#that is shaped by its occupants as much as its occupants are shaped by it

[powerfulkicks]

*in a half fugue state* a discord server as an ever changing house

[moonlitdesertdreams]

On the Surface

A/N: Nothing important, please enjoy and send me more ideas! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader, Lucy MacLean WARNINGS: None Summary: Lucy knew traveling with the Ghoul would be tough, but no one told her it would be so... weird. Especially when he stops to pick up another companion along the way.

Word count: 1.2k+

(GIF credit to @talesfromthecrypts)

Lucy surely didn’t know what to expect when she trudged along after the Ghoul and Wilzig’s dog, charmed by its new companion. 

She followed, weighed down by the revelations Moldaver had laid bare. It had pulled the curtain away from her entire life and ripped her heart to shreds. Between seeing her father flee and leaving Maximus, her mind was heavy with pain. 

The Ghoul was absolute zero on the comfort scale. He walked silently, only breaking it to mutter hypothetical questions at the dog- so affectionately called Dogmeat- and cough dryly. Lucy decided they had to have been walking for hours through sparse woods and dry ground before a flickering light appeared on the horizon. 

And after everything she’d been through, she fully expected another fight. 

But the Ghoul seemed to gain some motivation at the sight, and moved along at a quicker pace than they had been. Lucy was able to make out the shape of a small campfire burning, less than ten feet away from a fairly large, but crudely-built cabin. It was tucked into a patch of dead trees, and had what she thought to be clothes hanging on clotheslines outside. Even the dog was excited, barking loudly and jogging up to the cabin. 

Lucy stopped a few yards away, apprehension freezing her limbs into place. The Ghoul continued on, hopping lithely onto the front porch and knocking at the door. Again, she expected the occupant to come out, guns blazing, and be killed by the man at her door. 

Maybe he’d even make Lucy carve pieces of them off to make jerky again.

What she didn’t expect was the door to open, and the Ghoul to crack a smile she’d never seen. A figure- a woman- stepped out onto the porch. Lucy watched them exchange a few words before the woman leaned in towards the Ghoul and…. hugged him?

What the fuck even was this place?

The Ghoul, always cold and callous with Lucy, chuckled out loud. “Miss me, sugar?”

When she pulls away, the woman is beaming. “Every day.”

Lucy probably looks like a whole fool, jaw gaping and brow furrowed in confusion. She stares at the woman, who eventually turns an eye to her. 

“What’s this? Gettin’ some on the side, Cowboy?” The still unnamed woman trots off the porch towards the Vault-Dweller. 

Upon closer inspection, the woman doesn’t appear as angry as her statement. She’s got long hair wrapped into a complicated braided style to keep it up and out of her face. There’s a smattering of freckles over her sunburnt nose, and a jagged scar running the length of her right cheek. The gnarled tissue pulls her mouth into a scowl, but she’s otherwise well-kept. She’s probably three or four inches shorter than Lucy, but no less intimidating. 

“Calm down, woman.” The Ghoul bites. “This is Lucy MacLean.”

The woman pauses, looking back to him for confirmation before staring back at Lucy. “MacLean, eh? I can see it.”

Spurs clank as the Ghoul takes those slow, scary steps towards the woman. “Thought you might be interested in comin’ along. We’re followin’ her dad. Hank.”

A smile twists the lady’s lips, fighting against the wretched scar on her face. “Come on in. We can leave in the morning.”

And that’s how Lucy finds herself in the rickety cabin. The woman- who still hadn’t offered up a name, much like her Ghoul friend- had led her to a room and tossed a scratchy blanket and pillow in behind her. Despite her gruff exterior, she had told Lucy there was a pantry in the kitchen full of non-perishables, and cans of purified water hidden in the back. And though water sounded beautiful, Lucy was more stoked about the water purifier connected to the house. She was told there was cold but clean water in a makeshift wash room to clean up.

So Lucy took her time to freshen up in the first relatively put-together place she’d been since coming up from the Vault. The little cabin did have lights, thanks to a generator that hummed along outside. She was able to scrub the grime from her face and hands, and attempted to do the same with her Vault-suit. There was an old Nuka-cola  bottle on the floor in the washroom with ‘SOAP’ scratched across it in cursive. It lathered like any other that Lucy remembered, and she felt like a new person walking out of the wash room and back into her own little space. 

Unsurprisingly, her empty stomach reared its head in protest, and she decided she’d make one last trip to the pantry before bed. There were no voices outside of her room, just the humming of an old Television setup she’d seen on her way in. Lucy tiptoes back to the junction of the living area and pantry, but stops dead in her tracks. The lights are all off, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. 

The living area right inside the door, the one she’d passed by on her way in, was occupied by both the Ghoul and his mysterious friend. However, instead of the simple sofa she’d observed prior, it was now pulled out into a bed. 

A bed in which the woman and the Ghoul were curled up,  completely unconscious. 

Lucy almost feels bad intruding on the situation, but she’s more bewildered that anyone could show such affection towards the irradiated man she’d come to hate over the past few days. And they’re not even just sharing the bed, they’re tangled together and… cuddling? The Ghoul is on his back, head propped on a pillow and hat still on his head but tipped down low to hide his disfigured face. The long coat he’d worn day in and day out is hanging over the armrest beside his bandolier, guns easily accessible. And the woman, looking relaxed as ever, is curled up on her side with her head on his chest. The Ghoul has one arm curled around her shoulder, the other loosely gripping his inhaler device as he sleeps. 

Lucy collects her jaw off the floor and scoots along to the pantry, snagging a couple ration bars and a can of water before heading back. She tries not to look again as she goes back to her room, but the temptation is too great. She pauses, turning back only to hear the click of a gun being cocked. 

In the darkness, she can only see the whites of the Ghoul’s eyes and a flash of teeth. “Move along, Vaultie.”

Lucy obeys, and practically dashes back to her room. 

So when they move out in the morning, Lucy pretends not to notice anything. When the pair stops their trek and leans in close to murmur directions at each other, Lucy taps away at her Pip-Boy. 

There’s even a time where she returns from gathering water to find them locked in a kiss, coats swaying in the Wasteland wind. And Lucy had immediately backed up, lingering in the treeline until they broke apart. 

The displays of affections continue with the travels, and it wasn’t odd to wake up to the sight of the woman curled beneath her Ghoul’s arm, content as ever. Days pass, and Lucy doesn’t mention it. It’s kind of cute, she comes to think. She didn’t dare mention anything in fear of the Ghoul’s wrath. 

So their odd trio trots along through the desert, letting Dogmeat take the lead. 

And Lucy? Well, she's learning to be blissfully ignorant towards the abnormalities on the surface.

----

thanks for reading, much love ❤️

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: Soshiro Hoshina was hard to rile up, but after seeing a certain captain flirting with his girl, it seemed he needed to take matters into his own hands. Maybe he needed to remind you that he was the only one to bring you pleasure, in any shape or form.

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗: Soshiro Hoshina (Kaiju No. 8)

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.9k

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘: Fem!Reader x Hoshina. SMUT.

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Thigh Riding, Impact Play, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, Narumi being an instigator, Condescention, Choking, Possessive Behavior, Calling Reader 'Kitten', Hair Pulling, Slight Power Dynamics (if you squint).

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: Here I am once again back on my Hoshina agenda. Welcome to the cult. Listen this has been on my mind since I saw pookie fight for the first time honestly. So please enjoy this very indulgent fic. (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ Also, oops its late. The full masterlist for my kinktober can be found here.

There were few things in this world that truly got under Hoshina's skin, in a world with so much devastation he tried to keep things light and only took situations seriously when it mattered. Keeping a smile on his face nearly constantly, being told by his colleagues his inability to take things seriously. However, when it came to you? Hoshina never took things lightly. Your safety and happiness came above all else. It was one of the reasons he detested your shared occupation at times. Dating his subordinate was taboo to say the least, highly frowned upon.

But, just because you both couldn’t explicitly be forthcoming with the nature of your relationship, didn’t mean anyone with a brain in their head could tell there was something at the very least between the both of you. The longing looks sent in eachother’s direction, late nights spent “training” together, the distinct marks that peeked through the collar of your uniform that could have only been left behind by his signature canines. There were more than a few indicators to hint that the both of you were an item, even one particular close call with Kafka before his reassignment in the training room long after lights out. So why was it that he felt the need to flirt with you every time the first and third divisions were forced to be in the same proximity?

Narumi had always had a nasty habit of finding Hoshina’s last nerve and dry humping it. The two divisions both being based in Tokyo, that natural formed rivalry, assisted in the competition between the two men. Often unable to be in the same vicinity as one another without it devolving to the both of them arguing, throwing nasty insults in each other’s direction. However, as of recently, Narumi had begun to take a different approach since your promotion to platoon leader. Whether he knew what was going on between you both or he simply suspected that Hoshina had feelings for you, was still indeterminable by the vice-captain. Regardless of either possibility, he had seemed to make it his mission to not only flirt with you but make comments regarding you consistently while in his presence. Mentions of “how good you filled out your uniform” and how “he’d like to have some private training with you”. Doing anything to get his blood boiling with rage.

What Hoshina didn’t know was Narumi was fully aware there was something going on between you both. He had incredibly good eyes, eyes that had immediately locked in on a peculiar mark that stood proudly against the collar of your uniform. There was also the time he saw you exiting the vice captain's office readjusting your uniform with kiss-swollen lips as he was on his way to discuss a joint training. He just loved how easily Hoshina was riled up, his signature smile growing tight at each mention of you. So when one of his platoon leaders was sent away and an important mission came up for the first division, of course Narumi was strolling into Hoshina’s office cheshire smile stretching his face as he leaned against the door frame advising him he had already spoken with Mina and he’d be borrowing you for a bit.

To say Hoshina was angry was an understatement, he was absolutely livid, but he gritted his teeth and bared it. He was on edge the entire length of your absence. Was a week truly necessary? He perked up like a pathetic puppy as the sound of your laughter met his ears, indicating your return. However, his excitement was quick to melt into jealousy as he watched you stroll in with Narumi, the current source of your laughter. Whatever he said couldn’t have been that damn funny. His sour mood continued long after Narumi’s departure, the two of them exchanging looks, Narumi’s unbelievably smug while Hoshina’s dripped venom, a concealed threat clear in his gaze.

You, oblivious to being the object of their most recent assault on each other, being caught off guard by Hoshina’s change in mood. Normally whenever you were sent away he all but rushed to your side upon your return. The most you got was him gripping your arm, lips pressed against your ear as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll be in your room after lights out I want you ready for me, no fucking panties you hear me?” He was already walking off before you could even formulate a response, more than confused by his abnormal behavior. That was how you found yourself in your current position, waiting for his arrival anxiously in nothing but a large sleep shirl.

Hoshina entered your room after a few moments, not even a single word exchanged before pulling you to your feet. His hands cupped your cheeks harshly as he dove to capture your lips with his own. The kiss was intense from the start, a clash of teeth as his tongue immediately bullied its way past your parted lips. He made out with you hungrily, moving to sit himself on the edge of the bed, taking you down with him. You were quick to straddle his lap, whimpering into the kiss as your hips rolled against him in search of some friction. Without warning, the loud echo of a slap rang its way throughout the room. Hoshina’s large palm coming in contact with your ass. The same hand trailed it’s way up your form, fingers curling around your throat, using it as leverage to pull you away from the kiss.

“How was your time in the first division, baby?” There was an air of harshness in his tone, one that told you he clearly had no interest in how your time had been. “Shiro, what..” Your words were quickly cut off by his lips as they crashed against yours once more. Hoshina rarely lost his temper, but there was something about Narumi that agitated him, his comfortability with you had him seeing red. The captain was extremely popular, garnishing more than a bit of female attention. But you were his, Narumi would have to pry you out of Hoshina’s cold dead hands. “Fuck kitten, missed you so bad.” He groaned against your lips. His desperation clear in his voice. Now, you may have been oblivious, but you were by no means stupid. Hoshina’s actions were out of character, and you were fully aware of his distaste for the first-division captain, he was jealous. Of course he was, it all made sense now. “Missed you too baby, so fucking much.” You whispered as best you could in the kiss.

Your words helped qualm is aching envy, even if only a little bit. His hands traveled south, gripping your ass in his grip, another harsh spank delivered to your ass. Sometimes you forgot just how strong your boyfriend was, a stark reminder coming as he manhandled you into straddling one of his thighs as he pulled away from the kiss. “Yeah, baby? Missed me?” He purred, tensing the muscles of the thigh you were sat on, guiding you’re his by the grip he had on your ass until they started moving of their own volition. “Then show me how much you missed me baby, cause you could have fooled me with the way you sauntered back here, giggling with that fucken ass.” Jealousy dripped from his tone, but you were too far gone. So distracted by the rough material of his cargo pants against your bare pussy as you ground you’re his against his thigh. “Fuck, Shiro, need you so bad.” Your voice was dripping with desperation, your cunt already causing a damp patch to form against the material of his pants with how it was crying for him.

Hoshina’s hand came down on your ass a third time, the sting causing tears to form along your lashline, feeling the skin to warm with the impact. “That’s vice-captain, kitten. You could use my name once you’ve fucking earned it.” He growled, hand returning to its previous home around your neck. There was something about when he got like this, it wasn’t often, but when his seriousness only seen when fighting Kaiju bled into your sex life you folded nearly instantly. Unconsciously your hips bucked, your head fuzzy as he applied just enough pressure to constrict your airflow. Your hips moving of their own volition as you grinded against his thigh.

Normally you would find the act degrading, but between missing him and the allure of him being so jealous you couldn’t help but to give into him. “Yes, vice-captain, please need you so bad.” Your compliance brings a smirk to Hoshina’s face, using his grip on your throat as leverage to force your eyes to lock with his. Vermillion boring into your own as he speaks. “That’s my girl, don’t want you to hide a single sound from me, don’t care if the entire division hears you. I’m done with hiding, they can't afford to lose either of us, what are they gonna do? Fire us? Oh fucking well, need everyone to know your mine. Want that fuck to hear you all the way on the other side of Tokyo, kitten.” His words went straight to your cunt, spurring your movements, rutting against his thigh like an animal in heat. Your thighs were already trembling, the drag of his pants against your clit causing your vision to blur. “Please, fuck, vice-captain, please.” You were not even sure what you were begging for at this point, too far gone to think of anything but the pleasure you were on the receiving end of.

Your words had Hoshina letting out a groan, his own head falling back as your thigh brushed his cock. He shuddered, his cock throbbing with need in the confines of his pants, but he needed this. Needed you to come undone without any other stimulation than just his thigh. His hand moved from your throat, burying themselves in your hair, taking a fistful and yanking your head back to look at him once more. “Gods, fucking look at you kitten.” He groaned, you looked absolutely destroyed, eyes lidded with lust, practically drooling at the thought of your impending orgasm. “Go on baby, do it, fucking come for me.” Each of the last three words was punctuated with a rut of his own hips, giving an added layer of friction to your cunt. “Oh fuck, Soshro!” You all but screamed, your head thrown back, the thrusts of your hips growing sloppy as you rode out your high on his thigh, uncaring of your volume. Your eyes blown wide at a newfound sensation in your belly as the coil of your pleasure snapped, squirting against him, successfully drenching the fabric of his pants.

His fingers detached themselves from your hair, cradling you against his chest. Your body was trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. He cooed softly in your ear, rubbing up and down your back in a soothing gesture. All the jealousy melted away as he held you in his arms. “Shhh, my dear, shh. Did so good for me kitten, such a good girl for me.” He reassured between tender kisses pressed against your temple while your head buried itself in his neck while you caught your breath. Once he was sure your breathing had returned to normal, he tilted your chin up to press a sweet kiss against your lips. Pressing his forehead against yours and bumping his nose with yours in a pseudo-kiss. The tender moment didn’t last long before Hoshina grinned. “I’d like to see that two-toned bastard do that. Now come on sweet cheeks, now its my turn to show you how much I missed you, and that I could fuck you better than he ever could, yeah?” You were in for a long evening, and by the end of it you weren't sure if you wanted to thank Narumi or strangle him.

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @littleplantfreak @maruflix @umemiaa @stunies @eevees-hobbies @143-ilyuu @uzxotic @princesstiti14 (𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙/𝖉𝖒/𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊�� 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

[saddleups]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒.

★ STATUS . . . ongoing, arthur morgan x f!reader. 18+ smut mdni !!

★ CW . . . voyeurism, female masturbation, male masturbation, arthur's kind of a meanie.

★ SUMMARY . . . recently welcomed into dutch van der linde's gang, has a tense first encounter with arthur morgan, who is suspicious of her and questions her trustworthiness. after a sharp exchange, she withdraws to her tent to find solace. meanwhile, arthur, tasked with returning her forgotten journal, approaches her tent but hesitates when he sees the intimate silhouette of her body through the illuminated canvas.

★ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . really don't know what washed over me. this was initially meant as a drabble , but somehow bloomed into what is going to be a continuing story. as the start of the story, it's loaded with "setting the scene" mostly to establish a dynamic between the reader and arthur. however , it does get spicy towards the end ;)

An orphan, a wanderer, and most notably, a thief for hire. Your occupation brought you countless adversaries, shaped by a lifetime of hardship. The Wild West wasn’t forgiving, especially for someone like you. It forced you to compromise whatever moral compass you’d developed, exchanging it for a life filled with unsavory characters. Your skills became notorious in Lemoyne, earning you a wanted poster of your own—though the paltry $3,000 bounty made you wonder if the authorities truly knew your worth.

One man, however, saw your potential: Dutch Van der Linde. Knowing Dutch’s reputation, you were well aware there was no honor among thieves, but the price he offered for your services was one you couldn't afford to refuse.

"I'm a man who keeps his word," Dutch said, locking eyes with you. You stiffened momentarily, your guard raised.

"And if you don’t, I’ll have you dead," you warned, your voice steady.

Dutch chuckled, raising his palms in mock surrender. "I'll take you to my camp, introduce you to my people," he said, patting his chest for emphasis. "I take care of my own. I'll take care of you too, ma’am, ya hear?"

You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard before releasing a sigh. Camps, people—these weren't things you were accustomed to. Yet, the promise of a warm fire and a decent meal was hard to ignore. Stepping forward, you motioned with your boot. "Be a gentleman and lead the way."

Dutch quickened his pace, guiding you to his horse. Retrieving your own, you both rode off toward the confines of Clemens Point.

As you arrived at the secluded camp, the thick forest enveloped the intimate commune. Pulling on the reins, your horse came to a halt behind Dutch’s. He dismounted and extended a hand to help you down. You ignored his gesture, earning another chuckle.

"Your independence is admirable," Dutch said, amused. "Maybe you'll set a good example."

"I won’t be staying long," you replied curtly.

Dutch nodded, unfazed. "Come on, now, lemme introduce ya."

You followed behind him, scanning your surroundings, planning your escape if needed. Clemens Point had its rustic charm, much like the rest of Lemoyne, but it wasn’t a place you intended to linger. As you approached the heart of the camp, the residents began to take notice. Some watched from a distance, while others stepped closer. You stayed close to Dutch, observing the crowd.

"Bring a lady for the night?" one man jeered. You tried to get a glimpse of the man behind such a crude remark, catching only the sight of a weathered hat adorned with a feather.

"It ain’t like that," Dutch countered.

"Well, if she’s with you, she sure ain’t cheap," the man sneered.

You felt anger flare in your chest.

"Arthur!" Dutch barked.

So, that was his name—Arthur.

Stepping out from behind Dutch, you made yourself visible to the Van der Linde gang, especially the man at the center of it all.

He was tall, built like a seasoned gunslinger, with the brim of his hat pulled low, hiding much of his face. But from your shorter vantage point, you could see beneath the brim—strands of sandy brown hair fell just above his eyes. You squinted, trying to get a clearer look at the man responsible for the comment.

"My, my," Arthur drawled, his voice low. "What do we have here, then?"

You stared Arthur down, unfazed by his comment. “What you have here,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “is someone who doesn't take kindly to men who don’t watch their tongues.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bold. I like that.” He crossed his arms, eyeing you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “But talk’s cheap out here, darlin’. You gonna back it up?”

You took a step closer, not backing down. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough, cowboy.”

Before things could escalate further, Dutch stepped in between the two of you, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Now, now, let’s all calm down, shall we?” He chuckled as though this kind of exchange was nothing new. “Arthur, meet our new friend here. She’s more than capable, I assure you. She’s got quite the reputation—thief for hire, and from what I’ve heard, she’s damn good at it.”

Arthur’s gaze flickered to Dutch, then back to you. His smile faded, replaced by a skeptical scowl. “A thief, huh?” He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “And you’re just gonna bring her into camp, just like that? You don’t think maybe we oughta vet her a little first? Or better yet, see if she’s worth her salt?”

Dutch sighed, clearly accustomed to Arthur’s protective nature. “Arthur, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t bring someone into our fold if I didn’t believe in their abilities. You, of all people, should trust me on that.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “It ain’t about trust, Dutch. It’s about common sense. You’re always bringing in strays, but how do we know she’s as good as you say? How do we know she ain’t just gonna take what she wants and bolt?”

You folded your arms, feeling the heat of Arthur’s scrutiny, but before Dutch could respond, you cut in.

“If I wanted to bolt, I wouldn’t be standing here listening to you question me like some washed-up lawman,” you said flatly. “And as for being good at what I do… Why don’t you give me a chance to prove it?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable for a moment. The tension was thick between the two of you, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

Dutch clapped his hands together, cutting through the silence. “See? That’s the spirit! Let’s not get too hung up on doubts and suspicions. Besides, Arthur, you know better than anyone—we all had to start somewhere.”

Arthur shook his head, still unconvinced, but his tone softened slightly. “Fine. But if she messes up, Dutch, it’s on you.”

Dutch grinned. “I’ll take full responsibility. You’ll see, Arthur—she’s gonna fit right in.”

Arthur gave you one last look, his blue eyes hard, but he stepped back, leaving the matter for now. “We’ll see,” he muttered, turning his back to head deeper into the camp.

As he walked away, Dutch leaned in close, speaking just low enough for you to hear. “Don’t worry about Arthur. He’s always cautious with new faces, but once you prove yourself, he’ll have your back. Just give it time.”

You nodded, though your eyes remained fixed on Arthur’s retreating form. “I’ll prove myself, alright. To everyone.”

Dutch patted you on the back, his voice light once again. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get you settled in.”

Your shoulders relax slightly when Dutch introduces you to another, kinder member of the camp—Mary-Beth. With a warm smile, she takes it upon herself to show you around. As she guides you through the camp, she explains the delicate intricacies and rich history the Van der Linde gang has accumulated over time. Her warmth is disarming, and though you find her friendliness endearing, your guard remains firmly in place.

As the day gives way to night, the camp grows lively. The smell of roasting meat fills the air, and the sound of laughter and clinking bottles echoes around the fire. Everyone seems to be enjoying the night, drinks in hand and plates full. You sit beside Dutch, notebook in hand, writing down the events of the day—your observations, the faces you’ve encountered, and your thoughts on the gang’s dynamics.

Dutch glances over your shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips. “Writing a novel already?” he teases.

You smirk but keep writing. “Just taking notes, is all.”

With a chuckle, Dutch pats your shoulder. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your musings. I’m gonna get myself another drink.” He stands, leaving his spot beside you empty for just a moment.

Before you can settle back into your thoughts, Arthur takes Dutch’s place without so much as a word. You immediately tense, looking up from your journal in annoyance.

“I didn’t invite you to sit,” you snap.

Arthur leans back, crossing his arms, clearly unbothered by your protest. “I’m just doin’ my due diligence,” he says with a casual shrug. “Lead enforcer and all that. Gotta make sure you ain’t some rat lookin’ to get us all killed.”

You narrow your eyes at him, anger bubbling up. “A rat? You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know enough,” Arthur retorts, his gaze hard. “You waltz in here, Dutch vouches for ya, but me? I don’t trust anyone that quick. Seen too many faces come and go. Some good, some… not so much.”

You bite your tongue, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t have anything to prove to you, Arthur.”

His stare lingers on you, unflinching. “Maybe not. But until I see otherwise, I’ll keep an eye on you.”

The tension between you is palpable, and despite the fire’s warmth, you feel a chill settle in your bones. This is why you hated dealing with people. No matter what you did, someone was always suspicious, always trying to dig into things that weren’t their business. You snap your journal shut, your patience worn thin.

“I’m done here,” you mutter, standing abruptly. “I didn’t come here for this.”

You walk away from the campfire, the weight of Arthur’s gaze following you as you disappear into the shadows. As you distance yourself from the group, you hear a voice call out.

“Arthur, you really can be an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

It’s Hosea, who had been watching the exchange from a distance. His tone is firm, but there’s an edge of disappointment in it. Arthur grumbles in response, shifting uncomfortably.

“Just doin’ my job, Hosea,” Arthur mutters defensively, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—regret, maybe.

Hosea shakes his head. “Yeah, well, you could stand to be a little more welcoming.”

As Hosea walks away, Arthur notices something on the ground beside him—your journal. You must have left it behind in your rush to escape the conversation. He picks it up, flipping it over in his hands, his expression softening for a brief moment. He exhales a long breath while he debates with himself, glancing in the direction you disappeared, wondering if he should bring it to you.

Storming away from the campfire, you mutter under your breath. "Should've known better than to get mixed up in this." The tension Arthur brought upon you still burns in your chest. Now, away from the glimmer of the camp you question why you even agreed to Dutch's offer.

Quickly the weight of reality sets in. The promise of money looms heavy, more than you've ever made in one place. Enough to change your life, if things go smoothly. And then there's the camp —more than just a place to lay your head. It has food, shelter, warmth, and plenty of drink, luxuries you haven’t had in a long while. The thought alone makes your stomach growl, reminding you of the times you’ve gone hungry for days on end. A little discomfort with people like Arthur might just be the price you have to pay to survive this.

With a resigned sigh, you make your way toward your tent, situated near the lake, away from the central campfire. The sounds of laughter and idle chatter slowly fade, replaced by the gentle lapping of the water and the rustling of the trees in the night breeze. The solitude brings you a moment of peace.

Inside the privacy of your tent, you begin to undress. Shedding your coat, shirt, and pants, you remain in your undergarments, your body finally relaxing after a long day. You sit down on the edge of your bedroll, running a hand through your hair, letting yourself unwind. The faint sounds of the camp are distant now, just a quiet hum in the background. For the first time all day, you feel like you can breathe.

You sink deeper into the quiet, trying to escape the frustration that still simmers after your run-in with Arthur. His suspicion and brash attitude had only amplified the uncertainty you already felt about your place here. But in this moment, alone in the privacy of your tent, you allow yourself a rare moment of vulnerability.

The day’s exhaustion has left your body aching, and as you lie back on the bedroll in nothing but your undergarments, your mind drifts, seeking comfort in the solitude. The warmth of the lamp glows around you, its light illuminating the canvas tent, casting your shadow against the fabric walls.

Meanwhile, outside Arthur approaches the tent with your journal firmly in his grasp. His steps are quiet, almost hesitant has he nears. From the outside, the soft light from your oil lamp betrays the outline of your figure through the thin material of the tent. He pauses, eyes narrowing as he makes out your shape, it stops him in his tracks.

"What in the hell is she up to?"

As the glow from the lantern outlines your curves, you move with an intensity that betrays the calm facade you usually project. Your guard is down, and in this moment of vulnerability, your form is unmistakable. Your hands roam freely over your body, pressing, squeezing, tugging at the fabric of your undergarments. Even in solitude, you tease yourself, building anticipation for the release that awaits.

Your fingers reach up to hold your breasts, pinching the hardened buds as a loud moan escapes your lips and echoes through the tent. Arthur watches silently from outside, his breath catching as he realizes what's happening. His initial intention of returning the journal completely fades away as he becomes transfixed by the intimacy of the scene unfolding before him. He feels like an intruder but can't bring himself to look away.

Lost in pleasure, you lie back and let your hand trail down to your center, seeking refuge in the coarse hair. Gripping tightly, you insert a single digit into your core and feel a rush of wetness surround it as you sink deeper and deeper. Your breathing quickens and unbeknownst to you, the quiet rhythm of your movements is not confined to the tent. You whimper for more, "ple-please, give it to me. i want more," caving release from the stress that has consumed you since arriving here.

Watching from afar, Arthur feels his primal instincts kick in but fights them off with all his might. His sense of honor wavers as he struggles against his own desires. The tightness of his jeans and gun belt only add to his physical discomfort as he closes his eyes tightly, trying to resist temptation.

Meanwhile, inside the tent, you continue to lose yourself in ecstasy, completely oblivious to anything else in the world. Your moans grow louder and more desperate as your fingers quicken their pace inside of you. The sounds of squelching flesh mixed with your cries fill the night air as you beg for more.

Arthur finally gives in to his conscience and with one last look at the tent, he pulls away and retreats into the darkness. "The hell you doing, you pervert?" he curses himself as he walks away, leaving you to your privacy and pleasure. The intense moment has passed, but the memory lingers in Arthur's mind, igniting a curiosity about what else lies behind that sharp tongue of yours.

A man still had his urges.

Your journal finds its temporary home in Arthur's pocket. The heat of the moment lingers in his chest, an ache he can’t quite shake. His body tenses, and the desire to escape the situation grows stronger with every step. He moves quickly through the camp, intent on retreating to his own quarters and pushing away the thoughts still buzzing in his mind.

But just as he rounds a corner, he spots Dutch leaning against a post, nursing a drink and chatting with one of the gang members. Dutch’s keen eyes lock onto Arthur almost immediately, and before Arthur can disappear, Dutch calls out.

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice cuts through the campfire chatter. “Where’d our new friend wander off to?”

Arthur stiffens, his eyes darting briefly before he forces himself to face Dutch. “She, uh… she’s at her tent,” Arthur mutters, his tone gruff as he shifts his weight awkwardly. Hands firmly grasp his gun belt and a satchel that once sat on the side of his hip is awkwardly placed at the center of his core, disguising what throbbed underneath.

Dutch raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing something off. “You sure about that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or… something else.” There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of Dutch’s mouth, amused by Arthur’s discomfort.

Arthur avoids eye contact, the urge he’s trying to suppress making it difficult to keep his composure. “Ain’t nothin’. Just tired, Dutch. Been a long day.”

Dutch takes a swig of his drink, watching Arthur closely, clearly enjoying the rare sight of Arthur flustered. “Right, right. Well, if you see her, let her know she’s always welcome to sit by the fire.”

Arthur grunts, eager to end the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Dutch takes another sip and, with a knowing chuckle, waves him off. “Get some rest, Arthur. You look like you need it.”

Without another word, Arthur quickly shoos Dutch away with a curt nod and makes a beeline for his tent. The moment Dutch turns his attention back to the campfire, Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his footsteps quickening.

Finally reaching the safety of his own tent, a shaky hand, Arthur pushes through the canvas flap. He collapse onto his cot with heavy breaths. Images rush through his mind like a raging river - your body outlined in flickering light, the softness of your movements, and the burning desire that he can't seem to shake.

He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling with shallow breaths as he replays the memory over and over again. His fists clench at his sides, frustration and longing coursing through him. It's been too long since anything has affected him this deeply.

As someone no stranger to temptation, Arthur knows the pull of the flesh all too well. But this moment with you felt different - more intimate, more real. The vulnerability he saw in you makes it impossible for him to simply brush off the encounter.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he tries to push the thoughts away, but they cling to him like thorns. The tension in his body only grows, refusing to let go even in the quiet of the night.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath, rolling onto his side in an attempt to distract himself. But it's no use - your silhouette, bathed in lamplight, is burned into his mind.

Sitting up abruptly, Arthur grips the ends of his cot tightly as he stares at the ground beneath him. He lets out a frustrated sigh and runs a hand over his face, trying to rub away the persistent thoughts. But they only intensify in the darkness of his tent, driving him to take action.

Without hesitation, he untucks his flannel and removes his gunbelt before freeing himself from his trousers. His arousal is already evident as his length throbs against his palm. Unlike you, who sought relaxation in these moments alone, Arthur seeks indulgence.

Spitting into his palm for lubrication, he grips his cock tightly and sinks his weight onto the cot, groaning at the sensation. His ankles are freed from his trousers as he spreads his legs wider, giving himself more room to move. With each stroke of his hand, he can feel the tension slowly dissipating, replaced by a raw need for pleasure.

His hand moves with urgency and desperation, his thumb frequently visits the tip of his cock gathering the liquid before slipping it down his length. The sounds of your pleasure entertain his memory, your gentle pleas for pleasure make him whimper, "take it, woman. t-take it all." He feels like a fool but he can't suppress the praises he's eager to provide, "like a g-good girl."

His moans were deep and gravelly, resonating with the same desperate desire that you had been yearning for. As he released his essence into his palm, the sticky substance leaked between his fingers. He caught his breath with his eyes tightly shut, murmuring a curse under his breath, "damn woman." Somehow, this was all your fault.

Arthur reached for a handkerchief to clean himself off, wiping away the evidence of his passion. He adjusted himself before settling onto his cot with a sense of contentment, ready to spend the evening in peaceful slumber. The quiet rustle of the sheets echoed through the room as he settled in, still feeling the lingering effects of your intense encounter.

