#you think people are weird only at night?

[hanniebaeee]

Clueless: Baby Bang

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: Reader is pregnant (just that, nothing deep)

Genre: established relationship, flufffff

Summary: You've been distant lately, and Chan can't understand why. Because this is very unusual for the two of you as you two are on each other all the time. And Chan panics as you guys are getting married in a few months, and this sudden change is unraveling him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Chan paced the living room, a deep frown etched into his forehead. You hadn’t touched him in days. Weeks, actually. That alone was already a catastrophe, considering the fact that you two were basically like bunnies.

But now? Nothing. You were dodging his touches like he was contagious. He reached for your hand? Oh, look, you suddenly needed both hands to text someone. He tried for a kiss? Whoops, you conveniently yawned. Bedtime? You were already asleep. 

And that diamond ring glittering on your ring finger? It made him wonder if you were regretting saying yes to him already.

He’d spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe was punishing him for something he didn't even know he did.

Chan sighed and opened the group chat. This was bad. He needed to vent.

Chan: She’s avoiding me.

A rapid barrage of notifications followed, and Chan barely had time to process one before another arrived. 

Minho: Y/N? The one who’s practically glued to your lap 24/7?

Hyunjin: LMAO. Not possible. I won't believe it.

Seungmin: You obviously did something.

Chan: NO, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!

Chan: She’s been acting weird for WEEKS. 2 weeks to be exact. No kisses. No hugs. No… anything.

Jisung: No sex? BRO. Are you okay?

Felix: What if she’s planning something? Like a surprise? Maybe a wedding thing?

---

Chan paused. That was… not unreasonable. But no. You’d never kept secrets from him before. Like you've given him enough surprises before so he knew this was different.

---

Minho: OR. She’s finally come to her senses about you seducing her into saying yes? 

Chan: Minho. I will come to your house and end you.

Jeongin: But seriously, hyung. Did you say something? Do something? Forget an important date? You’re kind of a workaholic.

---

That hit a little too close to home. Chan frowned, scrolling back through his mental timeline of your relationship.

---

Chan: I didn’t forget anything. I swear. We were fine until a couple weeks ago, and now she’s avoiding me like the plague.

Changbin: Well. There’s only one logical explanation.

Changbin: She’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone.

Jisung: YES. I second this. The real Y/N would NEVER do this. 

Felix: Omg guys! 

Chan: GUYS.

Hyunjin: Okay. What if she’s mad because you’re not initiating? She’s waiting for you to grovel.

Seungmin: That makes no sense. If she’s mad, why not just say so?

Hyunjin: IDK, some people like drama.

Jeongin: That’s your toxic trait, Hyung.

Hyunjin: IS NOT!

---

Chan groaned, dropping his phone onto the couch. He missed you. Like, really missed you. Sure, he wanted to rip your clothes off 90% of the time, but he also missed the simple things - your cuddles, your soft laugh, the way you’d always need him by your side when you're stressed. 

The cold shoulders and polite smiles were killing him.

---

Minho: Just confront her, idiot. Corner her in the kitchen and ask her what’s wrong.

Chan: You think I haven’t tried that?! Every time I ask, she changes the subject.

Jisung: Okay, hear me out. Seduction.

Chan: What?

Jisung: Set the mood. Candles. Sexy music. Flex those ridiculous arms. She won’t stand a chance.

Felix: Worth a try. 

---

That night, Chan put the "seduction plan" into action. He dimmed the lights, skipped the candles, and put on a romantic playlist. He even went full drama, lounging on the couch with his shirt conveniently unbuttoned.

When you walked in, your eyebrows shot up as you asked, “What's up?”

Chan said nothing, just held held his hand out.  You froze, guilt flashing across your face, and Chan knew he had you. You placed your hand on his and let him pull you close.

“Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and it’s driving me crazy. Did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked, and that set you off.

Your eyes filled with tears, and in an instant you were in his lap, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, Channie! I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Then why -”

“Shhh,” Chan fell silent as you pressed a finger to his lips. “Just know that I love you, Channie.”

Chan was suspicious. Because, well, you’d shut him up in the best way possible, last night - all he remembered was his shirt coming off and yeah.

You’d seduced him. Thoroughly. And while his brain had short-circuited at that time, he was now absolutely certain that you’d dodged his questions on purpose.

At least he can't complain about you not touching him anymore, right?

---

Chan: It didn't work.

Minho: WHAT didn't?

Chan: She kinda caught me off guard. And avoided my questions.

Jisung: I thought we agreed on YOU seducing her and you got seduced??

Felix: Soooo… you still don’t know what’s going on?

Chan: NO. She’s hiding something, I know it.

Hyunjin: Maybe you’re overthinking. Or, maybe she’s secretly a spy.

Changbin: She’s NOT a spy, Hyunjin. That’s ridiculous.

Hyunjin: And alien clones aren’t?

Minho: Why are we even helping you? You let her seduce you and then just… forgot your goal.

---

Chan groaned, flopping onto his back. It wasn’t his fault! He was weak when it came to you. All it took was a look, or a whisper of his name and his brain turned to mush.

Still, Minho had a point.

---

Chan: Okay, fine. What do I do now?

Felix: She’s probably just stressed? Weddings are a big deal. She might just need time to sort her thoughts.

That gave Chan pause. Weddings were stressful. Maybe that was it?

Hyunjin: My bet’s still on spy.

---

Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick in your hand for the hundredth time now. You’d known for two weeks, but the reality hadn’t gotten any less terrifying.

You were pregnant. Pregnant. With Chan’s baby.

The thought sent your heart racing. You loved him more than anything, but… you’d never talked about kids. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he panics when you bring it up? 

There were only a few months until the wedding. You didn’t want to dump this on him now and risk throwing him into a spiral.

---

That night, Chan decided to take Minho’s advice (for once). No more distractions. He was getting answers tonight.

When you walked into the living room and his eyes locked onto yours - you froze. He looked so handsome, and a little…worn out? You felt so guilty for doing this. 

“Come sit,” he said, patting the couch beside him.

You hesitated, but complied, heart pounding.

“Baby, we need to talk,” Chan said, his voice soft but firm.

You swallowed hard as you murmured, “About what?”

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. And you obviously don't trust me enough to talk it out. I’m worried. What's going on? Is it the wedding?” He was giving you that puppy eyed look, and your heart shattered.

“No, Channie, it's not like that...”

“Then what is it? Please, just tell me.”

You opened your mouth, ready to spill everything - but then you panicked. The words caught in your throat, and instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

Here he was - caught off guard (again) but quickly melting into the kiss. You climbed into his lap, your hands tangling in his hair, and within seconds, all thoughts of questioning were gone.

---

Chan: SHE DID IT AGAIN.

Minho: You’re hopeless.

Seungmin: At this rate, she could rob a bank and get away with it.

Felix: Honestly, I’m impressed.

---

Chan sighed, glaring at the group chat before throwing his phone across the bed. Whatever you were hiding, it was big. And he was determined to find out, one way or another.

Little did he know, in the bathroom, you were rehearsing how to tell him the truth: that in just a few months, he wasn’t just going to be your husband.

He was going to be a dad.

Chan was officially losing it. His imagination had gone to some very dark places (thanks to Changbin’s clone theory and Hyunjin’s spy nonsense), but now he just felt defeated. What was so big and terrifying, that you felt like you couldn’t share it with him?

Chan: I give up. She’s unbreakable.

Jisung: Hey don't lose hope.

Minho: Pathetic.

Jeongin: Just sit her down and don’t let her leave until she talks.

Chan: I’VE TRIED THAT.

Chan was ready to lock himself and you in a room till you cracked, but unfortunately he was already cracking under the stress. And then a lightbulb went off in his head. There was just one person in the world who might be able to get through to you.

Felix.

---

Felix was, to put it lightly, concerned when Chan cornered him in his kitchen.

“Lix, you have to help me,” Chan said, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Help you how?” Felix asked cautiously.

“Can you please try to talk to her?” Chan literally begs. “She loves you, Lix. Maybe she’ll tell you if you ask?”

Felix hesitated, torn between loyalty to Chan, who was literally his brother and his friendship with you. But ultimately, his desire to help won anyway.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

---

Later that afternoon, you opened the door to find Felix standing on your porch, holding a box of cookies and his sunniest smile. 

“Lixie?” you asked, surprised. “So good to see you!”

“Just wanted to check on you, love,” he said, coming forward to hug you.

You stepped aside to let him in, and the two of you settled on the couch.

“I baked these for you,” he said, watching your reaction closely as you opened the box and munched on a cookie immediately. “You’ve been looking a little stressed lately.”

You stopped mid-chew, guilt gnawing at you.

“I’m fine, Lix. Just… wedding stuff, you know?” you said, carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Is it really just the wedding?” Felix tilted his head, unconvinced.

You froze, your hands tightening around the box.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is, I won’t judge.” Felix said, reaching out and placing a gentle hand over yours.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and as you put the box aside gently. Felix scooted closer as he saw the tears fall, and before you knew it, the truth came spilling out.

“I’m pregnant, Felix,” you whispered. “And I don’t know how to tell Chan. We’ve never talked about kids, and I don’t even know if he wants them. And now the wedding’s so close, and I’m scared I’ll ruin everything. I already got my wedding dress and I don't think I'll fit into it anymore because by that time-”

Felix’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, he looked like he might burst into tears himself. But then he let out a strangled laugh.

