#while i finish setting up soul's blog

[lych33dragoncookie]

So, uh... About that update.

Yeah, I got my hopes up. Irrefutably so. This is definitely not a Shadow Milk release update, considering his body isn't even ready yet. Unlike someone else's, which absolutely is...

I'd been paying attention to leaks, and... Yeah, I knew this was gonna happen. Unfortunately, the way things are being set up, Shadow Milk is likely gonna be the last of the beasts to get a full release. Which, to my impulsive side, is quite frustrating, but...

With a few of the new things we've found out, it... Makes sense, all things considered.

This? This isn't normal. He's not normal. None of this is normal. He doesn't even have a properly finished body yet, but he can still, through the power of his soul alone, bend "the other-space", whatever that may be. We already knew he could manipulate and alter matter and/or space, but the fact he can do the things he does in this update, without even having a body, is... Frankly terrifying, as far as implications about his level of power go. Can... Can he inherently control souls? What's his dominion over the realm of spirits? Because, clearly he has some, otherwise...

... He wouldn't be able to do this.

The screams he talks about aren't fabricated, no, even Wind Archer could sense that the Ultimate Cookie was, in fact, in pain, lending credence to the fact that Shadow Milk could, in fact, hear the agonized screams of the souls being drained from these mindless, artificial lifeforms.

So, I guess we now know Shadow Milk, one way or another, can both perceive and manipulate the spirit realm as he pleases, and that seems to be how he afflicts people with hallucinations and visions. By giving them a glimpse into a realm he has a scary degree of control over.

I'd also like to correct my previous post's statements, because...

Yeah, he's here strictly to fuck with Wind. He's just here to have fun while his body is in the works. The Cake Witch seems to have appeared on its own, and Wind is clearly of no threat to Dark Enchantress's plans. So he... Just showed up to fuck with him. Not to ensure his death, not to test out his new body, no. He couldn't actually do anything, for the most part. He just wanted to have fun.

I love it.

Although... Clearly, it's not like he has no power over the physical realm.

Wind Archer's work is undone. Immediately. Just like that. And, presumably, he's also the reason Burning Spice awakens. Though, this may not necessarily be control over the physical realm, he could just use his dominion over the spirit realm to take away the lifeforms' peace, and immediately bring back their suffering. Just as he could perceive it perfectly, he can reinstate it the moment it's soothed.

And I just have to think... Has he been here this whole time? Bound to the laboratorium, hearing all these little things scream in agony, writhing, drained of life? This whole time? And he's still overjoyed to help carry on the process? There's no way Dark Enchantress could sense that same suffering, only he can, and he still goes along with it anyways, and he enjoys it. Every. Single. Second of it.

Christ, man. What the fuck is wrong with you.

I promise this isn't just a Shadow Milk blog, i just think he's neat

[gingernut1314]

Touch Me, Please pt. 1

Polnareff x GN!Reader

Summary: How Part 3 Polnareff likes to be touched

Warnings: FLUFFFFFFFFFFF, jjba part 3

Word Count: HC: 910+, Drabbles: 370+ & 510+, Total: 1.8K

A/N: soo...have I mentioned I'm head over heels for this man? No. Okay. I love him. Some of this came from a convo I had with the amazing @cinnbar-bun who was also the lovely soul who introduced me to this show and my newest husband. Let's all give her a round of applause because I absolutely love this show 👏👏👏 First time writing for Polnareff so I did my best and I hope you enjoy! 🩷 (Also I plan on this being a bit of a series so look out for that)

↞ to Touch Me Masterlist | Jjba Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 2

TOUCH THIS MAN!

PLEASE

He needs it

He needs touch like he needs the air to breathe

He’ll turn into literal puddy in your hand if you do

Brush your fingers over his when handing him food

Pat his cheek, arm, shoulder, back

Brush your shoulder against his as you walk side by side

HOLD HIS HAND

PLEASE HOLD HIS HAND

I’m not asking I’m telling you to hold his hand or else this man will become the saddest puddle you’ve ever seen

And all of this is just your average day being friends with Polnareff

Once you two become an item he becomes like a baby koala he’s so clingy

He always needs a hand on you

Some sort of skin-on-skin 

He still doesn’t fully believe you want to be his partner let alone let him touch you

So whether it be his hand holding your own or his thigh pressed against yours as you two eat he needs to touch you

Would 100% be the type of partner to hug you from behind while waiting in any sort of line 

Would 100% want to follow you into the bathroom just so that he could keep holding your hand (and has definitely done so in the past)

Is honestly so terrified when you two have to go your separate ways for such things as going to the bathroom

Not only because he’s had less than pleasant experiences with those spaces thanks to enemy Stand Users

But because he is so utterly terrified that if he lets you go, you’ll disappear 

He’s dealt with enough heartbreak to last him two lifetimes so the thought of losing you is utter hell

He just needs to feel you to reassure himself you are still with him

Still with him and still breathing

Will press his ear over your heart sometimes to listen to your heartbeat

You struggled to unlock the hotel room door thanks to the multitude of food bags cradled in your arms. Somehow you had managed to pull the room key from your back pocket but now your grapple with unlocking the door and turning the handle without dropping the food was threatening your will.  The key slid into the lock,  pulling a bright laughing cheer from your lips at finally starting to win the battle set before. You grabbed for the handle of the door just as it turned, the door yanking open in a rush of air.  “Oh--” You said, taking a small step as you took back at the tall body that now stood in the entrance. Polnareff’s familiar face had your body easing and smile tugging bright once more at your lips. “Good morn--” You never got to finish your sentences before Polnareff’s strong arms were wrapping around your body, crushing you and the food against his chest.  “I woke up and you weren’t there and the others were gone as well and--and I--” Polnareff panicked into your neck, nuzzling his face against your skin as a shuddering breath shook his body. His hold tightened further as if to keep you glued to him. The sound of a plastic container crunching filled your ears, letting you know the food you had fought to keep from falling was getting crushed within his embrace.  You’re heart twisted in your chest at his utterly panicked state, the food’s destruction far from your mind as you all but dropped the bags. Your hands and arms were instantly wrapped around his neck, fingers brushing soothing circles into his skin.   “Mon amour, I-I didn’t know where you were.” He said in a voice smaller than that of a whisper.  “I thought I would be back before you woke up. I told the others to be here if you did but--forgive me. I should have taken you with me.” You whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I--Love, what do you need?” You asked, wanting the panic to leave him and for that goofy smile to return to his lips.  “Just…touch me…please.” It was a request you were more than happy to fulfill, pulling him ever closer into your hold.

If you ever need space, Polnareff is more than happy to give it to you

But that sad puddle he became when you went a whole minute without touching him while just being friends becomes an oh-so-sad ocean

The rest of the Crusaders are going to be teasing the hell out of the guy for being such a gloomy, near-sobbing mess

And speaking of the other Crusaders

They cannot stand how touchy you two are

The phrase “get a room”, among other things, is almost always spilling from their lips 

Oh boy and talking about lips

KISS THIS MAN

KISS HIM, PLEASE, I BEG THIS OF YOU

Give him soft kisses

Kiss him on his blushing cheeks, forehead, nose, ears, shoulders

Pepper this man in kisses 

And he is kissing you right back

Taking your hands in his and pressing kisses to your knuckles

He’s kissing the inside of your wrist as you sit on the train or at dinner

Kissing the top of your head as you walk

Just kisses everywhere, all the time

He likes to talk to you while his lips are touching your skin

Likes it even more if he can whisper sweet nothings in French against your own lips

You happily hummed as you ate, the soft, classical music floating through the bustling restaurant not the tune you had chosen to muse as spectacular spices and flavors brust over your tongue. A warm thumb brushed at the side of your mouth, clearing a bit of sauce from your skin. Your face began to feel warm at the touch, knowing exactly whose thumb had swiped over your skin.  You turned, finding Polnareff’s gray eyes already watching you. Eyes so full of loving adoration it took your breath away every time you looked into them.  “Did you get it all?” Your voice sounding near breathless as you took in his handsome, which a bright smile adorned. Polnareff hummed in mock thought, taking your chin between his fingers. He turned your face this way and that, searching for a mess that you knew was nowhere to be found. “Ah! There is some just there.” He said, guiding your face ever closer.  “Are you going to get it for me?” You asked, lips parting as your face was drawn closer to his.   “Of course, mon coeur.” He all but purred, turning that warmth into a burning fire. Your heart raced as he leaned into you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. He hardly pulled away before you were grabbing hold of his shirt, keeping him close. “I--I think I feel some more. Just here.” You said, voice wobbling as you tapped your other cheek. Polnareff widely grinned, more than eager to place a chaste kiss to your other cheek. “And here.” You breathed, tapping your lips. A chuckle left Polnareff’s chest that grew muffled against your lips.   He kissed you sweetly. So sweet it had your heart melting and your stomach fluttering around like it had grown wings like some butterfly.  “Good grief.” The gruff voice of Jotaro grumbled from across the table where he sat.   “Mr. Joestar,” Kakyoin huffed, his typically smooth voice laced in utter disgust at you and Polnareff’s actions. “Please make them stop.”   “Me? Stop them?” The oldest Joestar all but shouted from where he sat at your side. Kakyoin must have nodded because Joseph gave a huffing grumble of his own. “Alright, you two. Knock it off. This place is nice--and in public.” He tried, to no avail.  You both ignored the group, lips pulling away only so you could pepper Polnareff’s face in kisses he was more than happy to return. Whispered Mon amours, mon coeurs, among other loving titles pressed into your skin making it tingle in delight. “Eh--see. They won’t listen to me.” Joseph huffed.  “I do not believe there is a power on this earth or in the heavens above that is strong enough to keep them apart.” The calm voice was Advol spoke from Polnareff’s side, a light chuckle in his voice.  A giggle escaped your lips at his words, nuzzling your nose against Polnareff’s. They were words you couldn’t help but full-heartedly believe as Polnareff cupped your jaw in his strong hand, kissing your lips like it was the last time he would ever taste them again.

If he’s driving the group, you better believe you're sitting shotgun so he can place a hand on your thigh, giving it gentle squeezes to remind you he’s always thinking about you

If Joseph is insistent about sitting in the front, Polnareff either refuses to drive outright or is reaching into the back to hold your hand much to Jotaro and Kakyoin’s displeasure

Will reach over one of the others to touch you

Has and will lead to a shouting match between Polnareff and the others

But he refuses to be so close to you yet so so far

He’ll even go as far as to send Silver Chariot to sit with you and hold your hand if he can’t be there with you

Though this has led to one too many Star Platinum beatdowns 

CUDDLE THE MAN

Oh my goodness PLEASE cuddle him

He’s so warm and his arms are so safe

Only one bed? 

No trouble whatsoever! 

Polnareff wasn’t going to sleep without you anyway

Only a few rooms left?

Polnareff and you have been deemed your own room because the others will not deal with your touchiness while trying to sleep mere inches away

Polnareff’s cuddle could save a life

It’s a fact

His fingers are rubbing circles into your back or arm

His face buried in the crook of your neck so he could take in your scent and dream of you while he sleeps

Whether it be a hug from the front or back, he has his arms around you while you sleep

His legs intertwining between yours, molding himself against you

He literally worships the ground you walk on so why wouldn’t he just want to become another extension of your being?

The only thing he won’t always want touched is his hair

He spent nearly an hour that morning in the dimly lit hotel bathroom getting it just right

And he loves you

GOD he loves you

He loves you so much it hurts

But his hair is off-limits until you both are settling in for the night

Then he is more than happy to let you run your fingers through his hair

He also won’t be completely opposed to you helping him style his hair in the morning, but you’ll need to go through several days of “training” before you can even touch one of his combs

[shmowder]

Your blog is making me want to replay Patho 2 again... I did play once on the intended difficulty, and then I replayed it afterwards on the easiest settings, doing everything and saving everyone and I'm ngl, that was some of the most fun I've ever had even though it wasn't quite in the spirit of the game haha

The so-called spirit of the game is this senior citizen wirh an overgrown 2000s anime boy haircut who shakes his cane at you sassily when you choose to only swallow a handful of razors as opposed to the razor muckbang the game offers.

I finished the game on the hardest difficulty

This was my first time playing the game ever. I straight up went to the intended difficulty, saved everyone, did everything, and never starved for a single day. I had 20+ Shmowders by the end. I was fully stocked on meat, I was fully stocked on homemade antibiotics and maxed the hospital shift each day.

All of that with only 3 Deaths

WHERE IS MY FUCKING CELEBRATION HUH? WHERE IS MY MEDAL? NO ONE THEW ME A PARTY, NO ONE INVITED BELLA HADID >:( MARK WASN'T IMPRESSED.

Fuck you Mark! ONE OF THOSE DEATHS WAS BULLSHIT YOU DUMB SLUT. YOU SPAWNED A GUY ON TOP OF ME WHILE I WAS PICKING UP HERBS, HOW THE FUCK DID HE ONE SHOT ME WITH FULL HEALTH HUH? YOU WHORE.

What I'm saying is. Look, we both finished the game on complete opposite extremes, yet we're both here. In a pathologic x reader blog on tumblr. We both had fun and shared a good understanding of the plot and characters. That's what matters. Everything else is just people patting themselves on the shoulder. You're the only one who will be impressed with the fact you beat the game flawlessly, and you're the only one who will be bothered by the fact you picked an easier difficulty

Because it's really not that different. To me, I have the kind of autism that makes games like pathologic smoother than water for me, I thrived on the ruthlessness of dark soul and did a no death run in darkest dungeon. But also. I absolutely suck at casual games, I can't play Stardew Valley unless I'm fully cheating, I can't for the life of me beat a single platforming game because I have a slow reaction speed.

Play Pathologic however you want! Ice-pick Joe isn't gonna pop from under your bed at 3am to beat you up with hammers. This is coming from the most tryhard difficulty elitism person there is in games.

Buttttt. I do recommend giving Pathologic classic HD a try. I promise anyone who beat Pathologic 2 on ANY difficultly will cuck tf out of the first game. There is no thirst! The vendors have unlimited money, and you can sell all of your trash to them! THE ECONOMY IS THRIVING I BOUGHT FOOD ON THE DAYS THE PRICES WERE SKYROCKETING BC I COULD AFFORD IT. I would've never financially recovered from buying food in P2 on any day that's not the first one. In P1, I rarely slept because I was deepthroating lemons and snorting coffee beans day and night since I could easily afford the health/hunger penalty.

Meanwhile, in P2, I'd save coffee beans to sell to get enough money to save up for army clothes.

The combat is so forgiving, the houses with good loot aren't the infected ones like in P2 but the burned ones! The AI in that game is so stupid you can trick plague clouds into disappearing if you stand still! You can glitch and jump over fences to take shortcuts through the town! YOU CAN SCAM THAT CUNT ANDREY STAMATIN FOR ENDLESS SHOTGUNS.

Lastly don't forget that 90% of the Pathologic fandom haven't even played any of the games at all. 70% probably never watched a single playthrough either and just video essays instead.

In the steam version of Pathologic 2, Only 10% of players who bought the game have ever reached the end.

10% !!! That's us there! Me and You! It doesn't matter how what matters is that we both did it while 90% of people gave up.

And the situation in the classic game is even more dire tbh-

Only 6% ever opened the game and made it through the first day. Only 3% ever made it to the last day.

So, really good on you for finishing the game! Good on me for finishing the game! WE DID IT! YAY! Someone really should give Bella Hadid a call.

Also, please do yourself a favour and ignore whatever the video essayist says about the difficulty of the games. They're good storytellers for building an interesting narrative to watch, but they're not good at videogames assessment. Each of their reasons is very personalised by their own experience and doesn't necessarily mean other people will struggle with the same issues. Don't listen to anyone who tells you picking an easy difficulty ruins the game either, Pathologic doesn't relay on its brutal gameplay to shine, it can more stand on its own as a narrative story walking game. If anything, it would probably shine better on easier difficulties when you have time to dig for context clues and plot without starvation breathing down your neck. I missed some flavour text quests because I was too stressed about balancing different objectives to do them or pay attention when something important was said.

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[10.50]

― pairing : Han Jisung x fem! reader ― content warnings : smut, fluff, grease! au - therefore it's the 50's, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all) ― word count : 3.752 ― notes : my kinks got worse since the last time you saw me

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🕺 GREASE! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho // Felix // Jeongin

Jisung was so rich it was almost unbelievable. His father owned the majority of the shops and diners in the town you lived in, resulting in him living in a huge mansion with a lot of butlers and maids. Jisung also threw the best parties, had a convertible comfortable car and always had the best weed.

At least, this is what your best friend always said; since all you did was steal longing glances at him from afar, hoping that he’d somehow – magically, take the hint.

«You should come to one of his parties sometimes. I could also introduce to the others Stray Kids!» she said, fixing her lipstick. «Who knows, maybe you’ll finally listen to me and become a Pink.»

You giggled, gently nudged your shoulder against hers. «As if!»

«Oh, come on!» she affectionately linked your arms together. «You and me, Pink Ladies! Can you imagine the fun we’d have?»

«Maybe in our next life. There’s no way I’m going back being a Pink.» you sighed, smiling at her as you reminisced your actions of focusing on your cheeseburger. «I’ve tried that, and I definitely didn’t like it.» you mumbled, before taking a big bite on your food. Few years earlier, you have been the Pink Lady of another boy in another group, even before Stray Kids became popular.

Long story short? Many - too many, tears wasted on someone who was definitely not worth it. You friends quickly re-adjusted her position on the red leather couch as you both heard the bells of the Frosty Palace’s entrance door ring loudly.

“Talk about the Devil…” You thought as your friend waved at Stray Kids, which waved back with loud greetings before heading towards their usual sitting spot.

You both finished your dinner quietly; going back talking about school and you could not help but once again steal some quick glances to the boys’ table. Jisung had always caught your attention, but you did not want to fuel the fire in your friend’s soul, otherwise she would never stop rambling about them. Sometimes, your stealth glances at Jisung would be reciprocated, and each time your eyes met, you would quickly advert your gaze with cheeks flaming red.