NEXT CHAPTER.

[odinsblog]

“I'm observing such a huge gap between different social groups that I didn't even realize were different. I, you know, most of my friends are in the media. A lot of my journalist friends are just much better informed.

A lot of them have had experience reporting in Israel, Palestine, and are quite critical of both Israel and the antisemitism narrative. Then, like, my wife is a lawyer, and her circle is a little bit different, right? It's not dominated by media people, like people in the law or in other professions seem to be broadly much more kind of taken by the sense of profound insecurity and shift in the American Jewish experience.

I think we sort of see different things, for example, when we watch the hearings in Congress on antisemitism on campus.

The university presidents, of which there have now been two hearings, one with three presidents, one with the president of Colombia, and there will be many, many more. And what I see is a right-wing campaign against higher education that is weaponizing antisemitism as an idea, right? Not antisemitism as a practice.

And what they see is, with the possible exception of the president of Colombia, is people who represent institutions or lead institutions that they feel an affinity with, often institutions that they graduated from, who are not standing up for them. Which I find that viewing of those hearings somewhat shocking because people seem to be turning off their critical faculties. But people, intelligent, educated, politically astute people don't turn off their critical faculties unless they're scared.

So I think the underlying fear is real. But just because it's real, it doesn't mean it's justified.

I think a factual account of what we're seeing on campuses now is that this generation of Americans is far more critical of Israel than their parents' generation. And this is true of both Jews and non-Jews. I think that they look at information available to them and they see a 57-year brutal illegal occupation.

And they don't understand how it's possible that their parents and the politicians that their parents support and the politicians who come and give commencement addresses and all that other stuff that I can say about politicians, how it is possible that these people support that state? I think that is an entirely understandable view. It also reflects a huge generation gap.

I think some of those young people are assholes, and some of them are antisemites. I think it's a small minority of the protesters, and it is not actually part of the critique. The protesters' demands, the protesters' organizing beliefs are not in any way or shape antisemitic.

And then there are Jewish students who were brought up Zionist, who were brought up to identify strongly with the state of Israel, who are, I think, a little bit like my cousin in the settlements again. They see these protests, and even probably the participation of their fellow Jewish students in these protests, as threatening their core identity, as threatening their ties to their families, as threatening everything that they were taught for the first 18 years of their lives is true. And of course they feel rattled, of course they feel unsettled, of course they feel threatened.

Like, wouldn't you, if you felt that everything you had believed in was being turned on its head, and if you, by apparently reasonable people? And so you have a couple of options. One is to look at what the protestors are saying, to engage with the facts, to engage with the critique of everything you've ever believed.

There was a terrific, George Curran's podcast a couple of weeks ago with three Columbia students, one of whom sort of narrated that kind of trajectory, getting to university and finding this stuff out and having their mind blown. That's a very difficult path, and it's a very difficult path, especially if you are, say, a first year student in 23, 24.

And then there's the easier path of staying integrated in your community, in your beliefs, and saying this is antisemitic.

Because unfortunately the things that the protestors are talking about are so horrible that you can't say, okay, let's agree to disagree, that you can't hold both of these things in your mind at the same time.

You can't continue to hold your family's uncritical, long-standing support of Israel, and an understanding of what is happening in Gaza and the occupation that has preceded the war in Gaza.

So yeah, of course they feel rattled. That doesn't mean that they're being surrounded by antisemitism.”

—Masha Gessen, the descendant of Holocaust survivors, discusses campus protests (part 3 of 3)

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A group of pastry pinwheels on a blue plate next to a bowl of yoghurt garnished with parsley. End ID]

صفيحة يافاوية / Safiha yafawiyya (Yaffan pinwheels)

The dish

صَفِيحَة يَافَاوِيَّة ("ṣafīḥa yāfāwīyya") is a type of safiha, or flatbread, believed to have originated in the coastal city of يافا (yāfā; "Yaffa," sometimes "Jaffa"). While other versions of safiha consist of a flat piece of dough topped with meat, Yaffan safiha are made by rolling dough out to a transparent thinness, folding it to enclose a filling of meat or spinach, and then whirling it around into a pinwheel shape. More highly valued in Yaffa than flat safiha, Yaffan safiha inspires proprietary feelings amongst residents and emigrants. The technique has, however, spread to other areas in Palestine, as well as to Alexandria, Egypt, where a large number of Yaffan exiles have resettled.

Yaffan safiha may also be called "حواية" ("ḥawāya"), after a kind of towel that is stitched into a spiral and placed on top of the head to cushion it while carrying jugs of water, or trays that are hot from the oven. One Yaffan woman remembers her mother assembling these pastries at home and then bringing them, in a large copper tray, to the baker, so they could be cooked in a shared oven for a small fee. The baker's wife would have to wait to use the oven another day. The usage of communal ovens by those who do not have an oven in their home is still common practice in rural areas of Palestine.

Traditionally, the dough used to make Yaffan safiha includes only flour, salt, oil, and water. Some modern Palestinian recipes leaven the dough with baking powder; or include milk powder as a way to use food aid from NGOs, which seek to alleviate the effects of the Israeli occupation's extreme restriction of transport, travel, and agricultural activities on Palestinians' diets. With a spinach filling and without milk powder, the safa'ih may be described as "صيامي" ("ṣiyāmī): a word derived from "صِيَام" ("ṣiyām"; "fast") but which, due to the abstention from meat mandated during the Lenten fast, is colloquially used to mean "vegetarian."

Golden brown and fragrant with olive oil, these safa'ih combine layers of crisp, flaky dough with a savory, well-spiced filling. Recipes for both a 'meat' and a spinach filling are provided. A side of yoghurt and a garnish of mint round out the flavors of the filling and add tanginess and textural contrast.

[ID: Close-up of two pinwheels cut open to reveal a spinach filling and a 'meat' filling between thin layers of pastry. End ID]

The Bride of Palestine

Yaffa is a port city with an ancient history which, until the 20th century, was the largest Arab city in, and the cultural and economic capital of, Palestine. For this reason it has sometimes been called عروس" "فلسطين ("'arūs filasṭīn"); "The Bride of Palestine." With the 1909 founding of the nearby Tel Aviv, Yaffa began to be considered its "twin" or "sister" ("האחיות") city; it had a distinctly Arab character where Tel Aviv was almost entirely Jewish. Yaffa was thus considered in disctinctly racialized terms: both attraction and threat; a source of authentic rootedness in the land which could be tapped, but also a potentially contagious bastion of Oriental "weak[ness]" ("חליש").

Yaffa had been a popular destination for culinary tourism in Mandate Palestine, with young settlers heading to the seaside to escape from religious studies and religious dietary restrictions—associated with diaspora Judaism and a lack of connection to a homeland—and to eat earthier Arab foods such as hummus, falafel, kebab, and ful.

In 1948, Zionist paramilitary organization Irgun dropped several tons of British bombs on major civilian areas of Yaffa in order to overwhelm resistance and empty the city of its Arab population; they destroyed the much of the Old City in the process. The neighborhood of المنشية (Manshiya) was destroyed shortly thereafter. Beginning in December of 1948, Yaffa was, part by part, annexed to Tel Aviv.

Today, despite the annexation and the Hebraization of the street signs, Yaffa maintains an Arab character in popular discourse. The call to prayer is heard in the streets, and the أبو العافي (Abulafia) bakery and أبو حسن (Abu Hassan) hummus restaurant and remain where they have been since the 1760s and 1970s, respectively. But increasing gentrification, rising rent prices, cafes and restaurants which cater to tourists and settlers, and the construction of Jewish-only residential projects threaten to continue the ethnic cleansing of the ancient city.

Yaffan Cuisine

Israeli occupation has tended to collapse some of the regional distinctions within Palestinian cuisine, as Palestinians are forced into exile or else crowded into Gaza and into smaller and smaller enclaves within the West Bank. Some dishes, however, still have variations that are associated with particular cities. Stuffed red carrots (محشي الجزر الأحمر; "maḥshi al-jazar al-'aḥmar"), cored and filled with rice and spiced meat, are a dish common throughout Palestine but cooked differently everywhere: in a sauce of lemon juice, pomegranate molasses, and red tahina in Gaza; in tamarind paste in Al-Quds and Ramallah; and in orange juice in the orange-rich Yaffa region. Abu Hassan restaurant serves مسبحة (msabbaha), a Yaffan classic in which chickpeas and tahina are mixed with green chili pepper, and lemon juice.

Donate to an evacuation fund

Buy an eSim for use in Gaza

Help Anera provide food in Gaza

Ingredients:

For the dough (makes 32):

500g flour (4 cups + 1 Tbsp)

1 tsp table salt

2 Tbsp olive oil

Enough water to form a soft, tacky dough (about 1 3/4 cup / 500mL)

For the meat filling (makes 16):

125g vegetarian ground beef (as a substitute for minced lamb)

1 small yellow onion, minced

1 Tbsp olive oil

1/2 tsp ground allspice

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 tsp ground cardamom

1/2 tsp table salt, or to taste

1/2 Tbsp ground sumac

1/2 Tbsp pomegranate molasses (optional)

For the spinach filling (makes 16):

500g spinach, washed and chopped

1 tsp kosher salt, for removing water

1 small yellow onion, minced

1 Tbsp olive oil

1/4 tsp ground black pepper

1/4 tsp table salt, or to taste

Squeeze of lemon juice

1 tsp shatta (hot red pepper paste)

1/2 Tbsp pomegranate molasses (optional)

Some recipes include sumac in the spinach filling, but this is not considered traditional.

Instructions:

For the dough:

1. Measure dry ingredients into a large mixing bowl. Add oil and mix briefly. Add water, a little at a time, until the dough comes together into a slightly tacky ball. Knead for five minutes, until smooth and elastic.

2. Divide dough into 16 balls of about 50g each. Roll it out into a cylinder and cut it in half repeatedly; or weigh the dough using a kitchen scale and divide by 16.

3. Pour some olive oil in a tray or baking sheet and coat each dough ball. Leave them on the tray, covered, to rest while you prepare the fillings.

For the meat filling:

1. Heat 1 Tbsp olive oil on medium-high. Add meat and fry, stirring often, until nearly cooked through.

2. Add onions, salt, and spices and fry until onion is translucent.

3. Remove from heat. Stir in sumac and pomegranate molasses. Taste and adjust. Let cool.

For the spinach filling:

1. Mix spinach with salt and let sit 10-15 minutes. Squeeze to remove excess water.

2. Heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in medium-high. Fry onion, salt, and pepper for a minute until translucent.

3. Combine all ingredients. Taste and adjust salt.

To assemble:

1. Oil a clean work surface, as well as your hands. Spread a dough ball out into a very thin, translucent circle by repeatedly patting with your fingers while pushing outwards. Be sure to push outwards from the center so that the circle does not become too thin at the edges. A few small holes are okay, since the dough will be folded and rolled in on itself.

2. Cut the circle in half with a sharp knife. Spread 1/16 of either filling in a thin line along the cut edge, leaving a margin of 1 cm (1/2") or so.

3. Roll the edge of the dough (the cut edge) over to encase the filling. Continue rolling, trying as much as possible to exclude air, until you have a long rope of dough.

4. Roll the rope around in a tight spiral. Tuck the very end of the dough underneath and press to seal. Place on a preparing baking sheet.

5. Repeat until the filling and dough are used up. Meanwhile, preheat an oven to 375 °F (190 °C). Bake the safiha in the top third of the oven for 25-30 minutes, or until golden in color. 

Serve warm with yoghurt.

[that-salty-ghost]

As Above, So Below | Chapter 29: Exceptions| Viktor [Arcane] // Male Reader | Rating: M Throughout

Word Count: ~4.9k Summary: Viktor pushes your buttons until he's busy with other activities Tags: swearing, sexual tension, flirting, kissing, mage-y stuff Last Chpt: First Aid

Check my pinned post for more details/previous chapters/etc.

Some silent moments pass as you finish patching Viktor up—thankfully without further mention of the kind of effect he has on your nervous system.

The wind still howls, the snowstorm still rages on, but the two of you couldn’t be bothered inside these walls.

The air settles easily between you as you trail off into lighter conversations—Viktor’s voice dropping low and gentle as he tells you more about the little things that shape his life.

Like how he loves crossword puzzles, the sound of birds singing in the morning, and skipping stones on the water at dusk. That he likes to have something to sip on when he finds time to cook. That he hates public speaking. That he’s trying to stop picking at the callouses on his palms when he fidgets.

You share your own quirks and stories too—telling him about your ever-growing record collection, how Jeff followed you home from the Freljord, how you can’t dance for shit but know your way around the pole at the brothel.

You tell him that you don’t particularly miss your father, but you do miss his war horse. That you also prefer cooking with a drink in hand, and that you’ve been meaning to finish a puzzle that Viktor said he spotted at R&R’s.

When he politely asks if he can help you with it, you’re not sure how anyone could ever tell this man no when his eyes are beaming with that much excitement.

Which is also why you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not finished because deep down, you hated that puzzle down to its microscopic, way-too-identical, 3,000-piece guts.

It hurt your back to bend over it for so long, it was likely missing a minimum of a dozen pieces at this point, hell—even the image of some obscure landscape didn’t even pique your interest.

But Viktor does.

And who were you to rob him of the little things that he found joy in. To rob yourself of more time that you could spend with him.

Of course you agree.

You’re about to cap the salve and pack it up when Viktor’s question shifts the conversation back to everything that’s just transpired.

“Does ehh…anyone else know about you? About what you can do?” His question comes quietly and you’re not sure you’ll ever get use to how tender his voice sounds when he’s curious about something sensitive.

“Remy. And my fence…friend?...” You tinker with that title mentally before shrugging the semantics away. “…but I uh…I don’t think he remembers.” You scoff under your breath at that probability.

“What?” His brow quirks and you realize Viktor doesn’t know anything about Kass. “I’m failing to see how this is a forgettable experience.”

You’re amused that he’s more curious about the man’s memory rather than his questionable occupation, but try to answer all the same. “Kass uh…frequently dips into the pool of mind-altering substances.”

“Ah,” The machinist offers a small smile and a “Yes, I suppose that would do it.” to let that fact lie for now.

You offer a weak grin in return and try to give him a little more context. “He’s the one that said to ditch my backpack for the shoulder suspenders.”

“The one who said you would look like a workaholic?”

“That’s him.”

“Hm.”

He pauses with that information and you try to decipher where his mind went. Rather than pry, you just give him a little more. “He can be a lot. Definitely has some demons hot on his heels, but I think you would like him.”

“If he suggested that you wear those suspenders, I already do.”

Before you light up the room for the third godsdamned time you pull your hand from Viktor’s and let the glow slowly subside from your fingertips. You quickly eye the leather accessory in the corner of the room, still drying out near the fire when Viktor’s voice pulls your attention back to him.

“So, I’m only the third person who knows…that you’re a mage, I mean.”

His reversion back to the original topic at hand is not unwelcome. You nod, the realization finally hitting you that you’ve allowed this crush of three days in on one of the most vulnerable parts about you. A choice your father would’ve punished you for. Something he would’ve said would be the death of you if you didn’t put Viktor down first.

But you sit calmly, confident in your decision being the right one.

“I just…for both of our safety, have to ask you not to tell anyone else…I know that’s not fair—”

“Of course that’s fair.” He interrupts your incoming trail of apologies and you feel that his fingers shifted from his leg to the side of your knee. “And you have my word.” His swift understanding only furthers your conviction and your father’s voice immediately fades from your mind. “Though, I’m curious—with so few people that know—what made you trust me?”

“It was…kind of a gut feeling…?”

“Sharing something that personal is driven by your microbiome?”

“It’s hard to describe.”

“Try me?”

He clearly wants more, still not sure if you’re being completely honest. You try to explain it better.

“I used to think it was my mother looking out for me. I’m not so sure about that. Maybe it's just intuition, but…sometimes I get this…pull. I don’t have a better word but it’s strong. And I know I can trust it…so I know I can trust you too…”

Viktor’s expression softens and he seems to understand despite your poorly worded explanation. You reach for a washrag to dab up any excess salve and it hits why you showed the other man what you could do in the first place.

“This happened when you tripped up that pickpocket didn’t it?” You reach for his arm to assess his wrist one more time, feeling good about your work after checking for any residual inflammation.

Feeling good about having an almost-normal excuse to hold his hand again as well.

Viktor inhales through his mouth which quickly turns into a lopsided grin. He pauses, pressing his lips back together again without saying a word and flicks his gaze from your hands back up.

Feeling his eyes on yours, you stop what you’re doing to glance up at him. In an instant you realize his boyish ‘I’ve been caught’ expression has probably kept him out of trouble in many instances. Endearing was an understatement you think to yourself as your voice wavers.

