine felt the heat of the fire, first.

She’d been left too close to it – its mild warmth allowed to build and burrow into something strong enough to sear. Her arms got the worst of it where they were bound behind the back of her chair, and then to a lesser degree, her legs, still somewhat affected by the damp, bone-deep chill that came with spending any amount of time in the tunnels that ran underneath Fontaine with any amount of bare skin. Clearly, her yet-to-be-decided kidnappers were either unconcerned with her comfort or, more worryingly, overconcerned to the point of unintentional negligence. She’d been held hostage plenty of times, but neither the Fatui nor the Abyss had ever bothered to keep a hearth lit in her cell.

Less alien, though, were the restraints she’d woken up bound by. Her wrists were tied behind her back with some kind of heavy, coarse rope, and she was blindfolded – the cloth thick enough to smother everything but the vaguest outline of the room she’d been left in. She grit her teeth, testing the rope’s durability before turning her mind towards solutions more creative than brute-strength. She didn’t have a weapon, and her elemental powers ranged from unhelpful (she doubted dosing herself with water or sprouting weeds would do her much good) to hazardous, lest she accidentally electrocute herself while trying to wear through the rope. If she’d known that she’d be in a situation like this, she would’ve gone to Natlan first. At least, then, she’d stand a chance of burning through her restraints without—

“Ah. Careful, there, darling. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself so early on.”

Lumine didn’t realize she’d been unconsciously pulling at her bondage until she stopped moving entirely, going rigid. It hadn’t occurred to her that there’d be a guard – someone waiting for when she came-to.

And, even if it had, she never would’ve imagined that guard’s voice sounding so familiar.

It took her a second to find her tongue, another to dredge up the motivation to use it. Even then, her voice was uncharacteristically meek – weak from disuse and muted by unwillingness. “…Lyney?”

“The one and only!” He was, evidently, not quite so downcast. She felt gloved fingertips skirt over her temples before finding the blindfold’s knot and gracefully undoing it. The cloth was pulled away with a dramatic flourish, and Lumine blinked against the dim light – practically nonexistent save for the gentle glow of the fire – before turning her attention toward her surroundings. She’d been right – they were keeping her underground. Stone embraced them on all sides, the walls unadorned and the furniture limited to a wooden worktable against the far wall, the hearth burning into her back, and the surprisingly nice armchair she’d been restrained to. There was a single exit, but even if she hadn’t been so firmly rooted to where she was, it wouldn’t have been a possibility. Left posed on the threshold, poised and waiting to be acknowledged, was Lynette – her unblinking gaze fixed on Lumine. As always, her expression was blank, ambivalent, but the way her tail thrashed at her feet conveyed… something. Lumine couldn’t be sure what, just yet.

Lyney cleared his throat, and with more than a little hesitation, Lumine turned back to him – her eyes already narrowed into a barbed glare. Considering the context, he was astonishingly casual (by his own standards, anyway). A dazzlingly bright smile was painted across his lips, his posture closer to that of a performer preparing to take the stage than a captor preparing to interrogate his prisoner. He was trying to act like himself, like she would’ve expected him to, but that might’ve been part of it – an attempt to disarm her. She bristled, curling her hands into fists and reminding herself that until she got out of here, he wasn’t a friend behaving strangely, but an enemy waiting for his chance to strike.

But, of course, he saw through her aggression as easily as she saw through his lack thereof, his smile taking on a slightly sympathetic note. “There’s really no need for that,” he said, with an airy laugh. “The last thing we want to do is fight you. Look, Lynette and I aren’t even carrying weapons. I can’t say the same for the guards down the hall, though – something to keep in mind if you’re thinking about making a run for it.”

She scowled, falling deeper into her anger where she couldn’t feign apathy. “Untie me.”

“So demanding, dear. Is that any way to speak to your host?” Another laugh, this one more full-bodied than the last. “Are you really in that much of a rush to leave?”

She was. This was already more civil than she had to be. “Why am I here?”

Lyney’s grin widened, his back straightening. He glanced towards Lynette, who responded with a shallow nod, before answering. “We heard you were going to leave Fontaine.”

Lumine remained unimpressed. “…and?”

“And,” Lyney went on, audibly eager. “You’ve done so much for our family, and for Lynette and I, and everyone was so distraught to hear you’d be going so soon. After some deliberation, we decided it would be better if you—” A pause, a dramatic rolling gesture, “—simply didn’t.”

She felt something at the base of her throat tighten. She’d had problems like this, before – Venti inviting her to Angel’s Share more and more often as her time in Mondstadt came to an end, Ningguang sending her on the most menial of errands to try and prolong her stay in Liyue – but she was used to the bittersweet sentimentality of friends, and the sour tinge that came with adding the element of distance into relationships that were once so close-knit. She was significantly less used to those friends trying to keep her around by force.

“I can’t stay in Fontaine forever,” she said, plainly. “You of all people should understand why.”

“Oh, of course not, we’d never ask you to stay in Fontaine.” He edged closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder as he rounded closer to the hearth. “Only that you stay with us. Father’s been very generous, too. She’s given us permission to use our information networks to keep searching for your brother, so there’s no need for you to keep travelling all alone and putting yourself in so much danger—” He cut himself off with a deep sigh, a slow shake of his head. “Just the thought alone is terrifying, isn’t it, Lynette?”

In her doorway, Lynette perked to attention. For a moment, she seemed unsure of whether or not she was meant to answer, but she made up her mind quickly enough. “…it is, brother.”

The cold blade of betrayal pierced Lumine’s chest, the strike sudden and deep. She did what she could to steel herself, to suppress her reaction, but more than she would’ve liked managed to seep through her defenses; a new stiffness to her shoulders, tension her jaw, little tells they’d both be able to pick up on. Admittedly, Lynette’s duplicity carried more weight than her twin’s. Lyney had always reminded her of Aether – bright and energetic, effortlessly charming and painstakingly emotional. Conversely, Lumine saw herself in Lynette. They both carried a sort of quiet coolness; an edge buried underneath thick layers of measured distance and calculated disregard. She’d thought (albeit, unfoundedly) that it might’ve been enough to breed some kind of unspoken respect between them. Or, some kind of mutual understanding, at least. Something strong enough to stop her from doing something like this. She must’ve been wrong, though.

(She had to be wrong. If she wasn’t, then she would’ve started considering the other commonalities her and Lynette shared, would’ve started to imagine what it would’ve been like if the roles had been reversed, it had been Aether rather than Lyney, if she would’ve gone along with an idea so delusional just because it’d come from the person she loved most. She would’ve had to admit, if only to herself, that the answer would’ve been yes, of course, without a second thought. The more time she spent away from him, the fewer things she wouldn’t do just to see his smile again.)

“He says your name in his sleep.” One of Lynette’s pointed ears twitched, her tail curling around her ankle, like she was biting back a smile. Her actual expression remained blank. “Frequently.”

Lumine heard Lyney huff behind her. “Well, I don’t think she really needs to know—”

“Loudly, too,” Lynette cut in, seamlessly. “It wakes me up, sometimes.”

To his credit, Lyney made a hasty recovery. His presence shifted behind her – disappearing momentarily before reforming at her side, his hand now on the arm of her chair. Carefully, he lowered himself to her height – as if hovering just outside of her peripheral wasn’t enough. “What my dear sister is trying to say,” he started, choosing the path of civility. Lumine had never noticed just how violently she disliked the saccharine cadence he so often spoke in, not before he’d decided he was only going to use it to coo at her with all the affection and all the patronizing confidence of an owner, savoring an excuse to talk down to a pet. “Is that we’re both very happy to have you here. She’d never say it out loud, but Lynette’s been especially impatient – she spent all of yesterday at the city’s gates, waiting for you to get back from your last commission.”

“Only because you asked me to, brother.”

“The only thing I’ve ever asked you to do is—”

Lyney pulled away from her, snapping toward his sister, and before he could realize he’d made a mistake, Lumine acted. She drove her heel into the ground and in response, a jagged spike of geo-infused earth broke through the stone immediately behind her, cutting through the rope binding her wrists and spearing the back of her chair, stopping less than full inch from impaling the base of her spine. Just as quickly, Lynette summoned her weapon, but it was too late – Lumine was already on her feet, her own sword already pulled from the gaps in reality and clenched in one hand while the other sent out a pulse of electro, creating a barrier of ozone and electricity between her and them. The edge of Lynette’s lips turned downward, the ghost of a scowl, while Lyney regained his composure, moving to take a step toward her before thinking better of it and, instead, moving to the left, placing himself between her and the doorway.

Lumine was unperturbed. “Drop your weapons and stand aside. I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.”

“Oh, we can’t do that, love.” It was amazing, really – how he could be the only unarmed man in a room and still sound so condescending. “I’ve already told you about the guards, haven’t I? They’re not going to be as nice to you as we are.”

“I can deal with guards.”

“Always so stubborn. Even if we got on our hands and knees and begged, you’d probably still insist on making a fuss.” He stopped, laughed, the noise breathy and surprisingly remorseful. “I’ve always admired that about you, though. I know the same goes for Lynette, too.” 

Lynette’s gaze shifted to him, but only for a split second. A reluctant nod was all she provided by way of confirmation, but it was enough to earn the flash of a smile from Lyney before he went on. “Be honest, Lumine – is the idea of being with us really so unbearable?”

It was, but there was something about his tone that made her hesitant to say so. It was a lilt – cloying and desperate, just on the verge of cracking but not quite so dull as to be mistaken for total hopelessness. It was a tone she recognized, albeit not one she’d ever spoken in herself. It was a tone she remembered Aether using, any time he couldn’t stand not to get his way.

Lumine saw red.

It was clumsy, really, too rushed to be anything but doomed from the start – the unbalanced stance she took while preparing to charge, how rigidly she held her weapon as she imagined all the ways she could plunge her sword into his lying chest. A strong enough breeze could’ve thrown her off, but there couldn’t have been a breeze this far underground, and she wasn’t thrown – she was tripped. Her foot caught on a sleek sheet of ice that hadn’t been there the second prior, and before she could catch herself, it was creeping upward, encasing her ankle, her calf. The ice cracked as she fell to her knees, shattered entirely as another body barreled into her back and forced her to the ground. She moved to throw it off, but the blade of a sword was already pressed to her throat, Lynette purring contentedly behind her. “Please drop your weapon,” she said, her voice impassive in spite of the audible delight reverberating against Lumine’s back. When Lumine hesitated, she angled her blade upward, threatening to cut into the underside of Lumine’s chin. “There’s only so many times we’re going to ask, Lumine.”

Gritting her teeth, she let go of her sword, glaring miserably as it clattered to the floor. Rather than respond, she looked towards the doorway – to Freminet where he kneeled on one knee, his palm pressed to the floor and a trail of ice creeping outward from the point of contact. He was making a point not to look at her, with his eyes fixed on the ground and a small, metal box tucked under his free arm. “…I’m sorry,” he muttered, and for a second, she thought he was talking to her, that someone might actually admit how wrong this was. But, that meager hope was quickly snuffed out as he picked himself up and approached Lyney, offering him the metal box. “The trail tests ran longer than I was expecting. I meant to finish before she woke up.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s not as if any of this would be possible if it weren’t for you.” The box was accepted, Freminet pulled into a short, tight hug. Eventually, he pulled himself out of Lyney’s arms, earning a chirping laugh. “It’s alright – I know you’re happy, too. Go and see her, Lynette and I will take care of the rest.”

There was a moment of stalled reluctance, but soon enough, Freminet did as he was told. Lynette made herself busy – setting down her sword in favor of gathering Lumine’s wrists behind her back –as he kneeled in front of her, the faintest possible blush painted over his pale features. “Are you hurt?” She bared her teeth, and he flinched back, smiling. “Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t be, huh? It’s not like someone like me could ever do anything that’d hurt someone like you.”

His eyes shifted upward to his sister. Distantly, Lumine heard something unlatch, felt cool metal press into her wrists, but it was hard to focus on that when Freminet’s faint smile was quickly brightening, his attention darting back to her in an instant. “We were more worried about you hurting yourself, to be honest. We could take away your sword, sure, but finding a way to deal with your elemental abilities would’ve been trickier. It was Lyney’s idea, but, uh—” His eyes dropped pointedly to the floor. “—I did most of the work, to be honest.”