A soft tap on your shoulder caught your attention, and you turned your head to meet your friend’s knowingly smile, her grin erupting around the straw of her milkshake as she softly nudged your thigh with her knee.

«Become a Pink,» she whispered again «I could set you up with Seungmin, he’s tall and-» her speech was interrupted by a waiter which placed a tall glass of strawberry milkshake right in front of you. Milkshake you definitely did not order, since you already bought yourself to drink earlier.

«I believe there must be a mistake…» you shyly told the waiter «I didn’t order for this.»

The waiter politely smiled at you, before shaking his head «Han paid for you.» you furrowed your brows in confusion while you friend shrieked next to you, quickly grabbing your forearm, and the waiter pointed towards the counter with a nod.

Jisung was staring at you, partially leaning against the counter with a smug smile plastered on his face. You were sure you blushed as soon as your eyes met; main reason why you immediately averted your gaze as quickly as you have been burned by a wild flame.

«She’ll take it. Thank you so much. And also, say thank you to Jisung on her behalf.» your friend quickly answered before you could even process your thoughts and try to answer him that “No, thank you”, and the waiter quickly returned to his ministrations without sparing the both of you another glance.

«Han Jisung offered you a drink.» your friend’s voice was somewhere in between an excited shriek and a whisper-yell, her hand still firmly gripping on your arm.

«It’s… It’s a milkshake.» you clarified, trying to avoid looking in the general direction of the counter, even if you could still feel Jisung’s piercing stare on your skin.

«I don’t think you get the point.» she ignored your answer, «Han Jisung never buys girls anything.»

This random and unusual gesture turned into a definitive habit. Days turned into weeks, Jisung would sometimes offer you to drink, sometimes directly pay for your dinner and leaving you a confused, flustered and blushing mess anytime the cashier would say «Han already paid for you.»

Eventually, both your best friend and the rest of Stray Kids got tired about the two of you silently longing at each other from a safe distance, and you found yourself sitting with them.

Hanging around with them was fun; you had to admit your best friend was right. They all looked so incredibly badass but once you got to know them, you realized that they were also so incredibly dumb and funny. You honestly enjoyed hanging out with them.

You and Jisung got closer, becoming those kind of friends acting shy around each other because they are too dumb to make the first move. Jisung was a total sweetheart, despite his looks, and him being so naturally loud and funny but also a genuine listener made your crush for him steady grow each passing day. Jisung also never stopped treating you, despite you telling that it was okay, you could pay for yourself but he would just smile and shrug it off.

You did not exactly mind that, you found that new routine quite relaxing. The thought of confessing your feelings to Jisung sometimes came to your mind and wandered there for quite few time, but eventually, you settled for not making a fool of yourself, since no matter all the times he referred to you as “the girl I have a crush on”, you still feared rejection.

«You should definitely come to Jisung’s party, tonight.» you friend told you, bursting into your house. «And by “you should”, I mean, “I’m going to dress you up and drag you there, if I have to”»

Something you had witnessed along your long years of friendship was: your friend did not lie. She did not drag you to the party, but she convinced you to. You spent the first part of the night enjoying the chill night breeze while sitting on the couches of the house’s veranda, a blue plastic cup filled with punch and slowly swaying to the rhythm of the slow songs played by Jisung’s jukebox. Someone plopped on the couch right next to you, a familiar and pleasing whiff of cologne invading your senses.

«There you are, angel.» a deep voice said, «I thought you’d never come.» you could feel the fact that Jisung was smiling, even if you weren’t looking at him, yet.

«My friend dragged me here.» you stated, taking a small sip from your drink.

«Oh, so you didn’t come here to see me?» his voice was filled with disappointment, as he playfully lifted his hand on his heart and pretending to be deeply hurt. You deduced to be already intoxicated by the alcohol because you giggled at him, turning around to finally look him in the eyes.

Jisung was handsome, he had always been, but there was something about him being so close to you that made him look even more breath taking. His hair was neatly styled, his black leather jacket draped around his shoulders and the white shirt he was wearing was so dangerously low cut that you could see his sharp collarbones. You were just about to take notice about how his cologne was so good when you snapped out of your small trance to see him looking at you with his stupid smug smirk and a pleased expression.

“I should really learn how to be subtle,” you thought quickly, quietly sipping from your cup to distract yourself – and having an excuse to look away from his enchanting bronze skin.

«I see my crush is required, then.» Jisung reached out to mumble right against your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Your breath hitched for a moment, and you turned around to look at him, your noses almost touching.

«And in what parallel universe,» you took a small pause, licking your lips and noticing him following the movement of your tongue. «Could Han Jisung have a crush on me?» you held his gaze, somehow hoping for him to close the distance between the two of you.

«This one! Science sure works fast these days.» Jisung answered with a sweet smile, before leaning back and getting up from the couch. You looked at him, hoping that he would not notice how dumbfounded you were by his sudden actions as he stood in front of you, offering you a hand. «Come on,» Jisung nodded towards his entrance door. «Let’s go and have a bit of fun.» with a nod, you smiled, and reached out to take his hand.

You were not new to the world of parties, getting drunk and smoking – after all, you have been a Pink too once, but you never thought you could do it again while actually having fun. Neither you nor Jisung actually got too high or too wasted; you were both slightly tipsy. He would spend the majority of the night with his arm around your hips while you talked with the others – his friends always randomly saying how the two of you would make a cute couple and Jisung immediately shutting them up, or with his hands tightly wrapped around your waist as you danced together.

«Well, angel.» the grip around your waist tightened, as you both slowly swayed to the rhythm of a slow song playing by the jukebox. The room was full of people, naturally drawing your bodies closer to each other. «I would really love to kiss you, right now.» he was speaking right by your ear, so that you could perfectly hear every word he said. You were about to ask him why he didn’t do it, when he chuckled before adding, «But we’re too tipsy, and I want to make this right.» you felt his teeth grazing the lobe of your ear, and you instinctively hugged his body a bit closer.

«Why, Jisung.» you said, mirroring his actions, «Do you plan to see me again?»

Thanks to the loud music making each conversation almost inaudible, you kept sharing this secret conversation while hugging each other close. Jisung’s soft breath against your skin suddenly making your knees weak.

«Of course. I plan to take you on a good amount of dates,» you felt him nod, while his right hand travelled upwards from your waist until it tangled itself into your hair. «And fuck you so deep and slow with your head pressed against the mattress until you’d beg me to ruin you.» You shut your eyes close as he almost moaned in your ear the unexpected last part, trying not to get aroused in a room full of people. «But we’ll have to talk about this another time.» Jisung slightly parted from you, meeting your gaze.

You were about to stand on your tiptoes and capture his lips when your friend tapped your shoulder, reminding you of the curfew you both had. Jisung kissed your cheek – dangerously close to your lips, before saying goodbye to the both of you.

The ride back was full of screams and excited squeals because, of course you told your best friend everything that happened earlier.

«He finally asked you on a date? Jisung?» your friend questioned, before excitedly squealing. «I knew it was just a matter of time!» she kept yelping, focusing on the road but also throwing your arm few soft, delicate punches in a rapid succession.

You ran a hand through your hair, giggling at your friend’s behaviour as small; butterflies hovered around in your stomach.

You hated Han Jisung. Well, it was definitely not true; you hated yourself for spending the entire breakfast daydreaming about him, resulting in you being awfully late for school.

You closed your locker, hastily walking towards your first class. You were alone in the hallways, busy wondering how could you lose time like that, when a hand suddenly reached out and dragged you to the stairs. You were ready to drop you book and kick the person who did it right between his legs when your gaze met Jisung’s apologising eyes.

«Jisung! What got into you?!» you lightly shoved him, your hand on his toned chest; with a scoff, you placed your hand on your heart, in the vain hope for your heartbeat to slow down. The thing was, both because of the scare and Jisung being so close to you, you didn’t think it would happen soon.

The boy adverted his gaze, mumbling a shy «I’m sorry,» before scratching the back of his head and releasing your arm from his strong grip. «The thing is, I really wanted to talk to you.»

“What if he regrets what he did yesterday?” you kept staring at him, silently urging him to go on, and feeling somehow a bit anxious.

«I’m sorry. For yesterday, I mean.» his voice reached your ears and your stomach sank; unable to meet his gaze, you stared at the floor. «The thing is, I might have said something a bit earlier than I planned to.»

“Earlier?” You furrowed your brows to look at him, confused. Jisung sighed, heavily. He looked so frustrated, as if you could not understand some simple and obvious concept, when he went on. «I do honestly mean what I said: I really want to take you on dates. I also really want to fuck you into oblivion but, maybe I might have said it a little bit earlier-»

Now, If someone were ever to tell you  that Han Jisung would stand in front of you, ranting about him giving you the wrong impression, you’d never believe them.

Moreover, most importantly, if someone were to tell you that you would interrupt his stupid rant with a kiss, you’d never believe them. However, there you were, standing on your tiptoes and balancing yourself with a hand on Jisung’s shoulder to softly peck his lips. You giggled at his expression, his eyes wide and his lips in a confused pout, he looked incredibly cute.

«Jisung, trust me, I want the same.» your kind smile was suddenly matched by his, and he leaned down to finally capture your lips in a soft kiss, searching for one another anytime you parted in order to breathe. You didn’t quite realise when those soft nibbles and shy kisses while lovesick grins were plastered on your faces turned into you being pushed against the wall with Jisung’s head buried in your neck and his right arm supporting your left leg around his waist, but the presence of his left hand in front of your mouth in order to muffle your whine as he loudly sucked on your jaw brought you back to the cruel reality.

«Jis-Jisung» you stuttered, whimpers blocking the words from falling from your lips as you’d want to, but his hot mouth on your skin was just so sinful and so perfect, you almost ignored the fact that you could be caught anytime and be in trouble. «Class. We-We’re still at school.» With a groan, Jisung pulled away from your neck, his lips hovering above yours.

«School literally started two days ago, it’s nothing important.» he mumbled, pushing his body on yours. «Let’s skip. Let’s go to my place, angel.» his eyes blown with lust - mirroring yours, and his boner pressed on your inner thigh made you nod at him without thinking further.

Jisung smiled, parting from you. «And then, let’s go on a date.» he took your hand in his as you scoffed, hiding a smile as you nodded once again. You quietly and hurriedly made your way out of the school and into his red, shiny car.

«Is it okay to go to my house?» he looked at you, starting the car.

Since when do you ask to a hook-up?» you raised an eyebrow, provoking him.

«Since you’re not a hook-up, angel.»

As your hand reached out to intertwine with his above the gear change, you felt butterflies in your stomach once again, happy with the feeling that the boy that you have secretly stole glances at for quite few months, admitted to have a crush on you.

«You live in a castle, Jisung. This is not a house.» you looked around in awe at your surroundings, as he quickly leaded you to his bedroom. «Wait, look at this!» you pulled on his hand, forcing him to stop in front of a painting that caught your attention. He sighed - you could even picture him rolling his eyes, and he let go of your hand.

«You can have a detailed tour of my house later, angel.» was all you could hear before, all of a sudden, your perspective of the world turned upside down. Jisung had effortlessly thrown you over his shoulder, and you laughed at his ministrations, softly but repeatedly smacking his butt and repeating a series of «Jisung, let me down!» which you never actually meant in the first place.

He did throw you down, though. On his bed. As you bounced on the fluffy mattress you saw something green fly all around you, some of them even landing on you.

“Money?” you took a green banknote in your hand, while pushing few others away from your stomach.

«Is there some weird kink I need to be aware of?» you propped on your elbows, throwing few banknotes at a smiling Jisung, which was still standing and towering over you.

He laughed, shaking his head. «I needed to buy something, I forgot the cash I needed on the bed.» his knees now were next to your waist, as he sat on your lap, reaching out to put his hands next to your head, caging you as he balanced his weight.

«And now I’m lying on them,» you mumbled as his lips attached once again to your jawline.

«Do you think I care about money having wrinkles?» he mumbled, smirking against your skin as he balanced himself on his left hand while his hand ghosted over your frame, his fingers looping in the belt loops of your jeans.

«What about… Other stains?» you breathed, your left hand scratching his slightly exposed waist.

«Is there some weird kink I need to be aware of?» the breathless chuckle you felt on your skin made you scratch him even harder out of reflex, and you felt pleased with yourself  as he instinctively hissed and grinded against you.

You never had any particular kink - actually, you had, but you had never considered appealing the idea of being fucked on a bed with a big amount of banknotes scattered under your body. Yet, there you were. You both left the foreplay at minimum and now, Jisung was thrusting into you, deep and slow while your head was pressed against the mattress, just as he promised the night before.

You learned pretty quickly that Jisung was loud also in bed, and you absolutely loved it. Hearing his moans mixed with the feeling of his breath hitch against your skin as he kissed your spine, the fact that he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, and his languid thrusts filling you so perfectly was making that marvellous sensation pool into your abdomen. You whimpered as a particular harsh thrust made you grip the blankets next your head even tighter – furtherly wrinkling some banknotes along, and you felt his firm grip on your hips; Jisung repeated the action before staying still inside you for few seconds. And again, and again.

He was purposely keeping his movements slow and teasing, so that you could feel every inch of his pulsing length move out of you, just to shove it right back.

As your moans deliciously filled the room, you gave in, whispering the magic words: «Ruin me, Jisung.» His grip on your waist tightened, as he heard you clench around him with a chocked moan.

«Took you long enough, angel.» he said, with a cocky voice before yanking you upwards by your hair, pulling your back flush against his body. As his thrusts gained speed and intensity, both his hands snaked around your hips: his left one wandered on your chest and pinched your left nipple before firmly gripping your breast in a firm hold, and his right one caressed his way until he pressed his index finger against your clit, trying to match the now messy pace of his thrusts which were making the both of you approach your orgasms.

You turned your head, meeting his lips in a hot, uncoordinated kiss, your right hand locking in his hair with a tight grip and your left hand’s nails sinking into his thigh. Jisung came with a loud moan, his hips stilling deep inside of you and instinctively holding you tighter against his body. He kept moving his hand, so that you’d follow him almost immediately later, the sensation of your orgasm spreading inside your body and relaxing your muscles.

You came back to your senses feeling Jisung’s soft kisses on your shoulders, as he slowly slipped out of you, your mixed releases actually staining few banknotes below you. The both of you plopped on the bed, giggling together as green money floated around you once again – since you both threw yourself back on the bed, and Jisung shifted until he was hugging you into his chest, your head resting below his neck and your fingertips delicately caressing his body.

«How about we go to the drive in?» He said, casually, as he played with a strand of your hair.

«Shouldn’t we go eat something before that? What time is it?» You sighed, closing your eyes as you felt Jisung reach out for his watch on the nightstand.

«10.50» he said, «Let’s sleep a little bit more.» he tried to roll you around, pouting at you.

«30 minutes, then we’ll take a shower and go eat lunch.» you answered dismissively as you let Jisung turn you around, so that now he was the one with his head in the crook of your neck, and you hugged him closer, playing with his hair.

«As you wish, angel.» you felt his soft breath anticipating an open mouthed kiss on your neck, before you both doze off with content smiles.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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[erenspussy420]

Oh well like for crewel and Crowley (seperately )x Latina reader

Rivals to lovers

Soulmate au

Fluff plz

Sorry this took too long to finish but hopefully you like it!

1.8K words

Fem Reader

SFW (However my blog isn't so you have been warned.)

......

......

Soulmates, a rather direct term for something so vital in the lives of Twisted Wonderland. There is a reason for the plural, instead of the singular term. For one does not have one soulmate but rather two, so to speak, a rival or an enemy many say in your life. And the other as many would garner the true soulmate, the true love.

A touching sentiment, knowing somewhere out there is the other part of you waiting to reunite in the vast sea of life. Those who will understand the depth of who you are and you in turn peek into their heart of hearts. Even the most bitter of men and women, crave that companionship.

At least it would be should you actually know which side is which. The citizens of the world tried to figure it out, taking guesses but to the dismay of many it seems that it is not as direct at times. It made a rather interesting story about how one meets their true soulmate, and their hated sworn enemy.

In some cases, they were the same person!

Some lament at such the idea of having their arms confuse them, some don’t mind and seem to relish having an enemy, some finding the way to find true love a challenge, but all agree they rather have both names than none—-

Unlike these poor souls whose arms will stay bare.

.

.

Dire Crowley: 

‘It doesn’t bother him, not one bit!’ He proclaims, as he tugs over his sleeves. A big fat fucking lieeeee. Anyone can see or rather pityingly watch the rather pathetic display when it's the annual staff parties, and Crowley drinking himself into the bottle.

Woe is poor Dire! Arms care to the world, no name on either one. Not even a smidge! He always keeps his arms covered in long sleeves, as he could anyway. Summer’s are a challenge for him, he tends to overheat quite easily regardless of his ice magic. He looks longingly at those bright hideous Pleasure Island shirts.

When he’s alone, he rolls up his sleeves and looks at them forlorn. He is a fae raven, and for so many years it's been lonely. It's not uncommon that sometimes a fae and a human or beastman will be soulmates, usually they appear as they are born, but Crowley has yet to see any ink paint his smooth skin after a decade of waiting…and waiting….

He has been practicing making a nest, so leave the man alone when he steals your shit.

Until one day, the day he yearns for came true. It was during the opening ceremony, did he feel a hot sensation climb up his arm. It was so strong, he practically kneeled over, grabbing onto it as it glowed bright like copper, and once it died, it left a singular name in cursive letters. He couldn’t believe it! You were here! You were finally here! 

Crowley is laughing, crowing up a storm that the housewardens and newcomers felt wary and a bit scared as Crowley hugs his students, twirling them around. He would kiss their cheeks if it wasn’t for the fact that can be counted as harassment and most of these ruffians have claws.