“You’re… you’re pregnant?”

You nodded, sniffled and managed a soft, “Yeah.”

Felix threw his arms around you, nearly knocking you over. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! I’m so happy for you! And for Chan! You’re gonna have the cutest baby in the world!” he gushed, his eyes sparkling with happy tears. 

You couldn’t help but laugh through your own tears. 

“You don't think this is a disaster?” you asked softly, wiping your tears away. 

“Disaster?” Felix pulled back, shaking his head. “Of course not. This is amazing! But you have to tell Chan. He’s going insane trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I just… I’m scared.”

Felix gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Chan loves you more than anything. Trust me, he’s gonna be over the moon. And I'll always be here for you. Seriously, sweetheart, this is the best news ever.”

---

Hyunjin: Well? Did she tell you?

Jisung: SPILL, FELIX.

Chan: Felix? Please. I’m dying here.

Felix hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He couldn’t betray your trust, but he also couldn’t leave Chan hanging.

Felix: She’s okay. She’s just… working through something.

Minho: And you’re being suspiciously vague.

Seungmin: Should've known that sending her best friend to investigate wasn't your strongest idea… obviously he's gonna take her side! 

Felix: I promised I wouldn’t say anything. But it’s nothing bad, I swear.

Chan: Seriously?? Nothing bad? Then why is she avoiding me?

Felix: Just… be patient with her, okay? She’ll tell you when she’s ready. I promise it's all ok. Trust me. 

Chan frowned at the message, his heart twisting.

You had spent the whole night rehearsing what to say to Chan, your stomach churning with nerves. Morning came far too quickly, and as you watched him shuffle into the kitchen with his hair messy and his sleepy face, you nearly chickened out.

But Felix’s words echoed in your head. He’s gonna be over the moon.

“Channie,” you said softly, placing your mug of tea aside and taking a step towards him. 

He looked up from the coffee maker, his sleepy eyes brightening instantly. You were trying to talk to him, and somehow that was enough. Anything was better than you avoiding him. 

“Morning, baby.”

You smiled nervously, gesturing to the table. “Can we talk?”

His brow furrowed, worry flashing across his face as he nodded and sat down opposite you.

“Is everything okay?”

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you said, “You know how I’ve been… weird lately?”

Chan nodded, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Well,” you continued, “there’s a reason for that. And I’ve been scared to tell you because it’s big. Like, really big.”

“Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll handle it.” Chan said, reaching across the table and taking your hand in his.

Your eyes filled with tears as you finally said it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Chan froze. Completely. His mouth hung open, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as his brain processed your words.

“You’re… pregnant?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, tears spilling over.

“Yeah. I found out a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with it, or if it was too much with the wedding coming up -”

Chan cut you off by pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His body shook as he let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and you realized he was crying.

“Channie, are you okay?” you asked nervously, your own voice shaking as you stroked his hair.

“Okay?” he choked out, pulling back to look at you with tear-streaked cheeks and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “Baby, I’m better than okay. I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”

You nodded, your heart swelling at the pure joy on his face.

Chan laughed, his tears flowing freely now.

“Holy crap. I don’t know what to say?! We’re having a baby. A baby!”

Before you could say anything else, Chan was  peppering your face with kisses, squeezing you in the tightest hug ever.

“I love you so much. Baby, you’re…I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this on your own.” he said, cupping your cheeks with his hands. 

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, clinging to him as he pulled you onto his lap. “And…I've never been more scared about anything my entire life? I mean, I adore you, and I know I want this with you, our baby already means the world to me…but not knowing if you would want that too? It's been killing me, we've never even joked about this before, Channie… “

“You could’ve told me sooner, baby,” he said softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “I thought we were clear about this, with you, I'm ready for anything! But I get it. And I love you even more for worrying about me. But baby, we’re in this together. Always.”

---

Chan: GUYS. I HAVE NEWS. HUGE NEWS 🤩

Jisung: Finally!! 

Hyunjin: I told you she's a spy!! No one ever listens to me!! 

Minho: He’s too happy for that, you idiot.

Chan: WE’RE HAVING A BABY.

Jeongin: Excuse me, WHAT?

Changbin: STOP. Really?! 

Seungmin: Wow, plot twist

Felix: Oh thank godddddd😭😭😭😭

Felix: I was dying here

Chan: SHE TOLD ME THIS MORNING. I’M GONNA BE A DAD. WE’RE GONNA BE PARENTS. OMG.

---

It felt like everytime he said it, it felt a little more real.

---

Jisung: Congratulations, bro. Wow. 

Hyunjin: I AM CRYING. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE REPRODUCING.

Chan: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Chan: MY BABYGIRL AND I ARE HAVING A BABY😭💖

Minho: Jokes aside, this is such great news!! Congrats. Now go take care of your pregnant fiancée instead of spamming us.

Chan: I think I'm gonna faint

Changbin: Congrats, bro. But also… HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE SHE WAS GOING THROUGH SOMETHING?

Chan: I NOTICED! I just didn't think she was, you know

Jisung: Avoiding you because she was growing your spawn, apparently.

Hyunjin: “Spawn” makes it sound like a little gremlin. Oh my Gawd 🤣

Felix: STOP. My baby’s gonna be so adorable I’ll CRY 😭

Minho: Okay, Felix, you’re suspiciously calm about this. Did you already know?

Felix: 👀

Hyunjin: YOU KNEW.

Chris: WHAT?? FELIX, YOU KNEW BEFORE ME?!

Felix: SHE TOLD ME FIRST, OKAY? SHE WAS NERVOUS, AND I PROMISED I WOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING.

Jisung: Wow. Betrayal.

Chan: SO YOU JUST LET ME SUFFER FOR WEEKS??

Felix: Yes. And? I'd do it again for her.

Changbin: LMAO savage.

Jeongin: Shame on you for trusting him when everyone knows he works for her

Chan: Thanks for being on her side, Lix

Felix: Anytime 💖

Hyunjin: Omg, imagine Baby Bang. Tiny curls, tiny dimples 😍

Chan: STOP I’M ALREADY CRYING AGAIN 😭

Jeongin: I've never been this excited for a baby really. You'd let us babysit won't you? 

Changbin: Oh yeah. Group uncle duty.

Hyunjin: We're gonna be dancing before we can even walk Baby Bang 🤝

Felix: For sure!

Chan: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING EXCITED FOR US!

Jisung: Save your tears for the wedding, Daddy Bang.

Jeongin: When do we throw a baby shower? Felix?

Felix: Already planning it.

Hyunjin: This baby’s gonna be so loved.

Chan: THANK YOU, GUYS. I LOVE YOU ALL 😭

---

Chan added Y/N to the group chat.

Chan: SURPRISE, BABY! WELCOME TO THE CHAOS.

Jisung: AHHH THE QUEEN IS HERE!

Hyunjin: ALL HAIL THE BABY-MAKER 👑

Minho: Congrats on creating life and also tolerating Chan for this long.

Felix: YAYYYYYY YOU’RE HERE! 😭 We’ve been dying to have you here!!!

Jeongin: Thank you for gifting us Baby Bang. We promise to only slightly corrupt them.

Changbin: We’re all crying. I’m crying. Hyung is crying. Everyone’s crying.

Y/N:😂

Y/N: Oh my God, you guys.

Minho: This is us being tame.

Hyunjin: Soooo, what does it feel like, hm? Asking for research purposes, of course

Chan: Oh yeah, totally not gonna run off and impregnate someone 🙄

Hyunjin: What's it to you Christopher? You can do it, but I can't?! 

Chan: Oh please

Minho: I told her to get a collar for this damn puppy and look who's here yapping

Y/N: Leave him alone guys!

Hyunjin: I respect you, Y/N. I respect you. So I'm gonna shut up (Mr Know, let's do this face to face huh)

Minho: Gladly.

Felix: Honestly, Y/N, we’re just honored to be part of this. 

Y/N: Thanks guys, this means a lot to us. 

Changbin: And we’re going to spoil them rotten.

Jeongin: Rotten is an understatement.

Y/N: 🤭🤭🤭

Minho: You won't even know what hit you for the next 18 years. Or 30.

Chan: GUYS. Stop scaring her. Baby, they’re joking.

Felix: We’re not.

Hyunjin: Nope.

Jisung: Absolutely not.

Y/N: I'm all in for that hehe

Chan: I love you guys

Jisung: Chan’s in his feels again.

Felix: We have a wedding and baby shower to plan! 

Hyunjin: OMG. A pregnant bride. You’re gonna be so GLOWY.

Y/N: Thank you for being this excited for us. I love you guys 😭💖

Felix: We love you too!! 🥺💖

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8

[rispwr]

Tasty - J.JK - Mini (M) —

Pairings : idol! Jk x nepo baby! Reader

Genre : smut, idolverse

Contents/warnings : making out, unprotected sex(yk what to do), nepo baby! Reader, idol! Jk, tasty in busan reference, model! Reader, missionary, fingering if u squint?, oral(fem recieving), pwp

Note : this was kinda rushed. Please don’t expect too much from this. It’s 1:12 am rn huhu i should sleep i have exams💔💔also ive been watching gossip girls all over again. If you find my new characters in my new fics similar to the characters in gg then i probably got inspired. Hdidhudgs i need to sleeppp. scratch that, study actually. Goodluck to me tomorrow, or later…? I’ll be waking up at 4 anyway

Wc : 2k?

