#unrelated but guys i really love one piece

[smallishzine]

we received a question about shipping, so here is our answer: (there is also important zine info unrelated to shipping at the bottom of the post)

Yes, ship art/writing is allowed, *however*, this is still a zine dedicated specifically to Joel, so if you choose to incorporate that into your piece, it must:

Have Joel as the central focus of the piece

Have something in the piece contributory to the zine besides shipping

be entirely sfw. This goes for any piece anyone makes, keep it Family Friendly. You don’t have to make it, like, toddler safe, and you’ll have a lot more leeway in gore and blood and violence and arson and all that good stuff because it is Joel we’re talking about, but please take pity on the ace-spec minor modding this zine.

try your best to stick to c!Joel’s canon relationships. We’ll be polling about this later but current plan is for the zine to feature pieces dedicated to all the eras of Joel’s content creation as like the thing that our zine is. I don’t know if we’re gonna go as far back as mousyluvscheese, and we’re probably gonna focus on just his Minecraft content unless someone expresses specific interest in doing a piece for something he did outside of that, but yeah that’s currently the plan. With that in mind what I mean by stick to canon is basically with the current plan everything we make up will be based off of what’s already there, so if your ship requires you to retcon and rewrite then probably no. The one exception is probably Lizzie, if she was on the smp then you are allowed to ship them as romantically (or non romantically qprs and other aroacespec headcannons are totally okay) as you want. I’m not sure if I’m explaining myself well so if you want me to elaborate further then feel free to send in an ask.

also I know that everyone has different definitions of ship art so like if you make it with romantic intent but it could also be interpreted as platonic then you don’t even really need to ask if that’s okay (in terms of shipping we’re still gonna make you run your ideas by us before you start working) Also if it happened in canon exactly the way you depicted it, such as Real Life smp smallidarity, double life boat boys, or esmp2 mythicalbeans, then you’re also probably in the clear.

also!!! And this is extremely important even if you definitely aren’t planning on including shipping!!! The plan for what’s going in the zine is in no way set in stone, it’s just a starting place to work off of right now, if you guys wanna do something else then fine by me! However, if the idea gets more difficult/complicated, then I’m gonna need your guy’s help to pull it off. If you wanna tell a complete story, like hotguy comic zine did, I’d love too!! But I’d need you guys to help come up with the story and write it and stuff, as I’m rather incompetent at most things. It was probably a bad idea to put me in charge of this thing. If you wanna make an in universe art book documenting a specific thing Joel has made, like scarland art book did? Sure, super down for that! But you guys would need to pick what thing. You wanna do something that’s never been done before in the zine scene? I’d love too! But you guys would have to come up with the ideas and then let me know, cause currently I got nuthin’. Don’t be afraid to send me asks, if there’s something you want to see Let Me Know!!! Everything is subject to change, and I love getting input from people who want to see the zine get made. If you’ve got ideas, send em’!

wow I got really off topic.

-mod Dinn

[lilcan-ok]

big day for these guys (it's our birthday)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

[thatlenguy]

silly guy dancing with his silly guy moves... silly ass steps and some silly ass grooves

(id in alt)

[xxcapybaragamingepic1337xx]

If they didn't want people sleeping during the day they wouldn't have made beds so comfortable

[pebblezone]

Living life yay huzzah yay

[caitlinbueckers]

take care.

caitlin clark x reader type beat PART 2!!!!!!!!

6.2k (what the fuck)

ok. Listen!!!!!! This is long time coming and also is a disgusting amount of words and dialogue and like weird subtextual angst masked with smut honestly it’s pure delusion on a page also ending only slightly abrupt bc it was unfathomably long sorry

wasn’t gonna make the sequel so in depth like ??? How’d this one shot turn into a fic 😐 no Clue but all i know is that insecure sort of self deprecative caitlin clark with this soft dominance of a reader combined with two bitches who won’t admit their feelings is my crack!!!! let me know if a part 3 is even needed or if yall even care teehee

no beta simply just vibes

ANYWAYYZZZZZ love u guys sorry that i suck!!!

two weeks.

it had been two weeks since you’d texted that number with your name, a simple contact, and she’d liked the message, and that was it.

it wasn’t like things immediately changed— you still, somehow, made your flight despite the throbbing headache that reverberated in your skull, and you still were able to make sure you didn’t leave a toothbrush or a stray apple watch charger in the hotel room but, miraculously, you find a way to not mention a single thing about your one night stand until you touch down at home; manchester, connecticut.

you tell your friends all about it— probably missing some implied understanding about nda’s— and pretend like it isn’t that big of a deal that one of the biggest basketball players for women’s college wasn’t knuckles deep inside of you only the night before.

but it’s a big deal. and you know it is.

like her breath, fierce and rampant with each spellbinding curl of her fingers, wasn’t startlingly still replaying in your mind, her mouth soaking in each warm, huff of air that you expelled in the form of a moan. like she hadn’t watched as she fucked you, dark eyes somehow impossibly darker as her biceps flexed, the line of thick, corded veins that traveled her muscular arms somehow jumping with each pump of her fingers inside of you.

that the same, somehow blushing girl that stood in the elevator had regarded you like something to be challenged, like something she could fight for. something she could win.

you didn’t forget a single thing. not in the way she leaned down over you as her fingers quickened their pace, the force of it eliciting grunts from caitlin’s mouth as she tore you apart, piece by piece, licking the remains as her teeth grazed over a nipple, the sensitive jut of your collarbone.

“so pretty,” she’d murmured against your skin, almost absently, like she didn’t even realize she’d said it. “you like that?” obviously, it went without saying that you did (very much), but really, you’d learned that she wanted to hear you say it. it was in the same way that - as she’d recounted to you drunkenly in a hotel bar that night - she needed to hear the audience cheer. that the fans hollering and shouting was when she felt like she was on fire. it was the external validation that urged her forth, amped her up, kept her alight.

somehow, you could see exactly how it applied to her then, her eyes quick to scan over your face— your lips, to kiss them, before she’d ask again, urgently, “you like how i fuck you? huh? tell me.”

you’d nodded furiously, words tumbling past your trembling lips, “y-es, fuck, yes—“ god, it would’ve been impossible to pull more than a few words from you with how wrought you are, body unrelentingly tense, shaking and weak until she’d coaxed another orgasm out of you, her name sounding broken on your tongue as her fingers slow, the unrelenting grind from the heel of her hand finally relaxing to ride you through it.

she was unforgivingly good with her fucking hands, you’d come to realize.

and yet, beyond all of that, much to your friends dismay, you don’t call her.

no, in fact, you mute her name on twitter and block the IOWA womens basketball page because it becomes suddenly like a frenzy. she’s everywhere, more than usual, like some sick sign from the universe and as much as it seems almost the complete opposite of how you really feel, you decide that you can never see her again.

it’s not like the sex wasn’t phenomenal, or that when it’s late and your hand sneaks into your pants, your imagination doesn’t always seems to conjure up tall, pretty girls with brown hair and green eyes, or that she didn’t completely captivate you from the moment she’d looked at you, dumbfounded and sheepish in an elevator with a blush staining her cheeks.

it wasn’t that. in fact, it was the complete opposite.

it was because the moment you’d seen a picture of her online after the fact, looking tougher than you knew she was, you’d realized that the last place you’d seen her was from between your legs, and it felt like a fucking soul crush.

because she was beautiful, and smiling, and playing up that celebrity, all-star mentality that you knew she could back up, but that you realized wasn’t her in the slightest. because now, you knew her— sort of— and saw her in ways that nobody else had— that you knew of. more so, that she’d learned your body in the span of a night and then just left, and somehow that just wasn’t fucking fair.

there was a shroud of mystery that surrounded her, even if she belonged to the world, to her supposed boyfriend, to everyone, really— way more than she ever belonged to you, even if just for a night.

so you go on about your life, and you pretend you don’t notice the draft is coming, or that soon, the already well known athlete was gonna be world renowned, taking her biggest leap to play professional, and you’d be nothing to her, nothing but the girl she’d screwed in a hotel room when she’d gotten too drunk after the final four.

and sure, you find solace in it. but there’s also this lingering, nagging feeling of being unfinished, like there’s still more. there has to be more.

so, no, you don’t call her.

but, somehow, you find last-minute tickets for the draft— which, in the grand scheme of things isn’t completely selfish. the moment you’d seen nika muhl and aaliyah edwards up for the league, you’d known that you were going to try for tickets. you just, probably, maybe, weren’t actually expecting to hookup with the projected top number one draft pick, either.

but you did, so, you buy them anyway.

you let your friends tease you for picking a dress that’s sorta slutty and for spending more time than you should doing your makeup at whatever hotel you picked in boston, only a few blocks from the draft.

all in all, it goes exactly how you expect. caitlin gets number one draft, which only slightly makes you antsy in your seat, thinking about the fact that she doesn’t know you’re there, that she doesn’t know you saw her win big and that she possibly could’ve been thinking about anyone fucking else. your favorites, nika muhl and aaliyah edwards, get teams that you’re more than happy to celebrate, and watch paige bueckers and azzi fudd get shoutout after shoutout. it’s good, it’s fun— but fuck it.

you think you miss her. maybe just her fingers, or her mouth, but you realize in a weird swell of recognition as the guests are ushered out, your head spinning back every few moments to see if you can catch a glimpse of her, that you do.

you miss the cait you’d met— you just didn’t know the one that sat in the room now.

then, it’s all sorta funny, in a way, considering the situation you find yourself in once everyone begins to disperse, limos and SUV’s pulled up and parked outside of the venue, crowds of fans standing around the barricades to sit for their favorite athletes to pile out of the doors, to go to some super elite, exclusive party that you knew you had no place at.

you don’t expect any special treatment, and you don’t expect a text or a call— which is good, because they don’t come.

no, actually, they don’t come until later.

later, after you’d spent the rest of the night in a nearby bar with a couple of girls you’d met leaving the draft. they’re funny and they’re nice, gushing about the picks, talking miles a minute about all their favorites and making you pretend that the tequila doesn’t burn just a tiny bit more when they mention caitlin’s name.

it doesn’t come until you’re showered, dressed in sweats and pleasantly drunk, scrolling through the shitty channels when your phone buzzes once, then twice, then three times and it almost makes you click the lock button, shove it over in assumption of your friends bothering you about an unsuccessful night to woo a pro athlete— but then it happens again.

you can’t really decipher what makes you look at the random assortment of numbers and it suddenly click. maybe it was because you’d spent the past few weeks in a complete back and forth, scanning over a crumpled napkin with the name ‘cait’ and these specific numbers beside it.

you know who it is, and despite yourself, your heart catches in your throat.

“hello?”

