#thank you for the ask btw i love answering asks !!

[iamtired10]

what the hell is love anyway!?

synopsis: love is supposed to suck, but damn, she’s making it look good. the things you used to hate? she does them all—and somehow, you’re okay with it.

pairing: pham hanni x female reader

genre: fluffyyy, slow acceptance of feelings

word count: 1.7k

warning: reader’s anti-romantic philosophy, no-touch boundaries, kisses... idk man.

a/n: birthday gift for u gaysss (no for me)

y'all are so lucky i love you guys bc i literally skipped paying attention to my crush's debate rounds to write this. everyone was watching in the auditorium and there i was focused on this instead (btw my crush won the debate 😫)

you always thought love was a scam—a packaged lie wrapped in clichés and false promises.

people called it magical, but to you, it was just a hassle. all that hand-holding, constant texting, and clinging to each other’s personal space?

gross.

you’d made peace with being alone.

then pham hanni came along.

it wasn’t like you fell for her overnight.

it started with the small things.

her goofy smile, the way she made everyone laugh, how her voice softened when she spoke to you.

she was the type of person who could win over a room with a single joke, and while you weren’t the type to be easily charmed, something about her stuck in your mind like a catchy song.

but liking her didn’t mean you’d signed up for the full “love” package.

or so you thought.

spamming messages

at first, it was cute.

hanni would send you random texts during the day:

“have you eaten?”

“look at this dog i saw today!”

“I MISS YOUUUUUUUUU!!!!”

“where are you? :3”

“let's meet plsssss”

you didn’t mind the occasional check-in or funny meme.

but then it escalated.

your phone buzzed relentlessly during class, notifications piling up like an avalanche.

p.hn

what are you doing?

are you ignoring me??

i bet you’re doing something boring without me

y/n i’m going to cry if you don’t answer

answer me plsss

im dying without your attention...

ok fine

ignore me all you want

bye?

bye????

BYEEE!!!

:(((((

you used to hate it when people bombarded your phone. you had once ghosted a friend for triple texting.

but with hanni?

you sighed, typed out a response, and felt strangely warm when she replied immediately with a heart emoji.

hand-holding

physical touch wasn’t your thing.

the idea of holding someone’s hand always made you cringe—clammy palms and awkward positioning?

no, thanks.

but hanni had a way of breaking down your walls without even trying.

the first time she grabbed your hand, it was instinctive. you were crossing a busy street, and she reached for you, her fingers slipping between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your first reaction was to pull away.

but when you glanced at her, her brows furrowed in focus as she guided you across, your protests caught in your throat.

by the time you were safely on the other side, she hadn’t let go.

“you okay?” she asked, smiling up at you like it wasn’t a big deal.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

the weirdest part? you didn’t hate it.

hugs

you had a strict “no hugs” policy.

friends knew better than to even attempt it.

but hanni was a serial hugger.

she didn’t just hug; she wrapped herself around you like a blanket, her chin resting on your shoulder as if she belonged there.

at first, you stiffened every time she came near, your brain screaming, why is she touching me?

but one day, after a long, awful day, she hugged you without warning.

her arms were warm, her scent comforting, and instead of pushing her away, you found yourself melting into her embrace.

“feel better?” she asked softly.

you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it, but yeah, you did.

late-night calls

you hated phone calls.

they felt intrusive, unnecessary, and way too intimate.

so when hanni called you at 1 a.m., your first instinct was to ignore it.

but then you thought about her pouting on the other end, and before you knew it, you were swiping to answer.

“what?” you mumbled, already regretting it.

“i couldn’t sleep,” she said, her voice soft and a little raspy. “wanted to hear your voice.”

you groaned, but your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat at her words. “it’s the middle of the night, hanni.”

“i know,” she whispered. “but you sound cute when you’re annoyed.”

despite your best efforts, a small smile crept onto your face. damn her and her stupid charm.

kisses

kisses were overrated.

sloppy, awkward, and unnecessary—at least, that’s what you used to think.

but hanni had a way of making even the most mundane things magical. the first time she kissed you, it wasn’t planned.

she was rambling about something, her eyes bright with excitement, and before you could think, she leaned in and pressed her lips to yours.

it wasn’t dramatic or earth-shattering.

it was soft, sweet, and over too quickly.

when she pulled back, she looked at you nervously, biting her lip. “was that okay?”

you stared at her, heart pounding. “it was fine. . .”

fine was an understatement.

cuddles

cuddling was the ultimate invasion of personal space. you couldn’t understand why people willingly turned themselves into human pretzels just to feel close to someone.

but her?

she didn’t ask.

she just flopped onto you one afternoon, her head resting on your chest as she scrolled through her phone.

“what are you doing?” you asked.

“getting comfortable,” she replied nonchalantly.

you wanted to push her off, but her warmth seeped into you, relaxing muscles you hadn’t even realized were tense.

“fine,” you muttered. “but don’t move too much.”

she grinned, nuzzling closer. “i love you too.”

nicknames

you weren’t big on nicknames either.

they felt unnecessary and a little too mushy for your taste.

but she was relentless.

“baby,” she cooed one morning, poking your cheek as you sat groggily at the table. “what do you want for breakfast?”

you froze, blinking at her. “did you just call me... baby?”

“yeah. why?” she tilted her head innocently, like she hadn’t just thrown your entire morning into chaos.

“don’t.” you tried to sound stern, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

“okay, love.” She grinned, clearly enjoying herself.

“stop.”

“alright, sweetheart.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “you’re... a-annoying...”

“and you love me for it,” she teased, planting a kiss on your temple.

and she was right.

watching a movie

movie nights with hanni were… an experience.

you’d always prided yourself on being someone who actually watched movies—no talking, no distractions, just pure focus.

but hanni? she was the complete opposite.

“wait, who’s that?” she asked five minutes in, pointing at the screen.

“that’s the main character,” you replied patiently.

“right, right.”

another ten minutes passed. “why is she crying?”

you sighed, pausing the movie. “hanni, if you’d been watching—”

“i was! kind of.” She pouted, tugging on your sleeve. “sorry, baby. keep playing it, please.”

you rolled your eyes, but when she cuddled into your side, resting her head on your shoulder, you let it slide.

by the end of the movie, she’d fallen asleep, her soft snores filling the room. you looked at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

yeah, you couldn’t stay mad at her.

stealing your hoodies

your wardrobe was sacred.

you hated it when people borrowed your clothes without asking.

but then there was hanni, strutting around in your favorite hoodie like she owned it.

“is that mine?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

she looked down, feigning innocence. “oh, this? it was just sitting there, so…”

you opened your mouth to protest, but then she turned to face you, the oversized hoodie making her look impossibly small and adorable.

“you... can have it,” you muttered, averting your gaze.

her grin was victorious. “i know.”

early mornings

you weren’t a morning person.

waking up early was your personal hell, and you avoided it at all costs.

but hanni had a habit of waking up before the sun and dragging you along for the ride.

“y/n, wake up!” she whispered excitedly, shaking you gently.

“go away,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket over your head.

“but i made coffee,” she said, her tone teasing. “and pancakes.”

your stomach growled, betraying you. you groaned, sitting up reluctantly.

she smiled triumphantly, handing you a mug. “see? mornings aren’t so bad.”

you sighed, glaring at her over the rim. “they are. you’re just annoying.”

“i love you too,” she shot back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before skipping away.

singing randomly

you weren’t a fan of noise, especially when you were trying to focus.

but hanni was a walking jukebox, always humming or breaking into song at the most random moments.

“can you stop?” you’d grumble, trying to concentrate on your work.

“stop what?” she’d reply innocently, twirling around the room as she belted out a love song.

you’d glare at her, but deep down, you couldn’t help smiling.

especially when she changed the lyrics to include your name.

poking your cheeks

hanni had an odd obsession with your cheeks. she’d poke them at every opportunity, claiming they were “too squishy to resist.”

“do you mind?” you snapped one day, swatting her hand away.

“not at all,” she replied cheerfully, poking you again.

you huffed, but when she giggled and kissed the spot she’d just poked, you let it slide.

showing up unannounced

you liked your alone time, and you hated surprises.

so when hanni started showing up at your place unannounced, you were less than thrilled.

“don’t you ever knock?” you asked as she waltzed into your living room.

“why would i? it’s me,” she replied, flopping onto your couch like she owned the place.

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you didn’t really mind.

because with Hanni, even the things you used to hate felt… okay.

personal space

you were a fortress, a private island, a lone wolf.

but pham hanni was a storm, relentless and impossible to ignore.

she broke through your defenses without even trying.

she sat too close, invaded your bubble, and left her things scattered around your space like she belonged there.

and you let her.

because somewhere along the way, you stopped seeing it as an intrusion and started seeing it as her way of showing she cared.

by the time you realized how much she’d changed you, it was too late. she’d already wormed her way into every corner of your life, breaking down every wall you’d carefully built.

and honestly? you didn’t hate it.

as she sat beside you one night, her head resting on your shoulder and her fingers playing with yours, you finally admitted it to yourself.

you didn’t just like her.

you loved her.

hanni glanced up at you, her eyes sparkling. “what’s on your mind?”

“nothing,” you replied, squeezing her hand. “just you.”

and for the first time, that didn’t scare you.

a/n: i promised myself i wouldn't write anything this month so i could focus on studying, but i missed writing too much

now i feel like i suck even more than before :'D

[wholoveseggs]

Hey girl, while I am jet-lagged from a trip, another Elijah idea came to me. Memory-free Elijah (Season 5) meets strong and confident human readers, and they start a friendship. She helps him navigate through his new life, and he falls for her. He also kinda forgot that he is a really skilled lover, so it's kinda cute and fluff because he is nervous and sweet, but I imagine that is something he would quickly remember after a few rounds :)

Btw: love, love, love Kinktober!!!

Belonging

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} You needed a roommate, and he needed a place to belong...but as secrets unravel and his dark past comes to light, your new housemate might just change your life forever.

♡♡ ahhh @originals23 thank you for another spectacular request!! ♡♡

8.8k words {whoops} - Warnings: sssmmuuttt, roommates-to-lovers, lots of sexual tension, Elijah being charming and mysterious, a dash of angst, mild language, protective Elijah, soft and nervous Elijah, domestic fluff, dangerous encounters (brief physical assault), Paris, vampire reveals && all the feelsss

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @elishi03

Money was tight, as it seemed to be for everyone these days. The economy wasn't kind, and you had bills to pay. You needed a roommate, which was how you found yourself on craigslist. You were hoping for a good, sane human being, but at the end of the day, you would take what you could get.

The first person to show up for the interview was a woman and her very obnoxious boyfriend. You could instantly tell that this would not work, even if you were desperate. She wanted to smoke in the house and have friends over to play loud music and drink all night. You would rather die.

Next came a middle-aged man who immediately gave you the creeps. You had no problem living with men in general, but this guy made you uncomfortable. He stared at you too much and had a weird look in his eyes. You kicked him out quickly, feeling uneasy.

You were about to give up for the day, when a man dressed in slightly worn clothes knocked on the door. You couldn't quite get a read on him, he seemed to be full of contradictions. On the one hand, he didn't look to have a lot of money, perhaps he was even homeless. But his skin was clean, his hair neatly trimmed, and he had an air of confidence that was rare to see.

You invited him in, and he sat at the kitchen table as you asked the usual questions. None of them he could really answer in a straightforward manner.

"Where are you from?"

"I'm not really sure."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know that either."

"Where do you work?”

"I...I'm looking."

You studied him for a minute, and he gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. I know this is a bit unusual, and I wouldn't have bothered coming here if I had anywhere else to go. The truth is, I have no memories of who I am, where I'm from, or even my age."

"That's...that's a lot to take in," you replied, not sure what else to say.

He nodded solemnly, his gaze steady but filled with vulnerability. “It is. I woke up a month ago on a bus with no memory of how I got there. All I had was this,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a single, ornate cufflink with an engraved ‘E.’ “I think my name starts with an ‘E.’ Beyond that, I don’t have much to go on.

You leaned back in your chair, trying to process the situation. He could have been lying… anyone could come up with a story like that. But something about his demeanor struck you as sincere. He didn’t have the desperation of someone looking for a quick handout. He carried himself with dignity, even as he admitted he had nothing.

"Okay," you said slowly. "So, let’s say I believe you. You’ve got no memories, no job, no ID. How do you plan to contribute if I let you stay here?”

He straightened in his chair, his expression resolute. “I may not remember who I was, but I’m willing to work. I’m a fast learner, and I can help with anything you need around the house. Cleaning, repairs, anything physical...I’ll earn my keep.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure sound confident for someone who doesn’t even know their own name.”

A small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “I suppose some things are instinctual.”

His charm wasn’t lost on you, but you weren’t about to make a decision based on a smile. “And what if you’re dangerous? You could be an escaped convict for all I know.”

His smile faded, and his expression turned serious. “I understand your concern. I don’t believe I’m a danger to anyone, but I can’t offer you proof of that. All I can promise is that I’ll respect your home and your rules.”