As someone new to the modelling industry, I’ll admit, I don’t know much about it. Except for the fact that my mom and dad are both in it, and yeah, maybe their names help. Okay, definitely their names help. They’ve gotten me the brands, the deals, the connections I need. But their advice? Practically useless. I get called ‘nepo baby’ often like it’s some big insult, but honestly? I don’t care.

If I was them, I’d wanna be me too.

this time, I want real advice. Not from my parents, or the people who are just dying to kiss up to me, but from people who actually know what they’re talking about. The real seniors.

The problem?

They’re not exactly the kind of people you can just text for advice. Or… are they?

I’m sitting in the director’s chair during one of my “breaks” (which are so not long enough), watching as he barks orders at the photographers and crew. My phone’s in my hand, and I’m scrolling aimlessly until something catches my eye. It’s a video. An old one. And not just anyone’s video. the exact senior I’ve been thinking about.

Hey, maybe advice isn’t the only thing i’d ask for.

I click on it, my lips curling into a smirk.

“What’s tasty in Busan?” someone asks. I think it’s hoseok? one of the guys in their group. He’s holding a microphone, and Jungkook leans over to whisper something in his ear. Hoseok immediately pulls back, laughing like he’s grossed out. “Jungkookie is weird!” he says dramatically.

Then Jimin jumps in, curious. “What did he say? Tell me too!” He laughs, shaking his head, before leaning into the microphone with this smug little grin. “Everyone… Jungkookie has turned into an adult.”

The camera pans to Jungkook, who’s at his desk, grinning that ridiculous bunny smile of his, looking both shy and pleased with himself.

I can’t help but laugh under my breath. What did he even say? It’s like some inside joke in their fanbase, and honestly, some of the comments on the video are gold. Others?…. Nevermind.

“Okay, Y/N! I think I’ve given you enough of a break,” the director calls out, clapping his hands. “Back to your position, please!”

I roll my eyes, shoving my phone back into my bag as I get up. My four inch heels click sharply against the floor as I walk to the set. It’s exhausting, sure, but if the pictures turn out hot? Worth it.

Still, even after the shoot, that video sticks in my mind.

——

You and your friends, Kayla and Zia, sit at the table, laughing and drinking like it’s the only thing you know how to do. A few hours pass, and predictably, the two of them are completely wasted, while you’re still sitting pretty, your alcohol tolerance saving the night.

“Hey, Y/N and Kay?” Zia slurs out, leaning in way too close and grabbing both your faces in her hands. “Don’t tell Zia I told you guys…” she giggles, already spilling the tea, “but we slept with each other.”

“What??” Kayla suddenly sobers up from the sheer shock, her eyes wide as saucers.

You’re just staring at both of them, blinking in disbelief. “I need more drinks. I don’t have enough brain cells left to process this,” you mutter, grabbing your purse and standing up to head to the bar.

You wobble slightly on your heels? terrible decision for a night like this, but you make it to the counter and sit down on one of the stools, finally giving yourself a moment to breathe.

“Hey, Kook. Truth or dare?” Jimin slurs, clearly a few drinks ahead of Jungkook, who sits there calmly sipping his beer.

“Truth,” Jungkook answers flatly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Ugh, no fun, man.” Jimin groans dramatically, leaning forward.

“Fine. Dare,” Jungkook sighs, tilting his head in annoyance but accepting the challenge anyway.

Jimin smirks, his eyes darting across the bar. Then he spots you, sitting on the stool, ordering drinks, completely unbothered. “I dare you to go up to that girl and buy her a drink.”

Jungkook scoffs, raising an eyebrow. He glances at the table, half the members are already passed out drunk, while Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi look on. With a little smirk, Jungkook sets his drink down and gets up, the air of a challenge written all over him.

“Hey,” a deep voice greets you from beside the bar, nearly making you jump.

You glance up, surprised, and then let your lips curl into a small, amused smirk. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

Jungkook stares at you, confused. “I’m sorry?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Where’s your cool guy act now?” you tease, your voice dripping with playful mockery.

Jungkook bites his lip, staring at you for a second before shaking his head with a low laugh. “Let me buy you a drink,” he offers, signaling to the bartender.

“No need,” you say smoothly, already taking the drink you’d just ordered. You lift it slightly to emphasize your point.

“Well then… your number?” he tries again, his smile soft and genuine…. or at least i hope it’s genuine.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to keep the game going. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.” you say with a wink before turning on your heel and heading back to your table, leaving him behind.

For the next three weeks, Jungkook came to the same bar, at least twice a week, hoping to bump into you again. He played it cool, but let’s be real, it was obvious.… well this day must be his lucky day then.

A week ago

“Calvin Klein, you say?” you hum, admiring yourself in the mirror as you try on the lingerie you’d just picked up. The fit? Perfect. You smirk at your reflection, loving the way it hugs your curves.

“Yes, ma’am,” the stylist calls from outside the fitting room.

“I’m in,” you say with a final glance at yourself, satisfied.

Back to the present.

You sit in the chair on set, scrolling aimlessly on your phone when one of the stylists walks up to you. “Are you aware you’re shooting with a partner today?” she asks casually.

“Uh… no?” You raise an eyebrow, confused.

“Jeon Jungkook, Ms. He’s your partner for this shoot. Did your agent not tell you?”

You blink. “I think…?” You give her a weak smile, but she just rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath as she walks away, loud enough for you to catch.

“Doesn’t even have to try to get the brands, and she doesn’t even know who she’s working with,” the stylist grumbles.

You roll your eyes.

Irrelevant words from an irrelevant person.

Satisfied, you adjust your posture as someone calls you to get into position.

“Well, looks like it’s your lucky day, Jeon,” you whisper into Jungkook’s ear as the two of you move into position for the first shot.

———

“Think you wanna tell me the answer to the ‘what’s tasty in Busan’ question?” I teased, cocking an eyebrow at Jungkook as he kept kissing along my neck, his lips warm and soft but slightly distracted.

He froze for a moment, then leaned back just enough to look at me with a crooked grin. “Omygod, you saw that?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

I shrugged, biting my lip to hide my smirk. “You said it so confidently in that video, like you had it all figured out. So? What’s tasty in there, Jeon Jungkook?”

He burst out laughing, his head falling into the crook of my neck as his shoulders shook. “Oh my god, did you actually see that? That was so embarrassing,” he mumbled between his laughs, his ears turning red as he tried to compose himself.

I grinned wider, running my fingers through his dark hair. “Of course, I saw it. It’s the joke of your fans. So wanna tell me?, or better…. Show me?”

Jungkook raised his head, his laughter fading into a playful glare. “Alright,” he said, his voice lower now, a teasing edge to it. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” I shot back, sticking my tongue out at him.

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as his hands slid down to my waist. “You wanna know what’s my answer?” he asked, his tone shifting as his grip tightened slightly, pulling me closer.

I blinked up at him, suddenly aware of the heat in his eyes, the way his lips curved into a sly smirk. “Uh… yeah?”

Jungkook leaned in, his nose brushing against mine as he whispered, “I’ll show you instead.”

Before I could process his words, his lips were on mine, soft but firm, moving with a confidence that made my head spin. His hands slid down to grip the backs of my thighs, and with one smooth motion, he lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing.

“Jungkook!” I squealed, wrapping my arms around his neck as my legs instinctively locked around his waist. “What are you-”

He cut me off with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue brushing against mine in a way that made me forget whatever I was about to say. “Still wanna know the answer?” he murmured against my lips, his voice dripping with mischief.

“You’re all questions, are you gonna show or tell me?” I muttered, though the breathlessness in my voice ruined the effect.

He just grinned, carrying me to the bed and laying me down gently, his body hovering over mine. “Oh i will,” he said, his hands already sliding up my thighs, pushing up the hem of my skirt. “But do you think you deserve it?

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep up my usual sass even as heat pooled in my stomach. “Im pretty sure i do”

Jungkook’s smirk deepened, and he leaned down to press a kiss just below my jaw, his hands sliding higher up my thighs. “That’s right baby, you do.”

The teasing tone in his voice made my heart race, and when his lips found mine again, any thought of arguing vanished completely.

Jungkook’s lips moved from mine to trail down my neck, his kisses lazy but purposeful, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver. His hands were everywhere. firm on my thighs, sliding higher as he pushed my legs apart.

“You’re already quiet,” he teased against my skin, his voice warm and teasing, sending a jolt of heat straight through me. “What happened to all that attitude?”

“I still have it,” I shot back, though my voice was already breathless.

He chuckled, his lips moving lower, pressing kisses down my collarbone and along the curve of my chest. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” he said, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

“Don’t act so cocky,” I said, but the challenge fell flat as he yanked my shirt up and off in one quick motion, leaving me exposed in my lace bra. His eyes flicked down, darkening as his tongue swept across his bottom lip.

“You were saying?” he murmured, his hands sliding under me to unclasp my bra before I could even protest. The garment joined my shirt on the floor, and I swallowed hard as his gaze drank me in.

“You’re staring,” I muttered, trying to sound unaffected, but my body betrayed me as my skin burned under his gaze.