“You’ve been sore all night?” The space in between your brows pinch together as that thought sinks in.

“That wrist is usually sore by the end of every night.” Viktor shrugs offhandedly like it was nothing for him until you catch him peering at his cane in the corner of your eye. You wondered quietly if that was the cause of said everyday soreness.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the night.”

“Ruin the night? You didn’t capsize a boat.”

“That didn’t ruin the night.”

“This certainly wouldn’t have either.”

A quiet “Hm.” is all he mumbles as he notices you’ve finished up. There’s a small selfish part of you that wants to pretend like you’re still working so you can keep his hand in yours awhile longer, but you loosen your grip as a signal that it was fine to move.

“How’s that feel? Any better?”

Viktor lifts his hand to stretch out his fingers, eyes widening after he experimentally rolls out his wrist. The disbelief that surfaces in his expression evident as he turns his hand with ease. “It—yes much more than usual…” He eyes the salve then your hand before his gaze finds yours again. “How…is that possi—?” The wily expression that plagues you gives Viktor pause, apprehensively tilting his head, jaw still slack with a brow arched. “…What…?”

“Just thinking about what it would’ve been like if you would’ve told me sooner.” It’s the first time you’ve thrown a little shade at Viktor. You know the man is quick, but you weren’t fully prepared for how he fully throws it right back.

With a toothy grin, he scoffs. Pressing his tongue to cheek and begrudgingly nodding at your comment with an “Ah…” Viktor’s demeanor shifts into something more playful, catching you completely off guard when he abruptly stands without warning. You reflexively scoot back, nearly falling off of the footrest as you do. He only gives you a teasing shrug—you can practically hear the sarcastic “whoops” he wants to say before he makes his way towards the door.

Your brows furrow as you get up to shadow him, a puzzled grin forming more fully with each step. “What are…” A chuckle escapes you as you try to figure out what he’s up to. “Where are you going now?”

“Oh.” He turns his head like he isn’t aware that he has you perfectly confused, motioning to the door with brows raised in feigned innocence. “Just thinking about taking mistress Linda up on that sleepover she so graciously offered.”

“Mistress Lin—is that actually her name?” Amusement seeps into your tone at his empty threat of joining the woman who recently propositioned him.

“Sure.”

“Suuure?” You watch Viktor bite back a laugh as you call him out. “You don’t know her name, but you’re ready to jump into bed with her?” You muse as you take a step closer to him. “You don’t seem the type.”

“I’ve been known to make exceptions.” He reaches for the doorknob, giving you a lighthearted challenge before shrugging nonchalantly. “And I’ve done worse.” The way he delivers the line, you have to believe him. And the pause it gives you is palpable.

You stand speechless for a moment while he cocks a brow at you to test his honesty. But you do no such thing. You’re not sure how far he’s gone with anyone, but you begin to realize that he may have more experience than you might’ve initially anticipated.

And based on the sly smile beginning to weave into lips that you imagine would look much better in between your teeth…you figure your theory is likely correct.

As he slowly starts to tease apart your self-control, you had to admit, Viktor has you wrapped around his little finger when he’s like this.

Crafty and collected and completely merciless with keeping you on your toes.

Toying with you and testing the waters to see if you were willing to go toe-to-toe with him.

And while your elusive confidence usually made it difficult to find the right words when he was around, wit was a game that brought it back to the forefront.

So, you bite.

“You could also do better.”

Secretly, you’re just as taken aback as Viktor looks as soon as the words leave your mouth. But still, you double-down and take a step towards the man whose hand is now slowly slipping off of the door’s handle. He collects himself with a small nod—a touché before starting to level with you.

“So, your intentions were to bed me in a cheap room after all?”

“Bed you?” You repeat back, his choice of words throwing you for a loop before you pick at the details of his accusation. “Viktor, this is far from cheap.”

“You’re not denying it?”

“Denying what?”

His small turn on his heels draws you a little closer, clearly not backing down from this subtle dance as he quips back.

“If you want to play coy you should’ve stayed in the river.”

“Coy…was that a fish pun?”

“You do seem to love those.”

His crooked grin adequately accents his unfortunately true accusation…you do appreciate the occasional tasteful pun.

“Clearly not as much as you seem to love Linda.”

It wasn’t your best counterpoint. You were struggling with your rebuttal after taking another step and catching the familiar scent of smoke from the stove and cardamom from Viktor. The smallest hint of herbal soap from his damp hair and the crisp outside air from the cracked window. Each aroma clashing beautifully against the other—stunning your senses into understanding the proximity closing in.

“We’re just going to talk, her and I.”

Ohhhh, you could kick yourself for that stupid fucking slip up right about now.

You understand exactly what he’s doing with his reclamation of your words. He wants to hear you say it. Wants to hear what you want. Wants to watch you grapple for control of this back-and-forth, of your flawed logic.

Wants to see you squirm when he fully turns to face you, his chest almost bumping against yours as he straightens his back.

You give in, allowing him to entertain the meaning as much as he’d like.

“I think your mouth might be too busy for that.”

Your new favorite color returns in earnest, staining his cheeks more quickly than he can hide it.

Look at that, you’re back in control.

His smug grin quickly dissolves into hushed breaths, lips parted when you subtly steal a glance at them only to find that he’s trying to steal a glance at yours as well.

Your heart betrays its sure rhythm…until the other man decides to join you in playing coy, instantly dragging you back into another rapid-fire exchange.

“Whatever do you mean, [Y/n]?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Quite the smart ass.”

“Quite the smart tongue.”

“In more ways than you know.”

“Lucky Linda.”

“Unlucky you.”

“Unlucky…me?”

Your voice breaks quietly before you drop your gaze—taking in the meaning behind bold words and wondering how much weight was behind them until he solidifies it.

“Mmhm.”

Slowly succumbing to the familiar feeling of defeat as Viktor gets the upper hand of your repartee. Your eyes dart aimlessly over him as you try to pull your thoughts together in a desperate attempt to gain it back.

He catches your pause and quirks a brow, looking quite pleased to have you reeling under his words. With a sigh of exaggerated disappointment complete with a quick click of his tongue, he adds fuel to your fire just as easily as the hearth he’s fed.

“And here I thought you had a knack for getting what you wanted.”

Gods you wanted that. Wanted to push him right up against that fucking door. Wanted to close the gap between you, wipe that sly smirk off his face, and make better use of his quick tongue. Wanted to prove that his assumption about you was correct—that you were a person capable of going for what you wanted…or even that you could be for that matter.

For him at least…you wanted to be.

But there you stood. Wrestling with doubt and nerves and ego as you showed the icicles forming on the windowsill what it really means to be frozen in place.

Then it hits you. That small, hushed piece of information that slipped from the other man’s lips not so long ago.

You decide to take one more stab, relying on Viktor’s integrity when he dismissed mistress whoever-the-fuck within your earshot.

“And here I thought you were exactly where you wanted to be tonight.”

Loosening fingers fall the rest of the way from the handle only to be pressed flat against the door behind him. His knuckles carve white into the back of the hand that grips his cane a little bit tighter now. It’s small, subtle—but proof that you’ve rattled his relatively unflappable demeanor.

Something in him changes and at first you struggle to decipher it. His muscles look tense, particularly the ones in his shoulders as he makes an effort to hold his head high even with his back literally and metaphorically against the wall. You can’t tell if he’s surprised that you heard that part of their conversation, or if the meaning behind that sentence actually scared him.

When he pushes his weight off the door it takes every ounce of your being to stay collected. To maintain eye contact with a gaze that was becoming all too easy to drown in. To shake the shiver rolling down your spine when he answers you.

“I am…”

He speaks with confidence but the way honeyed eyes are frantically searching yours says otherwise. Uncertainty becomes apparent as he watches you watching him, his head dipping slowly downward with growing apprehension as he finishes his sentence softer than before.

“…well…almost.”

His breathing gets shaky, stuttering in his chest as it rises and falls. Uncertainty is one thing, but you’re realizing it’s more than that.

“Almost?”

He’s nervous.

“Almost.”

Just like you.

…

But unlike you,

“Where…would you rather be…?”

Nerves don’t get in the way of what he wants.

…

…

…

“…here.”

Viktor’s voice softens and before you can speculate—before he has a chance to change his mind—he leans forward to close the gap separating you.

His lips press against yours with a tenderness that stuns you into place. He’s unhurried. Resolute. Like kissing you was the most natural thing in the world for him.

Like he was in fact, exactly where he wanted to be for the night.

Regardless of his finesse, your body goes rigid as you reflexively grab ahold of his forearm for support.

…Which he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

He returns your stiff grip with a tentative touch—his fingers extending lightly along the underside of your arm—soothing you despite the tight hold you have on him.

It’s such a small, soft motion…but it settles you. Immediately for that matter. That’s when it hits you that Viktor was actually right about what he said earlier.

Time really had no place when he was with you.

In the span of a sharp breath, you don’t know at which point your eyes fluttered shut. Or when you stopped thinking. Let alone when you stopped breathing. When your grip loosened, when your jaw unclenched. When your worries lifted into nothingness.

When the noise settled and everything finally felt…still.

Something you haven’t felt in years…

And just in time for Viktor to pull away.

As you feel him shift his weight back you all but catch yourself from greedily leaning forward. Leaving you looking practically starved, and clearly craving more than a mere sample…as delicious as it was.

Not yet ready to relinquish the small peck, your eyes hold onto what your lips couldn’t.

Doused with the same state, Viktor’s own lips remain parted, likely still lingering with the sensation of having yours pressed against them. A sensation it seemed he also wasn’t quite ready to surrender by the looks of it.

When your eyes meet, heavy and cautious and equally full of need for the other, Viktor tilts his head just slightly. His dark brows furrow, knitted with contemplation or curiosity—maybe both. But you recognize the purpose behind that look.

He’s trying to read you.

And rivaling the very book you pulled from the shelf, you let him.

He easily pages through your wanting expression, mulls over your body language until you catch him glance back at your mouth with a gaze that transitions from reserved to ravenous in a blink before meeting your eyes again.

Neither of you say a word. Neither of you have to.

He just quirks a brow at you.

Quicker than usual.

More intentional.

Not at all the expression you’ve seen when something has piqued his curiosity. Or when he’s wanting more insight that was initially provided.

No, this was something else.

This was a wordless way to say, ‘your move’. An affirmation that there could be more if you wanted it. Wanted him.

This wasn’t a request for more information.

It was a request for more…of you.

…

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but in the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you saw one of the icicles break away from the sill.

…

Turns out you’re tired of being frozen too.

Finally, you move—leaning forward and tipping your head to catch Viktor’s lips more fully than before. You can hear him inhale sharply at the sudden contact, can picture his brows pinching together in concentration…

…can feel his back hit the wall with a resounding ‘thud' as your actions come a bit more rushed than you intended. A soft “mmph” escapes from his lips to yours at the impact, his hand jerking from your forearm to your delt for balance, but he doesn’t break the kiss.

Still, you consider pulling back to make sure he’s alright. To apologize for quite literally throwing yourself at the other man. You place your hands against the surface on either side of his hips, bracing to push yourself away.

But his arm wraps around your shoulders instead—pulling you closer and reassuring you that he’s okay. That this is okay.

…more than okay.

It doesn’t seem like his first kiss, and it definitely isn’t yours, but judging by how much you both have clearly been wanting this, it might as well be.

Your hands are clumsy when you blindly reach for his waist—scraping your knuckles on the wooden door as you add to the symphony of thuds pounding against it.

And Viktor’s moments are no smoother.

Abandoning his support, his palm warms your cheek as slender fingers splay wildly against your ear and neck. You can feel him straining, his digits curling slightly before releasing—like he was holding onto his self-control by a thread. Fighting with himself from being too rough with you.

Too hungry for you.

Too consumed by you to care that his actions are quickly followed by a boisterous clank as his cane hits the floor.

…Which only seems to spur you both on.

Viktor’s lips crash against yours again and again. Each kiss becoming more desperate than the last with each breath sounding harsher in between. Your need for each other easily outweighing the desire to come up for air as the sound of huffs fill the room.

A small experimental press into your shoulder has you shift your stance, staggering your legs in between Viktor’s to accommodate the slight imbalance. You can feel his weight begin to fully settle onto you and you happily hold him against the door while his other hand drifts from your cheek.

Inch by agonizing inch his hand trails downwards—reading the lines that have shaped your history and sculpted your features like brail under his fingertips. His touch is cautious…curious—moving carefully over your chest, following each curve that dips around tense muscles and scars that never healed quite right.

You sigh into him while he explores you, pausing his pursuit on the raised line left from a bullet grazing you the day your parents died. He tables the questions churning in his mind to tilt his head and kiss you deeper.

Soothe your old wounds with magic of his own.

He presses his lips to yours more gently than the last time, slowing the adrenaline-fueled pace before you feel the featherlight touch of his tongue brushing along your lower lip. Your breath hitches as you savor how soft he is with you. How his movements are so delicate despite the tangible desire brimming just beneath their surface.

It’s quite the dichotomy. Strong enough to knock the air out of you.

In the form of a moan, sure. Which Viktor gladly muffles when he feels you part your lips for him. His tongue eagerly begins to dance with yours, moving slowly at first while he gets use to you before easily falling into a back and forth of give and take.

The thin fabric of his shirt leaves little to the imagination as your own hands begin to wander, running up his back before languidly trailing down again. He arches into your touch—pulls you closer while you start to memorize the curvature of his spine, the edges of his shoulder blades, the indents of his hips.

It’s effortless—getting lost in Viktor. His skin radiates a warmth that draws you in like a moth to a flame. You can’t help but consider the likelihood of his rising temperature being a byproduct of the arcane that recently resonated inside of him.

And that gives you an unexpected rush that you can’t explain.

Something along the lines of he can understand you on a base level that no one else has been able to even come close to reaching. Knows what it’s like to have something entirely unruly course through his veins without a compass or care. Knows the static and heat and tension and release of it all.

A micro-dosed version of it, sure.

A micro dose is more than enough in a world sober of magic. And more than enough to fully lose your inhibitions with him.

Deft fingers drag slow as molasses along your stomach, rippling over the contours that are already wound tightly in knots. You can feel him hum approvingly, clearly enjoying how your muscles tense under his teasing.

But not as much as you enjoy the sound he makes when you catch his lip between your teeth.

It’s a hushed groan caught in the crosshairs of surprise and pleasure. Barely above a murmur, but audible evidence that he’s come a little more undone. You give a light tug and match the subdued sigh that you pull from his lips, warmth blooming in your chest while his fingers dig into your shoulder and abdomen.

When you let go you can feel his smile while he chases evasive breaths, lips catching on yours lightly with each word that passes from them.

“And you…” He chuckles softly before finishing. “…said you don’t bite.” He follows his statement by taking the lead—pushing himself off the door, snaking an arm around your waist, and taking shallow steps to walk you backwards.

“I made…” You grin at his callback, trying to find your breath as well in between kisses and footsteps. “…an exception.”

“Do you make those often?” His voice sounds shot, graveled with passion that grows with each step. “Exceptions…”

“From time to time.” Your ears are burning and you’ve been so caught up in his aftershocks that you barely notice the pressure that’s caused your skimpy ass shorts to get tighter. You reinforce your own voice, playing into his question that you know is alluding to the common rules of a first date. “We’ve already made quite a few…”

“What like…assault?”

His clever response causes you to grin into a small kiss, your tongue teasing his before you correct him. “Well, battery. Technically.”

“That’s…not better.”

After another kiss, another step you manage to answer back with a crime of his own from the evening. “And how about theft?”

A playful nibble on your lip hitches your breath before he hums another rule broken from the list. “Mm. Vandalism.”

Gradually you get use to letting him steer you blind, your movements shifting from an uneven shuffle to steady-ish steps. You figure he trusted you mending him with raw magic—you can trust him not to let you fall on these expensive floors.

Not that you would care at this point anyway.

“Can’t forget about gambling.”

“Of course not.”

The backs of your knees hit the bedframe and you both stop in your tracks.

His focus travels.

Yours follows.

A glance behind you puts the luxe mattress layered with more blankets and pillows than you have in your entire loft into plain view. The implications of what comes after sitting heavy in the air as Viktor’s hands fall to your hips.

Your half-lidded vision is blurred but mesmerized by the way his whiskey eyes drink you in. His gaze moves down your chest and over your stomach until it drops low enough to make your cheeks flush.

“We could…just retire for the night, [Y/n].” His tone gives you all of the comfort in the world that it was okay to do so as he lifts a hand to cradle your cheek. “Falling asleep beside you—” He pauses, a sincere smile pulling at his lips while he imagines what that looks like. “That would be enough for me.”

