#they would call you tumbleweed i think

[soupiero]

cowboy caregiver (agere) for anon! 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 divi + der 0_o ⤷ 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 🐄

[snixkers]

Pen on Paper

Pairing: Spencer Reid × GN!Reader

Fluff

Content Warnings: None, literal pure fluff

Summary: You and your boyfriend have a study date in a coffee shop, but your methods differ.

Author's Note: My inbox has tumbleweeds blowing through it atm, so I'm digging this out of my drafts!

Feedback is always welcome!

Requests are OPEN

I quickly gathered up my laptop and textbooks when I checked the time, checking my appearance in the mirror as I made my way to my car. The Civic was ancient, but it still got me where I needed to be. Unfortunately, my boyfriend did not share the same sentiment, preferring to use public transportation.

I rolled my eyes at the thought of a germaphobe so adverse to driving he’d get on a train with complete strangers, but I decided to let it go. After all, he was the one who had offered to take me out on a study date. As a grad student, I would take any opportunity to get ahead. Who better than a man with an eidetic memory and 3 PhDs?

Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I weaved through the streets of downtown DC to meet him where he had requested, a small local cafe that was able to satiate his sweet tooth. I parked and hopped out of my car, materials in hand for a long night of memorization.

He smiled when he saw me, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly as he opened the door.

Despite his awkward behavior, manners were not lost on him. We entered the shop hand in hand, scanning over the menu (although he got through it much faster) and stepping up to order. He got a black coffee with 6 teaspoons of sugar, and I decided on something a little less nauseating.

We chose a booth in the back corner, somewhere we could have some privacy in our own little academic bubble. I set my bags on the floor beside me, taking a sip of my drink and pulling out my laptop. I noticed the wrinkle of his nose, smirking as I realized he was likely judging me.

“What?”

He shook his head innocently, pulling out some papers for his own work at the BAU.

“Nothing, I just think you’d do better with physical materials.”

You smiled, picking up his pen and clicking it a couple of times.

“We don’t all work at lightning speed.”

He bit his lip, and I could practically see the wheels in his head turning as he plucked a new fact from the depths of his memory.

“Actually, although it’s faster to type, writing allows you to tap into tactile information recall.”

You snorted in acknowledgement. Of course he had something to back his opinions up with.

As any genius would.

“You’d use a typewriter if you could.”

He pulled out some files, looking them over.

“I have one at my apartment, but I ran out of ink a while ago.”

You just sighed, conceding defeat and moving back to your work, typing rapidly as you worked on your essay. He sat across from you, doing the same thing with his notes, although he occasionally switched his papers to shield you from anything too messy.

He thought of everything.

After a while, you felt a tap on your shoulder, and a note dropped onto your keyboard. You unfolded it, reading the messy chicken scratch.

‘You can’t pass notes on a laptop.’

You narrowed your eyes, stealing his pen to come up with a response.

‘it’s called an email’

He shook his head, his hand flying across the paper before he held it out for you.

‘Emails can always be tracked. Notes have to be destroyed.’

You smiled softly at the sentiment, slipping the note into your pocket before turning back to your work.

“You’re distracting me.”

He sighed, returning to his seat and fiddling with his pen.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

You nodded, determined to make this paper your own. But after a few minutes of typing, the rhythmic tapping was dragging your eyelids down. The words were sliding off the page, and the backlight did nothing for your eyestrain. After you failed to stifle a yawn, he looked back up at you with a look that screamed ‘I told you so’.

“Come on, it’s late. You can’t perform as well academically if you stay up all night to finish it.”

You tried to protest, but your own body betrayed you with another yawn. With your acceptance, he gathered up your things and stored them neatly in your bag.

You were half asleep as you left the cafe, but you pretended not to notice as he slipped a notebook and his pen into the tote for future study dates.

[coopersmilkshake]

Million Dollar Man (Ghoul Cooper Howard x wasteland reader)

Part One of Million Dollar Man

Rating: Angst | Sexual Innuendos | Assault | Violence | Cursing | Torture | Fluff

Summary: A girl born of the wastelands finds an unlikely partnership in a man who still follows a shadow of himself… And though being in love was in your cards, it wasn’t in his. But you know what they say, you don’t know what you have lost until it’s gone.

You were raised in the wastelands.

Used to the scorching heat of the sun, the lack of water and the bitter chill of the night air, but you weren’t miserable because you had them, your family. Wonderful and chaotic as they were. They were your home and gave you a reason to wake up. They were there until one day… They weren’t. Taken from you by the cruelty of the desert lands, by men who wore metal with a fake code of honor.

And for the first time in your life… You were alone.

You trudged through the sands, dragging your feet, face fallen and life barely clinging to your hollow shell. You felt as lost as the tumbleweeds that rolled from the warm breeze.

You thought you would be on your own forever and then suddenly you weren’t.

You haven’t know him for long, Cooper Howard he called himself. His radiating red skin and puppy eyes that could do some damage if he stared long enough. You didn’t even think he liked your company, as unannounced in his life as you were.

“You… You saved me.” The words came out in a form of confusion and awe. Your shirt was ripped down your shoulder and blood dripped from your nose, “Why?”

“You told him no, that’s word alone is enough sweetheart.” He replied and then he was gone, walking out of town, his spurs clicking with every step.

You followed after him with no thought and only the clinging feeling of hope in someone that wasn’t as cruel as the dessert.

“Why you followin me?” He never looked back, you never even realized he knew you were following him. You thought you were being careful. Apparently not.

“You’re a bounty hunter.” You spoke, not slowing down in your pace.

“Do you have work for me then?” He stopped walking and turned to face you.

Heat rose to your cheeks, “No but—“

He raised his non existent eyebrow, “Look here sweetheart, you look about one short dime away from kickin the bucket.” He stated as a matter of fact, “Why don’t you go die somewhere else.”

“I… I want you to mentor me.” You spoke quickly, “I want to be a bounty hunter like you.”

He laughed at that, a forced and gruff one as he shook his head at the absurd idea, “No.”

“Please—“ You pleaded, “I’m not a child. I can hold my own weight. And I’m good at scavenging for things. I can be useful to you.”

He cut you off with a scoff, “You’d do better as someone’s pretty wife. Now scram.”

“But—” You pulled out your last resort, “I have caps. You can have them all, please.” You held out a hefty bag of caps in his direction, “Please.” Your hope was dwindling but you refused to give up. You needed to learn how to be strong on your own and becoming a bounty hunter will help you do just that.

His defeated sigh gave you the answer that you needed.

And so never did scram, years later you were still clinging to him like a lost puppy. At least that was how he referred to you, a lost kicked puppy. A reckless and softhearted woman he spent most of his nights in bed with for the past three years.

“Your hat… Have you always had it?” You words were as soft as the low crackling of fire against the setting sun. You had stolen the cowboy’s hat hours ago and wore it proudly on your head. It was a feeling that you would take to your grave, but you thought wearing his precious hat meant that you belonged to him just as much as he belonged to you… You hoped at least.

Cooper grunted his answer, a short nod as he stoked the fire. You became a good bounty hunter with time, albeit a little clumsy and short sighted at most, you were a good shot and you watched his back. Something that he hasn’t had in over two hundred years.

You moved to sit in his lap in hopes to get his mind off of whatever he has be thinking about for the past hour, “It looks good on you.” That brought a smirk to his face, something that you inwardly congratulated yourself for, “But you would look good in anything… Or without.” You mumbled softly as you brushed your lips against his.

He pulled you closer by your waist and kissed you like a starving man in the dessert, something that he was very familiar with. As he kissed you, he took his hat back and placed it on his head.

You hummed happily as you pulled back from his intense kiss, “What are you thinking about cowboy?”

“Nothin you need to worry yourself with darlin.” He replied in the seductive drawl of his. It always had your knees shaking when he dropped his voice down a notch.

You hummed decided not to press him about it. He will tell you when he’s ready. Instead, you pressed light kisses all over his face, a perk that you have been able to get away with recently… Another win under your belt.

“Well, I have been doing some thinking recently.” You spoke lightly.

“That ain’t good.” He teased moving his lips to your neck.

“Oh hush.” You smacked his chest lightly causing him to grin.

“I’ve been thinking about your age and I think I figured it out.” You mused wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with the back of his collared shirt.

A soft chuckle left his lips as he pulled back and placed his hands on your hips, “Really now? And what did ya figure out darlin?”

“Your mannerisms gave it away over time.” You peered up at him with a smile, “You act tough and violent, but you weren’t raised that way.” You explained with a thoughtful look on your face, “It’s in your eyes really, they become soft when you think no one is watching you…” You held his cheek and gently traced his cheek bone with your thumb, “Your gentle and you still care about things, I would like to hope that would include me because you are all that I care about.” You chuckled as you moved your hands to the top button of his shirt, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before until I met you all those years ago.”

You didn’t notice the way his head tilted down to hide his darkening expression, “But I am pretty confident in my deduction skills that you were here before the bombs. Before this place turned into a wasteland… I bet it was beautiful then with colors and life when there were such things as meadows…” You muttered as you traced your fingers lightly over the exposed skin on his chest. He didn’t speak up, but that was something you were used to. He was always the quiet one while you talked his ear off.

“Why I bet you were a million dollar man.” You joked with a lovesick smile, “But I hope one day that we could find a place like that to settle down.” You rant about the daydreams you’ve been having lately, “Maybe we could find and raise these birds I saw in a book about farms once… I think they were called chickens? I would love to live that life with you because I love you.” You giggled lightly in thought as you waited for him to speak, “But I’m right aren’t I? About your age?” You smiled waiting for him to join in on your little dreams.

You didn’t expect the rough shove that sent you crashing into the ground beside him. Your head had hit against one of the stones on the ground cause you to gasp in pain as you stared up at the stars confused and hurt. Had you gone too far? Did you offend him somehow?

“Coop?” Your head spun as you carefully looked towards him, “I… Didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing?” He asked, his accent twinged with a hint of disgust.

You flinched at his harsh tone. You slowly sat up and rubbed rubbed the back of your head, “What?”

“You really thought it was a good idea to spill all that shit onto me?” He scoffed.

“I don’t understand? It was just a thought… We don’t have to raise chickens…” You spoke timidly wondering if he may have had a farm in his life before…

“It’s not about the damn chickens!” His voice boomed and you sucked in a breathe.

You felt lost, not sure where everything had went wrong. He was fine just a second ago, “Did I… Say something wrong? I know we haven’t verbally said I love you, but we’ve been together for so long, I just couldn’t help but say it because I—”

You yelped as he dragged you to him by the ankle. He was on you in an instant, hovering over you as he wrapped his large hands around your throat and squeezed. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the way he looked at you with such anger. You had seen this look before to others, but never you.

“You don’t love me sweetheart.” He sneered, “And I sure as hell don’t love you.”

Well that hurt… More than you cared to admit to yourself.

“But— I do love you—” You gasped out as you struggled in his grip, “I would do anything for you… and I know you love me too! You wouldn’t fuck me if you didn’t!”

His snarky laugh made your stomach turn with unease and dread, “Honey I’ve fucked a whole lotta women for less.” He tightened his grip around your throat with a sneer, “You don’t know me.”

You clawed at his wrists as he squeezed tighter, restricting you from air, “Loved— Three years— I kno— you.”

His voice grew darker as he spoke, “You really expect me to care for you sweetheart? Settle down with what… You? To live some fucking fairytale farm life with a bunch of chickens?”

“Y-yes?” Tears sprung to your eyes at his hurtful words, “I love you.” You gasped out again trying to convince him of your truth, “Cooper please—” But he wasn’t listening to you.

You felt yourself begin to fade and a red blearing flight began to set off in your brain as you kicked him as hard as you could.

That seemed to work as he fell off of you and you sat up gasping for air as tears streamed down your face. You didn’t get much of a chance to collect yourself before he was lunging at you again with a knife gripped firmly in his hand.

Your eyes widened as you turned and tried to move, struggling to get up. Your hands clawed at the sand to get away from him, but tripping over yourself did nothing to stop the knife tearing into your leg. Your scream echoed into the dessert as you curled up into yourself when you felt him hover over you. You didn’t know what stopped him from tearing into your neck like an unhinged ghoul. Maybe it was your scream, or the tears, or the way you shook in fear. Something made him stop, something that had him hover over you as his hot breath hid your skin. It was a silent pause before he spoke.

“I have spent two hundred years looking for my family…” He admitted to you for the first time, it made your heart stop beating in your chest, “For my wife… And not even you will keep me from that.” He muttered lowly and you could feel your entire world around you fall to pieces with him, “I did want to raise chicken once.”

You hated the way he laughed at the thought, it felt cruel.

“Live my life on a farm with my daughter… With her… Not you.” He pushed himself off of you, his back turned towards the fire.

That broke you.

There was a pause that made you wish he would just end your misery now, kill you so you wouldn’t have to feel this pain any longer. You couldn’t bear the pain he was feeding you, you didn’t want to.

“You’re not her.” He spoke quietly with words that tore into your heart in two, worse than what the knife embedded in your skin had done, “And you never will be.”

You didn’t move as he got up and walked away. Your eyes just squeezed shut to avoid seeing the disgusted look he gave you earlier, a look that you never tho if he you would see on a man who you thought loved you as well... You felt… Empty. As if a part of you was ripped from your body and burned in front of your eyes. Everything you were breathed Cooper Howard and he didn’t even…

It was silent for the next hour except for the dying crackling of the fire and your sniffles as you cried. Blood flowed from your leg leaving you lightheaded with each passing minute and you knew he wouldn’t think to take care of it. Why would he? He was the one stabbed you… You never imagined that he would… Yes he was cruel and down right hideous to others, but never to you… Never like that. The feeling made you want to throw up. Your mama’s words echoed loudly in your ear like a bell. Never trust a shadow of a man.

You sat up slowly, flinching from the pain as you assessed your wound. Cooper was lying across from you, his back turned from you. He wasn’t moving and you were scared to make any more noise in case it would set him off. You took the collar of your shirt and bit down on it as you gripped the handle. You winced, groaning in pain as you swiftly tugged the knife out. It hurt, but not as much as your heart did as you struggled to clean and stitch up your wound on your own.

You had only ever tended to superficial wounds your siblings would get when they were alive, but never on yourself… Cooper always did that for you…

Your hands shook from the shocks of pain rippling through your body, but it was the last stitch that had your eyes rolling back as you hit the ground, darkness consuming your vision as you faded into a state nothing.

You never felt the faint feeling of a hand pressing gently against your leg.

[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms. 

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

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[keyrey]

He's a fighter—in choice of words, that is.

My head-canon is that doting husband!Kento Nanami isn’t as soft-spoken and wise with his wife as he was back when they dated. Now, he’s quick to make a comeback when needed. Which happens to be quite often. Picture this:

Kento's sharp tongue is a result of dealing with his 'cocky and catastrophic' co-workers all day and night. (His words.) He’s armed not only with a sword but also with a collection of blunt, yet somehow witty retorts. It’s all part of his personality. And the constant patter of rain on his leather brogues didn’t exactly lift his spirits either. He was more than ready to see the clock strike 6:30 on his shiny silver watch.

He drags himself home, utterly exhausted. His eyes are half-closed and puffy, his lips cold. Despite his fatigue, he greets his wife with a tender and loving kiss, though it’s clearly accompanied by a silent message of, ‘I’m dead tired, but I’m doing this so you won’t get mad at me.’

"You need to invest in a better lip balm, Nanami."

"Oh, is that so?" Kento probes his lip with genuine curiosity. They might be a bit chapped, but is it worth the joke? Not necessarily. He’s familiar with her sarcastic streak; it can get a bit old, but he usually lets it slide.

"Yeah, it scratched my lip a little," she replies, her tone laced with mirth.