“Of course I’m staring,” he said, his voice low and warm. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

My retort died on my lips as he leaned down, his mouth closing over one of my nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud while his hand teased the other. A soft moan escaped me before I could stop it, and I felt his smirk against my skin.

“Still got something to say?” he asked, his voice muffled as he moved to give the same attention to the other side.

I glared down at him, tugging lightly at his hair. “Shut up.”

He laughed softly, lifting his head to look at me. “Make me,” he teased, his hands sliding down to my hips as he tugged at the waistband of my skirt.

I arched an eyebrow, determined not to let him have the upper hand. “What if I don’t want to?”

Jungkook tilted his head, his smirk widening “Then I guess i better take the lead, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with challenge.

He grips my thighs before he yanks my skirt down with one swift motion, his eyes dropping to the soaked lace between my legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, “you’re already dripping, Y/N.”

Before I could snap back, he hooked his fingers into the sides of my panties and dragged them down, tossing them aside like they didn’t matter. His hands spread my thighs wide, and before i knew it, his mouth was on me

The first swipe of his tongue sent my back arching off the bed, a gasp tearing from my lips. He didn’t tease, instead he went straight for my clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it with maddening precision.

“Jungkook,” I moaned, my hands flying to his hair, tugging at the soft strands as his mouth worked me over.

He groaned against me, the vibration making my legs shake. His tongue slid lower, teasing my entrance before he pushed it inside, fucking me with it while his nose pressed against my clit.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, my hips bucking against his face, but he just tightened his grip on my thighs, holding me down as he ate me like a man starving.

Every flick, every suck, every moan he let out against me drove me closer to the edge. “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his lips glistening as he pulled back for a second before diving right back in.

My thighs started to tremble, the tension in my stomach coiling tighter and tighter. “I’m gonna- fuck, Jungkook, don’t stop!” I whimpered, my voice breaking as he sucked my clit hard and slid two fingers into me, curling them perfectly to hit that spot that made me see stars.

“Come for me,” he growled against me, his fingers pounding into me as his mouth stayed relentless on my clit. That was all it took. I shattered, my body shaking as my orgasm crashed over me, his name spilling from my lips in a breathless scream.

He didn’t stop until I was a trembling mess beneath him, my body twitching with aftershocks. When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were slick, and the look in his eyes was pure sin.

“You good?” he asked, smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

I glared at him, still breathless. “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he said, already tugging his pants down.

He then kicks off his jeans and boxers in one quick motion, his cock springing free and standing thick and hard. The sight alone made my mouth water, but he wasn’t giving me time to admire it. He was already climbing back over me, one hand gripping my thigh to hook it around his waist as the other lined himself up at my entrance.

“Ready?” he muttered, his voice low and strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing his jaw and pulling him down for a messy, heated kiss. “Do I look like I want to wait?” I bit back.

That was all the permission he needed. With one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside me to the hilt, stretching me so perfectly that all I could do was gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine as he stayed there for a moment, letting me adjust. “You’re so tight.”

“Then move,” I breathed out, arching my hips against him, already desperate for more.

Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk, but he didn’t tease this time. His hips pulled back, and then he drove forward again, setting a deep, steady rhythm that had me clawing at his back, moaning with every snap of his hips.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, his voice rough as his hands gripped my thighs, holding me in place as he fucked into me harder, deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

My body was on fire, every thrust sending a wave of pleasure crashing through me. “Jungkook,” I whimpered, barely able to get the word out as he hit that perfect spot inside me over and over again.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his pace quickening, his teeth scraping against my neck as he kissed and nipped at my skin. “Let me hear you.”

“Jungkook!” I moaned, louder this time, my voice breaking as I felt myself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his hand sliding down between us to rub at my clit, the added stimulation sending me into a frenzy. “You gonna come for me again?”

“Yes- omygod!! fuck, yes,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as my entire body tensed, the pressure building until it exploded, my orgasm crashing over me so hard I saw stars.

Jungkook groaned as I clenched around him, his hips faltering for a second before he buried himself deep, his pace turning rough and erratic. “Fuck, baby, I’m close,” he growled, his voice strained as he chased his own release.

“Come inside me,” I whispered, wrapping my legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper. “I want to feel you.”

That was all it took. With a low, guttural moan, Jungkook’s hips slammed against mine one last time, his body tensing as he spilled into me, filling me with heat. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

“Guess that answers the question,” he finally muttered, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

I frowned up at him. “What question?”

“What you asked me,” he said, smirking as he kissed me again, his lips slow and soft now, as if he didn’t just wrecked me.

“Idiot,” I muttered against his mouth, but I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me.

The next day.

the comments from my new post….. was surely what i expected.

“Is she a whore?”

“That nepo baby once again”

“New boy of the month?”

“Im leaving this fandom”

Surely i did make alot of fans mad, but what can i say? It was indeed tasty

[bluebirdsfeathers]

First Day

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summery: You are a new intern at Westview paper hoping to make a good first impression with you new boss, Wanda.

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Classism, use of y/n nothing else

A/N: inspired by this post by @wandaslittlehorns this was meant to be short but I really like this idea, so this is just part one now haha.

Part 2

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

You shot up in bed, the sound of your alarm belting in your ears. Aimlessly you smacked your bedside table, though you weren’t sure if the collection of cardboard boxes next to your mattress on the ground could be considered one, you eventually found and turned it off. Grabbing your phone, you looked at the time. “Shit…” You groan. Somehow, you’d slept though both of your previous alarms, the one that woke you was intended to let you know it was time to leave.

Today was the first day of your new internship and now you were going to be late. Great first impression. Jumping to your feet you make your way to the bathroom, you don’t particularly smell so some time could be saved by forgoing a shower. You get dressed and drench yourself in axe body spray. Your wrinkled white shirt had a small stain that you hid by tucking it into your jeans. They were black so it wasn’t like you weren’t trying to look professional with your limited wardrobe and budget.

Before long you were riding the cramped subway drinking what was left of the monster energy you’d grabbed before leaving on you way to your first full-time job since graduating college. An internship at the Westview Paper wasn’t something you just got handed. You had worked hard but you were by no means the hardest worker. You did however have a talent for getting stuff done quickly, all the assignments you completed the night before could prove that. It was weird that you had gotten picked for this position, you could think of at least five more deserving people in your graduating class alone. Especially since you thought you bombed the last interview stage. She was in the room for that. Wanda Maximoff, the CEO of Westview Paper. Though she hadn’t spoken a word, just sat at the back of the room occasionally making notes while you were grilled by a very intense man in a far too expensive suit.

As you emerged from the subway, lost in a sea of other commuters, you scanned your surroundings for Westview Tower, the homebase of the Paper’s operations, now your place of work. Checking the time as you rushed through the spinning door you were revealed to see you were only three minutes late. Standing in the lobby you looked around at all the people cutting through clearly on a mission to get somewhere faster than any human reasonably could. Lots shouted down phones while others talked into earpieces, not a single person without coffee in hand. Slowly you made your way to the front desk, “Hi, I’m y/n… I’m part of the new internship.” You said sheepishly, embarrassed slightly you didn’t know where you were meant to be, you were sure it was probably mentioned in an email somewhere. “Do you know where…”

“Third floor, room 43B, you’re late by the way.” The women at the front desk didn’t even look at you, just continued to type on the computer and chew gum. “Right, sorry, Thank you.” You took a few steps toward the elevator before she spoke again, slightly too loud for the distance between you. “Forgetting something? You won’t get very far without this sweetie.” She dangles your employee badge, and you retreat to collect it, cringing slightly at the pet-name.

Finally, you were able to leave the sensory nightmare that was the lobby and enter the elevator. It was just you alone with your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess. Have you looked like that the whole time? Is that why the receptionist was rude? Was she even being rude or is that just how people talk to each other here? You took a deep breath and tried to tidy your appearance, feeling much more self-conscious than you did ten minutes ago. The doors to the elevator opened to the Third floor and you set out on finding room 43B.

The room was easy enough to find and by the looks of things nothing had started yet. The other interns were all just talking amongst themselves, so you grabbed an office chair and joined the conversation. “So, y/n, did you do anything nice between graduation and now?” One of the male interns, the one with the most punchable face although it was a stiff competition, asked with a grating the tone of voice. “Oh well my parents took me to the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate,” the others laughed as if there was some joke everyone was in on but you, “Then we went to the cinema to watch the new Godzilla movie.” Again, laughter and you shifted awkwardly in your chair.

You weren’t left with the feeling for long as soon the door swung open and several very well-dressed people entered. Following what everyone else was doing you stood up and went over to great them. You went down the line of businessmen, each one either smelling like tobacco or overpriced cologne. You weren’t really looking them in the face as you made quick introductions, that was until you reached a hand with deep red nail polish. Lifting your head you met the gaze of Wanda Maximoff. She was dressed in a black suit with her white shirt slightly unbuttoned. Your brain buffered for a moment before you realised how long you’d been holding her hand. “Hi! I’m y/n.” You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly let go, painfully aware of how sweaty your palms now were. “Pleasure to meet you.” Wanda smiled while looking you in the eyes and you quickly became interested in looking at the floor, meaning you didn’t see how her eyes linger on you as she moved to great the next person.

