#would be a good time to tell me that he would've backed me up if i got in trouble from pushing the boy off...

[dreamingdormouse]

Back when Mr. Dormouse was in the Navy, he was for a couple years assigned to Pearl Harbor, as a nuclear mechanic on the submarine engines. (My husband is one of the most brilliant people I know, by the way, that's a very difficult job to get. But also it's hard work, long hours, lots of stress, and not very good pay.)

Shortly before I arrived to join him, his gross-motor twitches became more pronounced. They'd started when he was in training, and gotten stronger over time. He would be thinking about something or working on something, and abruptly his arm would flail out to the side, or his leg would kick like you'd found the right spot to tap with the little reflex hammer.

This was not as dangerous as Gallus's Dad without his glasses and with a gun, but still rather hazardous, as Mr. Dormouse quite often had a wrench in his hand, which was wont to go flying if his arm jerked!

His coworkers teased him about it in the friendly/mean way that is common in the military. He began the process of getting it checked out - the military, for all its flaws, has/had an amazing health care system.

The docs on base ended up deciding that

1) It's not Tourette's (which can manifest physically as well as the more well-known version of accidental cussing)

2) It's very similar, though, but, uh... not actually any of the things in our textbook?

3) Stress makes it worse

4) Sorry, Chief Petty Officer Dormouse, there's nothing else we can do for you

5) But you really shouldn't be in the military anymore

Well that was helpful.

Worse, commanding officers didn't care. Wouldn't hear of discharging him early. On the plus side, the submarine he was assigned to was in drydock for a year or more of preventative maintenance (if it was a car, it would've had an oil change, tires rotated, rust inspection, emissions test, the works), so at least he wasn't underwater like that, on multi-week trips, in a crowded environment 24/7.

The other engineer/mechanics around him knew he wanted to get a medical discharge. They began to joke that they should assign him to stand close to the officers, carrying a knife. Not in a threatening manner, oh no! Just as a tool. It wouldn't be anyone's fault if he just... twitched. And maybe then the officers would get the idea that this guy shouldn't be in the military?

Eventually somebody with some ability to sign papers decided to do so, and Mr. Dormouse was assigned to the equivalent of garden duty - a stint in the quartermaster's office. It took another 6-9 months before he got his discharge, because there wasn't a form for "IDK, I think it's Tourette's-adjacent, should we do another brain scan?" like there is for myopia or a heart murmur.

But at last he got out of the Navy and went to college for nuclear engineering, and it's been more than a decade. Not being in the military took away a lot of the stress, so these days he barely twitches at all. Sometimes it just looks like a full body shiver, and it happens a lot less frequently.

He does tell me that it is quite traditional to get stuck with the pin when a medal is being awarded, so it's possible that Captain Redacted lightly stabbed Gallus's Dad on purpose and as per custom. But it also might've been the whiskey. 🥴

The Hummingbird

The Story of my Father’s Very Brief military career.

Content Warnings: Military, guns, hummingbirds, Profanity, Lots of Profanity, spectacular incompotence, catholicism mention, alcohol mention.

As usual, all names have been changed or redacted to protect people’s privacy.

In the fall of 1969, my Dad was hit by a car and suffered a serious concussion, causing him to miss midterms and put his grade in a hole he wouldn’t be able to recover from, as this was the days before a lot of professorial accountability.  Like a sensible person, he decided to Withdraw for the semester and focus on recovering and maybe take a part-time job to pay for spring tuition, because you could do that back then.

“Son,” My grandfather asked, sitting on the couch with Dad shortly after he was discharged from the hospital. “What about your college deferment? I’m worried about you getting drafted.”

“Dad,” Dad said, filling in job applications. “I’m legally blind without my glasses!  I’d be a danger to anyone around me with a gun.  Even if I get drafted there’s no way in hell I’d pass the medical exam.”

“Don’t swear in my house.” Said Grandpa, under the entirely mistaken impression that the US Military was run with any sort of competence.

Literally a week later my Dad’s draft papers came in, and he reported to his local draft board, driver’s license and doctor’s note in hand to prove He Is Legally Blind Without His Glasses, only to be waved through without so much as a sideways glance by anyone resembling a doctor.

“They must be desperate.”  My dad concluded when he got home that night to pack.

The news was devastating to the family, as both his parents had siblings to WWII.  Grandpa was ready to beg, bribe and otherwise compromise his intensely catholic morals to get Dad out, and Grandma prayed to any available saint that would save her son from the fate of her brothers.  She had quite the collection of saints in her sewing room, some forty figurines and dozens more candles and images, along with some stained glass she’d made herself of saints, landscapes and animals, including a large hummingbird that lived on the sewing room window since they’d moved into the house.

Dad pleaded with them to not do anything they’d regret, and returned to the base for basic training.

Dad’s drill sergeant was a man whose real name was “Ross” but insisted on being called “Bulldog” or “SIR!” by everyone depending on rank.  Dad supposed this might have been a defense mechanism as Bulldog had an intensely jowled and acne-scarred face that did greatly resemble a fighting dog well past their prime.  The image was not helped by the fact that he was constantly smoking rose-flavored tobacco in a pipe that had seen better centuries, and consequently smelled like a terrible combination of trailer park and the women’s perfume counter at Macy’s.

Bulldog was also… not great about following protocol, which is a terrible failing in a Drill sergeant, but Dad supposed at that point in the war Bulldog had become horribly depressed by the sheer numbers of young men he was sending to their deaths and had kind of stopped giving a fuck about their safety and his own.

Which lead to an incident about three weeks into Dad’s training camp when in the middle of a Weapons Qualification lesson, Bulldog pulled Dad’s glasses off and bellowed “YOU WON’T HAVE THOSE COKE BOTTLES WHEN THOSE [incorrect slurs, because there’s no such thing as an informed bigot] BLAST YOUR ASS TO KINGDOM COME.” before stomping off to go change the paper targets, leaving Dad standing there with an M-1, squinting in what he hoped was the general direction of the targets.

To give you an idea of HOW bad my dad’s vision is, I once asked him at what distance things got blurry, and he responded by taking off his glasses, putting his hand up to his face, and slowly moving it back.  He stopped about eight inches from his face and nodded.  

“So I can see my hand from here but I can’t distinguish my fingers.  I think that green blob over there is your mother.”

“I’m in the living room.” called mom. “You’re looking at the blender.”

So it should come as no surprise that as soon as Dad heard someone shouting “Ready! Aim! Fire!” He did precisely that.

Hummingbirds are often mistakenly characterized as Delicate Little Rainbows that are a gift Direct from Heaven when the truth is they’re really Vicious Little Bastards thrown out of Hell for being too Nasty.  

You would be too if you could eat nothing but frappuccinos and the occasional chicken nugget, everything around you was at least the size of a pickup truck and regarded you as a tasty snack, and you were forced to defend your fridge from not only equally vicious rivals but goddamn insects that are bigger than you are.  

Being a hummingbird is awful under normal circumstances, and now there are maniacs with loud machines and projecties as big as you are stomping around and yelling and well-

At that exact moment, one of the nesting hummingbirds, having grown progressively more exasperated with the activity on the base, dive-bombed my father, hurling it’s tiny body directly into his ear and slicing the lobe up, and making him jerk slightly as he fired.

He missed Sergeant Bulldog by mere inches. Dad still isn’t sure if the Hummingbird caused him to miss or put him closer to accidental manslaughter, but it mattered little as Bulldog grabbed him by the head, shrieking in spittle-flying fury-

“ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?”  He roared.

“YES!!” screamed my father, also hysterical. “SIR THAT’S WHAT THOSE ‘COKE BOTTLES’ ARE FOR SIR!”

Bulldog stopped, suddenly and uncomfortably confronted with the nature of causality.  He only let it stymie him for a moment.  “GET YOUR IDIOT ASS TO THE MEDIC, I’LL DEAL WITH YOU LATER!”

At the medical center, an extremely befuddled doctor dilated Dad’s eyes, took pictures because Dad had the worst case of myopia he’d ever seen and wanted to put him in a medical journal, and asked him:

“What the HELL are you doing here?”

“Very nearly shooting people sir.”

“Well, we can’t have you shooting people while you’re in the army!  I’ll get your medical discharge started.”

Dad decided not to comment on that statement, thanked the doctor, and wandered blindly back to his bunk.

It took them a full thirty days to process Dad’s discharge, perhaps largely due to the fact that actually FINDING the captain was a task for hercules- The man had an almost phobic aversion to his office and a tremendous love of whiskey so actually locating the man and early enough in the day that he was still sober enough to sign anything was a race against time and a battle against the wits of a man determined to get out of work, which is when humanity is at its peak intelligence.

In the meantime, it simply wouldn’t do to let dad bike the five miles back to his home and come back for the paperwork, nor let him sit quietly and not accidentally maim anyone, so he was put on garden duty.  

Supervised by recently-suspended-from-instruction Sergeant “Bulldog” Ross.

By the second day Bulldog had mostly run out of steam, perhaps out of a sense of really, whose fault was that? So He would mostly stand in Dad’s general vicinity, waxing philosophical on the nature of war, government and whatever else he could be crotchety about that day while continuously smoking his rose-flavored tobacco in his pipe.  Dad planted a frankly absurd number of flowers, trying to make a planted display that would spell out the name of the base in eight-foot letters, just in case someone has managed to miss all 824,594,359 signs beforehand.

On day five, perhaps attracted by the bright colors or the stench of artificial rose, the Hummingbirds found the new garden.

At first, it was timid little trips to the edge farthest from Dad and Bulldog, testing this new territory for both risk and bounty, but upon finding it full of sugary goodness, they became bold, getting closer and closer to Dad, zipping in as soon as he got up to get the next flat of flowers, then not waiting for him to finish planting them before they were up in his face, squeaking angrily for him to get out of the way of their lunch.

One male objected to Dad and Bulldog’s presence particularly strongly, dive-bombing and buzzing angrily at them, an ounce and a half of glittery impotent rage.  After a month, he’d gotten quite aggressive, and one day flew directly up to Bulldog’s face to chitter curses at him eye-to-eye, only for Bulldog to take out his pipe and blow a cloud of smoke at him, laughing as the bird tumbled over backwards in midair.

Agitated with the sudden noxious cloud, or perhaps merely a violent psychopath in its own right, the bird flew back, then straight up into the air for a good fifty feet before going into a dive, aimed directly at Bulldog’s face.

Dad doesn’t recall actually moving, only a sense that he ought to do something, and launched himself out of the dirt, arms outstretched to clap and force it off course-

“SHIT! What the hell was that for?”  Demanded Bulldog.

“Well, the hummingbird looked like it was going to attack you, Sir.  So I stopped it.”

“How noble.  What are you standing there like an idiot for?”

“…I think I caught it sir.”  Said Dad, staring at the tiny bill poking out from between his gloves.  The two of them leaned in close as dad very slowly opened his gloves and peered inside.

The hummingbird immediately forced it’s tiny head out to peep furious profanities at them both.

“How is it,”  Bulldog wondered aloud as the hummer continued to curse the both of them for the next seven generations. “That you can’t see to hit the broad side of a barn but can pull a shitty little bird right out of the air?”

“I’m wearing my glasses, Sir.”

Bulldog looked up at him, glaring with such intensity his face ceased to be a face at all and transformed into a dali-esque collection of wrinkles.

“Fuck you. Now go take that damn thing to the other side of the base so it doesn’t come back.”

��Yes sir.”  Dad nodded, nearly saluting out of reflex before remembering that he was holding a live and very angry bird.  It took him several hours to get to the other side of the base, with literally everyone stopping to ask him what the hell he was doing, well I have this bird sir and I was told to release it on the other side of the base- how in hell did your blind ass catch a hummingbird, well I had my glasses on- Fuck you, go ditch that thing already.

At three o'clock on the dot the very next morning, two MPs woke up my dad and told him he needed to report to the front office right away, no time to get dressed, right away right now.

They marched him directly to the main office, barefoot and in his Pajamas to be greeted by not only Sergeant “Bulldog” ross, but nearly every officer on the base, including the lieutenant and the Captain, all of whom were… attempting to stand at attention with varying degrees of success, most weaving slightly, some snorting with poorly-concealed laughter, and the entire room reeking of booze.

“GENTLEMEN!”  hiccuped the lieutenant, before shaking himself and continuing, “WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY TO HONOR OUR ‘COMRADE’ -snort, giggle- IN ARMS -louder derisive laughter- FOR HIS BRAVERY AND SERVICE IN THE FACE OF EXTREME DANGER-”

“IN THE BEAK OF EXTREME DANGER!” Howled one of the assembled officers.  

“-AND FOR HIS SERVICE IN DEFENDING AN OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY.  I AM ~SO~ PLEASED THAT WE HAVE CAPTAIN [REDACTED] HERE WITH US TO PRESENT THIS MEDAL.”

He turned to the Captain, who took out a small box and motioned Dad forward.  Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a chocolate box from See’s Candies.

“[REDACTED], in honor of your brave and frankly improbable service in the defense of Euge- sorry, Sergeant Ross, and the capture of a dangerous wild animal, we award you this medal-  The Flying Purple Bastard.”

He opened the chocolate box to reveal this*:

(Image Description: A piece of cardboard cut out approximately in the silhouette of a hummingbird, by someone with only a passing familiarity with what hummingbirds look like.  The cardboard has been haphazardly covered in tinfoil and cartoon eyes drawn on.  It’s attached to a scrap of ribbon and a safety Pin.)

Which was then pinned crookedly to Dad’s nightshirt, after accidentally stabbing him a bit, saluted him as someone attempted to play the bugle but made a rather melodious farting noise instead, then slapped Dad in the face with a manilla folder full of papers and shouted. “DISMISSED!”

“Dismissed, sir?”

“Those are your discharge papers.” Said Bulldog. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Yes, Sir!”

At which point Dad biked home in the rain, and thus ends my father’s military career.

*Pictured here is actually The Flying Purple Bastard 2.0, as the original was destroyed when partially eaten and fully regurgitated by one of the cats.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Paypal, as due to health concerns, telling funny stories on the internet is my ONLY means of income.  Thank you!

[harrysfolklore]

yes do the lewis fic pleaseee

short and sweet bc i promised anon i would do ittt i hope you like it

You're fidgeting with your rings - his rings, actually, that you stole months ago - when Lewis notices your knee bouncing for the hundredth time. The arena feels too warm despite your backless Valentino.

"You're going to drill a hole through the floor, love," he murmurs, leaning close enough that his lips brush your ear. His hand finds yours, warm and steady.

"Easy for you to be calm," you whisper back. "You've won eight world championships."

"Seven," he corrects automatically, making you roll your eyes.

"The eighth was robbed and we all know it." It's an old argument, one that makes him smile every time. "Besides, this is different. This is-"

"This is you about to win Song of the Year," he finishes, so confident it makes your heart ache.