Kind, warm eyes reflect the honesty behind sweet words. You match his smile and get lost in his touch, leaning into his palm before placing your hand on his. Thin fabric still leaving little to the imagination, you only have to glimpse down for a second to steel your thoughts into a word.

“Unless…?”

“Unless…” Warm ignites into to a smolder, sweet swiftly becomes sultry, and his touch fades from your cheek to fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“You’d like to make one more exception with me…”

----------

A/N: Oh it's HEATIN' UP--thanks to everyone for being patient with this chapter, it took a minute to fully form and write up and I hope it gives some warm fuzzies during these TRYING times :) Also wanted to say hi hello and welcome to any new folks! I am loving every comment, they seriously make my day. I'm so glad y'all are here and hope you enjoy the read! This is definitely a longer fic that started as a comfort read/be a place to visit if you've had a hard day and has turned into an entire story that I'm really excited to continue. I'm not sure how far into season 2 we'll go yet since we still have a few episodes left, but I'll be sure to include some tidbits and little easter eggs regardless of where to story finishes.  Thank you also for the follows, feedback, likes, shares and everything in between. It means the world to me and I'm beyond humbled this lil thing has brought some folks even a little bit of joy.  If you're feeling wild, my ko-fi is linked to my pinned post and in my lil sidebar (no pressure ever, I do this for free and because I love it)...But if there's a dollar in there I will be telling my homophobic dad his son made a buck writing gay smut at the family dinner next week. 

And if that isn't success I don't know what is. Anyway, thank you again for reading and I hope everyone is doing well out there! Cheers, Ghost

[reasonsforhope]

Paywall-free version

On the outskirts of Austin, Texas, what began as a fringe experiment has quickly become central to the city’s efforts to reduce homelessness. To Justin Tyler Jr., it is home.

Mr. Tyler, 41, lives in Community First! Village, which aims to be a model of permanent affordable housing for people who are chronically homeless. In the fall of 2022, he joined nearly 400 residents of the village, moving into one of its typical digs: a 200-square-foot, one-room tiny house furnished with a kitchenette, a bed and a recliner.

The village is a self-contained, 51-acre community in a sparsely populated area just outside Austin. Stepping onto its grounds feels like entering another realm.

Eclectic tiny homes are clustered around shared outdoor kitchens, and neat rows of recreational vehicles and manufactured homes line looping cul-de-sacs.

There are chicken coops, two vegetable gardens, a convenience store, art and jewelry studios, a medical clinic and a chapel.

Roads run throughout, but residents mainly get around on foot or on an eight-passenger golf cart that makes regular stops around the property.

Mr. Tyler chose a home with a cobalt-blue door and a small patio in the oldest part of the village, where residents’ cactus and rock gardens created a “funky, hippie vibe” that appealed to him. He arrived in rough shape, struggling with alcoholism, his feet inflamed by gout, with severe back pain from nearly 10 years of sleeping in public parks, in vehicles and on street benches.

At first, he kept to himself. He locked his door and slept. He visited the clinic and started taking medication. After a month or so, he ventured out to meet his neighbors.

“For a while there, I just didn’t want to be seen and known,” he said. “Now I prefer it.”

Between communal meals and movie screenings, Mr. Tyler also works at the village, preparing homes for the dozen or more people who move there each month.

In the next few years, Community First is poised to grow to nearly 2,000 homes across three locations, which would make it by far the nation’s largest project of this kind, big enough to permanently house about half of Austin’s chronically homeless population.

Tiny-home villages for people who have been homeless have existed on a small scale for several decades, but have recently become a popular approach to addressing surging homelessness. Since 2019, the number of these villages across the country has nearly quadrupled, to 124 from 34, with dozens more coming, according to a census by Yetimoni Kpeebi, a researcher at Missouri State University.

Mandy Chapman Semple, a consultant who has helped cities like Houston transform their homelessness systems, said the growth of these villages reflects a need to replace inexpensive housing that was once widely available in the form of mobile home parks and single room occupancy units, and is rapidly being lost. But she said they are a highly imperfect solution.

“I think where we’re challenged is that ‘tiny home’ has taken on a spectrum of definitions,” said Chapman Semple. Many of those definitions fall short of housing standards, often lacking basic amenities like heat and indoor plumbing, which she said limits their ability to meet the needs of the population they intend to serve.

But Community First is pushing the tiny home model to a much larger scale. While most of its homes lack bathrooms and kitchens, its leaders see that as a necessary trade-off to be able to creatively and affordably house the growing number of people living on Austin’s streets. And unlike most other villages, many of which provide temporary emergency shelter in structures that can resemble tool sheds, Community First has been thoughtfully designed with homey spaces where people with some of the highest needs can stay for good. No other tiny home village has attempted to permanently house as many people.

Austin’s homelessness rate has been rapidly worsening, and the city’s response has whipped back and forth... In October [2023], the official estimate put the number of people living without shelter at 5,530, a 125 percent increase from two years earlier. Some of that rise is the result of better outreach, but officials acknowledged that more people have become homeless. City leaders vowed to build more housing, but that effort has been slowed by construction delays and resistance from residents.

Meanwhile, outside the city limits, Community First has been building fast. [Note from below the read more: It's outside city limits because the lack of zoning laws keeps more well-off Austin residents from blocking the project, as they did earlier attempts to build inside the city.] In a mere eight years, this once-modest project has grown into a sprawling community that the city is turning to as a desperately needed source of affordable housing. The village has now drawn hundreds of millions of dollars from public and private sources and given rise to similar initiatives across the country.

This rapid growth has come despite significant challenges. And some question whether a community on the outskirts of town with relaxed housing standards is a suitable way to meet the needs of people coming out of chronic homelessness. The next few years will be a test of whether these issues will be addressed or amplified as the village expands to five times its current size.

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024. Article continues below (at length!)

The community versus Community First

For Alan Graham, the expansion of Community First is just the latest stage in a long-evolving project. In the late 1990s, Mr. Graham, then a real estate developer, attended a Catholic men’s retreat that deepened his faith and inspired him to get more involved with his church. Soon after, he began delivering meals as a church volunteer to people living on Austin’s streets.

In 1998, Mr. Graham, now 67, became a founder of Mobile Loaves and Fishes, a nonprofit that has since amassed a fleet of vehicles that make daily rounds to deliver food and clothing to Austin’s homeless...

Talking to people like Mr. Johnston [a homeless Austin resident who Graham had befriended], Mr. Graham came to feel that housing alone was not enough for people who had been chronically homeless, the official term for those who have been homeless for years or repeatedly and have physical or mental disabilities, including substance-use disorders. About a third of the homeless population fits this description, and they are often estranged from family and other networks.

In 2006, Mr. Graham pitched an idea to Austin’s mayor: Create an R.V. park for people coming out of chronic homelessness. It would have about 150 homes, supportive services and easy access to public transportation. Most importantly, it would help to replace the “profound, catastrophic loss of family” he believed was at the root of the problem with a close-knit and supportive community.

The City Council voted unanimously in 2008 to lease Mr. Graham a 17-acre plot of city-owned land to make his vision a reality. Getting the council members on board, he said, turned out to be the easy part.

When residents near the intended site learned of the plan, they were outraged. They feared the development would reduce their property values and invite crime. One meeting to discuss the plan with the neighborhood grew so heated that Mr. Graham was escorted to his car by the police. Not a single one of the 52 community members in attendance voted in favor of the project.

After plans for the city-owned lot fell apart and other proposed locations faced similar resistance, Mr. Graham gave up on trying to build the development within city limits.

In 2012, he instead acquired a plot of land in a part of Travis County just northeast of Austin. It was far from public transportation and other services, but it had one big advantage: The county’s lack of zoning laws limited the power of neighbors to stop it.

Mr. Graham raised $20 million and began to build. In late 2015, Mr. Johnston left the R.V. park he had been living in and became the second person to move into the new village. It grew rapidly. In just two years, Mr. Graham bought an adjacent property, nearly doubling the village’s size to 51 acres and making room for hundreds more residents.

And then in the fall of 2022, he broke ground on the largest expansion yet: Adding two more sites to the village, expanding it by 127 acres to include nearly 2,000 homes.

“No one ever really did what they first did, and no one’s ever done what they’re about to do,” said Mark Hilbelink, the director of Sunrise Navigation Center, Austin’s largest homeless-services provider. “So there’s a little bit of excitement but also probably a little bit of trepidation about, ‘How do we do this right?’”

What it takes to make a village

Since he moved into Community First eight years ago, Mr. Johnston has found the stability that eluded him for so long. Most mornings, he wakes up early in his R.V., feeds his scruffy adopted terrier, Amos, and walks a few minutes down a quiet road to the village garden, where neat rows of carrots, leeks, beets and arugula await his attention.

Mr. Johnston worked in fast-food restaurants for most of his life, but he learned how to garden at the village. He now works full time cultivating produce for a weekly market that is free to residents.

“Once I got here, I said, This is where I’m going to spend pretty much my entire life now,” Mr. Johnston said.

Everyone at the village pays rent, which averages about $385 a month. The tiny homes that make up two-thirds of the dwellings go for slightly lower, but have no indoor plumbing; their residents use communal bathhouses and kitchens. The rest of the units are R.V.s and manufactured homes with their own bathrooms and kitchens.

Like Mr. Johnston, many residents have jobs in the village, created to offer residents flexible opportunities to earn some income. Last year, they earned a combined $1.5 million working as gardeners, landscapers, custodians, artists, jewelry makers and more, paid out by Mobile Loaves and Fishes.

Ute Dittemer, 66, faced a daily struggle for survival during a decade on the streets before moving into Community First five years ago with her husband. Now she supports herself by painting and molding figures out of clay at the village art house, augmented by her husband’s $800 monthly retirement income. A few years ago, a clay chess set she made sold for $10,000 at an auction. She used the money to buy her first car.

“I’m glad that we are not in a low-income-housing apartment complex,” she said. “We’ve got all this green out here, air to breathe.”

A small number of residents have jobs off-site, and a city bus makes hourly stops at the village 13 times a day to help people commute into town.

But about four out of five residents live on government benefits like disability or Social Security. Their incomes average $900 a month, making even tiny homes impossible to afford without help, Mr. Graham said.

“Essentially 100 percent of the people that move into this village will have to be subsidized for the rest of their lives,” he said.

For about $25,000 a year, Mr. Graham’s organization subsidizes one person’s housing at the village. (Services like primary health care and addiction counseling are provided by other organizations.) So far, that has been paid for entirely by private donations and in small part from collecting rent.

This would not be possible, Mr. Graham said, without a highly successful fund-raising operation that taps big Austin philanthropists. To build the next two expansions, Mr. Graham set a $225 million fund-raising goal, about $150 million of which has already been obtained from the Michael and Susan Dell Foundation, the founder of the Patrón Spirits Company, Hill Country Bible Church and others.

Support goes beyond monetary donations. A large land grant came from the philanthropic arm of Tito’s Handmade Vodka, and Alamo Drafthouse, an Austin-based cinema chain, donated an outdoor amphitheater for movie screenings. Top architectural firms competed for the chance to design energy-efficient tiny homes free of charge. And every week, hundreds of volunteers come to help with landscaping and gardening or to serve free meals.

Around 55 residents, including 15 children, live in the village as “missionals” — unpaid neighbors generally motivated by their Christian faith to be part of the community.

All missionals undergo a monthslong “discernment process” before they can move in. They pay to live in R.V.s and manufactured homes distinguished by an “M” in the front window. Their presence in the community is meant to guard against the pitfalls of concentrated poverty and trauma.

“Missionals are our guardian angels,” said Blair Racine, a 69-year-old resident with a white beard that hangs to his chest. “They’re people we can always call. They’re always there for us.”

After moving into the village in 2018, Mr. Racine spent two years isolated in his R.V. because of a painful eye condition. But after an effective treatment, he became so social that he was nicknamed the Mayor. Missional residents drive him to get his medication once a week, he said. To their children he is Uncle Blair.

Though the village is open to people of any religious background, it is run by Christians, and public spaces are adorned with paintings of Jesus on the cross and other biblical scenes. The application to live in the community outlines a set of “core values” that refer to God and the Bible. But Mr. Graham said there is no proselytizing and people do not have to be sober or seek treatment to live there.

Mr. Graham lives in a 399-square-foot manufactured home in the middle of the village with his wife, Tricia Graham, who works as the community’s “head of neighbor care.” He said they do not have any illusions about solving the underlying mental-health and substance-use problems many residents live with, and that is not their goal.

“This is absolutely not nirvana,” Mr. Graham said. “And we want people to understand the beauty and the complexity of what we do. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on the face of the planet than right here in the middle of this, but you’re not fixing these things.” ...

From an experiment to a model

Community First has already inspired spinoffs, with some tweaks. In 2018, Nate Schlueter, who previously worked with the village’s jobs program, opened Eden Village in his hometown, Springfield, Mo. Unlike in Community First, every home in Eden Village is identical and has its own bathroom and kitchen. Mr. Schlueter’s model has spread to 12 different cities with every village limited to 50 homes or fewer.

“Not every city is Austin, Texas,” Mr. Schlueter said. “We don’t want to build a large-scale village. And if the root cause of homelessness is a loss of family, and community is something that can duplicate that safety net to some extent, to have smaller villages to me seemed like a stronger community safety net. Everybody would know each other.”

The rapid growth of Community First has challenged that ideal. In recent years, some of the original missional residents and staff members have left, finding it harder to support the number of people moving into the village. Steven Hebbard, who lived and worked at the village since its inception, left in 2019 when he said it shifted from a “tiny-town dynamic” where he knew everyone’s name to something that felt more like a city, straining the supportive culture that helped people succeed.

Mobile Loaves and Fishes said more staff members had recently been hired to help new residents adjust, but Mr. Graham noted that there was a limit to what any housing provider could do without violating people’s privacy and autonomy.

Despite these concerns, the organization, which had been run entirely on private money, has recently drawn public support. In January 2023, Travis County gave Mobile Loaves and Fishes $35 million in American Rescue Plan Act funds to build 640 units as part of its expansion.

Then four months later came a significant surprise: The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development approved the use of federal housing vouchers, which subsidize part or all of a low-income resident’s rent, for the village’s tiny homes. This will make running the village much more financially sustainable, Mr. Graham said, and may make it a more replicable blueprint for other places.

“That’s a big deal for us, and it’s a big deal on a national basis,” Mr. Graham said. “It’s a recognition that this model, managed the way that this model is, has a role in the system.”

Usually, the government considers homes without indoor plumbing to be substandard, but, in this case, it made an exception by applying the housing standards it uses for single-room-occupancy units. The village still did not meet the required ratio of bathrooms per person, but at the request of Travis County and the City of Austin’s housing officials, who cited Austin’s “severe lack of affordable housing” that made it impossible for some homeless people with vouchers to find anywhere else to live, HUD waived its usual requirements.

In the waiver, a HUD staffer wrote that Mr. Graham told HUD officials over the phone that the proportion of in-unit bathrooms “has not been an issue.” But in conversations with The Times, other homeless-service providers in Austin and some village residents said the lack of in-unit bathrooms is one of the biggest problems people have with living there. It also makes the villages less accessible to people with certain disabilities and health issues that are relatively common among the chronically homeless....

Mr. Graham said that with a doctor’s note, people could secure an R.V. or manufactured home at the village, although those are in short supply and have a long waiting list. He said the village’s use of tiny homes allowed them to build at a fraction of the usual cost when few other options existed, and helps ensure residents aren’t isolated in their units, reinforcing the village’s communal ethos.

“If somebody wants to live in a tiny home they ought to have the choice,” Mr. Graham said, “and if they are poor we ought to respect their civil right to live in that place and be subsidized to live there.” But he conceded that for some people, “this might not be the model.”

“Nobody can be everything for everyone,” he said.

By the spring of 2025, Mr. Graham hopes to begin moving people into the next phase of the village, across the street from the current property. The darker visions some once predicted of an impoverished community on the outskirts of town overtaken by drugs and violence have not come to pass. Instead, the village has permanently housed hundreds of people and earned the approval and financial backing of the city, the county and the federal government. But for the model to truly meet the scale of the challenge in Austin and beyond, Chapman Semple said, the compromises that led to Community First in its current incarnation will have to be reckoned with.

“We can build smaller villages that can be fully integrated into the community, that can have access to amenities within the community that we all need to live, including jobs and groceries,” Chapman Semple said. “If it’s a wonderful model then we should be embracing and fighting for its inclusion within our community.”