What followed was a boring meeting about company goals for the next quarter, you tried to pay attention but felt your thoughts drifting to the events of earlier. It had quickly become evident you existed in a different tax bracket to everyone in the room. Your joyous memory of dinner and a movie now slightly tainted by comparison to the rewards of ski vacations and new designer goods your peers had received. While lost in thought your eyes found their way to Wanda as she once again sat at the back of the room and took notes. It was clear she’d paused her writing to look at you, catching you slightly slouched staring off into space. She shook her head disapprovingly, making you sit up straight instantly to which she gave a small laugh that only added to your embarrassment.

As the meeting drew to a close, you said your goodbyes to the higher ups, only managing a respectful nod in Wanda’s direction, before heading to lunch with the interns. “So, who do you think she’s going to pick?” Mildred, girl with the whitest teeth you’d ever seen, spoke to you in a hashed tone as you stood just outside the office room.

“Pick for what?”

“To be her personal intern? Were you not listening in there?” She sounded slightly annoyed. “We are all going to be assigned to different departments, so who do you think it’s going to be?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” You found yourself looking back into the room you’d just left; you could see Wanda talking to someone through the internal windows. She was beautiful, you’d love to be her intern, learning from the best. As she exited the room, she gave you one last look and a small wave before heading down the hall in the other direction. “Maybe it’ll be me.” You said without really thinking. Mildred scoffed and mumbled something under her breath before speeding off to catch up with the others.

The rest of the day was spent learning fire safety and being given a tour of the building. Passive aggressive comments from the other interns got less effective as you noticed you weren’t the only one receiving them and before you knew it you were back on the subway heading home. Getting off a stop early you decided to pick up a pizza as a reward for surviving your first day, the streets were a lot calmer near your apartment on the outskirts of the city, and the walk was enjoyable in the cool September weather. Your apartment was small, a studio with only the very basics, it was all you could afford on your previous job’s salary. But now you were going to be earning so much more, and you hand big plans for that first pay-check, like maybe a bed frame.

[channiesbakery]

yapper —

prompt / request — "are you awake yet?" "no." "oh, okay sorry."

pairing — reader + boyfriend!dino

word count — 561

genre — fluff

you and chan have a nightly routine that you liked to follow. you’d get ready for bed, freshening up and changing into comfy clothes before crawling into bed together.

you’d both have your nightly tik tok scroll— well, you’d scroll on your phone while chan watched along with you, questioning you about a current trend every few videos.

“what do you mean peeling an orange is a sign of love?” he questions when he sees the videos of people asking their significant others to peel oranges for them.

you explain the trend for him before he somewhat seems to understand. “I’d peel a hundred oranges for you,” chan says, kissing the top of your head before he’s silent for a moment, seemingly deep in thought.

“you okay?” you turn back to face him. “i wonder if my hyungs would peel an orange for me…” he mumbled mostly to himself.

it’s not long before you end up on seventeen tik tok, seeing all the edits and fancams.

“aw look at kwannie,” you show him the cute fancam. “why are you, my girlfriend, watching a seungkwan fancam and not one of your boyfriend?” chan scoffs before grabbing your phone to look for fancams of himself, making sure to give all of them likes.

after ending up on a weird side of tik tok, you decide that’s enough social media for the night, shutting off your phone and turning off all the lights.

chan’s chest is pressed against your back, his arm loosely around your waist as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

you always knew your boyfriend was a bit of a yapper, but his need for conversation just seemed to increase every time you’re about to fall asleep.

“do you think i should create a new character for the next gose episode?” he asks. “baby, i think you have more than enough alter egos.” you tell him, shutting your eyes and trying to fall asleep.

but the silence doesn’t last long before he’s starting another topic.

“would you love me if i was a worm– i could probably do the worm so much better if i was actually a worm.”

“that new cafe just opened in the city, we should go this weekend. i heard their matcha lattes are amazing.”

“do you think i should start a new hobby? maybe knitting… shua has all his crafty hobbies, maybe knitting could be mine.”

“actually… it seems like it takes too much patience and what if i stab my eye…”

“do you ever wonder why people count sheep and not other animals? like why not count chickens?”

you only mumble short responses to him as he switches topics nearly every other sentence.

he finally goes silent and you’re just about to finally drift off to sleep when chan speaks up once again. “are you still awake?” he whispers.

“no,” you grumble tiredly. “oh okay,” he replies and you think he’s finally going to go to sleep until you hear his soft voice again.

“hey baby?” he says softly and you just hum in response. “i love you,” chan mumbles against your hair.

“i love you too channie, but if you don’t stop yapping I’m kicking you out of bed and you’re sleeping on the couch.” you threaten.

[rhiannonsknife]

— thinking about lucy and wasteland pollen…

— warnings: wasteland!reader. fem!reader. nsfw content. so mdni.

lucy is new to everything up here.

so naturally, she doesn’t think twice before bounding into a field of strange-looking flowers, her curiosity leading her straight to them.

“would you look at that?” she says, crouching down to inspect a cluster of golden petals swaying gently in the breeze. you don’t even have time to warn her before her boot lands on something with a soft crunch. the motion releases a faint hiss below, and suddenly a shimmering cloud of yellow spores billows up around her. lucy only waves a hand through it, laughing. “huh, weird plants!” she remarks, completely and utterly unfazed, oblivious to the danger.

“why did you stop?” she calls over her shoulder when she notices you lingering a few feet back, hesitant to follow. “don’t tell me you’re scared of a little flower dust!”

the golden dust of spores clings to her jumpsuit, her hair, her skin. every part of lucy seems coated in them, yet she doesn’t appear worried in the slightest.

instead, she frowns at you.

“you’re acting weird. did i do something?” lucy asks, unaware of the risk she’s already unleashed. the spores are likely already in both of your systems, setting something irreversible into motion.

lucy has always been so unaware of her effect on you. even now, she seems to find a way of making everything harder for you.

you’re the one who has to decide to leave the field and get her somewhere safer, (once again getting both of you to safety as per usual) but even then, it’s impossible not to notice the little things about her: the way the flush begins to creep up her neck. how her fingers nervously fidget with the straps of her pack. or the way, when you sit down at your makeshift shelter for the night, she keeps shifting closer to you without even realizing it

the silence stretches on until lucy, never one to hold back her curiosity, finally breaks it: “why is it so hot in here? Is it just me? Is that…normal?” she asks, tugging at the collar of her jumpsuit, exposing a sliver of skin that feels suddenly too intimate to look at.

you force yourself to turn away, to focus on literally anything else, even as heat pools in your stomach.

“maybe it’s the air circulation,” she muses aloud, her fingers still working at her jumpsuit. “vaults had better airflow! this place is like a furnace!”

lucy pauses, then glances at you again. “your face is all red too!”

she leans in, her eyes locking onto yours. the space between your bodies shrinks. suddenly all you can think about is how close she is, how her heat radiates against you, how easy it would be to reach for her and-

“lucy, it’s not the air!” you blurt, scrambling back with a voice that betrays how strained you feel.

lucy only frowns in confusion.

“what do you mean?” she asks. “is this one of those things i should’ve read about in that wasteland survival guide you made me throw out?” her brows knit together as she stares at you, the weight of the situation still not sinking in.

“lucy, stop!” you finally snap, the sharpness of your voice cutting through the haze that’s currently clouding both of your thoughts.

“why?” she demands, louder this time. “oh, gee, are you sick? are we sick? what’s happening?” her hands flutter in front of her, restless and unsure, and you have to catch her wrists to still her before she completely spirals.

“it’s not sickness!” you manage hoarsely. “it’s something in the flowers outside. it- it does things to people,”

lucy doesn’t miss a beat. “what kind of things?” she asks, and the innocence in her voice sends a fresh wave of heat crawling up your neck.

“it’s like…a chemical reaction!” you try. “a really strong one”

she blinks at you, her expression still painfully blank. “like hallucinations? oh my- is this a drug thing? because i’m not-”

“not hallucinations, lucy!” you interrupt her. “it’s…sexual.”

she stares at you, her mouth opening, then closing again. “sexual?”

you close your eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to stay calm. “it’s an aphrodisiac. it makes people…” you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence without your voice breaking.

her lips part in a silent ‘oh’.

lucy shifts her weight awkwardly, her cheeks flushed. “so, is that why i feel…kind of weird?” she asks, looking down at herself. her hands fidget at her sides. “because i thought it was just the heat, but my chest feels tight and i-” she cuts herself off abruptly, her wide eyes darting up to meet yours. “wait, do you feel that too?”

you grit your teeth. “it’s the spores!” you say sharply, refusing to answer her question directly.

lucy sits in silence for a moment, mumbling ‘okay, okay’ under her breath. “this is fine!” she blurts out then, pacing to her corner of the room like she can outpace her own discomfort. she tugs at the zipper of her jumpsuit, pulling it down halfway to reveal the damp fabric of the tank top clinging to her skin.

“it’s just a little warm, that’s all! we’ve been through worse, right?”