Happy day! Happy day! He had noticed it's the same name for both sides. Oh dear, but it didn’t matter because as of this day, he wasn’t alone! ….Oh…Oh dear, there was quite the commotion, quite the ruckus! Nothing can damper his mood! Not even a cat setting everything on fire and a magicless human!

Then he catches your name, and oh dear….the headmaster had frozen stiff…until your gaze is now covered in feathers and a man sobbing into your arms crying "how beautiful you are!" And "thank the Sevens! I waited for so long! So long to bask in your gaze!”---while you’re yelling in spanish about the crazy bird man, smacking him with his own shoe.

Truly a beautiful sight you have finally arrived! So much so that Trein had to take over since Crowley hasn’t stopped trying to preen your hair and crying into hair.

Once he finally gets himself in control, does his actual duties as a headmaster and deal with the fact you are not of Twisted Wonderland and from another world completely. He’s totally working on a way home— just let him get to know you as he does.

He catches himself staring too long at you. He can’t help it, he’s waited for you for so long! Every curve, every angle of your face makes his breath hitch. You have a bold look to you, confident and with a loud laugh that adds more to your charm.

Oh when he pisses you off, he can tell the second the house is filled with the scent of roasted dried chilies. Cue Crowley wheezing.

He does try to learn the Spanish you speak, wanting to learn more about you and the culture you hail from. Its rather sweet, even if you were teaching him swear words at first.

You have a big sense of community, his soulmate is so generous! Which does make him pout as he watches you, mother hen some of his troublemakers by putting the fear of God into them. 

Though he does like how you bring him into a dance in the kitchens, teaching him the simple steps of dances that have him being twirled around in your arms.

Adding into the second role of being a soulmate, you have pushed Crowley into being more active with his students, something most of his staff has thanked you for. As you were working on your master’s before being run down by the horses in the middle of Los Angeles. 

Even working harder than before, Crowley is utterly in love with his soulmate.

Crewel Divus:

“Hm? I see your eyes seem to find my arms rather fascinating, little pup?” The corner’s of his lips quirk in amusement, but the sharpness of his gray blue eyes made his students squeak. It was one of those rare times, Divus had his sleeves rolled over his arms, letting his unruly pups finally take a gander at who their professor soul mate could be. Most, however, made bets if Crowley was his enemy.

But it was bare and pale, the gawking student had found their mouth shut by the aid of a familiar whip pushing up their chin. “Hm, since you seem so fond of being idle, I can keep you busy,” a loud thwap of his whip smacking his gloved hand,” Detention, cauldron duty.”

As a young youth he was rebellious and scrappy in all the ways that come with being a teenager. Always in fashion regardless of how he looks, however it is noted his arms are bare to the world and Divus doesn't care what the world thinks of his unfortunate status.

Frankly, Divus pushes on the importance of it, he hates what it brings on him with expecting eyes and unlike Crowley who hides it— Divus will make you see he doesn't care about what the world thinks. As far as he is concerned, Crewel is standing here with or without a soulmate to his name. With or without you, Divus Crewel is not to be pitied.

Though, it cannot be said he hasn’t beaten a loud mouth punk twice or thrice when entering NRC.

Growing up however, after getting through his angst and anger, Divus accepts it. Maybe he traces over where the name of the person who can push him to capabilities, caresses the bare arm that was supposed to be his soul companion ... .and it takes his dogs covering him to bring him out of that stupor. 

He’s obsessive in a way that isn’t easily noticeable, something that reflects in his own outfits, his black and white outfits having a missing half in cufflinks, buttons, or belts. There is a way he walks, still poise and confident that seems to make space for someone who is supposed to be there. One has made the mistake of taking the second glass he has set aside—purposefully or not.

The day you finally had come into his life with a bang, literally as he can describe the sudden burning sensation in his arms that evening, Crewel had finally set up his room. The burst of such power had him kneel over, gripping the sides of his vanity so harshly he broke a chunk of it in his bare hands. It was as if something was being carved into him, not his skin he didn’t notice that but his own soul has been molded.  In a hurry, he rips up his sleeve, his cufflinks flying to the corners of his room but that didn’t matter.

His soulmate is here.

Oh when he first meets you, he takes you in. All of you, from the shade of your hair, to the curve of your eyes, the features of what makes you–you. Each note, his mind is already building up the things he can create for you.

You are nothing he expected but that is what thrills him. 

What his eyes picked up was your clothes. Well made, and tailored, stylish with personal flares. A fellow fashionista!

The second he brings you to his workshop, he knows—he knows now that all those cliche romance novels he reads when he’s fully alone means it clicks. 

He loves the embroidery of your culture that is prevalent in every outfit you make. Bright colors of – pinks, greens, yellows and reds. Everything you make has this brightness to it, eye-catching and so utterly full of pride.

There is a way you speak that is also so different from the Spanish variant he is used to, its more playful, relaxed and a bit cocky.

He’s careful in making sure you settle in Twisted Wonderland, while trying so hard not to prod you for too many questions. Though he does admit, he lingers nearby when he hears you sing in Spanish, the grin you have as you sing something he knows is pretty dirty as it seems the Shaftlands share the latin roots as you call it with French in your world. So don’t think he doesn’t know when you're cursing under your breath!

But he does admire the arsenal of insults you seem to throw on the fly when angered. He saved a video of you perfectly tearing off your sandals to throw it at Crowley for ditching his duties on you both. Three seconds is impressive.

Your fashion taste and his tend to clash, but he loves the way you make your canvas come alive during fashion shows he got you to join in. But the second you and him collaborate on a fashion line together, he sees that drive in you that makes him want to chase.

[bulletinboard-writings]

Flufftober 2024

Still not affiliated with the official Flufftober blog. Have fun with this random selection of fluffy, mostly romantic prompts, enjoy, and write responsibly.

"I will be the moon to your sun. And I will gather all the stars in the sky to make you smile."

"This heart beats only for you."

"I am yours. Mind, body, and soul."

Person A "If I win this, then we'll go out on a date." Person B "I thought this was a date!?"

"I don't care what I deserve, I want you."

Person C (close friend) signing Person A up for an event where they will be working closely with Person B (Person A's crush/ secret SO)

"I will always fall for you, no matter what."

"Allow me to be your mirror. So I can show you what I see."

"I will always come back to you."

Case of Mistaken Identity

"You’re the only person I could ever see myself with."

"All I want to do is wake up next to for the rest of my life."

"Its always been you"

Person A "Aren't you tired of me running to you with all my problems like a scared little brat?" Person B "Put simply; no. I'm honored you trust me so much that I'm the person you turn to for comfort and support. I wouldn’t have it any other way [Name]."

Playing with each other's hair/ doing each other's makeup

Making decorations/ Putting up decorations together

Going Shopping together (thrifting, malls, small stores in the area, etc.)

Mistletoe Shenanigans (setting it up for themselves or prank from a third party)

Sneaky/ Prank kisses

Bullying each other with kindness

Immortal Dilemma (or other impossible star-crossed lovers set-up)

Surprise Party/Costume Party

Cooking together (regular dinner, party prepping, holiday treats etc.)

Falling asleep during a phone call/video chat

Person A discovering Person B's crush doodles/secret love letters (and realizing that Person B likes them) [Or replace Person A with Person C who starts trying to tease B or convince B to confess]

"Let me kiss your scars. You deserve that kind of softness..."

Deep conversation about hopes and dreams for the future

Small moments over a late night (one person studying/finishing paperwork/something while the other keeps bringing them snacks and such)

Ruined date fluff

Random hugs/kisses/affection giving

Halloween Shenanigans (going trick or treating/setting up for trick or treaters/pulling pranks together/themed movie night/ etc)

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Your Touch, So Hot

Author’s note: More of Petras in Divergence au. @kit-williams and I were talking about this horrible Hypocrite of a Chaplain marine and collabed this thing.

Summary: Petras and his Bonded get hot, heavy, and sexy.

Warnings: Smut. Mild bdsm? Public-ish play. They are in his private office and fuck. Let me know if I need to add anything else

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Petras pets her head as she licks and services him. His hand tight around the leash as he keeps an impassive face while she pleases him. Two hands on his cock as she takes as much as she can in her mouth.

"Be a good girl for me," he whispers as you open up your blouse showing that pretty black and white lacey lingerie he got for you.

You nervously look at the door before getting to your knees as he mutters a prayer for you since you do not know them well enough. He wipes away some tears as you take as much of him as you can.

Wet eyes looking up at him as you suck on his cock. You had been uncertain, when he'd started talking about having sex in the Space Marine Base.

You'd talked about your worries and concerns about how badly it could affect him and you, at least socially, among other concerns that you'd had.

He'd listened to you, with that intensely focused way that made you all tingly on the inside. He'd spoken of the safe guards they could put in place to ensure that things wouldn't go too far.

And ensure that if they were 'caught' it would be by Arnault and Angela- as the pair of them had done a lot of fun parallel play with them.

That had eased your concerns. Petras gestured with one of his hands. He'd ensured that the door to his office was locked, and that he had a 'do not disturb, Important Chaplain-patient Session happening' is in place.

"Such a good girl... You look so beautiful like this." He whispers petting your face and then your neck feeling the way the muscles move as you take more of him. "Going to keep you under my desk pretty thing."

Your face flushes in pleasure at his praise- his deep husky voice does things to you when he whispers praise in your ear. You love how dark his eyes get when he's full of lust for you.

He pinches one of your nipples cause you to whine, "Shh shh none of that a little pain is good for the body and the soul... I'm certain your ass is still tender from this morning."

You pout up at him as best you can, through the sting of pain. It wasn't your favorite thing, and you had asked him to limit as much as possible the pain play. Which he usually agreed to.

He sniffs the air licking his upper teeth, "I can smell you... I bet the pretty little thong you're wearing is riding uncomfortably huh? "

You nod at him, it was uncomfortable, your bottom was still red and stinging from the spanking that you had received from Petras. He'd asked you to wear a sexy little set of lingerie that he'd made in black and white.

Your mind goes back to why your thong feels uncomfortable against your ass and cunt. The feeling of Petras's hand against your ass as he spanked it.

You had seen the intense hungry way that he'd looked at you, as he watched you put on the lingerie. He'd moved so fast, that it was within a blink of an eye that you'd finished wearing the outfit and you were suddenly on your belly.

You were over Petras's knee as his hand spanked your ass and you whined, your tits bouncing and rubbing against his hard cock as he growled out words in Astartes-talk that you couldn't understand.

You whined and wriggled and pleaded for mercy, you had worn what he wanted, and he seemed... frustrated, despite you wearing what he had requested.

He had done a half hearted apology after he was done spanking you. His hands massaging your tits the way you like... still not answering for his sudden shift of mood. You look up at him again as his fist is against his cheek just pupils dilated as he took in all of the little details.

"Oh You're too good for me" He says in high gothic... as he pulls himself out of your mouth before pushing his cock between your tits and cumming with just a grunt. "You're going to be the death of me my dear." He says in English with a sigh.

[rokishimizu4]

Signal’s Fast Food Adventure

(I’m gonna be finishing up the BatFam headcannons on my tumblr, then take a small break before starting my actual BatFam story on my AO3, as I’m gonna be starting my new job soon and I need to get it into my routine. Doesn’t mean that I’ll quit posting, but I’ll be posting on my other blog more than on this one.) (Also, Reader is small and has those soul stealing gray/blue eyes, you’re welcome)

To say that Duke was so happy to be stuck on the day shift due to his powers and such would be undermining the sheer wiliness of Tim, who can barley stay awake during meetings on a good day, to replace him for an entire week after the spider incident.

Duke, while facing worse things than a giant spider that wasn’t even gonna hurt anyone, had allowed Tim to join him. Not because he was terrified that Tim would find someway to get him to agree, like putting a fake spider in his bed or something, certainly not.

But he was incredibly thankful when Tim returned to the night shift. Not that his brother was bad at being a daytime bat, but Duke knows that the daytime rouges would appreciate not getting a double dose of roasting from two bats (One bat bringing up mommy issues was enough, thank you)

Plus, the daytime rouges were polite enough not to attack during lunch rush (As the line to any fast food place, not to mention restaurant and gas stations, were packed with already hangry people) and mostly tried to pull off a few bank robberies instead of trying to blow shit up.

Speaking of the lunch rush, Signal sits down on the roof ledge overlooking some of the fast food places/ Restaurants that busy rouges and Gothamites frequently stop to grab a quick bite to eat (That a few tourists go to as well if they’re brave enough), and waits a good half an hour before making his way down once the crowd thins out enough that he could get in and out without being recognized. (Hopefully)

He waits a bit more, until he notices that someone was stepping out of the Batburger and placed a sign out a bit away, then turning back and going back in.

Signal smiles to himself, before dropping down onto the empty sidewalk and casually walking past the sign into the restaurant. (Which reads: Closed for cleaning, this is not an invitation to rob us! Signal is watching!)

The bell rings with the pleasant dings of common dinner bells (not unlike Alfred’s little dinner alarm) as the smell of pure greasy food assaults Signal’s nose as his mouth begins to water and his stomach growls.

“Hey Mr. Signal! Got your order up and ready!” A man back behind the counter calls out with a smile, a gray wife-beater hugs tightly to the man’s chest and eagerly clings to his prosthetic hand/arm and steel plating. The man had a weird Australian/Canadian accent, but the man’s skin reminded Duke of a cup of coffee with either too much milk or too little (depending on the light, he guesses)

Signal just gives the man (who he’s not sure what the guy’s name is as he has no name tag) a smile and a nod. Eagerly taking the bag of four bat burgers and a large fries and setting money on the counter.

He turns to leave, but stops when he accidentally bumps into someone (much smaller than him cause he was almost reaching 6ft).

Cue him looking down into the pouting storm clouds above a flooding river eyes of a very small person, of whom was wearing a knitted purple and turquoise sweater and ripped jeans, and something in his chest flutters like when he first met Damien and won his respect after a brutal patrol.

“Sorry little one. Here, let me help you back up.” Cue Signal reaching up and gently grabbing the kid’s? Hand and starting to help them up, only for his powers to activate mysteriously.

”SHIT CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

Cue Signal running out of the restaurant and back up onto the roof of the tallest building close to the sun.

Cue Signal experiencing a different type of ‘ghost vision’, one were he feels a brief flash of pain of a needle prick, and a taste of chocolate. But, he sees nothing but white, hospital white but different.

Once, the vision is over, he rushes back down to the Bat Burger. However, the person he accidentally ran into was already gone but he swore that he could make out a faint smell of bitter chocolate. (Which was weird as there were nothing made with chocolate in the Bat Burger, not after the Riddler broke the Milkshake and ice cream machines months ago.)

“Hey Mr. Signal, back for a new meal?” The Australian/Canadan man asks as he points down to the ruined bag that was supposed to be Signal’s meal. (Smoking like it got lit on fire and everyone was too lazy to even put it out correctly)

*Biggest dramatic, one full of regrets getting up this morning, sigh* “Yes please.”

(Let me know if you want the reader to be an actual adult, teenager, or a child. Also, I’m like 5’2” but I’m an adult. I feel more and more like I should make the reader a child, so please let me know)

(Also if I should do a Eddie/Venom headcannon too)

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

yandere best friend pt3

tw; infantalization, yelling, violence, self harm, feels bad because comparison is the thief of joy, life being unfair

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

yea im on a roll haha i just finished part 2 and now i moved onto part 3, as u can see i was projecting here with the leg situation

anyways its pretty short and as usual, no proofreading

enjoay

You don't know how he's doing right now. Time passes so fast that its been four years since that haunting call from your friend. You finished your masters degree and now you're deeper in debt than ever. You're taking on three jobs unrelated to your qualifications and running on no sleep, just like how your friend did when he was working towards his biggest goal.

Well, maybe you lied. You knew how he's doing, because his stupid restaurant name is ubiquitous.

It's strange, unfair and confusing how he managed to turn his restaurant into a multimillion corporation this fast. It's now a famous brand with multiple branches across the globe, it has expanded into selling frozen products in supermarkets everywhere. It's still growing too, more and more people are investing in his empire, making him richer and richer and making you green with fucking envy.

People who invest in stocks bring up his brand pretty often, saying that it's worth to invest a couple thousand dollars in it because its in some sort of top 500 index. You weren't really interested in that because you don't even have a couple thousand dollars to spare in the first place.

Your friend seem to mostly stay out of the limelight, making him more of a faceless founder. It's rare to find interviews with him, even if you did, he would always give vague, generic answers to the questions. He would focus more on promoting his products than anything else, he's neither humble or arrogant... but he's just like a robot made only to advertise whatever it's selling and make as much sales as it can.

The masses would very much prefer to pay attention to the celebrity ambassadors the marketing department hired.

Personal information about your friend was scarce, so far you knew that he went ahead and got himself a diploma in culinary arts and another diploma in Food Science and Technology in the last four years. No doubt, to improve the credibility of his company and in hopes of having more customers flock in.

You felt... bad. Took the conventional, the more socially accepted route of studying to one of the highest degrees, but your friend who started off with only a high school diploma and an iron will was so much more successful than you in life.

Perhaps it's simply the human condition to compare ourselves to wildly different lives. Every time you check the news about your friend, it's always something about his company achieving another award for delicious tasting food, well known events involving major public figures or the highly anticipated release of a new product.

You don't come across pictures with your friend in it, but when you do, it's always a picture of him talking to an important figure in a lavish setting, or having the fanciest dinner you have ever seen with people in formal clothes. He looked amazing in every one of it, he was so put together that it looks unreal. Well, seeing that he can afford the best treatments the world has to offer, it doesn't come off as a huge surprise.

And that is soul crushing, you wish to be him. And you forgot the hardships he went through. And you became bitter. And resentful of him. And resentful towards yourself. And-

Oh, your break is up. Time to continue your self loathing inner monologue while dealing with snooty customers. All the while, forgetting that your friend also has to deal with mood and energy vampires everyday.