She opened her mouth, prepared to spit out something vile and hateful, but Lynette distracted her, letting go of her arms and shifting off her back. Slowly, cautiously, she pushed herself up and looked at her wrists, now encased by a pair of well-polished, silver cuffs – each inscribed with runes too small and too intricate for her to recognize at a glance. If she’d been in a better mood, she would’ve had to stifle a laugh. There was no chain, let alone something to tether her to. If they thought weighing down her hands would be enough to stop her from getting out of there, they were more delusional than she’d assumed.

Almost giddily, Freminet caught her hand, slotting it against his cheek. She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. “It’s alright,” he said, smiling, melting into her palm. “Try anything you’d like to. I promise, we won’t be mad.”

It felt wrong. It was wrong, but if only for a moment, frustration managed to overshadow her rationality. Again, she called for her electro – not enough to kill, just enough to stun – and—

And, to Freminet’s apparent delight, nothing happened.

Something in her chest cracked open and spilled out. Anemo was next, then hydro, geo, anything—  but all of it seemed suddenly beyond her reach, as intangible as it’d been when she first arrived to Teyvat. Her despair must’ve leaked onto her expression; Lynette’s purring grew louder as she nuzzled shamelessly into Lumine’s shoulder, and Lyney appeared at her side, his smile a mirror of that he wore after a particularly enthusiastic standing ovation. “It’s fantastic, Freminet, fantastic.” He was latching onto her side before she could stop him, any trepidation he might’ve once had now entirely gone. She tried to throw her elbow into his stomach, but he caught her by the arm effortlessly, pulling her against him and into a kiss so hasty and so forceful, she could feel her lips bruising by the time he pulled away, still grinning like a maniac. “You couldn’t possibly imagine how long I’ve been waiting to do that, my love.” And then, with his nails burrowing into her skin, “Or to call you that. Archons, it’s felt like an eternity.”

She was too stunned to think, let alone say anything, but Lynette was kind enough to take up the mantle. “Selfish as always, brother. You promised to hold yourself back.”

“I only promised to try, dear sister. And besides,” An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Our of terror or rage or some awful combination, she shut her eyes, but that wasn’t enough to block out the sound of his voice, to numb the feeling of his mouth moving against the side of her neck as he went on, eager to the point of cruelty.

“We have more than enough time to learn to share.”

[pumpacti0n]

We should always be aware that it isn't some innocent mistake that authoritarian "leftists" have constantly failed to acknowledge systems of power other than a vulgar "anti-capitalism" or "anti-imperialism", like they've carelessly left out an ingredient in a cake recipe.

"Whoops, we've acknowledged one abusive hierarchy, but the other ones slipped through our fingers, silly us!" Nope. The reason this analysis of power isn't included in their ideology and praxis is because they consider these hierarchies useful to their projects.

This is why they'll mock or ignore discourse related to youth liberation, disability justice, gender self-determination or anti-patriarchal struggle, for example, or engage in apologetics for capitalist regimes in other countries -- they want to "have their cake, and eat it too".

A key reason why "the left", as some might call it, is not as powerful as it could be isn't because of some lack of discipline (or "degeneracy"), but rather a lack of intersectionality, a criticism that many of those within the black radical tradition, (black feminists and transfeminists more specifically,) have been highlighting in one way or another for at least 50 years.

Authoritarian "leftists" don't want to sacrifice the power that these hierarchies afford them, which explains why they're largely not opposed to prisons, borders, police, the enforcement of gender roles and even capitalism itself, if it's under the purview of the "socialist" ("workers") state and its bureaucrats.

And this is why I keep putting "leftist" in quotes...We're not free until we're all free, so the implication that we should settle for addressing one or two systems of domination while allowing all the others to flourish until we address them in some vague point in the far future is a distortion of what truly radical liberatory politics should entail.

It's simply a myth that we can address capitalism while leaving racism, ableism and misogyny etc. intact, as if they aren't mutually reinforced by one another, as if fascists and reactionaries will forget that they exist once capital is abolished. This is a fantasy, a delusion.

Authcoms love to pose questions like "without a state to enforce class rule, how will the proletariat defend itself?" but a better question would be: "if we fail to acknowledge the hierarchies that atomize and disempower the masses, how could we ever be a threat to capitalists in the first place? how would abandoning the most vulnerable populations serve the interests of the "working class" and "anti-imperial" struggle?

For example, (cis) women make up approximately 50% of the world's population -- so if women are still subjugated by patriarchal rule and the gendered division of labor, how will we have the numbers to fight?

Similarly, a significant portion of the world's population are currently incarcerated. If we don't abolish prisons, allowing the State to continue extracting labor from prisoners and destabilizing untold millions of social relations in the process, how can we hope to match or exceed their powers?

If we do not challenge the capitalist, productivist logic of endless resource accumulation, with its constant pollution of the environment and the displacement and erasure of indigenous peoples and non-human animals, there will be no habitable planet left for us during this "revolution", because we will have destroyed all of it in the name of profit...so what would be the point?

These aren't minor concerns that we can put off indefinitely, and it isn't some innocent mistake that they are left out of the discourse, but are instead deliberate attempts to co-opt liberation struggle for the sake of advancing counter-revolution and authoritarian projects.

It's no wonder then, that they are eager to dismiss any criticism of their projects the result of "western propaganda", as if these same critiques aren't leveraged by very people belonging to populations they constantly tokenize whenever it suits their agenda.

They'd much rather treat every marginalized community as some monolith or as primitive victims in need of saving and representation by a vanguard. This chauvinist, colonial, assimilationist, antisocial attitude is endemic in (often white,) authoritarian circles, because it forms the basis of their position towards racial and gender hierarchies, that they are a natural and inevitable factor of organization itself. They are wrong.

In this sense, they aren't meaningfully different from the capitalists they pretend to hate so much. In truth, they are just jealous and greedy for more cake.

[gunaerystargarygun]

The brain worms continue to infest my brain.

Posted on Ao3, but posting here as well: Here's my contribution to the Stan x Reader genre.

Tags: Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, porn with mild plot, c'mon you guys know me at this point.

Know When to Fold 'Em

"Thanks for all your help, you're doin great, dood!" Soos's voice is full of pride, contentment as you hand over small zipped bag, the profits of the day. You smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Soos, you've told me that every day for the past two years."

"And I mean it every time! Can't imagine runnin' this place without ya," he beams at you, his crooked smile making your own smile grow a little larger. Despite him being a few years younger than you, he makes a fantastic boss. "Can't believe Mr. Pines thought you was gonna be useless when I hired ya."

Well, that makes the smile drop.

You met Mr. Pines, well, both Mr. Pines when you got a job here at the shack, cashier and handyperson. A little odd, yes, but you needed the job and for a tourist trap? The place paid well enough, you could afford a small house and just about everything else you needed. You tap your foot, pressing your lips together. "Soos, not that I don't appreciate the words of encouragement, but you don't have to be up here." You throw a thumb over your shoulder and gesture to the shack. "I'm sure Melody could use your help with the baby."

"You sure? I feel kinda bad leavin' you here with all the clean up and restocking." Just as you're about to assure him that you're more than capable of restocking bobble heads and putting out minimally designed bumper stickers, the doorbell chimes and another voice breaks in. "Don't worry about it, Soos. I'll make sure everything gets put back in its place." The old Mr. Mystery poses in front of you. He stands tall, a rather tacky Hawaiian shirt with luau girls and surfboards plastered on it, a pair of khakis completing the look. He stretches his arms out in a flourish, making his entrance more grand.

You roll your eyes slightly, it's the same every time he comes into the shack, which...has been quite a lot, recently. "I haven't had a complaint once," you remark as Stanley begins to look around the place.

"That's cause Soos is too nice of a boss," he says, running his finger along the underside of the checkout counter. "See all this dust? Unbelievable!" He sticks out a finger towards your face, which you squint at.

"There's nothing there."

"To the untrained eye, maybe! This place may as well be covered in mud." You grumble an unhappy sound before Soos speaks up again. "Ah c'mon, Mr. Pines, they're a great worker!" Soos' arm comes around you in a one sided hug, squeezing you tight against his side. "Say, you been around a lot." Soos relaxes his grip on you, which lets you take in a deep breath. "You miss runnin' the shack?"

"What? No, no." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just makin' sure my life's work is still up and runnin', you know. Plus, the kids loved this place."

That was true. You had the pleasure of meeting the twins at the start of this summer. The girl, Mabel, was charming as all get out - she even made you a sweater, which you promised to wear in the colder months. The young boy, Dipper? A little surly. You swore he was running tests on when you weren't looking, or was trying to, anyway. At least by the end of the summer, whatever anxiety he had about you seemed to wash away.

"Okay! I'm gonna trust this place to yous guys. Lock up!" Soos waves his goodbyes, disappearing from the gift shop and somewhere into the house.

"I can handle this, you know?" You make your way to the small storage closet, taking out a box and ripping it open.

"I'm sure you can," he shrugs his shoulders. "Just makin' sure you do it right." Stanley then makes his way behind the register and takes a seat. You stand, blinking.

"What?" He asks.

"Aren't you going to help?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm not helpin' like that. I'm supervisin' ya," he laughs, slapping his own knee before propping them up on the counter.

You don't know why you expected anything different. You've known Stanley for the better part of two years and while he certainly has his redeeming qualities, being extra helpful isn't one of them. You sigh, and begin unpacking the restocks.

To your surprise, Stan is the one who strikes up the conversation. It's simple questions at first, how the shack has been, the types of tourists that've been coming around, and how Soos has been running the place. Whenever you think you finish with an answer, he probes for me, and you notice, his eyes stay on you a large majority of the time.

You feel your face flush a little with that.

Finally, the restocking is done, and you get the broom. Minimal housekeeping; the weather has been dry, so no mud. "You got any plans tonight?" The question catches you off guard, making you turn completely around to face Stan.

"Uh, other than eating a frozen pizza? No. Why?"

"Wanna play a couple round of cards?" He stuffs his hands in his khaki pockets, shrugging, as if he doesn't care how you answer the question. The way he shifts his attention to the floor, however, makes you think otherwise. "Ford's out on a nature hike, or whatever it is that nerds do in the woods, so I got no plans myself."

"Sure." You answer. "Sounds like fun, and beats eating the pizza alone."

By the look of quick surprise, he clearly wasn't expecting you to say yes. He shrugs it off fast enough, shooting a finger gun at you. "Perfect! What's the address? I'll be over at seven." You grab a pen and paper, scribbling it down and passing it over.

Huh, this'll be the first time he sees your house. You think that you better clean up a little bit, not that you think he'd particularly care, but still.

It takes very little to actually clean up your house. A few stray pieces of clothing that make it to the hamper (you missed each time you threw it in, but who's here to see?) and washing a few of the dishes. Just as you finish putting the pizza in, there's a knock at your door.

You hurry up, stopping at the mirror in the hallway just before the door, and look at yourself. You smooth out your shirt, nodding and opening the door.

Stanley stands on your porch with a twelve pack in one hand and two bottles of liquor, held precariously by the neck, in the other. He's still in the same outfit from earlier, but the top few buttons are undone. Were they like that earlier? "Figured it'd be impolite if I only brought it for myself," he shrugs the pack in his arm a little, the bottles clinking together. He glances around. "Nice place."

"Thanks," you say, stepping to the side and letting him in. "Just set it on the table." You watch as he strides through your house, the pack of alcohol landing with a thump while the bottles settle down nicely. He pulls out a chair, easing into it as he props up a foot on one of his knees. The way he leans against the table...

"Where's the cards?" You clear your throat, sliding out a chair across from him and taking a seat. You need something else to distract you.

"Right here," he sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out a rather beat-up-looking deck of cards and slaps them on the table. "You shuffle, or me?" You eye the cards for a moment, reaching out and grabbing the deck.

"I will." The cards are pleasantly worn, and you can't help but wonder how much use these things have gotten. "Go easy on me? Been a while since I played."

"First rounds are on me," he nods. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes." He playfully points an accusatory finger at you.

"I know, I know." You cut the deck, shuffling them thoroughly before dealing them out.

It's...pleasant. You didn't expect it to be unpleasant, to be fair, but aside from the one off times of drinking, there's a handful of times when the two of you have been alone together. Stan takes the time to tell you a wild tale of when he was a "much younger buck,"  when he managed to steal a shipment of some undisclosed items from a smuggler. It's amusing, even if it isn't real. You can never tell with him.

Eventually, the oven dings and the pizza is ready. It's served, and you bring two glasses out as well. Before the beer, Stan reaches for the liquor and twists off the cap. "Want one?" You press your lips together, thinking for a moment.

"Hit me." It's a guesstimate on how much a shot would be. Or maybe two.