“you made it.” her voice is deeper than you remember, and it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks burn almost immediately. fuck.

“huh?” you play dumb, mostly because it’s more embarassing to admit that you’d came all this way for this, for the slim possibility that she’d fucking notice.

“tonight, i mean. you- i didn’t know— i didn’t know you were coming.” you stay silent, because what else is there to say? had she seen you?

but she continues, “you should’ve told me.” and then, “i, uh— i would’ve liked to see you.”

she’s pathetic, and so are you. a hand comes up to shove back your hair from your face, breath increasing only slightly. “i have a hotel, like, smack in the middle of boston if you’re… like, if this is an offer.”

now, she’s silent. there’s a shuffle on the other end, a murmur of a voice that you don’t recognize, before she’s back, her voice closer, softer. “yeah. yeah, i’d, uh, i’d like that.”

you open your mouth to say something, probably alcohol fueled and embarassed, but she’s speaking now, a bit quicker, “just text me, yeah?”

then the phone clicks, and for half a second, you stare at the home screen as if this couldn’t possibly be fucking real.

but it is, miraculously, and god, it makes you kind of fucking horny to think that she’s willing to see you at half past three in the morning, so your fingers fly over the keyboard in record time— a pin being dropped through imessage with a confirmed ping.

it’s fucking go time after that.

you find the lacy, practically nonexistent underwear you’d brought, forgo a bra entirely, and try to find something a little less boring than your sweatsuit, before you realize with a sickening realization that the revealing dress you’d worn for the draft was the outfit you’d expected to see her in, and as much as you cared, you kinda fucking didn’t— she’d been inside of you, by now. clothing didn’t seem as pressingly urgent as it would otherwise.

it’s only about twenty minutes before she texts you, a simple ‘here’. you send a brief message, just the number of your hotel room, and pretend like your heart doesn’t practically pound out of your chest for each passing moment, eyes flickering from the door, to the window outside, the city bustling even at a time like this.

she knocks only twice, and it startles you enough that it takes your breath away.

the moment the door swings open, it’s like a wave of calm washes over you, a weird sense of solace that you hadn’t realized she could offer, mostly due to the fact that before you stood the caitlin you’d remembered from all those weeks ago, after final four. not the exquisitely dressed, superstar you’d seen earlier that night, in shades and clothing that you could never afford with an attitude you didn’t recognize.

instead, she stands before you at her startling height, in sneakers, sweats and a windbreaker, a hood over her head and her hands tucked into her pockets. once again, looking impossibly small for someone of her stature and it takes all that’s within you to not kiss her right there.

“you got here quick.” you mention, still only slightly breathless as she offers a smile that resembles more of a smirk than anything else.

“i was scared you’d fall asleep,” and it sounds as sheepish as it makes you feel.

you step back, let her walk in and inhabit the space, only slightly making your palms sweat to have her here, in front of you again.

you decide to take the initiative to plop onto the bed, looking up at her as you toy with a stray string from your hoodie, “i wasn’t gonna fall asleep,” you retort, looking up at her, catching a glance that you don’t break, “congrats on top draft pick.”

now, she’s blushing, shaking her head and pursing her lips, “still feels unreal, dude.” she murmurs, looking down at her feet before slowly, her movements unsure, she sinks onto the bed next to you. “you’re unreal.” you say quietly, smirking at her, because you know how she’d cringe at it, scrunches her face before shaking her head. “god, not by a long shot.”

you open your mouth to say something else, maybe tease her about it, but she clears her throat quietly, “but i don’t, uh- wanna talk about that right now?” she offers a mirthless laugh, “is that stupid?”

she turns to look at you, and it happens to only be a couple centimeters from your face once you look up, shake your head “then we don’t have to.” you agree quietly, and it’s impossible to miss the way her eyes flicker down at your lips, back up to your face, and it’s equally as impossible to ignore the flip you get in your stomach before you surge forward to kiss her.

she kisses the same, tastes like what you remember, if not marked by whatever cocktails she must’ve had, whatever liquor still sat on your own breath, and it washes over you greedily that you do fucking want her— more than whatever you tried to convince yourself of during the past two weeks, more than what you’d downplayed to your friends.

“been thinking about you,” it comes out rushed, murmured against caitlin’s lips, shakily from your own mouth as she lets out a slow, wanton breath. you turn to crawl up on your knees, swinging over her hips to push her back against the bed.

she makes a noise like it stems from disbelief, almost like denial, but doesn’t pull away, not even once as her hands, fingers long and palms wide, spread beneath your sweatshirt, span across the expanse of your back and grasp.

“i did,” you insist between breathless kisses, foreheads pressed together hard as her hand races up the front now, over your stomach, palm your breasts and elicit a pitchy gasp from the immediate contact of her cold hands to your sensitive nipples, “every fucking day.”

“shut up,” she denies it again, which only slightly irks you because as cliche as it felt to say during a makeout, it’s not like you would lie about how much you’ve craved this— or more specifically, her.

you try to really expand on the thought, but it becomes almost impossible when her lips attach to your jaw, suckling until her teeth are teasing the sensitive, thin skin beneath your ear, and you make a noise too embarrassing to recount before you can gather your words. “…missed you.”

caitlin makes a noise in her own throat, something between a growl and a groan as she arches her hips up slightly to press against you, before she shakes her head, pulling back only to look up at you from your position on her lap with this sick, almost torturous gaze. her eyes are lidded and feverbright, cheeks pink, and lips glossy, kiss-bitten.

“you shouldn’t think about me.” it comes out quick with her breath, her thumbs still slow in the circles they rubbed around your nipples, making your head arch back with a whimper before you swallow hard, her words almost too quiet to hear, “not worth it to think about.”

the admission surprises you, “fuck off, clark.” you snort, the words fall lazily out of your mouth, “so humble, huh?”

she gets hot at that, and you can tell from the way her face is pressed into your neck, the way a heat radiates from her cheeks right at that moment that makes your stomach swirl, your own hands coming up to tangle into her hair.

“…i‘m serious.” she insists, still mouthing against the same area of skin that you knew would be bruised, and pretend like her totally incognito, self deprecative words weren’t somewhat confusing and worrying you.

she was fucking perfect, didn’t she realize that? how could she not when practically everyone else in the world thought the same? maybe you were being dramatic or maybe you were just horny, but it felt achingly real in the moment that she knew that, even if she wouldn't listen, even if you'd have to show her instead.

“cait, i’m fucking serious.” you counter now, using the hands in her hair to tug, exploring the reaction that it elicits, which is something that apparently caitlin enjoys by the soft whine that jumps from her throat, the way her breath quickens, the wide eyed look she gives you.

it makes your head spin, your thighs clench involuntarily. she seems so fucking innocent, and yet, all knowing at the same time.

“is that… bad?” you continue, your own head ducking to latch your lips against her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath your teeth, “that i… touched myself and thought of you?” maybe it was the cocktails or the fact that this could be the last fucking time you see her, but it’s like word vomit— every thought and emotion that comes to you is spoken without hesitation, and apart of you wonders where you’d gotten such newfound bravery.

caitlin must be wondering too.

“not bad,” it comes out of her weak, weaker than she is right now, melting under your mouth and the tight grasp you have on her dark hair, the way each strand twines around your fingers to where even the most minuscule move of your fingers elicit a huff or a sigh, “it’s… fucking hot, what the fuck.”

it fuels you, in some way, to hear her validation. for some reason, you don’t try to hold off much longer— your own sweatshirt is being pulled off in record time, tangled in your arms momentarily and flung across the room as you go to reach for hers, “off?” you hum in the midst of the movement, to which she nods, quickly, obedient and yet, so unruly.

she was a dichotomy of everything she stood for. a shy girl pretending to be a superstar, and yet, even in moments like this, quiet and intimate, it felt like a superstar pretending to be shy. you knew just how easily she could unload, dominate the situation— pin you down by your wrists and eat you out within an inch of your life, because she had.

but now, she’s relenting, and it makes something within you burn, strengthening wildly to try and tame that beast that you knew sat fervent beneath her skin, to try and prove that caitlin didn’t always have to be caitlin clark, she could just be this.

just a pretty girl you wanted to fuck.

besides, maybe you were making up for lost time, returning favors you’d been too drunk and blissed out to give the first time around when she’d finished you off with fucking ease.

as soon as she’s exposed, her black sports bra yanked off with little effort to reveal her breasts beneath, pale and dotted with freckles, a red line from the band of it standing starkly against it, you find your mouth lowering to suckle on a spot near her nipple, teasing against the bud and licking gently at the skin until you hear her breath increase, breaking only slightly into a whine that makes you swallow hard.

you pull away, just to look at her— dark eyebrows furrowed, focused in a concentration that you can only discern as someone fighting for the need to control, to dictate, to display the same use of her strategic authority that she’s used time and time again on the court.

you decide in that moment, that you won’t let her.

“let me take care of you?” it comes out softer than you mean it to, and you can see the trust building within her, slow to register as safe— and you don’t blame her.

you both are practically strangers, knowing nothing of each other than drunken conversation that had turned too deep, nothing but the sound the other made when they came, the faces they made. it was intimately unfamiliar, and perhaps that’s where caitlin had found the solace.

maybe she knew that at this point in her career she wouldn’t have normalcy. it was practically impossible for any person knowledgeable in sports to not know her, or even just of her. to a further degree, even most, with the exception of being well versed in women’s sports, had at least heard of her, and that was simply a piece of herself that had been taken, one she’d never be able to retrieve.

but this, this might be the one standing, single piece of lucidity and realness that was hers— locked away in a hotel room in a city unfamiliar to the both of you, and it’s enough.

it’s enough for now.

“you wouldn’t even text me back.” she counters, but it’s clear in her tone, regardless of how ragged, that it’s to prod at you, and it works.

“shut up.” you murmur as you press your hands to her shoulders, push her back against the bed to straddle her fully as you brush your thumb over her abused nipple, reddened and too easy to bruise. she moans when you press on it, and it elicits a smirk to your face that’s impossible to hide. “you’re here now, aren’t you?”

for some reason, it causes a sad sort of smirk to her face that’s impossible to miss, regardless of how quickly she covers it with an exhale of want, one that you know isn’t feigned, “where else would i be?”

there’s a million answers to that. press, interviews, sleeping, with her fucking boyfriend, but you settle for a small smile, “good point.”

you hope it centers her a little when the bruising press of your fingers translate into something gentler, more of a caress against her chest that you trail up to her face, and it almost twists something inside of you to see the way her face relaxes, leans against it as if it was some type of treatment or medicine to some ailment you weren’t aware of.

you go to pull away, to begin working at the ties on her sweatpants to unwravel her even more, lost in the softness of the moment and yet still blinded by the hazy lust until she speaks, quiet and barely there.