“it’s temporary,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her. “it’ll wear off. we just need to wait it out!”

but lucy clearly doesn’t know how to wait something like this out. she doesn’t stop talking once, her voice a nervous stream of energy. “it’s just, like, a fever, right?” she says, forcing a laugh that’s far too loud. “i’ve had fevers before! this is fine. totally fine!”

you don’t respond. you can’t.

your jaw is clenched too tight, and your focus is entirely on not looking at her: not at the way she keeps fidgeting with the fabric of her suit around her thighs, or the way her chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths, or the way the flush spreads down her neck, blooming across her sweaty collarbones.

the air feels thicker by the second, stifling and heavy. you’re biting the inside of your cheek bloody and digging your nails into your palms, desperate for anything to ground yourself, anything to distract from the heat coursing through you, from the way your body throbs in time with your heartbeat.

lucy, who’s the one who got you into this mess in the first place, catches you staring at her. her breath hitches for a moment, her lips parting slightly. “are you okay?” she asks. “you’re being really quiet,”

“i’m fine!” It comes out harsher than you intend, and you turn away, pretending to rummage through your pack. your hands are shaking too much to do anything useful, but at least it gives you something to focus on besides her.

lucy doesn’t let it go. of course she doesn’t.

you hear the sound of her boots scraping against the floor as she stands and crosses the room, and before you can tell her to stay put, she’s kneeling in front of you. “hey,” she says, her hand hovering hesitantly near your shoulder.

“don’t!” you bark, jerking away before she can touch you.

her hand drops immediately, her face falling. “i wasn’t- i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to-”

“it’s not your fault!” you interrupt apologetically. “it’s just…”

you trail off. you want her, that’s what it is. you’ve been wanting her, long before she decided to step onto the petals and release spores that would only make matters worse.

now that they’re in your system, you’re hyper-aware of all the things you didn’t notice before: each breath lucy takes rings in your ears, the scent of her lingering with how close she’s sitting. hell, even the sweat that’s dripping from the side of her neck seems to draw you in.

lucy sits back on her heels, studying your face carefully. “it’s bad, isn’t it? the spores?”

you can smell her from here: sweat, heat, and something unmistakably sweet beneath it all. it only makes it harder to think. you swallow hard, nodding. “yeah. it’s bad.”

she hesitates, then asks the question you’ve been dreading. “is it bad for you because of me?”

you don’t answer right away, but when your eyes meet hers they seem to give her all the confirmation she needs. lucy, who’s very clearly not immune to the effects of the spores, doesn’t seem to fight them as hard as you are.

“i can feel it too, you know?” she murmurs. “it’s like this…heat. it won’t go away,” her cheeks flush deeper and she looks down. “i keep telling myself not to think about it, but-” her fingers twitch against the floor. you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to hold back, even as every fiber of your being screams at you to close the space between you.

“we can’t!”

lucy leans in. “why not?”

the dam breaks.

she freezes for half a second when you surge forward, only to melt into you moments later. your lips crash against hers, hard and desperate, and her back hits the wall with a soft thud.

her arms instinctively come up around your neck, pulling you closer. she makes a soft, startled sound against your mouth, but it quickly shifts into something hungrier, something raw.

lucy maclean, you only vaguely realize as her tongue slides past your lips, is moaning right into your mouth and you aren’t even touching her yet.

her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to make you shiver as the kiss deepens. the heat between your legs is unbearable now, a steady thrum that pulses through your veins, demanding release.

neither of you can stop the way your bodies move together, hips rolling forward in a frantic rhythm. there’s no relief there, in the way your hips meet halfway, only need, frustration growing with every futile attempt to grind yourself against her.

and yet you physically cannot stop.

it’s almost embarrassing how fast it sends you over the edge once you finally stumble to the dusty ground together and find a good angle to grind against each other, one that actually works.

it only takes a few lazy ruts of your hips until you’re cumming beneath her, rutting through the haze of pleasure. you’re just conscious enough to feel lucy tense up above you too, shaking and trembling with the force of her own orgasm, with her head thrown back and her hair sticking to the sweat on her face.

still, you can’t seem to stop.

a part of you expected this to be the end of the aching throb between your legs and the heat flashes, yet the orgasm only seems to make things worse: like an itch, only intensifying once it’s been scratched.

lucy, seemingly struggling with the same thing, feels greedy when she starts humping your leg all over again, whining: “can’t stop. m’sorry. i can’t stop!” as she drags her crotch over your thigh.

you can feel how damp she feels there, how hot and wet. at this point, you don’t care to think rationally about this. you’ve already crossed the point of no return, so you might as well make use of the…situation.

she is ever wetter than you’d expected from what you felt through her jumpsuit already (you both are): once you’ve peeled the fabric off her damp skin and reach between her legs for the first time, you’re taken aback by the sheer amount of arousal that has pooled there.

lucy is so wet, impatiently humping your fingers until two of them slide into her easily.

her own fingers curl around your wrist, moving it so she’s fucking herself on you.

two easily turn to three, her body gladly accommodating the stretch. and even then, even as the second orgasm crashes over her in record time, lucy is still panting and begging for more.

you know it’s the pollen. you know there’s no way to fully satisfy the urge until it wears off eventually. but how are you supposed to turn lucy down when your own body is aching for her and she’s quite literally begging for more? when she’s gushing down your wrists, her walls clamping down against your fingers so tight it’s hard to move?

of course, lucy gets you off too. you doubt you could’ve gone much longer without feeling her touch.

truthfully, you have no idea if she knows anything about this or if she’s going on some primal instinct caused by the spores.

either way, you’re in no position to question her when she aligns herself with you once she’s gotten you out of your clothes too. when she grinds against you with no restrictions in the way, clutching your hand tightly in her own to somehow ground herself. when her slick rubs against yours and you feel her cunt throbbing and her clit pulsing against your own until you cum with a desperate cry of lucy’s name.

it’s not surprising that neither of you had enough of the other just yet, with lucy already one orgasm ahead.

so she spins you around so you’re on all fours and puts her mouth on you from behind, lapping up your arousal.

her name echos through the night but you’re far too into this to care about the potential dangers you could be attracting. besides, if you die with lucy’s tongue inside of you, it’ll be worth it.

“oh my god!” you cry out, arching your back. she hums breathlessly, her hands on your ass and her lips closing around your clit as they suck.

it’s hours later, after she’s made you cum one final time on her fingers until you were gushing around them, that you both come to your senses again.

lucy is sprawled out on the floorboards by your side, staring at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. her chest heaves with uneven breaths, inhaling the heavy scent of sweat and sex around you.

“oh,” she says finally, hands folded over her stomach. “oh wow,”

while the adrenaline is still buzzing faintly in your veins, there’s something sobering about the cool ground against your hot skin and the way lucy hasn’t moved except for the occasional blinks.

“so,” lucy mumbles eventually. “that was the spores then..”

you let that linger, unsure if you want to tell her that it wasn’t just the spores. at least not for you.

“well,” she chuckles softly. “at least we won’t have to deal with that kind of pollen again! lesson learned!”

[shadow211e]

Satan's Madness

Sister Catherine was one of the newest nuns to be assigned to the post. The rectory was in the middle of a city, the city for the last 50 years or so had been slipping into vile disrepair. No one was blaming the rectory or the church, but they should have. No one was aware of the dark secret held within in the small building. Sister Catherine wouldn't have accepted the assignment had she been aware. Upon arriving, Sister Catherine was given a room and basic cleaning duties. She would see people coming and going, not just nuns or priests but a few times Bishops and Cardinals, she was amazed by the amount of higher ranking clergy that would be here. It wasn't until the 4th month of service when she was brought in on the reason there were people like that here. She was told about the artifacts in the basement of the rectory. That the clergy and the sisters were part of a barrier to protect the city and humanity as a whole. She watched and only when they felt she was ready and would be able to handle it would she be let in on the nature of this place.

She was trained in the routines of the basement vault, taught what to do in case of hearing things, feeling things, or even smelling things. She thought they were nuts until her first shift there, when she smelled sulfur, heard a man calling to her. She ignored it. She did what she was trained to and the voices and smell lessened.

Just over a year from her posting here, a few Cardinals from the Vatican arrived, they opened the vault, collected the 3 cases that were inside and left under guard with them to return to Rome. They said they would return within a fortnight and to have the vault cleaned and sanctified again. The sisters went to work cleaning up the vault, there wasn't anything in there but 3 tables with some etchings that looked like holy seals, some faded writing on the walls and dust. The cleaning took only a day, then came the holy water, the vault had to be cleaned with it 3 times a day for a week. Only then would the priests and cardinals come in and redo all the writing on the walls again. At just before midnight, Sister Catherine was finishing up the last cleaning of the room for the day when her foot hit a small stone on the wall, and something dislodged from behind it. She turned to look worried the damage of the room would cause issues. When she went to put the stone back into place, she saw something small inside. She pulled it out and looked at it, thinking it was something left inside the walls, she picked it up to report it to her superior.