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024

[tzihomara]

OLD ENDS NEW BEGINNINGS ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

— settled down, and he wouldn’t have it be with anyone other than you.

wc. 1.1k | gender neutral!reader, established relationship, domesticity, fluff, crack, tiny bit angsty, marriage mentions, normalcy, not proof read.

cw; chapter 236 spoils

dating satoru gojo was an experience.

december 24th.

to say that day, and the weeks that slowly, — antagonizingly, brushed by, were memorable, was an understatement. for the two of you. it was engraved into your heart and soul. satoru tried his hardest, truly, to keep you from getting mixed along, or even trying to learn about the jujutsu world, sorcery would be the last thing he preferred you to be involved with.

but, being you. the only one after suguru that he’s let his defenses down with, found out. taking off the facade of “the strongest”, he didn’t want to lose you due to the way he had to protect himself. he reluctantly, gave in and told you. but, even if informing you of his ‘occupation’ was something he loathed, you were helping him.

you made him forget about the complication’s of being not just a sorcerer, but a weapon.

satoru gojo is used holding the world’s weight on his shoulder’s, all alone. until you came along, accepting who he truly is, how unconventional it is dating him. he’s not the best partner, but he tries. he’s learning how to regulate emotions, reassure you, let down those rough edges, to rely on someone for once. all for you.

you only want the best for him.

you can remember how utterly dreadful that day felt, like the entire world was thrown off, but kept moving. the world doesn’t stop for anyone, not you, and not for the strongest, either. time goes on.

the sharp scent of alcohols and disinfectants steadily passing through your nose, with a slight burn. standing in ieiri shoko’s lab, it was cold, to keep everything sterile. the deep breathes you were shakily taking weren’t making you anyless disquieted.

you had stayed up for days on end, awaiting for him to return from the 3 day’s prior he told you about this ‘ mission ‘, despite letting the facade down, the slight cockiness was burned into satoru’s personality. you adored it. repeating his words over and over in your head. “relax. . . i’ve got this. i’m the strongest after all, aren’t i?” words murmured into your neck. a larger hand taking your own and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your smaller hand, with a perfect fit. thumb rubbing over your own. “i promise, i’ll be back. i wont keep you waiting.”

and now you were standing over his body, nobody had the heart, let alone time to inform you. finding out days after, because shoko reached out. previously working on his body, as if it was just another day. another sorcerer that almost lost their life. to her, it was. this was the cycle. you see so much, it becomes numbing to you.

sorcerers were seen as mere tool’s to protect the weak, why would the strongest be an exception?

thankfully, she had atleast some sympathy for you, getting him in the best shape so you could see him better than how he was found, he was alive. but the nights, the days, the trust you had placed in him shifting, into unease and concern. though the trust was never lost, had taken its toll on your completely. you were fatigued and drained, seeing him didn’t relieve the anxiety you thought it would. atleast, not like this. fatigued eyes looming over his stitched torso. with a heavy sigh.

that’s what you remember, and you’d prefer not to think about it. those thought, memories that plagued you whenever you got lost in your mind, drowned out by the slight weight and warmth of two thick arms wrapped around your waist, littered with scars. your back pressed to his chest dwarfing you in size, suffocating almost but in the best way. his warmth was something you could drown in, keeping you ‘safe’ from the biting frigid essence of winter, low cerulean eyes watching you do the most simple of thing’s, currently making hot chocolate for the two of you.

so much softer, how tender, he was after the particular incident. grasping that you’re the only one he can’t prioritize anything else over, and he mean’s it.

you were so familiar with the feeling, a warm chin resting on your shoulder, fingers lightly rubbing, tracing and tapping over the smooth flesh of your tummy under one of his sweaters your wearing. the ones he bought secretly hoping you’d steal them, — and you did. he was just as content, and satisfied to be with you, as you were with him.

basking in the normalcy presented to him now, the normalcy he’d never gotten before. not even an ounce.

ever since you managed to “persuade” him to quit the jujutsu world, life’s been calm. the calm you both deserved, and more importantly what he’s been yearning for without even realizing it. a soft kiss pressed to your cheek, and a soft murmured “thank you.” as you finished making your cups, grabbing both of them and heading to the living room of the flat you two call home, relaxing back into the various blankets and comfortable pillow’s littered around. your touch, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. always managing to lean back into him, out of all the pillows here, he’s your favorite.

taking sips of your own hot chocolate, cuddled next to him. chin resting on the crown of your head, softly inhaling the scent of your shampoo, before taking his own sip. watching whatever show you ‘somehow’ had him invested into aswell. the silence with you had always, always been a comfortable one. only interrupted by soft hum’s, and shared “i love you’s”. the background noise of the show a backdrop for him, lost in his own thought’s, though for the first time ones of ease.

no longer being involved in the world of sorcery , his mind was still trying to process it. fighting, being weaponized, used even after no longer being needed, was all satoru’s ever known. be strong for the weak, without a chance or second to be weak himself. no more worries of those responsibilities, it’s all out of grasp. out of sight out of mind. bright eyes stealing long glances at you and between the tv, although, you’re the only one he’s paying attention to truly. although the weight of constantly fighting was off his shoulder’s, he’d still be targeted here and there. it was unrealistic to believe not, but that’s not hindering the thought’s — plan’s , he has for you. the two of them, marriage , children , surrounded with those he can give all the love he’s kept to himself for a great percentage of his life to, pressing a tender kiss to your temple with a soft raspy chuckle to himself.

a laugh of relief, keeping himself from getting sappy at the thought that he can, and will, live his life how he wants for once. just a few tears brimming in the corner of his eyes silently, keeping his lips pressed to your head gently.

and it all starts and ends, with you.

my masterlist for more .ᐟ

[punk-in-docs]

🕸️ Pretty Girls Make Graves 🕸️

Eddie x Pencils - 🎃 Halloween 🎃one shot

2.7k words

Summary: pretty much what it says on the tin. Halloween one shot with our dearest Eddie x Pencils. Enjoy. Pure fluff. A tiny suggestion of smut at the end. Inspired by this lovely photo set & this prompt post that got me off my ass to write again.

Also another shoutout to the gorgeous @tvserie-s-world who made this amazing Eddie x Pencils edit that I’m still gooey over. 🖤

“So, what brings you to my dark and creepy neck of the woods?”Came a cocky taunt as soon as the trailer door swung open after your knock.

It’s usual rusty-screeching melody preceding its occupants flirty remark. The sound of the Smiths comes slithering out the creaking door behind him. The tape you bought that got lost in the avalanche of both your cassettes that slide and slip, congregate on his passenger seat.

He will not smile for anyone. And pretty girls make graves.

The lanky shadow of your boyfriend cuts across the warm yellow glow of the lights that slant out the doorway behind him. His costume makes you grin. Sheer moronic love.

You stood halfway up the steps. Candles flickering and throwing dozy pools orange in Jack-o-lanterns across the toes of your boots. They’re all wonky and have imperfect slanted mouths and jagged eyes. Loping together on the uneven porch steps. Fat orange gourds all drunk with gravity.

The very same pumpkins you’d helped him carve a week ago, after a misty morning weekend trip to Merill’s pumpkin farm. Eddie had the rather dastardly and determined habit of choosing pumpkins bigger and heavier than his actual van tires. You ended up with so many.

Your kitchen has smelt like squelchy pumpkin innards all week. You’re still finding seeds cropping up under the toaster or in the corner of the cabinets. As per Eddie’s way with most things, It wasn’t exactly a neat process.

You can’t help but laugh at his greeting too.

“I distinctly remember making plans to invade the spooky neck of your woods tonight, my little death trap.” You smile as you edge your way up the sloping steps. Holding a huge pumpkin shaped bucket of candy in your arms. The contents rustle as you move.

Everyone’s touting pumpkin buckets tonight. Driving in and even on the street back home, you saw a load of elementary kids walking around the park in their costumes. Ghosts in bedsheets. Aliens. Bats. One very ambitious papier maché pumpkin. Superhero’s. Clowns. Home made astronauts clad in crinkly tin foil and bulbous helmets. All wandering with an adult in tow and buckets clutched in their hands, ready to be filled.

You opted for a simple witch costume. Stripy tights and your dark thrifted docs. A black dress with a little cape tied around your shoulders and a witches hat. You applied dark purple-plum lipstick and dark smudgey grey eyeshadow, and liner. Your eyelids glitter like purple constellations. He finds stars to gaze at so often in those pretty eyes.

Eddie had gone for an Alice Cooper inspired look. Top hat. The dripping dark eye makeup that you’re amazed he managed all on his own. Hair it’s usual long rocker mess. Gothic black and lots of it. A huge goth belt with studs and buckles. You spy a cane grasped by his side too. A fake toy snake looped around his neck. Just like the man himself. He really does go all out.

The fringe benefit being he looks hot as hell to your eyes.

“You’ve got me under your spell, O’ bewitching one. How could I possibly resist.” He opened his arms out to you as you came to the last step.

“Bet you say that to every witch who shows up at your door on hallows eve.” You smile. Unashamedly grab the snake that’s looped around his neck and reel him in by it.

“Only ones who bought me jolly ranchers.” He preens. He can see the multi coloured hue of the wrapped candy in the huge bowl you’re carrying.

At the same time, he plucks the flimsy pointed witches hat off your head so the brim doesn’t get in his way. You unconsciously move towards the same goal together. It’s spooky. Sometimes it’s like you have the same brain. You’re one entity mashed together in a frenzy of melding hearts, music mania and relentless adolescent infatuation.

He lopes forwards and gladly slots his slanting smirk onto yours. Tasting of orange sweet candy corn and beer. His thumb and forefinger meet on your chin. Your hand slid for his neck. Fingertips along his jaw as you share a giddying kiss. You mouth at the plushness of his lips. He does the same to you.

You pull back before he makes you swoon dangerously down these steps. His kiss should come with a warning sign; dangerously addictive metal head. May possess body and soul.

You can tell already that you’ll have to wave goodbye to this lipstick. It’s now smeared all around your mouth and most of his. Now he looks like Alice Cooper doing nine to ten in Arkham Asylum.

“Hello.” You beam. Rubbing smudged purple off his lips. Vamptastic Plum the colour name.

“Hi.” He smirks like a lunatic. End of his nose rubbing into yours where he gazes at you.

He does it a lot. It’s honestly so lovesick you should be kinda nauseated.

When you’re studying. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn or pizza. Every now and again he’ll just rest his chin in his hand and smile all warm and stupid at you. Cheeks bunched and crows feet at his eyes. Even when you have paint flecked across your forehead. Or pizza cheese slung in a string across your chin. Or when you’re frowning at your fingers when you smear your nail drying polish. He loves watching you just be near him.

It always ends the same way. You’ll feel his eyes burning their fond cinnamon gaze into you. You’ll turn and meet his eyes. And that smile lopes even wider. He’ll loop a pinky though yours and kiss the back of your hand. Or your forehead.

“Permission to enter your lair?” You seek.

“Thought only vamps had to ask permission to come in?” He flirts with you. Eyes on your mouth again. Your lips all kiss bruised makes him ache. In fact, makes another sort of serpent twitch in his jeans.

“Misdirection. I am actually a vampire. The witch outfit is a clever disguise to work my cunning way into unsuspecting trailers.” You raise your brows naughtily.

He grins. “Clever subterfuge.”

He slips aside from the door to let you come in. Another kiss pressed to your lips before he lets you sidle on past him. He hangs your witches hat on the coat rack with his spare jacket and Wayne’s denim.

“Need me to park your broom?” He jests.

“Left it in the car with my black cat. You’re safe.”

“How many more witchy jokes could we stretch this out too?”

“I reckon I’ve a few left knocking around…” you guess. Placing the bucket of candy on the kitchen counter. Hopefully Eddie doesn’t pilfer the whole lot before Wayne’s home. You hope he leaves his uncle a treat or two. And doesn’t scarf the lot like a damn seagull.

This trailer hugs you any time you enter. You thought that when you and Eddie started dating. And you still think it now. Capital H home. This place. Filled with his and Wayne’s memorabilia. And a few more other things tonight;

You haven’t seen your boyfriend as much of late. He’s been out hitting the teenage party circuits with his metal lunchbox. Making a healthy chunk of change by the looks of it. He’s strung up plenty of decorations to help pep this place up with Halloween spirit.

There’s pumpkin paper garlands arced in loops up high. Orange and black twisting streamers over the mug shelves. Fake rubbery bats hanging down from the kitchen island cupboards. Dancing skeletons hanging on the little spare space the walls have to offer. The coffee table is cleared of its usual junk and absolutely heaped in candy and snacks.

Butterfingers. Butter popcorn. Pretzels. Red vines. Cheez balls. Mallomars. All of which happen to be your favourites. He has two cold beers side by side. And a fat tight joint sits waiting in the ashtray too.

He’s even bought those fake filmy cobwebs to spread in a few places with fake plastic spiders - to join in with the real ones dusted around in forgotten corners.

All your tensions melt down right to your toes. All is right with the world. Halloween night. No school tomorrow. And Eddie. And a whole uninterrupted night of movies and bliss. You’ve lost count of the amount of times a movie night has ended up getting dirty on his couch. Tape flicking to the end whilst you’re attached lip to lip with wandering hands.

You sigh gladly as you stand to toe off your shoes. Putting them aside. Heat slides into your stomach all squirly and scorching as he stands from behind you and his hand reach around and skilfully undo the cape around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you comfy my temptress of the night. Beer?” He seeks. Throwing your cape over his shoulder. It lands nowhere even near the coat rack.

“Yes please my lovable nightmare.” You sass. You walk over to the couch. Spying an absolute mound of VHS’s ready to go by the TV. The colour seemed to dip in and out sometimes. The set was old. Eddie had to whack the side sometimes to get it to behave. You find it more endearing than a set that worked seamlessly.

You pluck pieces of popcorn out the bowl and throw them onto your tongue. Crunch them down as you sit with your knees tucked under you.

Eddie kills the music and slings himself down next to you on the lumpy couch. Frame squeaking and rattling as he settles.

“Damn. You got a great selection, Munson. What did you do, bribe Harrington with your soul to score all this?” You remark as you peer at the videos on the coffee table.

1941 Wolfman. Christopher Lee’s Dracula. The Fog. Halloween. House on Haunted Hill. And Friday the 13th. You loved old school movies as much as he did. The old swelling suspense of a good black and white.

“Nothin major. Just a little selling of my body and charms. Deviant sexual acts. Just so you know I’ll have raw knees for a month.”

“Mm you filthy slut.” You hush. Impressed.

“Finest slut in the Midwest.”

“So I’ve heard.” You grin. Leaning in to kiss him. Seemed too infeasible not too. He cups the back of your head as you do. Keeping you close as he dares. Sweet kiss like icing sugar dusted across your lips.

He makes a small ‘mmm’ noise before you pull back.

“Besides. I consider The Fog a film that makes me think fondly of our very early courtship.” He remarks.

Snoopy bed shorts. A tin of Campbells. His lunatic escapades of climbing in your window late at night.

“And, well, only the best for you, Pencils.” He grins.

You tilt your head. A sigh caught in your throat.

“You must’ve busted your ass to get all this. You didn’t need too. You know I don’t need all this. I’m happy just to watch crappy reruns with you and order a pizza.” You tell him.

Concerned about the cash he would’ve laid out for tonight. The decor. The snacks. The primo shit from Rick. All must’ve cost a pretty penny.

“You’re worth every damn cent. When you’re dating a spooky awesome girl you gotta put in the ultimate spooky effort.” He tells you. Gripping his beer bottle and leaning back.

You clink your beer bottle to his.

“Please tell me you overcharged those meathead jocks for your product.”

“…. And then some.” He winks.

That’s my boy. You couldn’t be more proud.

“I’ll drink to that.” You murmur. Taking a pull on your cold beer. Cool heaven sliding down your throat.

“Thanks to Tina’s party last week, I mean, man, I scored big time. So many stoners invited. Walk in the park.” He smiled.

That deserved a kiss. Which you gladly give.

“Kinda love you for that.” You suppose. But there were no two ways about it - you were completly head over heels for him.

“Good to know.” He supplies. Hand rubbing your back.

“We better put a video on before I maul you.” You threaten with a great deal of flirt. Dragging your purple painted fingernails down the front of his top.

“Mmm kinky.” He grins. Leaning over to press a spitty kiss to your cheek. Before diving for the pile of VHS.

“Ok, roughly how long do you wanna argue about which one we watch first?” He seeks.

You narrow your eyes. Taking a sip back of your beer. “Depends if I win or not.” You look at him all cunning.

“House on haunted hill?” He bargains. Crouching and pointing the VHS at you.

“Don’t point that thing at me.” You smile. Stealing another handful of popcorn. Eating it with a grin.

Let the bickering commence…

~

The credits rolled to your third film of the night. Halloween the 1978 original. Orange twinkle lights flicker in the warm yellow lights near the kitchen. The rest of the trailer in dozy darkness. The sounds of kids trick or treating and laughing, batter against the trailer side in the night air.

You magnanimously let him pick the film. Maybe you’re growing soft in your old age.