“did you really think about me?”

it stuns you for half a second, because the simple confession hadn’t registered to you as something she’d recall, something she’d look to expand upon.

but you’d always been honest, brutally so.

“yeah,” you say it as if it was obvious, when truly it wasn’t, and more so, probably wasn’t reciprocated, “i had fun,” a gross understatement, a weak replacement for all that you really wanted to say. then, if not a bit more revealing of your inner voice, “didn’t you?”

caitlin makes a noise that resembles a huff, but it’s not impatient, it’s honest. you wonder how often she gets to do that. “you know i did.” it comes out like an admission of guilt, under her breath, yet her eyes are unrelenting as they are sincere and it makes your eyebrows lift.

it makes your breath halt slightly, “is… not having fun in your contract or something?” you lace it with a quiet chuckle, mostly because you don’t want to make it too deep, too revealing to ask, but part of you thinks it’s expanded beyond that already, had been since she'd called you at three in the morning, just to say that she'd seen you, that she wanted to see you again.

her hands rise from her sides to rest against your thighs, and the touch is welcome, one that you relax into before she manages a half smile, “might as well be.”

but then, you see that surge of confidence again, something in her eyes glimmering as she squeezes at the skin of your thighs, hard, but your eyes remain fixed, even as hers drop, almost shy in her show of strength. “it’s why… i’ve thought about you like, everyday since... final four?”

that certainly makes your breath halt, invoking a reaction in your stomach and between your legs that you choose to ignore as you swallow, thumb still slow in its brush against her cheek.

“yeah?” it comes out of you rough, and she grants you with a nod as a response, then, after only a moment, she whispers, an echo to your words from before. “so... is it bad that i missed you too?”

“god, shut up.” you repeat again, as if somehow that was a valid response to being told such a thing by a girl you’d only had met twice, by a girl you knew nothing about.

you wanna ask her a million questions, know anything and everything: ask her if she’s actually into girls, if she’s actually into her boyfriend. mainly, if she’s actually into this pedestal that she’d been thrust into, if the fame was too much, maybe if it was never enough.

but you settle for shutting her up for now, because you can see the way her chest rises and falls rapidly, can hear the strain that it took to admit, and you realize, selflessly, that maybe you won’t let yourself ask for more.

not now, anyway.

instead, you lean up, uncharacteristically tender as you slide your lips against hers, feels the way she relents against you, slow and subservient.

“can i show you how bad i missed you?” your fingers tease the edge of her sweatpants, and she lets out a creaking groan, head tilting back and eyes closing as if in exasperation, before she nods. “please.”

you get right to work.

it takes only a little bit of adjustment to get her pants off of her long legs, to reveal the simple pair of black boy shorts that she wore, before you can finally tease a finger against the soaked fabric, reveling in the wetness that you knew matched your own.

her hips jump up, caged in only by your legs as you arch your middle finger, riding the knuckle against her heat, watching the way her face twists only slightly, lips parted in silent noises that you wish you could beckon out of her.

it is fun, you realize in the back of your mind, to pull her apart like this. without the inebriation clouding your mind from the last time, you feel almost startlingly cognizant of your own movements, of her reactions.

when you finally pump your middle finger into her, you notice the way her stomach and abs flex involuntarily, the way her voice pitches up and almost keens in her throat, catching with every stuttered inhale.

when you lean down to press your lips against the slickness of her cunt, press the pad of your tongue to her clit, she says your name— loud. it’s something mixed between a whine and a plead, long, dexterous fingers tangling into your hair and holding on tight.

you devour her, tongue slow to slide against her slick folds, to feel the surge of wetness spill out around your fingers, mixed with your own saliva. you drink her in like she’s a potion, or an elixir, something that you swear you can find and savor if you just go deeper, harder.

it isn’t until you feel her thighs tense, clamping around your head as she lets out a sound close to a gasping breath, marked with a moan that makes your head spin— she sounds so fucking desperate, and you’re bound and determined to give her exactly what she wants. what she deserves, really.

she comes on your fingers, in your mouth, and you relish every bit of it, quick to clean up the excess with fervor. she’s sensitive still, her breath huffing out whenever you breach too close to her clit, but you’re gentle. that’s what this was all about, right?

it’s quiet after the storm, your wrist sore and mouth wet as you sit up a bit, eyes careful to observe how hard her chest rises and falls. the way her hair, having fallen from its loose bun, sat in messy waves around her face, nothing like the impeccably straightened strands you’d seen at the draft, and it sort of makes you smile in an off handed way that you can’t explain, especially not when she opens her eyes finally to look at you.

“quit.” she says, and there’s a smile, tired and breathless, teasing at her own mouth as the hand that had fisted your tangled locks finally released, dragging down the side of your head to push your chin away lightly,

you can’t help but snicker, raising a brow, “what?” she rolls her eyes, and you repeat yourself, this time with a snort, “sorry, you’re just— you just look pretty like this.”

it’s hard to pretend that something inside of you doesn’t wince when her smile drops slightly, and you pretend like it isn’t uncommon to compliment the stranger you just ate out with such sincerity and honesty.

she’s slow when she says it, “...you always look pretty.” and it sounds wistful, murmured in a way that you can’t help but flush a bit at, as you roll your eyes now as if to return the favor, “you’ve only seen me twice, drunk, in sweats.”

but for some reason, that makes her smile return and for half a second, you let yourself pretend.

that maybe, this random series of hookups between you two weren’t fueled by some weird attraction slash escapism slash secret infidelity that had to be shared between you, or tucked away from the world. for half a second, she wasn’t caitlin clark, women’s basketball superstar, future member of the indiana fever.

she was cait, a girl you’d met at a bar that you’d hooked up with who just happened to see you again, and maybe, if you were a little dumber, and maybe a bit drunker, you’d admit to yourself that there’s a part of you that likes her, and each time you’d thought about her in the past few weeks, it had become achingly apparent.

but, you’re smarter than that, and definitely not drunk enough, so you pretend that her next words don’t make your heart skip multiple beats, as if it doesn’t cause a flutter in your chest.

“still,” she scoffs, and she’s sitting up a little, her hand having laid lazily against her stomach, reaches over to grasp your wrist, almost absently, “plus, i saw you earlier tonight, in that dress?”

it shouldn’t make you almost stunned into silence, but it fucking does.

“sorry— not to like, be weird and say i was looking for you but, i dunno, i just— i remember you saying something about UCONN, so i just assumed you'd be ther—“

you’re kissing her before even you can register what she’s saying, or why she says it all in this shy, almost sheepish tone that fills you with a flood of endorphins, butterflies being set alight inside of you.

“god, you’re so…” you’re not sure where you’re going with it, but you can’t help the way your hand comes up to hold the side of her face, dip your thumb against her bottom lip as if to make her taste herself, all as your eyes watched, lidded and fixed.

then, you exhale, only a whisper, “i’m gonna get you in trouble.” you manage to say, despite the very obvious fact that watching her suck on your finger is doing unspeakable things to you, before you drag the wet digit out, her bottom lip pulling only slightly.

“with who?” she says it almost as if you both know the answer, both thinking about the multitude of bigger names and bigger people who had long since been the determinant in caitlin’s career— at least from the little that you knew— and it lapses you both in a measured silence.

until she speaks, and it’s quiet, and sincere. “you’re just like… the only thing in my life right now that has nothing to do with basketball.”

it's a compliment, wrapped up in something a lot more sad, a lot more sincere. it shouldn’t make you want to hug her, but it does, so, you do.

your arms twine around her neck slowly, your face lowering to bury against her neck, just beneath her chin, and you can feel her chest vibrate slightly with a chuckle or a laugh, before her arms are around you, squeezing you tight, “don’t go all sappy on me, dude.” she murmurs, but it’s present in the way she doesn’t pull from it, or really, the way she fucking clutches onto you, almost desperately, that you pretend once again that this doesn’t mean anything. that this is traditional, hookup behavior, and that once she leaves this hotel room, everything will shift right back into place.

a place where caitlin clark gets to be caitlin clark and you get to be you, and there’s no overlap.

except, that doesn’t happen.

no, instead, once you pull away from the hug she kisses you again, hungrier this time, her hands sliding from your back to your hips so she can hook fingers in the edge of your panties, urging you to sit up on your knees so she can pull them down.

instead, she lets you ride her thigh— both hands firm and strong, her own biceps lfexing to keep you glued to her thick, muscle corded thigh, your cunt unforgivably wet as she dragged your hips down, over and over.

your head tips forward to press to her forehead, and she kisses you through each desperate cry that escapes your lips, the friction and slide becoming wetter, slicker by the moment, drawing these high pitched noises from your throat that you know caitlin is drinking in, all while she murmurs to you in this soft little voice, “show me good it feels, lemme hear you.”

in the end, you both pass out there, somewhat in a laying position as caitlin lays on her back, arms loosely wrapped around you, who’s laying stomach down atop of her, a thigh lazily hiked up to hang against her hip, your face pressed into her neck.

it’s fucking bizarre when you think about it.

how you both had talked more than you ever had before, and when you look back on it in the morning, nothing but a ghostly reminder of her presence by the sheets that lay strewn about, the undeniable smell of sex and sweat that still hung in the air, you pretend like you don’t realize just how little you still knew about her, and just how much that you wished you knew.

you also pretend like you don’t miss her, or that when you’re gathering your clothes to check out, a soreness in your body unlike one you’ve really ever felt, you’re practically stunned to see her faded, gray, IOWA shirt, thrown lazily over the desk chair that makes you wonder just how accidental it was for her to leave it.

you wear it anyway,

it isn’t until you make it back to connecticut, making up some excuse for your friends as to how you hadn’t been able to meet up with caitlin, how she’d been too busy anyway and you’d spent the night drinking at a bar, that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of you that wanted to keep her protected, confidential.

maybe it was the post-sex fueled lust that wanted you to keep it close to your chest, a dirty secret only for you to enjoy, or maybe it came from somewhere softer, somewhere that remembered how caitlin had such little privacy, that it almost hits you like a pang just how much you wanted her to still have that, even if it was at the expense of not seeing your friends faces when you told them that you guys had hooked up, again. even if she'd never know that you didn't say a word.

fuck it. it’s the least you could do.

you try not to think about her for days really, not until you’re doing laundry and come across the grey t-shirt, deciding only then that you’d pull up your goddamn bootstraps and finally send a message.

it’s cheeky, the wrinkled t-shirt thrown on over your underwear, leaving your thighs on display and the peek of a hip that you know is intentional before you snap a picture, sending it with little hesitation, and subsequently throwing your phone afterwards at the bed.