You studied him for a long moment, weighing the risks. Something about him made you want to trust him, even though logic told you not to. Maybe it was the way he spoke, all articulate and thoughtful, as though he’d once been someone important. Or maybe it was the quiet sadness in his eyes, the kind that suggested he’d lost something far greater than his memory.

"Alright," you said finally. "You can stay. But there are rules. No bringing strangers into the house, no smoking, no loud music. And if you try anything shady, I’m calling the cops.”

Relief washed over his face, and he nodded earnestly. “Thank you. I promise you won’t regret this.”

You showed him to the spare bedroom, which was small but comfortable, and gave him a set of clean sheets and a towel. He looked around the room as though he’d never seen anything like it, running his fingers over the furniture with quiet curiosity.

As he settled in, you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he’d led before he lost his memory. He was polite and well-spoken, yet entirely out of place in the world. And though he seemed vulnerable now, there was something about him… something strong and enduring, like a flicker of a flame waiting to reignite.

For now, you decided to take it one day at a time. After all, what’s life without a little risk?

The following months passed by quickly. You got closer and closer to each other, spending a lot of time together.

He had gotten used to the city life, and you had gotten used to having him around. It had been nice, having someone to come home to, and to talk to.

He was a lovely person, who enjoyed listening to classical music as he cooked, and who was always willing to lend a hand. He was smart, funny, and kind, and you were starting to fall for him.

You weren't sure if he felt the same way about you, but the way he looked at you sometimes, and the way he smiled at you, gave you hope.

You were sitting in the living room, reading a book, while he cooked dinner. The smell of his cooking was making your stomach growl, and you were looking forward to eating whatever he had prepared.

"I found out something interesting today," he said, coming into the room with a bowl of salad.

"What's that?" You asked, putting your book down.

"My name," he said, a slight smirk on his face. "My full name, I mean."

"You did?!" You exclaimed, excitedly.

"Yep," he confirmed, looking pleased with himself. "It's Elijah."

"Elijah," you repeated, testing out the name. "I like it. It suits you."

He smiled, and the sight of his dimples made your heart skip a beat. He was so striking, and you wondered if there was someone out there missing him. Someone who loved him.

"It does," he agreed, his smile fading a little.

"So, how did you find out? Did it just come to you, or did you remember?" You asked.

"Actually... I uh.. ran into someone who claimed to know me. He wasn't very friendly," he explained.

"Oh no, are you okay?" You asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," he assured you. "I wasn't hurt. Just... I don't know, it was odd."

"Odd how?"

"He was angry, and he told me I wanted this, and that I should leave the city for the sake of a woman he wouldn't name," he recalled.

"That's awful," you said, feeling sorry for him.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Do you have any idea who the woman is?" You asked.

"... I think she might be my family?" He said, looking unsure. "It's hard to explain, but when he mentioned her, it felt like something clicked, and I knew that he was telling the truth."

"Wow, that's big," you breathed.

"I know," he nodded, plating up the food. "It's strange, I don't remember anything about my life, but the mention of her... It felt right."

"Maybe it'll trigger your memories," you suggested, helping him bring the food over to the table.

"Maybe," he agreed.

The two of you sat down to eat, and the conversation shifted to more pleasant topics.

He talked about his favorite books, and his favorite places in the city, and you listened, enjoying his company.

After dinner, you cleared the table, and put the dishes in the dishwasher. And he prepared for his nightly walk, one he didn't want you joining him on.

"Can I join you tonight?" You asked, as he grabbed his jacket.

"Why?" He asked, sounding surprised.

"Because I want to spend more time with you," you explained, hoping he wouldn't think it was too weird.

"Oh," he said, a smile creeping across his face. "Truly, I would love for you to join... But tonight, I want to clear my head. I need some time alone."

"Okay," you agreed, a little disappointed.

"Tomorrow night, perhaps," he said, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

You blushed, and watched him leave. He always had an excuse as to why he had to go out on his own, and it was starting to bother you. You couldn't help but worry that he was hiding something from you, or that maybe he didn't feel the same way about you, and this was his subtle way of letting you down.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was your growing feelings for him, but you decided to follow him, just this once.

You grabbed a coat and put on a pair of boots, and slipped out the front door. It was a cold, windy night, and you cursed yourself for not bringing a scarf and gloves.

You could see Elijah's silhouette ahead, and you followed him, keeping your distance. He walked with such grace and confidence, the sort of walk that screamed 'I'm rich and powerful,' although his personality hardly lined up with that attitude.

You had a feeling that whoever he was, before he lost his memories, had a lot of money. It was in the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, and the way he could make a cheap t-shirt look elegant.

He wandered into a sketchy part of town, and you wondered why he would want to come here. There were several run-down buildings, and a lot of graffiti. The only people you saw were homeless and drug addicts, and you were starting to get scared.

Finally, he stopped outside an abandoned warehouse. You watched from afar as he walked inside, and a few minutes later, came back out, wiping his mouth. You frowned, wondering what he had been doing in there.

Then, without warning, he turned around and started walking back towards the house.

"Fuck," you muttered, ducking into an alleyway.

You waited until he had passed, and then followed him, staying out of sight. He went back in a different direction, and after a few blocks, you realised he was headed for a park.

You followed him, trying to stay quiet, but your footsteps echoed loudly in the night. You felt foolish, and hoped that he hadn't heard you.

He led you deeper into the park, to an area that was mostly secluded. There was a large tree, with a bench underneath it. He sat down on the bench, and stared up at the sky, which was covered in stars.

You watched him for a moment, wondering if this was his way of relaxing, and what was going through his mind.

Suddenly, his eyes locked onto yours. You gasped and took a step back, your heart racing.

"Are you going to join me, or just keep spying on me?" He asked, his voice amused.

"I wasn't spying," you lied, sitting down next to him.

"Of course not," he replied, his tone clearly mocking you.

"Why are you here?" You asked.

"I like the fresh air, and the view is beautiful," he answered.

"What were you doing in that warehouse?"

"Just clearing my head," he said, his expression becoming serious. "You shouldn't be out here, it's dangerous."

"You are out here," you countered.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling up in the corners.

"That's true," he agreed, looking out into the darkness, his eyes scanning the shadows. His shoulders were tense, and you could tell that he was on alert, even though you were both sitting safely under the tree. "Let's walk back, shall we?"

He stood up and held out his hand. You took it and he helped you to your feet.

"I'm sorry," you apologised, feeling guilty. "I shouldn't have followed you, but I was worried about you."

"It's alright," he said, keeping a grip on your hand as you walked down the path to the park exit.

You enjoyed the feeling of his hand in yours, the warmth of his skin. You glanced at his profile, admiring his handsome features. You noticed the frown on his face, his dark eyes once again scanning the shadows.

He moved a little faster, pulling you along. He seemed anxious to get out of the park, and back to the safety of your condo.

"What's wrong?" You asked, sensing his unease.

"It's nothing," he replied, his tone serious. "But I think it's best we get home, don't you?"

Then the sound of gravel crunching beneath shoes caught your attention. You turned to see a group of men walking towards you, wearing dark clothing, their faces hidden.

Elijah stopped and stepped in front of you, shielding you from the men. They approached slowly, spreading out to surround you. You were frightened, and you held onto his arm, hoping he knew what to do.

One of the men reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun. Casually holding it by his side, as if it was a normal object, instead of a deadly weapon.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Elijah said, his tone calm and confident. "How may I be of service?"

The leader of the group chuckled, and shook his head.

"Hand over your money, and no one gets hurt," the man demanded, gesturing the gun at Elijah.

"Of course," Elijah said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He handed it to the man, and the man flipped through it, counting the cash.

"A little light, don't you think?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm afraid I don't carry much cash on me," Elijah said, sounding apologetic.

The man's eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his gaze flicking between you and Elijah.

"Perhaps you should let the lady go, and we can discuss this like civilized men," Elijah suggested, his tone still polite, but his eyes had hardened.

"I don't think so," the man replied, his grip on the gun tightening.

"I uh... don't have anything," you stammered, too terrified to think straight. "I...I left my wallet at home,"

"Liar," the man spat, pointing the gun at you.

Elijah stepped in front of you, putting himself between you and the gun.

"Now, now, there's no need for that," Elijah said, holding up his hands. "We're all reasonable people, let's not resort to violence."

"Then, perhaps, we should take her fancy designer clothes instead. Maybe that'll make up for the loss," the man said, his tone threatening, pressing the barrel of the gun against Elijah's chest.

Elijah tensed, and a low growl escaped his lips. You looked at him in surprise, he didn't seem like the type of guy who would react to threats this way.

The leader's eyes widened, and a small grin appeared on his face.

"Ooh, we have a tough guy here," he said, sounding amused. "Trying to impress your date? She’ a little young for you ain't she?"

His goons laughed, and you felt your cheeks flush.

"She is none of your concern," Elijah replied, his tone sharp.

"Actually, she is. You see, I'm in charge here," the man said, he looked at you and smiled, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth. "Strip. Now. Or I will shoot your sugar daddy in the fucking face,"

Your eyes widened and you shook your head.

"No, no please, we'll give you anything you want, just don't hurt us," you begged, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Clothes. NOW!" The man yelled, pointing the gun at your face.

You hesitated, and he grabbed your hair, yanking you away from Elijah.

"Take off the fucking clothes, or I will kill you both," the man snarled, his breath hot on your face, the barrel of the gun pressed against your temple.

"Alright, alright, don't hurt her," Elijah said, taking off his coat.

"Hurry up," the man snapped, releasing your hair.

You nodded and started to undress, tears streaming down your cheeks. You stripped off your coat and scarf, then pulled off your shirt and pants, shivering as the cold night air hit your bare skin.

You looked at Elijah, who was watching you, his expression unreadable. You could see the muscles in his jaw working, his hands balled into fists.

You were scared, but more than that, you were angry. You hated these men, for the way they were treating you and Elijah, and for the fear and shame they were making you feel.

"There, I'm naked," you said, trying to sound brave.

"Not quite," the man replied, stepping forward. He ran his hands over your body, his fingers rough against your skin, the gun still pressed to your temple.

You flinched, and he chuckled.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not going to rape you," he said, his hand cupping your breast. "You're not my type."

He moved his hand down, stroking your stomach, and then lower, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties. You shuddered, and he laughed again.

"But, maybe you'd like a little fun," he whispered, his lips close to your ear.

"That's enough, you've gotten what you wanted, now leave us alone," Elijah demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"It seems your sugar daddy doesn't want to share," the man said, his tone mocking. "He keeps pretending like he's in charge,"

"Please, let us go," you pleaded, your voice breaking.

"No, I think I'm going to keep you," the man replied, wrapping his arm around your waist, holding you against his chest.

"You won't harm her," Elijah warned, his eyes blazing.

"Or what?" The man sneered, his fingers digging into your skin.

"I'll kill you," Elijah growled, his voice deadly.

You watched in horror as the other men laughed, raising their guns at Elijah. He didn't even blink, his gaze fixed on the man holding you.

"Is that a threat?" The man asked, his grip on you tightening.

"A promise," Elijah replied, his expression was eerily calm, but his eyes were filled with anger and determination.

The man pressed the barrel of the gun against your skull, the cold metal pressing painfully into your skin. You gasped, and he laughed, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

"Walk away, and I'll let her go," the man said, his gaze locked on Elijah.

Elijah looked at you, and his eyes softened.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, his voice soft, barely audible above the sound of your racing heartbeat.

"Yes," you answered, without hesitation.

He smiled, and turned to the man. "Then duck,"

Before the man could respond, Elijah lunged at him, his hand grabbing the wrist holding the gun. The man yelped, and you ducked down, just as Elijah's knee connected with his face. There was a sickening crack, and the man cried out, letting go of the gun.

Elijah caught it before it hit the ground, and other men began firing, hitting Elijah in the chest over and over, but he stood there unfazed, almost bored, like they were annoying pests and nothing more.

One of the men, realizing his bullets were useless, rushed forward and swung a fist, hitting Elijah in the jaw. Elijah didn't budge, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. The man gasped, and tried to pry his hand off, but Elijah's grip was too strong.

You watched in awe as Elijah crushed the man's throat, his expression blank. Then, he threw him aside, the sound of bones snapping echoed in the air.

The other men backed away, their faces pale. Elijah ignored them, taking his leather jacket and putting it over your shoulders, before turning his attention to the leader.

The man was kneeling on the ground, clutching his broken nose. He looked up at Elijah, his eyes wide with fear.

"P-please," the man stammered, holding up his hands. "I'm s-sorry,"

Elijah stared at him, his expression cold. "No you are not,"

He crushed the gun in his hands like it was tissue paper, and grabbed the man by the throat. The man choked, his hands clawing at Elijah's arm.

"I promised you that I would kill you, and I intend to keep my word," Elijah said, his voice devoid of emotion.

You watched in horror as he tightened his grip, and the man's face turned purple. You wanted to look away, but couldn't tear your eyes from the scene.