As if things couldn't get anymore worse, you fucked up your legs. Well, not you. But some spoiled brat with a speedy sports car slammed onto you while you were lawfully using the zebra crossing. Their daddy was loaded and had the right connections, so the person who took your legs out walked away scot-free. You were left to clean up the mess yourself.

Luckily, it's not the worst thing your legs can take. You'll still be able to walk, but it will take ages to heal and might as well amputate them to pay for the damn bill. Throw in a kidney or two and you might just pay half of it off. So, you'll be wheelchair ridden until further notice.

You moved back into your parents' home, the same country where you and your friend first met. As much as you hate depending on others, you need your parents help. You are financially ruined and you can't exactly find a job that's kind to people with your disability. Or to people with any disability, in fact.

Word spreads so fucking fast. Your friend made a beeline to your parents house as soon as one of his private eyes reported that you're back home.

He was in a meeting with the board of directors managing one of his numerous subsidiary companies. It baffled everyone in the room when your friend showed interest in something other than profits and company growth. It was thought that he has no soul, no loved ones and no sentience. He was just a massive piece of code programmed to make as much money as possible at all cost.

Seeing that he experienced such a strong emotion upon hearing your arrival, that he had to adjourn a meeting, was so jarring.

It made him seem... human.

You were fast asleep. Exhausted from what the world has pelted at you and weak from all the pain. Your parents invited your friend in as he was extremely excited and happy that you're back, oblivious to the fact that you're in this state. He didn't bother listening to the full report his private eye was about to give him.

As soon as he entered your room, his smile fell upon seeing your crippled state. You were unconscious, if you weren't, you would probably die from mortification... your successful childhood best friend, seeing very unsuccessful you. An old laptop sits uncomfortably on your belly, yet another job rejection letter was shown on the screen.

Your friend was speechless. He could already hear the growing storm of regret, self hatred, anguish, anger, sadness brewing inside him, it was muffled, but its getting increasingly clearer and louder.

His trembling hands gently stroked your casts as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

What happened? He whispered, it was loud enough for your parents to hear. Hence, they began explaining.

The name of the person who hit you with their car was all he needed to know. He is going to take care of it. Everything else bounced off his head as his eyes slowly travelled to your hands, he took one of them into his larger ones. He massaged them with utmost love and longing.

It's rough. It's calloused. It's scarred. It's everything that he never ever want your hands to be.

You groggily woke up, using your free hand to rub your eyes. You paused when you saw your friend by your bedside, silently staring at your hand in his. Tears rolling down his cheek and dripping onto the collar of his very expensive jacket.

He failed. He may have tried his best to stop it from happening, but he ultimately failed. You went through more or less, what he went through.

He shouldn't have left you alone, he shouldn't have trusted that you won't suffer like he did. He should have intervened, he should have bought that plane ticket instead, He shouldn't have respected your boundaries that day, he should have come to you regardless.

You have proven that you are incapable to take care of yourself. No more mistakes, no more neglect, you need him now more than ever. He is going to make things right and you will have no say in anything anymore. You will depend on him and he will make sure of it.

As soon as his eyes met yours, he lost it. He broke down sobbing in his hands. The weight of his failure is crushing him to pieces, how could he be so fucking stupid? Obviously, you needed him despite receiving that scathing text message four years ago. You were so young, so naïve, so inexperienced and oblivious to the cruel, cruel world around you. Of course, you thought you would do okay. You haven't seen the world at its' worst like he did! He should have known better... and he knew better! He just...

He just wanted you to be happy. And, he thought you would be happier if he left you alone for a while. In the meantime, he would continue building that perfect life for you to come home to, filled with nothing but comfort and luxuries. But look at you now, you were robbed of your innocence, and, your friend blamed himself for it.

You're suffering and he was the cause of it. only if he didn't neglect you in the first place...

No...

Only if you didn't fucking reject him over and over again. Things would have turned out differently. You also had a part in this!

You covered your face out of embarrassment, you did not want him to see you at this stage of life. You didn't want anyone seeing you like this.

Please leave me alone. You said.

You always knew your friend to be the softest, sweetest person around you. He never got physically violent to anyone (at least, to your knowledge).

Imagine the shock when he yanked your hand away from your face and delivered a devastating slap to your face. You were stunned as the ringing of your ears and the pain of the blow overwhelm your senses. Within moments, a red print was formed on your cheek.

Your parents rushed in to put a barrier between you and him, but he ignored them and began yelling and pointing at you hysterically.

I trusted you! I trusted you! How dare you do this to yourself!? I worked so fucking hard-- I sacrificed everything for you, and you can't even keep yourself healthy! Oh, he was angry. He was shouting and screaming, most of the time it just made you scared and confused. You can't understand what he was getting at because he was jumbling over his words.

Your hands, they aren't supposed to look like mine and look what you have done to them! His voice went hoarse from all the exertion.

You weren't supposed to work for anything in life, I was supposed to provide for you! Why can't you just fucking depend on me!? Why can't you just accept me!?

You can only watch on as he threw a massive tantrum, your father tried his best to pull him away from the room, but to no avail.

You are going to depend on me, I am going to provide for you and that's final! I don't care what you think, you can't be trusted to do anything alone! With that final piece, he wrenched himself off your father's grip and stormed out of your childhood bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard, that some wall décor fell to the ground with a loud crash.

He is going to replace them later. Now, he needs to make a few phone calls.

[howlyourmelancholy]

Amortentia

summary: to her, he is the smell of Amortentia.

warnings: little bit of fluff, little bit of angst, it is SFW

word count: 450

a/n: this came of the blue while i was working one day, like a year ago, and have been sitting in my drafts for a while, while i figured out what i was going to do with this blog and how i wanted to set it up. finally figured out what i was doing, so came back to finish this. sorry in advance for the heartache :(

Sirius Orion Black is many things, and she would describe none of them as simple.

To her, he is the smell of Amortentia.

He is a mystery wrapped in leather, and she longed to understand him. He is a bad boy with a wicked tongue and old-world charm. He is someone who is unravelling because the world is smothering him.

He is midnight motorcycle rides beneath a pitch-black sky and hushed laughter as he snuck her out of the bedroom window. He is the wind in her hair and the adrenaline rush in her veins.

He is whisky-flavoured kisses and nights of endless passion. He is the reason she sees stars at night and why she can’t ever seem to catch her breath. He is dangerous and forbidden, but he is hers.

He is a beautiful soul, so full of love, and a dark fantasy come to life. He is the reason her thighs quiver at night and the reason she cries out for more. He is ecstasy, desire, and love.

He is every heartache and every recovery. He is the safety net that holds her close when the world threatens to consume her. He is the breath of a new day and the reason she smiles each morning.

She had never thought of him as anything else.

He is still the smell of Amortentia.

Except now he is beautiful lies and the broken promises that followed. He is a bad boy who grew into a bad man, whose silver tongue can only weave dark webs, not beautiful spells.

He is the knock at her door, and the authorities standing on her doorstep. He is the ice in her veins and the cause of her heart's skipping beats. He is the reason her world fell apart and the reason she still cries at night.

He is the taste of betrayal lingering on her tongue. He is the reason that she lies awake at night, longing for the past. He is the memory of a decade together—the memory of the future they’d both fought for.

He is the echo of a man she loved so dearly. He is the reminder that even love cannot save people. He is the heartache that brings her to her knees and the smell of roses on their caskets.

He is the cause of waggling tongues and loose lips. He is the reason she gets sympathetic looks every time she enters the room. He is the reason the world is cold, dreary, and oh so dark.

Sirius Orion Black is many things, and she would describe none of them as simple.

He is still the smell of Amortentia.

And she wants nothing to do with him.

[f3maled0g]

“What’s eating you?”

Edmund Pevensie x Fem!Reader

Warnings - We live in a society, allusions to sex, innuendos.

Summary - Gurl I dunno.

A/N: Don’t repost, re-blogs are absolutely fine

—————

“Pevensie!”

There you appeared with a moonshine induced stagger. One could have sworn Edmund Pevensie’s eyes shone. He quickly assumed his original demeanour. Cold and unbothered, although now with a certain lightness to his shoulders. All the while, you made your boisterous trek to his spot, sporting a lopsided grin.

“Hello,” you sung, albeit badly.

He released an audible humph.

“Geez, something crawl up your trousers, old boy?”

“Okay.” Edmund raised a brow. Then, another.

You paused, maintaining deadly serious eye contact as if about to divulge the most sordid goss.

“What’s eating you?”

“Excuse me?”

“The phrase,” you jabbed at an explanation. “What’s bothering you?”

“In what world are you from where they use that euphemism?”

“Give a girl a break, concern is the most honourable gift I’ve ever bestowed upon anyone,” you returned a salute.

He scanned your hopeful countenance with a critical eye and took a generous swig of brown from a suddenly procured flask in his hand. Ed sighs, his thoughts muffled by the wild clamour of teenagers coupled with the cantankerous ambience that parties generally possessed without fail.

“So,” you inhaled, teetering on the edge of a conversation doomed for death. “Wanna get out of here?”

His lips twitched with a growing smile at the sight of your determined look in his periphery, more than prepared to bolt at the door. Not that you ever noticed the subtle glances, after all, stoicism was his magnum opus while yours ignorant bliss.

“Suit yourself,” you concluded with a shrug and waltzed out the exit and Edmund felt obligated to follow, legs mechanically willing themselves in your direction. Someone had to look out for you.

Just when he thought he’d lost you, Edmund found you leaning against the stout wood of an old oak. You bathed in the staple warmth of summer air, skin set aglow by the moonlight streaming through cracks of the foliage.

“You know, it’s considered rude to stare.” You whispered with closed eyes, conscious of his burning scrutiny.

He lingered at a comfortable distance from you, enraptured by your surreal tranquillity. Your eyes fluttered open, the reflection of the moon evident in your dilated pupils. He drew closer, your presence willing him to motion, like a magnet, until he was close enough to hear the rhythmic pattern of your breath.

The proximity was agonising, enticingly so. Your tangibility rushed him into a confused frenzy. He wanted to touch you. Worship the deity that you were. Longing nagged at him. How was it you were so close yet out of reach? It was aggravating. You were aggravating and this puzzle could only be solved in one way.

You looked at him through your lashes, a haziness dancing across your face. “What’s eating you, Pevensie?”

What passed in the moment was a blur.

Edmund stood before you, obscuring the view of the moon. You tilted your head, the bare slope of your neck appeared so inviting. It took everything to restrain himself. To maintain his resolve. But if you would just ask nicely, sweetly. Edmund’s heart would yield.

Your stare was a siren call to him. Beckoning and beckoning. It seemed his heart was not the only appendage at your beck and call. Edmund’s hands had a mind of their own and commanded forward. You bristled, the grip snaking around your waist shook your guard.

“Is this o-”

“Yes,” you gasped, much like a fish out of water.

Edmund chuckled, “You didn’t even let me finish, love.”

“In the biblical sense, I just might if you got on with it already.”

Seriously, you were rushing this? He pictured this a little differently, wanting to take his time with the pretty thing before him and explore the contours of your soul. After all, not only was Edmund Pevensie a fighter but a lover too.

Impatient hands latched onto his shirt collar, willing him forward and flush against you. The contact stirred something deep within your lower belly, something reserved only for him. He kissed you hard, then pulled away, noses nudging each other’s. You smiled, baring your teeth with closed eyes.

“Y/N,” Edmund breathed, “Look at me.”

“Hmm?”

“I like you, alright?”

“Alright. I like you too.”

Resolve broken.

You laughed heartily. “So, why don’t you just get it over with, buddy boy?”

“Buddy boy, huh?” He pulled away, extending a hand to pull you from the mighty oak. “You really are something.”

“Thanks a bunch, Eds,” you scoffed, jutting your tongue out. “Not only am I aroused, but aroused and disappointed.”

You turned to leave but Edmund stopped you.

“Listen, it’s not that. I just-”

“Are you a virgin?” you deadpanned, “Is that what this is?”

Edmund pouted, wounded. You raised two brows.

Ignoring the blow to his ego, he pressed on, “I just want to take my time with you, is all.”

Oh. You warmed from the explanation.

“So, that’s what’s been bothering you.”

You approached again and this time planted a kiss on his cheek, his face unusually ruddy from the affection.

“Well, at least let me take you home?” he suggested.

“I do have a curfew.”

“So, about the sex…” you began, looping an arm around his.

Edmund rolled his eyes, “Name the date.”

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part nineteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you make some new friends.

a/n: this might be my favourite chapter yet. I had sooooooo much fun writing it, and finally touching on/adapting scenes from the show is bringing me so much joy I can’t wait to get to the meat of it, but the parts between now and then excite me too!!

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, if you’ve been reading up until now you know the drill, I’m getting lazy with my warnings LOL, no smut here, a bit of angst, F R I E N D S H I P

✨@friskito-library for new works and updates✨

Your days in the radio room have become more and more frequent, since your run-in with Gwen and her crew. It’s like you told Tess; with Hartford gone, you’d lost one of your more consistent meet-ups, and you needed to know what else was out there. You needed new connections, new friends, allies. You needed something. In case Boston went belly-up and needed to get the hell out of dodge and never look back, you needed a soft place to land.

Abe’s garnered quite the collection, over the years, and it’s like everywhere you look, there’s another wire connecting from one wall to the next, batteries that probably shouldn’t still work plugged into far too many devices. His map collection is something to write home about, and you spend some time trying to figure out the path Joel and Tommy took from Austin, but when your finger finds Cincinnati, your chest goes tight, and you return to the room Abe’s set up for just for you, branched off the main room he uses to send requested messages.

You’re still paying him with cigarettes, although some of them are the hand-rolled FEDRA shit that McCoy has a penchant for. The soldier’s other habits always seem to win, though, and you always have at least half a dozen for Abe, who’s quietly grateful, waving you off into the side room, closing the door behind you.

“I don’t wanna know,” he told you when you first asked. It’s been a while now, though you stopped for a while when Nick shot Joel, when you both needed time to recover. “Just do what you need to do, and leave me out of it, okay?”

“So you don’t want any more cigarettes?”

He pointed a finger at you. “I never said that.”

And here you are, one side of the big headphones pressed to your ear. The foam has definitely seen better days, but the sound is relatively clear. You’ve kept a notebook of your contacts, the frequencies they’re usually on, the days of the week and times they’re usually available. Today, you’ve gone through every single one, and no one is out there. So you’re just twisting the dials, the strange sound of the static and frequencies almost giving you a headache, but then—

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’, cuz I’ve built my life around you.

You haven’t heard that song in a long, long time. In fact, you’re pretty sure the last time you heard it was in Joel’s truck, in that field just outside of Austin, staring up at the stars. Fleetwood Mac has always been one of your favourites, and you slide the other side of the headphones over, encasing yourself in the song, shutting your eyes as the music crackles over the radio.

But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m getting older, too.

You can feel the song in your soul. It digs straight into your chest, the crooned lyrics wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight.

Oh, I’m getting older, too.

You let it wash over you, sinking back into the chair, wrapping your arms around yourself, tilting your head back on your shoulders and making the cable connecting the headset to the radio stretch. You’ve found a few cassette tapes over the years — namely the same Led Zeppelin album you’d once given Joel for his truck — but you make a mental note to keep your eye out for Fleetwood Mac or Stevie Nicks.

The song finishes, and you sigh, straightening in the chair, reaching out to turn off the radio, fingers brushing against the knob.

“If there’s anybody out there, my name is Frank. I’m on frequency 1462. We have resources, and we are looking to trade.”

He repeats himself again, and then another song starts. More Fleetwood, Go Your Own Way.

Well, shit.

Your fingers fly across the knobs, turning to the right frequency, wincing at the whine as it clicks on. You reach for the microphone.

“Hello?”

There’s a fraction of a pause before, “Oh my god, hi!”

If your years of smuggling have taught you anything, it’s that you can’t trust anybody right off the bat. You have to be wary, you have to be careful. Hell, there are still people you’ve traded with that you don’t trust as far as you can throw. It’s just the way things are.

But fuck, if he doesn’t have the kindest-sounding voice.

“Is this Frank?”

“It is!” he replies, his excitement somehow palpable through the radio waves. “Oh my god, I was starting to think no one was gonna hear that message.”

“It’s a good song,” you laugh, pulling the mic closer to you on the table. “Haven’t heard it in a long time.”

“It’s a classic,” he agrees, and there’s a slight pause before, “Okay, I’m gonna admit, I have no idea how to do this.”

“How to do…?”

“Make deals,” he says, “meet people over the radio. Have you done this before?”

You’re not quite sure how much truth you should offer a perfect stranger, regardless of how kind he sounds. If this is a FEDRA trap, chances are good you’ll be able to blackmail your way out of it. So you settle on, “Once or twice.”

“Am I allowed to know your name? Or is that not…?”

“It’s Liv,” you offer. “Where are you, Frank?”

He pauses again. “I’m not sure if I should…” You can hear the sudden hesitancy in his tone; you know it well.

“Why don’t I tell you how I normally do this?”

“That would be perfect.”

“You tell me what you have to offer, I tell you what I have to trade. We settle on terms, pick a meeting spot and a date, and that’s that. You don’t kill me or my people, I don’t kill you or yours, and we part ways with what we’ve bargained for. Simple.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“But before we get into that, can we at least make sure we’re in the same state? I try not to cross the borders if I can manage it.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” he agrees. “We’re in Massachusetts.”

“Good,” you nod, reaching for your notebook and pen, scrawling Frank’s name on your page, along with the frequency number. “So are we.”

“Coast?”

“Pretty close.”

“Good.”

“So we’re in the same state,” you say, tapping the pen against the paper. “What are you offering to trade, Frank?”

“Tell me something first,” he prompts, and your brow lifts slowly. “How long do your…relationships with traders usually last?”

Your throat bobs, Gwen’s screaming voice echoing through your head, but you shove it away. “Depends. As long as everyone holds up their end of the deal, there’s no real time limit.”

“What’s the longest you’ve traded with someone?”