“you left something”

cc loved your message, “you left something”

“i know”

“guess i’ll have to come get it back”

it’s stupid, you know it is, but it makes you smile, typing with an urgency only known when texting back the pretty girl you like, before you send it, bottom lip teased between your teeth.

“how close are you to connecticut?”

[urhoneycombwitch]

howdy, honey!

part I

older!cowboy!Eddie x honey!reader

foreword: idk what this is. other than the start of a new series I may or may not have time for lmao. just… love the idea of honey!Reader and wanted to show the origins of cowboy!Eddie into their life <3 honey!Reader is a bit of an abrasive spitfire but I heart complicated women and Eddie is the right amount of gruff to put up w/ that bratty ass <3 I’m sorry if any truck stuff is wrong I swear I researched a bit but dear god I am not a car girly plz forgive me

cw: Appalachian no magic AU, cowboy!Eddie, older!Eddie, age gap (Eddie is at least 40, R implied as younger), R is on the run from a Troubled Past ™, R has breasts (non-sexual mention) and a tattoo (no skin tone/color mentioned), smut planned for following chapters, as always +18 mdni!

wc: 5.3k

The last thing you want to hear behind you approaches: a vehicle slowing down, tires crunching to crawl at your walking pace in the gravel ditch of the road. 

Maybe it’s just a concerned citizen. You soothe yourself internally, even as your guard surges up to take stock of the environment, to calculate the quickest route to safety. 

To your left- a rusting red pickup, its unknown driver, the flat expanse of tarmac and heat lines rising blearily for miles on end.

To your right, just a sprint away- the line of a lush, thick forest, unfamiliar birds calling amidst the Appalachian wilderness.

Then, an even worse sound of the truck's window being rolled down. 

“Not interested, pal,” you call out, in a tone you hope is commanding. “My thumb ain’t out. Keep driving.”

“I just-” it’s a man’s voice, because of course it is, who else would stop in the middle of an abandoned road to harass a young thing like you- “It’s about a hundred degrees out. Hotter than a two-buck pistol and you’re hiking in it.”

“Mind your damn business.” You don’t know this guy’s angle, but you don’t really care- if there’s anything you’ve learned from the past two weeks on the road, it’s Don’t trust strange men and keep your wits. 

Heart thumping an unsteady rhythm, you swallow the fear and hike your duffle bag higher onto your aching shoulder, resolute, even as the guy sighs. As if he has the right to sound weary. “Darlin’. I don’t wanna see you die of dehydration, is all. Got some water in the back, ‘least let me offload some onto you.”

The offer is tempting enough to still your steps- your canteen is empty, ran out about an hour after being filled at the last town’s hostel. Constant thirst has been an unfortunate side effect of this journey; so far it seems you've been the only one desperate enough to actually be outside in this unrelenting heat.

The man must take your pause for acceptance because he rolls to a stop just ahead of you, brake lights giving one quick flash before the engine cuts out. Both boots hit pavement at the same time, revealing a tall, lanky figure in dark denim and a cut-off tee. 

As he rounds to the trailer bed, you notice a smattering of tattoos- bats flying up one arm, a lariat and a floral piece on the other, some sort of mythological creature sitting over his heart (only spotted as he bends to unhook his truck bed’s latch, shirt shifting forward to reveal a pale expanse of skin beneath).

He’s a confusing, delightful mix of punk and cowboy- jeans just a touch too tight for working, silver hoops lining the shell of his right ear. You’d probably get a better sense of his age if his hair wasn’t hiding in a bun too shadowy to see properly, nestled under the brim of his black cowboy hat.

Eyes dark as bittersweet chocolate but kind and calm turn towards you, observing silently with crossed arms in the ditch a yard away. He closes the gap, wiping his palm on the black bandanna lining his pocket before stretching an appeasing hand towards you. “Waterin’ time.”

A laugh would signal comfortability, and you prefer to keep your cards as close to your own chest as possible, so you smother the noise, turn it into a disapproving twist of your mouth before taking his proffered hand. 

He’s stronger than he looks, pulling you up to the road with an easy flex of his forearm; his other hand automatically fits to your low back to steady you as your pack shifts with the climb, but he drops all points of contact as soon as you’re stabilized.

There’s a thunk from the nearby truck, the sound of something dull hitting into the metal. On instinct, your hand snaps to the butterfly knife tucked into the front of your bra band, hidden by the extra padding but close enough to whip out at a moment's notice. 

A dog sits eager and obedient in the truck bed, black and leggy and long-snouted- some type of Shepherd, if you had to guess. His long feathered tail hits the wheel with each enthusiastic wag, oversized ears perked forward.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. 

Adrenaline leaves you feeling sticky and strung-out, even more than the heat. Between your breasts, the knife sits waiting, metal cool to the touch and reassuring through the fabric of your tanktop. You hope it just looks like you scare easily, hand over your heart with nerves and jumpiness instead of trained defense mode- cards to chest, and all that. 

Safer for you, to be underestimated. Always harder to see a hit coming from someone unexpected. 

This time, though, you aren’t fixing to hit. The back of your hand, like some gravitational force, draws you to the mouth of the truck bed. 

A slash of pink tongue splits the all-black dog’s mouth when he licks you, thumping tailbeat picking up speed. 

The man who owns both truck and dog leans a hip against the wheel, watching as you smooth your palm over the silky head of his companion. “Name’s Goblin.”

“So, your parents were hippies, I gather?” A joke slips out before you can catch and wrestle it back to be the most unassuming version of yourself.

The man laughs- full and rich, crow’s feet bursting like sunbeams, dimples springing into his cheeks- the action knocks a decade off his face. 

You’re transfixed, unable to look away, Goblin nudging your hand for more pets while you memorize the way this stranger looks, laughing on the side of the road in the middle of goddamn nowhere. 

“The dog is Goblin,” the man says, humor twitching at the corners of his plush lips. He takes off his hat to rest against his chest, chocolate eyes still twinkling. “I’m Eddie.”

In the truck bed next to Goblin, there’s a bulky case laying sideways, a handle on one end for carrying. It’s the last push you need, apparently, as the logic part of your mind speaks with finality: Ted Bundy never played guitar. 

So you give Eddie your name. Your real one. You haven’t used it in weeks, opting for anonymity and the comfort of a pseudonym at the seedy spots you’ve been staying.

As soon as you say it, something loosens in your chest, flutters free into the bright blue sky as Eddie repeats it like something precious- like he’s known you for ages. 

“Well.” As if a matter has been settled, Eddie puts his hat back on (you weren’t quite done memorizing the long pattern of his curls, shot through with grey, pulled taut against his skull to settle in a bun at the nape of his neck). “More’n welcome to take the water and send me packin’, but now that we all know each other’s names, how about a lift to town?”

Eddie scratches Goblin behind the ear, absentminded as he adds, “Could even sit in the back, ‘f you wanted. That way you could just jump on out if you think I’m tryna pull something.”

Your shoulder suddenly aches with the weight of your duffel; you let the straps slide to the crook of your elbow, then set it next to Goblin who seems happy for something new to sniff.

Unfortunately for Eddie, you’re starting to like him, which means the filter for your sarcasm and teasing has completely eroded. “Ri-ight. Like I’m gonna just sit in the back of your truck when you could floor it and fling me over the side like a ragdoll.” 

Those big, doey eyes of Eddie’s roll skyward. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only on days that end in Y.” 

“All right.” There’s something in his tone that makes your spine straighten- not from fear, just… something else that you’re trying hard not to analyze right now. “So sit in the damn front and put a seatbelt on, since you’re so worried ‘bout my driving.”

Eddie shuts the pickup’s gate and mutters all the way to the driver’s side door, some comparison being drawn between you and one of his cows that gets herself stuck in the fenceline, refusing sesnsible help. 

The air in the cab is stale and still, warmth from the cracked leather seats soaking into the back of your shorts and bare thighs as you get in and buckle up. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately you need a shower, being in an enclosed space and next to someone with (presumably) a working sense of smell, but luckily Eddie’s already rolling down the windows.

“Air’s broke,” he says by way of apology, waving in the general direction of the AC vents before reaching to open the sliding rear window.

Something cold and wet presses against your ear- Goblin, saying hello. By the time your giggle is over, the grumble of the engine has kicked on, and the dog has found a headrest in the form of your pack, his tongue lolling into the fabric with rhythmic panting. 

“Radio?” You ask, already reaching to twist at the knob on the dash- a crackle of static, and then, bliss. Johnny Cash croons from the speakers. 

In trying to keep your delight casual, you slip up, telling Eddie as he straightens out the wheel to pick up speed- “God, I haven’t heard music this good in months, not since-”

Fortunately, whatever system in your brain still holding on to good sense chops the sentence in half. To cover, you clear your throat, cross your arms, and keep your eyes fixed forward when you change the subject. “So, you play guitar?”

If Eddie notices your lapse he doesn’t comment on it, picking up conversation with an easy charm. “Nah. That’s just a cover for if Sheriff Hop gets me for speedin’. That case is filled with coke and guns and all sorts’a contraband.”

You fix the side of his head with a glare, and even without seeing it full-on Eddie sputters a chuckle and admits, “Fine. I play guitar, sometimes.”

While Eddie’s eyes stay on on the road ahead, you let your own gaze linger on his face in profile: the slope of his nose, the freckles that scatter across the apple of his cheeks and neck, the tail end of another tattoo winding up his collarbone.

Eddie catches you staring, this time, jolt like an electric shock coursing through your whole body when you lock eyes for a moment, before he flicks back to the road. “Looks like you got some ink, yourself.”

He must be doing his best to remain respectful, because he doesn’t ask what the J stands for, even as your other hand jumps instinctually to cover the breadth of your wrist, hiding the little inked letter from view. “Yeah. I get one every time I kill a man. In remembrance.”

Amusement twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth when he asks, “Yeah? Only one so far? Would’a thought you’d be racking up your letters by now. Fierce as you are.”

“Well, we’re in public. I can’t very well take off my shirt to show you all the rest.”

This earns you another laugh, and even with the wind whipping through the cab, it fills every inch of the space. Rattles into you like a thunderstorm, knocks dust off some deep part of you kept dormant ‘til now.

You like that he called you that. Fierce. You’re loath to admit it, but you also like the pet names. Most boys are condescending or double-edged with their diminutives, but when Eddie calls you darlin’ with that Southern drawl, it feels… endearing. 

Equal parts terrifyingly disarming and captivatingly charming. That’s how you’d categorize Eddie, so far, though you’re not sure what to file away about his arms- stretched out at ten and two on the Ford’s big wheel, soft white underbelly of his forearms fading into a natural freckled tan, smattering of dark hair over both. 

For now, you file it under Trouble and focus on the upcoming road sign.