Either way, you wait until Stan pours his before clinking your glasses together and downing it. Whiskey may not be your go-to, especially when it's warm, but the burn in your throat has a familiar comfort. You cough a little, shaking your head and nodding. "Strong." You comment.

"That's the point." He says. Stan sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers as a sign to hand the cards over. You do, still reeling from the shot as you fish out a bottle of beer. It goes down much easier than the whiskey.

You try very hard to not stare at his hands, but it's difficult. It wasn't something you noticed immediately, but Stan's hands are.... big. Large. Pretty much every synonym for big is how you would describe them, and you vaguely recall the one time you touched them as you passed him something in the shop. They were rough, calloused, but also incredibly warm.

You're not drunk enough to blame that thought on the alcohol right now, so you just push it from your mind as he deals the cards.

Once again, things go back to being pleasant. You nurse your beer as the cards continue to get played, one bottle quickly multiplying between the two of you, along with the cash piling in the center of the table. The conversation steers to him telling you about the adventures he had with the Twins, an endearing tone in his voice that you can't help but smile at. The pizza gets devoured, and when you glance up to the clock, you realize that it's almost eleven o'clock. Have you really been here this long?

That's when it clicks in your alcohol muddled brain.

Stan is lonely. He's been in the shop almost every day for the past week, since the twins left, and even before then, he and the twins were around quite a bit. It would make sense, he went from being around them, his brother, Soos's family, and you for almost three months straight. You look down at the cards, your focus fading for a moment before he speaks.

"Think I mighta run you outta money," he gestures to the table. Your attention turns to it and yeah, there's a decent pile of cash on it. You're pretty sure there's also monopoly money in there, but you're a little too drunk to really notice. "Got anything else to bet?" You think for a moment, tapping the table.

"M'clothes." You answer, plainly. He stares at you.

"Uh, didn't quite catch that?"

"M'CLOTHES." You say it in a louder tone, making sure he can hear it this time. "S'all I got, I'm not up for bettin' my appliances." You point at the blender that sits atop the counter.

"C'mon," he rubs at the back of his neck. "That'd involve me takin' my clothes off too, you don't wanna see that."

"What if I told you that's why I suggested it?" holy shit, why are you saying this? Why are you suddenly so bold, what the hell is in this drink?

"I'd tell ya, you should stop teasin' an old man." You grab the deck of cards, shuffling them in the absolutely worst way ever before slamming them back on the table and pushing them over to him. "Deal 'em."

"You're too drunk for this." The rather sincere reply catches you off guard.

"No, I'm not." You say, stern in your rebuttal. "Look." You jump to your feet, a little wobbly, and begin putting one foot in front of the other, walking a line in the linoleum of your kitchen. While you're not walking perfectly straight, you're doing better than expected. You think so, anyway. "See? I'm f-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, you perform the miraculous feat of tripping over air. You fall a freshly logged tree.

You expect to crash to the floor in the most painful crash since the last time you went to the roller rink, but you never meet the ground. Slowly, you open your eyes, staring up at him. You must have spun in your fall, his hands tucked under your armpits. "What were you sayin' about bein sober enough?" Oh, he's so fucking smug about this.

"I trip on nothin' all the time, drinkin' doesn't have anything to do with this." you weakly shrug your hands, but this close, you catch the smell on him. Mixed with the alcohol, you can catch the scent of cigar smoke, but something faintly woodsy and earthy. It takes everything in you to not sniff at the air. "Uh-huh." he chuckles.

There's a brief moment of silence that passes over the two of you. He doesn't make a move to pull you up, but you're not making a move to get up, either. Instead, you raise a hand and gently press it against his cheek. "You're handsome." You mumble.

"Oh, you're fuckin' wasted."

That makes you twist in his grip. You manage to push yourself to your knees, putting your face just a few inches away from his. "Stop talkin' like I don't mean it."

"You don't mean it."

"I mean this." You grab the sides of his tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull him forward. Your lips crash against his, not realizing how hard you pulled him into you. The scrape of his stubble burns against your chin, a slight shiver running through you. There's the faint taste of tobacco that lingers on him, the chapped skin of his lips. It isn't how you expected this to happen, but to be quite frank, you didn't think this was ever going to happen.

It's only a moment later that you realize he hasn't made a move to kiss you back. He hasn't done anything. You quickly pull back, embarrassed. Why did you do that? God, you're never drinking again. You're not even an alcoholic, and you're planning to go to a 12 step program the second you get sober enough to drive. Your mind races - where else could you move? Maybe the Arctic, right? That's far enough way, that way you c-

You're actually not even far away from him before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his broad chest. You squeak in surprise, hands resting on his thick thighs as he deepens the kiss.

Even through the clothes, he's hot, almost like a furnace. He's burning against you, and this kiss. It makes you dizzy, head spinning. There's a hunger in the kiss, a desperation that you don't think you've ever felt when you kissed other people. His hand holds a tight grip on you, squeezing your side, and you practically melt right into him.

It's a little awkward at first before you two manage to change your positions; neither one of you is keen on breaking the kiss. Eventually, you end up sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, he sits on the kitchen floor. Shifting, you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath the fabric of the khakis.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt. They don't make it far, Stan's hands gripping your wrist. He's somehow even stronger than you expected, your stomach flipping at the pressure. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, panting. You're expecting him to say something filthy, something that's going to make you squirm in his lap.

"Say your alphabet," is what he says instead.

What.

"What?" You ask.

"Say your alphabet," he repeats. "Not sleepin' with ya if you're not in the right state of mind."

"I walked, didn't I?"

"You fell."

Okay, fair enough.

So, you recite your alphabet. It's deliberate, and it's not too slow to cause any concern. As soon as you finish, he releases your wrists and grabs your shirt. It's the fastest your shirt has ever been removed, Stan's face immediately between your tits as soon as he's able. The stubble scratches as your skin, laughing slightly as he plants kisses against your chest. His hands reach around to your back, and you expect him to have trouble with it.

It's off before you can even blink.

"You're suspiciously good at that," you say.

"Aww, you jealous?" He laughs, sliding the bra off and tossing it somewhere behind him. "Don't worry, ain't nobody else gettin' the treatment you are."

"That's what you tell m-" you're cut off, Stan's tongue flicking against your nipple.

"Sayin' somethin', sweetheart?" He glances up, not giving you a chance to speak before he presses his mouth against your left nipple. You grab his shoulders, squirming against him as his tongue swirls around the hardened flesh. One arm wraps around your waist, grinding you against him while his free hand finds your other breast, kneading the flesh in his hand.

Your body feels like it's on fire under his touch. He plays with how much pressure he can put on you, rolling a nipple between his fingers while he sucks mercilessly on your other. Sweat beads on your brow, bucking against him while whimpering sounds escape you. "C'mon, sweetheart." He takes his mouth away from you, the cold air assaulting wet flesh. He playfully bucks his hips up, his cock grinding against you for just a moment. "Wanna hear what a good job I'm doin," he changes the arm that holds you against him, his other hand rising and brushing against the spit slickened skin.

Between the cold and his rough, calloused hand, you feel like you're already on the edge. "You aren't done already, are ya?"

"N-no," you mumble, tilting your head back and moaning as his mouth closes around the other nipple. Judging from the way his tongue flicks against your skin, he certainly appreciates the reaction. The way he sucks against your skin is greedy, teeth nipping at the skin. You're going to have bruises, you've accepted that. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, running through the gray, surprisingly soft, hair.

Using everything you can muster, you grind yourself against him. He groans against your skin, the grip on your skin tightening. He pulls away from you with an obscene sound, the words practically a growl in his throat. "Where's the bed?"

"Down the hall, last door on the right."

He gives pause for a moment, thinking. "Too far." He decides, aloud. Before you can process what he says, you're suddenly scooped up. You wrap your arms around him, tits bouncing as he hoists you around him. You leave the kitchen, and in a few feet, you're tossed unceremoniously on the couch. Your hands find the button of your jeans, getting them half way down your thighs before Stan takes over. They're off before you can even blink, Stan settling between your thighs. He picks one up, hooking your leg over his shoulder while he presses a thumb against your soaked panties.

You're already trembling, and your entire body jumps as he presses his thumb against your clit, rotating it in small painfully slow circles. He leans over you, grinning. "You want somethin'?"

"You know what I want," you breathe, fingers gripping the couch cushion.

"'Fraid I don't, sweetheart. You're gonna have to tell me." He lets up on the pressure, eliciting a whine from you. "I want your fingers," you reach out, gently touching his arm.

He's happy to comply. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" There's that smug fuckin' tone in his voice again. You expect him to pull off your underwear, but it doesn't seem like he's patient enough for that. Instead, he pulls them to the side, his middle and ring fingers sliding up and down against your wet cunt.

"W-wait!" You sit up some as he presses against you. "It's, uh..." you clear your throat. "It's been a while." You feel almost embarrassed to admit it, but with how thick his fingers are, and two of them? You don't wanna run the risk of getting hurt. He pauses, offering just the middle one to you in compromise. You make a face, and he laughs before he raises the finger to his mouth. He presses it against his tongue before dipping it back between your thighs. "Don't think that would've been an issue," you murmur as you feel him begin to slide into you.

You tilt your face against the couch arm, moaning as he buries the finger inside of you. "Bein' careful doesn't hurt," that's true, and you do honestly appreciate the sentiment. He moves his hand in a steady rhythm, the other hand keeping your legs spread apart. You bite your lip, and after a few minutes, he judges that you're ready for another and adds the ringer finger inside of you.

It's thick, and stretches you in the best possible way. "Feels good, don't it?" He leans over you, his face just a few inches away from yours. You don't know why it slips out - maybe you lapse back into what you were taught when you were younger. "Y-yes, sir." You pant the words out.

Stan's fingers stutter for just a moment before he thrusts them back into you, a moan immediately muffled by his lips against yours. He curls his fingers in the same way as before, the way that made your body shake like a leaf in his hand. "Like the way that sounds comin' outta you," he says the words against your neck, pressing kisses against your rapid pulse.

You can't handle it anymore. "Stanley," your voice teeters on the edge of breaking, fingers twisting in the Hawaiian shirt fabric. "F-fuck, Stanley, I-I.." the words die in your throat as he suddenly removes his fingers from your cunt. "W-what?" The words come out a whine, grabbing the shirt tighter and moving your hips to try and find his hand. "Stan," you groan.

"I can't have you all tired out before we get to the good stuff," he tells you. His hands move to the belt, making quick work of it. He slips off the khakis, positioning himself between your legs again before pressing the shaft of his cock against you, sliding against the slickness. You look between your legs, the head of his cock dipping in against your cunt before his hand tilts it up, bumping against your overly sensitive clit.

You're dizzy, just like before. Your head swims, biting your lip as he teases you constantly, angling himself and barely pushing himself in before pulling out. "You're lookin' desperate, sweetheart." He does a poor job of concealing his own desire, unable to take his eyes off your body. "Fuck, you're drippin'." He grins at you. "Still got it, huh?"

You suddenly brace your arms against his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and straddling his lap. "You talk too much," the words come out in one rushed breath as you reach between your legs and grab the base of his cock, holding him steady as you bury him inside of you. A stifled moan escapes you as your body adjusts to his size. One hand grabs your waist, stilling any movement you might make, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You alright?" You nod your head, your lips slightly pursed from how he squeezes your face.

"Good," he breathes, releasing your face. His hand drops to your chest, holding your breast. As soon as you roll your hips forward, Stan can't keep his mouth shut. "Shit, fuck," his eyes are half-lidded, head resting against the back of the couch as you ride him. "You're tight as a fuckin drum, and hotter than hell." You smile, bracing your hands against the couch as you snap your hips forward, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Both of his hands are on your tits, thumb brushing over the nipples. "Perfect," he mumbles out. Sweat beads across your body, Stan's hand eventually traveling downwards and finding your clit again. The moan rips from your throat as the calloused finger pads press against you, an almost aggressive rub against you - but it's exactly what your body wants. "There ya are," he practically purrs the words out as you lean down.

Your lips catch his, sloppy kisses without much care, as long as you can kiss him. Your burning in every sense of the word, body and nerves as Stan grabs your ass, timing your movements with his own thrusts. He somehow manages to go even deeper inside of you, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Stanley!" His name is barely above a whisper as he suddenly pushes you back against the cushions, back on top of you.