“There’s a group in Providence I’ve been trading with since 2008. Never had any issues there.”

“Uh-huh, good to know. The thing is, what I’m proposing here, it might not be the same as the other deals you’ve made. We’re well-protected here. My partner, Bill, he’s…he’s a survivalist, and he’s built this place to last. We’re not going anywhere fast, we’re sustainable.”

“Meaning you wouldn’t come to the city,” you say, catching on, and now you’re the one feeling hesitant. “Depending how far out you are, it might not be worth it to us. There’d have to be something worth the risk each time, and I don’t—”

“Freshly cooked meals,” he says, and you stop dead. “Fresh vegetables. Wine, the good kind. New clothes, building materials, and weap—”

“Stop,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “I only trust the radio so far. Give me coordinates, and a date, and we go from there.”

He gives you the coordinates, you scribble the numbers down, and decide on a date, three days from today. You say your goodbyes, and you tell him not to get back on the radio until you’ve met, but to keep playing the music, so you know everything is still a-go. “You like Fleetwood Mac?”

“I love Fleetwood Mac.”

“Then you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

You can’t help the smile in your voice. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Frank.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“See you soon. Oh, and Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

It catches you off guard, makes something crawl up the back of your throat.“Thanks, Frank. You too.”

You dial to a different frequency the moment you’re done, shutting down the radio entirely, and leave without a word. Abe doesn’t so much as glance at you as you head out, past the long string of people waiting patiently for him to send their messages.

+

Joel’s home before you are, which is a shock.

His back is killing him. Tommy’s skipped out on every single one of his jobs lately, and Joel feels like every time he turns a corner, there’s something else that needs repairs, another new face asking him to fix something. His hands hurt, he’s got a kink in his neck, and all he really wants to do is fall into bed and have your body curled against his.

He sighs as he gets through the door, brow pinching when he doesn’t find you perched at the table or sitting on the couch, head bent over your maps or flipping through your notebooks. It’s become habit for you lately, wanting to build up your connections more and more, now that Hartford is gone.

The guilt over the entire situation lingers in the back of Joel’s mind, a nagging voice that sounds suspiciously like his brother.

Joel shakes the thought away. He did what he had to, to protect you. To protect his wife, his family.

He did what he had to.

Locking the door behind him, he tosses his makeshift tool bag — a ratty backpack he found at the donation hall before it shut down — into the corner, and flops onto the couch. He slings his hand over his eyes. He’ll just close them for a minute, just until you’re home, until you’re…

A nightmare latches onto him with a vice-like grip, throws him fully out of sleep with a gasp, his chest heaving.

“Joel?” your voice calls, a soft echo across the apartment, and he turns to see you perched in one of the kitchen chairs, pencil between your teeth, your hair falling in your eyes. “Baby, you okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, swinging his legs off the couch, getting to his feet with a groan. He rubs at his lower back as he pads over to the kitchen, coming to stand behind you. He leans forward and plants both hands on the table either side of you, leaning down until he can fit his chin into the curve of your neck, planting soft kisses at your pulse.

“Fine, now that you’re home,” he mumbles, and you lean back into him slightly, turning your head so you can kiss at his, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. “You were out late.”

“I’ve been home for hours,” you reply, huffing a laugh, setting the pencil on the table. Your maps are all spread out, the big one of Massachusetts on the top. “You’ve been asleep the entire time. Didn’t wanna wake you.”

Joel drags one hand off the table, moves his arm so it’s slung around your chest, curling his fingers around your rib cage. “How nice of you.”

“Best wife ever,” you say, and Joel laughs into your skin. “Oh, and there’s dinner for you. Abe’s wife sent me home with food as thank you for fixing their door the other day.”

“What is it?”

“Something with Spam in it,” you tell him, and Joel wrinkles his nose. “It tastes better than it looks.”

“Noted,” he grumbles, pressing one last kiss to your throat before he straightens, spine creaking as he goes. “Fuck, I’m getting old.”

“I think the grey in your beard suits you,” you answer, turning back to your maps, “just for the record.”

The corner of his mouth quirks as he heads for the fridge, fishing out the plate of food and leaning against the counter. “How was your day, baby?”

Your pencil drops again, and you push your chair back, the legs squeaking against the floor. You turn yourself towards him fully, slowly getting to your feet, taking a step towards him. “I made a friend.”

Joel’s brow quirks. You know a lot of people in the QZ, that much he knows for certain, but he’s really not sure how many of them you would refer to as friends. “Oh?”

“On the radio. His name is Frank.” You turn back to the maps, eyes raking over the paper, your finger finding a spot marked with pencil. “He lives in Lincoln, and we’re gonna go see him in three days.”

He nearly drops the plate. “What?”

“I mapped out the path. It’s a bit of a hike, almost five hours outside of Boston, but—”

“Ten miles?” Joel repeats, and you just nod. “Liv, we’ve barely been outside the city limits, and you wanna hike ten miles to some random stranger?”

“Frank,” you say, your tone almost petulant, and Joel puts the plate down. “They have food, Joel. Real food, not bullshit QZ rations. Wine, weapons, building materials. New clothes. This could be good for us, Joel. Really good.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “You want me to hike five hours for wine?”

“I want you to hike ten miles for a chance at something good, Joel. Something new.” Your gaze drops and you knot your hands together. “Something to make up for what we did, maybe. Somehow. I don’t know. I just…I feel good about this, baby. And it’s just a meeting, to start. I didn’t promise him anything, just that we’d meet, and we’d talk. Then we go from there.”

Something in your voice tugs at him, and for a moment, Joel’s not quite sure what it is, but then it hits him.

It’s hope. It’s the most hopeful you’ve sounded in a long time, and when you take another step toward him, he opens his arms to you.

“The route will take us right past Cumberland Farms,” you continue, and Joel cups your hip in his palm, letting out a quiet oomph as you lean against him, reaching up to twine your arms around your neck. “We can stop there first, stash some stuff just in case.”

“A safety net,” Joel says, and you nod.

“Exactly.”

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“You were asleep for a long time,” you reply, and Joel just scoffs, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Wait,” you pull back, moving one hand to the middle of his chest, pushing lightly. “Is that a yes?”

“Well, I’m not about to let you go by yourself now, am I?”

+

It’s a long fucking hike.

Thankfully, it’s relatively easy. The path you’d chosen isn’t overly adventurous, no daunting hills or thick forests. It’s mostly open air, rolling fields, forests either side of the roads. The weather is beautiful, which is a plus, though you can feel the sweat pouring down your back as you walk, on the right side of Joel, as always.

You recount the entire conversation you had with Frank to Joel as you walk. Tess had offered to come with you, too, but you decided the two of you would go for the first meeting, and if things worked out, then you’d all go together the next time. You could tell part of her was relieved, and she admitted to you later she had plans to see Robin the same day you were going.

“You got instinct, baby,” Joel tells you after you’ve finished the story, your fingers twined together as he pulls you out of the path of a fallen telephone wire in the middle of the road. “Don’t forget that. I’ve seen it; you know what you’re doing. And if you feel good about this, then I’m game. We see what happens. And if anyone tries to lay a hand on you—”

“Hit ‘em real fuckin’ hard with my bat.”

He grins. “That’s my girl.”

The praise makes your chest warm, and when he’s close enough, you slide yourself against him, slipping your arm around his waist, tugging his around your shoulders. “Your wife is a badass, Joel Miller,” you say, and he barks a laugh, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “In case you weren’t aware.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, his brows lifting. “Believe me, I’m aware. It’s fuckin’ hot. Only reason I married you.”

Now you’re the one that laughs, sliding your hand into his back pocket and squeezing his ass through his jeans. “Jackass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, and squeezes your shoulder, turning his head to kiss the top of your head. “Liv, baby?”

“Mmm?”

“When we get back to Boston, I’m gonna try and talk to Tommy. Make peace or somethin’.”

You nearly stop dead in your tracks. In fact, if Joel wasn’t still walking with his arm around you, you might have fallen over. But you don’t let your shock be known, schooling your face as neutral as possible while letting one brow raise. “Oh, really?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and I just…He’s my baby brother. He’s a fuckin’ idiot, and he’s gonna get himself killed, but he’s family. And we keep going for family, so I gotta fix it. Somehow.”

Slowly, you nod. “You think he’s gonna tell the Fireflies about me?”

“I’ll break his fuckin’ nose if he does.”

“Joel.” You smack at his chest. “That’s not how you fix it.”

“I know, I know. It’s…” Joel shakes his head. “I want to believe he won’t. I really do.”

“So talk to him,” you say with a nod. “See what happens, go from there, and please, just don’t fucking hit each other.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You continue on, the sun beating down on your every step. There’s not much more conversation, but the silence is easy, a comfort. Joel doesn’t let you wander far, you eventually step out of his grip but your hands are still linked together.

Your stop at Cumberland Farms is brief. In the early days, you brought a stash box to the gas station, tucked it below one of the floor panels. You and Joel mostly empty your packs into the box, some ammunition, a spare knife, food that’ll last a good while. A backup. You pull one of the long-empty freezers over the panel, try to make the trash and debris cover it up, just to be safe. Joel gives you a nod of approval, and then you keep going.

Eventually, the tree-lined road gives way to open space. More hills, dips in the earth. Far in the distance, you see a plane broken in half on the hilltop — an emergency landing gone wrong — and your stomach rolls at the thought of what’s still up there.

But then you turn another corner, and it’s even worse.

Beside you, you hear Joel’s quiet shock. “What in the…?”

You grip his hand tighter, pushing yourself against him, tearing your eyes from the sight before you. “I thought he was lying.”

Joel’s head whips in your direction. “What? Who? You knew about this?”

You swallow hard around the lump that’s formed in your throat. “Early days, after the outbreak. Like, the week after, FEDRA swept through the small towns and evacuated them. Told people they were going to a QZ. And they were, if there was room. If not…” You tilt your head towards the pit.

“How did you know? You’ve been out this way?”

“Never this far,” you answer, shaking your head. “Nick, he…he told me about it.” Joel stiffens, and you squeeze his arm. “He wasn’t part of it, but he knew soldiers that were. It wasn’t just here; it was all over. Across the country. Who fucking knows how many people FEDRA killed.”

“I just don’t get why.”

“Better dead than infected.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, and pulls you closer, turning you away from it. Not that it makes a difference; you know you’ll be seeing the half-buried skeletons, the scraps of clothing and the scattered belongings, in the back of your mind for a long time. “Maybe there’s a path through the forest.”

You shake your head. “Just keep going.”

“Liv—”

“Keep going, Joel.”

So you do. You try to bury the sight, try to push it away, try to focus on where you’re going instead.

It’s like you turn the corner, and all of a sudden, there’s a town right in front of you. A small town, to be sure, a handful of buildings, some that have seen better days, and when your eyes land on the nine-foot metal fence around the perimeter, Frank’s wavy voice on the radio echoes through your head.

We’re well-protected here.

He sure as hell wasn’t lying.

As you approach the fence, Joel situates himself in front of you, his expression wary, an arm held out, protector mode on. You get closer, and suddenly it strikes you that you have no idea what Frank looks like. You have no idea who you’re looking for.

But you’re pretty sure it’s not the large bearded man with the giant fucking gun pointed at your head.

Instantly, you’ve both got your hands in the air, Joel still a half step in front of you. “What do you want?” the man barks, lifting the gun a little higher, switching between aiming the barrel at your head and at Joel’s.

“We’re here to see Frank,” you say instantly, nearly tripping over the words. “I’m Liv, this is Joel. I spoke to Frank on the radio.”

“Oh my fucking…Bill, put the gun down!” another, strangely familiar voice shouts, and over the larger man’s — Bill’s — shoulder, you see a slightly smaller man, a touch taller than Bill, but thinner, his hair shorter, his beard a little more well-kept. He’s got a dishrag over his shoulder, and as he jogs up to Bill, pushing his partner aside and reaching for the gate before you, he grins at you.

The gun is lowered, but as Frank pulls the gate open, Bill pulls out the same bio-scanner machine you’ve seen FEDRA soldiers toting around back in the QZ, and your heart sinks into your toes.

“Would you put that thing away?” Frank chides, waving at Bill, beaming at you now as you take a hesitant step towards the now-open gate. “You must be Liv.”

His smile is infectious, and as Bill stows the scanner, your excitement returns. “Hi, Frank.”

“Come in, come in!” he says, and reaches for your hand, tugging you through. “You guys are just in time; lunch is almost ready. Right, Bill?”

“…yes.”

Joel’s a half step behind you now, his hand finding the small of your back as you walk through the gate completely. Bill sniffs as you step past, and closes the gate behind you both, hitting a keypad that emits a loud beep, the heavy sound of magnets slamming together.

You’re at a loss for words as you follow Frank down the street. It looks so…normal. So alive, so lived in. You’ve become so accustomed to abandoned buildings and broken windows; to be around buildings that look well taken care of, a house that looks like it belongs to someone, you’re at a loss.

“This place is beautiful,” you manage to say, picking up your pace to keep up with Frank. “It looks so…”

“Normal?” Frank asks, and you just nod, giving a little laugh. “Cookie-cutter? I know. It’s definitely grown on me.”

“You weren’t always here?”

“Oh, no, not always. It’s been about…three years now? Something like that?” He waves a hand. “We can talk more about that stuff over lunch. You two must be starving.”

You turn another corner, and the most beautiful house stands before you. Two stories, perfect white picket fence out front, planters filled with flowers lining the walkways, the hedges and lawn neatly trimmed. A US flag sticks out from the front of the house, the fabric billowing in the warm breeze, and you nearly topple over when you see the patio furniture set out, four chairs around a table, each place already set, wine in the middle, glasses at each spot.

You and Joel are frozen in place, but Frank continues on, stepping through the small gate in the fence and walking towards the table. Bill stalks past you, heading into the house, and Frank waves you on. “Come! Sit!”

Joel’s hand pushes against your back, his voice low in your ear. “You still feelin’ good about this?”

“Very,” you reply, and let him propel you forward slightly, unable to wipe the grin on your face as you walk towards the table.

You take a seat, Joel sliding into the chair next to you, and Frank produces a bottle of wine, filling the glass in front of you. Joel gives a little nod as Frank fills his glass, and you’ll be the first to admit you reach for the glass quickly, taking a long sip that tastes like heaven. You’ve never been a huge wine drinker; you indulged every once in a while before — the occasional glass if you were out for dinner, and your mom had a penchant for rosé — but this is good fucking wine.

“How long did it take you guys?” Frank asks as he fills his own glass, then the empty seat for Bill. “Easy travels I hope?”

“‘Bout five hours,” Joel answers as you take another sip. “No Infected, and the weather’s good.”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Frank says, still beaming at you, and you’re smiling into your wine. “We’ll eat first, and then I’ll show you two around. Bill’s a bit…hesitant about the whole thing, but he’ll come around. He’s a big softie.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly. “Sort of.”

As if on cue, the front door opens, and Bill appears, calling Frank’s name. The taller man rises, jogging towards the door and when he turns back, he has two plates of food in his hands. It’s fine china, piled with steaming veggies and pieces of meat, actual fucking gravy and Bill has a bowl of dinner rolls tucked in the crook of his arm.

Frank sets a plate down in front of you, and for a second, you honestly feel like you could cry. “Oh my god, thank you.” Bill hands the other two plates to Frank, then disappears towards the house. Frank goes to follow, but then waves his hand at his partner’s back.

“He can handle the salad himself.” He settles into the seat across from you, gestures to the plate you’re still staring at. “Go ahead, eat! There’s more too, if you’re still hungry after.”

Joel wastes no time, but you wait for Bill to return, saying your thanks when he hands you a bowl of salad that looks fresh from the garden. Your mouth is watering. He just gives you a curt nod, sinks into the chair opposite of Joel, and pulls a handgun from the holster on his leg, setting it beside his plate. A warning, and you see Joel’s eyes dart to it before he glances at you. You sip your wine again, your hand finding Joel’s thigh beneath the table.

“Well, this is just incredible,” you say, breaking the awkward silence that’s settled. “Honestly, it’s just…it’s amazing, truly.”

“Right?” Frank agrees, giving you an almost conspiratorial grin. He picks up the wine bottle from the table, gestures to your glass. “Refill?”

“Please,” you say, holding your glass out.

Frank side-eyes Bill as he picks up the gun, pulling back the hammer with a quiet click. “Could you not, please? They’re our guests.”

Joel stares at the gun for a long moment before, “I’m the same way.”

“Oh, you’re a paranoid schizophrenic, too?” Frank asks, and you have to stifle your chuckle, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spit wine.

Bill rolls his eyes. “I’m not a schizophrenic.”

Bill and Joel share another glance, and you take another sip of wine before clearing your throat. “Well, I just wanna say, uh, gun aside — which I get, for the record.” You squeeze Joel’s leg beneath the table. “You’re protecting your family. But this is just so nice, and so appreciated, to have a meal like this, in such a beautiful place. It’s been so long since things felt normal, and this…even if we don’t end up working together, I just…thank you. Both of you.”

Frank meets your eyes, holding his glass towards you. “We are working together.”

“We haven’t even—” you start, but before you can finish your sentence, Frank sets down his glass for a moment and gets to his feet, reaching for his glass and the bottle again.

“You know what?” he says, giving you a grin. “Let’s go inside. Liv, I wanna show you something.”

You feel Joel’s eyes slide back to you, his brow furrowed deeply, and you squeeze his leg one more time before you’re getting up. “Actually, I’m dying to see the inside.”

“Let’s go,” Frank continues, ignoring Bill’s protests. “Bring your wine.” As you follow him towards the house, he pauses to let you catch up, turning to you. “Like I said, he’ll come around, he just…takes a while.”

You can’t help your chuckle. “Reminds me of Joel.”

As you step inside the house, you’re at a loss for words. Antique furniture, beautiful paintings, and it feels like a home. A stark contrast to your apartment back in Boston, which has felt more and more like just a place to keep your stuff. Especially since Joel showed up; wherever he was, that was home.