You turn to face him properly, taking in how unfairly good he looks in his suit. "How are you so sure?"

"Because," he says, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "I was there when you wrote it at 3 AM on my kitchen floor. When you called me crying because the bridge wasn't right."

"You're biased," you argue, but you're smiling now. "You have to say that. It's in the boyfriend contract."

"Ah yes, the famous 'support your controversially young girlfriend' clause," he teases, and you can't help but laugh. It's become a running joke between you, how the media can't seem to get over your age gap.

"Speaking of which, did you see that headline yesterday? 'Grammy Nominee Spotted Looking Cozy with Elder Statesman of F1'?"

Lewis groans. "Elder statesman? I'm forty, not dead."

"Ancient," you declare solemnly. "Practically fossilized."

He's about to retort when Taylor Swift takes the stage, and suddenly you can't breathe again. Lewis must feel you tense because his hand tightens around yours.

"Hey," he says softly. "Whatever happens, you've already won. Seven nominations in your first year? That's unheard of."

"I just want-" you start, but then Taylor's speaking.

"Music tells our stories," she's saying. "And sometimes, a song comes along that captures something so real, so raw, that it changes how we see love itself..."

You feel Lewis shift beside you, and when you glance over, he's already watching you with that look - the one he gave you the first time you played him this song, the one that makes you feel invincible.

"And the Grammy goes to..." Taylor's smiling now, like she knows something. "'Birds of a feather!"

The world stops. Starts. Explodes.

Lewis is up first, pulling you into his arms before you can even process what's happening. "That's my girl," he whispers fiercely against your hair. "I told you, didn't I? I told you."

You're crying already, you can feel it, but you don't care. His hands cup your face and he's beaming at you with more pride than you've ever seen - more than after any pole position or race win.

"Go get your Grammy, superstar," he says, and then he's gently pushing you toward the aisle.

The walk to the stage feels infinite. You're aware of everything - the weight of your dress, the cameras following you, the deafening applause. But mostly, you're aware of Lewis in the front row, standing and clapping like he's watching the love of his life win Song of the Year at the Grammys (which, you suppose, he is).

"Oh god," you start, gripping the golden gramophone like a lifeline. "I wrote this song about falling in love. About meeting someone who changes everything when you least expect it."

You find his eyes in the crowd, and suddenly it's just the two of you.

"I should probably thank Formula 1 for canceling that race in Singapore, or I never would've been in that hotel bar, jetlagged and grumpy, when this absolutely ridiculous man in the most expensive hoodie I'd ever seen asked if he could buy me a drink."

The audience laughs, and Lewis is shaking his head, grinning that grin that still makes your knees weak.

"To Lewis - thank you for being the most unexpected plot twist of my life. For showing me that timing is everything, even when Twitter thinks our timing is inappropriate." More laughter. "For listening to every demo at 3 AM, for believing in me when I was just another girl with a piano and a dream..."

You're fully crying now, but so is he, so it's okay.

"For never once making me feel too young or too inexperienced, for teaching me that love doesn't follow anyone's timeline but its own. And yes, I know this speech is probably going viral for all the wrong reasons, but you taught me that sometimes the best stories are the ones nobody sees coming. I love you."

The camera cuts to Lewis, who's not even trying to hide his tears. But neither of you seem to care at the moment.

Later, after winning four out of your seven nominations, you're in the back of the car heading home. Your head's on his shoulder, Grammy in your lap, when he speaks.

"You know what this means, right?"

"Hmm?"

"Now I have to win the championship this year. Can't have you showing me up with all these trophies."

You laugh, snuggling closer. "Better get practicing then, old man."

"Menace," he mutters fondly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

[witherby]

If Punch line can trigger Jason easily what would happen is she ever met Harley?

Let's explore that!

Punchline: First Session

Masterlist is Here!

"I need your help."

Harley perks up, gasping, and rushes over to hug Batman tightly.

"I never thought this day would come," she says, jumping up and down and clutching a gauntleted hand. "Yes!! Yes I would love to be your therapist! We have so much to work on, starting with your parents. I really think you never internalized the event and haven't given yourself any space to grieve after —"

Her hands get squeezed gently, recapturing her attention. Blue eyes meet white lenses, and she furrows her brow.

"Okay, that's fine!" She sighs. "Can't say I'm not disappointed, but if one of your kiddos is looking for help instead, I'm still more than hap—"

"Not one of mine," Batman gently interrupts. "This is a...very delicate case, Harley."

"What's delicate mean in this context, Batsy?" She asks. "Delicate like schizophrenic? Delicate like CPTSD? Delicate like one wrong word away from explodin' and killin' everybody in a mile radius?"

"Delicate," he says, "like...this might hit too close to home for you."

"Me?"

Batman nods. Harley hums, equal parts curious and cautious.

"Any good psychologist worth her salt won't let a personal connection get in the way of providin' aid," she tells him. "If the patient isn't somebody I can help myself, I'll help ya find someone who can. When can I meet 'em?"

--

Your file lies scattered across the floor of the cave. Harley stares wide-eyed at your picture while she trembles on her hands and knees. Bruce, having changed out of his suit, kneels beside her with a steadying hand on her back.

"Oh," she whispers, "Brucie, she's so small for her age. And her age!! Sh-she's..."

Harley shakes her head. Bruce continues rubbing small circles in her back. When she leans against him for support, he holds her upright.

"How'd he keep a kid hidden for eight years?" She whispers, voice thick. "I know I fucked off to go play Happy Family with Ivy, but..."

"Nobody knew," he says. "Harleen, don't play the blame game, not for this. He kept her a secret for a reason; no one was supposed to know."

Harley lifts her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes before any tears can well up and fall. She takes deep, calming breaths, gathering her focus, then carefully collects the papers and stands with his help. She draws a pad and pen out of her pocket.

"I ain't promising anything," she says, looking up at Bruce. "This is...this is a whole different ball game, 'specially with that chucklefuck as the daddy. But I'm gonna try, okay?"

He nods. "Take your time. You were the first person I thought of, but don't force this if it's too much."

Harley gently squeezes his hand in acknowledgement. She walks past him and down the hall towards the containment cells, heels clicking quietly against the floor. She dug out her old coat with the name tag pinned to it and even threw her hair back in a low braid to appear as non-threatening as possible. The closer she gets to your door, the more the wonders if you would've been more comfortable if she showed up in her combat getup and mallet.

"Miss Punchline?" She calls, stopping in front of your cell. A cursory glance of your environment tells her immediately that you're under-stimulated. She writes that down. "I'm Doctor Quinzel. Do ya mind if I come in and chat with you a while?"

You cease all movement. You'd been sitting with your back to the door, gently stroking the head of the teddy bear Alfred gave you while muttering Mistress Mary's nursery rhyme, but when you hear her, you practically turn into a statue. Unless she actively stares at your back, Harley can't even see you draw breath.

"Miss Punchline?" She repeats calmly. "I won't come in if you don't want, but I'd really like to talk to you."

"...Popsy talks about you, sometimes," you say. Harley can't decipher your tone, but the words make her feel cold all over. "Says he used to miss his favorite gal."

"I'm sure he's mentioned me once or twice," she says, clearing her throat. "But I'm old news. Why don't you tell me about yourself? I'm gonna punch in the door code now, okay?"

You don't move. Harley unlocks your cell and walks inside, getting a better look at how sparsely decorated it is. The bed is clearly unused and half of the activities left here would cause an ordinary child to lose interest in about an hour without company. Overall, Bruce and his family are keeping you in a dreary room. If she accomplishes nothing else today, it's a guarantee that she's gonna get you better accommodations.

Harley walks around the room until she can see you face-to-face. Once she's in your periphery, your eyes snap to her and follow her every movement like a predator. She lowers herself to the ground, taking a seat a few feet away from you.

"There you are," she says kindly. Your smile is just as placid as the one in your photo. "I like ya make-up. The swirly pattern on your cheeks is very cute."

You don't respond, though your smile widens briefly. Highly receptive to praise. Your eyes don't leave hers, scanning, assessing, calculating. Harley doesn't feel like you're about to attack her, but you're clearly juggling something around in your mind.

"Bet you're thinking about mine," she continues. "Normally I like puttin' on the face paint, but sometimes my pores gotta breathe, you know? Well — the pores I got left." She glances down at her hands, paper white like the rest of her body from her dip in a vat of acid. With relief, Harley notes that your unpainted skin is a healthy color. Even though the bar's lower than Hell, it's nice to know that at least the Joker didn't immediately treat you to a dunk of your own.

"Punchline, I'm gonna be frank with you," she says.

"Nice to meetcha, Frank," you chirp, grinning mischievously. Harley lifts a brow.

"That was funny," she praises. "I know your, eh, Popsy, he places a lot of value on bein' funny. Used to say nothin' was worth the effort if it didn't amuse him at the end of the day. I'm sure you know that already."

"A giggle a day keeps the boredom away!" You say, pitch and cadence matching that of your father's. Harley knows that the grip on her pen is too tight. She breathes deep and forces herself to relax. "Ohh, hit a nerve, Frank?"

"I'm doin' just fine," she says. "What's boredom look like for you and Popsy?"

You separate your hands, fingers splayed wide, and make explosion noises.

"Do you get caught up in that explosion?"

Your smile doesn't change but your eyes get sharp. Harley makes a note.

"It's hard keepin' him entertained all day, every day," she says. "I would know. But I'm gonna tell ya somethin' your popsy probably never has."

Harley scoots a tad closer to you, reaching her hand out and gently taking one of yours. She can feel every bone in your hand and has to utilize all of her training to school her expression.

"It's not your job to make yer popsy happy. In fact, it's not your job to make any adult happy. Grown-ups shouldn't rely on their children for emotional regulation."

"Couldn't rely on you, either, could be?" You snicker. "Since you ran away."

"I left him because he was treatin' me like dirt," Harley says, a little more firm than necessary. "He's real good at drawin' you in, Punchline. Shows you an ounce of praise that makes you feel invincible, makes you wanna do anything he asks to get more of it."

Harley lets go of your hand to tuck a lock of emerald green hair behind your right ear, brushing gently against the shell. The edges are distorted, flatter than your left.

"He's also real good at draggin' you through the mud, makin' you feel like everything's your fault. Like you got no choice but to make it up t'him. Ya never wanna get on his bad side cause he really makes you feel it."

You tilt your head away from her hand, eyes dropping back down to the teddy bear Alfred gave you. You resume petting it, slightly faster and rougher than before. Harley makes a note.

"His anger's always more powerful than his joy, Punchline," she says, "but both of them are destructive. I wanna help ya break away from his cycle."

"No thanks," you say, "if I wanted to be a washed-up, third-rate party clown, I would!"

Harley feels a wave of pity for you. It's obvious you're just regurgitating your father's words back at her, and she's not surprised. Change doesn't happen overnight, especially not for you.

There's so much work to do, but Harley's not afraid. You may look and behave similarly to the Joker, but you're young and still impressionable and already starting to pull away from him without even realizing it.

"I can tell yer getting upset, and that's the last thing I want," she says, climbing to her feet, "so I think this is a good stopping point for today. But I'd really like to see you again. Would you be alright with that?"

You blow a raspberry at her, then cackle. Harley exhales sharply through her nose, giving you a fond smile, and pats your head as she steps past you and opens the cell door.

She can do this. She will do this. For you.

But, first thing's first.

"Brucie, you're kidding me with the furnishings! How's the richest man on the planet gonna put a kid in such a shitty room!? Don't look at me like that, mister. You brought me in t'do a job and I'm gonna do it right!!"

[estherscorner]

Do you think that Scaramouche would've made a good lover if he had fallen in love?

(cw: kinda toxic relationship, self sabotage, light angst & not proofread/edited.)

Think about it. His tongue is sharp and unforgiving. He wouldn't hesitate to jab hurtful words onto your mind, he wouldn't have a second thought to spout nonsense just for the sake of it hurting your feelings or getting on your nerves. But you were patient. You thought he could atleast be tolerable if you understood him on a deeper level.

You've told yourself multiple times- if you maybe understood him, he would be more softer and much more gentle to your feelings and thoughts. Maybe you would get why he was acting that way, why he was harsh to those around him.

But loving him had sacrifices you were pressured to make. It wasn't simple as a calm sunny day, and being with him was never a walk in the park.

Loving him meant that you need to be patient. That you need to wait until he felt safe around you, that you needed to slowly build trust just so he could feel comfortable around you.

And the worse of it all? You needed to understand what he was thinking, and if he truly wanted to be with you.

You weren't a mind reader. You could never understand him when he chooses to push you away, but then pull you back in soon after.

You never understood why he would be distant most of the time, but then be vulnerable while he's holding you in his arms. Opening up to you about his doubts and worries while the night was still young, both of you sharing warmth to contrast the cold air.

Eventually, there comes a point in time where his doubts and fears were much more terrifying than anything. How fear would plague his head everyday- taunting him that you would leave him. Mocking him for laying his heart out to you.

But despite your efforts, he wouldn't utter out a word to you.

Scaramouche isn't one to open up easily, instead he bottles his feelings up until they end up cracking and spilling- until they end up burning you in the process.

Communication was never his strongest suite. It never was and you knew that.

But for him you try your best to be patient, be strong just for him. To be someone he could cry to, someone he could trust.

If only it was easy.

"I can't understand you. One moment you're distant, then the next you're looking for me."

You told him. You wanted to be honest, to let him know how you felt. You tried to be close to him, to read him like an open book. But it was as if he wasn't allowing you.

He was quiet as you talked to him. He was looking for the right words to talk to you, to tell you what was on his mind. But he was never good with words.

"Don't be an idiot, you shouldn't worry about such trivial things. They only plague your mind for no good reason."

To him, it was to protect himself. If he pushed you away, you wouldn't be able to hurt him. And he wouldn't be able to hurt you.

But you persist.

"I just wish I could read your mind. To know why you're so..harsh. And I wish i knew if waiting for you was worth it."

Silence were shared between you as he took in your words. He always thought of himself, always thought of how he could be shielded away from pain, from betrayal.

From the mistakes he had made.

"..Do you think it was worth it? Loving me unconditionally despite everything?"

You didn't answer instantly. You hummed as you thought of his words deeply. It struck something within you, a question you never truly thought of.

Was every effort you put into the relationship worth it? Even after the times he would push you away?

You looked at him. A soft smile on your lips as you averted your gaze down.

You didn't have a proper answer. But you knew that you'd wait for him. Even if it hurts you at the end. Even if you had to sacrifice everything just so he could call you home.

"I just want you to love me, the same way I loved you."

(A/N); "lmao I couldn't post for a bit coz I was forced into cheer and had my body hurting for a few days 💔 also tell me why everytime I write for scara I have such good ideas but I HATE the execution. Doing a req next tho <3"

[staticscreenwriting]

I took the good times, I'll take the bad times II Joel Miller

Summary: Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (I always try not to describe the reader physically, if I missed something please let me know so I can change it and make this "applicable" to every reader. Thank you!)