He takes a leg, hiking it over his shoulder and leaning over you, your body curling slightly. His pace is merciless, whatever words you had before devolving into incoherent moans of pleasure as they spill from your lips. It's when the orgasm wrecks your body that you swear to God, you see literal stars in your vision as you cum. Your body tenses, nails digging into his forearms so hard that you're a little worried you may draw blood. Stanley, somehow, has enough sense to pull himself from you, his cock sliding against you before he cums.

Thick, milky ropes land on your stomach and tits as he slows his thrusts, breathing heavily before slumping down over you. You're catching your own breath, a hand raising to his back and gently running up and down the now sweat soaked shirt.

"You good?" He asks, his voice somehow hoarser than before.

You can't really respond, offering a thumbs up in response.

"Huh, fucked you so good you lost the ability to talk huh?" Weakly, and playfully, you slap him.

"Asshole." He snorts, removing himself from you and sitting back against the couch. He looks at you. Then the mess on you. "Where's your shower?"

"Bathroom, which is in the bedroom." You yawn. Stan picks the boxes out of his khakis, sliding them on before bending beside you. "Put yer arms around me," you stare at him a moment. "C'mon, before I change my mind." You do as he says, looping your arms around his neck as his hands slide under your sweaty body, hoisting you up.

"Not too much for you, is it, old man?" You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I can still drop you, ya know?"

"Mhmm." You mumblr. He feigns the drop, your grip tightening on him.

"Gotcha." He winks at you, but at this point, you're too tired to really fight back. Stan manages to open the door to your room and find the bathroom, setting you on the closed toilet. He reaches into the shower, turning the knobs and keeping his hand in for a moment. "You want it on the hotter or colder side?"

"Uh, hotter." The question catches you off guard.

"Figures, every woman wants it hot as hell." He adjusts the knob behind the curtain, taking it back and shaking off the water. "What?" He asks, raising a brow as you make a face at him.

"Just, uh..." again, you're trying to avoid sounding like an asshole. "Didn't expect aftercare?

"I may be a lot of things, and one of those things may be an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He sets his hands on his hips and you can't help but snort a giggle. "Up." he tells you, offering an arm. You stand on wobbly legs, leaning against him.

"Not sure how this is gonna work." You admit. "Kinda feel like a newborn deer."

"I'm gonna help you," he says. "Also, get a new metaphor."

"That's a simile."

"Oh, look at me, I paid attention in English." He mocks in a joking tone. "Just.. stand here." You do as your told, watching as he unbuttons his top and shakes it off, revealing the sweat covered girdle that's still wrapped around his waist. "You kept that on the whole time?" That's...kind of impressive.

"Done a lot more uncomfortable things, sweetheart." He says. He drops the girdle on your bathroom floor, gesturing for you to get in the shower. You do, Stan offering his arm for support as he follows you in shortly after. He keeps an arm around you, just below your breasts, in case you slip.

It does make you feel safe. You take the washcloth, soaping it up and slowly begin to scrub your body. The hot water feels amazing on your tired body, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo. When you're happily scrubbed, you turn in Stan's arms. "Your turn." You say.

"What?"

"You need to get clean too," you tell him. You don't let him protest, reaching over to your shampoo and squirting a pump into your palm and scrubbing it onto his scalp. There may have been a moment of protest, but it falls off quickly. His eyes shut, letting you work as you comb through his thinning hair. You take a few steps back, turning as carefully as you can so that he's under the stream of water. You work diligently, ensuring all the soap is off before you apply the conditioner and repeat it. He's strangely quiet the entire time, and yet you notice, he's relaxed. It's the first time you think you've ever seen his body this loose.

You grab the washcloth again, soaping it up again before pressing it against his chest. Now that there's no risk of soap in his eyes, Stan cracks one of his eyes open and looks down at you. "You're sweet, y'know?"

"Mhm." You hum in response.

"Seriously," he says. His thumb and forefinger catch your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze. He leans down, the kiss tender, soft.

There's no intent behind it than affection. Somehow, it makes you feel hotter than what happened in the kitchen. You know you have the dopiest smile on your face, but at the moment, you don't care. You drag the rag over his body, his stomach, everywhere you can as he holds you close to him. When he's finally rinsed, he turns off the shower and carefully helps you step out. A few towels later, you're dry, warm, and exhausted.

You have a few oversized t-shirts that you used to clean the house in, and you manage to find one that fits Stan. There's no way he's making it home tonight. In your own pajamas, you climb into bed as Stan sits on the side of it. "Oh this thing is way comfier than your couch, no offense." He tests the springs, looking at you. "Maybe next time we'll make it to the bed."

"I'll hold you to that," you laugh. "Not tonight, though."

"What a shame," he winks. "You, uh, actually fine with me sleeping in here?" You're getting comfortable beneath the sheets, resting your head on the pillow.

"Stan," you start. "You were literally inside me. You can sleep next to me."

"You'd be surprised how often those two things don't go hand in hand," he remarks off-handedly. Your face creases in worry, about to sit up before he reaches out and pushes you back down. "Story for another day." He pulls the sheets back, sliding in beside you and staring up at the ceiling. A shiver runs through you, scooting closer to him and hooking a leg over his. He raises an arm, putting it behind you so that you're able to rest your head against his chest. "Don't get used to this," you know he doesn't mean a word of that.

"Goodnight, Stan." You stretch, placing a kiss on his cheek. You settle back down, shutting your eyes.

Gently, you feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of your head. "Goodnight."

You fall asleep to his heartbeat, something you think you'd enjoy getting used to

[clockwayswrites]

You all don't see this. Nope. Didn't write it.

WC: 1284, Masterpost CW: visit to a leath kink shop, mentions of sex work

Paulina held up her hand, looking at her freshly painted nails. “You, Nickie, are a goddess and an artist.”

“I know,” Nickie said smugly.

“Like, seriously, you could make bank,” Paulina said. She pulled out her cellphone to snap a photo. The crystals in the center of the flowers that frame the sugar skull flashed beautifully.

Nickie gave a little shrug. The muscle tank she worn slipped off her tan shoulder, revealing more of the over the top, bright red bra. “Considering it for after. Right now sex pays well, I got the body for it—”

“Hell yeah you do,” Paulina agreed.

“—and it let’s me look after my girls. But I might be putting money aside for a shop front, yeah.”

“When you open I will let anyone I know in the area to come to you,” Paulina said. “And come myself if I’m still haunting Metropolis. Got to visit my boo Danny.”

“Someone has to come keep him in line.”

“Hey!” Danny protested from where he was carefully painting Han’s nails a blinding magenta. He did just fine with himself these days.

“He’s mixed up with a bad crowed,” Nickie continued, completely ignoring Danny, “just like Han here.”

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Han protested meekly.

Paulina flipped her hair. “Who do you think helped him get his bad crowd? Danny can’t dress himself worth shit.”

“I know,” Nickie said with a sigh. “I remember what he was wearing when he moved in.”

“Again- hey!”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love your new gets.”

“That is true, I look amazing,” Danny said. He struck a pose as best as he could while sitting at a coffee table with nail polish in hand. He felt his bootleg Red Hood crop top ride up with the act, exposing a sliver of skin between it and his black joggers. “But I hate you for getting me hooked on lululemon, it’s stupidly pricey.”

“Good thing you have two sugar daddies then, ain’t it honey,” Nickie pointed out.

“Blessed life,” Danny said, finishing off the magenta polish with a flourish. He capped it before he started with the other hand to carefully remove the tape. His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he focused.

“You should get them something nice.”

Danny snorted. “What, with their own money?”

“Sure,” Nickie said, starting to clean up. “Doesn’t matter who’s dough bought it if it’s good fun for everyone.”

Danny paused in his work of revealing the highlighter yellow polish under the tape to look over to Nickie. “What? I don’t— ooh.”

Paulina just laughed at him, of course. Even Han chuckled which was frankly a little insulting.

Danny cleared his throat. “I, um, do you think they’d… like that?”

“Honey, I’ve seen how they are with you. Doesn’t have to be nothing cray either. You can start simple, just a little accessory.”

“Huh.”

“I, uh,” Han said, nervously, drawing everyone’s attention. “I know a place?”

At least Danny was able to follow how they ended up standing in a leather centric kink shop, even if it felt like a bizarre turn for his life to take. He looked at the harness wearing mannequin he was standing in front of and tilted his head.

“Who has the patience to get into that?”

“Well,” drawled the shopkeep who had appeared next to Danny so suddenly he was half tempted to think the other was a ghost, “for some people, getting their partner into the harness is half of the fun. The obedience, the touches, the control… the denial.”

Danny swallowed heavily. Huh.

“Hello my darling, bring in some friends?” the shopkeep asked and swanned over to kiss a blushing Han.

“I’m not sure what they are,” Han said with a weary sigh. They let the other pick up their hand and examine their bright nails. “But Danny here was thinking of picking up something on the… introductory side to treat his boyfriends with.”

“Oh well we can certainly help with that. I’m Liam, Han’s boyfriend,” the shopkeep said, holding out his hand.

Danny shook the hand. “Danny, like Han said.”

“He’s dating the Boss and the Boss’ boy,” Han explained.

“They’re his sugar daddies,” Paulina pipped in.

“And damn adorable,” Nickie said.

Danny released Liam’s hand to bury his face in his hands. “I hate you all.”

“No you don’t,” Paulina said. “Now, what do you have in mind for the blushing boy, Liam?”

“Well that’s something for him and I to talk about,” Liam said. He put an arm around Danny’s shoulder (though was really barely touching him) and guided him away. Over his shoulder he called, “Show them around, Han!”

When they had space and a tall display between them and the other’s, Liam stopped. “Now, best way for me to get you something good is for you to be honest with me. I promise, nothing you say to me is going to be something I haven’t heard before. I’m not going to judge you. You and your boys ever done anything like this before?”

Danny shook his head.

“So you’ve had sex but it’s been mostly vanilla?”

“Yep,” Danny said, the word coming out as a strangled squeak. He cleared his throat. “I mean, Red Hood keeps his helmet on so that’s not really… usual. We haven’t done much, in any combo.”

“But you like this idea?” Liam asked, motioning around them, “Or did they just bully you into coming? Because if that’s the case I can find you something cheap to buy you won’t feel bad about throwing away or you can come back and return it in a few days provided you keep it in it’s packaging.”

“I, um,” Danny picked at the edge of his hoodie as he glanced around the store from under his bangs. What Liam had said about the harness came back to mind. “Sometimes, like, not in bed, Jason will tell me to ‘stay’. And, um…”

“That does things for you.”

Danny nodded, feeling mortified.

“Not that odd at all. Now, there are a few ways we could go,” Liam said and started walking again. “Handcuffs and restraints are one way. Or rope, it’s an art form so one of your boys would have to be interested in learning, but it can be something special. Or, I think maybe for you… this is where we should start.”

They had stopped in front of a display of collars and leashes. There were more types than Danny could have ever dreampt up. There was leather of all colors and patterns. There were plain black and brown collars and bright colors with poppy cutouts and rich jewel tones with detailed filigree and earth tones with geometrics. They were lined with suede and velvet and fur. Danny itched to reach out and touch them.

“Yes, I do think we’re in the right area. Go ahead, you can touch. If nothing here works for you, you could always custom order something instead.”

Danny reached out and ran his fingers over one of the collars, thinking. If this was Red Hood, Danny would have to go custom order red and black. But really this was for Jason. Danny lingered on one that was lined in turquoise suede. The leather was a bold rust and turquoise patina on a delicate, detailed circle and diamond pattern. Brass circles studded across the pattern.

“You know, I think we have a leash that will match that one beautifully. Should we ring you up?”

-

When Jason walked in a few days later to find Danny sitting on his kitchen counter, swamped in one of Jason’s large shirts, and wearing the collar he nearly swallowed his tongue.

---

AN: So this is a thing that I've now written! Loved the response to the tease I post last night~ Danny has gotten ideas and Jason is gobsmacked. Don't worry, I'm sure he bought something for 'Red Hood' too. ^_~ (Collar 100% inspired by one of Big Cat Den Crafts)

I no longer tag people, but you can subscribe to the mastpost.

[lev1hei1chou]

Abstract Art

Gojo x reader Ft. 1st years Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Gojo tries painting and calls it "abstract art" A/N: I've been going through a block lately, so please feel free to drop any specific ideas or blurbs in my asks Masterlist

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and you were spending some quality time with Satoru Gojo, your unpredictable boyfriend. As you both lounged in the living room, he suddenly declared, "Hey, babe, I'm working on a masterpiece. You're going to love it." he made hand motions asking you to follow him.