He fires back, "I suppose I do... but you need to invest in a comb." His deadpan delivery signals the start of their roast battle. Her aversion to combs is evident in the wild, tumbleweed-like mess at the back of her head. It’s a sorry excuse for a ponytail. She insists that hair wash days are only once a month, leaving her locks to form their own chaotic masterpiece.

"Oh, we’re starting this now, huh?" His wife pumps her tiny fists in the air, initiating a playful fight. A playful fight usually means he just stands there, hovering as she tries to provoke him. To no avail, of course.

Rule one of the husband/wife roast battle: Never lie.

"You need…" She struggles to come up with something since Kento is just too goddamn perfect on the surface. "A cookbook! Yeah, that’s right!" She shoots back with a triumphant grin.

"My cooking is immaculate. If it were that bad, why do you hover around the kitchen waiting for seconds, hmm? Care to explain, my love?"

He’s good. Damn it.

"…I’m tired of bread!" Her voice, though frail, is filled with fire. She crosses her arms, standing her ground.

Kento’s rare, toothy grin widens as he counters, “You adore my bread! How about you invest in some respect before I invest in a cookbook?”

She narrows her eyes, a mischievous glint forming. "Respect? Sure, right after you learn to pick up your socks from the living room. Or did you think the 'floor monster' would get them?"

He throws his head back, almost hilariously hitting the edge of the chair. He knows he’s met his match. "Touché. I’ll get on that… right after I bake some bread. White or pumpernickel?"

"You know I love your pumpernickel. What a bitch," she mutters, relenting with a frown on her face.

"I heard that, honey," he says in a low, affectionate voice.

"Good!"

And thus ended their roast battle. You can bet Kento had their house smelling like warm bread and butter.

She’ll get him next time, right?

Probably not.

You see that? He's already thinking of more comebacks. How she keeps her shoes strewn all around? Check. How she clogged the shower drain a total of 15 times in the past two weeks? Check. Don't even get him started on her cooking. Oh god, someone call 911. Food poisoning for you, you, and yes, you too!

[aggro-my-beloved]

Oh, My Darlin' Sam Collins x Reader Imagine

note: this was meant to be posted a lot sooner, but i struggled to be satisfied with the finished product. I've re-written this 3 different times and still am unsure about it so please let me know if you liked it by reblogging or interacting with me!

pairing: samuel collins x gn!reader

summary: post-quinn, tank has been trying to rebuild their social life and relationships with pack members. little do they know, their is one relationship david has been withholding them from kindling. when they make a surprise visit to solstice bar, however, the alpha's hands become tied...and the attractive bartender with the nice accent catches this wolf's attention — part of the pick your poison series!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, midwest emo band things, and protective alpha davey (he and tank are twins!)

wc: 1.8k

estimated reading time: 8.75 mins

“Sorry, I can’t let you in. We’re full.” David’s palm was inches away from Tank’s face. They suffered a momentary flashback of when they were kids and he would do the very same thing at their attempts to go on a rollercoaster they did not exceed the height requirement for, or trying to sneak into the theater for an R-rated film after buying tickets to a Disney feature. 

“Seriously?” They quirked a brow, going as far as to crane their neck and view the barren parking lot. If not for her vehicle tagging alongside David’s, Milo’s, and one she hadn’t recognized upon her arrival, a tumbleweed blowing past would be fitting for the sight. “It’s 8 o'clock on a Tuesday.” 

“Still busy. Asher’s here trying to kiss up to the staff to let him and Christian’s band play. Private meeting.” He scowls. While Tank enjoyed the live demos played before them, they understood it was not David’s favorite type of music. He doesn’t even label it as that. 

“I’m sorry, but wasn’t it you who said I should stop secluding myself from others?” Their slow-building anger urges some prominent veins to adorn their neck. David’s eyes try not to linger on the piercing bite marks credited to Quinn, the sight of them still makes his insides wrinkle with guilt. 

“I’m here to support the pack’s business. Here, maybe…” they pause for a moment to rifle through the knapsack hanging from their shoulder, “this will change your mind.” David rolls his eyes at their license photo staring back at him. Tank was arguably the worst pick for posing in pictures. If their eyes weren’t closed in the shot, the morsel of food jammed between their teeth was the focal point. 

David merely glances at it and deadpans. “It’s fraudulent.” 

Tank replies, “It’s not.” 

“You’re underage.” He tries.

“We’re twins!” They scoff. “The fact that you’re older by a minute says nothing about my naivety, Davey.” The tips of the bouncer's ears scorching something rosy makes Tank hum in delight. 

“I’ll…I’ll eat it.” 

“David, why are you so set on keeping me from your hard work?” Their brows are furrowed, and much like the siblings' stubborn attitudes, remain unmoving.

The truth is, David would love nothing more than to share his second home with Tank. He and Milo built this place from the ground up and cranked it into a full-fledged business with some help from old connections of Gabe. The only thing stopping him from letting Tank in was…

“Sammy I promise you—“

“Call me that again and the deal is off.” The vampire’s rasp shoots out like venom, coating the room in a tense air. 

“Alrighty, Mr. Collins,” Sam is nonetheless impressed with the alternate name—he releases an exhausted sigh to show it. Nevertheless, he allows Asher to plead his case. The younger of the two momentarily struggles to pull out the compact disc, and finally hands it to the bartender when he does.  “Just give it a couple of spins through this week and see what your customers think. It’ll grow on you, I promise.” 

“What in the hell is this drawing?” Sam brings the CD to his eyes to squint at the black squiggles across it. 

“What drawing? That’s our band’s name!” Asher clarifies with a small laugh. For being known to have sharp senses, this drummer could have him fooled. 

“And that would be…?”

“Howl’s Highway.” Asher flashes him a boasting smile. Sam only lets out an unimpressed grunt. 

“Subtle name. Definitely won’t come back to bite you in the ass.” 

“Sheesh, no wonder you and David get along so well.” Asher still has his roommate’s ten-minute-long speech echoing in his mind about how such an epic name was one step closer to a covert breach. 

“What’s your intermission consist of? Shifting mid-set and running out all our returning customers?” 

“Pfft, no..” Asher rolls his eyes, before shifting them down to the notes app on his phone and pressing the backspace button several times. 

“Hey boys, hate to interrupt your top-secret meeting.” An unfamiliar face draws Sam away from the disc, and he’s enamored by their aura immediately. He can sense they’re a shifter, most likely a wolf by the way David looms behind them with crossed arms. 

“Hey, look who finally emerged from their cave!" Asher chuckles and untucks a free barstool beside him. "Pop a seat, let me introduce you to Sammy--ahem, forgive me--Mr. Collins. This is one of our pack members, Tank."

“There’s no need for that. They’re just here for a plate of fries to go. Milo!” David alerts the chef. He hears a distant clatter, followed by a string of swears, and can only assume his colleague is checking his hair in the stainless steel frying pan yet again.

“On it!” 

“I’d also like a drink for my trip over.” Tank raises a finger and seats themselves beside Asher on the open barstool.“Have you closed the deal yet?” 

“I don’t know. Sam, have I?” Two pairs of eyes turn in the vampire's direction, but he only finds himself lost in one. A glance is enough to entice him, and though he’d never admit it, he’d be trying to recreate the exact shade of Tank’s irises in his dreams tomorrow morning. 

“Yeah, why the hell not?” He mutters, never breaking eye contact with the new acquaintance sitting at his bar. “What can I get for you to drink, darling?” They feel an unfamiliar scorch of their cheeks at the pet name but do nothing to object to it. This newfound sweltering in the pit of their stomach is something they’ve only felt once or twice, and they’d be damned to extinguish it. 

David, however, has different plans.

“It’s all good, Sam. I can make it. Go ahead and take your break.” David slinks behind the bar.

“But I just got here half an hour ago…” his southern drawl becomes even more present with the mild fear lacing his words. He becomes suddenly aware of how tense David’s stature is, and the clenched fists at his side. 

“Go take a break or I'll cut you early. Understood?” David snarls, and Sam takes a step back towards the swing door of the kitchen. A few seconds go by before he concedes.

“Yes, sir.” He retreats behind the kitchen door, both confused and frightened by David’s sudden change in attitude. As he’s wandering the kitchen to find any leftover appetizers from the lunch rush earlier in the day, his ears perk up at the hushed voices from outside. 

“What crawled up your ass?” He hears the Tank ask.

“Yeah, what did Sam do?” Asher jumps in.

“Nothing.” David insists. “What do you want?” Sam can practically hear the sneer in David’s voice, complemented by clinking glasses.

“Ooh, ooh, Bud Lite please!” 

“I wasn’t asking you, Ash,” a few seconds later, the noise of air decompressing and a bottle cap being flicked is heard.

“I want the nice bartender back. He seems less… aggravated.” Hot as fuck, is also another attribute Tank associates with him, but decides not to indulge. 

“Well the nice bartender just went on break, so it looks like you’re stuck with me.” 

“That’s okay, I can wait.” Sam snickers at their persistence. Milo turns his head to see what’s so funny. Sam waves him off and clears his throat. Perhaps the fryer is so loud, or the bar is so slow, Milo couldn’t care less to acknowledge the commotion outside of the kitchen. 

The wolf decides to break the silence when he brings the fryer baskets up from their grease bath and allows the fries to cool down. “Whatcha thinking for dinner? We’re fully stocked on everything from the truck this morning.” 

If he answered honestly and told Milo he’d lost his appetite, that he just wants answers as to why David has a sudden vendetta against him communicating with this pack member, that would only result in more questions. Instead, he eyes the shifter piling a styrofoam box with freshly cooked and seasoned fries and halts him short of his walk out the door. 

“Why don’t I send this out, if you make me a batch of those small hamburgers…the ones with the toothpicks in them?” Milo snorts, and genders:

“You mean sliders, Sam?” 

“Yes, those. I’ll be right back.” He spares him a thankful smile, and cracks open the kitchen door to concentrate back on the trio’s conversation. Sam isn’t sure whether he should feel disappointed that the focal point of their chat was back on Asher’s band. 

“Play track four—that’s my favorite!” The drummer suggests to David, who grumbles as he fiddles with the CD player stowed in one of the bar cabinets.

“What’s the name of the song?” Asks Tank.

“The Voices in the Basement Are Getting Loud Again and the Basement is My Brain.” 

“…oh.” 

“A side of fries to go,” Sam reintroduces himself by swiftly taking a seat beside the empowered person at the bar and offering them their still steaming box of food. 

“Oh,” their tone morphs to something of interest as they readjust their body to face Sam with a pleased smile. “Didn’t you hear?” Without breaking eye contact, they undo the tabs of the styrofoam box and flip the top open with ease. “I’m staying to eat now.”

“Ain’t that somethin’,” says Sam, who harbors a pleased grin. David clears his throat, now towering over the two with folded arms and an unimpressed glaze over his eyes. 

“It’s something alright.” 

“David, come help me with the trash!” Milo’s voice beckons the Alpha to stand down from the bar and retreat to the kitchen, much to his dismay. 

“Saved by the bell.” Sam jokes, before offering Tank a tilt of his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you seem like you can handle yourself in the face of trouble. Is he always this protective of his pack?” Tank’s fingers drum against the countertop as they ponder how to word their answer. 

“He’s just been wary about me hanging around vamps lately because of…some trouble I got into. Let’s put it this way, the other guy had it coming.” Tank tilts their chin up, unintentionally revealing a few of the remaining marks left by Quinn. Sam doesn’t need to study them hard to figure out the vamp was feeding out of spite, not biting for their equal pleasure. 

“I’m sure he did, messin’ with a member of one of Dahlia’s most reputable packs. Care to share this fella’s name so I can add him to my shit list?” He inquires.

“How about we share a drink first?” Tank smiles, before sliding the plate of fries closer to his direction. Eagerly, Sam plucks one from the platter and bites down on it, his fangs sparkling beneath the dim lights of the bar. 

“I know just the one.”

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 6 (Azure Lion, Peng, Yellowtusk)

(I originally made my own design of Azure and Yellowtusk but wasn't quite happy with how they turned out so I scrapped them, the designs for those two I used in these edits were made by @/erraday_ on twt, with a few minor changes, but Peng's design is my own :) )

- He/Him

- Pansexual

- Snores so loud, it's insane, Yellowtusk once thought there was an earthquake

- Feels bad whenever he's steps on a ladybug, butterfly etc

- Gives everyone and everything giant bear hugs because he thinks if Yellowtusk can take it, so can everyone else (They cannot)

- Mei once gave him catnip as a joke and he went fucking feral, he's not allowed near catnip anymore

- His hair/fur is actually very soft and curly

- Thought he saw an old friend while out in public and hugged them, it was a stranger

- Wakes up Yellowtusk in the middle of the night to ask stupid questions

- The Brotherhood asked to hear his roar but he got really nervous last second and it ended up being really meek, they never let him forget it

- Coughed up a hairball once and Peng refuses to let him live it down

- Has eaten cat food before and would do it again

- Cannot do the splits and is too scared to try

- Gets really confused by modern slang, MK and Mei abuse the hell out of it because it's funny

- Whenever he's rough housing with people he accidentally hits a bit too hard

- Whenever he walks past anyone playing a game that involves a ball (football, basketball, netball, etc) he somehow always ends up getting hit in the head with it

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he wouldn't know what the fuck to do and would be really awkward cause he doesn't know how to interact with children, he'd be able to bond with Redson better when he becomes a teenager though

- No one gossips with him because he always ends up unintentionally outing someone about something

- Ate moldy food once by accident and freaked out, he was absolutely disgusted

- Hates horror movies but loves slashers

- Drinks mouthwash

- Smells like catnip (trust me guys)

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has horrible bed head, his mane gets tangled really easily and he tosses around a lot at night so his mane takes hours to brush out

- Absolutely refuses to wear shoes, they hurt his feet (paws?)

- The type of person to cry over a movie about a dog getting lost and then finding its owner at the end

- Can somehow eat an entire goddamn buffet and not gain a single pound

- His face always scrunches up when he smiles

- Lost his balance on a hill and fell down like a tumbleweed once, Peng still brings it up

- They/He (Canon, Peng uses They/Them in the show but is exclusively referred to w/ He/Him in the sets)

- Nonbinary (Canon)

- Starts squaking when he laughs too much

- If you throw a blanket over their head he'll immediately fall asleep

- "look behind you but don't make it obvious" Looks behind him in the most exaggerated, obvious way known to mankind

- Stole food from Wukong's private stash for several months when the Brotherhood was all still together, Wukong still doesn't know

- Wukong gave them cooked chicken once as a joke but he actually liked it

- Constantly argues with Wukong about Macaque not being able to hold his own, yes it got physical

- Their wings have a bunch of scars from the amount of weapons and shit they block with them. Has to consistently clean their wings in order to keep them from getting too damaged, yes this includes softening and preening his feathers

- If they weren't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid they would tape him to the wall like that one meme and call it a day

- Bit off a person's finger once just to see if they could

- Doesn't shop, just steals

- "I hate you so fucking much" as he's handing the person a gift

-  Tried to draw on Wukong's face once but got wacked with his tail

- Absolutely HATES beetroot, will actually gag if he smells it

- Kicks over kids sand castles at the beach

- Can't stand small buzzing sounds

- "I'm not that competitive" is that competitive

- Claims you can trust them with anything but will snitch the second they know it will benefit them

- Probably threatened to eat someone's baby once

- Goes to playgrounds to trip kids

- Smells like Lavender, it just feels right

- Love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

- Has tried sleeping upside down like a bat multiple times

- Hardcore wine aunt vibes

- Had a bunch of ducklings accidently imprinted to him and they followed Peng for hours

- You'd have to pin this bird down to get them to eat collyflower

- Jokingly pushed Azure off a cliff once then remembered they're the only member of the Camel Ridge Trio that can fly

- They have full on concerts at like 3 am, has woken up Azure on multiple occasions

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Is the calmest one in the Brotherhood

- He uses Peng's head as an armrest sometimes

- He and DBK were actually quite close, he knew and accepted that DBK was in love with a celestial but was very surprised to see they ended up having a child

- Very poor eyesight but doesn't like wearing his glasses because Peng made a joke about them once saying he looked like a grandma

- Uses ":3" and ":D"

- Loves soap opera's

- Hates seafood

- Peng once tricked him into eating fish nuggets once and he still hasn't fully forgiven them

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he would definitely be the most responsible one, and probably Redson's favourite uncle

- Eats a snack then forgets he ate it and will bet frustrated when he can't find it

- The therapist of the Camel Ridge Trio, and probably of the whole Brotherhood in the past as well

- Was the only one who felt bad about imprisoning the Demon Bull Family since he and DBK were very close

- He also reprimanded Peng for when they pinned and scratched Redson with their claws after they left the Demon Bull Palace (he's the protective uncle, trust me guys)

- Hates getting hiccups, he despises the feeling and it gives him heartburn

- Wakes up at ungodly hours just to raid the fridge

- Heard a story about a bug crawling in someone's ear while they slept and has worn earplugs to bed ever since

- Loves apples

- Smells like Lilies

- Love language is gift giving

- Is really big on safety, would be the type of person to make sure everyone is wearing their seat belts before the car is even turned on

- Actually really good at cooking

- Makes the best chocolate chip pancakes ever

- Is the kind of person who assumes everyone tells eachother everything and accidently exposes someone because he thought everyone else knew about it already

- Always hears things wrong but doesn't wanna ask anyone to repeat themselves

- Has the most elegant ass handwriting you will ever see, somehow

- The peacemaker of the Brotherhood,  they all would've disbanded way sooner if it wasn't for him

- Uses his trunk as a snorkle when swimming or sleeping underwater (elephants actually do this irl, I just thought it was cute)

[oh-snapperss]

<Join Game?>

Etho stares at the message on his communicator until his eyes are nearly blurry. No. No. No. No. If he thinks too hard, his very blood is in flames, burning away himself and Joel. If he thinks too hard, Joel’s triumphant scream pierces the air along with the axe buried in his chest. If he thinks too hard, the scars on his arms turn back to the flame they once were, setting his clothing alight as he screams in agony. 