A/N: This is my entry for the dear-uary challenge by @jolapeno . My prompt was "Character A keeps finding X and traces them back to Character B, who might be leaving them intentionally—or not." And I chose Postcards as my form of epistolary.

TW: This is mostly angsty fluff. There is some talk of self doubt and loss of a child but I think that should be it.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

It all starts with a simple postcard tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Joel almost doesn’t realize it’s there, folded twice into a tiny square. It’s only when he’s looking for the list Maria gave him of all the things to look for on this run, that he grabs a hold of the card. 

His gloves make it hard to unfold the small paper but it’s way too cold to take them off. Joel was never big on winter and snow, even before everything went to shit. He doesn’t like the way it lingers, the way it consumes you from the inside out. Now, an unforgiving cold is all he feels as a thick blanket of snow has settled upon Wyoming. 

Bold bright letters scream out to him from the wrinkled paper “ Greetings from Tampa Florida. Wish you were here!”.

It’s one of those campy vintage ones where the letters are filled with drawings of landmarks and beaches. He remembers sending one just like this to his High School girlfriend when Dad took him and Tommy on a trip to Nashville when Joel was 16 maybe 17. It was a good trip, the last one they ever took together. Sometimes Joel wonders how his dad would deal with all of this. This new reality. This fucked up world. He always seemed so strong, so fearless. That man was unstoppable force and immovable object all at once. Every vulnerability Joel finds in himself, he’s sure was absent in his father. Maybe if he was a little more like his own dad he could’ve saved Sarah, could’ve spared Ellie the pain of living in this limbo of knowing and not knowing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Joel moves closer to the fire, his only light source other than the stars. There’s writing on the back, blue ink on off-white paper. It’s not a handwriting he knows and for a second he wonders if the card has been there ever since he found the bag years ago, back in Boston. But he would know that, right? Would've found it by now. This must be new. This must be meant for him.

“ I know you hate the cold. I know it makes you sad and gloomy, well gloomier than usual. So let me tell you about the hottest day I ever experienced. I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 and my mom took me to Florida. Not Tampa (it was the only postcard I could find at the library), but Orlando. We went to fucking Disney World!! We didn’t have a lot of money back then so mom must’ve saved a long time for this. Anyway, Joel, it was so hot. Unbearably hot. My clothes stuck to my skin and my hair got all frizzy. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to go. The air was so thick and heavy, so moist (ew). It felt like breathing in honey, syrup maybe. I still had the best time. I know it doesn’t take away the cold but I hope I can take you away to that hot and humid Florida summer for one small moment. If not, there’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag. Made it myself. You never told me what your favorite color is. I hope you like blue. xx 

P.S.: I wonder what happened to Disney World.” 

A chuckle falls from Joel’s lips and forms a cloud against the sharp winter air. He's never been to Disney World. The Millers just weren’t a Disney World kind of family. They were more of a local fair kind of family. All corn dogs and funnel cakes and first kisses behind the bumper cars. Sarah would’ve loved Disney World though. Ellie too. Ellie who doesn’t even know what the hell Disney is. 14 years and the girl has no idea who Mickey Mouse is. What a surreal thought. What a strange world. More than 20 years and it still feels strange. Joel wonders if life will ever let him settle in this new reality. If one day this feels like home and not a bad dream. Not a cosmic punishment. A bad joke that no one’s laughing at anymore.

His eyes travel back towards the blue swirly writing. It’s not Ellie’s bad chicken scratch, he could pick that out of a line-up any day. This looks much neater, more deliberate, and thoughtful. 

“There’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag.”

Quiet, as not to wake up the others sleeping just a few steps away, Joel opens the zipper on his bag and rummages through it with a gloved hand. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, food rations, ammunition, a second pair of gloves. Going on supply runs is not something Joel enjoys but it is a way for him to give back. To Tommy and Maria and the entire community. Jackson and its people have taken him and Ellie in as one of their own without much hesitation. They provided them with food, with shelter, with trust. He has so little to give in return. Going on a supply run to look for medicine and other necessities, that’s the least he can do. 

Something soft and squishy meets his hand and he pulls out a dark blue woolen scarf. There are so many holes and even in the dim light of the campfire, Joel can tell those holes are not there on purpose. Maybe it was Ellie after all, but then she never showed any interest in knitting, and the idea of her doing just that is far too ridiculous. No matter how imperfect it is though, Joel has to admit the scarf does make him feel warmer as he wraps it around his neck. 

“Hey,” Adam, one of the other guys on the run, speaks up from beside Joel, “you can catch some sleep if you want. I can take over the watch.” 

It’s a strange thing, how sometimes you don’t notice just how tired you are or how hungry you are until someone points it out to you. Until they offer to take it from you. Then it hits you like a brick to the face. A wave pulling you under. 

Joel feels his eyelids grow heavy and nods at the younger man. "Thanks". 

This mystery, it can wait until tomorrow. Until then he will bury his face in the warm soft wool of the scarf and think of that Florida sun. And though it most definitely is just his imagination, Joel could almost swear the night feels a little less cold.

His boots leave deep imprints in the white icy blanket as he makes his way past the Tipsy Bison and the community hall further towards his house. His home. 

No place has really felt like home in years. Not since all of this started. Everything was temporary. 4 walls and a roof. He wonders if this place will ever start feeling like home? Will he ever get to a point where he doesn’t wait for the second shoe to drop? It all feels like he’s Charlie Brown and life is Lucy pulling the football away at the last second. And it always ends with him falling. He’s so tired of falling. So tired of getting back up.

Joel almost expects the house to be silent as he steps inside. Ellie is slowly making friends with the other teens living in the settlement and is spending more time at their houses than she is at home. He can’t blame her. If he was more like his father he’d find it in himself to start conversations with people, get to know them, forge connections, make friends. Of the Miller boys, Tommy is the one who inherited their dad’s social gene though, Joel only got the snarl and the crippling inability to talk about his feelings.

Laughter echoes through the house as Joel rounds the corner connecting the entryway to the living room. Ellie’s laughter, loud and bright and light. As if for a moment all the horrors and the pain and the trauma have been taken from her.

When he steps into the kitchen, Joel understands. 

(Y/N) is standing by the counter, a smile on her face so soft and radiant it might just rival the sun. That joy she brings out in Ellie, it’s familiar to Joel because he feels it too whenever (Y/N) is around. Not always but sometimes. It’s a spark of warmth that starts in his chest and crawls up his spine. It settles in his lungs, his heart, his brain. Like a parasite. Like a virus. Like a wonderful dream. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it all the time but sometimes, sometimes he can’t deny himself this little bit of warmth.

Joel can’t even remember when exactly (Y/N) became a part of their life. It’s like one day she was there and refused to leave. And really that’s kind of how it went. She works at the library and the school, lives across the street from him and Ellie and for some reason, she’s taken pity on them. Joel isn’t sure if it's him or Ellie she pities. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, she brought over some soup one day and that’s the beginning and end of it all. She’s wormed her way into Ellie’s heart and by extension his too. Whether he likes to admit it or not. Doesn't hurt that she's so damn beautiful too.

“Joel, you’re back!” 

Ellie pulls him in a tight hug. It’s something Joel still has to get used to. Ellie isn’t a particularly affectionate person. She’s definitely not a hugger. And neither is Joel — not anymore at least. So when they do hug, it’s still a little strange. Not bad strange just unfamiliar. 

“Yeah, I’m back. 

“How did it go?” (Y/N) asks and meets his eyes over Ellie’s head. A silent conversation happening between her and Joel. It’s that thing she does where she doesn’t need to say a single word but Joel can tell exactly what she’s thinking just by the look in her eyes. He sometimes wonders if this is a them thing. 

“Did someone die” her eyes are saying. “Did someone get hurt?” 

“Did you get hurt?” 

He quickly shakes his head answering her unspoken questions. Not this time. 

“Good. It went good.” 

Maybe the relieved sigh he sees her let out is just his imagination. But Joel doesn’t think so. Joel thinks it's very real.

“Did you bring us something? “ 

He can’t help but smile at that. It feels good to smile. In a world that gives you grief and sorrow, you start to count the moments when it gives you a reason to smile. They are few and far between but the number has surely increased since Ellie stepped into his life — and since (Y/N) did. 

“I brought food and medicine. Isn’t that enough? “

A determined “no” falls from both their lips in a chaotic harmony. 

“Geez, you guys are demanding.” 

“Well — did you bring us something?” 

Joel just rolls his eyes and rummages through his bag for the goods. 

“For you— “ he says and throws the old wrinkled comic book towards Ellie who regards it with that endless sense of wonder she does possess. It’s the kind of spark that flickers and dies once you grow old. Or maybe just his did. Maybe grief leaves no room for wonder. 

Placing his bag on the ground, Joel moves into the kitchen and holds out his loot to (Y/N). Green background. White goats. Yellow bubble letters.

“Oooooh, you did get me something. Pet Sounds, nice!” 

There’s a spark in her too. Dulled and dusted from time but it is there and it flickers and grows every time Joel brings her a vinyl record from his trips outside of the settlement. In a world with so little joy, music seems to be one of the few things that hasn’t changed. In the face of immeasurable pain, humans turn to music. They have done so for a long time and judging by the world as is, they always will. 

“I hope it works still. Didn’t really have a record player to try it out.” 

“I’ll try it out as soon as I get to the library. Feel free to come by and listen with me.” 

“Sure.” 

“Thank you, Joel. I hope you didn’t have to do anything stupid to get this.” 

He didn’t. Not this time. He would’ve though. It scares him how willing he is to put himself in danger just to get her something that will put that radiant smile on her face. He’d walk to the end of the earth if he knew there was a record there she wanted. That thought scares the shit out of him. It’s bad enough he cares so deeply about Ellie, about Tommy. The more people you care about, the more you open yourself up to hurt. Losing either of them would tear him apart. Joel is not sure he can handle opening his heart to yet another person no matter how much his heart wants just that. 

“ Nah. No issues.” 

“Good.” 

She just looks at him for a moment. All soft eyes and gentle smile. There must be something she sees in him, Joel thinks, something he doesn’t see. A version of himself that he isn’t, that he will never be. A version he once was, maybe. A version he so desperately wishes he could be. For her.

“Well,” (Y/N) says and snaps him out of her enchantment “Ellie and I made some stew. I know you must’ve been freezing outside, some good warm stew might help warm you up a little.” 

“It smells great.” 

“You have impeccable timing because we just got done. So, dig in. And uh — I guess I’ll see you guys at the movie screening?” 

He doesn’t want her to leave. The devil and the angel on his shoulders are both screaming at him to ask her to stay. And if he was any stronger a man, any more like his own father and more deserving of good things, he would ask her. To stay for dinner. To stay forever.

But he isn’t. And he doesn’t ask. Just watches as she wraps a scarf around her neck and slips into the thick jacket that's a few sizes too big on her.

“I left the recipe by the fridge. Just in case you ever want to cook it yourself.” 

“Thanks.” 

And he really is grateful. For her. For everything.

“Oh Joel,” she says and stops in the doorway. “I like that scarf. Blue looks really good on you.” 

And then she’s gone, swallowed by the cold winter air. 

Joel hasn’t thought about his favorite color in forever. It’s something you stop thinking about once you start growing hair on your chest and fantasizing about girls in a way you haven’t before. Kids talk about their favorite colors all the time. Sarah did. It’s just once you grow old you lose that sense of self, define yourself through different things. 

Looking at the scarf now, all holes and imperfections, there is no doubt in his mind that his favorite color is blue. 

“Have you ever been to Paris?” 

The lights are dimmed in the big community hall, the movie playing on screen providing the only source of light as the people of Jackson have gathered for another movie night. 

A glimpse into a world that was but no longer is and never will be again. And for some of them, like Ellie, a world that never was to begin with.

Ellie is sitting in the front with some of the other teens, her friends, Joel supposes. She has friends now.

“Joel, have you?” 

A soft hand rests on his arm, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts. (Y/N) sits next to him, eyes focused on the pictures dancing across the screen. Ilsa and Rick, falling in love over and over again in Paris. The beginning of a love story doomed from the start. 

“I uh — no. Never.” 

“Me neither. I would’ve loved to go though. It looks beautiful.” 

He doesn’t know why or how it happens but the words just flow from his mouth like a waterfall. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wanting to talk more. About the past. About Sarah.

“My daughter, Sarah, went to Paris once. Some school exchange program. They don’t usually do it until later but her French class was above average and I guess they won some contest. I don’t know it was a long time ago.” 

“Sounds like she was a smart cookie.” 

"Oh, she was. Too smart for me, that’s for sure. Was hard letting her leave and fly to a whole different continent though. I was scared out of my mind until she was back home. Drove Tommy crazy for a whole damn week.” 

(Y/N) turns her face away from the screen and regards him with that infinite sense of something more. Soft and endearing. If he was a different man he would call it love. He would see the way she looks at him and he would kiss her stupid and life would be all sweet dreams and gentle touches. 

But he is the man he is. Not worthy of whatever she is willing to give.

“What’re looking at me like that for?” 

“It’s just sweet how much you care. About everyone. I think you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time.” 

“Do what?” 

“Care for others. For Ellie and me and all of us. You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for a change.” 

He doesn’t need to be taken care of. He can do it all on his own. And anyway, he is not as good of a man as she thinks he is. Good men don’t have the blood of their loved ones stuck to their hands. Good men don’t let their daughters die in their arms. Good men don’t kill. Good men don’t do all the things he did. 

Joel doesn’t want to be a good man. He just wishes he was good enough a man to allow himself to be with (Y/N).

“I ain’t a good man. And I don’t need someone to take care of me.” 

“You wore that scarf, did you not? You allowed me to take care of you then.” 

That damn scarf. He had a hunch it was her. The handwriting on the postcard matched the one of the recipe stuck to his fridge an awful lot. But it’s something else entirely to hear her say it outright. 

“That was you, huh? Had an awful lot of holes that thing.” 

“Hey, I never said I was good at knitting. You wore it anyway.”

Joel turns back towards the screen as Rick and Ilsa share a loving kiss. 

“Yeah, I wore it anyway.” 

And to the sound of bombs and tanks, (Y/N) rests her head on his shoulder.

That’s what you do for the people you love. Even if you don’t allow yourself to love them.

You wear the scarf anyway.

The mailbox flag is up. Bright red against the sharp white of the winter's day. 

It’s never been up. People around here don’t get mail. It’s but an ancient relic of a life they used to live. Remnants of a society long gone. 

But Joel is nothing if not curious. So he stomps up to the mailbox, leaving deep imprints in the freshly fallen snow. 

It’s another postcard. Only this time it doesn’t come with a mystery. This time it comes with that silly little feeling that makes his heart beat just a little faster. That makes his head swirl with stupid thoughts of stupid dreams.

“From Paris with love,” it says on the front. Fucking Paris, of course.