This found you and Eddie slumped down together on the ratty couch. Limbs tangled. Joint smouldering in the ashtray. Verdant smoke in the air. Beer bottles empty. Only popcorn kernels left in the bottom of the bowl. The snacks had been pilfered and pinched at your leisure.

Eddie was pressed down onto you like a lanky weighted blanket. Snoozing happily with a belly full of beer and cheez balls. Socked feet hanging off the end of the couch. Hands slung all over you like a gangly octopus. He’s currently letting out content little breathy snores with his head cushioned against your boobs. A little spit of drool by the side of his mouth.

He’d nodded off sometime around Michael Myers fifth victim with the boyfriend and the blonde pigtails. You’d been carding your fingers through his hair. Scratching his scalp. Made his eyes flick back in his head.

You swear he was one step away from twitching his foot in contentment like a canine at the work of your hands. Made his brain short circuit.

More so when he was on Indica. Just the kinda hit he needed for a slow sleepy and spooky night in. You can’t deny you’re fighting the effects of it yourself.

A couple of puffs. Eyelids drowsy. Your limbs feeling like cotton stuffed pillows. Indolent and slow. And now you’ve got your perfect metal head keeping you pressed down.

“Guess the party circuit wiped you for six, huh babe?” You smile. Thumbing his cheek. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

You shift your leg up. Which tumbles his knee more into your lap. He snuffled. Nuzzling his head further onto you. His breath was all sugary red vines, and fruity weed.

You kept on stroking his hair. Leaning forward to nuzzle a kiss to the crown of his messy hair. Apple shampoo and that lost tang of American spirits.

“Edward?” You ask.

You get a sleepy, sticky gurgle from him.

“I’ve got a really nice bra and panties set on under this dress, y’know.” You whisper at him.

Another mumble. You smile and rest your cheek on his warm head.

“You’ll have to let me move to put the next movie in, babe.” You tell.

“No. S’comfy.”

Then you hear him grumble. “Boobs.”

“Great boobs.”

You chuckle. Honestly.

“Knock yourself out. Munson. You smile.

Shifting down to let sleep come and gently take you too.

“Oh, and Happy Halloween.” You add. Letting your eyes close. Letting the static at the end of the video ebb you softly into dreams. Along with the sound of wind kindly rattling the roof. Brushing along the walls outside. All the trick or treaters have been coerced indoors. Safe inside with their candy spoils.

Much later on. You hear the rustle of clothes and feel the heat of his breath. The warmth of his limbs leeches off you when he moves. Coldness sneaks in.

You wake with bleary-sticky eyes to those brown ones staring back at you. Cheeks all flushed. The tell-tale sign of a tented zipper bursting at his crotch.

That dripping eye make up looks smeared and downright dangerous. He looks absolutely ravishing and you suddenly shake off your tiredness to see him looking so good like this.

“You said something about a bra, Pencils…” he smiles. “Be a shame not to show it off now-“ He beams. Waggles his brows.

“Heard that did you?” Your brow crooks.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

This is for everyone; but especially for @tvserie-s-world @lunatictardis @heyndrix @callmeloverr @joequinnswhore @atabigail @thewrathoffemalerage @lurkingprincess @songforeddiemunson @palomahasenteredthechat @babybluebex

[just-some-user-hunny]

Something something, soft domestic bliss with Nikto <3

Borders by @anitalenia and @rookthornesartistry

Home has never been a place he has resided in. It's always been a lonely little apartment that he sleeps and eats in, or a house that's far too cramped and cold. He's tried living in smaller places- places that can swallow up the emptiness of its rooms with walls and curtains, but it always feels the same.

When he comes back from another hard deployment, he returns to even harder sheets. Another cycle of day and night that goes by in a hazy blur. Most days he can't remember making breakfast or walking down to the little shop to buy some more alcohol- often his fridge is just full and his rooms are hoovered, and he finds himself sweating and tired on the sofa. Not even recollecting what he did.

But ever since this stray man found you, hes certain he's found a place he can call home.

Your sheets smell good. Warmed by your body's heat and peaceful sleep, and nowadays he finds rest more than merely falling unconscious. Rest that thaws his cold hollow bones into something more human, that lifts the weight carved into his shoulders. Rest that he can find as easy as he can find the colour of your eyes. Even when you leave the bed, somehow clawing your way out of this lumbering man's grip, he'll always roll over and press his face into your spot on the bed. Rubbing his cheek against the fabric of the sheets, trying to absorb the warmth you left behind. Tracing the shape of you with rough fingertips before he finds himself again and keens after you.

In the mornings, Nikto must make you tea. You seldom question it now- his ritual of sifting strong smelling tea leaves and using the exact same cups he likes to use is something to endear. Watching this man whose hands have faced blood and grit, ever so delicately handle his precious tea is something to behold. He is precise. Practiced. The kettle whistling and pouring steam into your cozy little kitchen as he stands by the counter, bathing in pale sunlight. He always prepares your tea first, in the mug he always sees you favor amongst the others.

Sitting with him in the mornings for breakfast is always pleasant. When his visits gradually turn into permanent occupation, the mornings flow into a stream of warmth.

Warm mugs, warm kitchen tiles, warm sunlight, and warm socks.

It's something you think draws him to stay. You don't know that even in a cold apartment with nothing, as long as you're there, he'd stay.

Nikto appreciates a warm meal from you- yes, even the attempts of your russian meals. He eats them up with gratitude and eagerness. His ankles are locked with yours under the table as he reads the paper and listens to you ramble about your plans for the day, letting you stroke and pet his hand in yours. Your fingertips idly tracing the veins on his thicker scarred wrist. After breakfast, once he's sucked your spoon clean and you've playfully snatched it back, he's keen to do something. Anything.

It snowed that night, and you wanted to go shopping. Nikto follows your heel, just as he likes. He wraps you up tight, almost too much. A scarf wrapped snugly around your neck and head, wrapping you up in another jacket, and he insists on putting your gloves on for you. It will be cold, dear. He'll insist. All he needs in return is a kiss and a pinch at the collar of his coat. Pull him down for a kiss, and he'll give a little lick at your chin to see your smile. There was some crumbs llubov.

The crunch of snow beneath your shoes and the sunlight catching gold in your hair is something he holds dear. Hands clasped together- well, as much as you can, considering his big brutish paw is hiding yours within his. His palm is hot and rough, a warm balm against the chill of the cold air.

He doesn't like shops- always a skittishness and shake to him, but you're there. It is bearable, little one. He's close by your heel as you scour through the shelves, asking him what he wants for dinner that night. It's always the same. What do you want? I'll eat too.

Nikto always carries the bags on the way back. It's non-negotiable. His hand is reaching for you, and he expects the heavy bags to be handed to him. Don't even try to take some of the load off him little one, he has carried much heavier. He plods along by your side keenly, your words occupying the silence of the walk back. He does not mind, the listener that he is drinking your dialogue up, no matter how trivial or rambling it is.

Once at home, and the shopping is put away, you'll be swept up in his arms and trapped to the confinement of the sofa. Let him warm you, he'll grumble, ushering your face to tuck into his neck where it's warm.

Here he can happily waste hours away. Hours that he once spent alone and mindlessly, a haze of forgetfulness and weary, is now a good warm numbness to his head. The kind of mindlessness you find in a hot bath, no thoughts or worries to exist.

There are the days he longs for.

[girlkisser13]

artemis cabin headcanons

the hunters of artemis

• when a hunter join the hunt, they no longer get periods as a blessing from artemis. (another reason to become a hunter?? jk i love women WAY too much).

• obviously, they’re all feminists.

• most of them can't take sexist jokes, so be careful unless you want to get shot with an arrow.

• they keep in touch with the girls that have left the hunt.

• when two hunters fall in love, artemis usually shows mercy, knowing the vow spoke of leaving behind the company of men not women.

• they’ve definitely bumped into the valkyrie on more than one occasion. artemis doesn’t like them very much because she doesn’t want her hunters to become einherjar.

• she’d rather they have the peace and calmness that they deserve.

• much like the camp half-blood necklace beads, the hunters have charm bracelets. they get a charm in the shape of a moon once they arrive and then a star shaped one every ten years they serve artemis.

• trans girls are ALWAYS accepted into the hunt.

• but if a trans guy wants to join the hunt (pretransition), artemis will straight up refuse to take them, subsequently kicking of their gender crisis.

• she’ll also do this with pretransition trans women (to their great confusion).

• the minimum age to become a hunter is sixteen, unless there are special circumstances (it just doesn’t sit right with me that most of the hunters are in their preteens).

• this is a big decision and shouldn’t be made at such a young age. let these girls go through puberty and find out whether they really want to forsake men forever.

• plus, it’d actually benefit the hunters to be more physically mature; they’d be a lot stronger and therefore faster due to the muscle development.

• they have a hotline number that women can call if they feel extremely uncomfortable or fearful in a situation.

• they'll discretely escort her out and then beat the shit out of whoever is scaring her. <33

cabin exterior

• the cabin is primarily made of wood, with vines and ivy creeping up its sides, blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest.

• the cabin's roof is adorned with silver tiles that shimmer like moonlight, casting a gentle glow at night.

• carvings of various wild animals, such as deer, wolves, and bears, are intricately etched into the wooden walls, symbolizing artemis's connection with nature and wildlife.

• during the day, the cabin appears almost invisible from a distance, thanks to its natural camouflage of leaves and branches, making it a perfect sanctuary for the hunters.

• the entrance is flanked by banners with the symbol of the moon and arrows, representing artemis's hunting prowess and her role as the goddess of the moon.

• hidden paths and trails lead from the cabin into the deeper parts of the forest, allowing the hunters to come and go without being seen.

cabin interior

• the walls and floors are made of polished wood, giving the cabin a warm and rustic feel. the wood is adorned with carvings of forest scenes and animals.

• soft, silvery lanterns hang from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow reminiscent of moonlight. at night, these lights give the cabin a tranquil, otherworldly ambiance.

• the bunks are arranged in a circle around a central hearth. each bunk has a curtain made of light, airy fabric, providing privacy while allowing the occupants to feel connected to the room.

• the decor includes tapestries and rugs featuring scenes of forests, wildlife, and the moon. the cabin is filled with plants, flowers, and small potted trees, making it feel like an extension of the forest outside.

• each hunter has a personal space to store their gear. this includes a rack for bows and quivers, hooks for coats, and shelves for other hunting equipment.

• the central hearth is always burning with a controlled, magical flame that provides warmth and light. it's surrounded by comfortable seating made of logs and animal pelts, perfect for gathering and sharing stories.

• a section of the cabin is dedicated to practicing archery and other skills. it includes targets, dummies, and plenty of space for physical training.

• one corner of the cabin has shelves filled with books about nature, wildlife, and mythology, along with maps of various hunting grounds and sacred sites.

cabin traditions

• they have an annual remembrance day on the first full moon of june where they honor the fallen hunters of that year. artemis always ensures that there is a beautiful strawberry moon lighting up the sky.

• when they visit camp half-blood, they to have archery contests with the apollo kids (and other kids that have archery skills). they share their advanced skills and techniques, often leading to informal training sessions where the campers learn new tips and tricks from them.

• they hold special training sessions particularly focused on survival skills, hunting tactics, and self-defense. these sessions are a blend of physical training and imparting the wisdom of living harmoniously with nature.

• the hunters hold workshops on making traditional hunting gear, such as bows and arrows, and other crafts related to their way of life. these workshops are hands-on and give campers a tangible connection to the hunters' lifestyle.

divider by @strangergraphics

[useless-catalanfacts]

Are cats important in Catalunya? Barcelona's mascot (they sadly never use) is a cat, and the mascot for the Olympic games in Barna was a cat too. Or is it just coincidence? :eyesemoji:

Hello!

First of all, I'm very glad to see someone getting the city's shortened named right (Barna). I had almost accepted that it's a lost battle to get foreigners to stop calling it Barça! (Barça means the football team, not the city).

Cats are used as a symbol of Catalonia sometimes, because Catalonia is shortened to "Cat": think for example how the internet domain for sites in the Catalan language is ".cat", how the government of Catalonia is named Generalitat de Catalunya but gets shortened to "GenCat", or how some people cover the E of Spain in the driving plate with a sticker saying "CAT" (this last one used to be very popular in the 2000s and until the early 2010s but stopped because the police got serious in fining the people who had it).

Example of what a Spanish licence plate looks like (all EU countries have the blue band with 1, 2 or 3 letters that identify what EU country it's from) and an example of a plate with the CAT (Catalunya) sticker over the E (España) band.

For this reason, a cat was used for years as a symbol of Catalonia:

It was created by a Catalan independentist organization Lliga Anticolonial (Anti-colonial League) in the late 1990s or early 2000s as a response to the symbolic occupation of the Toro de Osborne (Osborne Bull). For context, the Osborne Bull is this:

The bull is a symbol of Spain. These gigantic (14 metres tall!) billboards in the shape of the bull species used in bullfighting (a Spanish tradition of torturing and slowly killing a bull in public while people cheer, seen as a national symbol of Spain and Spanish manhood) were set up by an alcohol brand since the 1950s. There were dozens of them, next to the highways and roads everywhere in the state of Spain, and this silhouette quickly became a symbol of Spain just as much as the Spanish flag. In fact, you'll find many Spanish flags used by fascists include this bull silhouette at the centre. There are also all types of merch with it and Spanish nationalists often put a sticker in their cars with this silhouette (used to be very popular in the early 2000s, the stickers in cars in general have stopped being so popular nowadays).

In the 1990s, there were new laws in Spain against billboards on roads/highways, because adverts distract drivers and result in accidents. However, this bull had become such a symbol of Spanish nationalism that they made an exception for it. All the billboards in certain places were taken down except for the Osborne bulls.

Meanwhile, as you can imagine many people in the nations occupied by Spain were not happy to have these giant symbols of Spanish nationalism around our land, it feels like a symbol of occupation. Like a "remember we own you". For this reason, independentist groups in the Catalan Countries and the Basque Country often cut down the bulls or sprayed murals and political slogans of liberation on them. When the new laws against billboards came, everyone was expecting to finally have to stop seeing our land branded with these symbols of occupation, but as I said before the Spanish courts did an exception. Then, more people than ever before decided to get organized to cut down the bulls, but they kept putting them back up and persecuting the "vandals", and the Spanish Justice System even gave the Osborne Bull billboard in El Bruc the legal condition of national heritage to legally protect it and be able to persecute activists who protested against it more! (El Bruc is a town in Catalonia that is very symbolic for Catalan people because of the folk tale of the Catalan resistance against French invasion that is one of the most widespread folk tales in Catalonia, but in this town the Spanish Army has had its biggest army headquarters in Catalonia so it has become a place of occupation and stronghold of the Spanish army).

During all of this battle of symbols, the occupied nations came up with their own symbol to symbolize their resistance: the cat and donkey in Catalonia, the cow in Galiza, and the ardi latxa sheep in the Basque Country. Organizations sold stickers of these symbols to raise money for good causes related to our cultures.

(I explained why this autochthonous species of donkey is a symbol of Catalonia in this previous post).

But, in the end, cutting down the bull billboards was successful and many weren't put back up. The last bull billboards in Catalonia was cut down by activists in 2002. Nowadays, you can still find about 100 bull billboards around Spain, but not in Catalonia.

The cat and donkey kept being popular for some more years, but eventually they lost popularity once the bulls were out of our daily lives. For some reason though, the donkey has remained popular as a symbol of Catalan-ness in Northern Catalonia (the part of Catalonia annexed by France, so the one that never had the Osborne Bull in the first place!). If you visit Northern Catalonia, you'll still find many cars with the donkey sticker and many souvenirs with the donkey.

There's the reason why the cat is a symbol of Catalonia, it used to be a very popular one but it has lost popularity nowadays. I must say that it's with this ask that I've seen Barça's mascot for the first time. I didn't even know they had one, but yes, it's a cat. But the mascot for the 1992 Olympic Games in Barcelona (called Cobi) was supposed to be a dog drawn in cubist style. But you're right that it looks like a cat 😅

[nullcanary]

All of my nights, All of them here

"Such a commonplace to describe someone as a dream. But he was, my Luc. Clever, well to do and as fond of the strange and grotesque arts as I had based my studies on. We met at a party during my undergraduate years, and immediately made a connection through discussion of Story of the Eye. Carrying on with ease to all manner of other subjects, his presence filled the room for me, his enthusiasm clearing out the shape and sound of the other occupants. The kindred spark struck light between us, the delight of discourse, the comfort of opening ourselves to one another, exposing all secrets non-physical. We knew each other within a moment, saw and recognized ourselves in the shine of each other's eyes. I knew then, for me, there would only be before him and after. 