But They want blood, and who is he to deny Them? Who is he to deny protection to those he couldn’t save before? (He knows he’ll betray them to live anyway.) 

<Ethoslab joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

“They want blood… gladly,” Grian’s lips twist up into a sick grin. He’s far beyond caring, and has been since he scrubbed the blood of his lover from his fingernails under the desolate, unforgiving desert sun. 

“Grian?” 

The sick smile disappears as he’s faced with the ghost that has haunted him daily since the beginning. 

“Scar.” 

“One more time?” Scar wears his own tired grin, just as sick as Grian’s, and far more bitter. 

“One more time.” 

(Is this the last time?)

<Grian joined the game

<GoodtimeswithScar joined the game> 

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<Join Game?>

“Wh-now? Are you serious?” Jimmy drops the pile of wood he’d been carrying through the doorway of his empty town. “Right now?” 

There’s no response–there never is, and hasn’t been in months. All that’s left to keep him company are the tumbleweeds, blowing past him, and the mocking, empty vacation houses he’d invited the others to build in the hopes someone would come keep him company.

“Least I won’t be alone, if I go…” Somewhere, there’s laughter, a call from his rancher and respect he’d forgotten he could have. 

That’s all it takes. 

<SolidarityGaming joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

“Oh, for goodness sake!” 

He tries to ignore the message for several hours, although it taunts him with every glance down to the communicator, seeing others log off Hermitcraft. Etho. Grian. Scar. Tango. Cleo. Ren. Impulse. 

No, no, not this time. He doesn’t want to go, not when he’s sure Impulse has a matching scar through his chest where Bdubs’ sword betrayed him twice-albeit, on accident the final time. Etho’s long gone–of course he’d go–and Cleo, for reasons well beyond him. Far more hours pass, before he breaks–

“...fine!” 

(He never really had a choice. He’s not proven himself beyond failing those he swore loyalty to, and he won’t rest until then.) 

<Bdoubleo100 joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

Sharp laughter fills the air, like electricity buzzing, and then-

<SmallishBeans joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

“No thanks, I’m good mate!” Mumbo shakes his head, already turning back to the flooring of his definitely full vault. 

(Although…) 

…

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<Join Game?> 

“Of course, of course..” Scott chuckles slowly, as if in on some joke that nobody else could ever understand. Like others… he’s far beyond caring, and has been since the lightning arched through the trees to take him despite his supposed victory. But first… he takes his time. Makes himself a drink, watches the sun set orange. After all… the next sunset could be red. 

As the sun dips below the horizon, he turns away. 

<Smajor1995 joined the game> 

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<Join Game?> 

It’s as if the fear and rage she’d felt for weeks before comes back in an instant, electrifying her. She’s typed her answer before she can even think twice about it, half blinded. Why? Why? Why did he do that? 

<PearlescentMoon joined the game>

“Hello, Scott,” she grins up at the rising sun, at the unmarred landscape around her. “Would you like to play a game?” 

[hopefullygettingtaller]

When The Amazing Devil wrote "You will scream, 'I won't forget you' but I'll cover my cold ears, It cannot be a lie if no one hears. 'Cause although you say good day to me, I know I don't belong. And although you hold my hand and say I love you, you are wrong. 'Cause love does not exist in this garden, there's no feeling. And you say the words so often that I barely know the meaning. And when the flowers are rotten and all cannons shot, I'll scream but you won't hear, 'forget me not'" and when they said "Pray for me, oh children, pray for what I've done, I'll haunt the very wrinkles of your skin" and when they yelled "God made all man in his image, Honey I'm no man, I'm what's left when children go to war" and when they cried "The cracks you made, I filled with mortar, a broken pot can still hold water" and when they whispered "These hands are growing old, they're running out of things to hold" and when we all weeped with them "If I'm good will you come back, If I'm good will you come back to us" and when they scribbled "Let foul men band and heed your hum for that ancient hymn you heard me strumming's nought but fumble-falls and guns and tumbleweeds, love run. It's nought that rum won't solve though some would harm you, none, not one, no one would raise to you a hand nor thumb, not while by you, I stand and hum" and expected people to just go on about their days, and when they said "If I have to be who I was (You're not) Do I have to be who I am" and then they said "'Cause I will suffer silence for the strings you tune. And I'll withstand what's written for the writer in you. Write me well, my love, write me weird, write me willing, write me well." And when we all sang "Shoulder the sky (I can't wait to show you how much) Open those eyes (I know you can be, just let the rain come) There's a kind (Let the rain come down, darling) (Can't you hear it howling) Of calling" and when they made me freeze right where I stood with "Back then, I wasn't hopeful. But now my ink's blood red, not black. And I'll blink like ripping envelopes in the hopes that you'll write back" and BACK TO BACK they wrote "Cause I'm between that just-one-more and drank-too-much again" "And I promise you I'll write I love you with my fingers on your sleeping hand" "And when I think I'm fine you'll visit, and then you'll happen to me, happen to me all over again" and then had the audacity to say "And I'll sing silence, and ask my glass of wine for guidance. I might not make it tonight" and then "They'd paint your eyes with sunsets (my saints, my sigs, my upsets)" and ON TOP OF THAT "You're not a coward 'cause you cower. You're brave because they broke you, yet broken, still you breathe." AND SOMEHOW WROTE "'Cause I'm not trapped with you, you see. you're the one who's trapped with me." IN THE SAME FUCKING SONG ALONGSIDE "Sometimes I fall to pieces just to see what bits of me don't fit" then decided to break some hearts with "We didn't talk, we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands. You said I love you less than when it all began, and I said fewer cause I make jokes to show how broken I really am" and then they were both the man their fathers never were and more than what their mums told them to be. And then there was the utter heartbreak of "If I don't make it back from where I've gone, just know I've loved you all along" being repeated for an entire outro. AND THEN THERE WAS "Remember me I ask, remember me I sing. Give me back my heart, you wingless thing." with "Think of all the horrors that I promised you I'd bring, I promised you, they'll sing of every time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child. Witness me old man I'm the wild." "How bold I was, could be, would be, still am. By God still am" AND THEN THE SHEER FORCE OF THE LINES "Welcome to the storm, I'm thunder. Welcome to my table bring your hunger"

AND EVERY TIME THEY COMPARED THEMSELVES TO THE SAINT OF THE PAINT THAT WAS LEFT IN THE POT, YOUR ANGEL ELLIPSIS, YOUR DEVIL OF DOTS, THE HEARTBREAK THAT ACHES FAR TOO MUCH TO BE SHUNNED, ALL THOSE LETTERS UNSENT, AND THAT GARDEN UNGROWN, THE CAPTAIN OF COURAGE THAT YOU'VE ETERNALLY LACKED AND THE JESUS OF WISHING TO CHRIST YOU'LL COME BACK AND SO. MUCH. MORE.

"This here is not make up, It's a porcelain tomb. And this here is not singing I'm just screaming in tune" ARE YOU KIDDING ME "You try so loud to love me, I cannot seem to hear" and "'Cause If we join our hands in prayer enough, to God I imagine it all starts to sound like applause" IN THE SAME ALBUM WITH "And these plates they smash like waves (place your hand in mine) And on the wind, it howls (how long can this last?)" AND "'Cause these plates, they smash like waves (Place your smile in mine) And the wine stains, hide the tears (Why stay? Hide the-) But that breathing you hear, don't mistake it with sighs. Don't you realize, they're just battle cries, my dear?" And then, when they said "And you, you follow philosophies, but me, I laugh, I choke. 'Well hello my hollow Holofernes' I wink but you don't get the joke" and while we were all busy processing, they reminded us "Your eyes aren't rivers there to weep, but a place for crows to rest their feet" AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON "I chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked" In this essay I will-

[nardo-headcanons]

Sunagakure Worldbuilding Headcanon

My last post on Kirigakure made me think of some Sunagakure Headcanons. Here they are! This is very long, but I hope you enjoy!

People and Culture

The wind realm’s population is rather decentralized, so there are a lot of subcultures, accents and customs that have developed over time. The people of Sunagakure are very intelligent and hard workers and don’t take shit from anyone. They value their independence but also recognize the use of unionizing to achieve their goals. They use rather few words to communicate amongst each other in public, but in private they can be very poetic. Also, they secretly don’t mind the stereotype of tumbleweeds rolling around everywhere in the village, because they can relate. To outsiders, they seem secretive and mysterious, but they are in reality very friendly and hospitable. Once you make a friend in Suna, you’ve made a friend for life. Gift giving, especially in the form of food or other self-made goods is always appreciated. Suna citizens are hopeless romantics, and most soap operas and sappy romance books are produced there. They love to make music and sing together. Most instruments originate from the wind realm and its citizens proudly call themselves the creators of all music in the shinobi world. The wind realm is the country with the richest culture in the shinobi world.

Politics

Recently, Suna has been plagued by an economic crisis, as the wind realm daimyo has preferably hired Konoha shinobi to get missions done. This has raised the distrust in the wind realm government and made the people more loyal to the kazekage than the daimyo. The shinobi have started to prioritize the mission over the lives of the shinobi fulfilling it, however they make sure to give their teammates a quick and painless death if they get into that situation.

Clothing and Cosmetics

Most Suna Shinobi wear long sleeves and cover their head, to protect their skin from sun damage. It’s also very common to cover your face in layers of fabric, as the Suna sandstorms can be ruthless. Light brown, grey, white and black are the most popular colors, as they allow you to blend in with your surroundings and not get detected by enemy shinobi. All people, including kuniochis, keep their hair rather short, cover it or tie them together in some kind of way. There are a lot of unique hairstyles to deal with the strong winds, as can be seen by Temari, who wears four ponytails because the winds would otherwise just destroy her hairstyle if she wore just two. For festive occasions though, Suna clothes are vibrant and colorful, with very intricate details. The most preferred fabric choices are silk and cotton. Before the recession, Suna also had a booming beauty industry, with the best moisturizers, sunblock and body wash originating from there. There is an ongoing feud between the wind realm and the water realm about who has the better skincare products. Wind realm citizens are known to always smell good and take great care of themselves. They use bidets and shower frequently. The women are rumored to be the most beautiful in the shinobi world, however many of them have to deal with orientalism and exoticism from foreigners.

Nature

Flora

A fact that a lot of foreigners get wrong is that Sunagakure is covered completely in desert wasteland. Quite a bit of vegetation is savannah and what we call mediterranean. Still a rather hot country, it is characterized by agonizingly hot summers and barely existing winters. The actual deserts of the wind realm are sprinkled with oases, around which many settlements have formed. The terrain around those oases is very fertile and most of the country’s produce is grown there. Sandstorms are not a rarity here and during these storms there are self-imposed curfews as Suna citizens know that once you get buried in a sandstorm, there is no way anyone will find you buried under all that sand. Only a few nomadic families actually travel and live outside of the oases.

Fauna

The deserts that surround Suna are filled to the brim with the most dangerous, savage animals known to the shinobi realm. The snakes especially must not be underestimated, as their venom can kill a grown shinobi within minutes. Many marionette wielders therefore use it against their enemies. The rivers of the wind realm are full of crocodiles and freshwater fish. The fennec fox is seen as a symbol of good luck and suna nin believe their mission will be a success when they see one. Aside from other cats of prey like lions, cheetahs and leopards. Other mammals include hyenas, hyraxes, macaques, gazelles, oryxes, camels, hedgehogs and sheep. When it comes to rodents, you can find desert rats, porcupines, armadillos, meerkats and gundis. Suna also has the largest spider population in the shinobi world, and you often must check your toilet and shower for any venomous spiders hanging out there. At night you can see bats flying through the sky. The wind realm sea is a home to many kinds of saltwater fish and sometimes you can visit the dolphins, that are particularly friendly to children. Mosquito stings are nasty here, and many diseases, for example those that we call malaria and dengue fever are endemic here. Wind realm citizens have a natural immunity against them and sleep them off in a day, but there are vaccinations available for foreigners.

Food

Stew and other slow cooked gravy dishes The absolute staple of any Suna nin are stews. They’re elaborate and take the whole day to cook. Every family has its own recipes (and thinks theirs is the best) it’s useful to just cut up veggies and meat, and then slow cook it until it’s done. Stews made in Suna include gumbo, adobo, maafe, and many curries. Spices Wind realm citizens have the greatest spice tolerance in the shinobi world. The greatest variety of spices is produced there, from cumin, fennel seeds, coriander seeds, pepper, chilli, cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, bay leaves, tumeric and a myriad of other herbs and spices. Suna food is very spicy for two reasons: many spices they use have a disinfecting effect, and the accelerated production of sweat helps cool down the body. Most spices are sold dried to increase shelf life. Many outsiders travel to Suna to acquire spices directly from the source, thinking they’ll get them for cheap, however, the vendors charge foreigners at a hefty margin. Sunagakure is the greatest exporter of all things spices.

Legumes Legumes play a very important role in the local eating pyramid. They serve as a satiating source of carbohydrates and protein. Beans and lentils can be turned into tofu, stew, mashed or baked, peanuts are often used as a base for stew and sauces in the form of peanut butter. Roasted and salted peanuts are a popular snack in Sunagakure. The biggest buyer of Suna’s exported legumes is Iwagakure.