It looks like someone stripped a big tree and cut out a thick middle piece just to drive it at a slant into the ground. The hand-carved words appear to have been painted over many times, discolored and weathered, obscuring some of the letters.

WELC ME TO C LINE

”It’s a nice town, Celine,” Eddie says conversationally as the sign gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “Small, but good community. Lots of farming folks, like me, some strays and stragglers, like you.”

Johnny Cash gives way to an unfamiliar folksy number; you drink in the ramshackle buildings that make up the heart of the town. It’s reminiscent of old cowboy movies you grew up watching with your brothers- flat roofs, red brick, clapboard. A hitching post outside of a General Store, a group of kids tearing around on bikes in the empty lot of the movie theater. 

All that’s missing is a lone tumbleweed flipping lazily end over end across the road.

Eddie pulls his truck parallel with a stretch of curb outside a long building, another handmade sign that reads Celine Public Library. He leaves the engine running but shifts the gear to park, pointing to the phone booth just beyond your window.

“Phone’s just there, if you got someone to call. Figure’d here’s as good a place as any, if you wanna part ways now.”

Oh, right. Eddie offered you a ride to town, and he made good on it. Now is the part where you get out, collect your duffel, and wave while pretending to make a phone call until his truck has disappeared.

But you don’t. There’s lively guitar plucking over the speakers, twining with the purr of the engine. Eddie’s hands flex and unflex on the wheel, horseshoe tattoo on the first segment of his middle finger rippling with the movement like he’s working up the courage to say something,

You’d better not stick around to hear it. Fighting the thing that’s sticking you to the seat, you reach for the door handle. “Well, thanks, Eddie. ‘Preciate the lift.”

Your fingers are just grazing the handle when Eddie speaks again. “Wait-”

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t-

His eyes are just as beautiful as before, when he’d laughed- and now they’re on you, longing and hopeful and a little unsure as he speaks, gaining speed as if from nerves- “I’ve got a spare room. Spare shack, technically- it’s not much, but I used to live in there real comfortably ‘til my uncle moved and I got the house. Please come stay, at least for the night. Please?”

With a hand still on the door to your other, safer option, you pause; though the main emotion that washes through you is one of relief and gratitude, you sink your teeth into the little flare of irritation, pulling it up to the surface like one last play. “I don’t want charity.”

”Do I look like the church-goin’ type?” A bright flash of Eddie’s teeth as he grins (he knows he’s got you, goddammit). “And the shack door locks from the inside. Deadbolt. In case you’re worried about… I’m not askin’ anything from you. Just- please.”

Your hand drops from the door, falls limply into your lap as you breathe out. “And you’re not in some… weird, cowpoke-Satanic cult where you’re gonna use me as human sacrifice?”

“What part of deadbolt do you not get,” Eddie retorts, pleased, hand at the gear shift. “And my cult only meets on the full moon, so. You’ve got a few weeks of safety, at least.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up out of you, and the smile that Eddie fixes you with would’ve knocked you sideways had you been standing. 

You’re both relishing in the moment too deeply to notice the bicycles approaching from behind; Goblin gives an excited yip, front paws planted on the lip of the truck, wagging up a storm as the group squeals to a halt, surrounding you and Eddie on all sides. 

One of the kids, a boy with a curly mop of hair who looks on the young end of 15, slams a hand down on Eddie’s open window. “Hey!”

Eddie is the one to nearly jump out of his skin this time, hand flying to the top of his hat and cursing. “Fuck. Christ, Henderson. Whaddya want?”

“Do you require our assistance at the market this weekend?” The kid speaks in a funny, oddly formal tone as Eddie sighs and sets his hat on the seat between the two of you. 

“Unfortunately so.” 

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t be like that.” The boy is practically leaning through the window at this point with eagerness, one foot on the ground to keep his bike from tipping. You smother a giggle at the way Eddie’s jaw ticks. “School’s out, we’re bored as hell, and-”

He stops mid sentence when he spies you in the passenger seat, eyebrows jumping up to the curls covering his forehead. “And who might this be?”

“None of your damn business,” Eddie grits out, but you ignore the all-bark-no-bite tone to stretch across and offer your hand in introduction.

“I’m Dustin,” the boy says, in answer to your own name, and rapid-fire points at the various figures loitering around the truck, naming his friends too quickly for you to store them long-term. “Now, Edward, about our payment…”

There’s a girl with red braids near your window, the only one not on a bike. When you give her a friendly smile, she glowers and plants a sneakered foot on her skateboard, rocking it aimlessly up and down the asphalt. 

In the back, Goblin is basking in the attention of the rest of the group; another boy with a close-cropped Afro rubs the dog’s head lovingly, while a girl with serious brown eyes and shoulder-length curls (Eddie’s relative, maybe?) makes tentative strokes down Goblin’s side. 

There are two other kids- boys, you think- near the back of the trailer, but their backs are to the group, close as two people can be while still on their own bikes. Dustin’s conversation floats back into your comprehension- he’s making a valiant attempt at twisting Eddie’s arm where ‘payment’ is concerned.

Untwistable, Eddie shakes his head. A few strands of hair have come loose from his bun, curling around his jaw with the overdramatic move he makes to throw the gear shift into drive. “All right, enough, ya scoundrel. Round up your crew and go be a pain in someone else’s ass.”

Unperturbed, Dustin straightens, grasping his bike’s handlebars with one hand and wrapping a tight fist around the metal of the truck’s side mirror. 

This seems to be some sort of signal, because the rest of the group latches on like some choreographed play- hands, one from each kid, coming up to grip at any free space left on the truck, shoulders hunching forward as if preparing to be shot forth like a rubber band. 

“Damn kids,” Eddie grumbles, but you can hear the fondness in his voice as he lifts his foot from the brake.

The truck lurches forward, and with it, the extra wheels; Goblin’s revved-up barking joins the excited chatter and whooping of the kids hanging on, a joyous cacophony of sound as you all head further down the empty street together.

Eddie picks up speed; there’s a twinge of fear as you watch the speedometer tick up to 10- and then he honks, once, and in perfect synchronicity all the kids let go. Some of them pedal furiously to keep up the momentum, others- like the girl on the skateboard- take advantage of the added speed to simply coast.

Soon enough, their cheerful waves and laughter recede into the distance along with the rest of the town as Eddie keeps his boot on the gas.

The heat in town was dizzying, so you’re relieved when the road dips and bends into the comfort of shade- courtesy of the wild forest flanking either side. 

It’s about a ten minute drive to Munson Farms, and on the way, Eddie tells you all about it. You learn that his Uncle Wayne raised him, taught him how to work and live off the land- when Wayne retired and moved a few miles down the road, Eddie took over.

“Not really a lucrative venture, farming,” he says, trees passing in a blur as he navigates the road curves with ease. “But the end of summer Town Fair pays well, ‘specially for sheep penning demonstrations. Got a couple of dairy cows, chickens that won’t stop laying- between that ‘n Wayne’s orchards, we got more than enough to get us through the winter months.

And then there’s the hives-”

“Bees?” Unable to help the interruption, your head whips in his direction, interest piqued. 

“Yup. Got about six hives right now in the southern pasture. Don’t know much about ‘em, truthfully- got a friend named Chrissy, comes once a week or so to make sure they stay maintained. I mostly just help come harvesting time, and try to stay out of her way for the rest.”

There are about a thousand other questions you want to ask- what kind of bees? Are they near your garden plot to promote pollination? Any bears in the area?- but you tamp down your excitement, settling on a neutral, “Cool,” before looking out the window again.

The sign for Munson Farms is handmade, too, but upkept much better than the one in town- it swings gently in the breeze on metal links as Eddie turns down the adjoining dirt road. About a quarter mile in, you start to see signs of life- fence lines running through the trees and the shush of a nearby water source- and then, a house.

It’s small, probably no more than a bed, bath, and kitchen inside. There’s a red brick chimney separating the straight lines of the blue-painted wood planks, ivy crawling up one side to frame the eastern-facing window. 

On the covered porch, a big, long-haired white dog lifts its head at the sound of the truck pulling in. Goblin gives a greeting bark, practically tripping over his oversized paws to launch out of the truck even as Eddie gripes at him to “Be careful, dammit!”

As you follow Eddie out of the truck and to the porch, the white dog shambles over on a stiff back leg, ignoring the playful jumping and licking Goblin gives in favor of coming up to sniff you. 

“This is Rosie,” Eddie says, patting her greying muzzle with a gentleness that twists something in your stomach. “She’s near older than me, was a great livestock guardian ‘til her age caught up. Been trying to train up Goblin to take her place but between you ‘n me I think his head might be full of rocks.”

As if he’s aware of the insult, Goblin gives an indignant yip and paws at Eddie’s knee; he gets laughed off by the two of you, zipping away with a deep sense of importance into the nearby forest while Rosie shambles back to her cozy porch spot.

It smells incredible, here, surrounded by so many trees- you take a deep breath, inhaling the rich pines, the verdant underbrush. Just past the house, there’s a fenced-in area with various plants spilling out of raised garden beds. You can almost smell the summer strawberries and crisp veggies. 

On the other side of the fence is a plastic-sheeted greenhouse, LED lights inside making the whole thing glow artificial purple. Eddie catches you staring, then gives a wink, laying one long finger to the side of his nose. “Don’t go tellin’ the Sheriff on me and I’ll give you a joint for your troubles.”

“Deal.” Wasn’t a hard sell at all- at the rate this is going, you’re dying to get high with this man. 

Eddie grabs your pack out of the truck bed and leads you across the dirt road, pointing out the fence lines in the distance, and a barn that you can just make out through a gap in the trees. 

“Sheep, cows, horses, all that way. This way-” his hand rests between your shoulder blades, steering you towards a boot-worn path, “-is the guest shack. Beehives’ll be just down the hill from where you’re stayin’.”

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at you- “I’ll take you to see ‘em tomorrow. Promise. I just don’t want you goin’ by yourself and getting stung to death, y’hear?”

Not for the first time today, you wish, desperately, to tell him things you shouldn’t. I was actually an apprentice beekeeper for a year, I know my way around a hive. Studied entomology and agriculture in college before I lost myself in the worst mistake of my life. You know that pesky little J I’ve got on my wrist…?

But if you start talking, you won’t stop. And besides, you’re not planning to stay here long enough for your secrets to matter.

So instead, you press your lips into a line, looking solemn, nodding in agreement until he’s satisfied and continues on. 

The dirt path leads right to the shack, and Eddie opens the door to let you in. It’s about the size of a studio apartment- wood stove and sink next to the bathroom door, twin bed draped with a thick quilt budged up under the single window. Small, but homey and clean.