Sometimes the way he feels about her is infuriating, confusing, scary.

And sometimes, like right now, it feels like a ball of warmth settles in his ribcage and warms him from the inside out.

“Dear Joel,

We’ll never have Paris. Not in this life at least. And while I would’ve loved to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle with you and make you eat a croissant (which you would’ve pretended to hate but I think you would’ve enjoyed it secretly), I am glad to get this life with you at least. Or alongside you. Whatever it is we are, I am glad this life gave me that in between all the pain. Despite what you like to tell yourself, Joel Miller, you are a spark of fire, a light in the dark. You are more than the sum of your failures, you are more than your pain. All the good that is in you, that counts. That’s all that matters in the end. And there is so much good in you.

I wish you’d let yourself see it. 

We will never have Paris. But we’ll always have Jackson and that is enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you.

Here’s looking at you kid! ;) “

There’s a tragedy in knowing someone else sees all your good parts and none of the bad. A tragedy in knowing how much they like those good parts and being awfully aware that seeing all the bad parts would destroy them. 

A tragedy in still wanting to show them all of you, even the ugly soul-destroying parts.

But if she thinks he’s a good man, then Joel needs to be just that. A good man who keeps those ugly parts hidden and away from her. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants. 

“What’s that?” Ellie speaks up from beside him, a curious look on her face.

“Postcard.” 

“Like what people would send from vacations and stuff?”

“Yeah, how do you know about that?” 

She rolls his eyes at him and it’s one of those moments where he feels like a dad again. Those little moments that mean the world to him because he gets to feel like the old him. The Joel he thought was long dead and buried beside the bones of his own child.

“I watch movies? I talk to people? I read books? Take your pick.” 

“Wow, when did you become such a smartass, huh?” 

She shrugs his shoulders at him “Was born that way. Nothing I can do about it.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Hey, you’ve grown to love me! You wouldn’t want me any other way.” 

And she isn’t wrong. Ellie, with all her curiosity and her bravery and her lust for life, whatever that life may look like, is exactly what he needed. Which makes him wonder if saving her from the fireflies was ultimately more of a selfish act than that of a heroic savior. 

“Who’s it from?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Oh, so (Y/N).” 

His eyes flick up and he is met with that satisfied, mischievous grin that is so uniquely Ellie.

“What makes you think that?” 

“You always change the subject when I bring her up. And that way you just jumped when I mentioned her? Yeah, you’re not slick, old man.” 

“Hey! Who are you calling an old man?” 

“You! Old and scared!” 

“I’m not scared!” 

Like hell he is. Terrified even. But there ain’t no way in hell he’ll admit that to Ellie. She’ll never let him hear the end of it. 

“Then go talk to her! She likes you, you like her. Why do you have to make it so complicated?” 

If only she knew all the ghosts swirling around inside of him threatening to break free. Things could be so easy. Only nothing ever is.

“Mind your own business, kid! Anyway, don't you have someplace to be? Think Dina came by earlier asking for you. You two are getting along well, huh?” 

“Aaaand on that note. See you for dinner, old man!” 

She’s gone before he can even hurl a reply at her. It pulls his lips into a smile. There’s no better way to get a teen to shut up than to bring up their crush. Nice to see that some things never change.

Another run. Another record. 

Joel feels silly, standing here in front of her door with his heart beating fast and heavy as he clutches the vinyl record in his hand. 

If Ellie saw him now, she’d surely make fun of him. Tommy too. Sarah even. 

What happened, Joel? You used to be so brave. What makes you so afraid now? 

Life, he thinks. Life has made him scared and bitter and sad. 

“Did you wanna knock or — ?” 

Joel turns around as the voice calls out to him. There it is again, that softness, that smile. 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Okay, good. Did you come to see me? Sorry, I was helping Maria at the farm.” 

“Yeah no uh — don’t worry about it. I just came to drop this off” 

Her eyes grow wide as she catches sight of which record it is he’s holding up. 

“No way! The stranger! You found it.” 

“ I did.” 

He had to clear an old dilapidated bar full of clickers to get that record. Almost lost his damn arm in the process. But her smile, that god-damn, life-ruining, world-shattering, heart-beat-faster, smile of hers makes it all worth it. He would give both arms, all of him. He would give it all to see her smile.

“Do you wanna come in and listen to it with me? Got my player fixed so I don’t have to use the one at the library anymore.” 

Say no. Just say no and go home. Be a good man! Be a better man! 

But he’s not. For this one moment, he can’t be that man. He’s just as weak as the rest of them. 

“Sure.” 

This feels so — normal. So before everything. Different and twisted and warped. But normal.

It’s scary and comforting all at once. Like a tipsy dream when you know you’ll wake up with a headache for sure.

(Y/N) is twirling around her living room, a beer in hand and a smile on her face. Joel leans against the door connecting her living room and her kitchen and all he can do is stare. At this woman who means so much to him. Too much for him to ever put into words. If he even knew how to. He’s never been a poet. 

“I said I love you, that's forever

And this I promise from the heart, mmm

I couldn't love you any better

I love you just the way you are, right”

“I love this song. Can you imagine someone loving you enough to write something like this about you?” 

Yes, he thinks. If only he WAS a poet. He would write a hundred songs. A thousand. And all of them would talk of her smile and her eyes and the way there is no single thing about her he would change. 

But words fail him. They always do. 

So he just nods.

“Joel,” she says and moves closer. The bottle of beer now placed on her couch table, her hands find his chest. So warm. So soft. And all he does is stare. 

“I know you got my postcards. I know you know how I feel. And sometimes I think you feel the same. I see the way you look at me. I know the dangers you put yourself in to get me those records. I just — you never say anything. So am I making a fool of myself here? Please tell me if I — “ 

“You’re not.” 

Wow, so eloquent. 

“I’m not?” 

Her voice sounds so small. So unsure. He hates that he’s the one who put the uncertainty there. Be a better man, Joel! Be a good man for once! 

But all he does is stare. Words fail him. Again. again. again.

“Then can I — can I do this?” 

(Y/N)’s gaze falls to his lips then back up to his eyes. She is so close. He can feel her warm breath on his skin. Can smell the scent of her shampoo. Notices the tremble of her fingers as her hands rest on his chest.

And he wants to kiss her. Every version of him that ever was and ever will be wants to kiss her. But all he does is stare.

All he does is stare and pull away.

And it breaks his heart to see hers break in that moment. 

“I uh — oh I’m sorry Joel.”

Tears gather in her eyes, fill them with sorrow, fill his heart with rage. He can’t do anything right, can he? Everyone he’s ever loved, he’s disappointed. But how can he let himself love her, how can he let her love him, when he is so broken? When all he does is break things?  Taint them with this infinite sadness that lives and grows inside his bones? 

“It’s not you.” 

“Oh please, Joel. I made a fool of myself already. Don’t make it worse.” 

“I ain’t trying to. It just ain’t you. It’s all me. It’s always been me”

His palms are sweaty and he feels like someone has reached into his ribcage, cracked every rib on the way to his heart, and ripped it out with bare hands. Snapping veins and arteries and all.

“I want you. I want this but I can’t have it. You think I’m a good man but the truth is, I am not. I do bad things all the time, over and over again and time and life have made me so numb to it. But you, you are so good. You deserve someone better. Someone whole.”

It’s like once he’s started it all comes flowing out like a fucking waterfall. All his fears and insecurities and pain. It’s all there for her to be disgusted by. Because god knows there is no way she won’t be. He is. All the time.

“I have not been the same since this all started. Since Sarah — since she died. I live with this immense grief. It surrounds me. It IS me. All of me. And I so desperately want to claw my way out of it. Rip it apart and leave it behind. But at the same time, I want to bury myself in it. Because what if I do leave it behind and I start to forget? Her and all that she was? How is it fair that I have to remember her far longer than I got to know her? So if I get better, if I become the man I need to be to be worthy of your love, am I still gonna be the man she knew? Can I still remember? Because that is all I have. And that is not a burden I can put on you. Not you and not Ellie.”

Joel takes a breath then another but it does little to calm him down.

“You two mean everything to me and I am sorry I am bad at showing it. That I can’t say it. I need you to know, it’s all me that’s the problem. It was never you. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t wait for her to say anything. He doesn’t think he has the heart to hear a reply anyway. It’s like he just ripped himself open and spilled all his guts, his heart, his lungs, and all his inside out on her living room floor. 

If he was any better of a man he’d pick them up and try to rearrange them.

But he is not a good man. Maybe he never was.

“There was something for you in the mailbox” Ellie exclaims and slumps down on the couch next to him. “I was this close to opening it but I didn’t want to make you even more grumpy than you already are.” 

“I’m not grumpy” 

He has to admit, the tone in which he said those words does not do much to counter her point. Ellie knows too, judging by the way she raises her eyebrow “Sure, you’re not.” 

She drops a sunflower yellow envelope on his lap. ‘Joel’, it says in that swirly handwriting he’s become so familiar with.

It’s been a few weeks since he’s seen (Y/N). Since he spilled all his sorrows and worries to her and then ran. And, surprisingly, Jackson makes it very easy for someone to avoid another person if you only try hard enough.

Maybe Ellie has a point, maybe he has been exceptionally grumpy lately. No correlation to any recent events though. Absolutely zero.

“Sooo are you gonna open it?”

Ellie looks at him with curiosity and that little spark of mischief as if she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Not with you watching over my shoulder, I ain’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause it’s none of your business.” 

“Excuse me? I have to live with your grumpy ass because you guys can’t get your shit straight. I think it very much is my business.” 

“Jesus, Ellie. Language!" 

“Sorry,” she says and gives him that pseudo-sheepish look he’s grown familiar with. “You guys need to get your stuff straight.” 

He used to scold her for it but really, he isn’t one to talk. 

“Anywayyyyy, I’ll go stay at Dina’s tonight … just in case you decide to go over and apologize for whatever it is you did and you guys finally sort it out and need some privacy later.” 

“Why do you think I did something?” 

And there it is again that sassy eyebrow raise. The same one he’s seen on Sarah so many times before. It truly is a woman’s world and he’s but a fool living in it. And they let no opportunity pass to remind him of just that.

They are also absolutely right.

“My lawyer advised me not to answer that question. Anyway, be nice. Have fun. Byyyye” 

Her voice trails off as she grabs her bag and rushes outside leaving Joel alone in this big empty house with nothing but his demons and this mysterious envelope.

Carefully he opens the seal and shakes out the contents. A postcard, a photo, and a — cassette tape? 

His eyes find the photo first. It’s a polaroid of him and Ellie and (Y/N). All 3 of them smiling, yes even him. He remembers that day back last summer. It was one of those warm but not yet hot days. (Y/N) was wearing that agonizingly beautiful red sundress. The one that made his heart beat twice as fast. She brought over a whole basket full of cherries from the tree in her garden. A pie too. And that damn Polaroid camera. 

Of course, Ellie was enamored by it, wasted almost the whole damn film. 

“Come on Joel, let's take a picture together,” she had called out to him and pulled him to sit down next to her and (Y/N) on the blanket they had placed on the lawn. 

“I’m not a picture guy,” he had grumbled, “ ain’t nobody want to see my old mug.” 

“Oh shut up. Joel, you are so handsome, don’t even pretend like you don’t know that.” 

It was the first time (Y/N) had ever called him handsome. It was hard for him to believe it then, hell it still is. But she has done it a lot more since then. Calls him handsome and gorgeous and pretty all the time. At first, he thought she was just humoring him but slowly but surely it dawned on him that she meant it. Means it still.

“We don’t know how many good sunny days we have left. Ain’t no shame in trying to remember this one, right?” 

Her eyes held so much honesty then. Vulnerability too. And gratefulness for all they had then after all they had lost. It made him smile then and it makes him smile now.

The Postcard is next, big bold letters spell out TEXAS and in the corner, there’s a drawing of the Texas State Capitol in Austin.

When he turns the Postcard over, there it is again, that swirly writing he’s grown to love so much. 

“Joel, the ‘Postcards from around the world’ book I got from the library didn’t have an Austin one but it did have a Texas one so that’ll have to do. I’m not even sure if you're going to read this. I hope you do because you didn't give me a chance to say my part when you stormed off & I think I deserve that.

You're not the man you were in Austin, you lived through the worst thing imaginable and it changed you. But you are not just your pain. It is part of you but it doesn't define you. I know you see all the bad but none of the good but believe me I see it! Ellie does! You are your pain but you are also the smile on Ellie's face when you bring her a new comic or teach her a song. You're the guitar chords echoing through the air on a warm spring afternoon. You are those fluttery feelings in my heart whenever you look at me.

Joel Miller, I understand if you don't want to be with me but if it's only because you don't think you're good enough then I think that's a choice I get to make. Taking that from me is a dick move. 

You said you're bad at showing love but you're not. You showed me through all those records. Through all those songs. Now let me love you back.”

Joel can’t quite name the feeling spreading through him. It’s both foreign and familiar at the same time. Like an old friend. A hazy memory. Pictures blurred and dulled by time and age. 

Maybe he was wrong, and he hates admitting that. Maybe he ain’t a good man but maybe that is hers to decide. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He takes the cassette tape in his hand and squints his eyes at the tiny writing on the label. God, he really is getting old. Those eyes ain’t what they used to be.

God only knows - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds

You’re my best friend - Queen - A Night at the Opera

Just Like Heaven - The Cure - Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (you should!) 

In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel - So

Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper - She’s so unusual

Your Song - Elton John - Elton John

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis - Blue Hawaii

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton - Slowhand

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (!!!! LOVE SONGS!!!)

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel - The Stranger

"You gave me all these records with all these songs and all these words to tell me you love me and I’m not sure you even knew.” 

And she’s right. He got her those records because he knew they’d make her smile. Because that smile means everything to him whether he wants to admit it or not. He got those records to show her that even when he’s gone on a run, she’s always on his mind. He believed it to be a curse, a ghost haunting him for all his past mistakes and taunting him with what he shall never have.

But maybe it’s not a curse. 

Maybe it’s a blessing. A sweet song to remind him that someone back home is waiting. A gentle reminder that life can and will go on and good things can come from immense tragedy. And moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, in fact, it means remembering. Remembering the bad and believing that there can and will be good and that it’s worth it to go on. Even if you are a different you. Not worse or better, just changed. And that you deserve love. And kindness. And warmth.

Joel drops the envelope and its contents on the table and grabs his thick winter jacket as he rushes outside. The cold feels only half as bad as it nips at his skin, he barely notices. There is a fire inside him now, burning away all the doubts and hesitation. 

He’s back at her door, only this time he doesn’t wait to knock. He’s spent so much time denying himself the one thing he wants that he can’t lose just one second more. The rapping of his knuckles against her door echoes through the winter day. Oh, how he can’t wait for the spring and the summer and her in that gorgeous dress. 

“Joel?” 