You dance your fingers across the piano keys as Frank turns towards the dining room, a large mahogany table taking up most of the space, matching chairs, an old grandfather clock, a covered desk. You don’t have enough of a musical ear to know if the piano is still in tune or not, but then Frank calls your name, and you wander over, sipping your wine as you go, careful not to let it spill.

“This place is amazing,” you comment, and Frank grins, turning to rifle through one of the desk drawers. “Did you and Bill find this place? I’m shocked it’s in such good condition.”

“No, Bill has always lived here,” Frank answers, still searching for something. “I was heading for Boston, after the Baltimore QZ fell. There were ten of us originally, but by the time I ended up here, I was the only one left.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, almost a reflex, and Frank waves you off. “So, you and Bill…you found each other, in the middle of all this?”

He finds what he’s looking for, something concealed in his hand as he pushes the drawer shut, and the grin on his face as he straightens to look at you makes your chest warm. He’s just so charming, kindness radiating off of him in waves. You’re not used to it.

“We did,” he says with a nod, an almost dreamy look in his eye. “It’s hopelessly romantic, isn’t it? Must be the artist in me. And you should have seen this place when I first got here. At least an inch of dust everywhere you looked.”

“Bill’s not much a cleaner?”

“He’s practical, but he forgets to pay attention to things sometimes. But he’s learning.” He smiles. “We all are.”

You scoff a little laugh. “That’s a good way to put it.”

Frank holds the thing he’d fished out of the desk to you. “For you.”

Your jaw drops. Fleetwood Mac. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he laughs, putting the cassette tape in your hands. “It’s yours. Landslide is on side B.”

“Frank, I can’t—”

“You can,” he presses, chuckling at your protest. “A token of appreciation for travelling this far to meet with us.” Before you can refuse, Frank turns, refilling his glass where he’d set it on the table and sinking into one of the chairs. “Now, tell me how this works.”

+

The majority of the afternoon is spent following Frank around, him showing you the numbered but incredible sights Lincoln has to offer. It feels like stepping into a history book in the best kind of way, and that feeling of normalcy, the white picket fence only adds to it.

“So, how long have you and Joel been you and Joel?” Frank asks. You’re in the clothing boutique, poking through the racks of clothes. Frank told you to pick out an outfit, and you’re taking your choices very seriously, your mind torn between desperately wanting something cute while knowing you need something practical.

“Hah. It’s, uh, complicated?” you reply, your voice hitching on the word. You rub the sleeve of a green sweater between your fingers, savouring the softness. “We knew each other before the outbreak.”

Over the top of the rack, you can see Frank make a face. “That doesn’t sound that complicated.”

Before you know it, you’ve told him everything. It throws you, to trust someone this quickly. But, he invited you into his home, trusted you not to turn on him and his partner, his family. And that warmth he seems to radiate, it just adds to it all, making you feel like you’ve known him much longer than you have.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” he says after you’ve given him the whole story. “So you were together in 2001, then you moved to Boston, then shit hits the fan, you’re still in Boston, and Joel shows up five years later with his brother and another woman?”

You nod, flicking through a rack to find a pair of black jeans in your size. “Yes, Tommy and Tess.”

“And Joel and Tess were a thing when they first got to Boston?”

“Yes.”

“Then Tess broke it off with Joel, and you two got back together? And she’s one of your closest friends?”

You nod again. “Yes.”

“And Tommy is…?”

You sigh. “Tommy is even more complicated. I think I’d need another bottle of wine before I even start talking about Tommy.”

Frank grins. “All the more incentive for you to come back.”

“As if I’m not already convinced.”

Outside the boutique, you can hear Joel calling your name. You glance at your watch. “Shit. We probably need to start heading back.”

“Take those,” Frank says, gesturing to the jeans in your hands. He has the green sweater you’ve decided on in his hands. “I told Bill to pack up some food for you too.”

You head out of the boutique and towards the gate, and as you approach, Joel and Bill walk out of the house, Joel’s bag slung over his shoulder, looking a bit fuller than it had when you arrived. He hands you your own bag, and Frank hands you the sweater as you crouch down to stuff the clothes in your bag. “You’re sure about this?” you ask, pulling the Fleetwood Mac cassette out of your back pocket.

“Of course,” Frank answers. “Don’t think of it as a gift. You’ll come back in a few weeks, and we’ll trade. 

“We will. And I’ll bring Tess, like I said.”

“Oh,” he continues, glancing over his shoulder at Joel and Bill, who have stopped a good ten feet behind you, “and I had this idea, that we should use codes for the radio. Y’know, just in case someone’s listening. I know you were worried, the first time we talked.”

You nod. “That’s a great idea. What kind of code are you thinking?”

“Music,” he grins. “Sixties, seventies, eighties. We’ve got this book on Billboard hits we could give you. Sixties if there’s nothing new, seventies if we’ve got something new, eighties if there’s trouble.”

“Eighties for trouble,” you repeat, nodding again. “I like that.”

“Good,” Frank says, and you get to your feet. “I gotta say, Liv, I felt good about this before, but now? It’s nice, so nice, to have new friends.” He reaches out, puts his hand on your arm. “And yes, before you try and deny it. That’s what we are.”

You can’t help your grin. “Friends.”

He grins back. “Friends.”

Joel and Bill have been talking the entire time you have, and when you glance back, you see Joel heading toward you, squinting in the sunlight. “Ready?” he asks as he comes to stand beside you, his hand finding the small of your back again, and you nod. He turns to Frank. “Thank you, for the lunch, and for…” He trails off, gesturing to you. “We needed this.”

Joel and Frank shake hands, and after, Frank pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders. “See you soon.”

+

You get back to the QZ late. You’re both exhausted, worn out by the hiking and the sun and the abundance of food. You’re both drooling over the leftovers Bill and Frank sent you home with, and as soon as you’re through the door to the apartment, Joel pulls out one of the containers, and you eat it with your fingers standing over the sink, both of you laughing at the absurdity of your day.

The next morning, Joel goes looking for Tommy.

Unsurprisingly, his brother has skipped out on his job for the umpteenth time, so as soon as morning curfew has passed, Joel heads into the city, and starts combing the buildings he knows are Firefly hideouts. The third building he’s poking around, and he’s stopped by a woman. She seemingly materializes out of the alleyway, arms crossed over her chest, dark hair tied back. She calls him by name, and Joel freezes.

“You won’t find him,” she says, her voice deeper than Joel is anticipating. “Tommy’s not here.”

Joel turns slowly, regards the woman as she steps out of the alley. She’s dressed the same as everybody else is, clothes that have seen better days, boots wrapped with duct tape. “You must be Marlene.”

“Guilty,” she answers.

“Where’s my brother?”

She looks down at the pavement, digs her toe into the asphalt. “Tommy left this morning.”

Joel’s stomach twists. “Left? What d’you mean, left?”

“I stationed him at our base in Minneapolis,” she says, and Joel’s heart stutters. “He left with a few other men this morning.”

His hands clench into fists. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I know how you feel about the Fireflies, Joel,” Marlene continues, and the edges of Joel’s vision tinge red. “Tommy told me. And I understand why you would have your…reservations. But your brother just wants to do some good.”

“My brother is a fucking idiot,” Joel spits. “Is that what you told him? That blowing shit up and killing soldiers was good?”

“We’re doing more than that,” Marlene starts, “and Tommy understands that. He knows what he signed up for.”

“Does he?” he replies, and his voice is climbing. There’s a handful of people out on the sidewalks, and some throw glances in his direction. “You turned him against his family. Against his own brother.”

“I didn’t turn him against you, Joel. Tommy made a choice.”

Joel shakes his head. He’s shaking with anger, confusion, fear — every emotion crawled up the back of his throat and making a home there. “That’s a load of shit.”

Marlene digs in her pocket and extends a folded piece of paper toward him. “This is the radio frequency for the base in Minneapolis. Give it a day or two, then try and get through. I know your wife works the radios, she shouldn’t have any problem reaching him.”

He just stares at her, eyes darting between her face and the piece of paper. But finally, the desperation that’s been added to the mix wins out, and he snatches the paper. “If he dies, it’s on you. I’m not responsible for what happens after that.”

“If he dies, I’ll await your wrath, Joel.”

Before he can do anything more, she turns on her heel and disappears, leaving Joel in the alleyway, alone.

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🍓in case tumblr eats the ending🍓

[teaableu]

feelin down and i just love this blog sm. i was wondering if u had any dtk (or kidstar) hc’s u wanted to share maybe. if not though i hope u have a wonderful day, seeing u on my dash always makes me smile.

OH MY GOD A SOUL EATER ASK?? /POS

i just got a huge serotonin boost tysm anon

YES I DO I JUST GOTTA GO GRAB EM

dtk:

the older Kid gets the less human he seems. Like once he's a full shinigami he gets a whole bunch of power that his dad had that sort of strip away his likeness to humans

going off of ^^ I think Kid's human form is constructed. His true form probably looks more like LD but it's not something he was particularly taught to embody/access so he just sorta stays in his human form

HOWEVER, I really like the idea that Kid just sorta.. generally freaks people out. There's a theory of horror that says monster characters can feel scary just because even though they look it, people can tell they are not quite human. and i think Kid has exactly that effect on people

Kid has regenerative powers because his human form is more of a construct/image than an actual biological organism. he's really made of the same stuff from LD's "cape". so he can't really be killed or severely injured for long, especially as he matures and gets more powerful. I think the only way he can take permanent damage is if his soul itself is affected. Sure he can be hurt and it does hurt but soon he learns to sort of turn off extreme pain, and he always ALWAYS regenerates or recovers. But he's always aware that his friends don't. so if he needs to he'll throw himself in front of his human friends if they're dealt a fatal hit to make sure they aren't severely hurt. This becomes a bad habit when he's older. But his friends always try to protect him too and take care of him, and he unlearns the habit

Liz and Patty set him up on social media and he started with a whopping 1 follower for like a week, but then got millions of followers overnight after Soul (who has a good following count bc of his family's social status) mentioned him and everyone freaked out. That was the way the world found out Lord Death's kid existed. He and Soul destroy bullies together online. Patty pretends to be Kid on his account.

Kid is the Adrien Agreste of soul eater. very popular, people love the image they see of him in the news and interviews and stuff (I think its a lot harder for him to avoid publicity after the anime), but he's a lot different in person and only really gets close to the people who get to know him. everyone else has a sort of skewed perception of him. AKA he is Death's Son and Death's son only to them

Kid can sing but he typically doesn't because he likes to prepare first but doesn't particularly want to take the time to learn a song correctly. He appreciates the art but wouldn't do it. the only thing he knows well is some ancient song his dad taught him in some sort of inhuman language. he sang it ONE time and it freaked Liz out so much she didn't speak to him for a week

Before Kid took them in, Liz would sing ONLY for Patty. And only to comfort her. She did this after they moved into the manor too, when Patty would get nightmares from their life before or just generally have a hard time or anything. One time after Patty woke up from a nightmare and Liz went in to calm her down, Kid was walking by and just stopped at the almost-closed door when he heard Liz singing because A. He wants to know if his sisters are ok and B. He probably doesn't hear many people sing casually, and has definitely never heard Liz sing before and it's... nice?? He stays there for a while but moves on the second Liz finishes so he's not caught. He doesn't say anything. But then after one awful awful mission, Liz is singing to help Patty sleep and Kid just. Stands in the doorway, disheveled and exhausted and they all just,, stare at each other for a moment until Patty opens her arms and Kid shuffles over, a little embarrassed and puts his head in her lap. They are all very tired. And then Liz (after getting over herself) just keeps singing until the two of them fall asleep

Kid only knows how to cry/to cry when he's upset because he saw Maka do it when they were young and now he's a pro. Because he only really LOOKS human a lot of human behavior doesn't come naturally for him so he learns from humans around him. He's much better at mimicking and adopting human behavior than Lord Death, which was LD's whole idea

He's shorter than Liz and Patty until he's about 20, then he's shorter than Liz but taller than Patty

Kid can pick up languages really easily. I think if he's immersed he can speak fluently after a couple hours

I've thought about a thing where individual people outside of Death City think he looks different than how anyone else sees him, like a sort of PJO Aphrodite situation but that may be too much of an identity crisis for him lol

There are no government records confirming Kid exists. The only document or ID he has is that little card from LD that says I'm LD's son I can do what I want and nobody questions it

Kid's human form ages normally until he's an adult but when he's mature his aging slows until it finally stops at some point, not sure when.. maybe around appearing 40?

he is gay and ace and has a very loose concept of gender

only Liz and Patty can touch his hair but only when they're at home

Kid and Maka are besties I don't make the rules. She is the only one he will allow to help with his detective work

Kid and Patty cannot be left unsupervised together or there will be some sort of chaos. they are scarily effective on duo missions, even though Kid doesn't use Patty as a weapon for those occasions

Kid doesn't need to sleep but he does if there are other people around (having Liz and Patty in the house helps) because it's refreshing and he read somewhere it helps build trust

Eyes glow in the dark and he can see fine in the dark

Kidstar:

They're about the same height but Black Star gets a growth spurt and is a few inches taller when they're adults

Kid figures out his feelings first (takes a bit rip) but doesn't do anything about them because he feels like he can't because of his responsibilities

^^ That being said I think Black Star has always been generally aware of his feelings for Kid but he doesn't actually put two and two together until literally the moment before he makes his move lol

I don't think they refer to the other as their boyfriend specifically (at least not often) they just sorta... idk man they're partners, they can't describe their relationship in words dont look at me i'm sobbing

first kiss in the rain lets go

majority of physical affection they do is like. hand holding or light touches on the shoulder or arm it is very special to them

more of a future thing (i got a whole future au so ofc i'll talk abt a future thing lol) i dont think they'd ever feel the need to get married bc they're both stubborn and they got all of eternity to be together and I think a lot of their relationship just generally remains unlabelled and unspoken it just IS

OH sort of ignoring my second kidstar hc I had a hc they got together sometime before the mission to the arctic but nobody except like. Killik knew

For funsies I'll throw in a couple of Black Star headcanons

Tsubaki is teaching him Japanese and how to cook

^^ he likes to cook for his friends even though he's not that good at it yet

Mom is Latina I have some stuff about her here. He starts to learn Spanish after he finds out about her

First partner and first kiss was Killik but they had a mutual and friendly break up

Somehow beats mortality while remaining human idk how he just does ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That is all I can think of right now but I hope you enjoy :)

[viking-raider]

Soothing the Shadows

Summary: You were Marshall's nurse, after he was shot by Simon Stulls. The two of you fall in love, and everything seems perfect, but it's strained by Marshall holding something back from you. His fear of losing you.

Pairing: Walter Marshall/Reader

Word Count: 6.5

Warning: M - Mention of Violence, PTSD, Severe Flashback, Mention of an ugly divorce, Language, Fluff, Alcohol Use, Mental Health battle - SMUT - fingering (F receiving), protected intercourse.

Inspiration: So, for this fic, I sort of meshed Marshall and Sy together into one.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

Dating a homicide detective wasn't easy. Especially, when that homicide detective was Captain Walter Marshall.

The pair of you had met after Marshall was injured on the job, having been shot by Simon Stulls and his twin brother. You were the nurse that took care of Marshall, while he recovered from the near fatal wound that rendered him in the Intensive Care Unit for two weeks.

“How are we feeling tonight, Captain Marshall?” You asked, breezing into Marshall's private room, with a bright smile, finding your grumpy and sometimes difficult patient in his bed, one massive arm in a sling and the other working the remote control to his tv.

“Hm.” Marshall huffed back at you, rolling his eyes.

You chuckled at him, not taking it personally. “How's your pain level?” You inquired, checking his medical chart to see the notes from his previous nurse, before moving over to examine the vitals on his monitors. “Better than yesterday?” You asked, lifting a brow in his direction, remembering the discomfort he had been in.

“Six.” He rattled off the number, shrugging his good shoulder.

“Would you like me to get you anything for it?”

“No, I'm fine.” Marshall answered, sighing softly, setting the remote down on the little rolling table next to his bed and raked a hand through his hair. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”

“Is our hospitality that bad?” You quipped, giggling at him, hoping to get him to at least smile. “I could phone the manager.”

Marshall looked up, his blue eyes regarding you for a long moment, making you feel like he was reading your soul, before he finally responded. A twinkle in his gaze. “No, I'd hate to complain to the manager. Especially when there's one bright spot in the hospitality.”

“Well that's-” You gulped, shifting in your rubber nurse's clogs. “That's good to know, Captain Marshall.” You told him, a bit sheepish.

“Marshall.” He corrected you, gently. “Just call me, Marshall.”

“Marshall.” You smirked, nodding your head. “I'm glad you enjoy the hospitality. But I also hope you go home soon. I'm sure your daughter is ready for you too.” You said, changing the subject, so the heat in your cheeks would cool off.

“And, your wife.” You added, a small lump in your throat.

“Oh, she's-”

“Code Blue.” The Hospital P.A crackled over the speakers. “Code Blue. All personnel. Code Blue, room eighteen.”

“Oh crap!” You gasped, adrenaline starting to pump through your veins. “I'm so sorry!” You said quickly, before rushing out of his room.

Sadly, you weren't able to see Marshall again. Your code blue patient took up most of your time and when you were finished with them and your other rounds, Marshall had been released to go home. You were happy for him, even though you were a bit sad that you hadn't been able to say goodbye and see him off.

But you got another opportunity to come your way.

“Hey.” One of your co-workers tapped you on the shoulder as you stood at the nurse's station, filling out a medication request. “There's a super handsome guy asking for you.”

You looked up from the computer. “What?” You frowned at her, confused. “Who?”

“I don't know, I didn't get a name. But he's damned sexy.” She chuckled, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Shaking your head, you leaned over the counter of the nurse's station, looking down the hall and towards the doors that allowed entry onto your floor. You were shocked to see Marshall standing there, reading one of the posters on the wall. “Oh my god!” You gasped, quickly pulling back, before he could see you.