Cassava This starchy root is soaked and then cooked for a long time to make mash, in stews, or fried. Cassava flour also serves as a gluten free flour alternative and many Suna nin use it to thicken sauces and stews. There’s also tapioca starch which is exported into other countries. Olives In the moderate climate regions, many olive trees are grown, which are then used to make olive oil, the preferred fat source of Suna’s people. Dairy It can often be purchased from nomad families, who sell it in the form of milk, yoghurt, kefir, butter and cheese. The preferred dairy variant is goat’s dairy; however, sheep and cow’s dairy are also available. There’s a possibility that the concept of fermenting milk to make yoghurt and kefir was once brought in by Kiri immigrants, however most wind realm citizens are too proud to give this possibility any thought or think it’s just a myth. Meat Just like dairy, meat can be purchased from several families that travel though the wind realm, or on bazars. It is dried often to increase shelf life. Sweets The best chocolate comes from here. The wind realm has a few islands where cocoa beans are produced, and Suna chocolate is known globally for its rich, earthy, fruity taste. Suna Nin are also the only people that regularly take coffee with them during missions. Most foreigners don’t like the bitter taste, but Sunagakure’s shinobis have realized that the caffeine within coffee beans is useful during missions where you must stay aware for long times. The most common sweetener is cane sugar and used to make coffee candy. Wind realm citizens don’t discriminate, and even children are allowed to have them. Another sweet food, especially popular amongst children are dates. On special occasions, Baklava are offered to the guests or given as a gift. Most foreigners find them way too sweet, but just can’t say no because they recognize the effort and craftsmanship that went into making them. The most popular fruit in Suna are: pomgranate, various kinds of citrus fruits, apples, grapes and green almonds. Ripened almonds are used to make marzipan, which is another one of Suna's culinary prides. Those who try persipan, a localized version from Kirigakure, think that it is a lesser version of their beloved treat.

[daydream-believin]

Like A Boiled Frog (You Don't Even Scream) [ch 1]

notes: might proofread this before i post this to ao3 but here have the raw milk version (pasteurization is for losers amaright)

series summary: every time you think things cant get any more batshit, hurricane throws another pile of guano at you. every time you think the hole cant get any deeper, you fall further. and you’re not sure what frightens you more: the town itself, or your increasing reluctance to leave.

or: au where mike has that pizza shop for wayyy more than a week and you find yourself a horror protagonist. or at least one’s love interest.

chapter summary: get haunted bitch. now go drive to utah in a manic episode. go meet a nice walking corpse, maybe it'll fix you. or make you worse. probably that second thing lmao

word count: 7985, oh dear (thats with me cutting out some stuff lol)

warnings: uh, swearing, manic behavior, self-harmful thoughts/behavior, mention of hallucinations/hearing voices, shit this is sounding bad, i mean its canon typical violence so idk man no lifeguard on duty

You know how in Source Decay, John Darnielle says / I wish the west Texas highway was a mobius strip / I could ride it out forever / when I feel my heart break? / Well, that guy’s a bitchass snake oil salesman for romanticizing this. Fuck that guy.

Although, this is the first time you’ve ever been able to set a cruise control and actually just leave it at that. What with there being no other cars on the road out here at this hour for you to run into. You even forgot about it at one point.

Little puffs of fire danced in your peripheral vision, like fairies flitting about. It was easy to spot them out in the night air, all those pumpjacks that littered the desert. There was nothing but these small fires, with the tiny, dotted additions of the glowing red eyes of windmills to light up the way for miles.

And you tried not to think about how if you broke down, no one would be around to find you. Every now and then you would startle at the shadowy specter of a tumbleweed crossing your path, but you were acutely aware of just how alone you were out here.

On that train of thought, your gaze fell to the passenger side, to the little bear toy you had buckled into a seatbelt like it was a person.

“Can you believe this, Fredbear?” you asked the inanimate object.

Fredbear did not answer, of course. Would be insane if he did, right?

Hmm …Why did part of you expect him to.

***

The august sun was beating down hot on your back as you walked home that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only last week.

The neighborhood was as full of life as it always was. The kids running around in a game of tag, the teens playing basketball, and the adults walking their dogs. You could hear some faint music playing in the distance, most likely from the stage setup in the square downtown, not too far away.

There were many yard sales set up, it being the thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon like this. Despite your very strong instincts to rummage through all the boxes in these sales like a raccoon looking for dinner in a dumpster, you were broke, with no money to spare for impulse purchases on random junk. And thus, being a mature adult, you walked right past them.

That is, until a yard full of children’s toys caught your eye. One of your cousins’ kids was turning 6 in a few weeks. Might as well buy presents now before you forget again and have to rush to the store in a panic 8 minutes after the party had already started, sweat rolling down your back as you search the toy isle for something the birthday boy would like, while your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket nonstop because both your cousin is texting and your aunt is calling to ask where you’re at because you were the one who was supposed to be picking up the pizza.

 I mean, just a hypothetical scenario here.

You didn’t really find anything good as you dug through the bins of miscellaneous action figures and toy cars. As you could recall, the kid really liked Iron Man right now. And sharks. Alas, you found no Iron Mans or sharks in those bins.

The other table’s baskets were full of stuffed animals. You could maybe get lucky and find a stuffed shark in there. But stuffed animals are notorious for being hard to clean; and yard sale plushies sometimes come with more than just one new friend. You weren’t about to be the reason your cousin had to fumigate her house for bedbugs. Again. So, you decided to close this case for now and skedaddle on out of there.

You took another look back at the table as you walked away.

Well.. The toys you could see at the top of the bins did look like they were well taken care of… It couldn’t hurt to just look, right?

Yeah no. You found no sharks unfortunately. What you did find, however, was this funky little teddy bear wearing a top hat and bowtie.

A real character, that one. The bright gold fabric of its body made it stand out amongst the other toys. The smile stitched onto the bear gave it a weird, smug look. And you hadn’t seen a plushy with eyebrows before.

That being said, this thing’s aura was so... unsettling. You stared into its black eyes, that seemed to stare right back at you, with a strange feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

“You like that one, do ya?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when the old man running the sale spoke to you. You had Not heard him come up beside you like that. Creepy.

“Yeah, it’s…” you tried to think of a positive word, “very intriguing. Looks like it’s ready for a party.”

“My granddaughter called him Fredbear. Found him over in Utah, many years back. In a yard sale, just like this one,” he gently took the bear from you, and looked down at it wistfully, “My granddaughter..  liked how smartly dressed he was. A perfect guest for her tea parties. You were right about that…”

The old man stared at the doll for a little longer after the conversation faded. You felt extremely awkward now. Perhaps you really should have just left without unearthing this obvious sentimental piece.

“My grandchildren are no longer here with me,” you felt a little uncomfortable with how he phrased that, “so, I’ll tell you what. Promise me you’ll take care of him, and he’s yours. Free of charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’d be happy to pay for him, really,” you felt bad taking free stuff from the elderly.

“No,” he said with a tone of finality, placing the bear firmly into your hands, “the day’s almost over. I’d like to help this old friend move on. It’s time.”

Well that somehow was both sweet and foreboding at the same time.

So, you thanked the old man and started back on your walk home, Fredbear cradled in your arms. He waved goodbye to you. The grandfather, of course, not the teddy bear.

You probably aren’t going to wind up giving this one to your cousin’s son. There was something about it that told you not to. Maybe it was the way the old man talked about it. You felt compelled to take care of the plush yourself. Kind of like an honor thing. Or a pity thing.

It smelled a little funky. But that’s nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle. And some dish soap.

Maybe you were just. Feeling a bit childish lately. Too small and easily broken. Moved to tears by little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Disregarded and treated like your fears weren’t real.

Deeply afraid.

Yeah, you’d give Fredbear a nice soak in the sink with a fun dish soap bubble bath. And maybe after that, you’ll both feel a little better.

You were alone in your apartment that night, as your roommate was always gone these days. And when you made your tea, you brought Fredbear a mug as well. A little tea party, for old time’s sake.

Looking back, maybe that was your first mistake.

***

Static rolled from your radio. You gave up on fiddling with it hours ago, but you’ve got nothing better to occupy your mind now.

You turned the knob absentmindedly, never really expecting to get anywhere. Or any signal, that is. A muffled country song here, the broken-up voice of a DJ there, nothing strong enough to stay for more than a few seconds. However, a few seconds of a clear transmission was all you really needed when you rolled past a certain signal.

“zZz-Hurricane—“

Now that was a word that got your attention. Not that you were anywhere near the coast at the moment. You know, unless the person reading this is looking to buy some oceanside property in Arizona. In that case feel free to slide into my DMs.

“zZZ-Peach Days! -Zz celebratio— zzZ-year—peaches peach—-ZzzZ-Heritage-zZ,” you let your gaze flicker downward, towards the dimly lit red text of the frequency number display as if that would provide some more insight.

And then suddenly, the fuzz was completely gone, as if you were near the tower itself,

“So Hurry On To Hurricane City!” the spokesman encouraged cheerfully. You could practically here the giant pageant smile in his voice as he delivered his slogan. This man was your friend, obviously. Then, however, his tone shifted as he closed the ad copy, “Because you know the party can’t start without you…”

You held your breath as the silence dragged out a few agonizing seconds, until “ZZZZZZZZ!!!”, in a jolt, the transmission went completely out. Explosively. You even flinched.

You stayed on the station for a good twenty minutes after that, waiting to see if you could hear anything again. You could feel your heart pound against your ribs until the terrifying feeling faded. There was nothing else but static, of course, and for so long you almost thought you must have imagined it. If not for the way those dull words repeated in your head, over and over.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

You hadn’t really had a destination in mind when you took off. No goal other than to get out of there as fast as you could manage. The idea of the West had been bouncing around your brain a lot lately, hence your current trajectory, but you really hadn’t had a clue where you were supposed to be going when you left.

I mean, you still didn’t have a destination. You had no clue what that advertisement was even about. Where they were even fucking talking about. Hurricane City?

Yet, somehow, you knew those words were meant for you. Not anyone else. you. There was a party and the party was waiting for you.

Guess you’d have to look for a map or something in town. Perhaps use the library computer. Man, you would regret throwing your phone into the lake in a fit of passion as you left town, but honestly, this is the longest you’ve known peace in quite some time. Just gonna have to live a little retro for a while. Not the worst thing in the world.

You’ll get a new one later, once you’ve settled in to… wherever you’re going. Whatever new home lies over that horizon for you, you guess.

The sun was breaching the beige skyline of sandy shrub brush as you finally rolled over the state line. You needed to eat. Your stomach growled loudly at just the thought. Funny. You hadn’t even thought about eating in the last.. twenty hours. Which means you should be absolutely shaking right now. Yeah, that’s why you’re shaking. That’s it. You’ll pull into the first diner you see.

You were hoping to at least be in Roswell for breakfast, but there was no way your body was going to be able to keep running if you waited that long. Looks like it’s just going to be the first place you come across.

Hopefully they don’t put green chilis in their pancakes or something.

That sounds insane but it’s an actual thing you’ve seen before in this state, trust. There are no laws nor gods when it comes to Hatch green chilis.

***

Your sleepy brain was not ready for the bell that rang as you walked through the door. Embarrassingly enough, the tinny noise startled you. You almost tripped, to be honest. Thankfully your wobbly Bambi legs held up as you managed to catch yourself.

The hostess wasn’t in sight as you awkwardly stood in the entrance, but there was a whole heap of noise coming from the kitchen.

“Hold on just a second, Sweetpea!” a voice called out to you.

Well, guess you’re holding on a second.

Your eyes scanned the top of the walls, perusing the vast cookie jar collection that the owner had accrued over the years. They were never dusted, despite being on shelves that lined the top of every wall in the tiny shack of a diner, and thus you could easily tell that a few new additions had been made. You know, because those cookie jars were way less filthy.

That’s gotta be a heath-code violation.

After you heard a bit of garbled yelling, the hostess rushed out to take her place in front of you. Smoothing down her polka-dotted apron, she grinned at you.

“Table for two?”

You blinked. It was too early in the morning for fully intelligent speech.

“Uh. No. Just me today. Thank you.”

Her big, bedazzled cat-eyeglasses fell a little farther down her nose as she scrunched her face in confusion, “alright then. Just the one of you today...”

She grabbed a paper menu as she led your shambling body to a table near the window. Which was shut away with ancient looking vinyl blinds that you were too afraid to open, lest they crumble and the cost of replacing them be put on your on tab.

She had already disappeared back into the kitchen by the time you got yourself in a seat. You glanced around the room. You weren’t the only patron here, as a few tables held a few bodies, but you were the only one without your face buried in a newspaper. And to be expected honestly, you were the youngest person in the room at seven in the morning.

The hostess, who was also the only waitress in this tiny local business, placed two glasses in front of you. The dull sound they made hitting the table drew you out of your revelry. There before you were two cups, a steaming mug of fresh coffee and a short glass of milk. You looked up in confusion.

“Don’t worry, it’s whole milk. Builds strong bones.”

That... wasn’t your concern.

You looked back at the cup in confusion and by the time you turned back, she had already moved on to the next table, refilling mugs and having loud banter with the other customers. Her regulars, by the sound of it. You felt too apathetic to try and call her over again.

You shrugged, to no one in particular, as you did not have a breakfast partner with you, despite the waitress’s insistence otherwise. Wait, was she mocking you? Eh, maybe it’s just supposed to be for the coffee. Nevertheless, you would not be drinking the milk, so you just left it there.

Despite the prevalence of the local newspaper in the room, there wasn’t a dispenser or anything at the front of the restaurant, like there usually is. As you drummed your fingers on the tablecloth, bored out of your mind, you kinda regretted throwing your phone in the lake a bit more. Maybe not the best of moves.

But hey, at least you aren’t constantly quelling the incessant buzzing you’d be hearing if you’d kept it.

You busied yourself stirring your coffee while you looked over the menu again, just for something to read. Of course, you were ordering a waffle. Because this was a diner, and, yeah, you do like waffles. And pancakes. And French toast. Doodoodoodoo can’t wait to get a mouthful.

That voice kept echoing in your mind. The party can’t start without you.

“More coffee, Babycakes?” the waitress snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh! Yeah, thank you,” you moved the mug to the edge of the table, closer to her, “Say… I know this is an out-of-pocket question, but have you heard anything about Hurricane City? Maybe something about peaches?”

“Oh!” she snapped her fingers, “You mean the Peach Days. It’s a little heritage festival they put on every summer in Hurricane, you know. It’s a hoot, my family makes a trip out there every few years or so for it. Not this time of course, clearly, since I’m here talkin’ to you and not in Utah—”

“In Utah?”

Of course, it was Fucking Utah again.

“I know it’s soundin’ far, but it’s only ‘bout a day’s drive from here. Two days if y’ain’t crazy about following an itinerary like my husband,” she brushed a hand over her apron before you lost her attention to the other customers, “I swear that man would plan out a schedule for every second of the day if he could…”

After she wandered off to go top off more mugs, you lamented the fact that you still hadn’t ordered yet. That’s what you get for being nosy about peach festivals, you suppose.

Thankfully though, soon enough you had your hearty breakfast and were back in front of the wheel, on your way to the friendly neighborhood Walmart. Where hopefully no cops or employees would bother you as you crashed in the parking lot.

You took Fredbear to the backseat with you for good luck. Maybe it was the gold color, or the fancy getup he had. Maybe you just needed a cuddle buddy to not feel so alone in this parking lot swarming with people.

Much to your disdain, it was now a bit into the morning hours, and the sun was fully up.

You had tried to find as shady a spot as possible, but it’s not exactly like trees grow in this biome. At least not naturally. Windbreak tree lines were definitely a thing, but those protected buildings people cared about, and this was a Walmart. Nothing around here but concrete, rocks spray painted blue, and cigarette butts.

So after tossing and turning in the bright blinding sunshine for way longer than you should have, and making promises to higher deities was proven to be unfruitful in your attempt to find some semblance of peace, you finally just had to admit defeat. And here by rescinding any aforementioned promises to higher powers.

You laid Fredbear back down on the seat and tucked him in with the blanket when you got back up. At least one of you could be cozy and well rested. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be you, however.

Well, it’s far from the first all-nighter you’ve pulled without having time to take a nap during the following day. Sleep deprivation isn’t real, silly. Teachers just made that up to scare you. It’ll be fine.

***

You know you never really realize how much we structure our lives around other humans until you take a drive through the middle of nowhere. How essential it is to have enough gas to make it to the next town. From town to town, your life becomes segments. Only within the eyesight of other humans are you ever safe. Only within the bounds of the settlement can your soul be settled.