Back before — everything, Joel remembers a movie night with Sarah. She got to choose and despite being an avid fan of trashy action and horror movies, that time she chose a romantic comedy. All things considered, Joel can admit that when Harry met Sally wasn’t the worst choice but he still would’ve preferred Star Wars or Terminator. 

He does remember the ending though, the grand finale. He remembers Sarah trying to wipe away tears without him noticing. And he remembers Billy Crystal’s words “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” 

Back then he thought it was some silly, cheesy movie speak. No one feels that way, right? It’s grandiose and kitschy for the sake of movie magic.

But no, he’s sure now, that one is true. Because it’s how he feels.

“I love you!” 

That confession should come with ribbons and flowers and fireworks but it doesn’t. It comes with honesty and that is all that matters. It comes from the heart.

“Huh?” 

“I got your postcard. The photo too and the tape. And I love you.” 

“I know. Took you long enough to figure it out.” 

“I’m sorry. I — I still believe that I am not a good man and that you deserve better. But it would be selfish to punish you for my own insecurities. I love you and I want to let you love me. If you still want to, that is.” 

“Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?” 

“Please just fucking kiss me.” 

Joel remembers a lot of kisses in his lifetime. Some rushed, some clumsy. Quick kisses in secret. Long drawn-out smooches in smokey bars. Loving, fast, aggressive, and soft. 

This one is different, as cheesy as it sounds.

This kiss makes him feel like all he’s ever been and all he ever will be can live in peace with one another. This kiss makes him feel like none of it matters as long as he has her. 

She tastes like peppermint and sunshine and he’s sure he’ll never get enough of her. The feeling of her skin against his as he gently cradles her face in his hand. The soft movements on her chest as she breathes. The twitch of her lips as she smiles into the kiss.

For the first time in his life, Joel is sure that a kiss is more than a kiss. It’s a healing hand on a shattered heart. It’s a new path to a new future. It’s sunshine melting the ice from his bones.

It’s a promise to try every day and to be better and to be enough. ---

[spectoo]

tuna mayo ! miya osamu

chapter three – fifteen onigiri

wc 2000

MDNI.

16:39.

“Here’s yer fifteen tuna mayo onigiri, Ms. [L/N].”

You look over your shoulder to see Osamu holding up a flat, long glass plate with your onigiri lined up neatly, with green onions decorating the tops of each ball.

You let out a small “ah” before pushing your chair back and standing up. As you walk to the counter where he is standing behind, you can feel your heartbeat start to quicken just a little bit.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Miya.” You replied back with a small smile while taking the plate out of his hands. “You can drop the honorific, by the way.” 

Before you could take the chance to walk back to your table, Osamu spoke, “Ya know, ya can also drop the honorific. Don’t make me feel old.” 

You let out a small chuckle, “My bad, Miya. Thank you for the food.” As you bowed your head slightly.

“No problem.” He nodded. “By the way, if ya need a to-go box, just holler and let me know.”

You stared at the younger twin for a brief second, before speaking. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. Thanks, though.” You turned your back while smiling hard internally, and began the short walk back to your table before he could say anything else.

He stood there for about three seconds watching you, before realizing what he was doing would come across as creepy. He immediately turned around, and let out a short groan before walking towards one of his food stations.

“I swear on everythin’, [Y/N], if you don’t eat all that onigiri, I will break into yer house and watch you while yer sleeping.” Atsumu threatened in an annoyed tone as you set your bag on the table.

Onigiri Miya’s tuna mayo onigiri were reasonably priced at ¥350 (roughly $2.30), and since you ordered fifteen… well, Atsumu would've paid ¥5,250 (about $35) for your food, but, he got a little family discount, and ended up paying for only half of it.

Why was he even complaining?

As you sat down, and grabbed one of your onigiri from the plate, you responded while smirking, “Calm down, Atsumu. Why else would I order fifteen if I didn’t want to eat them all?” which earned a laugh from Hinata and eyes that began to roll from Atsumu. “Is this better than convenience store onigiri?”

Almost immediately, Atsumu’s mood changed. “Ohhhh, way better than convenience onigiri! Yer gonna love ‘Samu’s onigiri! It’s seriously so good to the point where you can’t even compare the two, tell ‘er, Sho!” He exclaimed as he nudged Hinata’s side. 

You look at Hinata, and he begins to nod his head fast. “He’s not wrong, [L/N]! This became one of my new go-to spots when I started playing for MSBY.”

“Aaaand all our teammates like Onigiri Miya, too.” Atsumu chimed in once more, raising his pointer finger.

“Whatever you say…” you quietly mumbled, then look back at your onigiri.

You take the first bite, and chew about two times before the flavors really begin to sink in. ‘Woooah.’ 

This onigiri was seriously one of the best you’ve ever had in your life. It seemed as if there was more than just tuna and mayo in it… like there was something else in it, but you couldn’t figure it out.

You look up with widened eyes to see Atsumu and Hinata smirking at you. “It’s good, huh?” The blondie grinned.

“Fuck, Atsumu! This is better than good!” You exclaimed joyfully. 

Both of your friends began to laugh loud enough to catch Osamu’s attention. He takes a small glance at Atsumu, then Hinata, and eventually, you. He watches the way you stare at the onigiri. His onigiri.

“Hey, wait, why does yers have a bunch of filling in it?! I swear, I never get that much in mine!” Atsumu complains, as he points accusingly at your onigiri, with you responding with a shrug.

Osamu quickly focused his attention back on the onigiri he was currently making. ‘Busted.’

He could finally feel himself relaxing little by little. He doesn’t really wait for the reactions of those who order his food, but with you, he truly couldn’t wait for you to try it.

“Boss, why are you smiling at the onigiri like that?”

Osamu immediately looked at his employee who asked that question, and neutralized his face. “What’re ya talkin’ about?”

17:06.

You huffed as you leaned back in your chair, putting your hands over your stomach, like you’re caressing your seven month old unborn child.

“Ain’t no away.” Hinata spoke in a small, yet surprised tone. Then sighed sadly, looking down at his unfinished bonito flake rice ball. “You seriously finished all that, [L/N]?”

“Fa’ real. I mean, at least ya made my money’s worth? But at what cost?” Atsumu adds as he stares at your… current state, while tilting his head with a bit of concern.

You move your head forwards to get a ‘good enough’ look at the both of them, then lean back again. “It was so worth it. No regrets. At. All.”

“Okay, understandable, but with all due respect, [Y/N], ya look like yer about to give birth.” He retorted, with unease.

A small sigh left your mouth, along with a chuckle. “I’ll find out the gender when I give birth later tonight.”

A small pause was left between the three of you.

“In the toilet.” You added on.

Another small pause…

“Get it? ‘Cause I’m gonna, like, poop it out of m–” “WE GET IT, damn it.” Atsumu’s eyebrows creased as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Before you could say something insulting, Hinata expressed his affection with a long “Awwwwwww!” He put one of his hands on his cheek, and leaned into it. “Are you hoping for a boy or girl?” He asked sarcastically. 

“I want a–” You cut yourself off.

‘Gender? Gender gender gender gender gender…' And as your thoughts come to an end, you gasp loud enough to startle your friends.

You abruptly get up from your chair, grabbing your keys, wallet, and the glass plate. “I completely forgot! My essay for my sociology class is due tonight!”

You were surprised that you had forgotten about this assignment. Yet, who could blame you? You still have to balance four other classes, and a job on top of all of that.

“What the hell? Don’t scare us like that, you animal!” Atsumu put his hand on his heart dramatically.

“Shut it!” You scorned.

You quickly shuffle to the front counter and put your plate on it, and as you begin to walk towards the door, the ‘did I forget something?’ feeling comes to you. You look at both of your hands, holding your wallet and keys. You turn to look at the table, only to be met with confused faces from Hinata and Atsumu.

You look around the restaurant, and finally your eyes land on Osamu, who’s prepping some basic onigiri ingredients.

‘So that’s what it was…’ You realized as you walked back to the counter.

“Miya!” You shouted loud enough for him to hear.

He immediately stops what he’s doing and turns his head towards you. He sees your necessities in hand, signifying that you’re about to leave.

‘Shit.’ He thought to himself, as he began to take off his gloves, and wipe his hands, eventually walking over to you.

“What’s up?” He asks, re-adjusting his hat, then grabbing the plate from the counter with both hands, with a semi-surprised face.

‘She really finished all that?’

You begin to grin lightly after seeing that look on his face, while thinking about God knows what in that silly little head of yours. “Thanks again! I’ll be back soon enough for more.”

After saying that, you can see the slightest smirk begin to grow on his face. He leaned a bit closer towards you, lowering the plate in his hands. “Yeah? For another order of fifteen tuna mayo onigiri?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Nah, I gotta try the other stuff on the menu next time.” You let out a small exhale through your nose, and hold up your hand to wave. “See you soon.”

He nods, “See ya.”

With that, you turned around and left the restaurant. Osamu watched as you got in your car, went on your phone for a couple of seconds, and reversed out of your parking spot, before eventually leaving the plaza.

“Oi, ‘Samu!” Atsumu called out. His attention immediately went to his brother. “Why were ya so focused on [L/N] when she was leavin’?” The setter smiled smugly. 

Most of the time, people were not able to read Osamu’s expressions, as he usually kept a neutral demeanor, but come on! Atsumu and Osamu shared a womb for nine months. As time went by, Atsumu’s ability to figure out how his twin was feeling exceeded profoundly.

‘First name basis?’ Osamu questioned internally. “Whaddya mean?”

“WhAdDya mEan?” Atsumu mocked. “Stupid ass, actin’ like yer bein’ nonchalant.”

Osamu quickly became annoyed with his brother. “What’s yer deal, ‘Tsumu?” 

“OH? What’s my deal? No, what’s yer de–”

“Aw man! I wish [L/N] had already finished her school paper so she didn’t have to leave.” Hinata quickly interjected, putting his hands on his head whilst leaning back in his seat. He knew where this was going, and to be honest, he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of an argument between the Miya twins again.

Both of the twins stared at Hinata, and then back at each other before Atsumu spoke again. “Yeah, but ya know how she is when it comes to college assignments.”

Osamu’s interest was piqued, but kept it on the down low. “She’s in college?” 

Both MSBY members nodded their heads. 

“But didn't ya mention she works for yer team?” He continued.

Hinata stared at Osamu, with one of his eyebrows raised. The ginger then quickly caught on to the fact that he was trying to learn more about this girl he just met.

“Yep, she does. As far as I know, she’s twenty-one, a senior in college, and she’s a business major. Alsooooo…” Hinata paused trying to think about what to say. “Oh, right! The reason she’s working for MSBY is to get some experience for her future job.”

Osamu snuck a quick glance at Atsumu, to see him taking a sip out of his water, with no reaction on his face.

‘Shoyo’s not lying.’ 

The dark haired man walked away with nothing else to say, plate still in hand as he could hear his brother and Hinata continue their previous conversation.

‘Twenty-one? Isn’t that too young, though?’

23:44.

Osamu laid in his bed, flat on his back, with no noise in the background besides his fan. After he had closed up shop for the day almost three hours ago, he couldn’t get you off his mind. He was so confused by this. He had just met you, and sure, he thought you were pretty, but once again, you both had just met.

He turned to his side, and wondered about your three year age difference. Of course, he knew that three years wasn’t terrible, but ever since he was a child, he’s been surrounded by couples whose ages are either the same, or one year apart at most.

He let out a small, yet frustrated sigh, and grabbed his phone from underneath his pillow.

As Osamu put his phone under his pillow for the second time tonight, he had all intentions of finally getting some sleep. This time, he felt semi-relieved, but still a tad bit unsure due to his friend’s answer to what he’d been wondering. He turned to his other side, capturing the somewhat cold essence of his bed, and finally, began drifting off into sleep. 

One thing he’s very sure about, though? 

He can't wait until the next time he's able to make his food for you.

author's notes !

𐙚 i actually ate some tuna mayo onigiri while writing this chapter . (was soooo fucking good)

𐙚 reblogs are always appreciated <3

𐙚 if you'd like to join the taglist , please fill out this form !

𐙚 thank you for reading , hun !!

taglist - @reuka1

[orangez3st]

Sunshines & Birthdays

Marshal Commander Cody & GN!Jedi!Reader 

Summary: You just can't miss his supposed birthday. Rating: General Tags: fluff, birthday gifts, full blown wholesomeness, reader is kenobi's padawan and commander in the 212th, reader is besties with cody (who wouldn't wanna?) Word Count: 854 A/N: Ashamed to admit I nearly miss Cody Day!!! 2-2-24 wasn’t the time I've existed on this side of Tumblr yet, so please have this special anniversary drabble from me!

"Codyyyyy!" you giggle as you run into him in one of many corridors of the Negotiator, "Happy birthday!"

"Hnn," the 212th Marshal Commander drawls helplessly as you smoosh his cheeks together. You flash your teeth at him before letting go and watch his baffled expression with amusement. "But... I don't have birthdays, sir."

You snort. "Oh, don't be silly," you wave at him, and cheerfully continue, practically throwing your arms out, "You do! Second day of Kelona! Which is today!"

Cody blinks at you.

"Did you just take the first two of my serial numbers and make it up as my birth date and month?"

Being his commanding officer's padawan, watching your face fall into a mixture of sadness, disappointment, and embarrassment strikes fear in him – it's as if he's responsible for your reactions, too. You're beloved by the 212th. Was he being too hard on you, even if he meant it slightly as a joke?

"What, you don't do that?" You can feel your cheeks fluster. "Boil told me all of you do."

As if cued, the devil marches around the intersection with a cone-shaped pink party hat on top of his head, the elastic band pressing under his chin. "Sir," Boil nods in your direction with an impressive amount of seriousness, "Have a good one."

Raising a toast with what you imagine is some citrus juice, Waxer follows behind him with the identical hat, but in cyan. "Happy birthday, Commander."

You grin widely at their act, pleased with their instigation and just recent participation. Cody stares on until they disappear from view, dumbfounded, probably open-mouthed and frowning which you can't see from your angle.

Your mirthful giggle returns his attention back to you, his expression softens.

"Not me. But... Thank you," Cody says almost sheepishly. His hand flies to the back of his neck, and you know you had him. Still with his respectful yet casual tone, he meets your gaze with a small, appreciative smile. "I'm aware how precious birthdays are for natborns. Really appreciate your notion to treat me as such, Commander."

"Then you know how we natborns celebrate our birthdays – with presents!"

"Yeah," he nods absentmindedly, but snaps his attention back to you yet again in alarm, "Wait, don't tell me–"

"Ta-da!" You not so gently shove your wrapped gift bundle into his chest. "Open it! It's from me."

Anticipation bubbles in your chest as you thoroughly watch his expression. His subtle glance at you that knows you're not taking it back, his gloved hands gingerly pulling the neat ribbon and peeling the flimsi wraps with swirly orange pattern, and his widened eyes in full blown wonder and shock as he lifts your gift to view.