The rosary was old looking, black and with a gothic feel to it. She looked for any writing on them but only saw small notches in the beads as if they had been used for counting for years. Running her fingers over the beads, she felt an odd feeling, one she hadn't thought about since she was a teenager, lust. She zoned out a bit, rubbing the beads in her fingers, feeling the lust wash over her, she only snapped out of it when she heard the vault door open. One of the other sisters looked at her. "Have you been here all night?" Panicked Catherine looked around "no of course not, I just came down to make sure everything was dry, it didn't seem to dry last night." The other nun nodded, but gave her a weird look, like something was different. She slid the rosary into her pocket without thinking and headed upstairs. She had not slept the night but didn't even feel tired. Walking up the halls, she passed an office, she overheard Mother Superior and one of the Bishops talking to the Cardinals. "What do you mean it was fake?" "We carbon dated it, one of the objects was fake." "Which one?" "The one belonging to one of the brides of him." "Are you kidding me? Those were those, they were rumors, he was never on Earth." "My dear sister, there are many things the Vatican keeps secret, knowing too much could lead to temptation," the cardinal said on the speaker, "keeping the rosary of one of the brides of Lucifer has always been one of the most important jobs for your rectory, and the fact that over the last 50 years, your rectory has had 3 of his brides objects is amazing, but it also seems the rot of the city has stemmed from the fact the corruption of all this evil was in one place." Mother Superior says "Lucifer had 13 brides correct?" "Yes." "And the Vatican has found how many of those objects?" "9. And you had 3 under your care, and the original decree from the Vatican was no one place would have more than one for more than a month. Too many in one place was deemed dangerous. If a place had one and another came into possession then the Vatican was supposed to move the second quickly to another vault, but with all the closures and whatnot, it was overlooked for far too long." "Anyway back to the matter, you checked it and it was fake?" "Yes, we have to figure out if it was stolen or swapped out." "Cardinal, I have been here over 35 years, none here would do such a thing, we don't enter the vault, we stand by it and pray, as is our orders. So if it was a fake, it was a fake when it came to us." "That is a possibility, which is why some cardinals are coming back to go through the records to find out where it came from in the first place to try to figure it all out. Please be watchful for anything a miss." "Of course, thank you." The call ended and Catherine moved quickly down the hall so she wouldn't be found. Getting back to her room, Catherine pulled out the rosary, "it couldn't be these could it?" Rubbing them in her fingers she felt that same feeling, an euphoric lust washing over her. Looking out across from the rectory was a new apartment building, all modern, lights on all over the place. Progress was encroaching on the older parts of the city. She saw an apartment, it was always dark, no one lived there. She wondered what it would be like had she not become a nun. Suddenly she felt something pull at her, she gasped as darkness surrounded her and she suddenly appeared in the apartment. She gasped, she was dressed but not in her clothes, it was stuff that was more stylish more modern. She gasped looking around.

She looked down, her chest looked bigger, she felt hot, more alive. "What the hell just happened." She heard a whisper, the man's voice she swore she heard by the vault. "You wanted to experience this, why not try it for a night, no one will miss you, and you can return to your nice little cloister in the morning."

Catherine knew this wasn't right, the rosary, the voice, she put it together, it was the voice of Lucifer and she was in possession of one of his bride's rosaries. She should go back to the rectory and turn it in, allow it to be locked away. To be rid of it. BUT Was there harm in one night, she was already like this, already here. She could go out to a nice restaurant, have a meal without being looked at as some virgin freak that nuns were often seen as. A quick meal and back here, and then back to the rectory before morning. The simple choice was more than enough for the seed of corruption to plant itself within her. Before when it was the lust she was only reacting to the rosary itself, but by not going back right away, allowing it to take root within her was the worst thing Catherine could have done. She was doomed the second she did it.

One night out was fine, but she got back after feeling so incredible and in her mind she thought about going back to the rectory and appeared there. She slept the night and woke up feeling so good. She did her daily tasks but that night when she got back to her room, she thought about the apartment again. Appearing it again she felt the thrill of being able to go out again. Another night led to another night. The next night led to another night, she was becoming more daring, more bold. Going to a club, a bar, seeing people in the streets moving around. She could almost taste the lust in them now. She might have been afraid but something was becoming comfortable inside her, this was more fun than being trapped in a habit and walking around like someone looked down at, all because she wanted to live the word of God. Thinking of God, it had less meaning to her, less of an awe. One night she didn't return to the rectory, keeping herself in the apartment, feeling joy of waking up in a massive soft bed. She woke up and found food to eat and she prepared a rich meal instead of the slop she was used to. A few more days turned into a few weeks. She barely thought about what was going on across the street. She didn't notice the cars pulling up, the groups of clergy, the cardinals showing up more. The search parties for the missing nun that was happening. Months went by, she was at a club, the rosary having fully corrupted her at this point, not that she saw it as corruption, she saw it has she had been freed. One of the Vatican Special Clerics found her and approached her.

Kat as she went by looked at him, she licked her lips, feeling the lust starting to grow from him. "Can I help you?" "Sister this isn't you, this.." She barked in laughter, "please are you going to say the Devil made me do it?" "Yes, he has corrupted you, let us help you." "How about I help you, I can feel your lust, your desire, why not break a few vows yourself, experience my holy water, believe me Father, let me sit on your face and baptize you and you will be a whole new man."

[laswells-ashtray]

i hope this doesn’t sound strange, idk how tumblr works quite yet </3

but i binged all ur price works and!!! ack i love them (especially ones w mac, it’s hard to find much of him!!) even though i fell asleep on my first period. oops. (twas worth it, though)

do you have any more mac and price snippets? (no rush!! or no force! idk what else to say! have a great day/night!?)

Ayyy, tumblr is weird when learning how to navigate it.

And I won't lie, I am biased toward people who are nice to me so fuck yeah, I've got more Mac and Price interactions.

MacMillan mutters under his breath as John drives his pointer finger into the other man's arm for maybe the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

John does it again just to ensure that he isn't being ignored.

Mac looks over at him through narrowed eyes, dropping the pen in his hands as his chest heaves a sigh. His voice is more of a grumble than noise when he asks John,

"Dae ye make it yer lifes mission tae get oan ma fuckin tits?"

He snickers, subtly backing away from the captain as he flicks through the various responses in his mind. He's resigned to the smack he's about to receive as he settles on a middle ground of disrespect.

"Aye, I'm looking for measurements. 38E, would you say?"

There's a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, Mac doesn't blink through it all. His eyes bore into John's soul and he sees the slap building up as the annoyance surges through the Scot's veins.

And then he pounces, Mac is out of the chair and over the desk before John can utter a hail Mary and get his arse out of the office. In all his years one would think he'd have figured it was unwise to piss off someone with the hands of a boxer, they'd be incorrect.

Heat swarms the side of his face and the resounding crack seems to echo around the office. That or his ears are ringing.

And then the Scot sits back down in his chair, instinctively returning to his work as his eyes scour across the paper in front of him and his hand grasps his previously forgotten pen.

John allows himself twenty seconds of recovery time before leaning over and poking Mac's arm again.

The man in front of them has been rattling on for so long that MacMillan's feet are starting to ache from just standing and listening to the words dribble out of his mouth.

John is twitchy next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot and cracking his knuckles. His gaze isn't focused, and Mac doesn't doubt that he stopped listening around the time the other captain described Mac's own accent as "low-class sounding".

Classist cock gargling cunt.

The sergeant is volatile, if he'd listened to anything else the man had spouted off at him then he'd have decked the other man in defence of MacMillan. Something neither of them could risk given John's past interactions with people in positions of authority. The Englishman had a knack for driving people around the bend, it was quite frankly impressive.

A heavy sigh disrupts his train of thought and he blinks himself back to awareness, only to be met with the scolding glare of Captain Fuck's His Name?

"Wit?"

The other man sighs again, offering him the most dramatic performance he'd had the displeasure of witnessing ever since the man had swaggered his way into the room.

"It seems my time here is wasted given the lack of focus from you or your little pet project. You should know better, Captain."

He raises an eyebrow at the man and his lip twitches, the first sign of amusement to cross his face in hours.

"And ye should dress better, no very fittin fir a captain tae huv a shirt that's wrinkled tae fuck, is it?"

John's snort is about as subtle as a bullet shattering a glass pane. As is the disgust on the man opposite him as he eyes them both up and down, turning up his nose at them like they were no more than shit on his shoes.

He isn't offered a response as the captain makes a swift exit, sneering something vaguely classist sounding under his breath. Bold to assume that just because he's a Scot, he's an alky. He could be an alcoholic of his own volition, his heritage shouldn't be awarded all of the credit.

He swiftly considers the detrimental effects of joking about suffering from alcoholism given the history on his mother's side, and then he throws the thought back like a shot of vodka.

"He was a right arsehole, wasn't he?" John asks suddenly, turning to face him.

He looks down at the younger man and nods, finally uncrossing his arms after what seemed like years of being subjected to the torturous ramblings of a smarmy git.

"Aye, he's a fuckin wankstain ae a man." His eyes scan over John's figure, noting his tense shoulders and rigid stance now that he's standing still.

"Still got hawf a day wae fuck all tae fill it wae, want tae get pished?"

Watching the joy return to John's eyes is worth the disastrous effect the suggestion will have on his bank account in the hours coming.

"Right, this is a genuine question and you can't smack me for it."

"Oh? Get it telt."

"What is deal with tablet? I've never heard a Scotsman who didn't foam at the mouth just at the thought of it."

"Wan ae these days, yer coming up tae Scotland outside of the job and a'll get ye tae try it. Ye willnae get it otherwise."

"It cannot possibly be that could."

"A'd describe it as orgasmic but Burt Reynolds could be here slobbering on ma knob right noo and am still no sure he could compete wae a bit ae homemade tablet."

"..."