Gas stations become oases. Which is the plural of oasis, apparently. Anyway, you start seeing them like mirages. Dingey, weather-worn gas pumps become as good as a sparkling illusion of precious water in the Sahara. The empty shells of buildings you passed by, long since forgotten, became like mausoleums in these graveyard towns. Villages. Hamlets. Mostly hamlets.

“Are we there yet?” a small and very annoyed voice called out.

You had just written it off as your imagination until you heard the noise of shuffling fabric. Normally your audio hallucinations aren’t that detailed. Paralyzed, you held your breath, not daring to make any noise that would distract your ears from hearing whoever, whatever, was in the back seat. Your mind went to stories of skinwalkers and misshapen monsters and hitch-hiking serial killers.

“… Are we there yet?” the voice repeated, admittedly sounding even smaller to you now.

Yep, that’s a real person alright. Or a real thing. Your eyes were probably bloodshot from the way you haven’t blinked this entire time, just staring straight ahead on the desert highway. Taking a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself, you turned down the rear-view mirror…

Christ almighty. You had a stowaway.

Your stomach turned immediately. God, come on now, don’t puke up what little you had on your stomach. You need that.

“Hey Buddy,” you tried to sound as friendly as you could, “What’s your name?”

Clad in a little striped shirt and cargo shorts, he started kicking his feet in impatience, which would be cute if it weren’t for this situation y’all are in, and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, “We’ve been in here forever,” he whined.

If this was a skinwalker, he was a pretty darn adorable one. And definitely not a hitch-hiking serial killer. At least you hoped. But no, this was a greater form of terror: responsibility.

“Haha, yeah, we have been in here really long, haven’t we? How long do you think we’ve been driving, can you tell me?”

When did you pick up this child. When you got gas in Gallup? Albuquerque? Dear lord, if he’s been in here since Roswell, you’re about to have the world’s biggest headache on your hands, both metaphorically and physically. But there’s no way he’s been in here for fucking 10 hours, right? right??

Okay, okay. Maybe you’re just a little panicky right now and not thinking straight. Maybe teachers hadn’t been making up sleep deprivation just to scare you after all. You have been purposely not drinking anything for the lack of available restrooms. People get dehydration hallucinations, right?

The boy just stared at you, blankly. Probably fully realizing you were a stranger and not whoever he thought you were. In lieu of answering you, he started fidgeting more with the toy bear you had had in the back. You really hoped that hadn’t been what lured him into your station wagon in the first place.

Don’t be getting shy on me now, kid.

You put your blinker on, ready to merge off the road and onto an incoming rest-stop that you thanked your lucky stars for.

“Honey, can you tell me what your phone number is?”

He looked up at you, finally tearing his attention from the bear, and you could see gears turning in his head.

“…435-555-1987?”

You repeated it back to him, and he nodded. Alright, time to find that payphone.

Said rest-stop payphone was thankfully near a picnic table so you could sit him down and be able to watch him carefully the whole time you made this call. Because judging by the fact this situation was happening at all, he was a slippery one.

You got out of the car and opened the back door, but he was hesitant to get out. Which, fair, you are a stranger trying to get him to a second location.

“What’s up, Bud?” you tried your hardest to not sound like a predator but boy was that a real nebulous idea, wasn’t it?

“Fredbear wants to come too,” he mutters.

“Well, sure then, let’s bring him, we’ll have a little picnic.” With no food, but hey, whatever lie it takes to get him sitting on that bench.

It was really cute the way the kid set the bear down on the table and positioned it like they were going to have a picnic together. When you find this kid’s parents, you’ll let him keep Fredbear. Toys like it when they’re given to new children, right? Wasn’t there a movie about that or something. Wincing at the grubbiness of the payphone, you reluctantly dialed the number.

“Hello, Jeff’s Pizza on Main St, are you ready to order?”

You closed your eyes, counting the seconds as you breathed in for 4 seconds, held it for 7, and released for 8.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted into the receiver. So much for calming down, “please don’t hang up,” you pleaded.

“Listen, we don’t take solicitation,”

“No, uh, sorry. I’ve found a lost child who told me this was his number. Is the owner of this restaurant by chance frantically looking for their son?”

You heard some muffled conversation happening behind the phone, “Well, no, I don’t even have any kids… and I uh, am currently understaffed. Im the only one here.”

you cursed under your breath.

“Uh, alright, well…” you could tell this was getting really awkward for him.

“Could you tell me where y’all are, I’m unfamiliar with the area code,”

“Uh, Hurricane, Utah?”

… If you weren’t on the phone, you fucking swear you’d be screeching at the top of your lungs like a chimpanzee right now.

“Thank you, you know, just in case he’s just remembering an advertisement he’s seen or something,”

“Oh, okay,” there was a pause, “well I hope you find the parents or, whoever,”

“Thank you,” you’ll put him out of his misery and hang up.

“Are you sure that’s your number, Hon?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Why don’t you tell me it again, maybe I dialed it wrong,”

“435-5--” his face scrunched up in concentration, “435-555—I don’t know…”

You tried not to look visibly stressed at this answer.

“Do you know where you live?”

He moved the bears paws along with whatever little game he was playing, before looking up at you, head tilted in confusion, “Hurricane?”

Okay. Police time. If not for him, for you. The skinwalker possibility just went back up. Because, honestly, he had to have gotten in your car as a coyote or something. No way you wouldn’t’ve noticed a whole ass child entering your car.

“How does ice cream sound, huh Buddy?”

“I want ice cream!” he said hastily as if you’d change your mind if he hesitated.

“Ice cream it is then, but only if you’re good for me and the officers, okay? And tell them everything you can remember. You’re smart, right?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Great,” you smiled over clenched teeth.

After herding him back into the car, you had to take a moment to gently rest your head into the steering wheel. And it took everything within you to not smash said head into it. Or scream in agony. No, no, we mustn’t scare the child.

Tuba City wasn’t too far away. The police station was downtown, as most are. Luckily, across the street there was a paleteria with a courtyard area. The little guy got very excited when you got pulled into the parking space, so eh, what the hell, ice cream first. Maybe after a treat and some playtime in the courtyard he won’t be as wiggly and will be able to tell the cops what he knows about just where the hell he came from.

The noise of the bell chiming made you flinch as you two walked into the paleteria. You hadn’t thought you were that tightly wound right now but apparently you were wrong. The lady behind the counter greeted you warmly, and you responded in turn, trying to play it cool.

God, imagine if she got an off-vibe from you and the kid and called over the police from across the street before you even have a chance—

Deep breath. Okay. The kid you had started referring to in your head as just “Little Boy” was leaned against the display case, his breath fogging up the glass in front of him and probably leaving little handprints for the shopkeeper to clean later.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“That’s… Okay. What can I get you?” she seemed a little confused. Strange, but you brushed past it just as quickly as she did.

“Ah, what do we want?” you asked Little Boy.

He excitedly tugged on your pantleg and pointed to the popsicle he wanted, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t need to convince you, but you quickly realized you were not going to be able to say no to any else after this if he deployed the same cute begging look.

“One of those cute little Tweety Bird faces,” you pointed.

“Anything else?” she handed you the popsicle and you gingerly took it.

“Nah, that’s it” you were too nauseous to eat right now.

You paid, throwing the change into the tip jar, and turned to give Little Boy the popsicle she handed you.  The words caught in your throat as you looked down to find your pantleg absent of any tugging by any Little Boy. You quickly scanned the tiny paleteria. He was nowhere to be found, anywhere in the room.

“Uh, did you see where the kid went?” you tried not to sound too panicked.

She was taken aback, also quickly looking around the room to find no one, before shaking her head, “Did you have a kid with you?”

You furiously nodded in confusion,

“I’m sorry, then I didn’t see them,” she pointed to the glass door that led to the courtyard only a few feet away from y’all, “Try outside, maybe?”

You burst outside, searching the area in a panic, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Not hidden in the tangle of the garden, not splashing around in the fountain, not at, under, on top of, or around any of the tables.

You went to call his name, but your voice caught in your throat when you realized you didn’t have a name to call. And.

And.

Something hit your shirt. A water droplet. You looked up into the clear, blinding blue sky. Your nerves tickled as another droplet ran down your cheek. Oh, you were crying. Huh.

You took the closet seat you could find, counting the things processed by your 5 senses. It’s all you could do to not start bawling for no reason. Maybe you’ll calm down and be able to think straight soon.

Why can’t you think straight? Everything feels so fuzzy.

You should be terrified, and in a way, you were. In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth: Little Boy wasn’t real. Or at least turned back into a coyote and ran off.

As you stared vacantly into the open air, you realized you still had a dripping popsicle in your hands. Supposedly “Tweety Bird” shaped, it just looked like a yellow skull missing its mandible bone to you. How fitting.

You pulled it to your mouth. Yum. Tasted like AAAAAAAA. Or orange, according to the package.

Attempting to lick the melted yellow liquid off of your hand, you accidentally stuck the ice pop on your face. Great. Now you’re sticky all over.

God, you’ve really gone and lost your fucking marbles this time, haven’t you.

There was a bulletin kiosk a few feet down your field of vision. On that bulletin kiosk was an old poster, barely visible as it was buried under layers of other flyers. It caught your eye and seemed to burn your retinas. What little you could see was the word Freddy and part of what looked like a version of the bear you’d been toting around this whole little expedition, but that was enough.

Something clicked. You looked down at the bear hanging by your side in your other hand. The kid had shoved it into your arms so he could more easily lean on the display case, right before he disappeared the very moment you took your eyes off of him.

You know, you hadn’t really felt alone since bringing Fredbear home. And not in a good way.

Guess the name you should’ve been calling was Freddy.

You had to get rid of that bear.

***

You had been walking home like you always did, same route. But you noticed something peculiar about this time. The house that the old man had his yard sale in was now stripped of all decoration, with a For Sale sign proudly standing in the grass. No cars, and no blinds or curtains on the windows, so you could see into the den which was now devoid of any furniture.

You’ll admit it, you crept around to the other windows, searching for any signs of life at all in the empty rooms. None. No furniture, no people, no trash. The yard sale was yesterday. How did they clean this place out so thoroughly in the short amount of time between when you’d seen it last and now.

A little confuddled, you went home as usual. While strange as hell, this wasn’t a missing person’s case or anything. And it’s probably why the man was so adamant on giving you Fredbear because it was the end of the day. He had a deadline. He was skipping town.

God, you wished you could just skip town.

You frankly thought nothing of it when you unlocked the door to your apartment to see Fredbear was already seated on the couch, like he was all set to marathon whatever 30-year-old cartoon you wound up watching that night. And it’s not like your roommate hadn’t done something like this before, move a stuffed animal or action figure into a funny position for you to find later.

You hadn’t seen him much lately. Or like, at all. The only reason you knew he was still alive were the dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom, and the aforementioned moving the bear around.

Looking back now, was he moving the bear around?

If you locked the deadbolt that can’t be unlocked from the outside, you’d be guaranteed to catch him in person for once. But you weren’t willing to go through the trouble and emotional toil of doing that, however.

In the name of feeling less like a ghost haunting your own home, getting yelled at for intentionally locking your roommate out might be a wee bit counterproductive. Sure, you’d be seen and spoken to, but the harshness of his words and tone would send you into a worse episode than you were already in.

Well, at least Fredbear seemed ready to keep you company tonight...

The fact that they put unskippable advertisements on streaming services you’re paying for in the first place is criminal. Or at least regular cable tv in a trenchcoat.

You got a drink while they prattled on about luxury cars you couldn’t afford and real estate companies you weren’t going to have the privilege of patroning any time soon. Embarrassingly, as you poured the pitcher of water into a glass, you got a little distracted.

The cheap glass’s glass was only about a millimeter or two thick. You could easily just crush this cup in your hand, in one swift movement. The muscles of your arm began tensing up at the thought.

But thankfully, a loud, blaring advertisement coming from the TV snapped you out of it. And so, you promptly decided to Not Do That, because picking all of those tiny glass shards out of your flesh would be a bitch. And that was not how you wanted to spend a perfectly good Sunday night. And of course you didn’t need the questions at work tomorrow.

You returned to the couch, curiously, and you swear, that damn teddy bear followed you with its eyes. Even though they were a shiny, solid black, and the idea itself would be insane.

As you settled back down, you grabbed the remote to turn down the volume of the cheery music playing. Mysteriously, it wasn’t just a commercial with bad sound mixing, the TV itself had been turned up. Now that it had your attention, the thing that was being sold to you seemed to the state of Utah. You know, those Visit [X] ads that were commonly played between cooking shows and ghost hunting documentaries.

“Oh hey, you’re from there, right?” you poked at fredbear. And immediately felt pathetic. God, you’ve got to stop talking to inanimate objects and like get a boyfriend or something. Geez.

The imagery on the screen was just, you know, normal southwest stock footage:

A drone shot of Zion national park

Old men golfing

Owls living in holes they’ve dug into cactuses

Rock archways

A family laughing as they shared a pizza being served to them by a man in a bear suit that looked just fredbear,

“Oh, well there you are, I guess.” you once again absent-mindedly spoke to your toy friend.

Kids swimming in a fancy resort pool

A Navajo cultural event

More rock archways and red sandstone cliffs

Kids crowding around a claw machine filled with toys just like the one sitting next to you

Kids crowding around a stage as an animatronic band played

Kids crowding around a birthday cake, the light of candles bouncing off their faces as they sang along…

The fake sounding voice of the announcer rung out, “Visit Utah! You know the party can’t start without you!”

Your mouth felt dry. Good thing you now had that glass of water.

***

Of course, you did what any smart, sane person would do and feverishly ripped through the layers of old flyers to get to the advertisement for what you now knew was Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place. A themed diner and nickel arcade that made most of their money hosting birthday parties, by the looks of it. You knew the type; you had been an American child once too.

Good thing none of the cops were hanging around outside to fine you for littering, because the amount of paper you just released into the breeze was in fact criminal.

There was a short list of locations at the bottom of the poster. They had a few scattered over Utah, or at least they used to, judging by the harsh weathering of this poster. The closest one being in Bigwater, explaining why this poster was out here in Tuba. But the word Hurricane stood out to you like it was lit up in neon. It burned like sunlight.

It appears you are in fact on your way to Hurricane, Utah. As if you didn’t know that already at this point, you being out on the canyon rim instead of your much preferred and beloved Rockies. Well, congratulations bitch. You’ve only got another three hours to go. Better get going. Have fun!

***

Oh, this place was creepy as hell. Or it’s just late at night, and you’re sleep deprived and paranoid. In the spirit of being honest to yourself, ‘sleep deprived and paranoid’ has always been your natural state of being, but right now it’s definitely ramped up to an eleven.

But even though it’s been close to 48 hours since your last brain-reset, this place still had a certain energy about it. Like New Orleans, or the woods around lynching bridges did. That spooky oh I am Not Safe here type of energy.

The gas station-man gave you a real weird look when you stormed in and asked where the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was. Normally you would’ve chalked it up to you being a clear foreigner asking for directions as if it’s 1995, to a children’s arcade close to midnight nonetheless, but now you weren’t so sure.

You eyed the fridge full of wine in pint sized bottles and little juice cartons. But nah, you probably needed to have a quick reaction time to whatever was waiting for you in this Venus flytrap you’re willingly walking into. You grabbed a Monster instead and you know what, yeah, that probably wasn’t the best decision either. If you weren’t high strung before, you definitely were now. You felt like you could punch a bear. A Freddy Fazbear.