Elijah's expression was a mixture of rage and hatred, his face was no longer human, he had completely black eyes, with veins snaking across his face, and his teeth were razor sharp, almost fang like.

He snapped the neck with a loud crack, and dropped the man to the ground. The other men backed away further, their guns forgotten, the color drained from their faces.

Elijah looked at them, and smiled, his fangs glinting in the moonlight.

"Run," he commanded, his voice dark and deadly.

The men fled, tripping over their own feet, disappearing into the shadows. Elijah turned to look at you, his eyes soft yet completely inhuman.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, unable to speak. You were terrified, but not of him.

"Close your eyes and count to thirty, I'll be right back," he said, and then turned and followed the men.

You watched him run off faster than any human could, and you closed your eyes tightly, hearing screams and cries as he caught the men. You waited, counting down from thirty, and then you heard his footsteps and opened your eyes, his face once again normal, the only hint that he had been a monster moments ago was the blood staining his shirt.

He didn't say a word, just reached out his hand and helped you to your feet. He picked up your clothes and helped you dress, your hands were shaking so badly that you could barely button up your shirt.

When you were dressed, he wrapped his arms around you, and held you close, his warmth enveloping you.

"S-shouldn't we call the cops?" You asked, still in shock.

"There will be no need," he replied, his voice calm and soothing.

You looked at the bodies of the men, and then quickly looked away. Elijah had torn them apart, their limbs twisted and contorted in impossible ways. Their faces were frozen in expressions of terror, their eyes empty and lifeless.

"You're not human are you?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I'm more human than them," he replied, his grip on you tightening a little. "Let's get out of here, and I'll explain everything."

"Okay," you said, letting him guide you away from the bodies.

You felt numb, and you let him lead you out of the park, your mind struggling to process what had happened. Who was this man? This creature beyond comprehension?

Who had you let into your home?

The sound of the kettle whistling pulled you from the daze you had been in. You were sitting on the sofa, wrapped in multiple blankets, Elijah's coat draped across your lap.

You watched him move about the kitchen, his movements confident and sure.

"Here," he said, handing you a mug of hot tea.

"Thank you," you said, taking a sip.

He sat down next to you, his body close to yours. He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you flinched.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised.

"But you killed them," you whispered, your eyes watering.

"I did," he confirmed, his voice calm and steady.

"How?" You asked, looking up at him.

"I have... certain abilities," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Abilities that make me stronger, faster, and more dangerous than any human."

You put your mug down on the table and turned to him, studying his face. He was watching you intently, his eyes filled with concern.

"Are you... are you an alien?" You asked, a hint of fear in your voice.

He laughed, the sound a pleasant rumble.

"No, I'm not an alien," he assured you.

"What are you then?"

"I'm...well.. I think I'm a vampire," he said, sounding uncertain.

A burst of disbelief mixed with terror erupted within you, and you let out a hysterical laugh.

"Vampire," you repeated, shaking your head. "Like Edward Cullen?"

"I don't know who that is," he said, frowning.

You let out another laugh, your mind reeling. It wasn't possible. Vampires weren't real.

"Y/N," he said, his voice serious. "I know this is a lot to take in, but please believe me. I am a vampire. I can't explain how or why, but it's true."

You let him talk as you grabbed your phone and searched up vampires. Showing it to him, and telling him to look at the search results.

"Sparkle in the sun? Not as far as I am aware," he commented, frowning.

"Holy water? Crucifixes?" You pressed.

"I'm not particularly religious," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Garlic?" You questioned.

"I love garlic," he replied, grinning.

"Can you fly?" You asked, wondering how many myths were true.

"I'm not sure," he said, his brows furrowed in concentration. "I've never tried."

He stood up and did a little hop with his arms raised in the air, like some sort of weird bird. You snorted and covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to laugh.

"No flying," he concluded, sitting back down.

"So, how old are you?" You asked.

"No idea," he said, a sad look on his face.

"Oh my god, what if you are like one hundred years old?" You asked, your mind racing with possibilities.

"Perhaps," he mused.

You paused at the next item on the list of vampire traits, and hesitated before asking.

"And the other thing... blood," you read, your stomach turning at the thought.

"Yes," he admitted, a look of shame crossing his face.

"So, when you went into that warehouse…?" You began, remembering how he had returned, wiping his mouth.

"I was hungry, and I needed to eat," he said, his voice low.

"So you just went and killed someone?" You asked, unable to keep the judgement out of your voice.

"No, he was very much alive, just passed out," he explained.

"And you didn't kill him," you pressed, not entirely convinced.

"I didn't," he insisted.

"But what if you did? What if the next time you went to get some 'sustenance' you did actually kill them?" You asked, starting to panic.

"Y/N," he said softly, taking your hand. "I would never hurt you,"

You looked at his face, searching for any signs that he was lying. But his eyes were filled with nothing but sincerity, and a hint of sadness. His gaze drifted to your lips, and his expression changed, becoming softer, and a little more intimate.

You quickly looked away, back to the list of vampire facts, and cleared your throat.

"Mind control," you read, and felt his gaze linger on you.

"Not to my knowledge," he replied.

"You can't enter a house without being invited," you continued, and his hand tightened around yours.

"Is that a request, or a demand?" He asked, his tone playful.

"It's a question," you countered, blushing slightly.

"Yes, but most invite me in without hesitation," he said, giving your hand a light squeeze. "You did,"

"Oh," you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed.

Your eyes went back to the mind control section, and a thought crossed your mind.

"Have you used mind control on me?" You asked, a sense of unease washing over you.

"I don't know," he admitted. "If I have, I'm not aware of it."

"Oh," you mumbled, not knowing what to say, but curiosity got the better of you. "Try to, make me do something,"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something harmless," you said, thinking for a moment. "Make me sing a song,"

"Very well," he agreed, looking thoughtful.

You waited, expecting to start singing. But nothing happened.

"Do you feel any different?" He asked.

"No, nothing," you said, disappointed.

"I don't know what else to suggest," he said, a frown marring his features.

"I don't know, look me in the eye and tell me to do it? Like... Tell yourself you can do it? I don't know… maybe it's a belief thing…?" you offered.

He nodded, and then turned to look directly at you. His dark eyes were intense, and his lips curved into a smile.

"Sing me a song, sweet girl," he said, his voice echoing strangely in your mind.

You told yourself not to sing, to sit quietly and not react. You repeated it over and over, until the words were all that was in your head.

But his voice seeped into the ribbons of your brain, dancing behind your eyes. You lost your awareness of time and space, and suddenly, a melody rose up from within you.

You opened your mouth and the words came tumbling out, and you started singing an old song that had been stuck in your head for days.

Elijah sat back and looked surprised, a small smile on his lips. You stopped singing, your face flushing in embarrassment.

"Holy shit," you gasped, a strange sensation creeping through your mind, like cobwebs being blown away. "It worked,".

"You have a lovely voice," he said, his tone gentle and kind.

"How did you do that?" You asked, feeling unnerved.

"I don't know," he admitted, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "I just believed that I could, and you did as I asked,"

You suddenly stood up, tossing the blankets off of you and heading to your wine rack.

"I need a drink," you declared, and picked a random bottle.

You poured yourself a generous amount, and drank it all in one gulp. Then poured yourself another glass. You looked over at him, and noticed the way his eyes followed the glass as it reached your lips.

"Do you want some?" You asked, the wine giving you courage.

"No, thank you," he replied.

You sat back down on the sofa, and took a long sip. Thinking about all the possibilities of what his vampire status meant.

"Could you mind control my mortgage payments away?" You joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Possibly," he said, smiling a little.

"Could you use your super speed to clean my apartment?" You teased, taking another sip.

"You're not thinking big enough," he replied, his grin growing wider. "I would love to leave this city, find a home in a new town and live a normal life."

"I'm not sure normal is something you could ever be," you quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"You might have a point," he conceded, his tone wistful.

He pointed to the artwork on your walls, you had purchased them at Ikea ages ago. They were those generic wanderlust posters of different famous travel destinations.

"Pick one," he said.

"What?"

"I'll take you there," he offered, his voice soft.

"Seriously?"

"I owe you so much, I think this is the least I can do," he replied.

You stared at him, your mind struggling to process his offer. Was he for real? Was he really willing to take you around the world?

"Paris," you blurted out, a blush rising to your cheeks. "I've always wanted to go,"

"Paris it is," he agreed, and your heart skipped a beat.

"Really?" You asked, unable to hide the excitement in your voice.

"Absolutely," he said, his tone sincere. "I would love nothing more than to take you."

"That's so sweet," you gushed, your face heating up even more.

"So, Paris?" He asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Yeah," you agreed, nodding your head.

"Then we will leave first thing in the morning," he said, his expression brightening.

"But I have work... I need to take time off-" you started to say.

"Forget about all of that," he cut you off, his tone gentle. "I can mind control people, remember? I'll just take care of everything,"

You laughed, the ridiculousness of the situation finally hitting you. He was a vampire, who had mind control powers, and was offering to take you on a trip to Paris.

"This is insane," you giggled, feeling slightly hysterical.

"Indeed," he agreed, grinning.

You finished your wine and set the glass down on the coffee table. His proximity was starting to make you feel hot, and a little giddy.

"So," you began, trying to distract yourself. "I guess I'll go pack my bags,"

"I can buy you anything we need when we arrive," he suggested.

"Are we gonna fly? Like on a plane?"

"I was thinking that I could just jump really hard and we can just land in Paris," he said, a serious expression on his face.

"Oh shut up," you giggled, playfully smacking him on the shoulder.

He chuckled and shook his head.

You smiled and sat back, taking a moment to reflect on the day's events. It had been an emotional roller coaster, and your head was still reeling from the revelation that vampires were real, and sitting in your apartment. But the prospect of a trip to Paris made your heart flutter with joy.

"I can't believe I'm going to Paris," you said, letting out a happy sigh.

"We," he corrected, smiling.

"We," you echoed, a warm feeling spreading through you and a huge grin appearing on your face.

This was going to be the best vacation ever.

France was just as magical as you imagined it would be. Elijah took you to the most luxurious hotel in the city, and ordered a feast fit for royalty. The food was incredible, the atmosphere romantic, and the company... Well the company was a bit odd.

The vampire man, who could control humans with his mind, who had saved you from being mugged, and who was now whisking you around the world, was a little hard to ignore.

What was harder to ignore was the raging jealousy you felt every time someone flirted with him. He was like a magnet for hot people of all kinds, and they would flock to him like moths to a flame.

It was ridiculous really. How they would throw themselves at him, practically begging him to fuck them, and he would politely decline. You felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing that no matter how good looking they were, no matter how talented their tongue, his attention belonged to you.

You were currently strolling along the Seine, admiring the sights, when you noticed a group of young women watching Elijah.

"They're looking at you," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

Elijah didn't bother looking up from his guidebook, but a smirk spread across his lips.

"I'm sure they are," he replied, sounding amused.

"Why are girls so obsessed with you?" You asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

"I have been told I'm... As the young say these days, a snack," he said, laughing at his own joke.

You couldn't help but snort and laugh along with him. He was a complete dork sometimes, and it made him all the more endearing.

He looked over at you and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He had been feeding from plenty of tourists, much healthier blood than the people he found on the streets of New York. His complexion was no longer the sickly grey it had been. Now he looked healthier, his skin glowing, and his eyes shining.

"Do you think I'm a snack?" He asked, his tone playful.

"I think you're an entire six course meal," you replied, trying to sound cool.

"Is that so?" He asked, an eyebrow raising.

You flushed and looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. Why were you acting like such a teenager?

"Yeah," you murmured, fidgeting with your jacket zipper.

"Perhaps you'd like a bite," he said, his voice low and inviting.

"Oh stop it," you groaned, pushing him playfully.

"No seriously, I've seen how you look at me. You want to sink your teeth into me," he teased, giving you a wink.

"That's you, Mr. Vampire," you retorted, sticking your tongue out at him.

He grinned and reached for your hand, taking it in his and bringing it to his lips.

Your heart rate increased, and your cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat rising to your face, and you quickly pulled away.

"You're such a flirt," you finally managed, shaking your head. "I bet if you kissed the hand of one of those girls over there, they would swoon right into the river,"

"I could," he agreed, looking at the group of young women.

The group of girls noticed him looking and they quickly began giggling and whispering amongst themselves. One of the girls waved at him and he waved back, his expression playful.

You couldn't help but smile at his antics. He seemed much happier here in Europe than he did back home, and his smile was infectious.

"See, they are already falling over themselves for you," you laughed.

One of the girls broke off from the group and walked up to Elijah. She was stunning, with long blonde hair, and big brown eyes. She said something to him in French, and he laughed and responded.

When you landed in France, Elijah could speak French perfectly. He didn't even notice he was doing it until you called him out on it. Making you both wonder just how much knowledge was locked away inside his mind.

You couldn't understand what they were saying, but the conversation seemed lighthearted. He took your hand and kissed it again, before saying something else to the girl.