Intrigued, you followed him to his makeshift art studio, a corner of the room scattered with paintbrushes, canvases, and tubes of vibrant colors. Gojo grinned mischievously, revealing a canvas covered with a mysterious white cloth.

"I present to you, my latest creation!" he exclaimed, pulling off the cloth with a dramatic flourish.

To your surprise, the masterpiece was... unconventional, to say the least. The colors clashed in wild patterns, there was no coordination, the shades made no sense and shapes seemed to defy any recognizable form. It was a chaotic mess.

Your eyes widened, and you couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Satoru, is this your idea of a masterpiece?"

He winked at you, unabashed. "Abstract art, my love. Only the chosen few can truly appreciate its beauty."

Just then, Yuji, Kugisaki, and Megumi walked in, drawn by the commotion. They took one look at the canvas and burst into laughter.

"What is this, Gojo sensei?" Yuji asked, pointing at the chaotic mess.

Gojo struck a pose, pretending to be deep in thought. "It's abstract art, my sweet little mochis. Only those with a refined taste can understand its profound meaning."

Kugisaki rolled her eyes. "Refined taste? More like a refined disaster!"

Megumi, usually reserved, couldn't contain his amusement. "I never knew chaos could be considered art."

You and the others continued to tease Gojo mercilessly, with each remark more playful than the last. Despite the initial embarrassment, Gojo took it all in stride, joining in the laughter.

As the banter continued, Gojo decided to embrace the teasing, declaring, "Well, only the truly enlightened can appreciate the genius behind this masterpiece."

The chaotic masterpiece proudly hung in your living room as per Gojo's request.

[fatuismooches]

If Zandik really loved his spouse he would have set a rotating roster of Segments to ensure that they are never alone for too long. All those Segments and no schedule? How dare!

Ciao, anyways so. Several Dadtorre fluffs.

First idea: Dottore having a crisis and thinking that he is a horrible father, Shinji pose and everything on the chair, contemplating the perceived mistakes he did. Meanwhile, his Segments are staring and him judgy *including* his spouse with a dry stare because their child is literally his biggest fan.

Dottore had taken their child up a summit to point out stars, even told the child how they could tell the skies are false. The stars on that direction are suspiciously repeating like the ones behind them - there was a strange thin clearing between the twinkling stars like there were seams going across the sky.

Once you see them, you will never remember what the false sky had looked like before. The child had been fixated on it since, excitedly chattering that they will be the first one to explore those strange seams in the sky after father had showed it to them. They will discover many things like him, just you wait!

Second idea: Dottore insisting that he is NOT spoiling their child—

Omega drags in the 50th custom toy Dottore has made behind him as he says this.

Never in all his centuries of life did Dottore ever see himself becoming a father - it was something so ludicrous that it never once crossed his mind for very obvious reasons, he knew the kind of man he was. It was you who had to gently convince and reassure him that he could be a good father if he truly tried, and you'd be there every step of the way with him. He had doubts, but he decided to listen to your soothing words - you always seemed to be right in these situations anyway. It really is a great thing that he has you... because sometimes he needs some sense put into that stupidly smart yet foolish brain of his.

Sure, Dottore can be awkward and surprisingly clumsy at times when dealing with his child, but his love for his kid is abundantly clear. He's even surprised you quite a few times by taking the initiative, although in the beginning, he was admittedly a bit closed off (perhaps unsure of if he deserved this, or even if his kid deserved a father like him, if he would unwittingly end up rewriting his own childhood of loneliness.) Despite this, your heart swells at how he continues to get closer and closer to his kid, protecting them from the world.

...Which is why it simultaneously upsets and saddens you when Dottore doubts himself. Like... he's one of the smartest people in Teyvat! How is it so hard to see something that's right in front of him?! His child adores him, constantly looking up at him with pleading eyes when he's supposed to be working (he has to pass them to you otherwise he'll give in.) The kid always clings to him and repeats "I love you" like it's as easy as breathing! What does he not get! The segments giving him looks too are especially amusing... he's literally judging himself.

Dottore doesn't go many places in general, and that extends to his kid, but he does like taking them out, otherwise they'd find some way to get out anyway. He'd rather not have them try to trudge through the snow. (Sometimes, he'd wonder if they'd prefer the warmth of Sumeru like he did.) Unsurprisingly he has a tendency to jump at the opportunity to teach his child anything, loving their expression when he passes on knowledge.

The wide eyes, the round 'o' of their mouth in shock, tiny hands grabbing his sleeve for him to go on. It's no surprise his kid's stupefaction is more intense when he drops that the sky they gaze upon every day is fake. No one in their right mind would ever believe that, but his kid trusts him enough to entertain the thought. They have the same thirst for the unknown just like him. He'll make sure they have the space to flourish, even though he does want them to struggle and stumble to discover the answer. Needless to say, he's extremely proud of his kid.

You and the segments don't listen much to Dottore's vehement defenses anymore. It just goes in and out of the ears. Yeah, sure old man, you're not spoiling your kid but every time they have a request or desired upgrade for a toy, you suddenly disappear into your lab and don't come out until it's finished. He swears he doesn't spoil them but sometimes he sneaks them candy from his stash... (Pantalone lets the misuse of funds slide, only because he thinks it's entertaining to see the Doctor soften up a bit, and he gets to be the cool uncle.)

(Also! You're so right about the schedule of segments! He's such an inefficient man! The segments spending time with you = you're happy = a nice rest and recharge for them = more motivation for everyone = more productivity for them all! A fool, truly, he must see that before it's too late! The schedule is posted every month in the lab, the segments are itching for their turn! Do they make bets for each other to steal time slots? ... Maybe.)

[toskarinfr]

toskarin the wise, how do you get better at art at a consistent pace? I'm struggling to find the drive when I don't know where I'm going with my methods

the important first step is to find something that inspires you, something that you don't think you can replicate.

the next step is rather simple: trace the artwork and disassemble it. you don't need to worry about plagiarism since you're not posting it anywhere. take note of the lines— do they flow into each other smoothly, or are they jagged and coarse? stop a few times to look at the incomplete composition— does the frame look empty? when does it stop looking empty? speculate and sketch the 3d shapes that make up the image. if it's a portrait, where would their ribcage be? what shape is their scalp underneath their hair? their shoulders underneath the fabric of their clothes?

once you're satisfied with the result, do it again, without tracing the reference. you can still look at it, of course, but not having a guideline to follow will inevitably lead to the artwork drifting from the image you had in your mind. once you've done that, compare the two images you made. you'll likely think that the first one looks "better". ask yourself why. what did the original catch that you didn't? was it the anatomy, the shading, the perspective? was the line weight more measured? was the posing more dynamic? pick a few issues that jump out at you and practice on those and only those. as you keep doing this you'll be able to spin more of those plates at once, and with that more acute vision you'll notice more things that the original was doing that you didn't pick up on— more habits that you can form.

if you keep doing this, keep picking up bits and pieces and little flourishes that inspire you, you'll eventually form a repertoire that's varied enough to the point where you're the only one who wields it. people who can't see the magic behind the curtains will only see the whole rather than the patchwork of influences that made it up, and hopefully you'll be making art that hits your exact tastes! good luck

TL;DR: get really into niche enough pornography that it necessitates you in particular making said art

[hunnysnoops]

₊˚｡⋆❆ 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕟 𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 ❆⋆｡˚₊

Chapter One: Wolves Without Teeth

Kenny McCormick x fem reader

You hover like a hummingbird, haunt me in my sleep. You're sailing from another world, sinking in my sea. You're feeding on my energy. I'm letting go of it, he wants it. 

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: A collision at the ice rink leaves you with a gnarly bruise and a hockey player who is quick to be infatuated. Kenny McCormick takes it upon himself to be the first to break you out of your shell.

Warnings: brief mention of injury / crude language

MASTERLIST

Moving to the middle of the rink, you and Craig get ready to begin your routine. As the familiar song begins to play, you inhale deeply and pay attention to the beat. Craig looks up at you and nods reassuringly. Everything about this has been overdone to the point it doesn’t make you nervous: the rise and fall of your chest, cold air stinging your skin, the only warmth in the arena rests between you and Craig. With a series of elegant moves, you start off by cutting smooth lines into the ice with your blades. Every motion is intentional, a precise dexterity you attain from day after day trying to reach something close to perfection.

As you glide into the first lift, you feel Craig's hands firmly grasp your waist. With a practiced ease, he lifts you high, and you stretch your arms and legs, creating a perfect line. You savour the feeling of weightlessness so you might taste it later. He lowers you gently, and you land seamlessly, continuing into a series of synchronized spins.

"Nice," Katya calls from the side of the rink where she watched the two of you with her arms crossed, picking apart each and every movement. She was an ex-champion from Sweden, and now she coached figure skating in Colorado "Craig, get your knee deeper." 

Barely even thinking, Craig does as he's told and lunges further. You had been skating with Craig for the past nine years though you didn't talk much he was what you considered to be your only friend who was your age. He had been the sole human to show up to your barren birthday parties since fourth grade. All of your trust poured into him, with every leap and scratch of your blade slicing across the ice. 

Each step of the routine builds on the one before it with ease. You perform a sequence of deft footwork, your blades clicking quickly and rhythmically on the ice. Craig perfectly mimics your movements and stands by you, steadying you with his hands. You two loop around the rink, hitting every mark of the choreography with ease.

As the music swells, you prepare for the jump sequence. You've practiced this countless times far too many times to hold any nerves over it. "Don't rush it, hold your edge longer," Katya shouts, accent thick. You approach the takeoff point, feeling Craig's presence close beside you. With a powerful push, you launch into the air, twisting and turning with grace. The landing is smooth, and you immediately transition into a spin, feeling the centrifugal force pulling at you.

Craig moves into position for the final lift. You gather your strength and leap, offering your faith to him completely. His hands are strong and steady as he lifts you high above his head. The audience, though imaginary today, would be breathless. You extend your arms, holding the pose for a beat before he brings you back down.

The routine ends with a dramatic flourish. You and Craig strike the final pose where his hands are secured on the small of your back as you lull backwards until your head is inches away from the ice, breathing hard but exhilarated. The music fades, and the rink is silent again. You catch your breath, face red, Craig skates in a little circle, one hand gripping his black hair. 

"Good job," You smile holding your hand up for a high five. Craig eyes you for a second before caving and gliding over to land his hand over yours. 

"Beautiful work," Katya smiles brightly at the winded pair of you. She looks down at her watch biting her lip "I wanted to do some strength work but we went a little over time so just do your cooldowns and head out, we'll pick this up tomorrow."

"Craig's strong enough," You tease though Katya doesn't seem to take it that way.

She shakes her head "There is always work to be done. The day you stop pushing yourself is the day you fail." 

"Oh," You glance at Craig "Um, okay." You probably spoke more at practice than you did anywhere else which wasn't saying much as you preferred to keep your thoughts to yourself on most days. 

You move into a series of gentle stretches, reaching down to touch your toes, and feeling the pull along your hamstrings. The cool air of the rink mingles with the heat of your exertion. You extend one leg behind you, leaning forward to stretch your back and shoulders, thinking back to the routine you performed only minutes ago you think of all the things you could improve on and make a mental list that you will soon put onto paper. 

You had butchered your cool down, trying to leave as soon as possible. Right after your nightly sessions a group of rowdy hockey players would swarm the rink careless of whether you were still in there or not and it wasn't particularly something you were fond of. 

Craig, on the other side of the rink, begins his own routine. He skates slowly, his strides long and deliberate, a stark contrast to the intense moves from earlier. He stops and bends down, touching the ice with his fingers, and stretching his long legs and back. 

You notice Craig moving into some balance exercises, lifting one leg behind him and holding his arms out for stability. It's a simple move, but one that requires focus and control, skills he's perfected over years of practice. You can see the concentration on his face, and the way he fine-tunes his posture and alignment like the world would end if he stumbled.

You slink off the ice and slip guards on over your blades, not wanting to risk any damage from the rubber or accidentally set your blade on something one of the hockey players left behind. The walls are adorned with colourful banners celebrating local hockey teams, figure skaters, and upcoming events. Scuffed benches line the corridor, providing a spot for spectators and players to rest or lace up their skates. As you peer down the corridor, your fears are proven to be true. 

Sitting down long rows of benches or standing up and blocking the halls is the hockey team that you were so careful to avoid. Quickly you begin to unlace your skates, hurriedly grabbing your duffle bag from your locker and tucking the skates inside. 