You bought a local map alongside the energy drink, feeling like you were gonna need it. Man, low-tech was actually kinda annoying after a while. You got the gas station-man to begrudgingly mark Fazbear’s down onto it for you. Apparently, it and all other locations within town had closed down some twenty years ago. Not many people are still around who remember why, he said, but it had something to do with the faulty animatronics. Teenagers told ghost stories and dared each other to spend the whole night in the dining room. But otherwise, beyond the rumors, the original Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was just an empty, scorched building. And the other various locations like Jr’s or Circus Baby’s had been sold off, passing so many hands who knows what businesses were in there now. But you could still kinda tell, if you paid attention, in the same way you can tell if something used to be a Pizza Hut.

What you really wanted, according to gas station-man, whose nametag read Gary, was this new location that was opening soon, simply named Freddy’s Pizzeria. It’s set to open for business in September, so you’re lucky. He marked it one your map as well.

You don’t know why Gary was so nice to you. Maybe it was the harrowed look in your eyes. Maybe it was the twitchiness. Maybe Gary is just very bored of this tourist town and was looking to fall madly in love with a random troubled soul he met at midnight in a gas station and would wind up running away with to some far-off place. If that was the case, sorry Gary. You were too busy with the metaphorical torture labyrinth to care about romance at the moment.

You couldn’t decide if the haunted Fredbear would want to see an old location or the new one. You asked, but of course the fucker didn’t answer. Just sat there with his smug grin and glassy eyes that followed your hand movements. So, you quite literally tossed a coin. A new mint, the face side had Eleanor Roosevelt on it. And she marked the fact that you were going to try the new location first, and then try the original building next. Cool.

***

Your patience was kinda at its limit here, you’ll admit. You really should get some sleep soon. Or eat. Since you were hellbent on getting here and nothing else, the only thing on your stomach besides that wretched Tweety Bird popsicle is half a monster energy. Guess you’ll go by a fucking Denny’s after this. If you survive.

If you were going to die horrifically, you’d really rather the forces that be make it snappy. This was getting ridiculous.

You pulled into the parking lot. The building clearly wasn’t new but had been freshly painted. Nothing creepy so far. As you stared down the building, sizing it up, you noticed there was one car parked in the front, and a few of the windows were lit up.

Cool, so there was someone in there. Great. That makes, well whatever this is, much harder.

The door was locked.

You could hear music playing from inside. You banged on the door as loudly as you could manage, and it still took a couple of minutes before the music stopped. And then a very disgruntled man in coveralls was in the doorway, tiredly asking just what the fuck you wanted at this time of night.

He smiled to cover up his rudeness, but the smile stretched a little too wide, inhumanly wide, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You took him in, unashamedly raking your eyes over his form. He stood awkwardly, as if ready to bolt at any moment. What you could see of his build made him out to be weirdly skinny. That unnaturally wide smile gave way to some exposed teeth on the left side of his face. His eyes were shadowed by his bangs in the backlight of the door, but you swore they almost glowed themselves. His complexion was greyish and bordered on almost purple in this lighting.

Despite all this, he was still pretty handsome. Well, you did always think some of those creepypasta guys were boyfriend material. Maybe, you wouldn’t mind getting chopped up into little pieces if this guy was the one doing it. Okay, and maybe you’ve been sleeplessly chasing ghosts too long.

Startling you, he reached his hand to grab your shoulder, a little too fast.

“Hey mate, are you okay?” He asked nervously,

It snapped you out of your stupor, realizing you had yet to say a word to him, “Uh, yes, I just wanted to…”

How do you even fucking ask this. “Hey, can I bring a stuffed bear to your dining room so maybe it’s spirit will leave me alone? Maybe conduct a séance or something?” Seriously, did you even know what you were doing here? Shit. Okay.

“I wanted to ask if I could check out your facility?” came out like a question because even you had no clue what you were saying.

“Come back tomorrow in the daylight, then,” he began closing the door, shaking his head in annoyance, “or perhaps when we’re actually open.”

“NO!” you slammed your foot into the door as he closed it, “AAGH!”

“Jesus Christ! WHY.”

Dear lord, this man now 100% thinks you’re a crackhead.

“Just, don’t close that door, okay,” his brows scrunched together as you grit your teeth to swallow down the pain, “I need you to help me.”

“I really don’t have any money to spar--”

“I’M HERE BECAUSE OF A GHOST,” you interrupted. Finally, you managed to get that out somehow, if nonsensical.

A look of recognition flickered in his glowing eyes. He lowered into your space, kind of intimidatingly. Or intimately. Yeah, no, this was hostile, don’t fool yourself.

“What kind of ghost,” he asked suspiciously.

“Uh,” shit, okay, “the weird, haunted doll kind? Uh, like the ones the McElroy brothers are always bidding on on eBay. Or maybe this is kind of a Ben Drowned kinda situation, I’m not completely sure.”

He blinked, “okay, I only understood a few of those words, but—”

“It’s a Freddy teddy bear that really wanted me to take it to Hurricane, okay?” You really were at the end of your rope at the moment, “I have literally driven here for days straight on no sleep and barely any food and I need this Unauthorized Fucking Thing to find it’s eternal peace or kill me in some horrible way so I can hurry up and get on with my goddamn life,”

“Uh, see… the thing is,” he started to retreat back again, slowly moving his hands like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal.

 You realized what was about to happen, and it must have been visible in your eyes, since his huge unnatural placating smile returned,

“I actually don’t want anything to do with that, sooo…”

“PLEASE—” you reached out in blind panic, but he dodged it. (now if only you could’ve dodged the scooper like that Mikey)

The door slammed in your face.

Your breathing was ragged and fogged up the glass as he locked it again. You stared up at those glowing pinprick pupils of his as he gave you an apologetic little wave goodbye. And then he fucking made a big show of pointing at the closed sign before turning tail to disappear back into the darkness of the empty restaurant.

Okay.

Just a little setback. You’ll go to the older location first, now, and come back when this asshole is sleeping. Can’t be too hard to bust out one of those windows, and you doubt he has an alarm set up already. It’s his fault, really. If he didn’t want property damage, then he should’ve just let you in. Not like you haven’t warned him that you were desperate or anything.

Just gonna go to the other location. You’ve got your map, you’ve got a tank full of gas, and you’ve got chutzpah.

Now what you don’t have? Is a car that will start.

[strikersexhaver]

Prompt! Striker getting drunk with someone he's only been "friends" with up to this point but things go a little too far this time...

(Cute, suggestive or fully NSFW up to you but consensual either way~)

(A/N) First post back! Thought this would be a cute little one to get to first!

CW: suggestive, but not really nsfw!

Striker x Reader | Bottle’s Up 🍺

The two of you usually came together to drink late at night, usually unplanned.

That’s how you met after all

Usually for you it’d be a shitty day at work, or just a boring, shitty day in general.

For him, realistically… shitty missions gone hella wrong. But he never told you that for reasons, he’d simply tell you a bad day being a farm hand.

Anyways, when you two started talking to each other it was normal conversations till both sides started cackling out loud the more and more the two of you got more tipsy, then drunk. Eventually.

He’d tell you stories of a truth and a lie, usually if he was drunk it’d be a full truth- a truth you’d forget.

“This lil’ assclown named sumthin’ auh, Blitz or sum’ shit, nah’ tell me why this bitch-“ *hic* “was such a cocksucker to this Goetia who kept calling him ‘blitzy’!”

“Is he a sugarbaby?”

“Ya’ I think so- because his panties got twisted all ova’ him!”

The both of you, shit-talked, laughed, and chatted all around about your day. It was fun, very fun.

The first time it ended, you woke up in somewhere in a park bench.

He was gone, gone like the wind bullseye.

But to be fair, you could care less because that pounding headache was awful.

Next time y’all saw each other, it was the same thing, just a bit more comfortable. A bit more, not a lot of course.

Then so on, and so fourth.

Till, the two of you just turned to each other one day after laughing, you both stared at each other before kissing each other in a passionate make-out session like a rom-com film.

The tastes of whiskey, the both of you grabbing each other for a better angle to kiss better, teeth clanking, messy and sloppy as well.

In the middle of a bar- with the bartender slightly disgusted, patrons staring or looking away.

The two of pulled each other out of the damn place, and to the nearest motel- paying or maybe full on hijacking one to get the drunken’ lust off the both of you.

You two kept kissing until Striker parting to kiss at your neck, leaving slight bites resulting in hickey’s.

Both of you pulling and ripping each other’s clothes like wild animals, like savages. Both of you had ripped clothes- maybe some intact pieces.

Spent the whole night going crazy, making the people there not be able to get any sleep whatsoever.

And in the morning, you woke up right next to the serpentine cowboy.

His arms crossed behind his head, with a tumbleweed in his mouth.

You jolted in surprise-

“Did we-“

“Fuck yea’ ya’kno’ I’m surprised it ain’t happen sooner. I saw the way ya’ look at me~” he winked

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

I rambled this thought about The Monty and Foxy show and it's been a pretty long time coming and I know some of my mutuals share a similar opinion, so whatever. I'll throw it out there.

But I do NOT care for Vegeta-animatronic.

There's just a lot of characters that serve a similar purpose narratively.

Vegeta just looks so out of place with a majority of the cast it's just kind of hard to take him too seriously

Most other characters can be replace Vegeta in a scene and not much would be lost.... and MORE would be added.

Vegeta giving Eclipsev4 his pep talk on who he is as an animatronic, could have easily come from Jack instead trying to find his purpose and it wouldn't be out of place. Because Jack is also struggling with his purpose and as of now he is an errand-boy and more or less scrap from Solar and Moon's code. So Eclipse would connect more then that then a DBZ animatronic.

But here's what bothers me the most:

Vegeta is a Retcon.

(Like… Retcons aren't good or bad things. They are neutral things. There are such a thing as good "retcons" if the retcon benefits the story. Like, Dazzle from LAES is a good Retcon, because them being in the walls the entire time since Sun and Moon separated does not completely destroy backstories of other characters. And it works because no one knew of Dazzle's existence before then and nothing else needs to change much, unless they dip toes into the Creator, but the Creator is a mysterious evil character so his backstory and things he's been doing off-screen is very malleable.)

But let's think to Vegeta-animatronic's backstory. Monty made him as "practice" for building Lunar because he never built an animatronic body before and he wanted to make sure he get it right. But the thing is…. Monty put the nano-machine of Lunar that survived into a program in his space station and the body Lunar was made was mostly auto-constructed by the computer, because Eclipse was preventing Monty from going into space.

Monty was also grieving about what happened to Lunar and the threat of Eclipse hanging overhead. He was upset he couldn't oversee the process and wasn't sure if Lunar would come back. He even bashed Foxy's head in and gave him amnesia cus he was drinking himself to death over all of this…………….

So Where in the hell would he have to make Vegeta????

"I was into dragonball memes then…"

Oh… when you were just… lying low and doing the best you could for the "kid" you cared for so much at the time. Monty didn't even physically build Lunar's body, Monty's computer did. Monty just picked him up later.

Vegeta also doesn't add anything other then to call Monty his Dad/Mom, make Earth uncomfortable by calling her mom, forcing family dynamics that he doesn't understand, and just annoy Monty, and monty doesn't deactivate him cus…. he's attached.

Also, can I mention how much I hate that Earth has voiced how repeatedly uncomfortable she is with him calling her "Mom" and he still does it??? I get that Vegeta is lonely and wants to belong, but he keeps violating people's boundaries with titles. Like today. Solar is not his grandpa. Lunar is not his brother. Monty isn't even Lunar's dad, only like... step-father if you want to put it that way. This family tumbleweed does make a logical throughline of sense but forcing titles onto people until they eventually agree with you is not the way to do it. Monty had to agree to the dad/mom title more not as acceptance, but just because "he wouldn't stop, so why bother to correct that behavior." Vegeta just forces family titles on everyone until they reluctantly agree to them, and that is like "found family done wrong" and it just never sits right with me whenever he does it.

Also, if Monty DID make Lunar's body… how did making Dragonball Z Vegeta's body prepare him for that at all? Wouldn't you think he'd practice by making a celestial animatronic looking thing without a conscious AI in it, if he's just extracting Lunar's code from the nanomachine he possessed.

There was no reason to make Vegeta sentient. Okay, argue that Monty was piss drunk when he made him… It's still a damn stupid excuse and Vegeta serves very little narrative purpose and looks out of place with the other cast.

Anyway... it's fine if you like Vegeta-Animatronic, find his antics charming, or think he's a sweetheart.

However, I just feel his role is better narratively served by other characters, and every time he's given focus over someone else who would use the spotlight more, I die a little inside.

However, at the end of the day, it's Davis and Matt's show.

And I do think they need more characters that they're just not adopting/stealing from Tsams/laes. So.... yeah... That's the only narrative purpose Vegeta really serves to me.

[surrealisticduvet]

Album Review - The Prison: A Book With a Soundtrack (1974)

The Prison - Michael’s first album to be released under his own record label, and the first album maybe ever to be released with its own novella. The Prison’s concept is hard to explain (you either over-explain it or over-simplify it) but in a nutshell, it is about a man (interestingly named after Michael’s second son) who lives in a prison which he discovers is not real - he can walk out at any time he likes, and the prison will fade away. This is an allegory for the troubles of society; when one is entrenched in it, it is real, and constraining; when you leave, which you can do at any time, at great personal cost, you discover that it has been, all this time, a fabrication. The book itself is very interesting, but this review is about the album, and the music it contains; let us begin.

Favorite parts of the album:

It’s clear, between the album itself and the way he spoke about it, that this was a monumental production for him. It’s very different from his previous work, and much of his post-Prison work is influenced by it. The lyrics are very strong and poetic – which makes sense, considering that writing was his focus with the book. The instrumentation is wonderful too (I love the guitar and subtle pedal steel - yes, of course Red is on this record!). although the higher level of production can make it sound a little stiffer and more impersonal at times (compared to, say, And the Hits… where he did a huge chunk of the playing himself). I don’t think the album suffers for that, however - it’s a soundtrack, so the production is perfect. 

“Dance Between the Raindrops” is probably the catchiest song on the album - starting here, and continuing in other tracks, is the trend of using a subtle background melody to drive your reading along. Amidst the lyrics and the music itself, it’s easy to get a little distracted at times, but having that baseline to keep you grounded is nice. This happens again in “Hear Me Calling,” where he utilizes a sort of “Tumbling Tumbleweeds” western shuffle deep in the background of the song. (He uses this again in the next album I’ll be reviewing – I’ll rave about it then.) 

“Walking Mystery” is another hit in my book (to be clear, none of these songs are “hits” - they would never make good radio songs, except perhaps on an easy listening station.) It has a mystical, ethereal quality and ambiance, which is again wonderful for reading along. This song and a few others almost have a touch of that dreamy 80’s synth - six years before the decade rolled around. 

Overall, the album flows beautifully, and is in fact long enough for you to read the whole book while listening. Which brings me to my critiques…

Critiques:

It may be my fault, for rushing out of fear that I’d run out of music before I ran out of pages – but in fact, it was the opposite: I finished reading long before the album ran out, and I certainly didn’t digest it well enough. Having read through once, I ought to go back and savor it this time, reading slowly and feeling the music throughout. I do believe that while reading, you miss a little of the music (I enjoy it much more when I listen on its own), although Michael said that if you’re experiencing this issue, you might just need to practice. That could be true – or maybe the songs just aren’t as memorable as some of his others. Perhaps; they weren’t made to be stand-alone hits (he had to change “Marie’s Theme” quite a bit for it to sound like a standard track on the Ranch Stash re-release), and they’re not as easy to sing along with as the rest of his discography. 

My next critique is about the book itself, which isn’t very fair to the music, but they are intertwined – it’s very theoretical and a little preachy (a symptom of his present state), which doesn’t ruin the experience for me, but I see why it wouldn’t necessarily be critically acclaimed by a casual listener/reader. Oh well. 

Finally – and this is the big one – Michael here is entering his “hamming it up” era, which gets better as the 70s fade out, but never really gets cured. For some reason, there are many lines which he sings in a half-spoken, comical manner, something that would be natural for “Mama Rocker” but absolutely not for a lot of these songs and those that he performs live or on other albums. (This phenomenon is extremely bad on Live at the Palais, which I’ll get to in a few posts…) I guess it doesn’t ruin the experience for me, but it does make me cringe. 