She giggled and looked at you, giving you a wide smile. "Zhou are very lucky to 'ave such a fine 'usband."

You were shocked by her words, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Oh, we're not married," you stammered, shaking your head.

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows raising. "'E is zee lover?"

You couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. The idea of Elijah being your lover was too ridiculous to consider. But before you could correct her again, he spoke up.

"Oui, je suis votre amant," he purred, a wicked grin spreading across his lips.

Your stomach clenched at his words, and your mind struggled to come up with a response.

"Oui, oui, très romantique," the girl giggled, giving you a knowing look. "I'll let you get back to your 'oneymoon,"

She waved at you, and you awkwardly waved back.You watched her join her friends, who all began whispering and giggling again, the blonde fanning herself dramatically and clutching her chest.

"Did you just tell her that we were lovers?" You asked, turning to look at him.

His lips twitched into a faint smile, though he avoided meeting your gaze. “I thought it might discourage her interest.”

Your irritation faltered, replaced by something warmer. “She’s beautiful, Elijah. Why wouldn’t you want her attention?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the cobblestones. When he finally looked up, his dark eyes were steady but uncertain. “Because she’s not you.”

The world seemed to tilt, the bustling streets fading into silence. You stared at him, your chest tight.

“Elijah...” you began, but whatever you were about to say was lost as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss.

It was soft at first, hesitant, as though he were unsure if he was doing it right. But when you responded, your hands gripping his coat, your lips parting for him, his hesitation melted away. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened.

The sound of giggles broke the spell, and you pulled back, breathless and flushed. The group of girls was watching you, their laughter light and teasing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Elijah’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Was that... acceptable?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You laughed softly, your hand sliding to his jaw. “More than acceptable.”

Relief flickered across his face, though his cheeks were still flushed. “I wasn’t sure if I...” He trailed off, his uncertainty palpable.

“You were perfect,” you whispered, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

His lips curved into a small smile, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, the city alive around you but forgotten in the haze of the moment.

"That was my first kiss," he said with a small laugh.

You smiled, your hand cupping his cheek, tracing along his jawline. Taking in his handsome face, his deep brown eyes, his soft lips. You wanted more, you wanted it all.

"I have a strong feeling you've done that plenty of times before, you just don't remember," you teased, your gaze darting to his lips.

He let out a nervous chuckle, his fingers gently caressing your sides.

"Perhaps," he conceded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You stood on your tiptoes, and leaned in close, your lips inches away from his.

"Maybe I should refresh your memory," you said, your voice soft and flirty, "Back at our hotel,"

"Yes," he agreed, his smile growing wider. "And after, perhaps we could discuss this 'lover' business further,"

You snorted and playfully hit him on the shoulder, and his deep, sexy laugh echoed through the streets of Paris.

"Shut up, you are so cheesy," you giggled, your cheeks hurting from how wide your grin was.

He took your hand and kissed the top, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Let's go," he said, his voice warm and full of promise.

The two of you rushed down the street, and headed back to the hotel. The possibilities running through your head, making your heart pound with excitement.

Paris was already the most romantic place on earth, but now, with Elijah by your side, it was about to become unforgettable.

It had been quite a while since you last had sex, and you were feeling more than a little pent up. It also didn't help that Elijah was stupidly hot and a complete gentleman.

You had fantasized about him multiple times since the moment you met, and now the opportunity to make those dreams a reality was right in front of you.

You wondered what having sex with a vampire would be like, would he use his fangs? Would he be gentle or rough? You shivered, the thought exciting you more than it should.

The two of you rode the elevator up to your room in silence, both of you trying not to rush, but the tension was thick. He was holding your hand, and when the doors opened, you both hurried down the hall.

You let out a squeal as he scooped you up before you reached the door, carrying you the rest of the way. He used his supernatural speed, and before you could register what was happening, he was already kicking the door open and stepping inside.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and the excitement coursing through your veins. He gently placed you on the bed, and you let out a soft gasp as he crawled over you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and soft.

You could feel the blush spreading across your face, and the heat pooling in your core. He kissed your neck, and you let out a soft moan.

"I confess I haven't done this before," he murmured against your skin, his hands caressing your sides.

"I really doubt that," you said with a laugh, your voice breathless. "Have you seen yourself? Whoever you were before you lost your memories... He was a ladies man, I can guarantee it,"

He laughed and shook his head, slowly unbuttoning your dress.

"I suppose I'll just have to rely on my instincts," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face.

And those instincts... were impeccable.

His hands were warm and gentle on your bare skin, his lips soft and teasing. He took his time taking off your dress, savoring the moment, until you were finally lying beneath him, completely naked.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could feel the heat rising in your face. His eyes were dark and hungry, and you were desperately trying to keep your cool. But it was nearly impossible, especially with his perfect body looming over you.

You leaned up and kissed him, a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless. Your hands tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his pants. He chuckled, helping you remove his clothing. Your fingers traced along his firm chest, and down his arms, enjoying the feel of his skin.

You could tell he was a little nervous, his movements slow and tentative. He avoided your gaze, but kept glancing at you. A slight blush crept up his cheeks, and he let out a soft sigh.

"I do not wish to disappoint you," he confessed. "I fear I may fail at this task,"

You cupped his cheek, and gave him a soft smile.

"It's okay," you reassured him, your tone gentle. "We'll figure it out together,"

He nodded, and let out a shaky breath. You kissed him, trying to help him relax, and he returned the gesture with a little more confidence.

You gently guided his hands to where you wanted them, showing him what made you feel good. His fingers gently brushed over your slit, and a soft moan escaped you. He looked a little surprised, but his lips curved into a faint smile.

He began to explore, his thumb circling your clit. His movements were slow and deliberate, and you found yourself arching into his touch.

"Like this?" He asked, his voice soft and teasing.

"Mhm," you murmured, a blissful smile on your lips.

He kissed your neck, and you could feel his fangs brushing against your skin. The thought sent a shiver of excitement through you, and a soft moan slipped out.

His fingers eased inside you, curling just right, and you couldn't help but gasp. He let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you.

"I take it that's the right spot?" He teased, his voice low and seductive.

"Mhm," you moaned, nodding your head.

"What a pretty little sound," he praised, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, and he continued his gentle assault on your senses. His fingers worked you slowly, and his lips on yours felt divine.

The heat was rising, and you could feel the pressure building inside you. His thumb teased your clit, and his fingers stroked you just right. Your hips rocked against his hand, and he let out a soft hum of approval.

"Elijah," you moaned, your voice low and breathless.

"Yes, sweetheart?" He murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

"I'm so close," you panted, your nails digging into his skin.

"Go on," he urged, his fingers increasing their pace.

Your breath caught in your throat, your legs trembling. The heat was almost unbearable, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge. You closed your eyes, lost in the sensation, and then it was crashing over you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

You opened your eyes, and he was watching you with a bit of wonder in his gaze. You flushed, your heart still pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat in his eyes, and you knew he was enjoying this as much as you were.

When the aftershocks finally faded, he gently withdrew his fingers, his lips capturing yours in a tender kiss. You could feel his hardness pressing against you, and a sense of need overtook you.

You splayed your hands on his chest and pushed him onto his back, straddling him, and giving him a good view of your body.

He looked up at you with wide eyes, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed. He was gorgeous, and you felt a surge of pride knowing that he was yours.

Your hands were moving steadily downward, and when they reached his belt, you slowly started unbuckling it.

His breathing was getting heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you touched him through his boxers. He let out a low groan, his hands reaching for your hips, pulling you closer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his arousal pressing against your core. His eyes were hooded, and his breathing was ragged. You slowly pulled his boxers down, his thick cock springing free.

"My my," you said with a smirk, taking his length in your hands and stroking him gently. "Is this all for me?"

He groaned, his hips rocking forward, eager for more contact.

"All yours," he panted, his voice low and husky.

You could see the desire in his eyes, the need burning within him. And as his fingers dug into your hips, guiding you into position, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto his length, hissing as he stretched and filled you.

"Oh," you moaned, your head tilting back as he bottomed out.

He was big, and it had been awhile, you reached out for him, and he sat up and took your hands, kissing each one.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his tone soft and concerned.

"Yes," you breathed, your eyes meeting his. "You feel really good,"

His lips curved into a satisfied smile, and his fingers caressed the small of your back, gently encouraging you to move.

You began rocking your hips, slowly at first, and then building up to a steady pace. You were panting, the friction delicious, and he was gripping your hips tightly, his own movements matching yours.

The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure, the bed creaking beneath you, the headboard tapping against the wall. The scent of sex and desire permeating the air.

You could feel the flush spreading across your cheeks, and the heat building inside you. He was hitting all the right spots, and the look on his face was making you even more turned on.

He was watching you with such intensity, his gaze focused on your expression. Every time you moaned, or shuddered in pleasure, his lips would curve into a satisfied smirk, and his grip would tighten on your hips.

You were close, the pressure coiling within you, and you could tell he was close too. His movements were becoming more frantic, and his breathing was coming in short gasps.

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He responded eagerly, pushing you backwards, and pinning you beneath him. He gripped your hips tightly, his thrusts becoming harder, faster.

You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders. You were so close, teetering on the edge, and then you felt his fangs brush against your neck, and that was all it took.

The pressure released, waves of pleasure washing over you, and you cried out, your legs shaking. He groaned, his movements becoming erratic, and then he was spilling himself inside you, his cock throbbing and twitching.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath hot on your neck, and his skin slick with sweat. Your fingers gently traced along his spine, and he let out a satisfied hum.

He rolled off of you, and laid down beside you, his hand reaching for yours. You laid on your side, and intertwined your fingers with his, a content smile on your lips.

"That was amazing," you breathed, letting out a soft laugh.

He chuckled, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I agree," he murmured, his tone soft and sleepy.

You gently kissed his forehead, and then his cheek, and his lips. He smiled, his eyes closed, his expression peaceful.

You had never seen him like this before, and it made your heart swell. You couldn't help but lean forward and place a kiss on his chest, right above his heart.

You scooted closer, resting your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

"I love you," you whispered, your fingers gently tracing along his collarbone.

He stirred slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile.

"I love you too," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, snuggling against him, and letting the warmth of his body lull you to sleep.

It had been a long, strange journey, and there were still so many questions left unanswered, but in that moment, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was the man next to you, and the promise of what the future held.

[parasolladyansy]

hi!! i'm the same anon from the languages ask. (thank you for answering btw!! it was very interesting!) i've been having thoughts about pokemon languages for a WHILE, and i'd like to know what do you think was the expansion of "japanese" (let's say hisuian) from hisui to the other regions. if the pearl/diamond clan speaks "japanese", then the galaxy corps learned it from them, yeah? or were they settlers from before that were ALREADY speaking "japanese" (therefore there is no conflict with kanto, johto and hoenn speaking "japanese" too, even if it might have evolved slightly differently)? i have this headcanon that celestica people (who were there even before than the clans) spoke our equivalent "russian" instead, what do you think of that?

also THE LAST CHAPTERS OF THE D&P REWRITE HAVE BEEN HEARTBREAKING AND AMAZING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SMALL REUNION I LOVED IT ;;;

also if i am annoying feel free to tell me to stop i am Sorry ;; i just like languages a lot.

Hm! I would imagine they were all speaking Japanese, if we were to believe that they all came from “Japanese” regions originally (which I find very likely - there are a couple who have descendants further out in the world like Unova or Kalos, but for the times, I think it makes more sense for them to be from Kanto, Johto, or Hoenn).

I would actually guess that the Celestica people would have spoken “Ainu”, as I think the Celestica people are supposed to represent the indigenous people living in Hokkaido, the Ainu (the story of Legends Arceus being based on the colonization of Hokkaido in the mid-1800’s).

Another thought is that they could be speaking the Pokemon equivalent of an ancient Hellenistic language like Latin, as all the ruins & the Temple of Sinnoh are more styled like ancient Grecian / Roman architecture:

If so, my memories of Art History make me wonder if it’s a reference to the Silk Road at all? Though honestly, I think it’s to communicate that the Pokemon world is a lot more multicultural & diverse than ours is / was (like people who live in “Japanese” regions don’t seem to necessarily be genetically Japanese you know? Ikrit’s an example of that, being white rather than asian) &/or it just “looks ancient” lol.

As for Russian - the Ainu people lived (live?) in Russia as well as northern Japan, so maybe? I could see it being a substitute for Ainu, seeing as it’s an almost dead language, & could make sense in universe? Depends on the direction one wants to go in I guess! If it were me, while I COULD try to excavate my old memories of high-school Latin lol, I’d want to try including Ainu in some way, even if it’s a couple words or a phrase. ;u;

Thank you very much! I hope you keep enjoying the story (lol it’s all good - I love world building, & languages are a part of it!)

PS: Oh! I forgot - while all the “Japanese” regions probably speak “Japanese”, different parts of Japan have their own dialects, much like how different parts of the US have their own words, phrases, & accents.