As you take it in, spinning in a slow circle, Eddie sets your duffel next to the bed and runs a hand over the top of his head, haloed frizz of his hair springing back into place. “Ain’t much, I know- usually just host the town rascals; they bring their sleeping bags and fight over who gets the mattress. But the sheets are washed, and-”

“Eddie.” You stop his rambling with a hand to his arm. “Seriously, it’s great. Better than great. I was probably gonna end up sleeping on the streets tonight, and you saved me from that. So… thank you. I mean it.”

The vulnerability in your own voice catches you off guard, but you decide to lean in to it. Eddie’s been nice for no reason- or, rather, because he seems to be a kind person- and you want to make sure he hears how grateful you are for a place to stay.

He’s staring down at your hand on his bare arm, eyes clouded with something you can’t parse out; you draw your hand back, which prompts him to speak- “Shit, darlin’. It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You can stay as long as you like.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, arms crossing over your chest, rocking back on your heels. There’s a sudden swell of panic rising like bile in your throat; this morning, you were hell-bent on leaving, and now, you think it’ll kill you not to stay.

“Listen-” Eddie’s eyes snap up at the urgency in your voice, but you manage to push through- “I know I didn’t tell you much, about where I came from, or what I did to end up…”

On my own. The words stick in your throat, tears pricking threateningly at the corners of your vision. “...out here. But I grew up on a farm. I’m used to working livestock, riding horses- I can be helpful. Can earn my keep over the weekend, at least, doing whatever you need-”

Eddie interrupts with a shake of his head, your stomach plummeting until he says, “Got enough farmhands as it is, honey. Don’t need you getting your pretty hands dirty.”

“There has to be something. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can clean-”

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone of voice slips into a low, soothing register, like you’re a spooked animal caught in a trap. He steps closer, and when you don’t flinch, he settles his big hands on the tops of your shoulders. “Shh. It’s okay. Like I said earlier- I’m not expecting nothin’ from you. Okay?”

There’s gotta be some sort of magical effect happening, an old Celtic carving under the floorboards, maybe a witch's spell braided in with the dried herbs hanging on the far wall. You’ve never felt so looked at before, like you’ve swam beyond your depth and Eddie’s hands are a life raft.

His eyes flit around your face, taking in the expressions you’re surely flickering through before he says, quietly- “If you want, how ‘bout you stay ‘til the end of summer. Help out where you can, and come Fair time, I’ll deal you in on the profits.”

You open your mouth to argue, and smooth as butter, his right hand slips up your shoulder, tattooed fingers wrapping firm around the back of your neck, thumb tapping the pulse point under your jaw, insistent- “This way, you’ll have cash enough in your pocket to go anywhere you want. It’s a good deal and you damn well better take it.”

You wonder if he can feel the jackrabbit pulse of your heartbeat under his thumb. When you nod, he gives a dimpled smile, satisfied. “Good. Now I’ll let you settle in and get washed up for supper. Come on over to the main house when you’re ready.”

Before the door shuts behind him, Eddie adds, “And don’t get too excited. I ain’t much of a cook, neither.”

After his footsteps have retreated down the path, you collapse onto the mattress, springs squeaking. You flip to stare up at the ceiling, running your fingertips over the ghost of his touch branded against your neck, almost nauseous from elation.

A whole summer. On Eddie’s farm. With Eddie. 

After a few minutes of deep breathing, you get up to unpack your duffel, then fold your meager clothes supply neatly into the top drawer of an old oak dresser in the corner, still room enough for your canteen.

The last thing in your bag is a twine-wrapped leather pouch. Your butterfly knife makes quick work of the knots, and then, the last of your most precious things in the world are laid out on the bed. 

A certificate of completion from Indiana U’s Beekeeping Department, folded and creased but still valid, signed by your last field mentor. 

A driver’s license with your old address, square photo of a younger and more hopeful you smiling back.

And lastly, an engagement ring. Gold, with a teardrop-shaped diamond center and sparkling accent stones trailing up either side of the band. 

It twinkles when you hold it up to the evening sunbeam streaming through the window; reflective pinpricks of light scatter and dance across the quilt.

In quick succession, you slide everything back into the pouch, securing it with the drawstring before burying it inside the hidden pocket of your bag.

Then, you shove the duffel under the bed until it hits the wall, and turn away to wash up for dinner.

[puckpocketed]

5/08/2023 - Berkly Catton captains Team Canada to gold at the Hlinka Gretzky Cup, leading the tournament with 8 goals and 2 assists in 10 games || 19/01/2024 Meet the Future - Berkly Catton named Team White's captain for the CHL/NHL Top Prospects Game || 5/07/2024 - Berkly Catton signs his ELC with the Seattle Kraken

Introduction, quotes/transcripts/bits and pieces under the cut!

I can't even begin to describe how jazzed I am that Berkly Catton got drafted to a team I already love. I wrote in my Sharks off-season roundup that I was hoping against hope Catton would drop to 14th overall (back before we had moved up to 11th) and the Sharks would snap him up, as unlikely as it was that they'd try to gather more firepower when we sorely needed defensive prospects. I'm so glad I got my wish one way or another <3

Krakenblr you will LOVE this dude. He's such a star. Such a character. Berkly Catton is so, SO fun to watch. You have no idea!!! I followed him in the months leading up to the draft because there was buzz that he might be available lower down because of the Height Issue (he is, tragically, 5'11 <- which makes him undraftable unfortch) + concerns with how his game will translate to the NHL level. He is an electrifying playmaker. He's so creative, throws in so many fakes, WILL break ankles, very good hands... ough <3 everything I personally love to see in a forward all rolled into one neat little package !!!

There's the suggestion that he's been "over-scouted," which really just means they've all been watching him so long they're probably overthinking things and looking for stuff to critique. I'm inclined to believe this take over the other one because I'm an optimist and he was one of my little guys going into the draft! I won't include more of that here, but there's plenty of material out there if you'd like to look for it.

Below are some of my favourite bits and pieces from media he's appeared in <3

“I don’t like to give it away (pause) but I look at guys before games,” Catton revealed. “What’s weird is going from midget to junior hockey is a big jump. Last year I was learning. This year I wanted to add stuff. My pregame stuff and to look at guys doing draws and seeing what works. That’s pre-scouting on my end. If a guy has a certain move, and you can trump it early, it gets in his head a little bit. That helped quite a bit.”

“I think I sometimes have a problem with passing the puck too much. I love seeing my teammates score and setting up for an open net. It’s one of my favourite things in hockey, if not my favourite,” Catton admitted. “That’s something I can work on. When I get a chance put it home kind of thing. I got better this year at it’s still something I’d like to improve. Honestly, I’m a pass first mentality guy I would say.”

- Berkly Catton’s video scouting has improved his overall game

You know, when I first read and saved this article I was like; this prospect who reviews VIDEO is gonna haunt me. That's my weakness btw, I'm freak4freak. If you tell me a hockey player is also deeply infatuated with the game to the point of reviewing tape in their free time that's IT for me. it's JOEVER. i have a type and i know it <3 also wowie a pass-first guy who gets really really happy when his teammates score??? crying. crying. Berkly Catton . tucking uou gently away <3 forever <3

From A Day in the Life: Berkly Catton & Conner Roulette

Fave movie is The Notebook (<- unrelated there's a . really funny comment on this video from a philly fan lamenting that Catton likes the Notebook - I assume because that's some uhhh how do the kids call it,, femme soyboy shit? lmao anyway stay LOSING toxic masculinity !!!)

The boys call him 'Berk' <3

He talks about Jack Hughes being a big influence on him (in other media, he gives Hughes as a player comp!) and going to hang out and work with the Hughes family in Michigan. I sense a thread of admiration here like it's such a sweet little crush LOL <3 I hope he notices you Berkly !!

he gives the player of the match hat to a coach/trainer (one of the two) it's lovely... ouhhh... good little fella so polite and so conscious of staff being the foundation of his success... mwah!!

From Berkly Catton Talks Hockey Sense, His Start In Hockey & More | Game Tape With Tony

His father and grandfather built him a rink in his backyard, very sweet.

1OA in the WHL draft!

Anime main character levels of training-arc... my guy shot thousands of pucks over the summer in his backyard and then came back suddenly able to score goals. <- this is where the DIY goalie made of wood and blocker pads comes in. lol. lmao. are u even real.

sorry. sorry. OLEN ZELLWEGER MENTION. <- one of my personal favourite little guys (undersized puck moving defensemen my BELOVED) "Kind of a funny story [...] I pretty much had a breakaway, when he just turned backwards and played it as a 1-on-1 somehow, and I was like 'wow, this guy's the real deal', so." I really liked how Catton easily recalled a specific person/moment when asked who challenged him the most in the WHL; I think it speaks to a thoughtfulness about the game - it would've been easy to just give a vague Oh Everyone Is Good answer here and I like that he didn't!

There's a section where he talks about how he got so good at stick lifting, such an interesting perspective I never considered - he played in situations and against people where he couldn't just throw his body around to win, so he had to learn to get the puck in other ways. KEVIN KORCHINSKI MENTION <- another one of my little guys <3

mentions his dad being a big influence on his 'patience'. parents are so funny to me. ur watching your sons juniors matches? and Ohhhhh Chris Catton was a hockey player too . it all makes sense. Berkly Catton product of jockdad like so many before him <3

I do love that throughout this interview, Catton defers to his linemates a lot. Always hyping them up and talking about how he owes his success to them. it could be construed as false humility, given Catton was the highest scoring draft-eligible in the league - but he really does go out of his way to emphasise how highly he regards them and how much of their on-ice success is owed to good chemistry built up over the entire season. It strikes me as genuine!! He's a good boy <3

Revealed he can solve a rubix cube at the end... wow... he just liek me fr...

PLEASE watch this on-ice interview where he's chatting after a game and then gets ABSOLUTELY WASTED by 5 water bottles and all the boys. he is clearly so so so beloved in that locker room waaaahhh <3

Anyway this isn't an exhaustive list but it IS a lot of the reasons why I really liked him pre-draft. welcome to the deep Berkly <3

[offbranddrpepsi]

Heya, I saw ur valorant fics recently and I really liked them (especially the yandere ones ehehehe) can I request a yandere valorant yoru x reader?

Of course! I hope I do our little knife goblin well. As it is Yoru heads up for knifes being far too close to your person as well as typical aggression and possessiveness, this will not be sexual but still heads up for those that may be sensitive to this content. There will be implied violence but not directed at the reader.

The closed butterfly knife moved up your thigh, the metal cool against the flesh shown by your shorts. Currently the void walkers lap was your home as he flicked through his phone to find someone who had had the gall to flirt with you.