Within a year's time, we eloped. We had each other. That was all there need be. We rotated our shared and respective interests around each other, indulging and debating and expanding our understanding of the hushed undercurrent. Romantically charged and intellectually bound, it felt as though we solidified each other's existence, sculpted one another in real time, by hands we could touch, words we could breathe. There was no motif there. I truly loved him.

...

I never thought I would lose him so soon. So brutally. By my own hand. But you must understand, I didn't have a choice... We didn't have a chance. We were subject to a game between cruel gods.

I'm overjoyed to finally share my commission from the ever talented @lokorum, of the piece featuring my two Kult ttrpg characters, Mérie and Luc. They're an absolutely delightful person to chat with and after sharing my OC's backstory with them, they expressed such bright enthusiasm to create a piece of my characters, which I'm so utterly grateful for. They had the idea to depict events from their backstory into the paintings displayed along the wall which brought so much more meaning to the piece. Each update left me more ecstatic than the last. Lokorum's gorgeous and unique style, vibrant use of colors, and excellent grip on mood through body language and scenery has breathed so much life into this piece.

Lokorum’s piece is a representation of Mérie’s loss. Consistently revisiting the space where she last knew Luc. He’s been gone now for more years than she was alive when she lost him. Half her life, defined by before the loss. Another half defined by its aftermath. She’ll come back here again and again trying to piece together what happened. A house of memories only able to be maintained by her. Until she finally learns the truth and can never leave. A truth she can't unknow. If only she could forget after one last dance…

[jazzyblusnowflake]

You've got some cool headcanons for Nuzi and Vuzi, but what about the third? You got any for EnVy?

Wow i suck at answering these on time smh. sighhhh, in my defense i procrastinate answering some questions cuz i don't wanna just put together some random stuff and call it a day-

i actually wrote some stuff for some asks before but had to delete it last minute cuz i thought its worth putting more time than that, i guess TvT sorry, im probably taking this too seriously idk.

My eNVee headcanons TvT:

[yall know the drill, the drone versions only, the human versions aren’t involved, and no nsfw- for now.]

k so, light envuzi involved too, Uzi is the mediator here, whether u consider her a friend here or their mini toaster in the middle- also there's some of the stuff from my future version where V is safe and sound thankfully. and also maybe some stuff from their past too.

With how N was realizing that V was lying or hiding stuff from him in a constant manner, naturally he grew to grieve the loss of who V USED to be, and with that loss he tried to accept that he has to let her go, because the V he fell in love with was long gone. despite this, when they both started teasing each other over their relationship with Uzi and N started to bite back a bit at Vs behaviors with more self confidence, they grew to form a completely different kind of relationship. Uzi was just having fun seeing them try to win her over lmao; but in the end they kind of started enjoying eachothers company again. Uzi felt happy seeing them get closure for the things they went through and was more than happy to support them through it.

Back at the manor V was fixed up after J and N, she was one of the later drones added to the family, she hardly spent much time at the manor at all before the great yeetening happened- she was originally a maid drone for a family before she was broken and dumped in the drone corpse junkyard. Maid drones are programmed with sweet and soft AIs with more round/short body shapes to have a friendly image in a household, they are made to be able to deal with both adults and kids, and they are best made for cleaning and setting up the house in mind. N was made as a butler/chauffeur before getting broken and yeeted in the junkyard [yes he can drive]. Due to V getting broken for some sort of mistake during work, she was left scarred after her reboot to make any more mistakes, which left her slightly jitter-ish and clumsy. Tessa put N in charge to help her around and although at the beginning V didn't talk much and felt unsure, slowly N became her safe space- especially since Tessas abusive parents remind V alot of her old household. N in turn thought V was always cute, he helped her with her work, having more steady hands, which ended with a lot more hand touching and blushing on both their ends :p

N was the one that suggested glasses for V which Tessa decided to try doing to see if it would help her visual efficiency in any way, and it did. V as a DD often tries to rely on her real eyes rather than look through her main visor, the glasses remind her too much of N...

N and V sometimes used to get out of the manor in secret spots to spend some time away from the chaos to help V calm down. during this time they would read books, learn stuff from each others past lives, and sometimes draw lol, but V just liked watching and listening to N, she felt happy with him. although unlike N, V felt a bit nervous around the animals in the area XD

N and V actually have shared kisses, just not on the lips. with N kissing her on the back of her hand as a gentleman and V giving him kisses on his cheek [Tessa's idea of a cute plan to put them under a mistletoe lol], but Vs last words to N was a promise to give him a kiss before she became comatose. as more drones in the manor stopped working and Ns efficiency and work became less useful to the manors occupants due to him wanting to spend time with V all the time, Louisa and James started becoming more impatient with Tessa's drones, which lead to the whole "get rid of them" line...

back in the current time V is obviously trying to protect N in her own traumatized way; but even then, most of the things she had done to "shelter" N, was probably not the best choice one could make, and some of it was done out of jealousy towards N and Uzi getting closer. However, slowly she started convincing herself that N deserved someone like Uzi. V had convinced herself that she deserves nothing. She was willing to give up everything for N and keep him safe from the beginning, even if it meant knocking N down a few limbs/heads just to keep him away from danger- which is problematic in itself. she made choices based off fear and urgency. she was always traumatized.

When N and V started getting along together a bit more and hanging around a bit in the human cities- V takes N to a bookstore she found once and they spent the whole day in the shelter of the store reading different old books. V still does not admit she did this to see N happy again lol.

When N started showing V affection again, V started becoming heavily touch starved and dependent on him again, just like the manor days, which she feared, which caused a minor set back for a while where she tried to avoid N. Uzi had to come and fix this shit cuz apparently only she can scold 2 dinosaurs without feeling intimidated. after N and V kiss for the first time PROPERLY after the whole solver BS ends, V just gets more touch starved and she hates both N AND Uzi for this lmao.

N and Uzi know that one of the only ways to make V calm down is to act soft with her, occasionally praising her and calling her nice things; even when V is literally threatening to bite their head off- [shes bluffing-.......mostly.]

N is usually the one that initiates any closeness with V. after their first kiss, N does tell her that she's done stuff that he might not be able to casually forgive, but at the same time he has seen her grow, and she does have good in her that he still loves her for.

V has nightmares and hardly ever sleeps, and when she does, its usually cuddling N or Uzi.

V tries to wear her glasses more often in the future. N likes it a lot :"3

V is surprisingly a good mom :p [spoilers for my au lmao bye] but yeah, since her original OS was for a maid, she still has some functions to be good with little ones. she cant help herself, she just really likes babies and kids.

N likes sometimes ballroom dancing with V for old times sake...

[i think this is as far as my brain will allow me, please excuse me as i jump off a cliff :") ]

[manonim]

Jie, the main character of “Fox Servant”. She’s the first servant of Monkey King hiding a lot of secrets but is always ready to serve her master.

Full Name: Jie Huang

Alias(es): The Monkey King’s servant, Greedy Fox, Sly Fox, Fox, Demoness, The Fox Demon Queen, Ms. Jie, Ma’am, ?, ?, ?…

Species: Fox demon (eight-tailed)

Gender: Female

Affiliation(s): ?, Monkey King’s ally,

Occupation(s): ?, DFK’s diplomat(formerly), The ruler of Fox Kingdom(formerly), Sun Wukong’s servant, Zen Huang’s wife

Weapon(s): Mirror blade

Place of birth: ?

Age: 2000+

Home: Megapolis

Likes: Peace and quiet, coffee, eggs, tidiness, spending time with Gou, traditional clothes, playing Go, staying at home

Dislikes: Loud places, garlic, stinky things, height, Jade necklace, celestials, talking about her past, cats, changes, physical touch

Family:

Zen- her husband

Yī- her first child

Èr- her second child

Sān- her youngest child

DFK- father-in-law

? - ?

Friends/Allies:

No info yet

Enemies:

Celestials(formerly)

?

FDK(formerly)

DBK family (formerly)

Macaque

Spider Queen

LBD

?

Status: alive

Abilities:

illusion- Jie can create an illusion of objects, sometimes places, she uses it mainly in fights but it’s no use against enemies with strong senses (Macaque) or the users of gold vision (MK and Wukong)

shape shifting- Jie can transform into a fox, human or into a male version of herself. She can also change into one of her acquaintances (for example MK) but can also change parts of her body (like hair colour). While doing so she needs to stay focus or she will come back to her true form, that’s why she doesn’t use this ability while fighting

energy manipulation- Jie can use her energy to attack an enemy. It’s something that helps her while fighting with opponents stronger than her but because of how much energy it costs Jie uses it mainly as an emergency. (This ability allowed her to break the contract with her previous masters)

ability to see and gather souls- Jie can see souls of living and distinguish between them. This way she can recognise the power and personality of their owners. She can also steal the souls and then transform them into energy to give herself strength (though she is forbidden from doing that right now)

teleportation- Jie can teleport to many places as long as she knows the location and has enough energy for that, the distance depends on how much energy she has.

six sense- Jie has the ability to feel danger before it harms her in any way, it works only when the one threatened is her.

strong sense of smell- Jie has a strong sense of smell. It can be helpful but it’s becoming a problem once she’s close to something with an unpleasant smell

possession- Jie can posses the abilities and body of creatures she choose to possess. But it works only when the body’s souls is weak or gone

half immortality- Jie doesn’t age nor caught diseases but she can still be killed

astral projection- Jie is able to separate part of her soul from her body and wander like a ghost. It's different from Wukong's ability because Jie can't control her body while being a projection, once her soul comes back to its place she can keep her memories.

Personality:

Jie seems to be someone quiet, calm and cold hearted because that’s how she wants others to see her. In fact she can be very nervous or care deeply about someone but she won’t show it. She doesn’t show her true feelings if she doesn’t need to. She also likes to spend time alone, after spending hundreds years on her own she feels uncomfortable with other people. Without the ability to start a conservation she feels just anxious. She barely talks about the things she likes.

Jie has problem with trusting others and she doesn’t see herself as a trustworthy person either because she always puts herself and things of a high value to her first when she’s in danger. Sometimes she catches herself being carefree near MK’s group or Wukong but will immediately scold herself for that, she knows her place or at least she thinks she does. Jie isn’t sure whether she’s good or bad person and doesn’t accept others opinions about it. She is someone who doesn’t want to be hurt but she’s much more afraid of hurting others, she’s living with a ghost of her past and a lot of guilt.

Despite her being pretty sceptical and cold Jie can sometimes be a good listener and even better advisor, she actually enjoys being listened. When she starts doing something she makes sure to do it as well as possible

History:

Not much is known about Jie’s history yet, the only part we currently know for sure is that Jie worked in the palace of Demon Fox King, then took over the crown and ruled the kingdom on her own for hundreds while causing many wars. At that time she got married and had three kids. Later Jie was captured by the celestials and judged by the Jade Emperor who took away her title and sealed half of her power. Later for some reason she left the kingdom and traveled while trying to avoid Monkey King and the pilgrims so that she wouldn’t get killed. At the end of her journey she started living near the mountain where Monkey King sealed DBK, later the place became Megapolis where Jie lives till now. When DBK’s family planned to release him Jie decided to join forces with Monkey King to protect her peaceful life, to do that she became his servant.

Besides that it was stated that Jie knows the smell of underworld and probably has some connection to LBD. She also suffers from trauma which we yet don’t know when and where started.

Relationships with canon characters(opinions):

Sun Wukong:

Jie is Wukong’s servant, she spends with him a lot of time but the great Monkey King still keeps surprising her with his immaturity and energy. Despite her efforts to keep the distance between them Jie finds herself more and more relaxed in his presence, yet she keeps her guard up because she knows too well that you shouldn’t allow yourself to depend on someone else than yourself. But even if she doesn’t want to admit it yet, the fact that Wukong starts trusting her more and more makes her happy.

MK

You can easily guess what Jie though about MK when she found out that the stability of her life depends on some delivery boy. It took her some time to accept him as her master’s successor but as someone who can see people’s souls she couldn’t disagree that he was pretty much a honest and good hearted kid. He also showed her that he can work hard and that he truly cares about others safety. What I must add is that MK’s childish behaviour and energy annoys Jie but reminds her of her youngest son at the same time.

Mei

Jie still can’t forget the chills she got when she first met Mei. From the beginning she could say that this girl has a really strong soul which is so wild that it can barely stay in one place and that ominous energy in her body… but anyway- when Jie noticed that Mei is the descendant of the dragon she wasn’t too happy about it, later when she followed the bull clone into Mei’s house to make sure it won’t lay a hand on the Dragon Blade she got to know Mei better and felt bad about her circumstances. Then when Mei wielded her sword Jie was honestly terrified since Mei in her eyes is both powerful and dangerously unstable but when Jie noticed how strong and determinate she is to protect her friends she though of her old good friend and decided to just keep an eye on Mei for now. (Mei also adores Gou so she’s currently Jie’s favourite)

Pigsy

Jie doesn’t know a lot about him yet but she definitely loves his noodles, she’s also relieved that she’s not the only rational one taking care of that reckless Monkey Boy.

Tang

Tang was pretty suspicious of Jie when they first met, which didn’t really matter to her but she was surprised hearing him apologise. The monk’s soul is always thirst for more knowledge which makes him pretty interesting.

Sandy

Jie had her first proper conservation with him when she was going through a hard time and Sandy helper her made up her mind. You probably think that Jie sees nothing wrong with this gentle giant but don’t forget about her ability to see soul and oh man… Sandy’s soul is really weird! In her whole life Jie has never saw someone with their soul parted in half- one is gently and warm like a sunshine while the other is ominous and unpleasant to even look at. Still Jie respects him because she knows that the one to create this balance is no one else but Sandy himself and that can’t be an easy task. The only thing that Jie can’t stand is his love to cats while Jie dislikes them but she can live with that since Sandy likes Gou.

DBK family

Jie doesn’t have any opinion of them, once they try to destroy the city their her enemy and when they live quietly she doesn’t care. She wants to avoid picking a fight with them since she’s not sure whether she could fight any of them. The biggest threat is DBK but Jie believes that Wukong will handle him if needed (or at least she hopes). She had some confrontations with Princess Iron Fan but fortunately it ended well and Red Son… For Jie he’s just a very loud kid with anger issues

Spider Queen

Jie knew Spider Queen for a long time, or rather the two of them just acknowledged each other as rulers of demon kingdoms. Jie felt bad hearing about the fall of Spider demons but doesn’t approve Spider Queen’s actions, for her a Queen without her people is no longer a ruler. It would be better if Spider Queen just gave up and got a new life.

Macaque

From the start Jie isn’t a fan of that Monkey. Literally everything about him disgusts her, especially his smell of the dead and the way he tries to become a villain. Jie had only one look at his soul and noticed that it’s broken which means Macaque has been going through something but it only irritates her more because Macaque is destroying his soul more by acting against his nature which Jie finds stupid.

Yin and Jin

Honestly Jie doesn’t even remember who they are.

Lady Bone Demon

No info yet

Relationships with my ocs (opinions):

Zen

I can ensure you that Jie loves Zen but as for now she doesn’t feel ready to confront him again, she feels like she failed him as a wife and even if she knows deep down that he still loves her she isn’t brave enough to look at him. Remembering him also bring some dark memories who Jie hadn’t fought off yet.

Kids

It’s similar situation to Zen, she loves them but feels like she failed them as a mother. As for now she believes they can do better without her around. She’s really proud of every single one of them and would more than happy if they could live on without thinking about their pathetic mother. (Btw by the time she left the kingdom all her kids were grown up, the youngest- Sān was around 18)

Trivia:

- Jie has a strict week-plan of chores she needs to do for Monkey King, for example: cooking, tidying his cave and also bathing Wukong’s monkey friends. For Jie it’s a pretty fun way to spend her free time but she would be more happy if her pay was bigger

- Jie actually saves money for a coffee machine

- She not only saves letters her husband sends to her but also her own, which she didn’t have a courage to send

- She’s wearing a hairpin with magnolia which she bought with Wukong because it reminds her of a magnolia tree in her old garden in Fox Kingdom

- Jie’s favourite type of coffee is cappuccino without sugar

- Starting from season 1 Jie regularly visits Sandy for a cup of tee, she developed a habit of complaining about Wukong in front of the giant

- Zen and Èr are the only ones who know when Jie lives, Zen can’t leave the kingdom since he is it’s ruler but Èr visits his mother from time to time to check up on her. This way Jie gets to know how her family is doing.

- Jie’s personality changed a lot through many parts of her life

- Before becoming Monkey King’s servant Jie had many different jobs to get money, her last job was a bookstore’s cashier but she had to quit because it was closed due to the owner’s financial issues

// The ‘?’ Are for now hiden

This is an actual Jie’s ref for season 2 of Fox Servant

What do you think of the new logo?