You smile fondly. "I love that you have this sunburst design so I embroidered it there." You subtly point to the intricate design of your handmade craft; embroidered sunburst pattern on a plain white sweatshirt that matches the one on his armor involving a massive spread of orange tones. "I would've knitted the entire thing from scratch had I have more time, but I guess I'm used to improvisation."

"Well, uh, hope you love it, Cody," you decide nearly hesitantly, but you shrug it away, already moving to the other direction. "That's all for now. See you again in briefing!"

Cody is stunned, rubbing the pad of his thumb tenderly over the beautiful embroidery. You hope he would wear it outside demanding military duties – on a casual day out with his brothers or even to his sleep in his cot. His lack of response almost saddens you, but you know you need to give some time to someone who's never been gifted before.

You only make about five steps until he calls back at you, "Wait, sir!" You turn around, the same giddy smile on your face, and watch his eyebrows pull into a soft frown. "Do I, uh, wanna know what that means?"

"You think we'd go through your birthday without throwing a party?" You smugly place your hands on your hips. "And at Master Kenobi's behest! So that means a direct order from your superior officer!"

You skip away again, butterflies swarming your insides in fond warmth of friendship, but then you pause when you hear Cody's unmistakably hurried steps.

"Commander, wait!"

Cody skids into a halt in front of you, nearly running into you in the same manner you did to him. His gift from you still clutched in his hand, your breath huffed out of your lungs with a force as Cody pulls you into his chest and buries his face into your shoulder.

"Thank you." His quiet voice sounds suspiciously hoarse and wet in your ear. "I... I can't say it enough. This means a lot. To me."

Smiling tearfully yourself, you wind your arms fully around him and press both of your bodies closer for its warmth. "You're the very best Marshal Commander we could've asked for," you whisper to his ears only – in admiration of the qualities he stashes for himself as a man. You smile and bury your face into his shoulder. "Happy birthday, Cody."

Taglist: @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @msmeredithrose

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided)

[momomallowart]

He misses his dad.. 🥺

[autumnrory]

i rmr when all the initial meta around endgame was coming out people were talking about steve being depressed and whatnot and it's like well yeah but he's BEEN depressed, like he woke up alone in this century and he kept going, now i can understand it being worse this time after finding a family and getting bucky back and losing them all except of course that's not why endgame steve was on about so like......the people writing meta were trying to connect these things that of course weren't really there on screen because that simply wasn't our steve

but i think it really could've been SO interesting to see this is the thing that finally makes steve stay down like he's lost so much and he just CAN'T keep fighting like i get some people think that's what they were going for but considering the ending......it's really not. and so i'm just thinking about a version after iw, maybe he gets some of the thor treatment except not turning his depression into a dumb fatphobic joke lol and maybe nat and others are trying to get through to him and it just doesn't work and then we get some flashbacks (which you could have done for all the original avengers actually which would be particularly important for bruce and nat and clint who did not have their own trilogies) including his mom telling him "you always stand up" and THAT being the thing to finally get him moving like it would've been such a perfect way to finally show sarah rogers some respect and ACTUALLY show steve really struggling instead of whatever they tried to do with him in that movie

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

thinking about how when i was in lower elementary, there was this kid that was a grade beneath me that just like...hugged me against my will, multiple times, and i was worried that i would get in trouble if i pushed him off so i would just stand there and wait for him to let go-

[12th-shavie]

[100 hours in]

Up next, the long-awaited follow-up to Osvald and Partitio's crossed path ! I was really looking forward to this one

Coffee, huh... of course that would be their stances on coffee, I can't imagine Partitio drinking it too bitter, that sweetie

Aww they're using the coffee bit when threatening thugs ! They're such good buddies

And now they're keeping it going as they threaten the loan shark before mugging him, how adorable~

Partitio, my boy, do you not know of the Moon ???

And here comes the ominous night-time that shouldn't possibly be... and the end of the quest. Obviously. I can't get to the juicy bits just yet I guess

Oh well, that's just more of a reason to move on the chapter I kept as the last one : Temenos' fourth (I hope he kicks the evil god's ass or gets closer to doing so)

Oh we doing genocide flashbacks now ? Okay...

Ort I mean to put this in the nicest way possible but maybe you should've doubted your boss before she reached the spooky cave and started being nefarious about it

Kaldena has the same kind of shadow energy as Harvey... evil.

But her boss sprite ? Oh her boss sprite is looking fine~

And it even gets better... Kaldena of the Night is a banger design (the sprite work in this game gets me every time)

That fight was over quickly... but that's just the Osvald nuke setup for ya, he's allowed all the spotlight he wants <3

The end artwork is in front of Crick's grave... T^T (Temenos looks incredibly baby on it tho)

I found and did Ort's next chapter pretty quickly after that and the bit about the lost hair ornament bugs me so much, wasn't Mindt just shown to have lost hers ?? How involved is she actually ? And why do I not get any extra info about anything extra suspicious lately...

Oh well, fine, game, Laila's next chapter it is then

Hermes sure loves her fishies, but I wish she would've just kicked this guy's ass then and there... a girl can dream

As for Veronica's next chapter, I found the right npc at last after trying my luck with every Dolcinaea-related location (it didn't really take all that long)

I can still see the scene after that and picture the metaphorical game looking me in the eye telling me Veronica and Dolcinaea should kiss (screenshots were taken)

Anyway, time for the Throné and Temenos follow-up !

That's looking like a new murder myster- oh Alpates is the victim, so much for asking her about last time

I love how Temenos won't knock the guard out himself but completely endorse Throné doing it (and stealing from dead bodies but that's the gameplay integration for ya)

Onward to the mysterious cave of time shenanigans !

Oh shit is getting real detective mode is back ON !!

I love how Throné casually welcomes Temenos back from detective mode, she's so chill about it

So the treasure is the full mirror... and something about those who hope for the dawn... what were you hiding Alpates...

And that's the ominous cutoff point, obviously

Guess I'll try and finish every last side story before seeing what that "Extra story" is all about, it sounds like a grand finale to me

I found a next chapter for Shirlutto, who I definitely hadn't completely forgot the name of, and he wanted a bunch of stuff I had from my inventory (because I am a nosy player who can and will investigate everything !)

Oh that was the story for the guard in Lostseed !

And that's baby's first desire for revenge, I guess ?

Not gonna lie, that wasn't my favourite quest, the beastling speech patterns got to me pretty quick and they're not my jam

Alpione's next chapter had a fun twist on the hunter premise, she got to do something good for the creature this time around

For Mikka's next chapter, let me see... we have more Benkei being here and a good bean, and Mikka and Pala flirting. A lot. I can almost hear the metaphorical game breathing down my neck and whispering "gay gay homosexual gay" and yuri-ing away or something

Since I was around, I also got to finishing the tower (I had found and started it previously, up to the third floor) thanks to the wondrous Osvald nuke team

And lo and behold ! A final support class ! I first gave it to Partitio since I had him on hand and he had the JP for those juicy support skills (in this household we love a Partitio with plenty of SP and skills that half its consumption are good) but then decided to give it to Castti to consolidate her supporting capabilities (and she looks cute in it) (and I really like cleric Partitio as a versatile support that can heal a solid amount)

While going about my sidequest log I got back to the one for stage actors in Tropu'hopu and coerced the guy to see if I got more info on what he wanted, and let's just say that "Temenos the Diviner" entertained me a fair bit

But since I had a save right before it and Osvald to try and mug the guy, I reloaded the save and let's just say that I didn't know I needed "Osvald the Thieving Gentlemage" until it was right before me

I'm curious as to what skits happen for Hikari and Ochette, but I think I'll look that up eventually, as a treat

And with that, my quest backlog was done... except for a teeny tiny insignificant one in the spooky island with the gates to a cryptic name and the (dying ? or just in really bad shape ?) guy who wanted to translate the book "From the Far Reaches of Hell", so definitely nothing important that I should devote lots of attention to...

Instead I scavenged for more cleric, scholar and apothecary licenses and I'm not afraid to say that the manor ruins being completely silent started stressing me out at some point while hunting for the big deers

And with the 100-hours mark approaching, I knew what I wanted to do : prepare my endgame teams for the true final stretch !

After lots of thinking on synergies and break coverage, I decided on splitting up the party with thief Agnea, cleric Partitio, conjurer Castti and arcanist Osvald for the magical nuke setup with good physical damage from Agnea on top, and inventor Ochette, merchant Throné, scholar Temenos and armsmaster Hikari for a more physically-oriented team with disguised Throné to double up on scholars if need be and extra versatility out of the learned skills/monsters

I got through a lot of equipment management to come up with builds I liked but I am pretty proud of myself for coming up with these

Of course, this has nothing to do with the sidequest boss from hell that requires to split the travelers in two teams and certainly not the fact that it wiped the floor with me when I showed up unprepared

Anyway, up next should be the final chapter, although I don't know what to expect !

Octopath Traveler II delayed playthrough blogging

[10 hours in]

Contains light spoilers of some early chapters I guess

I started the journey with Agnea because she looked like a sweetie (and she is) and she really has the most jrpg "leave of this small village to see the big wide world to make your dream come true" beginning

I got her to allure a villager that replenishes SP with every dancer skill she uses and she's been the cornerstone to most battles ever since

The second traveler I got was Partitio and he's a funny lad, I love his vibe, hat, jacket, and speech ! Also, the atmosphere of his storyline was a nice dramatic change of pace after the cozy first one I got

I headcanon that Roque's betrayal was in fact very much a divorce with Partitio's dad and I cannot wait to see how that applies to future chapters (I do hope it ages like fine wine rather than milk)

Partitio's combat performance was pretty solid despite a lack of AoE but the weapon variety for breaking was the early highlight

I ignored the fork in the road that lead to Hikari in favor of recruiting Castti because I wanted a healer and I feel slightly guilty (but also not at all)

Castti is literally so nice to people I can't wait to see if she really has an extremely shady past that will torment her for at least 1 chapter before she decides that she's going to be a good noddle in spite of all

Her concocting is pretty fun but I wish I had more diffusing serum (I can make do with latent power for now but it'd more fun to let her do some fun nuking)

Castti is also extremely tanky (she's the only one I have with over 1k HP so far) so she was a very welcome addition to the party

The next step in the journey was recruiting Osvald (I wanted to start with him but the 2 forced chapters made me decide to instead make him the reward for reaching the eastern continent) after I ignored the boat that lead to Ochette and wandered around until I stumbled upon a boat that lead really close to Osvald on the map and eventually found him face-down in the snow (which makes my decision to no start with him even better)

His first two chapters cemented him as one of my favorites beyond the visual vibes I got from the first selecting menu, and his skillset was a cherry on top

AoE magic nuking when I already have some buffing and BP donating in my party ? I'm sold. Free weakpoint reveals every battle ? Even better ! Osvaldo battle voicelines ? Yes please !

After that I found the scholar license and decided that Agnea should also learn to buff spell intensity to make my Osvaldo nuking engine even stronger (she's been doing great and I'm very proud of her)

Since it was on the way to Agnea's second chapter for which she was at the recommended level, I went on to recruit Temenos and he did not disappoint ! He really gave me an impression of being a seemingly upstanding fellow who is in fact not only shady but just the right blend of ambiguous tease with genuine words thrown in (props to his voice acting that really sells it)

His detective moment was also pretty cool, especially after seeing the duality of his abilities to get people to follow him without risk of failure and his (very shady) coercing to get more intel

I considered replacing Castti with him as my party healer but he is very squishy compared to her, and she also has weapon diversity and more consistent debuffing over him so for the time being he's just chilling at the tavern waiting for a party composition that makes him shine

On my way to the big city I found the inventor license and could simply not resist giving it to Partitio it simply fit him too well (and more weapons to break with is very nice), although I'm thinking of changing it later to try a Temenos build that would allow him to break even more and coerce better

Now onto the big city to recruit Throné and let Agnea's story unfold further !

[ozzgin]

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

[lyrefromthesea]

Please can I request pre-relationship hashira x hashira!reader, where they are sparing together and it becomes a bit suggestive 💙💙

Male pillars x reader - Sparing with benefits

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu , reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: suggestiveness

Tengen:

"you could just give up, there's no chance you could win against my flamboyant self!" he taunted, running around the courtyard with you.

you had been fighting for ten minutes and there was still no end in sight. you weren't a bad fighter, you've been promoted as a hashira some time ago, but Tengen was at advantage right now.

he was faster than you. he had been saving himself from your attacks by avoiding them every time. the smirk on his face only spurred you on more, wanting to win this fight and show him that you were a good fighter.

however, when you raised your bamboo sword for an attack and he turned around to dodge it, you felt yourself trip on a root. it had been sticking out of the ground, making you fall over.

surprised by what has happened, Tengen lost his own halt and fell backwards, landing in a sitting position. you felt yourself fall onto him, at least partly.

when you checked your surroundings, you found your head on his lap. your cheek pressed against his groin. meeting his gaze, you could see his cocky smirk.

"it was an accident! i didn't mean to.." you said, wanting to stand up instantly. this would definitely look wrong from an outsider's perspective.

when you tried to stand up, you felt his hand tangle in your hair, pressing your cheek a bit more against his groin, only satisfied when you felt the bulge against your skin.

"just so you know, my wives had always found you cute enough for this.." he teased, his eyes staying on your widened eyes.

you pushed away, running away from his grip and off the training field.

Obanai:

he was proud of you for becoming a hashira. when he took you in as his tsuguko, he wasn't sure if he made the right decision, but he was sure now.

you were able to follow his movements, dodge his attacks and even make some of your own. your elegance captivated him and he found himself admiring your fighting style.

perhaps he had been diving in his thoughts too much, because when his attention was finally back on you, he was already on the ground.

your legs were on either side of him, straddling his body. heterochromic eyes were staring deeply into yours, surprised by the sudden turn of events.

"i win, Obanai." you said, looking down at the man. your hands were resting on his chest, leaning forward slightly.

his heartbeat was increasing under your hands, cheeks flushing. it wasn't the first time he noticed how beautiful you were, but your allure only increased like this.

"you.. you do.." he muttered, not being able to turn his eyes away from you. yet again, neither were you. you leaned down further, remaining with your faces only a few inches apart.

it would've been so easy to kiss him right now. however, feeling your hips rub against his groin, he couldn't stop his body from reacting, his hands gripping your waist.

"[name], g- get down.."

Rengoku:

"flame breathing. third form: blazing universe!" he called out, his bamboo sword coming at you with immense speed. you barely managed to block his attack - meaning you didn't do it.

your body flew a few feet away, landing on the ground. with a quiet grunt, you turned onto your back. "i give up.." you sighed.

however, there was no audible reaction from Rengoku. turning your head towards him, you wanted to know what's wrong, only to see his wide eyes staring.

he shook his head, running towards you and kneeling down. "are.. are you okay?" he asked, seeing you nod. he didn't respond, as if he knew something you didn't.