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he was one of my patients.” You told her, fussing over your black, whimsical bee, scrubs and hair.

“Well, you must like each other.” She commented, watching you with amusement.

“Shut up.” You chuckled, going by her and trying to act natural and calm, despite being nervous beyond belief. “Marshall, what are you doing here? Is everything all right? Is your wound healing?” You asked, trying to be professional.

“Everything's fine.” He smiled at you, instinctively touching his shoulder. “It's healing great.”

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“I-uh-came to see you.” He confessed, biting the inside of his lip. “I wanted to know, if you'd like to get some coffee with me, sometime?” He asked, shoulders stiffening with resolve.

You narrowed your eyes at him, cocking your head to the side. “Aren't you married?”

Marshall drew in a deep breath, tightly folding his arms over his chest. “I was married, yes.” He replied, his face darkening. “Angie and I divorced some time ago. It's complicated and not something I'd like to get into.”

“All right, as long as I'm not being a home wrecker by accepting your offer.” You answered, relieved.

“I assure you, you're not.” Marshall said, relief dancing in his blue eyes. “So, when are you next available?”

You looked down at your watch, tilting your head side to side for a moment. “I can take my lunch break right now.” You told him, meeting his gaze with a smirk.

“All right.” He nodded, turning to push open one of the doors behind him, for you.

That day had changed both your and Marshall's lives. You quickly fell in love with each other and craved each other constantly. But there was a drawback to dating Marshall. You hadn't made that step to move in with each other yet, as much as you wanted too. So, you went to one another's place. It was usually Marshall coming over to your flat though, after he got off from his shift at the station. You would make him dinner and the two of you would cuddle up under a blanket on the couch with a glass of wine, or more specifically, a glass of wine for you and a glass of whiskey for him, to watch a movie or one of the shows the two of you had become interested in together.

“Walter.” You giggled, shifting beneath the heavy comforter the two of you were under, trying to watch Peaky Blinders.

“What?” He husked back, turning his head into the side of your face, moaning softly, while his hand squeezed the inside of your thigh again.

“Keep that naughty hand to yourself, Captain.” You teased, turning your face into his.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Marshall replied, feigning innocence.

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled, smelling the sharp honey and caramel of the whiskey on his breath. “What's this?” You asked, rubbing your legs together against his hand.

“Oh, you mean that hand.” He smirked, gently nudging his nose against yours. “I don't know how it got there, but since it is.” He said, pushing it up to cup you through the thin, purple fabric of your panties.

Your gasp melted into a deep whimper, as Marshall started to rub you, watching you through hooded and lusty blue eyes. You turned, pressing your back against the armrest of the couch and opened your legs, giving Marshall full access to your dripping womanhood. He reached under the quilt, not removing it, to keep the chill of the room off of you, as he all but tore your underwear off your body. Tossing them absently over his shoulder and behind the couch, Marshall's hand was back on your privates within a millisecond.

“Oh Christ.” You mewled, arching your back against his hand, his middle finger slipping between your slick folds as he caressed you, teasing you. “Walt, please!” You begged him, pushing the heel of one of your feet into the top of his thigh, nudging his leg impatiently.

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head at you, curving that evil digit into your canal. “I haven't seen you in two days, babe.” He panted, licking his lips. “I want to enjoy it.”

“Then take your fucking shirt off, Marshall!” You barked, outraged and worked up as the tip of his finger grazed your sweet spot.

Marshall laughed, “That requires me to take my hand off of you.” He pointed out, amused by your situation.

You dropped your head back on the couch arm, then sat up, shivering as Marshall's finger reached different angles, and grabbed at his shirt. Bunching the knitted material in your hands, you yanked on it until you managed to pull it off over his head, then tossed it in his face for extra drama. Making him chuckle and toss it back at you, before driving his finger deep into your spot. Caught off guard, your hand flew out, clawing into the exposed skin at the top of his shoulder and leaving very angry crescents behind in their wake.

“Lord have mercy, Marshall!” You cried out, your head flying back, while you rocked on his hand.

“Lay back.” He purred at you, planting a kiss to your fingers. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You always do, Donut.” You teased, laying back again, tugging the blanket up over you as you did.

Marshall blushed slightly at your nickname for him. “I try, Angel.” He replied, gently working his finger inside of you, crooking it to tease your walls, knowing all the places to hit.

Your toes curled and you moaned softly, eyes rolling shut as you rutted against his hand, rolling your hips. Marshall looked at your face, a soft smirk on his own, seeing the pure pleasure you were in. He slipped in a second and started rubbing your clit with his thumb, drawing out a loud sigh from you. The want to keep that look on your face forever was so strong inside of Marshall. You were relaxed in the essence of pleasure and bliss, with no care in the world, other than what his fingers were doing to you.

“Walter, please!” You begged him, brows drawing together as you looked down your face at him.

Smirking, Walter freed his fingers from inside of you and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you into his lap and a heady kiss. He moved to the edge of the couch and stood, taking you with him, supporting you against his body as he carried you to the bedroom, one big paw rubbing firm circles over your back to keep the flat's chill away, until getting there.

“Why do you keep it so cold in here?” Marshall commented, resting you on the bed.

“I don't know. Guess I'm just used to the chill of the hospital. I don't really pay attention to it, until you show up.” You replied, giggling as you pushed the blankets to the foot of the bed.

“I should start a fire.” He said, glancing at the enclosed fireplace, in the corner of your room, as he stood at the side of your bed, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his tree-trunk thighs.

“You already started one.” You cooed at him, licking your lips at the titanic tent in the front of his boxer briefs, reaching out to palm it through the black material. “A big one, Bear.” You hummed, feeling the hot beast that lived within throb against your palm.

Marshall's eyes fluttered back into their sockets as you fondled him, pressing himself against your hand, growling deep in his throat and chest. You smirked up at him, leaning forward to press your lips to his hairy belly. Smoothing your palm upwards, you curled your fingers around the elastic waistband and slowly peeled his boxers down. Even with anticipation, your eyes grew and you gasped silently, when Marshall's thick and veiny, cut cock sprang heavily free from the confines of the garment.

Reaching into your bedside drawer, you removed a square object from inside and tossed it on one of the pillows, before looking at Marshall.

“Come to me.” You whispered, removing your shirt and heading up the bed.

Looking you over, like a hungry wolf, Marshall stalked up the bed towards you. Moving over you and nuzzling his face into your neck, he nibbled and kissed at the skin there and at your shoulder, while his hands smoothed down your sides, touching every inch of your body. You felt the rub of Marshall's beard as he left love-bites you'd be feeling during your shift later tomorrow. But that didn't bother you, you wanted to feel Walter with you. Always. You had one hand tugging at the curls at the back of his head and the other clawing into one cheek of his rump, as he grabbed at your knees, shoving them wide open to buck against you, his cock dripping against your slickness, mixing with the ultimate finale.

It didn't take love for Marshall's thought of lighting a fire to become nonsensical, the two of you were heated and glistening with sweat, from your combined actions and feelings. Perspiration pearled down Marshall's vast back as he pulled away from you, only slightly, his darkened blue eyes meeting yours in a hungry and sultry gaze, that sent a chill so powerful through your burning body, goose-flesh was raised.

“Mine.” He growled, in a deep pant.

“All yours.” You gulped back, nodding and sucking your lip between your teeth.

Marshall sat up between your legs, and you grabbed at the item you had tossed on the pillow earlier. It was a condom. You tore it open and took out the opaque-red and lubricated rubber, tossing the packaging carelessly to the floor, while Marshall grasped himself at the root, the head of his member changing a shade of purple, to hold his thick cock steady. You carefully rolled the protection down over his length, marveled at how it looked, snug over the throbbing veins. Wrapping your hand around the head of Walter's manhood, you stroked it downward, ensuring the sleeve was secure in place, before reaching up to grab him by the shoulder and pull him down into a heated kiss.

While you kissed, Marshall lined himself up with your weeping entrance. It never seemed mattered how many times the two of you were intimate, you never quite grew accustomed to Marshall's sheer size. Even with the help of being aroused and lubricated, there was always that initial stretch of him easing inside of you, of his girth reshaping you for the billionth time in the two years you had been dating. But it quickly subsided into something so marvelously euphoric, that you couldn't help the soft smile that crossed your lips or the curl of your toes.

He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you against his body, an arm encircling your waist and the other around your shoulders, his knees planted into the mattress, as he rocked into you. The wood headboard smacked against the wall behind it, keeping time with each thrust. Thankfully, it was an outer wall, so your next door neighbor wasn't too bothered by the noise, and he was used to your and Marshall's love making, by now.

Good and patient, Preston.

“Christ, Marshall!” You cried out, your walls kneading around him, feeling every furious movement that begged his manhood to release his magic and bring you both into a world of unimaginable bliss.

“Fuck, babe.” He panted back, his hot breath wafting over the skin of your face.

He pressed his temple against yours, letting out small whimpers of effort and moans of pleasure in random intervals. His thrusts lost rhythm and became rougher, as he neared his climax, your own aiding the effort. Marshall throbbed inside of your quivering walls and you felt the muscles of his stomach clench and become rock hard. He made his tell-tale sound, a soft, groaning sigh, as he unloaded inside of the protective barrier between you. Nonetheless, your slick canal struggled to keep a hold of Marshall's unloading and still working cock, feeling it surge inside of you. Your back arched, pushing yourself up against his clenched stomach, nails racking down his sweaty back.

“Marshall!” You cried out, shuttering with each wave of pleasure that washed through you. “Oh god, Marshall.” You whimpered, slowly lowering yourself back down, spent. “I love you.” You sighed softly, after a few moments to catch your breath.

Marshall rolled you both onto your sides, tucking your head under his chin and against his chest. “I love you too.” He whispered back, hugging you hard against him, fingers tangling in the back of your hair.

You struggled to stay awake, not wanting to fall asleep, knowing what it meant, if you did. But you were spent from a long shift, the previous night, little sleep and the exhausted pull of your love making. Soon enough, you were snoring into Marshall's collarbone. But, when you woke with a jolt a few hours later, your heart thundering in your chest, a good enough fire in the fireplace to keep your room warm, but not roast you alive, however you were alone.

“Marshall?” You called out, hoping—praying, he was just watching tv in the living room like he did, on rare occasions. “Donut!” You yelled out a little louder, turning to grab your shirt off the floor and padded into the living room, but found it cold, quiet and empty.

You sighed, realizing Marshall had left. Turning, you went down the hall to the guest room bath and discovered the mirror was still foggy. Marshall would go there to take a shower, before he left, so he wouldn't wake you by using your master bathroom. Usually, when he showered at your place, it meant he was heading straight back into the station to work some more, without bothering to go home. You wondered how many hours your boyfriend had slept, before sneaking off into the night.

“Just one night, Walter Marshall.” You whimpered, stripping your shirt off as you headed to bed again. “That's all I ask of you. Stay one fucking night with me, without vanishing like some sort of ghost.” You sighed, crawling under the blankets.

Marshall scrubbed at his eyes, while trying to focus on the police report in front of him, Harper had given him a new case to work on. It was a double homicide with a few lead suspects, but no solid proof on which of them it could possibly be. He was hitting his wit's end, three shifts, with a four hour sleep between two of them, crashed out on the small couch in his office. He'd only spoken to you through text messages through that time. The two of you had tried to meet up for lunch, but one of his suspects had been hauled into the station and he had to cancel it, so he could interrogate them.

A soft knock sounded on his office door and Commissioner Harper popped in. “How's the case going?” He asked, depositing himself into a chair across from Marshall.

The Brit drew in a deep breath and let it out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That well, huh?” The older law enforcement officer chuckled. “When was the last time you went home?” He inquired, seeing the dark circles under Marshall's bloodshot blue eyes.

Marshall looked at his watch. “Nine hours ago, to shower.” He replied, shooting Harper a look.

“You need to head home.” Harper snorted, shaking his head. “Don't you have a new lady in your life?” He said, lifting a brow at Walter, critically. “You shouldn't be keeping hours at the station, like you were when you were a bachelor, Marshall. I'm sure it drives her fucking crazy.”

“I know.” Marshall sighed heavily, knowing Harper was right. “It does.”

You had scolded Marshall several times about working himself into the ground and not getting a proper night's sleep. He wasn't a bachelor anymore, preferring to be at the station, then sitting alone, in the deafening emptiness of his flat. He definitely was a husband in the middle of getting a divorce, where he'd rather work eighteen hour shifts, against the alternative of going home to another argument or silent treatment from his soon-to-be ex-wife and making his daughter's life a nightmare.

He had you now, and was still acting like he didn't.

“You're right.” He said, flipping the case file closed and locking it away in his desk. “I am going to take the rest of the day off.” He nodded, stretching to his feet.

“And tomorrow.” Harper added, giving Marshall a stern look.

Marshall stared at him for a long moment, before slowly nodding. “Tomorrow as well.” He conceded, grabbing his jacket from the hook at the back of his office door.

“Hey.” Harper paused, as he stepped out into the hall, turning back to Marshall. “Surprise her. Women love that stuff.” He smirked, giving him a teasing wink before heading off to his own office.

“Yeah.” Marshall nodded, chewing on the inside of his lip.

Thankfully, he knew you had the day off, which made surprising you all the easier to do.

Marshall stopped by his place first, taking a quick shower and changed. Washed up and freshly changed, Marshall went to a small floral shop to get a bouquet of your favorite flowers, then crossed town to your takeaway spot, ordering your favorite dish with something to hit your sweet tooth, before finally heading over to your flat.

Situating things in his hands, Marshall knocked on your door and waited for you to answer, his heart pounding for a reason he couldn't put his finger on. At least, until the door cracked open and you peeked out, then his pulse calmed.

“Hey, Sugar butt.” He grinned at you, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.

You swung the door open, excited to see Marshall. “What are you doing here, Donut? I thought you had to work!” You said, bouncing on your toes towards him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I got some sound advice, and I decided to take it.” He replied, bending his head to kiss the top of yours. “So, I have the rest of the day off, and was told I'm taking tomorrow off as well.” He told you, holding up the bag of food and your bouquet of flowers.

“There's no one else I want to spend it with.”

“What about Fae?” You asked, your tone teasing.

Marshall rolled his eyes at you. “I'm far too boring and uncool.” He huffed, shaking his head.

“Well, you're entertaining and cool enough for me, Donut.” You giggled, pulling him into your flat.

“Thank the heavens for that.” He smiled, letting you drag him inside and into the kitchen.

“What did you get me?” You asked, dying to know what he had in the takeaway bag.

“Things you eat.” Marshall smirked, side eyeing you. “Hey, hands off!” He chuckled, batting your hand away from the bag. “Go pour us something to drink, Sugar butt!” He said, popping you on the butt and kissed your neck.

“My sweet detective, you drank all your Rich & Rare whiskey, the last time you were here.” You informed him, giving him a gentle pat on the chest.

“Oh fuck, I did.” Marshall sighed, his shoulders slumping a little.

You smiled, moving around him to go into a cabinet. “Luckily for you, you have a very thoughtful partner.” You said, pulling down a bottle of the amber colored spirit. “Who noticed it and bought another bottle for you.”

Marshall turned around, cracking a smile at you. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” He asked, reaching out to cup your face.

You nuzzled his hand for a moment, before answering. “You got shot.” You deadpanned.

“Right.” He nodded, taking the bottle from you, then turned back to the food, pulling it out and putting it on the counter, before taking down plates.

You took down glasses and set one of them next to the plates, before grabbing your chilled bottle of wine out of the refrigerator, wiggling your brows at Walter as he moved by you for the fridge himself. Winking at you, Marshall grabbed a black case from inside the freezer and turned back, smirking as he found you already nibbling on your food. Shaking his head, he set the case on the counter and opened it, before cracking the seal on the bottle of whiskey, pouring some into his glass.

“So, how was your day?” He asked, opening the case and lifting a brow in your direction.

“It's been good.” You answered, getting your takeaway on the plate. “Slept a whole extra hour and a half.” You snorted, smirking to yourself. “Took a bath, instead of a shower, which felt incredible, and started to catch up with all of the shows I'm behind on.”

“Sounds like a day off well spent.” Marshall nodded, pulling out a pair of small tongs and removed a medium sized, chilled, black whiskey stone that was nestled inside and placed it in his glass. “I hope mine goes as well.”

“Well, we can make that happen.” You told him, holding a fork out to him.

Marshall grinned at you, taking the fork. “Yeah, we can.”

The two of you took your food and drinks to the couch, finding something to watch together, while you ate. You smirked, however, watching your Donut doze on and off, his plate balanced on his knee. Setting your plate on the coffee table, you gently took his and set it beside yours, you grabbed his hand and coaxed him up to his feet.

“Mmm.” He grunted, responding to your nudges towards the bedroom.

“Ssshh.” You cooed back, not wanting him to stir from the soft doze he'd fallen into.

Getting him to your room, you lightly pushed him back, to sit on your bed, stifling your giggle at his 'umph' as he landed. Kneeling down, you untied the laces of his boots, biting your lip as you gingerly pulled them off, but Marshall barely stirred as they came free from his feet. You managed to get his shirt off, before laying him back on the bed and covering him up.

“Sleep tight, detective.” You whispered, stroking the curls off his forehead for a moment, listening to his deep and easy breathing.

Tip-toeing out of the room, you gathered up the hardly touched plates and wrapped them up, storing them away in the refrigerator for later on, carefully poured the remaining whiskey Marshall hadn't polished off into the bottle, rinsing the stones, slipping them back into their case and into the freezer. Rubbing your face, you stripped and crawled into bed with Marshall, snuggling in against his side with a smile, excited to be falling asleep with him, knowing there was a high likelihood he'd be there, when you woke up.

What you hadn't expected was how you woke up with Marshall.