Of course, they line themselves up perfectly to block the entrance. It wasn't the people themselves that you were irritated by but how loud they were when they were all together. Even when your headphones were in and the volume turned to the max you could still hear them yelling and cackling no matter where you were in the building. 

The best part of winter was how the snow acted like soundproofing for the whole world and made everything really quiet though the hockey team was quick to cancel that out with their crude jokes. Aside from Craig's boyfriend, you hadn't spoken to anyone on the team as far as you knew. 

Their bulky gear makes the narrow passage even tighter. You adjust your bag on your shoulder and take a deep breath, weaving your way through the crowd.

"Excuse me," you say politely, trying to slip past them. The boys are engrossed in their conversation, their roughhousing spilling over into your path. One of the boys pushes his friend onto you and has you stumbling away, trying to keep your balance. 

Just as you think you've made it through, one of them swings his hockey stick at the punchline of a joke, not noticing you. The butt end of the stick catches you squarely in the stomach, the impact knocking the wind out of you. The pain is immediate and intense. It's not just a surface-level ache but a deep, visceral throb that spreads outward from the point of impact. Your breath catches in your throat, and a gasp escapes your lips as you double over instinctively, clutching your stomach.

The laughter stops immediately, and the boy who hit you looks horrified. His blue eyes are filled with instant regret as they draw wide. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” he exclaims, rushing to your side. His friends gather around, awkwardly glancing around at each other. 

"It's fine," You say through laboured breaths. It definitely was not fine. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry. You nod, still trying to catch your breath. He gently helps you up, his hands finally finding a firm grip on your arm and shoulder. As you stand, you notice the way he's looking at you, his eyes studying the features of your face. 

For a moment, he's stunned, his gaze locked on your face. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway, he takes in the delicate curve of your jaw, the light glinting off your eyes, and the way your hair frames your face, slightly disheveled but pretty nonetheless. He seems momentarily lost, his apology stuck in his throat as he's struck by you up close.

He recognized you as Craig's partner and the girl he passed in the hallway who wouldn't spare him a glance, he tried to approach you on several occasions but your headphones were always in and you didn't even notice him trying to talk to you through the music blasting in your ears, leaving him humbled. He had his eyes on you for a while,  you were what his little sister referred to as a hallway crush- someone he thought was attractive when he saw you in passing but had never properly spoken to. 

The pain and shock have left you somewhat dazed, and his sudden proximity only intensifies that feeling. You pull your arm away from his grip "Please don't touch me." 

"Do you want-

"No," You dismiss him before he even starts "It's fine." Despite the pain gnawing at your stomach, you manage to shoulder your duffle bag and hurridly stagger out of the exit

Kenny blinks, snapping out of his daze and running a hand through his blonde shaggy hair. "I'm so sorry," he calls after you, his voice more earnest now though his eyes travel down your body and take in the way your leggings cling to your legs.

Stan abruptly smacks him on the arm, it is still felt through the padding "You are such a dick, Kenny."

"What?" He swerves his head to look at Stan "I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to stare at her ass?"

"Um, yes?" He had spent months trying to talk to you when you didn't have headphones in, and now that moment finally happened he had fumbled so badly that it was over before it even started. 

"Kenny, that is not what happened," Stan calls out his friend's incredibly incorrect account of the night before. The school hallways were far from barren, students rushed back and forth, slamming their lockers shut and hunting down their friends.

"So what actually happened?" Kyle asked, digging through his locker, back turned to his friends.

"Kenny hit her," Stan says.

"Why would you hit her?"

"I didn't mean to," Kenny retorts, "I was making a joke and I accidentally hit her with my stick."

"He was making a joke and fucking winded her," Stan corrects.

"She was not winded-

"She was keeling over, clutching her stomach, and coughing." He remembered getting sucker punched by Shelly right beneath his ribs and imagined that you were feeling something similar when you were hit. "Oh and then she asked him not to touch her."

"I wouldn't want this freak touching me either if I were her," Kyle shoves a textbook into his backpack and zips it up.

"What do you mean by that?" Kenny furrows his eyebrows though is question goes unanswered.

"Hey Slumlord, Jewrat, Stan," Cartman disrupts the conversation, joining their little circle in the hallway "What's going on?"

"Kenny hit a girl," Stan says.

"Nice man," Cartman gives Kenny a firm pat on the back, leaving Kyle to wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"Dude, stop, I actually feel bad about it," Kenny says, chewing the inside of his mouth, thoughts focused on the little glimpses he caught of you.

"No, you don't," Kyle slings his backpack on after grabbing his phone from a pocket "You just want to get laid."

"Why can't it be both?" He was almost wistful.

"Who's this chick you're in love with?" Cartman asked. Lately, he wasn't as up-to-date on his friend's matters as he'd like to be, being left out of an inside joke to him was a fate worse than death.

"This girl who skates with Craig," Kenny shoves his hands into the pockets of his old warn jeans. Part of him was regretting leaving his jacket in his locker, winter in Colorado was cold no matter if you were inside or not "And I'm not in love with her, I just like looking at her."

"Maybe talk about this with someone as gross as you," Kyle doesn't bother to look up from his game of Candy Crush, he had an addiction though he would never admit to it. He would act oblivious whenever someone asked him if he was playing it.

Something catches Kenny's eye, you brush past the group without even casting them a glance. Kenny excuses himself and trails behind you, trying to catch your attention.

As you stand at your locker, the music blaring in your ears serves as a shield from the outside world. The thrashing guitar drowns out the noise of the bustling hallway, wrapping you in your own private bubble of sound. You were preparing yourself to spend your lunch period studying and trying to ignore the ache in your stomach from the night prior. 

Unbeknownst to you, Kenny approaches, his footsteps barely registering over the music. He hesitates for a moment, watching you carefully as you focus on organizing your books and belongings. His lips move, forming words he hopes will reach you through the barrier of your headphones.

"Hey," he says, his voice gentle but unheard amidst the din in your ears.

You continue to rummage in your locker, oblivious to his presence. Kenny clears his throat softly, trying again to get your attention. He gestures towards you, a small smile on his face, but you don't notice.

He takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder as he tries to catch your eye though he retracts it after recalling the way you shook him off previously. "Hey," he repeats, a little louder this time.

Finally, you glance up, startled to see Kenny standing there, a grin playing on his face. You quickly pull out your headphones, and the music is abruptly silenced. You stare at him, silently waiting for him to continue.

It takes him a beat to realize and then he picks up where he left off, "Just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night."

"You already did." 

"Uh, yeah," he chuckles, rubbing the nape of his neck. You were now getting a good look at his face. He had a nice smile, dimples, most notably a faint little scar over the bridge of his nose and a silver piercing through his right eyebrow "I just felt really bad, let me make it up to you and buy you lunch?"

"I packed my own," You said flatly. 

"Do you like coffee?"

You didn't even think about entertaining this idea, you swiftly shook your head.  "I'm not good company," Before giving him another chance to speak, you put your headphones back in, moving past him.

Kenny had been rejected a handful of times, namely in middle school, but yours hit him the worst. 

You weren't one to recklessly date or recklessly do anything really. All that mattered was achieving a top ranking in your country and eventually making your way to the Olympics, everything else was an afterthought or a stepping stone to get there. 

There were some days when you would eat lunch with Craig, though with Tweak being so jumpy, you spent most days you did as you are doing now. Eating lunch alone in your English class. As you push the door open, you see Mrs. Miller typing on her laptop, she looks towards the door and gives you a little smile as you enter. 

She was a middle-aged Filipino woman with the most beautiful black hair you had ever seen. It fell down to the small of her back and shined like silk under the harsh lights in the school. You first had her as your teacher in the ninth grade, after writing a paper about skating she told you that she was once a skater. Mrs. Miller quickly became your favourite teacher. You were now in your senior year and still you spent lunch wallowing in her classroom. 

Pausing at her desk, you unzip your bag and pull out a little package wrapped in parchment and secured in a bow of twine. She looks up from her papers, her warm smile inviting you to continue. "It's a cream cheese pound cake. I made it last night."

Her eyes light up with genuine appreciation. "Thank you, this is my favourite part of the day." She takes the pound cake from you, her smile growing even wider. Being as avid of a baker as you were, there was far too much excess to leave to go bad, you didn't really have friends to give them to so you let your step-dad bring it to work though you always brought a little bit for Mrs. Miller as a little thanks for letting you stay in her classroom. 

You sit in the corner of the classroom, no one dares enter during lunch, you always thought that the students must have feared the written word. The usual hum of voices and clatter of footsteps is replaced by the soft rustle of pages as you study. Your lunch, a simple sandwich and an apple, rests on the desk beside your notebook, untouched for now. The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow on the bookshelves lined with classics and contemporary novels.

As you take a bite of your sandwich, somewhat disappointed in the combination you had chosen. Your eyes flittered to your phone rather than to your work, in mere moments you had abandoned studying in favour of looking at baking recipes on Pinterest, saving the ones that caught your eye and humming quietly to your music. 

Which recipe would you make that night to settle after skating? Your mom loved lemons but your step-dad was a die-hard chocolate guy though he would really eat whatever you baked and brag about it to his friends at work. 

"Mrs. Miller?" You take your headphones out and look at her.

"Yes?" She looks up from her papers, her warm smile inviting you to continue.

"Would you rather have lemon loaf or black forest brownies?" Some might think it sad that you only had two friends and one of them was your English teacher but you didn't find an ounce of loneliness in it. 

"Hm," She leans back in her chair, thinking long and hard over it before coming to her conclusion "Oh, both sound great, but I think I gotta say black forest brownies, never had them before."

You answer her with a little thumbs up and scribble it down in your notes. Sifting through the internet for a recipe, you find one and start tweaking it to your liking, After crossing out measurements and ingredients and then filling them back in, you snap a picture and send it to your step-dad.

New Message- FIFA man 

You: Thoughts? 

FIFA man: Looks awesome kiddo 😎❤️😘

FIFA man: I'll pick you up from skating ⛸ tonight 🌃

You: Is mom working tonight?

FIFA man: Yes 👍

FIFA man: Do you need a ride 🚗 there? 

You: No, Craig's driving me

FIFA man: Cool 😎 tell him I say hi 👋

FIFA man: Do you want takeout 🥡 or chicken 🐓 and veg 🌽🥕🥦🥬???

You: Chickens good

FIFA man: Awesome 😎🤠🥰😇

FIFA man: I need to grocery 🍎🥐🥩🥬🥑 shop 🛍 tomorrow

FIFA man: Send me a list pls 📝

You: Okay 

FIFA man: Love you 🤬

You: ?

You: Are you mad?

FIFA man: No 🥶

You: Why did you use the cursing emoji?

FIFA man: I thought it was kissing 🤔 LOL IJBOL 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Todd overused emojis to the point his texts were hard to read, but you always caught yourself giggling at them. You turn up the volume on your phone, letting your favourite music fill your ears as you take another bite of your sandwich. The melody shifts your thoughts back to the ice rink. You can almost feel the cold air and hear the sound of blades cutting through ice. Figure skating has always been your escape, a separate world where a blade stood between you and the ice. You remember the exhilaration of landing a perfect jump, and the applause from the audience, it was like a drug, little hits of dopamine each time you heard that familiar cheering from strangers in the crowd, it was the only loud sound you wanted to hear. 

As the song plays, you imagine yourself skating to it. Each note guides your movements, from the elegant arcs of your arms to the powerful sweeps of your legs. You visualize the choreography in your mind, picturing how you would translate the music into a captivating routine. The swells of the hymn dictate your jumps and spins, while the softer passages call for graceful glides and delicate footwork. 

You were really one to dream away your time. Every program you watched, you imagined what it was like to be them, to feel what they did, to see what they did. It consumed you entirely.

Mrs. Miller had always tried to get you out of your shell, pairing you with the loud kids in class, and assigning public speaking assignments, but you always wound up coming back into her classroom to soak in the quiet soft scribble of her red correction pen. 

Kenny was never keen on waking up early. Though he had recently been inclined to pick up more shifts at work, meaning he would be skipping several practices and had to make up the time elsewhere. He dragged his hockey bag behind him as he entered the rink. In the winter, it was dark almost all of the time, by the time he reached the arena, the sun wasn't even out yet. 

He checked the time sheet posted upfront to be sure no one had booked the ice time, luckily he was in the clear. Kenny didn't bother to put all of his gear on, he just shed his thick coat, leaving him in a hoodie and sweatpants while he laced up his skates and shook the now-melting snow from his hair. There was no need for all of the padding when he would be the only one in there, boring himself to death doing technique work.