This showed up in Legends Arceus when Kamado had a moment of losing his cool - in the US English, he seemed to have an almost Southern / country accent, but in Japanese, he talks in a Kansai accent (aka Johto accent). It’s also worth noting that the fire caused by Ho-Oh in Ecruteak City happened about 150 years ago, & as of PLA (set about 150 years ago), Jubilife Village is only 2 years old…

[paperstorm]

I've finally caught up with season 3 missing moments, and I wanted to ask you about this bit:

“How come you never asked me?”

Carlos is quiet for a moment, and then he softly answers, “I think it had to be you.”

TK presses a kiss to his temple and inhales the scent of his hair. He thinks so, too.

I was curious how they both came to this understanding that TK should be the one to ask? Obviously we know Carlos's secret but TK doesn't (and I suspect nor did the writers when they wrote s3!). I love the series btw!

Thank you!!

You know what even before the 4x01 reveal I always thought that it had to be TK doing the proposing and I think that remains true regardless of the Iris thing. I think it boils down to the fact that TK proposing heals something vital in both of them:

For TK, it's a necessary bookend to the trauma of what happened the first time he proposed to someone. He tried to end his life when the last person said no, and TK needed to work through all the pain of that and get himself to a place where he could conquer that fear and propose to someone else with no fear that it would happen again (also why I think his middle of the night proposal with no fanfare was also important, he needed to be so secure in their love that he could ask Carlos at 3:18am with morning breath and bedhead and know that Carlos would be saying yes to him and to their life together, not to the spectacle of a big public romantic scene).

For Carlos, it's the necessary bookend to both the trauma of his adolescence, and also of the break up. Carlos is the one who fell in love during the first dance, the one who has let his heart get ahead of his brain and made mistakes like making romantic dinners for a booty call and buying surprise lofts. He couldn't do the proposing because he would probably have a hard time trusting his instincts about whether TK even wanted to marry him after the debacle with the loft, but even more importantly Carlos needed to be proposed to because after he spent his whole life thinking he'd never have this happy ending, he needed someone wanting forever with him so bad that they had to startle him awake at 3:18am because they couldn't wait another second.

[novashelby]

John's Final Visitor-Evie and John

Summary: Evie visits John before his hanging to talk about her biological father, but ends up learning something quite dark about her daddy, Tommy Shelby. Warnings: Use of slurs(Italian), talk of whores, language

Word Count: 755 This was something fast I whipped up. I will probably revisit/rewrite this at some point. Please let me know. (Btw, it isn't confirmed in the main Evie verse if you 'know who' is her bio father. It is something I am experimenting with).

“Do you feel off?” Martha asked as her and Evie stood by the entrance of the institution. Evie hadn’t said much over the last few weeks. Feeling off was quite an understatement. She felt hollow. When she didn’t answer, Martha sighed. “Well, Teddy said that his uncle will meet us-well, you out here.” 

Evie forced herself to smile. “Thank you, Martha.”

Neither could speak another word until the double iron doors opened and a man of short, but heavy stature led Evie in. She looked back to Martha to ask why she wasn’t following. Martha could only offer a sheepish grin. “He’s already breaking the rules for you.”

“Follow me, Miss. Shelby,” he said, allowing the doors to shut behind her. The hallway was narrow and thin, dark and solemn. Evie cautiously followed, feeling herself get closer to death. “I’ve put him in a holding cell.”

“And how long can I have?” she asked as they stopped before a door. 

“Um.” The warden looked around and scratched the back on his neck. “Five minutes. Possibly seven.”

The single door opened and John instantly looked up, “Es-.” John’s grin grew and he let out a scoff. He threw himself back down in the chair, the chains hooking his ankles and wrists clanking. The room was so small that any source of noise echoed. 

She looked behind her and asked, “can you undo his hands?”

Teddy’s uncle gave her a look, but agreed, allowing John to have free movement of his hands. When the door shut behind them and they were alone, John grinned. “So, the wops come to let me lose, huh?” Evie couldn’t look at him, feeling that lump in her throat reappear. It hadn’t been for you, she thought to herself. “Can’t look at me?” She didn’t budge, considering leaving. “Look at me.” Sixteen years old, he thought to himself for no particular reason. She seemed older, more defined. Not like the little girl that used to hang at his coat tails. “Evelyn, look at me, huh?”

Her eyes slowly shifted to meet his. “I’m done here-”

“Did you mourn him?” John asked, jaw tight. 

With a quiver, she said, “I’m allowed to mourn-”

“Mourning for a fuckin’ daddy that never did notin’ for you. Hm?” John could be slightly impulsive, wearing every emotion on his sleeve. His soft eyes turned dark. “Mourning a man who fucking knew where you fuckin’ were for sixteen Goddamn years and never fucking reached out!” With each word, his fist hovered more and more over the table until he finally slammed it down. “Tell me Evie, are you gonna fuckin’ mourn me when they finally hang that fuckin’ rope around me neck, huh!? Are you going to mourn me?!”

Evie jumped each time his voice raised until she finally closed her eyes. “John, stop!” she cried out. “Do you not understand how I feel? Does no one in this family understand how conflicting everything is for me!? Every fucking day of my life. You may be a Gypsy, but I’m a fucking bastard and in our society, there is nothing goddamn lower than a whore’s offspring.” The room went cold for a moment before Evie sat in the chair. “So yes, I will mourn. I will mourn five times fucking over….I will mourn you, I will mourn Uncle Arthur, Michael, Aunty Polly, and yes, my fucking wop father-”

“He wasn’t-”

“Half of him runs through my fucking veins, John. I’m a wop. I’ve always been a wop. Born a wop and will die a wop. You sit there, justified in yourself, but out of everyone, your hands are the bloodiest-”

John reached over and grabbed Evie’s jaw, pulling her in, “your daddy-the daddy that fucking spared more than two seconds to fuckin’ love you order his final hit….And he knew, Evie. Tommy Shelby knew that Angel Changretta was your father when he ordered the hit. Isn’t that funny? Hm? No, no, you fucking look at me!” Evie tried to pull away, her body feeling faint. “Look at me, pretty girl because I’m going to tell you something-”

“John, stop-” “Arthur tried to stop him, saying that despite everything, that wop was your blood father-Evie, listen to me.” John slapped her cheek lightly, noting how much she quivered. The girl would have surely collapsed if not for gripping the table. “You know what your daddy said? Hm? All the more reason to kill the dirty wop. While you stand there, mad at me, you still worship the fucking Devil….”

[zablife]

@justrainandcoffee Flor, I’m teary eyed reading your wonderful comments. Ty for all your support and encouragement 💕 I credit you with renewing my passion for this series!

It makes me so happy to know you’re enjoying the chaotic Ada & Irene dynamic. There’s even more drama to come (I’ll answer your ask next to explain Freddie’s role.) I’m planning more Robinson family cameos as well bc annoying Miss Clara def has more to say 🤭

I’m still staring at the gorgeous moodboard you created for me btw. When I make a master list for the series, I’ll be sure to include it. Thanks again for the love 🫶

Green Gloves (Part 3)

Ada Shelby & OC (Irene Robinson)

Summary: Ada suggests Irene take a much needed break on a hot day, but when they reach their destination she notices something unsettling about her friend.

A/N: Still working on this series and I'll be adding a few more parts than originally intended. I hope it doesn't drag!

Warnings: mention of fainting, mention of injury

Part 2

“Ugh…it’s too hot!,” Ada complained, fanning herself dramatically with her hand. Pleading eyes roaming to Irene, she waited for a sign that her best friend would soon be finished. 

However, Irene’s gaze never wavered from the careful stitching she’d been working on all morning and Ada began to despair. “Can’t we open a window?” she groaned, pulling at the heavy frame in vain.

“It’s no use, that one sticks,” Irene dismissed her.

Slumping against the wall in dramatic fashion, Ada declared, “We’re going to die in here.” She cast a hand over her chest like she’d seen in films when heroines were overcome by peril, but Irene wasn’t paying attention to her theatrics.

Pitching forward on her stool, Irene wiped beads of perspiration from her forehead with a handkerchief with a deep sigh of exhaustion. She had to admit it was becoming difficult to concentrate on the intricate stitching she held in her hands. The stifling air inside her mother’s dressmaking shop seemed to be growing thicker by the hour. 

Moved by the look of defeat on her friend’s face, Ada asked more gently, “Haven’t you done enough for one day?” 

“Ada, I promised mum,” Irene muttered, needle caught between her teeth. 

Ada flopped onto a nearby stool with a sigh, searching the table for needle and thread. “I could help and that would make the work go by…” she began, only for Irene’s laughter to cut her off mid sentence.

“What’s so funny?” Ada asked, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly.

“I’m not sure,” Irene considered, removing the needle to point it at her friend accusingly. “The fact you think you can sew or that I’d let you!”

Ada rolled her eyes at the unfair insult, piping up, “Course I know how to sew! You saw the new buttons on Finn’s trousers, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Irene admitted, attempting to hide a smirk. 

Ada gave a nod of vindication, but it was short lived as Irene quickly added, “they were scattered all over the floor the first time he bent over!”

“You’re worse than Polly, I swear to God!” Ada huffed, standing to kick the stool.

It was Irene’s turn to roll here eyes at Ada’s childishness. Already irritable from the extra work and her discomfort, her friend wasn’t proving much help in distracting her when all she did was complain. “Look, Ada, if you’re determined to be miserable today, why don’t you go home?” Irene suggested.

A wounded expression flashed in Ada’s eyes before a more appealing thought popped into her head. Face brightening at her cleverness, she reached for Irene’s shoulders to turn her around. “If I’m going, you’re going with me!” she declared with a devilish raise of her eyebrows.

Irene shook free, cutting her eyes toward her friend suspiciously as she warned, “Ada, I know that look!”

“Then you know I won’t stop until I’ve gotten what I want,” Ada hummed, failing to contain her glee. 

Brow already furrowed in objection, Irene began shaking her head. “No!”

“Why not? You’ve been here all morning. Surely your mum wouldn’t make you go on if…” Ada took a moment to glance about the room in mock innocence. “I dunno…you fainted from heat or exhaustion,” she explained rapidly. “Both!” she proclaimed, finger in the air as she began to spin a tale Irene’s mother would never believe. 

“I won’t do it,” Irene stated flatly, returning to her work.

“Won’t do what?” a curious blonde girl asked from the doorway.

Ada and Irene both turned, faces dropping in unison when they spied Irene’s younger sister leaning in to hear their conversation. Like Irene, Clara Robinson was lanky for her age, nearly her mother’s height at just thirteen. The deception of it irked Irene because of the distinct advantage it provided. Clara was constantly mistaken as older and more trust worthy than Irene thought she deserved.

“What are you doing here?” Irene grumbled, having little patience for the sibling who always seemed to appear at the most inopportune times.

“I live here,” Clara retorted.

“Don’t be cheeky,” Irene scolded, doing her best impression of her mother’s disciplinarian tone.

Clara’s enormous green eyes roved over her sister, waiting to seize on something she could report. The longer she stared, the more it unnerved Irene, finally causing her to snap at her sibling, “Don’t you have deliveries to make?”

“If you’d ever get round to finishing that dress I might,” Clara remarked, glancing down at her cuticles with bored detachment. 

Ada couldn’t help the sigh of exasperation that escaped her lips. She’d managed to avoid her own annoying sibling today and didn’t feel like suffering Irene’s.  

Clara took note of her reaction instantly, locking eyes with Ada as she pointedly asked her sister, “Does mum know you have a visitor here distracting you from your work?”

“You’re the one distracting her now, aren't you?” Ada observed. 

Clara sputtered as Irene added cooly, “I’m nearly finished because dear Ada’s been helping me.”

A sour looking scowl spread over Clara’s face, certain that wasn’t the case. But before she could protest further, Irene recalled an important tidbit from breakfast. “And, as I recall, mum told you to study your maths between deliveries. That would be now in case you were wondering.”

With a pouty expression and a short harrumph, Clara turned to disappear upstairs with Ada snorting, “put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

Irene tried to suppress her laughter, but the tickle in her throat got the better of her. “I told you, she’s impossible, didn’t I?”

“That’s why you need a day off!” Ada insisted, resuming her campaign instantly.

“I won’t!” Irene hissed willfully, the spite in her voice meant more for Clara than Ada in the moment. 

“You will,” Ada countered, attempting to take the delicate material from Irene’s hands. A scuffle quickly ensued as the girls fought over it, falling to the ground and grappling for purchase. As they rolled, Irene began to worry the dirt from the shop floor would soil the beautiful lace she’d so carefully been stitching moments earlier and she gritted her teeth with renewed strength against Ada.

“Let go!”

“You let go!”

And so it continued until Ada’s shoulder nudged the edge of the work table, a large bolt of fabric tumbling to the ground with a thud. The crash brought a thunder of anxious footsteps toward the back room and suddenly Irene’s breath caught in her chest.