Conclusion:

I truly wish that, first of all, we had a recording of the ballet (?!) that was performed for this album (if I remember correctly from Infinite Tuesday) and that, second, he was not so insecure/embarrassed about this album in the years after it came out. In live performances he apologizes for making people listen to songs off of it (albeit surely half-jokingly) and teases himself about the outro of “Marie’s Theme” (that it repeats 602,417 times at the end so you have time to catch up on some reading, etc.) 

Overall, The Prison is not my favorite album of his ever, although I do really appreciate it – it’s just not one I tend to listen to often. But I think it was a very important one that paved the way for a lot of his later work - a definite timeline shift. His later work was obviously influenced and inspired by it, and it seemed to be a culmination of what his earlier work was leading up to, philosophically (if not so much musically - sort of separate schools going on there – but he was all about that sort of unexpected, conceptual genre-melding approach to music… and that’s why we love him!)

[lazodiac]

It's time again to look at Thunder Junction's cards and try and divine where each and every one of these bad boys are from.

Also just a note in case people are curious; since Tumblr has a 30 image limit per post, I'll be doing all of The Big Score at the end, after all the colours and stuff. It's my prerogative and I'll do as I please. If you missed the first part, you can find it here! So without further ado, it is time for...

BLUE

While I don't think EVERY mount is from Thunder Junction Proper... newts ARE a creature that shows up in the west. I was initially thinking this could be for Eldraine, especially given it belongs to an archmage, but... ultimately, I think this is a native to the plane.

Another native, and dare I say this is a CHARISMATIC crab. I love the crystals on its back! I also love the blue cacti nearby it? Those are real by the way!

There aren't many turtle-men in Magic. Three, in fact, before this one; the Lagoon Sage, a Quandrix student, and a Kappa from Kamigawa. The Kappa has a VERY distinct look, the Quandrix is a sea turtle, and the Lagoon Sage is a snapper just like the Thunder-Thief over here... and I'm gonna make a called shot and say this is from Bloomburrow as a result!

Homarid are a Dominaria specialty, so this racist bastard is absolutely from there.

Djinn of this type are only found on Tarkir, so this one is easy. He's taken a break from his dragon-infested plane to relax under a waterfall martial artist style, and that's just kinda fun.

This is a tricky one, since the ability is pretty plane agnostic, and the design doesn't evoke much in it... but her collar DOES have the typical three-fang Dimir tell, and it'd fit both colour and what she's doing, so lets go with Ravnica.

Sadly a cursory Wiki glance tells me only that this guy is from America.

... okay okay, taking this seriously; the wings and the scroll and the steps, the name, all the flavour suggests this is from Amonkhet for me. It could be from elsewhere, but this feels the most "correct" for lack of a better term. I wish cards like this would get flavor text reprints down the line though...

These are some home-grown ghosts, and we know from various other stories (Gideon, Elspeth, etc) that when you die you go to the afterlife of the plane you're on... so these are some newly "born" natives.

These unfortunate individuals are from the dead plane of Oregon.

... what? I already used that joke? Okay fine. There really isn't any actual signifiers here, and the only humanoid in the art is too indistinct to tell. Given the content of the card is trying and failing to ford one of Thunder Junction's mighty rivers, I'm calling this card "native to the plane" for lack of anything else appropriate.

Oh hey it's everyone's favorite running gag from Ravnica. Fblthp is an easy one, so instead of elaborating more on our mono-eyed friend instead I'll bring up a question I want any of you reading this to answer.

Didn't they say during the initial preview teasers that there was an important plot event happening in the background of this card? That never bore fruit and I can't remember the exact preview stream I heard it, but I swear I did. I want someone to confirm this for me. I'm abusing my power.

Regrettably, the flavor text makes this spell be sourced from Oko's Home Plane. I do love this weird tumbleweed creature though!

God I hate Oko he's such a scum bag (derogatory).

A personal favorite character of mine, Geralf is an Innistradi born and raised, here to investigate the Thunder of the plane- as well as test how mana bonds work for planebound folk now that they have access to planar travel. Good luck, sir.

An obvious native of the plane. I quite like the flavor of this card as well by the way, it's just a clever way to incorporate the geysers you would occasionally see in the old west.

Another Thunder Junction native! It's wild how many of these there actually are, but wild animals do make up a bulk of cards in Magic so it's not THAT unreasonable.

Fun lore tidbit; allegedly the Thunder only started after the Omenpaths opened up. No one has lived here before that so no one can confirm that is true, and this flavor text suggests otherwise.

One of the only cards showcasing the least important members of Oko's gang of ruffians! Kaervek and Satoru busting out of jail thanks to the help of Annie Flash. The framing of the card makes it feel more like Kaervek's doing the real world (valid, Satoru is a loser this entire story) so I'm gonna call it for Zhalfir here- and yes even though technically everyone from Zhalfir is from Dominaria, it's a plane all its own now. I make the rules here!

The Fomorian made star-key to open up their vault on Thunder Junction, I feel like it is safe to say this was made here. It's got little arcs of Thunder and even looks like a deputy star, so it fits the vibe.

Fun fact; being a six pointed star, plus the fact that in the story they mentioned the sixth slot started glowing purple, I briefly had the idea that they might be implying the Fomorian's know of Purple magic and we'll get it in the big Space set we're getting down the line. Then I remembered Cosmium is purple and a major energy source for the Fomorion people, so nevermind.

I can't confidently say this is from Bloomburrow, given we don't know how big the people of that plane can get- so far they've maxed out at Badger and Fox- but I really don't know where this guy could be from otherwise! Maybe Ravnica? So lets call this Bloomburrow until corrected otherwise.

Incidentally this is one of my favorite pieces of art in the set. Love this fucking guy.

Beyond all the art signifiers, I believe it was straight up said on twitter this is a Therosian Sphinx, so she's from Theros. Good for her. Why is she wearing spurs...?

I'm fairly confident this is meant to depict Stella Lee, and she's from the Atiin people, so that's where this is from! Rundo meanwhile sounds like a Ravnica, but that's just some trivia.

This one I'm not fully sure on. The little bird like flecks of white in his magic, the watery energy... I feel like I've seen it somewhere before, but I can't quite place it. The red and blue suggests Izzet but then he's a Slickshot, the red-blue faction on Thunder Junction. I'm gonna go with my gut and say Ravnica, though.

Shit like this is why I wish we'd gotten a planeswalker guide...

Blue, so far, has some of the most easy and obvious ones to place, and for this I'm thankfully. This guy is a Stitcher, so he's from Innistrad. Easy as.

She's got some of the Sterling Company aesthetic going on, but I'm a stickler for stupid jokes so I'm gonna say she's from Zendikar. The armor could evoke Sea Gate, and they've always been good with ropes so why NOT translate that to combat?

Like with the earlier ghosts, dead-then-revived means you're native to Thunder Junction... but also this guy is clearly an Obscura from New Capenna, using some of his old magic, so I'mma call it for the big city here.

Oko's big bad gang preparing for the heist of the life-time. Since it's Oko's big idea it's from Oko's stupid plan.

The sort of misty blasts of fire and ice we're seeing here is aesthetically similar to the "gunfire" magic of New Capenna. I love this guy by the way.

Hey wait a second Ashiok can't do stuff like this. They can only read nightmares, not minds!

YEah for those of you who don't know, the Ashiok in this set is actually Jace in disguise! So this is from home-grown celtic Vryn mind-shredding. Our hero(?) ladies and gentlehommes.

An actual Sterling Company goon, though at least this one has a funny joke to his card. I still really like the work they did in making sure every weapon used in the set has the needed arcing loop for Thunder to channel through it.

Oh right the reason why we're here. I'm gonna say New Capenna again, because there's basically no defining traits here. Also god I just realized he's missing the front brim of his hat and it looks terrible. Graywater pay your men properly they can't even afford complete hats!

It took me a bit to realize what was happening in this card. The lady in the back is only choosing the final Spree option here, swapping around the Outcaster and the Hellspur's clothing. Rude!

Clothing swap spells seems like a funny prank to pull at magical college, so Arcavios is where this is going.

I think in cases where I just cannot make any reasonable assumptions based on art, I should look at mechanics. Flashback is usually in Innistrad... but this lady's neckline is WAY too exposed for that Even accounting for the new plane... honestly I give up, the only real identifying factor here is her little lockpick device, which... kinda looks Kamigawan? Lets go with that.

The vibe, the way she wears her hat, and the little phone cord(?) on her belt makes me think of New Capenna. Look some of these are really difficult and I gotta go by vibes!

And that's the 30 card limit, give me a half second for part two!

[jeanbie]

WORDLESS #4 ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

genre: sugar daddy & contract killer au | warnings: toxic relationships, non graphic sex | wc: 4.9k

note: hey guys, who's reading? *silence* *tumbleweed* hope u guys like it :)

★ ch1. ch2. ch3. ch4. ch5

⏤ Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Levi over the edge if he hears them again.

(31) Pulling a chair out for them to sit down at the table.

Levi’s not a gentleman.

Everybody knows it, and he’s not ashamed of admitting it. Half of the time, he thinks that it’s what makes him unique, at least. If you (or anybody else, even though since you walked out on him that one time, he’s been seeing all the others less and less) were going to be with somebody, then you might as well just make it different. Spice it up a little bit.

“It will be nice.” Levi, because he’s not a gentleman, is not really listening to you. He sits behind the steering wheel and tightens his hand against the wheel, the other is on the clutch.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Levi replies. He turns the corner, and the car slightly leans you to the right.

A sigh fills the car as he pauses as a set of traffic lights further down the street.

This red light drags forever, and Levi sighs instead and looks at you pointedly, “What, then?”

It takes reluctance to pull your gaze away from the pigeons near the bins on the side of the road, but you do, and you look at Levi. “I just think it will be really nice to grab dinner together.”

“We do that all the time,” Levi says.

“Yeah, but I don’t mean us, or just us,” you affirm, “I mean, like all of us. Family, I guess.”

Levi bristles. “Family? We don’t have any family, baby.”

“We do,” you moan. “I mean. Not family-family, but family. The kind of family we get to choose. Erwin, and Sasha and whoever.”

Levi nods sarcastically, “Oh. Wrong F word, Y/N, those people are called friends.”

“Oh, whatever then,” you huff, turning back towards the window. “Forget I said anything.”

Levi wants to forget, but he doesn’t. Something about that line, about the way that it stuck with him: The kind of family we get to choose. He thought about it all night, groaned, and then swore and called Erwin. Alright motherfucker, we’re going to dinner with Y/N so you better shut the fuck up, get a suit, and meet us at that fancy Gangnam restaurant.

So, it’s a Friday evening, and it feels like a Disney Channel crossover episode. Sasha definitely feels out of place in this restaurant, and Levi acts uncomfortable about the way Erwin sits opposite you, gauging your every move and word with overacted enthusiasm. Actually, all Levi is thinking about is the moment that they got here.

“Here, honey, let me get that for you,” had appeared to be Erwin’s favourite sentence to say to you; he used it when he opened the door for you, and again with the chair to the table. Erwin sat seething, almost red like a ruby. Sasha sips nervously from her glass as Erwin laughs again at something you said.

Dinner went great, he would have to admit that.

“Oh, we booked the patio for desserts,” Erwin says. One of Levi’s other friends, Mike (who honestly came to observe rather than to fill in for the surprising lack of family at this family dinner) looks left and right to each person on the table and follows the crowd as they leave for the patio once the main courses are done.

Erwin once again reaches for the door and lets you walk outside. As Levi passes Erwin at the door, he glares at Erwin with eyes that could murder. Erwin doesn’t waver but he does get the hint, even more so as you stroll towards the table. Before Erwin can even move towards the table, Levi curves in front and puts his hand on the back of your chair.

“Here you go, baby, let me sit next to you,” Levi says, dragging it out for you to sit. You watch him with one raised eyebrow but say nothing. Erwin says nothing for a few minutes but decides to get right back to it as the desserts begin. It pisses off Levi to the point where his hand leaves fingerprints in your thigh, but you can’t find it in you to be mad about it.

(32) Wrapping a blanket around them when they are sitting on the couch and watching a show.

“You gotta stop letting yourself in here, it scares the shit out of me.”

“I own this dump.”

You gape over your shoulder, “Fucker, you own this dump that you call a dump but you gave me this dump, it’s my dump, don’t call it a dump.”

“Say dump one more time,” Levi warns, shrugging off his jacket and ruffling his hair. It’s wet thanks to the torrential rain outside. His socks squelch across the floor because he left his slippers back at his place, and he’s not here often enough to have his own pair at your apartment.

The apartment is toasty and warm, the heating on high. Except the living room is chilly and dark, dark blue almost.

“What are you watching?”

Levi moves towards your bedroom but can still hear you as he moves.

“Just this show I found,” you reply, watching the screen. “Dead To Me.”

“Never heard of it,” he yawns, and emerges from the room. He’s holding a heavy blanket in his arms, moving to the living room to sit next to you. He plops next to you and glances at the screen, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, over your head like a cocoon.

You laugh softly, shifting it off your head and leaning up against him. “It’s American. It’s got Velma in it.”

“Linda Cardellini?” Levi asks, settling back. “She’s hot as fuck.”

“I know, that’s why I thought I’d watch it, I love her,” you say.

Levi wraps an arm around your shoulder and smushes closer towards you.

“Good day?” you ask quietly.

He takes a few seconds, like he’s truly trying to think about whether he wants to answer or not.

“Okay,” he admits. “Don’t care, it’s over, I’m here, don’t wanna think about work.”

You don’t push him to talk, and instead, let him sit next to you. He likes the darkness because there’s no way you can see his discomfort, his pain, the blood under his fingernails.

(33) Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.

Levi travels for work a lot, and it’s no secret to anybody he knows. It was midday when he got a call, just a few words over the phone, and then he was moving out of the shower and into the bedroom to get ready.

He had told you to stay, stay until he got back. Unfinished business, he said, that would need dealing with when he got home. So you did, you stayed and he left, and that was that.

Levi sighs and shuts the car door. Until next time, he thinks to himself as he watches the car pull away. Frowning, he straightens his blazer and walks up the steps to the complex he lives at and enters. When he gets to his apartment, he kicks his shoes off right away and as he steps inside, he notices that the apartment is unusually silent.

Normally at his home, his big mansion that he loves up in the hills, there’s some sort of noise. Maybe it’s the sound of the TV on in the kitchen, or the bubbles in the hot tub, or the sound of Elio prowling around the bedroom. This apartment is in central Seoul, closer to work and closer to school. He hates how silent it is, how empty it feels.

“Y/N?”

There is no instant reply. He moves across the apartment, searching silently.

“Babe, you here?”

Worry bubbles in his stomach and he moves in search of you. After searching everywhere, Levi scoffs like it’s a sick joke that you’re not here, until he hears a noise, a croak and a cough from the spare bedroom.

“Y/N?” calls Levi. He moves to the door and twists the handle, and is a few shuffles inside when a grottal, gross noise emerges from the darkness.

“What?” he asks.

“I said don’t come in here,” you croak out in reply, because it’s you, and who else would it be in his apartment?

Levi enters and reaches for the light, pausing when you grunt in his direction. He can see you in the dim light of the spare bedroom, the sun outside the curtains, and he suppresses a smile.

“What happened? I said we had unfinished business.”

“I know,” you rasp. “But one of the kids in my class came to class with a sore throat, I thought I’d be fine. But, ta-da.” He can see in the light that there’s a plethora of tissues around your body, like a barrier. So many, snotty and probably damp and scrunched into balls. “Guess he had a cold.”

He grimaces, shuffling into the bedroom despite you telling him otherwise. It’s unsurprisingly stuffy in the room, a given since the room is closed off from the sunlight that bleeds behind the curtains. Like you requested, he doesn’t turn on the lights, keeping you safe in the darkness.