"Kenny?" Coach Trevor pokes his head out of his office. His face splits into a smile when he spots Kenny on the bench "Good seeing you buddy, didn't expect you to be here bright and early."

"Me neither," He shakes his head slightly.

"We missed you last night at practice."

"Uh, yeah, sorry, I've been working more, I'm just trying to juggle everything right now." Kenny stood up and shifted his weight, fiddling with the worn tape on his hockey stick.

Trevor's brow furrowed in concern. "I understand the need to work, Kenny, but your performance on the ice is slipping. You're falling behind on your drills and your conditioning. It's not just about showing up; it's about being present and giving it your all."

"I'll, uh- ask if they can switch my schedule around," He lied through his teeth. Kenny couldn't quit his job to play hockey or cut down his hours, he wouldn't even be able to afford to play hockey if he didn't have a job. 

"Okay," Trevor gives him a thin-lipped smile and a firm pat on the shoulder "Let me know how it goes and we can work something out."

"You got it," He returns the smile, giving the coach a little thumbs up. Trevor retreated back into his office as Kenny entered the abnormally quiet rink. His brief conversation with Trevor was enough to make him want to lie down on the ice and wait until the cool air of the rink froze him whole.

That feeling of desolation melted away the second he saw you on the other side of the arena. Across the rink, you are engrossed in your own world, skating solo on a secluded patch of ice. Your headphones are in and you're buried deep in concentration. You execute each move with precision, lost in the rhythm and flow of your routine.

Like a shot of caffeine, he suddenly didn't feel tired, straightening up his posture as he stepped onto the ice. The first few glides were always the most exhilarating, a reminder of why he loved the sport like he was weightless. 

If you had noticed him enter, you gave no indication, not even a quick look in his direction. It was just you and your music, shifting gracefully along the sleet. Your arms swayed above your head, controlled and elegant like the wings of a swan. 

First was the axel. You skated backward, building up speed before launching into the air with a powerful push from your right leg. Your body rotated mid-air, arms tucked in tightly, and time seemed to slow for a moment. You landed smoothly on your left foot, the blade biting into the ice, a soft scrape marking your descent.

Next, you transitioned seamlessly into a toe loop. You approached the jump with a series of elegant crossovers, each movement precise and calculated. Planting the toe pick of your right skate into the ice, you used it as a pivot to leap into the air, your body spinning in a controlled rotation. The landing was crisp, your knees bending slightly to absorb the impact. With every movement, you thought of each correction Katya had given you. 

With barely a pause, you moved into a sequence of spins. Starting with a camel spin, you extend your right leg behind you, your body bending forward in a perfect horizontal line. The spin began slowly, the centrifugal force pulling at your outstretched limbs, then gradually sped up as you pulled your arms and leg in tighter. The world blurred around you, the only constant the center of your spin.

Kenny found himself in awe of your movement. He had never seen you skate and frankly hadn't expected you to be so good. He tightened his grip on his stick, pushing off with purpose and shaking the thoughts from his head. Kenny was here to practice, not to watch you run a routine. 

However, as he skated, his eyes kept drifting towards you. You were in your element, gliding effortlessly across the ice, your movements fluid and precise. The sight of you skating with such grace captivated him, drawing his attention away from his own drills.

Without realizing it, Kenny's focus wavered. His skates lost their cadence, and his mind wandered as he watched you execute another flawless turn. He failed to notice the approaching sideboard in that split second of distraction.

Suddenly, reality snapped back into focus as Kenny collided hard with the sideboard, the impact jolting through his body. He winced in pain, clutching his shoulder where it had taken the brunt of the crash. His collision echoed through the rink, drawing your attention at last. 

Maybe it had been karma for hitting you so hard the night but good lord, he was hurting. "Are you okay?" You take out one headphone, sliding into a stop to watch him

"She speaks," He says, somewhat winded but his voice carries a teasing lilt. You just stare at him, waiting for a proper answer, not feeling pressure to push further for one. Kenny uses the sideboard to yank himself up, wiping the shavings from the ice off him and then looking at you "Yes, I'm okay."

You nod in the slightest, moving to put your headphones back in but in the seconds before it connects to your ear, he seized the moment.

"I'm Kenny."

"Yeah, I know."

"You know?" He asks, a lopsided smile on his face "How?"

"You're-" You pause, you didn't exactly know how to phrase it but you had seen him in the halls with his friends, screaming in the locker room, and hitting up girls. If anything, you were an observer, a wallflower as opposed to a Venus fly trap. 

"A whore?" He asks. You open your mouth to speak but close it right away, letting the words die in your throat "Oh, jeez, you really think I am?"

"I was going to say, you talk a lot" You say, politely. 

"Well, compared to you, yeah." He waits another beat for you to respond but is met with nothing but a blank stare. Kenny let out a breath, a little cloud escaping from his mouth "Nah, I get it, you're shy."

"I'm not shy," You say, feeling yourself cringe at the word. You hated when people called you that, they tended to be the same who treated you like a pet since you couldn’t fit a word in between their constant back and forth "I just like my-" You rack your brain for the right word "Aloneness." 

"Then I will leave you to your aloneness," He says, reaching back for his stick and turning away from you. Kenny weaved through invisible cones with the puck like he was actually practising with his team, focusing on control and precision. He kept his eyes up, forcing himself to rely on his peripheral vision to navigate.

You really didn't care what he did, without another thought you unpause your music and go back into your movements. You changed into a sit spin and sank yourself into a low squat without slowing down. Your arms made a graceful arc above your head, and your left leg extended in front of you, toes pointing. The sensation was both thrilling and disorienting as the ice whirled beneath you during the quick and low spin.

You changed into a layback spin as soon as you got out of the sit spin. Your back arched flawlessly, head tipped back, eyes closed, the ceiling of the rink a faraway haze. Your free leg was raised slightly behind you as your arms softly curved around your head. 

Finishing your spins, you took a moment to catch your breath, the music in your headphones guiding your next movements. From the corner of your eye, you see Kenny doing the exact opposite of what he said. He's staring at you from the other side. 

His eyebrows furrow deep, the way you twist and turn your body replaying in his mind on repeat until he notices you watching him, crossing your arms "How do you do your crossovers like that?"

You stare him dead in the eyes and point at your figure skates, a different type of blade entirely.

"Yeah, figure skates, I know but my crossovers are so clunky and yours are just- clean." He knew how you did yours, probably hours, weeks, and years of practicing longer and relentlessly than he did. Also, the fact you were trained for grace and agility while he was trained for speed and strength. He just wanted to dig for ways to get you to talk to him. 

"Show me how you do yours," you say, tone flat. "Forwards and backwards." 

Kenny took a deep breath, positioning himself on the ice. He started his crossovers, his movements stiff and deliberate. His knees were slightly bent, but his weight seemed unevenly distributed, causing his skates to scrape awkwardly against the ice semi-purposefully. He plays it up in hopes that you'll correct him. 

"First, bend your knees slightly- not too much. Keep your core engaged and your weight centred over your skates." 

Kenny bent his knees a bit more and adjusted his posture, arms out at his sides. "Like this?"

You bite your lip, wanting to cringe at his positioning though you were raised too well to do so. "I- Can I show you?"

"Be my guest," There it is, just what he was looking for. You skated to his side, demonstrating the correct posture. Kenny studies your form, attempting to mimic it "Better?"

"No," you said bluntly. "Not like that." With a sigh, you skated closer and placed your hands on his shoulders, adjusting them to be more relaxed. "Relax your shoulders. You're too tense."

Kenny's breath caught slightly at your touch, but he quickly tried to hide it. "This good?"

"Yup," you replied, moving your hands to his hips, guiding his posture. "Now, shift your weight over your skates, keep your core engaged. Feel the balance." Skating felt like the only thing you could talk about. Usually, you just didn't speak when you had nothing to say but skating gave you purpose. 

Your proximity made the air between you feel charged, and for a moment, Kenny forgot he was supposed to be pretending. "Alright, I think I've got it."

You step back slightly but still close enough to correct him if needed. "Now, when you cross one foot over the other, push off with the edges of your skates. It's about finding a fluid motion."

You showed off a couple of crossovers, and you moved with ease and fluidity. With elegance, your left foot crossed over your right, and you leaned slightly into the turn while keeping perfect balance.

Kenny tried again, this time paying more attention to your instructions. His movements were still awkward, but there was a noticeable improvement. He looked at you for validation.

"Better," you said, your tone softening slightly. "But you're still too stiff. Relax your upper body more." You placed your hands on his shoulders again, gently pushing them down. "Let your legs guide you."

Kenny nodded, feeling the warmth of your hands through his hoodie. He took a deep breath and tried again, bending his knees, relaxing his shoulders, and tilting into the turn. This time, his movements felt smoother and more controlled. He could feel the fluidity you had described, he didn't come into this actually intending to learn something but he stood corrected.

"Listen to your skating, if it looks like this," You sweep your leg back, pushing off the ice to demonstrate "And it sounds like that, you're using one leg, it should be two. You should hear the rip on the ice, go again."

Kenny does as told and you see him implementing what you had said "Looks good," you nod, already skating away to continue your routine. Kenny watched you for a moment, admiring your skill, feeling the lingering warmth of your touch.

He skated closer, a playful glint in his eyes. "I think I need a bit more help. You know, hands-on guidance really works for me."

You look back at him, putting your headphones in as you do so "I think you're fine." 

Every minute you spent on the ice that morning, you savoured it like you would never have it again. It was easy for you to ignore Kenny's staring, it was just like a miniature audience. Having eyes on you never hindered your performance and maybe that was why you found it so easy to ignore people.

Unfortunately, you had to leave the rink eventually. While you didn't mind school, you weren't thrilled for it- particularly the awkwardness that came about when you had to pick partners. Your grades weren't by any means perfect but you managed to keep your above water just enough to skate as often as you did. 

You begin the ritual of unlacing your pristinely kept skates, Kenny sitting on the bench across from you doing the same. You slip your shoes on, tucking your skates away and look up at him "Have you had breakfast yet?"

His head shot up, face lighting up. His lips curved into an easy, charming smile and you could understand how he drew so much attention without trying "No, do you wanna get some?"

"No," you said, curtly. 

"Oh," his face dropped but he still kept a staggered smile, watching you reach into your bag.

"Do you want these?" You pulled a box from your tote bag, holding it out to Kenny. "They're brownies, I made too many," That was only half true. You made a lot, figuring your stepdad would take them to work for the staff to munch on but he insisted that you should bring them to school and hand them out like high school students initiated friendships by passing baked goods back and forth.

"Don't you wanna give them to your friends?" Kenny asks and you shake your head. You had already set Mrs. Miller's brownie apart, wrapping it in parchment like you always did and most days you didn't see Craig until you skated at night. "Sweet," He muttered reaching over to take the box from your grip.

 "You can share them with your friends," You say slinging your duffle over your shoulder and holding your tote bag in hand. Kenny wasted no time digging into the brownies, he had the box on his lap one brownie in hand as he sunk his teeth into it. 

"Hell no, they don't deserve this," he says between bites "I'm keeping this to myself." 

There was always that little sense of pride when someone was enjoying what you baked. Usually, you would eavesdrop on your parents while they ate your baking to be sure they genuinely liked it. Kenny's reaction almost had you smiling. Almost. 

"Are you leaving already?" Kenny asked as you walked away, headphones back on and deaf to whatever he was saying "Okay, bye.”

A/N: I rewrote this a bajillion times and I’m still not happy with it but I don’t have the strength in me for another rewrite so here she is ✊

[mothtoaflamee]

Alastor x Parental!reader GN (platonic)

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

You had been staying at the hotel for about a month now, getting acquainted with the other tenants and hotel staff, a few in particular catching your eye.

Charlie was one of the first to greet you upon your arrival. Cheery and optimistic compared to the woman next to her, who Charlie introduced as Vaggie. With an attempt to have you both shake hands in greeting, you were met with a spear pointed at you, which if you count that as a warm welcome, is exactly what you received. Charlie had to assure Vaggie that you didn't pose a threat. You didn't think much of it afterward. The next person to greet you was what you first assumed to be a child but was in fact not; her name was Nifty, who sort of introduced herself, excitedly running around you, quickly leaving before you even had the chance to respond to her endless questions. Husker and Angel were the next two people Charlie introduced to you too. They were chatting at the bar, with Husker looking annoyed and giving you a wave before cleaning a glass. Angel didn't seem too interested in talking to you, but he did try. And finally, Alastor appeared, introducing himself loudly as the hotelier. His personality and overall stature interested you, so you two ended up talking for a very long time.