No sooner had Ada crawled away in defeat, Mrs. Robinson came rushing through the door, her eyes wide with fear. After years of shepherding four children through a myriad of catastrophes, one might think she would have become accustomed to such chaos. In Ada’s experience, similar trials had lead Polly to assume a hardened disposition that often leant itself to fits of rage the likes of which Small Heath rarely matched in temper. Yet somehow Mrs. Robinson’s well never ran dry, offering the benefit of her empathetic heart at will. 

Upon witnessing this for herself for the first time, Ada felt her throat constrict with unbridled guilt, knowing she could never answer for the false pretenses under which she’d summoned this angel.

“What’s happened?” her mother gasped, rushing to her daughter who now lay motionless with fear. “Irene!” she called, falling to her knees and hovering over her daughter with frantic concern. 

“I…I think she might have… fainted?,” Ada squeaked from the corner.

Irene’s heart slammed against her ribs, eyelids screwed shut at the deception they’d caused. She prayed her mother wouldn’t notice how ineffectively she played dead, her stomach twisting with nausea as she remembered her father’s untimely demise a year earlier. Eyes opening to the panicked expression hovering over her, she gave her mother a slow blink of acknowledgment.

“Irene, are you alright?” she asked, stroking her daughter’s hair.

After a sheepish nod of her head, Irene managed to whisper, “I’m fine.”

“Thank God!” her mother sighed, helping her to sit up. “I think that’s enough for today. You girls should get some fresh air,” she suggested, looking between Ada and Irene with a reassuring nod.

Though it felt like a hollow victory Ada managed a weak smile, accompanied by a half-hearted wink, from over Mrs. Robinson’s shoulder and Irene could only groan in reply.

———————————-

Now that summer had descended, the grass grew thick and lush, offering a soft bed for an afternoon nap. After a long walk to a quiet spot outside town, Irene had quickly fallen asleep in the warmth of the sunshine, leaving Ada to read her book in peaceful silence. It had become a routine for them the past few weeks of good weather, knowing it would soon pass. The haven of these carefree days was exactly what Ada needed with the ever present war talk and Polly’s depressing morning prayers. Most days Irene welcomed the distraction, even when they did nothing at all because Ada always had a way of turning the day’s events into an adventure.

As Ada contemplated what Irene was dreaming of behind fluttering eyelids, a soft snore rose from her side and she looked down to find her friend turning over, a ladybug crawling past her freckled shoulder. Leaning over to brush the insect away, the neckline of Irene’s dress fell open slightly to reveal a jagged scar just above her breast. A moment of hesitation found Ada’s fingertips ghosting over it, eyes watching Irene’s sleeping form intently before lightly pressing her fingers to the raised mark. 

The skin was a decided shade of pink and raised to the touch, bumpy as she felt along the ridge. Ada found herself wondering what misfortune had befallen her friend to have caused such a deep wound when Irene began to stir, eyes blinking against the bright rays of the afternoon sunshine. 

“Was…was I asleep?” she muttered, rubbing her eyes.

Ada pulled away with a jerk, burying her nose in her book as though she’d been concentrating deeply the whole time. “Yes,” she confirmed a bit too quickly. 

Irene sat up, tugging at her dress to put it back into place as her eyes roamed Ada’s tense figure with suspicion. Extending her limbs out for a long stretch, she allowed a yawn to ripple through her body before stating calmly, “It’s ugly, but at least it’s faded now.” She looked out toward the pond for a moment, knees pulled up under her chin and rocked herself gently. 

Ada fumbled with the pages of her novel, lips pursed at the thought of being caught. To diffuse the awkwardness of it all she found herself blurting out, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“The scar on my chest,” Irene stated matter-of-factly.

“There was a ladybug crawling on you and I brushed it off. I didn’t mean to-“ 

Irene chuckled and tossed her head. “You’re blushing,” she teased, a new habit picked up from her boisterous friend.

“Wh-what? I’m not!” Ada denied, heaving for breath, unaccustomed to this role reversal.

Silence enveloped them for a short time, Irene busying herself absently plucking a few wildflowers to make into a chain. “Never thought I’d live to see the day Ada Shelby went silent,” she mused, enjoying the slight flush that still colored Ada’s cheeks.

Ada watched Irene’s hands lace the flowers together with the same practiced ease of her sewing, mind far away. Her voice grew somber as she ventured, “What happened to you?”

No sooner had she spoken the words, Irene was dusting her palms, having already pushed herself away from their resting place to survey the water. With one hand held to her forehead, she shielded her eyes against the glimmers of light reflecting back at her. Head snapping back hard enough to crash her ginger curls against her chin, she challenged, “Race you!” 

An incredulous scoff escaped Ada’s lip. “I’m faster than you!” 

“My legs are longer,” Irene stated emphatically, sure she’d win.

Ada only shrugged, shucking off her dress and leaving it behind on the grass along with any thought of further questions.

They tore off toward the water, shrieks of laughter piercing the air so loudly a group of birds flew from the trees. It was a welcome respite as they basked in the cool water, Irene submerging herself below the murky depths, hiding the imperfections she’d grown to loathe. But a smile graced her face even as her legs churned beneath the surface, making conversation about the girls working at the betting shop. And she was quite glad when Ada took the lead, prattling on about the gossip she’d overhead from her aunt. 

-------------

Tag List:

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[buwheal]

Man although I can't send this and have Spamton see the image (cuz it would be text instead) I'll send it to you and you can give me your opinion about it.

What do you think...

...about...

...snowy Spamton?

IT SNOWED YESTERDAY YESS!!!

(this was on a car btw, which made it even better)

[desultory-novice]

"What? Her?" (Also, why would you phrase it like that? Weird...)

"It's a complicated story but, she's..." "She's like a..."

"Like my..."

"...My Emotional Support Waddle Dee..." 

(First one to laugh dies, got that?!)

Noir's Field Trip Masterpost]

[umbrify]

hello i saw u tagged jimmy solidarity on that "free my man he did none of that. he did a bunch of other shit though" post and i am incredibly compelled by the implications here. please may i have an essay on the subject

YOU MAY.

Okay so we’re gonna be specifically talking about Empires SMP Season 2 Jimmy (henceforth, Jimmy,) and the way he conducts himself, how those actions reflect on him, versus how he sees himself (and how the fandom sees him in turn). Welcome to my Ted Talk.

The most important thing to understand about Jimmy is that he lies. He lies about everything, and convinces himself that his lie is true to the point where he really thinks it is. Take, for example, a moment in Sausage’s episode 41 [full exchange from 9:10 - 19:37] where Jimmy kills Sausage, and then when Sausage, followed by fWhip, return to Tumble Town to discuss the murder, Jimmy blatantly lies about the altercation to fWhip, claiming “[Sausage] came over, and he assaulted me, fWhip!” Jimmy insists that it was Sausage who physically started it, despite that being completely untrue. Jimmy then goes on to deny having killed Sausage Sausage at all, sounding affronted at the idea and demanding to see the player head that drops on death. fWhip asks how many levels Sausage has, which is none, and Jimmy claims that Sausage must have used all his experience. Jimmy denies and lies, and when fWhip goes looking for Sausage’s things, finding them in Jimmy’s storage, Jimmy acts shocked, saying “I think I’m being set up! […] I’m gonna leave this conversation, you do what you gotta do, but I don’t think I’m the bad guy here.” As if Jimmy didn’t explicitly kill Sausage moments ago!! As if it isn’t his fault!!!

And the problem here, the core problem, is that so many people just… believe him. They take Jimmy’s words at face value and assume that he’s always a reliable narrator in his own stories, despite the fact that it couldn’t be further from the case. The issue is less that people assign New and Different problems to Jimmy, more that they strip him of any wrongdoing at all, making him out to be some sad little pathetic wet cat who didn’t deserve it. And— don’t get me wrong, he is extremely sad, but he also did it to himself.

I think one of the more interesting ways to illustrate this, is to talk about the way Jimmy perceives himself. From the start of the season, he always insists on being called “The Sheriff.” He’s not Jimmy, he’s The Sheriff, and throughout the season, he can be seen constantly insisting upon and chasing after that title. He wants respect— or, his version of respect. What he really wants is a yes man. This difference can very clearly be seen in the way he treats the two deputies he had throughout the season.

When fWhip was the deputy, it’s because he wanted to be. He sought Jimmy out because he wanted to be Jimmy’s right hand man, and Jimmy let him. fWhip consistently referred to Jimmy as The Sheriff, upholding Jimmy’s version of the laws as best he could. And, there really is something to be said about the fact that fWhip, as a goblin, inherently didn’t understand the concept of arbitrary laws, or that sort of morality at all, and was only one, upholding it because he cared about Jimmy, but two, treating the laws as Jimmy treated them— i.e, making a shrine for that which Jimmy made a church for, but that’s a whole separate essay that I want to write at some point. Either way, he was good to Jimmy, though their time together was short. He made Jimmy a home away from home in Gobland [fWhip episode 8 timestamp 20:28] and helped Jimmy win the court trial by serving as his lawyer in the case against Joel [Trial best seen in Jimmy’s episode 10 starts at 3:03]. After fWhip was fired, he went around Tumble Town noting down a bunch of “laws” that Jimmy was breaking. I wrote a whole post about this set of interactions already [here] but the short version is this: In fWhip’s episode 12 [5:54], he goes around and marks down all the laws that he’s saying Jimmy is breaking around Tumble Town. […] Of the seven instances that fWhip writes down, SIX of them almost directly relate to Jimmy not taking good care of himself or his empire. To me, it almost reads more like he cares about Jimmy, and is worried about him.

All this to say, that fWhip didn’t Respect The Sheriff as much as he Cared About Jimmy. And that’s an important distinction— he cared about Jimmy, the person. He had this whole veneer of respecting the laws— laws that he didn’t really understand— because he cared about Jimmy. And Jimmy fired him for a prank— one that wasn’t specifically targeted or malicious— because he saw that as Disrespecting The Sheriff. He didn’t want someone who Cared About Jimmy, he wanted someone who Respected The Sheriff. And fWhip wasn’t that.

Enter Scar.

During the Hermitcraft crossover, Scar started gunning for the position as deputy because he wanted the shiny deputy badge. That was it, that was the reason, and Scar acted accordingly. Everything was about acting like he Respected The Sheriff, even when he was blatantly breaking one of the core laws, wearing another player’s hat— both the sheriff hat [Jimmy episode 19 4:07] as well as trading away a sheriff hat, and being seen wearing one of Scott’s Chromia hats [Jimmy episode 22 14:27]. In this episode, Scar backhandedly compliments Jimmy, “oh, you’re just a… cute big guy, aren’t you?” to which Jimmy seems uncertain, asking “I’m real big, right?” to which Scar says he is. Jimmy then asks him about the Chromia hat Scar wears, and Scar tells him that he traded one of the sheriff hats to Scott. Jimmy gets upset at Scar, but before he can get properly mad, Scar distracts him by showing off a new section of Tumble Town that he made. Scar wears the mask of respect for just long enough to get the badge. When Jimmy gives him the badge, he says he has something else that he wants to give Scar as well. “I have found something real special for you, real special.” Scar says “I already got something special, this badge.” Jimmy says “you mean our friendship?” Which Scar dubiously agrees to. This is the last time Jimmy sees Scar before the hermits leave— Scar got what he wanted, and that was all. And yet, Jimmy hired him, because Scar put on the show. Scar was his yes man, Scar Respected The Sheriff, even if he didn’t Care About Jimmy.

He does it to himself, Jimmy does. He pushes away anyone that tries to care about him as a person, and surrounds himself with people that will be his yes men, his little sidekicks, anyone that holds the sheriff title in high regard. It’s why he takes so well to the Old Sheriff, who treats the sheriff title with the same reverence that he does, respecting the title of sheriff without actually respecting Jimmy much at all.

The thing about Jimmy is that he causes his own problems, and they’re all his fault. Yes he is crushingly lonely, and filled with self hatred, but he actively surrounds himself with it. It’s not that people are just inherently mean to him, he is almost asking them to be, by pushing away anyone that seems to care about him as a person.

I think, as my final note here, I wanna bring up a moment from Jimmy’s finale, episode 38. He and the Old sheriff, as they’re making their way to the Nether portal, discuss how fWhip only ever referred to himself as goblin fWhip, never as king. Jimmy says “I don’t think he ever held himself to the regard of being a king, and that— d’you know what? That sucks. He was my deputy for a while, he didn’t really think much of himself, I’m not gonna lie” [9:19]. I just find it interesting, that Jimmy says that it sucks how fWhip never called himself king— a title ostensibly higher than sheriff— and that fWhip was only a deputy. As if he thinks that fWhip could’ve been king, perhaps was worthy of the title, and just never took it— that he sees the taking of a title such as that to be so important, when for fWhip, it never was. I dunno, I just think there’s something to that. I think it says something about Jimmy and about the importance he places on titles that don’t really matter.