"Is this him?" his voice was level, soft even, which did little to mask his agitation. You only gave a nod, you were used to this but couldn't help the bit of anxiety that had settled in you. Shifting you Yoru took your face, his eyes sorrowful as he seemed to read you perfectly as he always did. "Look at me."

Despite being said gently you knew it was an order not a suggestion and complied. A small sound, almost an aw, left his mouth as he brushed your hair out of your face before placing a kiss on your forehead. You were the only one he was like this with, his tough guy persona falling away the moment you entered his sight. Hands were never rough with you, his voice never raised, He was still the Yoru you loved in all his sass and back talk but it was clear it was just an act with you and he let off the moment you shyed away from him. He was still just as rough around the edges as he was with everyone, but he made an effort with you that seemed to be missing in all his other relationships. Yoru had lamented over the fact that he felt unlovable, no one sticking around him long and leaving once he normally opened himself to them so he had built this edge against anyone who tried. When he had met you it had been the same. He was just as sharp as the knives he so loved, just as argumentative with you as he was everyone, but something hooked him. One time he had taken it too far and made you cry, being insensitive was one of his many strong suits so it wasn't a shocker, but unlike with others where he would shrug it off he instead grew angry. He was angry at himself, something in his stomach twisting and turning and making him drop to his knees to apologize, offering you the chance to hit him if he wanted. Something else moved in him when he first made you laugh, another piece fell into place when someone else made you cry. You being happy became a drug for him, a high that he chased at any point he could. He was drunk on you and had already fallen too deep to just put up his walls and let you go so instead he dragged you behind them. You couldn't escape him but he was so gentle with you, so willing to fight for you, it was thrilling and captivating. Soon you fell like he did, not as hard, your love was soft and sweet while his brutal and unrelenting.

The fear of losing you only drove his obsession and need to know everything about you. He demanded to know where you were for your own safety, demanded you move in with him when a break in happened too close for his comfort. You knew he regularly fought thugs, sometimes seeking them out, so you thought he knew best regarding the matter. Soon you learned the lengths he was willing to go under the guise of protecting you. You were at a bar when someone had gotten too close, too aggressive in their advances. Yoru was on them in an instant, having to be pulled off by you and the bouncer to keep from hurting the other man too much. He cursed the man out as you left and found his home in your lap when you got home, apologizing for scaring you and promising he would never put you in harms way. He had handled many of your pursuers, never giving you details but the bruises on his knuckles and bloody knifes in the sink told you all you needed to know. The same hands that held you as if you'd break were the same that'd probably taken at least one life in your name if not more, but how they touched you was too intoxicating, how he looked at you and craved you too much for you to shove him away. He loved you and was so clearly passionate about that love, how could you just trample over his feelings.

it was a few hours before he returned. You had ordered take out, a portion for him sat in the fridge. Jumping up from your place on the bed you rushed to him the moment the door opened. His face had a just blooming bruise cutting across his jaw and cheek, there was blood but there was always blood, an open would on his hand caught your eye as he took his gloves off and stripped off his coat. Taking the gloves and coat you set them to the side, already used to mending and washing them to cleanse them of both oil and blood. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" Your voice was sweet, his arms coming around you with a relaxed sigh. There was that love drunken smile he always looked at you with, those eyes that seemed to melt the moment you were in view. His lips found yours, the taste of metal flooding into your mouth as they did, he must have bit or split his lip again. "Come on Ryo, I got some soba for dinner from that place you like." Pulling him to the bathroom you dabbed off the cut on his hand, wrapping it in bandages before placing a soft kiss on it. Then you moved to cleaning the blood off of him, a rag with water and hydrogen peroxide being rubbed in gentle circles down his arms and face. His nose scrunched at the smell of the chemicals breaking the blood down as it bubbled, you giving a small laugh at him with just earned you a pinch on your thigh. When done you got a different rag and gave him one more wipe down before placing another gentle kiss to his bruise. "Hey," Still sat on the edge of the bathtub his arms came around your waist, chin rested on your stomach as he looked up at you. "I love you." "I love you too, Ryo." Holding his face in your hands you ignored the distant ringing of sirens, someone must have gotten in an accident. "Now lets get you fed so I can wash your jacket before it stains."

[sucrows]

Can I have D, M and V for Shu, Jun and Niki nsfw alphabet please 🙏

Requests are closed actually you know what fuck it we ball. why not. im in the mood for an alphabet ask. nobody request anything else this guy right here will be the only exception

(NSFW UNDER CUT)

[D] DIRTY SECRET

Morning wood. All the time. He hates it so much like you wouldn’t believe. It’s not actually that big of a deal but for some reason he’ll get hard no matter what he was dreaming of. Dream of his art winning an award and getting displayed in a gallery? Bricked up. Dream of going to a shrimp themed amusement park with the other eccentrics but it turns into a shopping mall where he gets lost in the bathroom? Hard as a rock. The worst thing to consistently happen to him. 

[M] MOTIVATION

Trying to get Shu riled up for sex is like playing a game of operation. It’s very easy to mess up and make him clam up and dismiss you. There is no surefire way to get Shu in the mood, but one thing he cannot resist is being worshiped by his partner. Praise by anyone else? Who cares. Getting treated tenderly and receiving loving encouragement from someone he cares about? Well... He is just a man after all. 

[V] VOLUME

He tries to stay quiet, but he always ends up making some noise. He’s generally speaking a panter and a grunter over a moaner. Just like everything regarding sex, he can be quite shy and quite particular about his performance, he struggles a lot in regards to feeling shame over making any sound during sex so be sure to give him plenty of reassurance (but not too much lest he feel coddled)! 

[D] DIRTY SECRET 

Wants and I mean WANTS to smell your underwear soooooo bad. It’s crazy how badly he wants to do it. He has too much respect and self-discipline to give in and do it but if you were to even so much as hint to being okay with it... well, he might just offer to do your laundry from then on.... totally not to hide the evidence of what he’d get on the fabric. 

[M] MOTIVATION

His own hormones and any piece of visible skin. All he has to do is look at someone he’s into for long enough and he can get turned on. If he already has a sexual relationship with someone then oh boy is he even worse. Cleavage, thighs, hands, necks, anything can catch his eye and get him going if it’s exposed. 

[V] VOLUME

Naturally on the quieter side of things. He tends to grunt a lot and is a fan of dirty talk sometimes, but he’s also more than content to just silently make you feel good without feeling the need to vocalize. He doesn’t have much shame about making noise or not making it at all, truly an unbothered king. 

[i don't have access to my main pc rn forgive me for not using niki's banner i only have so many of them]

NIKI SHIINA

[D] DIRTY SECRET

You know those “hey babe I passed out 7 times but your cinnamon rolls are ready” memes? He wants to actually give it a shot. Either on the giving or receiving end, he’s down. He recognizes it’d probably suck but will that stop him? No. Would totally try cooking something with his/your cum if you’d like. 

[M] MOTIVATION

Knowing someone else wants him is usually what gets him going. As long as he has the free time, Niki is usually down for a quick fuck but knowing someone else's eyes are on him makes him all the more excited. Sometimes hunger also gets him to feel in the mood. There’s a fine line though, if he gets too hungry, he’ll need a break to go eat or he might pass out lol. 

[V] VOLUME

He’s generally noisy. He doesn’t really try to hold himself back unless he’s worried about disturbing his neighbors. Sometimes he can even get chatty during sex. He’s a bit prone to getting distracted and letting his mind wander so sometimes, when you check in on him, he’ll start saying something completely unrelated like “We need to buy more eggs” while you’re having sex. 

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

Lmao imagine something like this in book 3:

Harumi: but now that I'm alone, there's barely anything to do so I try to pass my time with writing

Lloyd: oh that's cool! What do you write?

Harumi: just some green ninja x reader one shots! They're surprisingly popular on the internet!

Lloyd: HUH?!

Lloyd beta reads the heck out of them and constantly makes "suggestions" to a) make sure they're accurate b), make himself cooler c), limit the amount of bashing of the other ninja, and d) he does like them khgfdfgd, and as Harumi values his opinion so highly she takes him up on everything. Otherwise he doesn't actually care that she's writing them since she's actually putting him in a good light, and the ~romances~ are hardly anything more than hand-holding or a kiss on the cheek. But holy smokes he cannot let the other ninja find out–

(ALSO IMAGINE SAMANTHA IS ONE OF HER READERS LMAO)

. . .

Lloyd: I like this plot point with the Green Ninja saving the reader from being crushed by a tank and all, but does the Fuchsia Ninja really need to die at the end...?

Harumi: It adds some ~spice~ to the otherwise basic plot. It helps sets me apart from those other X-Reader writers :3

Lloyd: But sometimes...a basic plot...is good!

Harumi: ...I'm keeping it e-e

. . .

Harumi: Any suggestions for this piece? I feel like some of the detail is a little lacking...

Lloyd: You should totally have the Green Ninja using more weapons in the fight scene, he really likes cannons and rocket launchers. And maybe have him say more nice, general things about the reader, I get the impression he's the type not afraid to tell people what he really thinks of them, but he could still be a little shy. ...And I think you should an explosion behind them as they sail away on the dragon mech instead of a sunset, sunsets are so over done

Harumi: Oooh, you're a visionary *edits*

. . .

Samantha: Oh heck yeah, SilentSister14 just put out a new GN x Reader fic!!! Everyone shut up I'm so reading it right now—!

Antonia: I cannot believe you just announced that.

Samantha: Hey, you would too if you read them! The author's super talented and detailed! It's like she knows the Green Ninja personally or something!!

Antonia: ...no way, send me the link!!

Harumi: *sweating, staring straight ahead trying to pretend she's an unrelated party*

. . .

Lloyd: ...also, why do you keep describing the Green Ninja with gold eyes?!

Harumi: Because that's what color they are, duh

Lloyd: *goes through five stages of grief and seven stages of panic*

. . .

Harumi: ...why are you looking at me like that?

Lloyd: I-I, uh, think you put in a typo in this one...

Harumi: Oh jeez, what?! Where?!

Lloyd: ...the line where the Green Ninja says "And I love you too, Harumi"

Harumi:

Lloyd: ...how many of these are actually about you—?

Harumi: IDONTHAVEACRUSHONTHEGREENNINJA—I mean, I was just really in the mindset while writing!!!! it's a good thing to do, Lloyd!!!!! You're not a writer; you wouldn't understand!!! What better way to understand your character than putting yourself in their shoes, obviously!!! IT MEANS NOTHING

Lloyd:

Lloyd: ......I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you did—he is a pretty heroic guy, and is probably super cool, and smooth, and strong, and awesome, and probably has an excellent taste in a dagger and knife collection—

Harumi: Oh my god, SHUTUP...!