Which now leads you to the present time. You were known to be parental around the hotel, not in an annoying, nagging way. Though it may seem like it, you only had the best intentions when it came to your protective nature towards others. Even though all of them were older than you and died before you, you still felt protective over everyone.

Despite everything, you weren't pushed away for this; it was welcomed, giving off a found-family vibe. It was early in the morning, and you smelled a pleasant smell of food downstairs, which woke you up. Yawing, you got up and out of bed, stretching before changing into your day clothes before heading out the door and going downstairs.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0Yj7WP1MbAqQVQA5Na4I7E?si=6-ipc1ipSiK2l94K1rbaWQ

As you walked to the kitchen you could hear the pleasant soft sound of old jazz, knowing it must mean Alastor was the one cooking something, he was the only one known to do this, it was common for him to wake up (assuming he even slept in the first place, you’ve never seen him sleep) to make breakfast. Finally making it to the kitchen, you found Alastor making what looked to be beignets, grits, with red beans and rice. Then you looked over to where the kitchen table was where a cup of coffee with chicory sat. You stood there for a moment taking in the scene before you. Alastor hummed to the tune of the old jazz, his movements fluid and graceful as he stirred the red beans and rice. A small fire danced in the pan as he added a bit of spice to the mix, the scent of cinnamon and sugar wafting through the air as he flipped the beignets. He looked over his shoulder at you, a wide grin on his face as he continued to cook.

"Ah! Hello, Mon cher. I see you've come to join me for some breakfast. I must say, the jazz is quite fitting, wouldn't you agree? It's a shame we can't have a dance to it, but I suppose we'll have to make do with the cooking."

He flipped the beignet once more, using his demonic magic to create a small, harmless flame to caramelize the sugar on top. He then plated the food, setting it on the table with a flourish before pouring you a cup of coffee as well, something he’d commonly do when he was alive for his mother, in a way being around you gave him a tiny sense of nostalgia. The human part of him.

"Please, have a seat. I'm sure you're famished, and I would hate for our guest to leave hungry."

You nodded, walking over to the seat he pointed towards. Sitting down and watching him as he cooked, humming along with the jazz tunes, you wondered what he was thinking about behind his signature smile. Out of everyone in the hotel, he was the hardest to read, and surprisingly, the most protective you felt over him, a compelling feeling to protect him despite knowing he was much, much more powerful than you’d ever be.

“Thanks Al, I appreciate it, I smelt the food and just had to go down, it looks delicious by the way.”

You complimented him, you did mean it, the smell was homey and sweet like sugar. Alastor grinned, a satisfied look on his face as he took his own seat across from you. He picked up his spoon, dipping it into the grits bringing it to his lips. A small, contented hum escaped him as he chewed, his eyes closing for a moment before he opened them again.

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it. I've always enjoyed cooking. It's a way for me to unwind, to put my mind at ease. Though, it's always better when I have company to share it with."

He took a sip of his coffee, the chicory adding a bittersweet taste to the brew. He leaned back in his chair, his grin never faltering as he looked at you.

"So, how are you finding your new home? I must say, I'm quite proud of Charlie for starting this hotel. I've always enjoyed a bit of chaos, but it's nice to see some order to it all."

You hummed, taking a sip of the bitter-sweet coffee, it wasn’t too hot nor too cold, the perfect blend, you thought about your time at the hotel, it was nice, not sure if redemption was possible but still willing to try if it made Charlie happy, growing attached to everyone in the hotel especially Alastor in particular.

“It’s nice here, I care about you all dearly, though I may not believe in redemption I’m willing to stay around and try, plus you guys aren’t all that bad to be around.”

You nodded at Alastors statement, it was oddly quiet but calm today, even though it was probably only because it was early in the morning, everything felt calmer. Alastor chuckled, waving his hand as if to dismiss your words.

"Oh, pish-posh. You're too kind. But I must say, I'm glad to hear it."

You watched as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the silence other than the smooth jazz playing in the background. He took another sip of his coffee.

"Yes, it is rather quiet today. Perhaps the other residents are still asleep. I'm sure they'll be up soon enough, bringing their own brand of chaos to the hotel. It's always a delight to see."

His grin never faltered, but his voice held an underlying softness to it, as if Alastor truly cared for your well-being.

“Indeed it is, I wonder what Charlie has in store for us today, hopefully something fun, wouldn’t you agree?”

Perhaps hell wasn’t all that awful with a company as wonderful as the hotel residents, hoping for better days to come in the future, more experiences, and more memories.

(End)

(Sorry if there are some grammar mistakes in here, I haven’t written something like this is years though I’m happy to be back! Have a wonderful day <3) -strawberry

[centuryberry]

Flourish AU

Me, looking back at the Replanted AU after posting the recent Unpaid Babysitting update: Yishan needed better parents. Also, I wish I could incorporate Shanzha and RinRin into the Sundown Era AU without more dimension shenanigans.

Me:

Me: Wait -

And so, this AU came to be. Say hello to Iceflower's Son!Yishan, everyone. He's here to bring Shanzha and RinRin into the Sundown Era AU, grow up better than he could've been, create a myth or two, and - most importantly - father Yue, Louhou, and Jidu so all four Celestial Primates can have grandbabies to spoil.

Background: The Land of Eternal Snow still doesn't exist in the Sundown Era AU. Shanzha and RinRin are also nowhere in China during the Rebellion against Heaven. Why? Because they're in Goryeo (Korea) and Nippon (Japan), respectively, making a name for themselves. After inheriting the powers of the Celestial Primates and shaking up their respective pantheons, they headed over to China to retire together since one of their own ascended as Jade Emperor.

In one another life, Yishan was the firstborn son of a prestigious clan who grew up viewing almost everyone as his enemy. In this one, he was the son of legends posing as common herbalists living in the mountains.

What does a more well adjusted and untraumatized child Yishan look like? Well, he has more friends growing up. And when I mean friends, I mean animals. He likes animals more than people. He also has a habit of bringing home wounded animals for Shanzha to treat. (He begs to keep them every time but his moms keep telling him no.) He’s also incurably blunt and judgy - even to his mothers.

Shanzha makes sure to train her son in healing and martial arts while RinRin teaches him how to socialize and act. These are very necessary lessons since Yishan tends to piss off a lot of people just by being himself.

(Despite being raised by Shanzha and RinRin, there are some things about Yishan that stays the same lmao.)

Yishan ends up being a nerd over medicine and poisons. As for his social skills, he technically knows what to do in theory but doesn’t bother to extend the effort towards those he considers stupid.

As a late teen, Yishan became a traveling doctor so he could leave the nest and explore the world.

While Yishan heals people and battles against stupidity (and make more animal friends), he gains a reputation for being an amazing healer with the worst bedside manner. He also beat up a couple of powerful yaoguai because either 1) they were in the way of a key ingredient of a medical breakthrough or 2) he pissed them off first.

During his travels, Yishan meets and makes his first non-animal friend: a soldier named Mensheng. He turns down the offer to serve the soldier’s Ivory Lady and continues his journey.

Eventually, Yishan is kidnapped invited to the Celestial Realm by some very pushy attendants (one of whom he gives a nasty black eye) so he could become Laozi’s new apprentice.

Despite Yishan kicking and screaming through the entire process, he ends up being Laozi’s favorite. The man wouldn’t let him go.

Yishan frequently conspires with Laozi’s Bull to break out. They fail every time. The only reason why Yishan wasn’t as successful in leaving was because of the cool shiny new medicinal plants Laozi kept waving in front of his face.

Then, Yishan was tasked to assist Laozi in checking up on the health of the Princess of the Celestial Realm and acting ruler of Flower Fruit Mountain.

"Princess?" All of you are probably asking. Yup, Wukong and Macaque did end up having one (1) kid and it's Sangshen. Because of an attempted poisoning incident, she came out weak and sickly. Sangshen is adored by her parents but is seen as a disappointment to the Celestial Court (since she's female, weak, and takes after Macaque), so she prefers to stay in FFM.

Still, because of her poor health, Wukong would frequently send Laozi down to check up on her. At this point, Laozi spends more of his time at FFM than in the Celestial Realm. He even has his own room and lab there.

Laozi's plan was to drop Yishan off to FFM and take over in keeping tabs on Sangshen's health.

When Yishan first laid eyes on Sangshen, he was a complete goner. It was love at first sight. As for Sangshen, she fell slower, but no less harder. Yishan was so considerate and charming and devoted that she couldn't help but develop feelings. (Everyone else who knows him: Are we talking about the same Yishan?!?!)

Yishan being Yishan beings ridiculously rare and hard-to-obtain stuff to shower Sangshen with. With his attention (and daily offering of super rare medicine), her health improves by leagues.

Sangshen eventually breaks it to Yishan that he probably shouldn't be courting her since her parents would kill him where he stands if they caught wind of this. Her parents established pretty early that they wouldn't let anyone marry her unless they lasted 15 min in a battle against both of them.

Instead of being deterred, Yishan takes this challenge and asks for some PTO to visit Shanzha and RinRin.

Yishan: Hey moms, how do I stay alive in a spar against the Emperor and Empress of the Universe? Shanzha: What RinRin: What happened to "hi"? Also, wtf Yishan: I'm in love and it's the only way I can get permission to marry her

*Cue intense training montage*

After training his tail off, Yishan presents himself to the Emperor and Empress as a suitor for their daughter's hand. They are less than pleased and put him through the wringer for daring to ask. They beat him to the ground.

And yet, Yishan lasts for 30 minutes. So, after recovering, Yishan happily accepts the begrudging permission of his future in-laws and heads down to FFM to tell Sangshen the good news.

FFM: You mad bastard, you actually did it. Yishan: Obviously. If I didn't, Sangshen would cry and that's unforgivable.

Yishan wasted no time in proposing and Sangshen wasted no time in accepting. A wedding was then arranged in the Celestial Realm and Yishan's mothers were invited. Shanzha and RinRin come, of course.

An official freaks out at seeing Shanzha since he recognizes her as the Godslayer who wiped out the entire court of Korean Primordial Gods.

Another official flips his lid when he recognizes RinRin as the Trickster who swindled him during his time abroad in Japan.

When Shanzha and RinRin's identities as Celestial Primates come to light, the entire Celestial Court is filled with dread. Oh no, there's FOUR of them now.

Shanzha and RinRin get along with Wukong and Macaque like a house on fire. They trade unhinged stories of their youth and make plans to hang out. Shanzha jokingly offers to take out any Celestial who annoys Wukong too much. Wukong takes this offer very seriously, making many of his ministers sweat.

Yishan and Sangshen get married and spend many years of wedded bliss before Sangshen announces that she's pregnant.

Say hello to Yue~

This cutie pie made Wukong cry. At first, he was a little disappointed to see that she took mostly after Yishan's side of the family. Then, she sneezed and lo and behold, six ears popped out. Yishan had to fight with his father-in-law to get his daughter back.

Wukong wasn't any better when Louhou and Jidu were born. He might've been reluctant to be a father, but he took to being a grandfather like a duck to water.

Shadowpeach would squabble with Iceflower for grandbaby time. In the end, Iceflower simply moved into the Celestial Realm so all of them could have grandbaby time.

Extra Facts about Iceflower:

Shanzha used to be a devotee of the Primordial Korean gods. An event shattered her faith and took away everything she's ever cared about. Eyes opened to their cruelty, Shanzha started her quest in wiping them all out. Shanzha trained under the Long-Armed Gibbon as the Celestial Primate was sympathetic to her circumstances. She's very much inspired by Kratos as she was very unhinged during this period of life.

RinRin, on the other hand, was a pet monkey of a daughter of a samurai who evolved into a yokai after a tragedy. She sowed discord as a shapeshifter until she was killed by an angry god. The Red Buttocked Baboon found her in the Japanese Underworld and found her amusing enough to be his successor. RinRin then proceeded to cheat death, harass Japanese deities, and become a Loki-like figure.

Shanzha, born as “Nari” (Lily), renamed herself after a Chinese Hawthorn fruit usually used for medicine solely to outsmart a god who could cut a life short by calling out their name three times. The new name kept the god guessing long enough for her to shoot them down. Since it helped her keep her life, she ended up keeping the name.

Since RinRin had many names and faces during her time as a trickster spirit/deity, she was much more attached to her true name. Fun fact: Her name means “dignified bell” in Japanese.