Jimmy ran away, in the end. He and the Old Sheriff ran far away from everything they ever knew. fWhip stayed, choosing to live out his days happily in the empire he helped to found. fWhip never took the title of king. Jimmy thinks he should’ve.

Isn’t that something?

[crescentfool]

What are your ryomina headcanons? I've loved these two since I played P3 FES, and I'm so excited to get back into the fandom^^

hi!! thank you so much for the ask, welcome back to the p3 fandom, it's always a delight to see new and old ryomina fans alike! 🥺💛💙

as for headcanons, here's a "few" i that i tend to come back to a lot! my interpretations of them are influenced from both the source material and other's fanworks, so i've linked to them as i saw fit! hcs in no particular order under the cut because oops this got long (900 word bullet point list, mentions of reload content up to 1/1)

minato's hair is dyed blue (hair originally brown, you can see it in his roots!) and he has a beauty mark on under his left eye. i like mirror imagery and there's definitely a few arts i've rb'd that portray them this way :) (e.g. this one by feliichu and this one by marasschino)

as far as i'm concerned the bathhouse scene from the manga where ryoji's hair down = similar shape to minato? that is canon to me. this art from xierru is a fun depiction of hair down ryoji :D

ryoji is homeless. everyone say thank you foxmulder_whereartthou for this awesome fic it's why i have the headcanon! but like seriously. we have no idea where ryoji lives and i could believe this.

minato dying at the end of the game is sad to an outsider's POV BUT!!! ryomina gets to be together in death for the rest of their lives (this illustration from mafuwara is a gorgeous representation of them as nyx avatar + the seal)!

speaking of the seal, they are like telepathically communicating to me in the great seal together. (mymp3 had a comic wip with this. give it a looksie :D)

ryoji likes cuddling with minato because he's warm :) (something something orpheus has fire affinity, minato is warm by extension and ryoji is cold because he's death)

ryoji's camera roll is filled with pictures of minato! ryoji... loves life, to me. and i feel that photography and journaling are perfect ways of expressing gratitude and capturing the moments in life that are most important to you :3

my other favorite activity for these two is stargazing- i feel like it's something they could appreciate either in life or death (looking at the stars from the great seal...)! they do a bit of this in the fic eurydice's vow by crescentmoontea (P5R spoilers, takes place in third sem it's a very fun fic concept).

between ryoji and minato i feel like ryoji was the one who fell in love first- and it doesn't really click in place for minato that he loves ryoji until december hits (appriser reveal + ryoji transforming into thanatos). its about the realization that ryoji was with him for his whole life and that he gets him like no one else does.

ryoji is like a sad and wet puppy who is so scared minato won't like him back. he is so scared of being rejected by minato to me like. this boy straight up deflates after he does his "i know i said i wanted us to be friends, but... i actually want to be something more." / "what about you?" on 12/1 ???

AND SPEAKING of wet puppy ryoji. ryoji is like. every animal in the world to me. he's a bird. he's a cat. etc. and also ryoji knows every language in the world ever and uses it to express his love for minato. see this fic from superheroics to see what i mean.

both of them are lactose intolerant. "this isn't lactose, it's milk!" i definitely think ryoji would make himself sick eating ice cream and milk he doesn't know what lactose is. (i made a silly poll about this once and the tags were very entertaining.)

i see minato as transmasc or nonbinary depending on the day (schrodinger's headcanons babey they're simultaneously true and not true at the same time!!). either way he's not cis to me and ryoji is like. His Gender. anyway go read this fic by nail_gun for t4t ryomina :D !

ryomina are WEIRD GUYS TO ME!!! they are so strange and they understand each other better than anyone else because of the circumstances of their relationship!!! if you asked them to do the "i wonder what i taste like" meme i think they'd start biting each other (affectionate) tbh but that's just me.

after ryoji gives minato the music box in 12/31 on reload, minato listens to the music box every night in january. this boy has insomnia and also chronic illness to me (things that housing death does to you). but i think he finds comfort in the melody and memories he made with ryoji.

in general, i think it's fun to imagine minato taking ryoji to places and show him things he's interested in! i feel that ryoji takes a lot of interest in minato's life, this isn't really a hc because in reload, minato DOES give ryoji a tour of the school (11/9) and possibly port island (11/12). but ITS CUTE OK! (tangentially related fanwork: this series of doodles from vinnigami: 1, 2, and 3)

not a hc but minato's kindness is like the backbone of their relationship and i think we would not have the ryomina we know and love today if minato wasn't such a kind soul. oh minato.... we can learn so much from you... like ryoji did!

anyway! that's all the hcs that i could think of, thank you for the ask! i had a lot of fun answering this, these two mean a lot to me 💛💙

i hope you don't mind the links to the fanart and fanfic as well, the fanwork people have made for ryomina have really made an imprint on me! if you want to see more of them, i definitely recommend looking through my tag for them because oh. i got a lot of them reblogged alright 😂 (<- SOOO NORMAL)

[gingermintpepper]

OML also have you read /heard of Desire for Peace? It’s an ongoing webcomic about Ares’ recovery from his time in the jar by @/ephemeral-roses. It’s only 3 episodes long so far but the WRITING and the ART and the EMOTIONS is gorgeous. plus I LOVE their Aphrodite so much !!

Okay so when you sent this ask I hadn't known anything about @ephemeral-roses Desire for Peace but upon reading it, I immediately bolted to read the available three chapters and stalk their tumblr a bit. Now that I've sat with what I read for a few hours, I can confidently say that I'm quite a fan!!

I've seen a modest amount of takes on the 'Ares recovers from his jarification' premise most notably in fics, but it's my first time seeing a spin on it that seems to be primarily concerned with Ares' mental health in the aftermath. Also the opening premise of Ares being born twice, first from his mother and then from the jars was like, very impacting to me, I'm extremely interested to see how that is expounded upon. It's also really cool to have Ares as an amputee? There are many many elements that are tying Ares to his brothers just in these first couple chapters - born twice like Dionysus with one birth involving them having to be repaired after being torn apart by monsters (Ares is mental but Dionysus/Zagreus was physical), disabled like Hephaestus and being accompanied by Hermes who, instead of acting like a psychopomp and delivering Ares to death, instead acted like a nursemaid and delivered Ares back to life.

Anyway, the point is, thank you very much for pointing me in the direction of this series!! I'll definitely be keeping an eye on it eagerly!!

[necrotic-nephilim]

this is an invitation to ramble about slade/batboy ships: sladick, sladejay, sladetim, sladedami, and other batfam member/villain ships, especially jayroman and ra'stim :)

AAAAAA this is so delightful oh my god thank you. adding a read more just because this one is going to get Long to cover all the ships and all my opinions. because my god do i love Slade.

firstly, the original Robin/villain ship, SlaDick. Slade Wilson, literally created to be a Teen Titans villains, with the original Robin he cannot be normal about ever. i'm so sad there's not much interest in Slade aside from making him a generic Evil Guy who canonically likes teenagers because i think to just boil down his complex with Dick to 'weird attraction' robs them of SUCH nuance. Slade *trusts* Dick, he trusts Dick enough to ask Dick to train his own daughter Rose. and initially Slade's complex over Dick isn't sexual, it's seeing Dick as a replacement for his dead son, Grant. that's messy as hell and i love them for it. i don't think there's a single villain that has the respect for Dick that Slade has. i'm always of the opinion Dick's attraction to Slade is rooted in daddy issues and Slade's attraction to Dick is rooted in dead son issues. do i think they could end up as an old married couple? yes but only in a world where Dick is completely broken and feels alone. my favorite SlaDick flavor is post-Jason's death. Dick and Bruce are arguably at their worst during that era to begin with so Dick is pretty isolated and emotionally unstable. and Slade would take such advantage of that, swooping in to offer Dick emotional stability and fucked up sex to get out pent up emotions. (i'm big a big fan of Dick fucking out his feelings tbh) and Slade is just. this sort of bad habit Dick will kick for a year or two then come crawling back to. you can directly track how well Bruce and Dick are getting along based on how many times Dick has slept with Slade recently. and that's the prize, for Slade. knowing Dick will come back to him, eventually. it's all about patience. and if something really extreme happened to Dick (like Bruce's fake death) i think they'd even date briefly. it's not entirely impossible for Dick to date someone he disagrees with morally (see: his flings with Helena) and i think Dick would keep trying to 'save' Slade, using the upper hand he has of filling in this role of Slade's dead son to try to domesticate him. would it work? who knows but if anyone is going to try over and over, it's going to be Dick. it's practically self-harm for Dick yet the only thing keeping him sane. i love them.

SladeJay is... an interesting one for me. because i like the *potential*. but they have no significant interactions pre-Flashpoint. and while usually i can forgive New-52 and Rebirth for their grievances if it has ship fodder i just... can't do that for Jason. Judd Winick's Jason is the only Jason that exists to me so even Slade and Jason's canon interactions matter little to me because it's not the version of Jason i care for. the upside of that though, is it's more of a sandbox to explore what they could be and there are no limitations. i can just run wild. which is fun bc. you're telling me Slade wouldn't be so drawn in by the idea of a dead Robin who's come back and is now the antithesis of Bruce's morality? i think at some point Slade would want to poke the bear, really see what Red Hood is made of. do i see them working long-term? no but i do think Jason would have zero qualms working with Slade if he got something out of it. and if he could fuck with Bruce or Dick by having a short, fucked up relationship with Slade? that's even better. i don't think Slade could ever truly respect Jason, at the end of the day the Dick Grayson standard is too high and Slade would sneer at the idea of a legacy who fucked it up so bad he got blown up. but, he'd see that as Bruce's failure more than Jason's. and for Jason to have someone look him in the eye and say that Bruce *failed* him? i think that'd just *do* something to Jason. and Slade has lost a son, he knows what that loss feels like, how you feel you failed as a father. would he have interest in being fatherly to Jason? no but i think he'd have fun momentarily manipulating Jason and seeing what reactions he gets out of what jeers. Jason's been calling himself a failure this whole time, so to have someone else say it is no real big deal, but to have someone else say it's Bruce's fault and voice Jason's feelings? they'd have the most fucked up sex with the most unhealthy dirty talk that's both gentle and degrading. i don't think Jason would ever let himself get too close, he's far too emotionally guarded. but for a second, i think he'd fantasize about having even *half* the amount of attention that Slade gives Dick. bc what has Jason always been, but in Dick's shadow.

SladeTim. my two blorbos. in one place. somewhere in my drafts i have a half-started longfic about SladeTim that's one half really fucked up porn and one half slowburn feelings. arguably Tim and Slade don't have many canon interactions, but it's fun to me that when they do, Slade always seems sort of startled by how well Tim fights back and Tim's willingness to fight dirty in a way even Dick doesn't. and to me, that's the crux of this ship. as far as Robins go, Tim should sort of slip under the radar for Slade. he's not the dead one turned villain, he's not the grandson of Ra's al Ghul, hell he's not even the child of a second-rate villain like Steph, he's not *the* Dick Grayson, he's just... the other one. grew up pretty rich and normal and fell for all of Bruce's wax poetic nonsense. so when Tim puts himself on the map as a hero, makes himself a worthy opponent against Slade that's interesting. even to Tim, Slade isn't a particularly remarkable villain since Slade cares to stay more on Dick's radar. so when they cross paths there's a lot of unexpected. neither of them have thought about the other too hard. so there's this interest and intrigue about it i love. i'm a big fan of the idea Tim is a massive masochist, both physically and emotionally and Slade is The Sadist Ever so. i like them falling into bed together and having the most fucked up sex. like Tim just being a Weird Little Freak so fucked up even Slade raises an eyebrow. because this isn't what you *expect* of a kid like Tim, who's had a pretty easy life before tangling with vigilantes. he should be like a fish out of water, but instead he's matching Slade's energy in ways even Dick doesn't. and of course, how smart he is, that's an asset. it takes a special kind of kid to have the audacity to poison Lady Shiva with hotel chocolates and pull it *off* no less. it earns a begrudging respect, and it's rare to get Slade to respect someone. i really like the idea of Tim seeking Slade out only for fucked up sex and somehow Slade falls for this weird little freak who's cold and clinical outside of sex and keeps him guessing.

i'll be honest i've only considered SladeDami in the context of seeing antis say 'omg Slade has been predatory toward Damian ewww' and going 'no the fuck he hasn't but if you want that so bad i'll ship it just to spite you all' but their canon interactions do fascinate me. a lot of how they interact is predicated on Slade as a father, even more so than SlaDick. like Slade will fight Damian and then be like 'hey be good to your old man fathers need their sons' and fucking dip. and then with the whole Respawn thing and Shadow War? that was extra crunchy. for a brief moment Slade had a son who was a brother to Damian and then he goes and *dies*? talk about the complex that would give him with Damian, the spitting image of Respawn. Make Slade Weird About Batkids That Remind Him of His Son 2024. Damian holds an utter contempt for Slade that is simply unmatched. so Slade not leaving that kid alone because of his weird issues, making sure that Bruce doesn't screw up with Damian the way he screwed up with Respawn is very fun. and Damian slowly building up a tolerance to Slade's annoying antics could be fun. Damian is, at his core, still just a kid who needs the approval of something father-shaped and he will Take What He Can Get. are they ever healthy or long lasting? no but i do think Damian would cling to Slade during his teen years for something incredibly fucked up and codependent until either Slade dumped him or he forced himself to get over it.