“Shitty kids,” Levi grunts. Finding a lack of interest in the germs that breed in the tissues scrunched into balls, he moves them from the covers and tosses them towards the small bin next to the bedside cabinet. You sniffle, snotty and stuffed, and peer from over the duvet at him.

Levi looks tired, as he always does when he gets back from work. He sports a brand new cut on his lip, one that will probably scar when it’s done showing crimson. There is blood on his shirt, and you know that it’s probably not his. That doesn’t make you feel better.

“How long you had it?” Levi asks.

“Two or three days,” you estimate. He’s been gone almost a week, the seventh day being tomorrow. “Should go soon, don’t worry.”

He smiles, “Not worried. Did you get medicine, or something?”

You sniff once, the air hot in your nostrils. “Nope. I haven’t managed to leave since I came down with it. I only went to the door to collect soup and then I went back to bed in here. And I went out to see who it was when Mike came by to get your big kitty.” Another sniff and Levi’s eyebrows raise with amusement, “Didn’t want to infect your bedroom, so I came here instead. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure, it’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll find something for you, I’ve got a bunch of shit that might help.”

“Really?”

Levi nods, “Yeah. Stay put, buttercup, B-R-B.”

(34) Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

“Who even takes the subway anymore?”

In reply, Levi gets an appalled scoff. “I’m sorry, not all of us are rich enough to have fucking chauffeurs taking us places.”

“What’re you talking about, you’re rich,” Levi says, his voice kind of muffled due to the sewing needle between his teeth. He sits on the edge of his sofa, your skirt spread over his lap like a napkin at dinner. Down the leg, the seam is torn, showing what could have been an erotic amount of leg. Unfortunately, he’d only got a glimpse of your skin when you shuffled into his home.

As the CEO of ripping his clothes, Levi became familiar with sewing over the years, figuring it was less expensive to sew than it was to replace. So, of course, when your skirt got torn on the subway home, Levi tested his skills and dug out the sewing needle.

“No thanks to you,” you sigh. “You didn’t need to, by the way.”

“Need to what, pay you?” Levi laughs, sewing the seam. “Come on, Y/N, it’s overdue.”

“True, but I don’t really need your money that much anymore.”

“Funny, since you needed it when you didn’t have it,” he sighs dramatically. “Anyway, it’s barely a dent out of my bank account, I wanna spoil you. You’re welcome.”

You frown, shuffling to the couch and throwing yourself over the back so that your head is by his legs. Levi spares you a glance from the skirt and smiles, returning back to the work.

“Thanks,” you mumble. Nothing is said, but he appreciates it.

(35) Running out in the middle of the night to get a food item they’re craving.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“What the fuck?”

Levi shoots up from bed into a sitting position, his eyes blown wide as he stares at you. Whenever Levi invites you to stay at his apartment, he always keeps a light on in the evening. His apartment is in a somewhat busier area compared to his house, which is stationed in a private neighbourhood only touched by the wealthiest of the wealthy. His apartment was supposed to be for ease, for if he had to do dirty work in the city and didn’t want to tie his name to a hotel. It wasn’t often that you stayed the night here.

In the light of the dim lamp on your side of the bed, Levi can make out your face. You’re still lying down, staring up at the ceiling. After he stares long enough, you look over at him.

“Why the fuck would you say that,” he breathes, like it’s an insult.

“Wow, would it really be so bad?” you ask, curious now.

He blinks like an owl. “Obviously, dipshit.”

Sigh. “And here I was thinking it would be like the movies and you’d love me.”

“Even if I loved you, do you think I wanna have kids?” Levi questions rhetorically, because he’s actually already talked to you about this. Levi never wants to have children. His life is constantly on the line. There is no way he’d bring a child into the world, just for them to either be used as bait, or grow up in a world without their father. He knows how that feels.

“Fair,” you reply. “Still.”

Levi shudders, it’s cold in here. “Wait, are you for real?” He shifts, the covers make a disruptive noise in the night, “what makes you think that you’re…you know…”

“I keep getting weird cravings,” you explain, like it’s the craziest science that he won’t understand. As soon as you say it, he feels almost instantly better. It’s not like cravings are the most reliable symptom of a pregnancy. Besides, you’re on the pill, and when you’re not, he’s safe. He’s not an idiot, he’s not about to accidentally ruin both of your lives with a few squirts.

“Like what?”

You shrug, “Really craving the Fairway to Heaven ice-cream.”

Levi scoffs. Actually, it’s almost a tch under his breath. “Yeah, of course, you’re craving the most expensive ice-cream. Predictable. Cute, almost.” He pats your leg over the covers, “We all know Phish Food’s the better flavour, by the way.”

“Tell that to the cravings, sir,” you reply. You frown, then, “I’ll pick some up tomorrow. Maybe I’ll dream the cravings away…”

“As if,” Levi barks, knowing you better. If he knows you at all (which he confidently does), you’ll press about this for the rest of the night until you fall asleep bored of trying. So, Levi enjoys the last few seconds inside a warm bed before climbing out, switching on the light so it burns your eyes as the room fills with it.

“Ouch, too bright!”

“Pussy,” he smirks. “Move, get your coat, we’re going out.”

“Oh yeah, at midnight?” you ask sarcastically, sitting up. “Where’re we going?”

“Ice cream,” he replies, like it’s obvious. To him it is. “That store down the road sells it and it closes at 2, so get your big coat and let’s get moving.”

“Are we seriously going to get ice cream at midnight?” you laugh, doing as he says.

“We both know you’re not gonna shut up about it if we don’t.”

Levi grabs his own coat and zips it up. Nobody’s gonna care that he’s wearing PJ’s, and even if you’re sleepy and grumpy on the way there, it’s better than keeping you at the apartment alone. He’d have to be crazy to leave you here than he is going out for ice cream at midnight.

(36) Helping brush their hair after a shower.

You’re the best he’s had, really.

Levi knows this, because he’s not stupid or blind or oblivious. Compared to the other girls he’s had, and the ones he left not too long ago, he knows how lucky he is to have someone like you. Someone who doesn’t just want him for the sex and the money. Although scary, it’s reassuring.

Levi comes out from the kitchen to the bedroom where you’re sitting, hunched over a laptop watching a YouTube video for your class that bores you to sleep. Your hair is damp and matted, left to dry as you watch. Forty minutes into an hour video. Levi narrows his eyebrows, wondering if he’d ever have the patience to watch something like that. Probably not. He barely has the patience when he works, and he has a job that demands it 99% of the time. When he can be hasty he is, but when his job is to kill and protect, patience is a must.

As you watch, Levi moves to sit behind you and he sets his chin on your shoulder, boredly looking at the screen. Your eyes are glossed over, possibly not even watching at all. Regardless, he stays there and slowly rakes his fingers through your hair, straightening out the curls that are close to knots.

He still blames the video for you falling asleep, although it’s probably his fingers. He won’t admit it.

(37) Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap.

It’s not just that. Levi enjoys being gentle, but only when nobody can see him doing it. When you fall asleep, slouched over like a zombie, he smiles and gently closes the screen of your laptop. Whatever garbage your Uni have you watching can be watched tomorrow.

Until then, you must sleep. He moves the laptop away to the cabinet across the room and comes back, collecting you in his arms and moving you into the bed. Once the covers are draped across your body, he takes extra care to be quiet leaving the room and shutting the door. There’s some food leftover in the kitchen from dinner that he’ll eat before joining you, and you don’t wake up, not even when the bed dips as he climbs into it.

(38) Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt.

Despite his work often demanding him to be around people, Levi isn’t really a big fan of crowds. If he can get out of going out in public, he will jump at the opportunity. He just can’t see why you’re so miffed about not being with the crowds of people along the Han river waiting for the fireworks- he’s got a balcony that looks out over the city and the river, so what’s the big deal?

“It’s all about the vibe,” you say with a slight sigh. Your arms are draped over the balcony banister, legs slowly vibrating in the bitter winter air. “As a broody killing machine, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“That stings,” Levi replies, closing the door behind him as he wanders back towards you with a blanket. His eyes glaze over your face as he arrives and Levi rolls his eyes, “Hold your face that way and it’ll stick.”

“Heard it all before from my Mom,” you reply boredly. A quiet thanks is spoken as you take the blanket shield and snuggle closer to his chest, staring expectantly at the black sky. “What time will they start?”

Levi presses his cheek to your hair. “Considering three minutes ago it was only ten to midnight, I can safely assure you that it is not time yet.”

“I’m bored.”

“Why are you so hard to please today?” Levi groans. He wriggles around, “And don’t try me with that ‘I think I’m pregnant’ bullshit. Spare me the moody bitch performance for today, please?”

You pug to yourself. “Sorry. Sorry, you’re right. And I shouldn’t be so…I don’t know. I’m sorry. Thank you for tonight.”

Levi shakes his head slightly. He may never understand women.

“You really that mad over the bridge?” he asks quietly, his mouth against your head. It’s hot, and you lean back towards his minimal body warmth. “I’m sorry I didn’t pass your vibe check for tonight, but I thought it might be romantic or something for us to be up here.”

You almost laugh. “It is romantic. You’re right.”

Levi brushes it off. Lately something has shifted, a comfort in the air that grants you permission to be in his life as someone more important than a ‘sugar baby’. Dare he say it, but Levi actually considers you a friend. Now, you’re at the point where neither of you give much of a shit about the sugar clause you wrote yourselves into quite some time ago. An unspoken thing hangs there like Christmas mistletoe, seen but prayed away.

Distant laughter and a bang grows near the direction of the river and bridge, and Levi feels you perk in his arms. As a small warmth bursts across his chest, Levi hisses in the cold and stuffs his hands up your shirt, where they curve around your body to cheekily hold both of your boobs. You jump, because his hands are freezing.

“You’re cold!” you whine. “What are you doing?”

Levi shrugs, “My hands are freezing. I’m keeping them warm.”

You briefly glance down at his knuckles outlined by your jumper. “Oh yeah, because I’m sure that’s the reason why you’re literally groping my tits right now.”

“They feel warmer already,” he continues.

(39) Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favourite

On the rare occasion that guilt really overwhelmingly consumes Levi Ackerman, he allows his guilt to control his feet. Usually, they end up on a pathway to the bedroom, or in the car where he drives you somewhere nice, or perhaps he picks you up from school instead of cruelly leaving you to take the subway. Now that things have shifted slightly in your dynamic, Levi isn’t sure what flies as romantic anymore. He doesn’t want to leave you with the wrong impression. You’ve had the talk together, the one that touched upon what the future looked like and how quite definitely it looked as though you wouldn’t be with each other, but surely, dinner overlooking the sea in Busan isn’t too fancy or romantic, right?

“Here is your dessert.” The waiter circles around the table and gently lays a dish in front of you. Levi carefully watches over his glass of wine as the waiter also announces his own dessert, the exact same. His eyes move down to the display set before him.

He’s never really been keen on dessert, but Levi is the type of person who doesn’t enjoy the idea of one person eating when the other isn’t. So he had just ordered the same thing as you had, nice and simple, without giving it much thought.

“I love this,” you sigh happily, fiddling the metal spoon in your hand and peering up at him, “This is sick. Thank you.”

“I didn’t make it,” he replies.

You roll your eyes, spooning out some of the dessert, “you know what I mean.”

Something in the beach-fronted restaurant shifts as the sun sinks deeper into the ocean, and Levi twirls his spoon anxiously whilst observing the dessert. He’s never been a huge fan of bingsu in general, and he looks with slight distaste at the green blob on top of what looks like cornflakes. He doesn’t get it.

He dips his spoon into the dessert, taking a polite amount and very quickly taking a bite. For around twenty seconds, he thinks it’s okay, but the aftertaste makes his whole body shudder. Fucking hell, he really hates desserts.

After a few minutes, you finally move your attention away from the scraped clean dessert dish and take a glance over at Levi, who is already watching you with a lack of interest for his own dessert.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, subtly wiping around your mouth just in case. You take in the sight of his unfinished treat, “not hungry?”

Levi shrugs awkwardly, “I don’t really like bingsu.”

“Then why’d you order?” you question quietly.

“I panicked,” he replies, “you ordered it and I don’t like desserts but I didn’t want you to be eating alone.”

You pause, eyebrows quirked: “I don’t mind.”

He sighs. Of course. “Well…” He twirls the dessert dish and pushes it in your direction, “Since it’s your favourite, or whatever, you can have it.”

Your eyes light up, “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” you squeal, happily taking it from him. “Thank you!”

Levi rolls his eyes playfully and sits back in his chair. Whatever he didn’t eat from the dessert he instead eats up in the sight of you.

(40) Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh.

You don’t quite know how you ended up at Levi’s work, but here you are. You could probably trace it back to Erwin swinging by to get you from school since Levi felt bad he couldn’t, and to be honest, you had been confused when Erwin drove past the turning to your apartment and kept going further into the city.

Levi’s workplace is pretty big, but still significantly hidden inconspicuously to avoid attention. As you slowly wander around the hallways, you begin to daydream about where Levi’s office may be, what he might be doing and what he might think if he sees you.

Quietly passing through what appears to be a recreation room, filled with tired faces who blink curiously as you brush by, you finally step out into a web of hallways that connect to small rooms walled in glass. Each is empty, besides one at the very end that bustles with tense conversation, and you’re drawn to the sound of Levi’s voice as it carries through the silent hallways.

You push forward, stopping not too close to the doorway so that if somebody who isn’t him happens to see you, you can make a hasty escape.

The room is filled with strange faces, strange men in tight suits and briefcases next to their feet. A man stands up beside Levi at the head of the table, his hands animated as he presses on about something you’re not well read on. Hell if you know a single thing about gun models and firing ranges. You can just about tell apart Fortnite weapons and that’s only because they’ve got colours.

Levi, however, is a sight that captures your gaze. For a while, he sits with his back turned to the man standing, his eyes observing each individual around the table, of who squirm under his watch. He eventually looks back at the man, his jawline sharp and his hair styled so that it only slightly falls into his eyebrows. God damn it, he looks sexy as hell; his shirt is black, cuffed, unbuttoned at the top revealing his skinny collarbones. He’s probably wearing the tight trousers too, the ones that make his ass look good.

A thought strikes you: how would he feel if he saw you outside? While it shouldn’t, the thought fills you with adrenaline. The idea of not him but somebody else seeing you, a girl dressed in white jeans and a red shirt, your coat discarded somewhere on an office chair. Would he be mad? Would he be turned on?

Would you die?

Deciding that the worse case scenario only involved you being yelled at, you decide to dip your toes into the water and tease the sharks; you wonder how long you can hold this silly face for until he finally notices you out there.

It seems like a long shot, and you’re quite close to giving up when finally Levi returns his attention to the table. Heads begin to move in conversation, and Levi’s gaze passes from gentleman to gentleman until they pause abruptly, locking onto you behind the glass. For a moment, he does nothing besides stare. Perhaps he doesn’t care. Then, his eyes widen, like he’s confused and alarmed and slightly impressed. Before his disturbed posture is noticed, you laugh to yourself and run away, back in the direction you tiptoed through.

(Later, Levi finds you in Erwin’s office sitting on an uncomfortable and torn armchair, a Rubix cube moving back and forwards in your hands. You’re not matching any colours. It’s going nowhere. He smiles.

“Field trip?” he questions, making your head snap up suddenly. He slides next to you on the free chair, “I’ll skin that prick alive, you know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know, but I’m here against my will!” you promise, putting the cube down. “I really wanted to go home. Dead To Me episodes don’t watch themselves, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “I gotta go to a meeting again, then I’ll drive us home, okay?”

You nod. “I’m sorry I distracted you, by the way. I realise now I’m actually very lucky that it was you who saw me and nobody else.”

Levi laughs, kissing your forehead as he rises to leave. “Yeah, well, I’m the most dangerous guy in there, so consider yourself very lucky.”)