You were too deeply asleep to even dream, comfortable and warm. It was pure heaven, that you were hardly aware of the loud bang, likely someone slamming a door shut or the lid of a dumpster being dropped; nothing that was significant enough to draw you from your slumber. Nothing, but the jolt and gasp beside you. You started to pull to the surface of consciousness, struggling to understand what was going on, before you felt a pair of abnormally strong tentacles wrap around your frame. Jerking you against something solid, the air was knocked out of your lungs. While you were dragged over the edge of the bed, your stomach clenched as you dropped to the floor, crying out at the force of the sudden stop.

Realization flooded you, feeling the huffing, puffing and mountainous body of Marshall move over you, one arm still crushing around your middle to pin you against him, one thick thigh wedged between yours. If you didn't know Walter as well as you did, you probably would have started screaming at the position he had you in.

But you knew him, and you knew there was something deeply wrong with your boyfriend. Even your nursing instincts were going off for something being out of place. Marshall was panting like a wounded animal, his nostrils flaring with each breath, every muscle in his body was rock hard and rigid, but he was trembling. His teeth were gritted, like he was in pain and his blue eyes were wide and on high alert, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

“Marshall?” You whispered, apprehensive to make a sound, almost afraid that he'd snap at you, but his arm only tightened, making you hiss and wiggle underneath him, but he only held you tighter. “All right.” You groaned, relaxing to rest your forehead against the carpet, taking a deep breath of relief when his arm eased against your stomach.

You racked your brain, he was a horror hardened Detective for the Manitoba police force, what could cause Marshall to react to this extreme? Could this be a flashback from Simon?

You took a deep breath, knowing you had to help Marshall out of this, to let him know he was in a safe place. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for whatever reaction he gave you. Wiggling your arm out from underneath of your body, ignoring his attempt to keep you still, you propped yourself up the best you could under his weight.

“Marshall.” You said, keeping your voice calm and as if nothing was wrong, reaching back to rest your hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “It's all right, Walt. It's just a flashback.” You told him, pressing your head against his chest. “I'm all right. We're all right.” You reassured him, moving your hand to his neck, beginning to massage the tight muscles there.

“We're safe. There's nothing and no one here to harm us. I promise.”

“Unless, you look in my closet and notice the alarming ratio of scrub outfits to regular ones.” You said, making yourself giggle, hoping a light joke would cause a crack in the wall of his PTSD, since Marshall had always enjoyed your sense of humor.

But Walter didn't seem to react to any of it, though you didn't allow yourself to become discouraged.

“What can I do?” You cooed at him, wondering what was going through his mind. “Please, tell me how I can help you, Donut?”

Marshall abruptly stopped trembling against you and seemed to relax on top of you, but didn't move any farther. You took the win, patiently waiting to see if he made any further improvements. They took several more moments, with you still massaging his neck and just laying there with him, but Marshall finally seemed to regain some sense of himself.

“I'm sorry.” He mumbled, moving off of you at last.

You floundered for a moment, sitting up to rest your back against the side of your bed, unsure how to reply. “Mar-” You started, only to have him jump to his feet and storm into your en suite, slamming and locking the door behind him. “Okay.” You sighed, nodding curtly at the door. “You need space.” You said, to the air, then pulled yourself up and pulled on a pair of shorts shorts with a tank top.

Going out to the kitchen, you made yourself a cup of tea, pausing for a moment as you carried it out of the kitchen to fortify it with a small splash of Marshall's whiskey, before going to sit in the living room. You stared at the turn off tv, regarding your blurry reflection as you thought about what had happened in the bedroom with Marshall, then abruptly locked himself in the bathroom. The shower had turned on not long afterwards, making you suppose he was taking one to wake himself up and clear his head. You were still worried about him though, he had just turned into a statue after yanking you off the bed like that, forcing you to be still, like he was afraid something would happen, if either of you moved.

An hour and all your hot water later, Marshall emerged from your bedroom, his eyes pointed at the floor as he stood just passed the doorway. You set your empty cup on the coffee table and turned to look at him over the back of the couch, his wet curls were combed back off his forehead, making him look almost boyish.

“I'm sorry.” He mumbled again, folding his arms tightly over his chest, still refusing to look at you.

“I know you're sorry, Marshall.” You whispered back at him, your heart aching. “Please, sit down with me?” You begged, patting the cushion beside you.

Marshall lingered in place for a moment, before shuffling over to you and sitting down, arms still crossed. You stared at the circular and slightly puckered scar just below his collarbone, the purplish skin stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin of his chest, lightly hidden under the dark fur that covered his torso.

“I'm sorry, if I scared you.” Marshall elaborated more on his apology. “I also understand, if you don't want to see me anymore.” He added, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“What?” You giggled, surprised. “Why would I break up with you, Marshall?”

He finally looked at you, brows creased like it was obvious. “Because of what just happened.” He growled, his jaw muscles flexing. “I could have hur-” His eyes searched you for any marks, an almost frantic look coming into them.

“You didn't hurt me, Walter.” You assured him. “You startled the hell out of me, with that wake up. You've caused me to be very concerned. But hurt me, you have not.”

“This time.” He mumbled, relaxing back into his broodiness.

“Tell me what happened, Donut.” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “I know you had a flashback. Why? Was it because of Simon?”

Marshall sighed, bouncing his leg. “It wasn't Simon.” He replied, licking his lips. “Before I was a homicide detective, I was in the British Army, I served three tours.” He paused and regarded you, deciding it was time to give you everything.

“I met Angela after I finished boot camp. She was in London for a holiday. We hit it off, and started a long distance relationship. I went on my first tour and everything was reasonably fine. I rose through the ranks quickly through my tours, I initially intended to be career Army. But between the second tour and my last one, Angie got pregnant with Fae. Which complicated things. Angie didn't want to raise her away from her parents in Manitoba, she also didn't want me being in the British Army, since it meant I'd be stationed overseas, away from them and being deployed constantly.”

“That is quite the situation.” You nodded, folding your legs on the cushion.

“It was.” Marshall nodded, his eyes distant. “My second tour had been rough, it was the first time I was given command of a squad of men. We got through it and all my men got home. But that's when some of my PTSD started. Loud noises would make me start or put me on edge. It was my last deployment, when I didn't renew my contract, so I could move to Canada with Angie and Fae, that it went through the roof. My men and I got pinned down by a group of rebels and I ended up losing two of them, despite the effort to keep them alive.” He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing on an imaginary spot on the rug.

“Marshall?” You whispered, reaching out to rest your hand on his knee, feeling the muscle there jump slightly.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head, his gaze clearing. “That's when I started having reactive flashbacks, like tonight. At first, Angie took them in stride. I thought they'd be better if I was back in 'that environment', so I joined the Manitoba SWAT team, and it worked for a short time. But Angie worried that was just as dangerous as being in the Army and didn't want Fae losing me.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “She had a point. SWAT could be just as dangerous at times. Get a person in the corner, when they're desperate, it doesn't matter if you're in a war-zone. They'll do anything to get out of that spot. Including killing you.”

“So, what happened?” You asked, biting your lip.

“I transferred to homicide.” He chuckled, smirking like he couldn't believe it himself. “Anyway, over time, Angie couldn't take my flashbacks anymore and we slept in separate bedrooms for the last four years of our marriage. They were a catalyst for our divorce.” He admitted, pressing his lips together, pained. “She even used them to gain full custody of Fae. Like, I was some sort of danger to my own daughter.”

“I don't think you're dangerous, Marshall.” You confessed, moving closer to him.

Marshall huffed at you. “Yeah, that's because I won't allow myself to fall asleep around you.”

“This is why you ghost me after we've made love?” You asked, looking at him wide eyed.

“Yes.” He nodded, staring back at you. “I'm terrified of something like that happening and losing you because of it.” He barked, jerking a hand towards the bedroom. “That I'll have an episode and I'll hurt you or it's just too much baggage for you to take.”

“Oh, you sweet Donut.” You giggled at him, grinning. “When was the last time you even had a flashback, before tonight?”

“I don't know!” He barked, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Two or three years.”

“That's not bad!” You said, wrapping your arms around his. “And we made it through this one.”

“I don't want you to make it through them.” He whined at you, looking like a hurt puppy.

“Walter Donut Marshall, I helped you get through being shot.” You grinned at him, stubbornly. “I'm pretty darn sure, I can help you through more flashbacks. You're not going to scare me away. I'm not going to break up with you. I love you, you silly Detective.” You cupped his bearded face in your palms.

“Stop running away from me, let me love you, shadows and all.”

“I have some dark shadows.” He whispered, turning his head to kiss your hand.

“Don't we all, Donut? Don't we all!” You giggled, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

[sillygooseassociation]

Infirmary Room Confessions

A/N: Hey y'all! I used to be active on tumblr (a different blog for a different fandom) eons ago and have recently just been lurking in the background on this one. However, I thought, why not give it a go? So here we are, a short Ted Lasso fic to start me off and hopefully get me an in for the Ted Lasso tumblr community!

Pairing: Ted Lasso x hurt!reader

Description: After an accident during training, Y/N ends up in Richmond's infirmary, pleased to see who is there when she wakes up.

Word Count: 948 words

-

When you offered to help during training after Keeley gave you the day off, you certainly didn’t expect to end up with a football to the face. You were only meant to be taking videos of the boys’ goal drills for the coaches team to review later. Ted said something about it being the perfect entertainment for “Secret Sandwich Switcheroo”, to which Beard nodded while Roy rolled his eyes and muttered what sounded like “what in the fuck” under his breath.

A minor detail you had forgotten though, was your magnet-seeming relationship with all things bad luck. As your head hit the hard ground of the pitch at the impact of the flying ball, you suddenly remembered this detail. A chorus of your name was yelled at different volumes, your eyes slowly blinking through the pain as you stare up at the cloudy sky.

In a matter of what felt like seconds, a certain gaffer was at your side, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern as he stared at you. You attempted to shake your head, hoping to dissuade any of his worries, although the motion elicited a groan from deep in your soul. 

“Oh God, Y-Y/N, are you okay? Don’t worry, Dani is getting the med bag,” you could identify the voice as Ted’s but had trouble concentrating on the actual words, responding with a murmur before your view of the light blue expanse turned to darkness.

-

As your eyes opened once again, a light pressure on your thigh squeezed lightly, “Why, hey there, Sonny and Cher.” A small chuckle left your lips while you turned your head to the side, setting sight on the normally chipper man seated next to you, a bit gloomier than normal. 

“Did I ruin today’s training?” 

Ted smiled softly, even when laying in Nelson Road’s infirmary, an ice pack on your head as they waited to test you for a concussion, you were worried about others. “No, sweetheart. Coach and Roy have the boys finishing their drills right now. They’re all pretty worried about you, though.”

You looked at him inquisitively, “Worried about me? What for?” Ted’s eyes widened as he let out a soft and joking scoff, “What for? Y/N, you’re every bit a part of the team as me and every one of those players. They all know it and so do I. Rebecca and Keeley have been texting from their meeting in London to check on you. All of us care about you and want you to be safe.” 

Looking down, your eyes slightly watered. Ted’s kind words ruminated in your mind, taking claim as the true reason behind the tears rolling down your cheeks, though you would adamantly argue they were a result of your pounding headache. Trying to take the pressure off of you, you decide to tease the American as you look up, “Well if they’re all worried about me, how come you’re the only one here?”

A slight blush covered Ted’s cheeks as he glanced down, his tongue sticking out slightly in thought as he met your eyes again quickly before looking around the room, “Someone had to be here to check on you when you decided to grace us with your presence again.” You looked around and noticed the chair at the desk of the team’s doctor was slowly spinning, suggesting she had only recently stood up and left the room. 

Turning back to the brunette with a raised eyebrow and a growing smirk on your face, you decided to push him a little more. Sure, you two always had a natural banter, and over time your feelings for him had changed from platonic to something more, but your uncertainty about if the feelings were mutual kept you from pushing the boundaries. With your current state of mind, all worries about ruining your friendship were replaced with a mix of pain, confusion, and complete infatuation with the tender-hearted man. 

“Interesting…that person couldn’t be Dr. Sanchez? The trained professional?” Ted blushed once again at your words, caught in his small fib. “Oh well sure but,” Ted clears his throat, “I thought maybe it would be comforting to wake up to a friendly face. And I would regret it for the next while if I wasn’t that friendly face for you.” 

A smile appeared on your face, bashfully looking down only to notice that his hand was still on your thigh, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on the athletic fabric covering your skin. Turning your attention back to the man, seeing him wear a smile that resembles yours, you place your hand on top of his, “I’d be happy any day of the week if the face that greets me when I open my eyes is yours.”

Ted chuckles lightly as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Well then I guess we’ll have to see to that. Just without the whole ball to the face and knot on the back of the head, yeah?”

Nodding slightly so as to not worsen the pain in your head, you readily agree, “Sounds good to me Coach Lasso. As long as I’m not banned from all future trainings.”

Ted scoffs, moving his hand from your thigh to intertwine your fingers together. “You must be losin’ marbles if you think I’m ever gonna let you out of my sight after today,” a giggle leaves your lips at his comment as he brings your hands to his mouth, kissing the back of yours. Your laughter turns into a content hum as you relax into the infirmary pillow, a smile on your face as you look at Ted, thankful, oddly enough, for your clumsiness that day.

[sollyraptor]

Golde eyes are awesome actually we need more illager ocs w golden eyes-

(don't know much about Siri..Sir.Sieus..Sirius. sorry I haven't slepr in a while I'm going to be weird.)

any finished lore or story for him I AM interested!! a lot!! he looks cool!!

|| (Cheers, fellow 2am lurker. lol)

|| Had this reponse drafted for way too long, almost forgot it in these chambers

Glad you like the silly guy! He has a thing going on and a tiny sprinkle of backstory shenanigans. I RP with him occasionally and he has a bit of a role in one of my (hibernating) ask blogs, but all in all he isn't my main guy or anything, I don't think so.

The golden/amber eyes were a design choice not made by me, since I got the lad in a Toyhou.se forum game (some design exchange thread). The designs for Sirius and Silas were gifted/traded to me! :D (So there aren't any lore implications or anything for his eyes, not that I can think of. His eyes are just a little extra piercing when he stares. lmao)

(og art by Jitsuemon [toyhou.se])

It is noted though that there are metal pieces (iron) imbedded in their foreheads. I like to think it's for them to distinguish who's from their community/tribe and who's not. Maybe for a little blessing/damage boost too, although I am unsteady on that point. I like to think the tribe he's part of isn't as magic savvy as others to make full use of such things as enchantments or soul shenanigans.

I don't think I can talk as much about him or speak confidently of his upbringing, since I am not really that deep in the illager sauce as some others. Pff- (I try my best.)

His story, the way I haphazardly put it together, is that his old tribe got demolished one way or another that separated him from the community. Something along the line of heroes launching an attack on their illager outposts, before concentrating on the mansion. Chaos and all. Whether it be killing the community off or by scattering them enough they couldn't easily find one another again, Sirius ends up without his tribe and perhaps a little lost too.

(Still not sure what part he had in the battle, tbh. He could've avoided the main conflict while he was on patrol, but got ambushed when they headed to the mansion to help, and ended up chasing off the attackers with Silas just to lose sight of his crew. He could've been in the midst of the battle and fled when things got dire. Idk honestly. He is a warrior and all, but he wouldn't be too eager to meet death head on when odds are so much against him/the whole tribe. Glory in war, but he ain't stupid. Maybe things just got a smidge too wild that even he got spooked. Heroes and their artifacts. You wouldn't run into a death laser if you could help it.)

A lone illager is a dead illager, it's believed, so it's lucky enough he has his trusty ravager steed Silas by his side once they escaped- Although while she may be a great help traversing large spans of distance, she costs a ton of resources. You can't convince me ravagers can live off of grass alone, even if they kinda look bovine. Food management becomes a problem.

Doing the illager thing as usual and pillaging villages for resources was easy enough for a while, considering Sirius doesn't need to wrangle any iron golems on his own. But even just a "swift pillage" for a bit of food and things sets alarms off and heroes are much more of a danger if you have no allies and they start actively hunting you down. It isn't worth the attention, especially since a ravager isn't exactly inconspicuous or particularily stealthy in avoiding keen eyes.

Sirius is a bit of a thinker compared to some other illagers (or what I know of, anyway? I don't think pillagers are that wise. A little silly. Orange-cat levels of braincells perhaps, but with more lethal weapon wielding.) He will ponder over things and actually give it a moment before doing something. Still- he thinks deep but not very far. (lol) Coming up with a plan, thinking for it for a moment but still ending up with throwing a door at someone or bashing his head against a wall. Either way, he can be talked with and likes to stay suspicious.

For a while he even attempted to trade with villagers, but he doesn't particularily look innocent and harmless, so if they don't ring the alarm anyway they just drive their prices up to make him leave sooner, which gnaws at his patience. Even if he attempts to be chill, villagers make his blood boil. He still thinks poorly of them. At least he never saw any of that "kind" and "hospitable" nature towards him when dealing with villagers.

I am still just vague with how long he's been out and about. Couldn't be terribly long if he didn't get in touch with other tribes, or still long enough he adapted to being a bit of a lone wolf with all it's challenges. Eh, idk.

With emeralds running low, a hungy ravager (haha, or ravenous ravager) by his side and no post or mansion to return to, he kinda just looked for jobs that didn't mind recruiting a lone Illager.

I had him get in touch with a group of mob hunters. Hunting, fighting and capturing mobs of all sort for materials, meat, keeping as pets and other stuff by contract. I suppose, however you see it, like poachers. Sirius would be familiar enough with fighting and taking hostages maybe, so the basics shouldn't be too difficult from a pillager standpoint.

Currently he got a task to prove himself before he gets fully recruited, so I guess he's still jobless as before. He's still out there tryna get a grasps at the thing. As a pillager it's easy enough to kill/capture villagers, the people you fight always stay in one spot anyway. If it's wildlife ya gotta pursue through foliage or across biomes it's a little tougher. Pf-

That's pretty much all I got about him so far. Much to ramble about, but essentially not that much!