JayRoman. i will not lie love these two but i don't think i've read many Black Mask comics when he's not interacting with Jason. which is funny because my entire conception of Roman is him just getting humiliated by Jason and really what more is there to know about the man. Jason is so unserious in how he handles Roman and the best part is you can tell it's truly because he doesn't see Roman as a threat. Roman's just a pawn in the game of getting Bruce's attention and sure, Jason is aiming to kill Roman by the end of it, but he'll always have bigger fish to fry. and that's so *infuriating* for Roman. this new guy who's *clearly* a fucking teenager shows up, owns you so badly it shatters your empire, and then you only live bc he seems to have gotten bored of you. JayRoman is my particular favorite ship for the flavor of 'the sub in bed is in control of every other aspect of their relationship and their submission is a gift that can be revoked at any time' which we don't get enough. fucked up power dynamics always have the sub being the one lacking control. and whilst i enjoy when Roman is able to absolutely control and manipulate Jason through various means, i think in canon, it makes far more sense he's pathetic and begging Jason for even a *chance*. and Jason very specifically picking who he subs for based on someone who he could kill or destroy at the drop of the hat if he needed to is a very Jason thing to do. there will never be trust between these two. they will fuck nasty and Roman will be in love with Jason. but they are both carrying a gun during sex. the gun is probably involved during the sex.

Ra'sTim. my everything. Red Robin (2009) you will always be famous to me. what *don't* they have. forced proximity. enemies to lovers. forced partnership. one-sided obsession. ridiculously large age gap. deep unforgivable betrayal. i will never evacuate these two from my brain dear god. Ra's is another one of those villains who gets painted with one broad stroke of being cartoonishly evil with no exploration of his interesting nuance. making him nothing but a villain is boring. where is the Ra's who loves so deeply and fully and has to lose his loved ones over and over and will not let that happen to Tim. he wants to consume Tim in a 'cannibalism as a metaphor for love but also probably literal cannibalism' way. the amount of trust put in Ra's in order for Tim to be able to betray him as spectacularly as he did? that's glorious. Tim had full unfiltered access to Ra's' computers even when he was advised against trusting Tim so much. and then Tim wins against Ra's and willingly lets Ra's kill him. (obviously Dick saves him, but I'm of the opinion Tim was just committed to dying in that moment and he was Okay With That) 'i will betray you if it's the last thing i do' as an act of love. Tim is to Ra's what Dick is to Slade. you will never convince me Tim and Ra's didn't hatefuck at least once during RR (2009) with a questionable level of consent. i'm so serious i will never shut up about them. the way Tim talks about working with Ra's as if he's making a deal with the devil and Ra's talks about Tim like he's the precious, once in a life time thing, one of the only people worthy to produce an heir for Ra's. how's that not gay. what other ship involved one of them literally trying to have the other's baby to raise as an heir. Ra's would probably carry the baby himself if he could. memes aside they're just so. they're so it. i love when Tim is forced into a Situation where he has to work with Ra's and confronts the darker aspects of himself that Ra's wants to bring out but Tim wants to squash. it is The corruption kink. whether Ra's succeeds or not in corrupting Tim doesn't even matter because the real crux of this ship is the chase. it's the way the heart pounds when they reach out for each other and you don't know if it's for a kiss or a killing blow. it's very Hannigram to me, in that i don't even need or want them to kiss to know they're in love. love to them is not true love's kiss, it's the thoughtful place they decide to stab the other in. be the sheath to my dagger type ship. hold all this bloody violence i know you're capable of inside of you. let me cut the violence out of you ship. what more can you ask for from a ship. Ra's would tie Tim down and torture him both as foreplay and as a love language and Tim would be too fucked up and self-sacrificial to stop him. always playing the dangerous game of how far will the other let them go until someone tries to die or kill. listen i think i lost the plot here but my point is they're unwell about each other. Tim will make Ra's regret the day he met Tim Drake not just for the betrayal but because Ra's can never go back to a time Before Tim. before knowing what the chase felt like. they're so. them.

[wickmitz]

any thoughts/opinions on vikdecai?

i don’t believe i have any complex thoughts that haven’t already been said by the community at large! mostly my opinions just correlate to a very fond i like them, since mordecai kneecapping viktor in order to save himself from having to hurt him later is really one of the first things that humanizes his character. makes you realize he’s not nearly as cold or practical as he tries leading you to believe -- a front that unravels further given his atlas obsession. and i like that! my favorite thing about mordecai is his subtle longing for the lackadaisy crew, how much he doesn’t wish to hurt them, and how venomously he loathes his current life … what he’s doing now isn’t what he wants to currently be doing, but merely what must be done for his goal, one which is already layered in lackadaisy sentiment. so his bond with viktor is important to me, given how much it highlights this inner struggle and earnest truth within his character. but then again, this can also be applied to mordecai’s relationship with mitzi, atlas, and ivy, so let me discuss them in a more romantic sense. which i’m sure is what this question is trying to get at!

romantically, i view mordecai and viktor’s dynamic as … favorable? it’s entirely plausible there were feelings there, an intimacy only they shared as men inside atlas’ arsenal, people who were entirely knowledgeable of the lackadaisy’s nasty underbelly. it’s their slaughter of people deserving and of many, many innocents that help their boss’s speakeasy run, and this violence ( this constant watching one another’s back ) would only breed closeness in spite of the horror it’s built on. and, of course, they have core things in common outside of their job and efficiency for bloodsport! like their love for family, their devotion towards those who matter most, and how out of place they equally feel on this soil - - in this world and era, where everything feels like it’s out to get them in some way or another. their ability to connect beyond their surface level traits and quirks ( mordecai and viktor are very much opposites on their surface, and they have a habit of bickering about these differences, albeit lightheartedly ) demonstrates the profoundness of what they have and what they’d do to protect it. they care for one another in little gestures, insignificant to most but in a way that truly matters to them … as they can see the genuineness in it, since they’re putting themselves into the careful actions and aren’t just doing things for politeness sake. for example, mordecai tries adorning them in matching cloth so they’re two equal halves, symmetrical, and then we have viktor who pocketed mordecai’s glasses to give him later when they were done with their mission. i like to imagine there are more things like this in their relationship! stuff that isn’t as severe as life or death, like saving your friend’s skin by a mere inch or dragging each other to a finish line every day. any of atlas’ men can offer that. it’s the extra things, done out of agency and personal desire, that bring them closer than any other regular joe on atlas’ payroll. it’s rather clear that they were close canonically, and that viktor was perhaps mordecai’s closest friend in a way that atlas could never be due to the pedestal he was constantly put upon. and while we have less insight on viktor’s feelings, i’d imagine the betrayal has never, and will never, fully heal. it is not a wound he can easily patch up, and it isn’t something one could just forget either. how can you dismiss someone who used to be your hands and eyes and ears? when you two functioned as another man’s extra body in your entirety? you may as well have shared a mind when out on the field, and that’s a closeness and a trust which is hard to lose. viktor hardly lets anyone in as is, just as anti social as his spectacles wearing companion, so to lose that in such a violent was is an unspeakable pain he bears, i’m sure. mordecai took whatever remained of his life from him with that shot. he’s permanently robbed viktor the ability to defend the last few hairs he cares to protect. his purpose is now up in the air. and all this anguish from someone he completely and utterly believed in … there is a lot of hurt, is what i’m saying. a hurt that’s too deep and life altering for it not to be supremely personal too. it’s deep and festering and viktor ignores it, and mordecai ignores it, mostly, but sometimes his paw strays near his wound and he itches at it, and it reopens the ache all over again. there is metaphor to be found there! an abandonment and a departure that leaves you bloodied from maiming or being maimed. it is very easily a multi-layered sentiment!

however, i could still take this or leave it romantically, hence my earlier statement of favorabe rather than unabashed gushing and swooning. this is a ship i like, but i don’t read mordecai as crushing on viktor per se? i’ve always viewed his extreme relationship with atlas as puppy love that’s half bred from devotion, something not entirely genuine but also still genuine enough, which makes for a nice parallel between that and rocky’s bond with mitzi. his rivalry with atlas’ wife and his oddities such as wearing his boss’s shirts read as girlish crush behavior, typical things one does when believing themselves enamored, you know? naturally his views and feelings for atlas aren’t quite that simple nor easy to parse, and i’m not trying to simplify them in any way! i just believe he had a torch for atlas, and thus didn’t carry another for anyone else, at least not as intensely. whatever feelings he might have for someone would always be second to atlas, who was his very reason for living and breathing every day, who was his answer and justification and eventually? his obsession. in many ways i think mordecai was too wrapped up in atlas to properly develop feelings for viktor, even if there were inklings of something inside of him. ironically, the term something is what i love using when thinking about him with viktor or mitzi. mordecai is something with those two, he feels something, an unlabeled sort of thing he can’t really reach -- perhaps he doesn’t even want to, scared of what it might mean, what it could say. and it is different somethings! they are not the same feeling, what he feels towards those two, but it’s not fully known to him in the way that his feelings towards atlas was. it is not as clear! especially now, with things as awful as they are and with mordecai so full of turmoil he’s forcing himself to not share. he also has an intense aversion to emotions, obviously, which doesn’t help matters lol. this man could find some of the closure he’s so desperately seeking if he took more than a glance inside of himself, but then he wouldn’t be apart of this tragic tale, now would he?

still, in a better world where the lackadaisy’s gaggle of traumatized characters are allowed healing without any casualties or major losses, then i’d enjoy seeing a viktor and mordecai slowburn. where they decide to remain steadfast by each other’s side like once upon a time before, and they deal with life as a unit. maybe when given the space for it, mordecai’s affection can finally cement into real love for viktor -- the romantic kind, something sappy and disarming and maddening all at once. maybe viktor will allow such indulgences, finally able to touch upon his heart again and use it in a way that he hasn’t gotten to in a couple ages. or maybe he won’t share the specific feelings that mordecai possesses for him, but he’ll enjoy creating an entirely new thing that’s only for them : he can compromise and he can bend if mordecai is willing to bend just the same. they certainly wouldn’t be your typical couple, their emotions too stunted for regular dates or typical pda, but there’s something more special and intimate to them carving out their own space, and thus having their own secret world. a mix of platonic and romantic affections, a healthy dose of selfishness and desire they couldn’t ever have before but now can hoard so entirely, in small bearable doses. and there will always be some things they both won’t ever be able to shake ( mordecai disabling viktor, atlas, viktor’s daughter, etc ), although they could manage these aches and guilt better together, which is the exact sort of happy ending i’d want for them. if i may be so indulgent myself haha ( <- person who knows lackadaisy’s ending will be mostly dark and tragic but likes playing around with hopeful scenarios and what-if’s regardless! )

[puppyeared]

Hey I’m new to the LMK fandom, why do so many people ship Sun Wukong and Macaque??

A lot of people like the hurt/comfort potential because of their backstory and because they’re just really good counterparts lol. Macaque even makes a whole play about their past relationship, which is where a lot of that fuel for the ship comes from and the whole “the hero and the warrior were like the sun and the moon” spiel that people love using for shits and giggles. There’s also a really strong enemies to lovers sentiment and i think it’s kinda sweet

Personally, I just really like riffing off the divorced energy. To me, these idiots would rather beat the shit out of each other than make up and I really really eat that up. Not just as a joke, maybe as a way to cope with their feelings like “I want things to go back the way they were but this is all I can do”

[katkat030]

whats your favorite mc skin from life series/hermitcraft !!

Life series:

It is so, so hard to pick just one, so I've settled on a 3-way tie between this particular amazing Secret Life Scar skin, Gem's gorgeous yellow skin (also from Secret Life) and the iconic 5am Pearl skin.

Hermitcraft:

So I couldn't decide on a single skin here either buuut these are my six favourites from Season 9!

From left to right; mossy Bdubs, cleaner lady Pearl, bone mage Xisuma, elven Gem and both the matador? mattress store? and elf Scar skins.

I couldn't find a frosted tips Tango or a sculk Cub (used tier lists to get a lineup of all their skins) but they would absolutely be here too.

[pigeonstab]

IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY?????

WAIT I HAVE TO GET A CAKE HOLD ON

Have some cake and a lil bitty kross and a big tight bear rat hug for one of the coolest bloggers and artists and people on this whole website, you make every fandom you're in brighter and we're all super lucky to know you <3

Thank you????? So much??? 💖💗💓💖💞💖💓💗💓

Your kind words make me so happy you don't even know. I think that's one of the nicest things anyone has ever told me, genuinely. Our interactions and my place in this little fandom ecosystem makes me so happy it's been such a huge help and support for me. I'm so grateful to be your friend even if we don't really know each other XD