"just tell me, Rengoku!" you pleaded, feeling yourself enter a state of panic. did you lose a leg? it wasn't like him to behave this way.

he moved his hand closer, placing his hand against the side of your stomach. your eyes widened, looking down at yourself, staring at your torn uniform.

not only the right side of your shirt, but also the entirety of your right pant leg was missing. you instantly sat up, trying to cover up.

"i didn't know, i will-" you tried excusing yourself, but fell silent when he squeezed your waist slightly, attention moving back to him.

"i'll bring you back." he answered, taking off his haori and pulling it over your form. it didn't help covering your leg, but at least your upper body looked a bit more presentable.

he scooped you into his arms, both your legs around his waist. you rested your chin on his shoulder, wishing to disappear. the whole situation was embarrassing, and even worse, you had felt warm when he touched your skin unhindered.

his hand held you up by your thighs, his grip on your right thigh a bit stronger. you could feel his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your leg, glancing up at him.

"you.. you're really soft." he quietly said, not able to hide his red face from you.

perhaps the whole situations had it's advantages.

Sanemi:

"stop running! just admit defeat!" he shouted after you, determined to get this fight over with. the only problem: you were extremely fast. you managed to dodge his attacks every time.

"never!" you answered, seeing him try to attack again. you were ready to dodge his bamboo sword, but were shocked to see him drop it mid-attack.

his hand shot towards you instead, quite literally knocking you down with his harsh hit. your back made contact with the ground, Sanemi tackling you down immediately.

"i win." he said, smirking at your defeated form. you tried freeing yourself, not able to push up with his hand on your neck.

"i didn't give up yet." you huffed out, feeling him squeezing your throat lightly - he was warning you. only that his warning didn't work as intended.

a quiet whimper escaped your lips, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. he had heard the sound, you knew it.

"oh? didn't know you were into the rough treatment." he smirked - teased. your reaction was immediate, pressing your knee up and right against his crotch.

he groaned, letting go of you. he clearly hadn't expected you to do that, especially not after you pushed him away and freed yourself.

"didn't know you were into that, Shinazugawa."

"you-"

naturally, another fight started right after.

Giyuu:

how did this happen? thirty minutes of fighting just for your bamboo sword to be kicked to the side by him. he had been too fast for you, leaving you unable to react.

your back was pressed against the wall, wide eyes staring into his. he had caged you between the wall and his body, his form towering over you.

ocean eyes were deeply staring into yours, his hand pressing against the wall behind you. he couldn't tear his gaze away from your body, not when you were presented right in front of him.

"you lost." he stated, as if it wasn't obvious to the both of you. his eyes narrowed, his other hand moving towards you.

"if this had been a fight with a demon, you would've died." he said, making you feel like prey under his eyes. he placed his hand on your chin, thumb nearly grazing your lips.

"don't lose focus." he uttered, but his eyes had long broken their contact with yours. he was watching your lips instead, as if he was debating on a kiss.

"i wont." you answered breathlessly, getting his attention back on you. he let go of your chin, stepping away and picking up your sword.

"let's try it out." he taunted, neither of you really focusing on winning or losing now.

Gyomei:

this fight was unfair to begin with. without a doubt, you were one of the strongest swordsman in the corps. you've served as a hashira for three years now, but no one could win against Gyomei.

naturally, you admitted defeat when he threw you over half the lake, immediately asking whether you're fine or not.

your head broke through the water, gasping for air. the water was freezing cold, but you told him you're fine.

he still made the effort to help you out of the water, drenching his own clothes in the freezing liquid.

"are you sure you're okay?" he asked, big tears already rolling down his face again. you avoided your eyes from his form, not trying to appear inappropriate.

"i'm fine." you answered, looking at your own body. both of your clothes were quite see-through, giving you a greedy sight of his muscles and abs.

looking down at yourself, your clothes weren't any better. you thought of yourself as lucky, not wanting to live with the shame of letting him see so much of your body.

"come, it's freezing in here." he told you, pulling you into his arms and out of the water as he made his way out of it.

what you didn't know, was how his fingers could feel everything that you were seeing. your clothes stuck to your skin, not leaving much room for imagination.

he stepped out of the water, but instead of letting you down, his head tilted towards yours, foreheads nearly touching.

his hands squeezed your body, millions of thoughts running through his head. "you're.." he said, but he stopped, not wanting to do something he might regret later.

"you're still wet, we should get some dry clothes.." he told you instead, putting you down again, his hand sliding against your curves for a moment.

you watched him walk forward, your lips parted. was it wrong that you had hoped for him to continue?

[writerfromthestars]

DPXDC PROMPT : ALFRED IS IMMORTAL

Alright. Don't get me wrong, I love au's where John Constantine is like "soul tax evader supreme", but hear me out.

Alfred.

Alfred, Alfred Pennyworth. Who just doesn't die. The guy's immortal. The reason for this is that Alfred is awesome, so anytime he dies, whether it be from old age or a bullet or a world-wide catastrophe, he looks Death straight in the eyes and tells them that he will die when the day comes that no one needs him anymore, and not a second before, and then he just kinda pops back to life. Because let's face it, the batfam would fall to pieces without him.

So, Alfred Pennyworth has basically just been cheating death for centuries, by this point.

Needless to say, Death is none too pleased. Finally, Death goes to Phantom, the new king, who is much more reasonable than Pariah Dark was and who agrees to actually help.

Clockwork helps Danny set up a portal and he zaps into existence in the middle of a Wayne movie night. The bats are all prepared to fight this mysterious weirdo, but Danny ignores them and turns to Alfred, who he then begins lecturing about ghostly tax evasion and how defying death isn't a good thing, so he needs to file paperwork through the proper channels to stay as an immortal almost-God.

Alfred is chill, he plays cards with Clockwork once when he dies, so he knew this was coming, but the batfamily thinks that this mysterious entity is going to kill Alfred, so they're all panicking, trying to think of ways to avoid this horrible future. Alfred calmly listens to Danny, then he interjects.

"Sir, are you aware of the fact that there is a revenant on earth? One who is most certainly under threat of more paperwork than I, seeing as he has been using the Lazarus Pits to revive himself for millennia. I, however, have only been alive for a few hundred years, so I should think that he is a bigger priority. "

Danny glances over at Jason, doubtful. "He doesn't look several millennia old, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Certainly not, seeing as Master Jason is not. Besides, his Undeath License was filed. I have a copy of it if you need to see it, your Majesty?" Alfred answers, demure as always.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, sir."

Alfred leaves and returns, moments later with a light green glowing piece of paper. he hands it over to Danny, who examines it.

"Seems legitimate. I assume you filed it during one of your many encounters with Death?"

"Indeed. I have it on good authority, however, that the other revenant, a man by the name of Ra's Al Ghul, has not renewed his License in at least the last half millennia, most likely longer."

Danny sighs. "Where can I find him."

"Nanda Parbat. The signature is impossible to miss."

"Alright, Mr. Pennyworth. I will return once he is dealt with, be it by filing his paperwork or returning him to the Infinite Realms."

"Very well. I will be ready." Alfred answers.

Danny opens a portal to the area around Nanda Parbat and then another, which plops him down right in front of the Demon's Head himself, in a strategy meeting with his daughter and several commanders.

They all raise their weapons, but he just basically grabs Ra's by the ear and tugs him through a Lazarus Green portal, lecturing him about tax evasion and paperwork and bureaucracy the whole time. The League is thrown into uproar, and Ra's is set down in a room with all his overdue paperwork from the past few thousand years. He feels a little bit like crying; if he had known immortality meant this much paperwork, he would've just died, honestly.

Meanwhile, in Wayne Manor, everyone is crying, because they think Alfred is going to die, Jason is confused about the whole revenant Undeath Certificate thing, Bruce is trying to make contingency plans, Tim is contacting the Justice League, and Alfred is planning out his defense and going through every ghostly law loophole he can think of because if he leaves these emotionally constipated crime-fighting vigilantes, he knows that the house that Martha so loved will go up in flames within a month.

Eventually, Danny comes to get Alfred for his ghostly court trial/hearing or whatever, and Alfred says goodbye to Bruce and everyone, goes to the Infinite Realms. Clockwork is on his side, and Alfred ends up winning the court case, on the condition that now that the has an Undeath License, he actually renew it every twenty years, like he's supposed to.

A week later, Alfred returns, crashes his own funeral, and explains that no, he will not be dying anytime soon.

Two weeks after Alfred's return, Constantine shows up at the manor basically begging to learn how the hell he managed to avoid death, and not only that, win a damn court case against them.

[lalunanymph]

MASTER OF ME

SUMMARY sylus purchases a kitten hybrid from an auction and dotes on her very, very well.

WARNINGS kitten hybrid, pet play, collars, leash, nipple play, clit play, mirror sex, explicit smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, master kink, language, overuse of the kitten petname, riding, clawing, possessive behaviour, slight humiliation and degradation, sylus is soft for his kitten

DAWN SAYS couldn't stop thinking about sylus and his fave kitten hybrid ...,....,,,. so now you all have to suffer with me ,,,, inspired by this post

"Who do you belong to, kitten?"

Your thighs burned with the effort to keep yourself upright, your vision going blurry from how heavenly his thick cock felt rutting against your gummy, slick walls.

"Mhm," you moaned, arching your back, the tinkling chime of your collar accompanying the sloppy symphony of your bodies meeting together in carnal bliss.

Sylus was brutal with his ministrations, one hand wrapped around the bubblegum pink leash clasped to your pink diamond-studded collar; the sight of his engraved name on the tag shining in the moonlight filling him with a sick surge of masculine pride.

"Come on, kitten," he goaded, leaning in to run his tongue under the line of your collar, making you shiver. "Answer me. Who do you belong to?"

The sound of your heavy breathing and his ragged grunts shattered the quiet of his bedroom air, the dark shades of his monochromatic lair absorbing the sins of both your ecstatic bodies; making you feel like he was claiming you right in the belly of the beast.

He pushed your head down into the mattress, leveraging on your supine position to dick you down harder. The slap slap slap of his balls hitting your ass resounded around the room, reminding you of how much you belonged to him.

Body, soul, mind.

Sylus Qin owned every inch of you.

He moved his lips to your ear, your tawny tips twitching at the sensation of his hot breath caressing the sensitive flaps.

"Please," tears thickened your voice, and you fisted the black silk sheets, holding onto them for dear life.

Despite being unable to see him, you heard the smirk in his tone when he deepened the angle, hitting a spot inside of you which made your knees buckle.

"Sweetie, I think you can do better than that."

The thick trunk of his arm wrapped around your neck, using it to hoist you up, and your resistless gaze landed on the mirror across the bed.

Intending to rub your humiliation in your face and remind you how helpless you were without him, Sylus pinched your cheeks together with his other hand, forcing you to watch the way his slick cock pounded into your willing pussy; stretching the muscles tightly around his thick, meaty girth.

The tip of his cock hitting your G-spot made you mewl, your claws catching in his arm around your neck. But, Sylus didn't mind the pain. Those wounds would heal anyway, and besides, he was much more focused on making his sweet little kittie cry.

"Be good and tell me—" he grunted, emphasizing each word with a heavy thrust of his hips. "Who. Do. You. Belong. To. Kitten?"

Once upon a time, that question would've made you bristle and sink your claws into the closest jugular; reminding of the conditions you were brought up in before you were purchased during an underground auction by the one and only elusive leader of Onychinus.

Shrouded in mystery and long regarded as an urban legend, the sight of his blood-red eyes and the smirk upon his pale lips made you shrink back in horror.

That was until he stroked your head and your ears, running his fingers down your back while murmuring in his low, soothing baritone that, "I am not going to hurt you, kitten."

Slowly, you began to warm up to him. The horrors you led as a hybrid stolen from a Linkon City lab faded into the recesses of your rare nightmares; your life as Sylus’s precious lap kitten the only one you recognized.

The sight of his large palm trailing down your body, straight to your core, made you clench down on him in anticipation.

Shit... Sylus choked down on a curse, fighting to retain his self-control.

He knew you could force a kitten to do what you want, but you could always entice her with a tempting treat.

"Does that feel good, kitten?" The caress of his warm breath against your neck tingled your skin, nipples puckering from the sensation.

Mhm... your teary moans gave way to sharp mewls when he started to rub your clit in tandem to his blunt mushroom cock head hitting your sweet spots.

"This pussy loves me so much... can you hear her purr?"

Sylus clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling your moans so you were forced to listen to the wet sounds of your walls sucking him, spitting him out, drooling over his length.

Such a lewd display made you dizzy with lust, your claws stabbing harder into his arm, making him bleed.

"Oh, kitten. My helpless, sweet, little kitten..." He pressed his lips to your ear, letting you hear every filthy moan, every ragged, hitched gasp as he fucked deeper into you.

"I'm going to devour you, my sweet one. Tame you. Tease you. Until you finally admit you're mine."

Your whimpers were fuel for him to double down on his brutal pace, his fingers digging into your waist with a bruising force.

Sylus cursed under his breath when your walls tightened around him, the sight of your obvious submission reflected back from the gilded, black mirror; the sight alone edging you closer to the point of no return.

Like what you see, kitten? Do you love belonging to me?

The scent of your sweet musk burned his nose.

You were the sweetest sin melting on his tongue.

Sylus slid his fingers around the slippery little bud between your legs, the sloppy circles forcing your eyes to roll back into your skull; your thighs twitching and abdomen tensing.

The scent of your impending release tantalized the tip of his tongue, and with a cruel smile, he let you dance right towards the edge, encouraging you to cling to the lip of your first orgasm of the day.

"Master," your hitched gasp of his honorific drew a flame of possessive flame flickering in his chest. "I–I'm close... so close..."

Dropping his fingers down to his side and effectively leaving you hanging, Sylus ignored your paltry gasp of despair, snickering quietly as he slowed the roll of his hips. Intentionally denying your toe-curling orgasm.

"Master..."

Your puffy lips puckered into a pout, those pretty eyes shining with fustration.

In one smooth motion, Sylus slid out of you, the sensation of gaping emptiness where your cunt was once stuffed with him making you cry out, grinding your teeth.

Turning you onto your back with the cockiness of a man who controlled every aspect of your pleasure, Sylus’s crimson eyes burned with an intense, sadistic glee.

He shoved you down to the floor, onto your knees, and spread his toned thighs, beckoning you closer with a tug of your leash.

"You know how much I hate it when you deny me, kitten," the fall of his silvery locks across his face gave him a rougueish air. He grinned, jutting his chin at his stiff cock that was coated from base to tip in your arousal. "As punishment, I want you to pleasure me and think about how much you're denying me as much as I am denying you."

Your stubby tail twitched, and you sucked on your sharp teeth, debating if you should disobey him and pleasure yourself.

As if he anticipated what you might do, Sylus shot you a glare.