Lloyd: *is going to have an ego the size of texas about this lmao*

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hi again it's me once again to serve up a request! What about Pomni and Caine if the reader tries on their clothes out of pure curiosity?? and said character sees them in their outfit and passes out from so much cuteness or something similar to that 😂 (reader can be gender neutral or female)

Caine and Pomni walking in on the reader wearing their clothes!

unrelated to the ask but grrr art block is really kicking me ass... going to be writing tonight until i figure out what to draw.. maybe, idk im kinda tired but i feel guilty for not writing today

CAINE:

i think if you even showed an inkling of being interested in his style or clothing he would give you an entire wardrobe of suits and hats.. but if he actually caught you trying on *his* clothing? i dont think he would be able to get over his excitement! you just look so cute, plus hes already obsessed with you as is but... i think this would deepen his love for you! definitely teases you a little bit, but i dont think he would be TOO mean or tease you tooooo much.. probably takes a picture

POMNI:

torn between having her thinking its endearing and a little odd... perhaps a mix of both? on one hand pomni can understand wanting to steal a jacket, but she wears.. a one piece it seems, so to her it might be a little jarring at first but the coat-like sentiment is still there.. i think shes the type that would prefer to have you ask before deciding to snatch her clothing for yourself, but i think she would try to play it off..! might try to find matching clothes for you if you guys ever escape the circus or if this occurs in an au where you guys are in the real world

[moonspirit]

Hello Moon,

Connie has always struck me as the type of guy who gets on slightly better with girls than he does with men, such as with his friendship with Sasha and all that, and I could see Him, Pieck, and Annie regularly getting together.

Maybe Pieck has a movie night where they do chick flicks and rom-com musicals. Connie would be the first to arrive with all the snacks, singing along loud and proud to every song.

I can see Connie, Annie, and Pieck regularly sitting together at lunch, talking office gossip, whether it be telling Pieck that the minister they just met with spent most of the meeting trying to look at her ass or warning Annie that the new intern has the hots for Armin and she needs to SHUT IT DOWN!

I can also see Connie being present when Annie selects wedding dresses; having been present in several of Armin's drunken rants about why he loves Annie, he would provide invaluable insight toward helping her find a dress that Armin will adore.

I could also see Annie and Pieck lovingly blackmailing or bribing him for intel on what Armin and Jean plan for special occasions like their birthdays or anniversaries. Maybe one time, Connie lets it slip that Armin is getting a dessert from a high-end bakery for Annie’s birthday when she offers to introduce him to the daughter of the baker she regularly frequents whom she knows he has been eyeing. While he curses himself for telling her about the cake, he can take solace in not telling her the whole plan: Armin is taking her on a beach picnic where he plans to propose to her.

What do you think?

#thehelloanon

Hello again!

I'm a big fan of the idea that post-canon Pieck grows close to Connie first... because he's just so easygoing and friendly, you see? She finds it easy to get along with him and strike up conversations and hobbies - Connie's just very warm like that. The two become very thick friends, often getting into loads of trouble haha xD

And Connie, having zero fear of anybody, including Annie, and also having a "history" with her, effortlessly slips into this "I've-got-your-back-and-also-up-for-anything" brother figure for her. He notices when she's not feeling good, he's always ready to support her - he's just very cool and loud and neat! He's annoying enough when Aruani have fights that they don't really get to act all "tough" and "detached" and "mad" the way they'd planned lmaooo.

So I can see Connie becoming very close with the two girls, yeah. Slightly unrelated, but I also think Pieck's friendship would come to matter a lot to him and Jean. She settles between the both of them the way Sasha did, and for her too, the boys are a much-needed source of comfort, the way Porco and Zeke were to her. Don't get me wrong, none of them are replacements. But it's like a puzzle piece finding another place to fit into, even if a little wonkily.

[misc-obeyme]

AJSJD THE WAY YOU DESCRIBED SATAN'S ANNOTATIONS IS HILARIOUS, I LOVE IT

I really need Lucifer to show me step by step how to cook because man 😭 My mom's way is mainly verbal listed instructions and basically being told to measure with my heart

I know like two actual dishes (spaghetti and picadillo), and then random stuff like beans, macaroni, chopped pork, fideo and carne (in theory), and hamburgers. These boys are getting repeat dishes !! Also I have the opposite problem where I don't know how to cook small portions 😅

If I'm alone, I like to play music while cooking and sing along. That's what I was thinking about the other day, the brothers pulling up barstools to hang out and listen. It'd probably take forever for me to even try singing along if they're sitting in because I'm so self conscious about it aksjdj.

But once I do, I'm in my feels. Especially if it's in Spanish, because they're all sad or romantic songs my parents liked to play. I dunno if any of the brothers know Spanish, I like to headcanon that Mammon does and I didn't know because it never comes up. I also like to think Lucifer and Satan know Latin, so they could technically pick up bits and pieces. I'd definitely be cursing and muttering in Spanish if I didn't think Lucifer understood me in an attempt to get away with it and avoid being scolded.

anyway I keep thinking about some romantic song coming on Darte Un Beso by Prince Royce would be so good for this and I point to Mammon while singing it, and why are his ears suddenly turning red ?? Why is he a stammering mess and saying he's got something to take care of before he runs out of the kitchen ??

Cue whoever was also hanging out asking if the song was in Spanish and if I knew Mammon understood the lyrics. Now I'M flustered and mortified, and dinner is at risk of being burned as i curl up on the floor in embarrassment. I shall never recover. Knowing my luck, Asmo was recording because it was a 'cute moment'- IMAGINE HIM POSTING IT TOO 😭 IT PROBABLY GOES VIRAL AND OVERANALYZED AND NOW THERE'S GOSSIP COLUMNS SPECULATING WHAT'S GOING ON BETWEEN THE HUMAN AND AVATAR OF GREED

This is what happens when you have two tsunderes falling for each other </3 one of which who is going to deny her feelings to hell and back because she's scared of love lolol. Asmo and Beel would totally be the one's to team up and stage an intervention (I say Beel bc he DID call out how Mammon was snooping through MC's room but wouldn't have it in him to sell their belongings in early season one, something like that)

also unrelated but I got complimented on my rings today !! I started wearing a couple more along with my obey me one's. I feel so cool with them, lmaoo

- ✨ anon

Listen here, ✨ anon. One of you guys is gonna hafta 'fess up!

Honestly, that is another really adorable scenario. I've always liked to headcanon that Satan has taken the time to learn all the human languages because it just feels like a very Satan thing to do. I think Lucifer probably picked up a bunch just 'cause he's himself.

But I love the idea that Spanish is like... one of the few languages Mammon bothered to learn. And I see him as being the type to learn languages because of necessity. I also like to think that the demons have all spent a certain amount of time in the human world. So Mammon probably lived in a Spanish speaking country for a while and had to learn the language while living there.

Fast forward to you singing to him in the kitchen~ and he understands every word~

You know, actually, I kinda think if this happened, Mammon would eventually ask you about it himself. He's a tsundere, sure, but if he knows how you feel? I can't imagine him holding out from you for too much longer at that point.

I've always felt his tsundere ways have to do with him thinking it'll mess with the cool guy image he's always aiming for. And he only does that because he's a little insecure (not like Levi, he's on a whole other level). I mean, he probably still has a little bit of self deprecation going on in his head due to the whole Michael not being able to handle him thing... then add the whole fall situation and...

He's afraid of rejection, but if he knows you already have feelings for him, then what's there to be afraid of?

Don't get me wrong, he's still gonna be nervous about it, but I think he'd act on that once he had a minute to adjust...

And if he doesn't, there's always Asmo or Beel to help things along~

Yesss I love that you got a compliment on your rings! I bet they look cool, too!

[crazylittlejester]

I’m not kidding when I say I reread your introduction post over ten times in order to make sure I can send an ask about just about anything and I wasn’t doing anything I wasn’t supposed to, but I think I’m in the clear… hopefully.

Anyways, I wanted to ask how you think the members of the Chain would react to spiders, if that’s okay. I ask this because for the past two days I’ve been trying to clean my room, and I’ve come close to having full on panic attacks because I keep finding spiders. It got me thinking if any of them would be scared of them or not, and I’m currently too tired to try to create my own headcanons for this. Maybe one day I will, but how do you think they’d react?

On an entirely unrelated note, one of my fics involved a very brief moment where Blue and Shadow have a sort of fist fight/wrestle, and at one point Shadow threatens to bite Blue, but people in the comments keep thinking Blue’s doing the biting, and I don’t have the heart (or the courage) to correct them because it’s honestly something Blue would do. Don’t know how that’s relative to the ask because it’s not, but I have no one to share that with, and I’m sincerely hoping you don’t mind.

you’re totally and completely good, i really do mean people can send asks about anything, doesn’t have to be LU related at all, i just ask that people be kind and try to write clearly so i can understand, so you’re good don’t even worry about it :)

oUgh, i have two friends who love the little guys but they freak me out

Time i imagine would be scared of them, the big ones could probably have him shutting down, but the little ones he’ll just freeze and stare at them with wide eyes until they disappear and are no longer his problem or until someone else deals with it. he likes bugs, but not spiders

Warriors definitely has woken up to a spider on his face and screamed about it. My headcanon for him is that he grew up in the country side on a small piece of farm land in a little town, so he’s definitely seen more than his fair share of spiders, but I believe in my heart they freak him out

Twi has no issues with em, he can tell if they’re venomous and won’t mess with those, but the harmless ones? He’s found one chilling on a leaf before and coaxed it into his hand and then excitedly gone off to show Time, who forced himself to say “Oh that’s nice, kid” while screaming and crying internally, which Twilight was completely oblivious to because he was so excited

If they’re bigger than a finger nail, Sky’s terrified of em, but he can just ignore the little ones. Kinda the whole “if I can’t see it it doesn’t exist” policy

Hyrule ate one once and Twilight cried

Legend’s fine with them. No one knows if he’s telling the truth or not, but when Twilight brought one over he didn’t really react so if he IS deathly afraid of them he’s quite good at hiding it. He’s not enthusiastic about them, but he won’t run away screaming

Wild’s obsessed, he think they’re funky guys. He’s like Twilight where if he finds a cool one he WILL stop the group to look at it

Four is fine with them as long as he’s not the size of the Minish. He nearly had a heart attack the first time he encountered one when he was that little because it was like half his size

Wind SAYS he’s fine with them, but if one dropped on him he’d cry about it. He thinks they’re very cool though, and with Wild and Twilight being able to tell which ones are dangerous, he slowly becomes less afraid

OUGH THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE, I do agree I think Blue WOULD bite someone 😭, but if it’s something that’s bothering you don’t be afraid to go in and change the wording so it’s a little more clear who’s doing the biting

Thanks for the ask!! I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/night