"I dare you to do anything funny, kitten. Defy me, and I will make sure to edge you for the remainder of this session with that 20-inch dildo you hate. Is that what you want?"

The loathing you had for that toy was enough to deter you from acting out, your ears drooping docilely.

"I'm sorry, Master."

Sylus exhaled a chuckle, his mood switching as he rubbed your ears affectionately. "I know my sweet girl will never disobey me. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your answer was given in the form of your lips hovering over his weeping tip, your tongue darting out to lap at the treacly precum dribbling down his length in clear drops. The flavor of his musk and skin saturated your taste buds, making your insides clench down with unadulterated desire.

Sylus didn't have to ask you twice—his good kitten was trained to please him at the snap of his fingers.

Eagerly, your hot mouth swallowed him, bringing his cock to the back of your throat where the bitter taste of his cum nearly made you gag. But, Sylus clasped his hand around your neck, forcing you to keep him there; to not choke on and disappoint him.

Blinking your watery eyes, you moaned, the sound muffled from his thick length cutting blocking your airway, his fingers tightening around your throat.

"Mhm, mhm."

This blatant show of dominance and the slight degradation in his smug smile made you clench down hard on thin air; your hips shunting in circles as if seeking a cock to sink down on.

Your cheeks puffing, full of his cock, made something in his chest twinge.

Sylus didn't care for your claws sinking in his thighs, the stinging pinch blurring the lines of pleasure and pain in his mind.

The sight of your pretty lips stretched around his cock, tongue running over his thickset balls, sucking on the plump tip of his flushed and leaking head, was enough to make Sylus renounce any gods in favor of worshipping you for the rest of his life.

"Oh, kitten." Shaky fingers threaded through your hair, this blip in his composure boosting your cocky arrogance.

"Does it feel good, Master?" You mouthed around his cock, "Do you feel good?"

Sylus grunted, lost in the pleasure to notice you were mimicking his earlier teasing.

In one swift movement, your perception changed from staring up at him, to being on your back, face-to-face with his boastful smirk.

Sylus grabbed your wrists in one hand, showing off his strength by keeping them pinned above your head, while his other palm wrapped around your throat, tightening around your custom collar.

He didn't need to glance between your thighs to know his cock was breaching past your tight muscles; your thighs shuddering like an electric current was running through them.

"Master!"

You gasped; back arching, hips circling and nipples tightening. Holding him closer, you clung to him like a vine to a tree that was being rocked apart by a hurricane, unyielding in your dependency on him.

Rather than chastising you for your impertinence, Sylus responded in kind, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Pausing to take a moment, he kissed your ankles and shins, before sliding deeper into your warm and welcoming cunt, a groan of ecstasy falling from his parted mouth.

The raunchy squelching of your bodies meeting together in such erotic intimacy was second to your flow of moans, which grew pitchier and more heated the faster he began to thrust in-and-out of you.

Sylus removed his hand from around your throat to grab your thighs, holding you open. The sight of your pretty tits jiggling with every punishing thrust was the stuff of his lewd dreams, and unexpectedly, he bent his head close, tonguing your sensitive and pert nipples.

Fuck—you're so sensitive. He bit down on the turgid points, nibbling on them like a cat roughing around it's favorite toy.

But, he knew you could take the pain, take his punishments; you were always his perfect, pretty kitty.

Sylus trailed one hand to your swollen and puffy clit, rubbing it in tandem to his punishing strokes.

"Say it, kitten."

Stars pressed behind your closed lids. Every line in your body was taut with the release you were fighting to hold back, waiting for his permission to let go of the tension he's been simmering in your body since an hour ago.

Sylus was nothing if not meticulous in his dark compulsions, expertly dragging out the ache to not give you what you want.

You're so close you can almost taste it, yes? He taunted you, tweaking your sensitive clit, enjoying how your body heaved and shook.

Sylus moved his fingers to your pointed nipples, twisting them with enough sadistic glee to bring tears to your eyes.

You yelped, "Master!" and he chuckled darkly, hooded crimson eyes locked on the sway of your hips struggling to fuck him back.

"Please." Syrupy. Desperate. "Please let me cum."

He chuckled throatily. "Nuh-uh. Not until you tell me what I want to hear."

Your independent streak was no match for his tenacious desire to own every inch of you.

Giving up your willpower for a taste of his reward, you squeezed your eyes shut, thrashing your head from side to side as you choked out your admittance:

"You. I belong to you, Master Sylus."

The curve of his grin cutting through the thin skin of your throat belied his tender nuzzling.

Your entire confession sparking his desires to watch you come undone for him and him alone.

"Good girl," he drawled in his husky baritone, releasing your wrists so you could tangle your hands in his hair.

Drawing you impossibly closer, Sylus's large palms spanning around your waist tilted your lower body, forcing you to take every heavy thrust. Despite the brutal treatment, your pussy withstood the hard-driving surge of his hips; hearts in your eyes from his bruising ministrations.

Sweat dripped down your back, staining his ebony sheets, and you turned your blurry gaze to the ceiling, surprised to find a latest addition to his bedroom.

Sylus playfully nipped your jaw, sensing your distraction.

"Do you like it? Do you like this mirror I installed for us, kitten?"

Your breath lodged right in your throat, your burning eyes unable to tear away from the sinful sight unfurling before you.

The view of his broad back roped with stacks upon stacks of muscles undulating under your paws drew your awe. The red lines from your claws digging into his pale skin created a stark contrast to the bruises in the shape of his mouth littering your neck like sensual, possessive marks.

From this angle, you could plainly see him thrusting into you, the languid roll of his hips fucking you so obscenely filling your head with delirious delight.

You love this, baby? Fuck, I can feel you squeezing down on me so good.

His tongue traced a path from your neck to your jaw, ending at your lips as his final destination.

Sylus wanted this sensation of pleasure to last for days; where you could feel him every time you walked, sat or breathed.

Use me, baby. He nipped your lower lip. I'm all yours to be used.

Your feral instincts took over and you straddled his lap, hovering your wet pussy over his throbbing dick.

Your lover and Master arched a brow at your boldness, his hands slotting naturally onto your hips.

"So, is this how you want to play?"

He hissed, throwing his head back when you controlled the motions, sinking down on him inch by delicious inch. Sylus hadn't expected his dick to be so fucking sensitive.

Oh, fuck, you feel so good, his shaky exhalation boosted your pride.

Move, baby. I need you to move.

Sylus bucked his hips, fucking into you impatiently from below.

His eyes locked onto the ceiling mirror, taking in the sight of your sweet body sitting pretty on his dick, riding it like you only had one chance in your nine lives to make him proud.

Sylus grabbed your leash, using it to guide your rutting hips. He loved how you choked whenever he tugged on it too hard, a smirk etched on his handsome face.

Master...

He knew what you were going to say before you could even say it.

Of course, he did.

Sylus knew his kitten better than anyone else.

"Go ahead, darling. I want you to cum."

A twitch of your hips; your mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Shit, I'm coming—he cursed, tightening his grip around your leash, forcing your head back, his hips stuttering as his orgasm blazed through him.

Sylus nudged you off his dick, using his hand to jerk himself off, groaning at the streaks of white decorating your belly. The last rope of warmth shoots from his spasming head, spurting onto your spent pussy.

Using one dextrous finger, he coated it in cum, swiping off the excess and bringing it to your lips.

"You're too good for me, sweetie," he hummed, eyes darkening when you lapped at his cum-coated finger obediently.

Nuzzling your face into his palm, you practically purred, draping yourself across his chest as you stretched your limbs, the deepset engraving on his name on your collar's pendant stirring his dark, possessive feelings further.

"I liked the little touch with the mirror," you murmured, turning your face slightly to catch the reflection of your slick and naked body atop of his.

Sylus tightened his arms around you, his laughter trailing off into a low growl.

"Anything for my sweet kitten."

His voice softened, tips of his fingers grazing your cheek. A silent I love you he wasn't ready to say just yet.

You might belong to him wholeheartedly, but in this moment, Sylus was as much yours as you were inexplicably his.

a/n: oh to be living a life as sylus's lap kitten, i need to be her STAT

comments and rbs are appreciated <3 your love for my works means the world to me 🫶

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own. do not share across other platforms

[nanaslutt]

gojo & geto fucking their pretty bestfriend (you guessed it, you<3) in the eiffel tower position <333

contains: fem reader, threesome, the boys are gay for each other, choking, hair pulling, dirty talk ofc, kinda rough, gojo is a brat, satosugu are switches, sub reader tho

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

"fucking christ this pussy is killing me," geto has a strong hold on your hips as he pulls you back on his dick, similtaniously knocking gojos cock deeper into your throat, making your eyes water as you gag around him

"hahaha don't tell me ur about to cum already Suguru, we jus started," gojos hand is resting on the underside of your throat, so he can feel his dick every time geto fucks you into him

"shut the fuck up satoru," geto hisses and gojo infuriatingly laughs in response, "how are you doin princess?" gojo directs his attention to you

there is no way you were responding while in the state you were currently in, coughing and sputtering spit around gojos cock while geto expertly fucked straight into your g-spot

"whats that? gotta speak up baby, cant understand you" he coos, whiping the tears and spit off your cheek with his slender fingers

if you had half a mind, you would've slapped gojo for being such a bully, but luckily for him, you didn't have half a mind, geto stuck up for you though; ever the sweetheart he is; "such a fuckin bully satoru, maybe I should fuck you next while they sit on your face, see how you fucking feel then huh?"

you couldnt lie that the thought of suffocating gojo between your thighs and having him suck on your clit while geto fucked high pitched whines out of him didnt sound like the worst idea in the world, but that was for another day

reaching down between your legs you rubbed quick circles on your clit while digging your nails into gojos thigh to stabilize yourself,

"oh, i think someone likes that idea" geto smiled, feeling you squeeze and pulse around him, "you wanna help me fuck the brat outta gojo princess? bet we'd make such a g-good team" he punctuated with a particularly deep thrust, almost making you lose yoru balance, resulting in you digging your nails impossibly deeper into gojos thigh

and gojo fucking moaned like a bitch, tipping his head back, both his hands instinctly gripping your hair as he hunched over you biting his lip, taking a deep breath and slowing his hips down, it took every once of his strength not to fill your mouth with his cum at that second

you choked at the rough treatment but were grateful when gojos hips slowed, the opportunity arose to swallow air into your lungs again and you greedily took it

geto's rough treatment of your poor abused pussy bouncing you a little on gojo's cock still, but the loss of gojo also assisting was a nice change of pace

gojo looked up through his lashes at the raven haired man, he was fucking smirking

this had now become a competition, as most things did between them

abandoning one of the hands he had gripped on your hair and reaching out in front of him instead, his target? geto's hair

gripping suguru's signature bun and pulling his face close to his, lips grazing each other as he smiled against the ravens lips, geto's smile now wiped completely off his face, his jaw now slack as he stared into gojos eyes, knowing exactly what gojo was getting at

"i know kissin gets you all hot huh, you wanna kiss me suguru?" his jaw opening slightly, tipping his head back and forth as he looks between sugurus eyes and his lips

you felt geto's cock twich inside you, his pace stuttering a bit at gojo's words, gripping your hip a little harder, for his own sanity, he would apologize for the bruises later

"what do you think baby, should I let him kiss me, huh? he'll probably fill you up the second I get my tongue in his mouth."

the speed at which the roles between them keep reversing is giving you whiplash, bringing you closer and closer to your own release

you try to speak around him, wanting to tell him 𝒚𝒆𝒔𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒕, opting to just nod as your mouth was filled to the brim with gojo's thick cock

"yeah, think i will, good call baby," he rubs his thumb on the top of your head soothingly as his attention is now back on geto

"what do you say suguru?" the mans mouth is so close to suguru's own, his eyes now staring at the place theyre about to be connected at

"thank you, thank you princess." he says as gojo finally lets their lips crash together

and its soooo messy, the kiss; if you can even call it that; is all teeth and tongue, both the men moaning into the others mouth, their moans rising in pitch

geto feels like he could cum at any second, but what kind of man would he be if the one who allowed him to cum in the first place didn't get to squirt all over his pretty cock first?

he blindly reaches down between your legs, pushing your own hand out of the way as he quickly finds your clit and rubs is back and forth at a speed that has the coil in your tummy to wind faster than it ever has

"squirt on me baby," he whines into the blondes mouth obscenely "need to feel you cum all over- m-my dick, please baby" he’s whining

suguru's kisses becoming less and less reciprocating as his jaw goes slack and gojo's keeps tongue slides into his mouth

your legs snap together as your cum squirts out all over geto's toned thighs, moans muffles, choking on gojo's cock bordering on blacking out from air deprivation and sheer pleasure as you have the longest and hardest orgasm of your fucking life "m gonna cum, o-oh my god oh my god, fuck gojo fuck, 'm gunna cum, m gonna fill her up" gojo moves his hand to geto's throat, squeezing his throat, hard, tipping his head into sugurus

"m right there with you baby, gunna cum inside her pretty pussy, yeah? gonna cum inside her while I mess up her tight little throat?" hes talking geto through it

and youre trying to keep yourself awake as they fuck you from both ends into overstimulation, squeezing your pussy and swallowing around them both as you try to milk them for all theyre worth

ome of suguru's hands leaving its place on your hip to grab gojos wrist as the white-haired man tightens his grip, knowing just how to bring him to his climax

geto stills before he hunches forward over you and into gojo as he fucks rope after rope of his hot cum into your abused pussy, moans broken up by gasps as gojo tightens and loosens his grip on suguru's throat

quickly pulling out his cock from your mouth gojo pumps his cock at an inhumane pace, your heaving but you still instinctively stick your tonge out, like the good girl you are as his thick cum covers your face, he would feel bad about covering your hair and long pretty eyelashes with his cum but.. who is he kidding, he doesnt feel bad at all, his favorite girl with his seed all over your face, its the prettiest sight hes ever seen

letting your head fall against gojos thigh as your chest rises and falls rapidly, wincing as geto pulls out his softening cock from behind you, biting his lip stairing down at your ruined hole

"heh, i-," "shut the fuck up and come look at at this" suguru cuts off his best friend, gojo pouts but gently slides your head off his thigh to crawl to the other end of the bed and check out the veiw the raven-haired man is so adamant on showing him

your so red and your pussy is so puffy and angry, geto's cum has been steadily dripping out of you and down your thigh

gojo whistles as he pulls your lips apart to get a better look, he swipes his thumb on you, collecting some of your combined cum together, you whine at how sensitive and sore you already are

gojo pushes your shoulder back twords the bed so your chest is facing the ceiling as he leans over you and slips his thumb in your mouth, making you taste you and suguru's combined mess, "what do you say, pretty?" he watches your lips wrap around his finger befoer he pops it out of your mouth

"t-thank you" you say, voice hoarse

gojo giggles, starting to get up from the bed to get some towels to clean the three of you up

"so," you start "when were you guys gonna tell me you’ve fucked before?"

part 2 :p