"You're disgusting, firstly. Secondly, why Burt Reynolds? Actually, no, don't you dare fucking answer that. Thirdly, I need to try this stuff, immediately."

[warcats-cat]

Sacred Animal

Summary: Hermes takes you on a "mystery date" that becomes very cute and silly, very quickly.

A/N: I'm doing it, I'm being brave and posting one of the drabbles I wrote like over a month ago but felt kinda shy about. Biggest, most fluffy Thank-You to @lickoutyourbrains for reading and rereading and encouraging me through everything. If you guys enjoy this one I'll consider posting the others. Please let me know what you think, and as always let me know if I missed any tags!

Read on Ao3 here!

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Hermes' domains were a wide net that covered a lot. Travelers, Messages, Thieves, Trickery and Cunning, Athletes, Merchants, Speed, Language; the list went on for a while. And in keeping with the diversity of his domains, his moods and interests tended to whirl and swing around with the days. 

It made for some chaotic date nights. 

But really, you enjoyed the chaos; the thrill of his surprises, not really being able to guess but being able to follow where his mind was going. You could keep up with him, and he loved you for that. Therefore, date nights like tonight were surprising, but not completely out of left field. 

You were bundled up in a thick coat with ear muffs on your head; it wasn't snowing yet, but it was cold enough that the snow predicted for the following days would stick, and probably make a thick blanket on the ground. 

You faintly wondered if Hermes had ever made snow angels…

“Ready?” he asked at the front door of your apartment building; he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat instead of his usual helmet, and it cast a shadow over his eyes in lieu of his sunglasses. He also had a warm-looking red cloak, apparently lined with fur or some other fluff over a thin shirt that you couldn't quite see. He probably didn't need the cloak, he never seemed to feel cold, but it was important to keep up appearances when visiting public places. 

So you were going somewhere that would have other people. 

You huffed, checking the strap of the bag you carried to make sure it was close to your chest - he could still easily steal your wallet and phone, but it was a little harder when he couldn't just reach into your pockets. One of these days, you might just cave and buy the weird chest-strap bag that kept all your valuables up high and theoretically safe from nefarious hands. See if he could break into that…

Belongings secure, coat and muffs adjusted, you nodded and his face lit with a grin as he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. You could barely see the glow of his eyes under the shadow of the hat - the longer you dated Hermes, the more you learned to look closer for the little things. Right now, he was excited; more childlike joy than gleeful mischief, which was even more exciting for you. As much as you enjoyed his pranks and silliness, it was rare that he had this much anticipation for something. 

He was usually all soft smiles and warmth, but this was bright like a star. 

You tucked your face into Hermes' chest, knowing he was going to fly directly to wherever he was taking you. There would be no sight-seeing on this trip; another mystery to confuse you about potential locations. He pressed a gentle kiss into your hair before taking off, the wind quickly whipping around the pair of you as he sped towards your destination. 

It was still bright out - the sun wouldn't set for another hour or two, and the light and wind surrounded you for a few moments before you felt Hermes slow and finally land. At least this time he hadn't gone high enough to make your ears pop. 

You waited for his arms to loosen, looking up at him after a few moments. 

“Put me down?” You asked, teasingly. He shrugged. 

“Nah. It's pretty cold, it's nice to have a personal heater.” He replied. He only laughed when you lightly slapped his chest with the back of your hand, and finally released you. 

“How does your hat not fly off?” You asked, noticing the tips of his hair under the brim were ruffled, but the hat itself remained secure. He shrugged again. 

“God magic?” he theorized, jokingly. That was his answer to a lot of questions about his anomalies, and you knew better than to press. You rolled your eyes and huffed, crossing your arms. 

“Ok, fine,” you gestured for him to lead, “where exactly are we?” He took your hand and began to walk across a rather large expanse of grass, passing a little gravel parking lot full of cars, and you could see some farm buildings in the distance. 

“We’re gonna meet some friends!” the wide smile returned, as if his statement wouldn't raise more questions, but you just chuckled and followed. You were definitely on some kind of farm-store property; a place that probably did apple picking or a pumpkin patch in the fall. Right now, though, all of the trees were bare, the grassy field yellowish from winter frost, and the rows of dirt in the distance empty as the plants that grew there waited for spring. 

The pair of you walked up to a little gate, where an older man was sitting with a little cash box. The man smiled as you approached. 

“Well, how can I help you two?” he asked, a bit of a ‘country lilt’ to his words. You expected Hermes to wave a hand and work his ‘god magic’ on the man so he allowed you to pass, but instead your godly boyfriend handed over a real, American ten-dollar bill and responded “Two please.” 

You tried not to look at Hermes in shock and confusion; he ‘paid’ for a lot of your dates, but not usually with actual money. You faintly wondered if he was starting to understand the difference between stealing from corporations and small businesses; a subject of many debates and discussions throughout your time together. You were impressed. 

The man took the bill and traded it into his cash box for two bright green silicone bracelets, and began to fish out some change before Hermes held up a hand and told the man to keep the change. 

The god handed you a bracelet and led you around the gate as the man wished you both to have fun. After it appeared Hermes was not going to say anything about it, you tugged on his hand, causing him to stop. 

“Who are you and where is my boyfriend?” You asked, only half-jokingly. Maybe even less than half. 

He bounced on the balls of his feet; damn he was really excited. “I learn things when we talk! I'm supporting some local farmers!” He defended with a grin. “I’m not only a Patron of thieves, you know.” 

With that response apparently being all he planned to say, he began to walk again, taking your hand, and by extension, you, with him. The pair of you were walking around the main building which you were now certain was some kind of store, and as you turned the corner you could hear the excited jabbering of children. 

What the heck.

‘Meeting friends,’ he said. You were on a farm. There were little kids. You looked at the bracelet now on your wrist which read ‘Friendly Fields Local Craftworks and Petting Zoo’ in thin yellow letters. 

Well, this was certainly the most unique date he'd ever taken you on. 

In the rapidly diminishing distance, you saw a series of low fences housing several animals, and about a dozen children with parents in varying stages of exasperation. Most of the little ones were crowded around a hutch of extremely fluffy rabbits, but there was also a pen with mini ponies, one with two alpacas, one with a cow, one filled with chickens, and one with a small handful of sheep. You were pleased to notice that all of the pens had little heaters for the animals, and were sheltered in case it rained. 

You had to admit, this was kinda cute. 

Hermes continued to lead, heading straight for the sheep who ‘baah’d at him as you both came near. This one was the farthest off, and it seemed none of the children were very interested in visiting the sheep. 

“Hello, lovely ladies,” Hermes said as he leaned down and began to scratch one under its chin. You were a bit surprised; normally petting zoo animals were pretty apathetic towards their visitors, unless there was food involved. But all four of the wooly sheep had wandered over and were waiting for Hermes' attention. 

“So you're the god of sheep.” You said, a wry smile on your face as you watched him pet one animal with each hand. 

“Ha! You're close,” he replied, “I’m the god of shepherds. But sheep are one of my animals.” He paused, realizing you hadn't joined in, and stood back up to look at you. “Is this ok? You like petting things…” he asked, and now his face was hesitant.

You did like petting things. You constantly tried to pet the stray cats around your apartment complex, and the second someone offered for you to pet their dog you were all over those good boys and girls. You had even been to petting zoos before! Sheep were one of your favorite animals (although now you were absolutely not going to tell Hermes that). You felt your cheeks get hot, and it wasn't from wind burn. 

“Well, you looked like you were pretty excited to see them, and I didn't want to get in your way…” you said lamely. In truth, you just thought watching Hermes talk to a small herd of sheep was adorable, and had forgotten you were also supposed to be interacting with the animals. 

Hermes smirked, and pulled you a little closer, holding out a hand to the sheep closest to him, “here, just let her sniff you first. They'll probably feel a lot safer than normally because I'm here.” 

You followed his lead, surprised when the sheep forewent sniffing your hand and plopped her little chin in your palm. You could almost believe she was smiling at you. A surprised giggle bubbled out of you; no animal had ever done that. 

Seeing that there were now enough hands for all four to get pets at the same time, the whole little herd came up to the fence to vie for attention. It was strange and a little wonderful; their wool was thick and dense and incredibly warm, once you pushed your fingertips into the fleece. Hermes was saying something to the two in front of him, but you were only barely aware of that as you watched the little sheeps’ tiny, nubby tails wagging and twitching. 

He was probably giving them a blessing, the big softie; to be warm and live long and always have the tastiest grass. 

You had no idea how long the two of you had stood there, spoiling the little sheep with your scritches; thankfully the sun hadn't set yet, but it was a little darker. Hermes led you around to the other pens, now significantly quieter as several of the families and children left for the evening. There were still a good number of people around, but not so rowdy. One of the alpacas was interested in the pair of you, though not nearly as much as the sheep. The horses looked at you like you were some kind of aliens; as if you were the ones in the pens for their entertainment. Hermes avoided the cow, saying she was giving him a dirty look. 

You knew he had a history with cows but you didn't think it went that deep…

The chickens were also quick to look for Hermes' attention, running over to the fence posts to investigate. They formed a wide clump of feathers, and would have been centered around him if there hadn't been a barrier in the way. As it were, several chickens were reaching their heads through the fencing, clucking and (apparently) trying to peck at the god. You giggled. Hermes looked around a moment, that mischievous smile on his face, and you saw him pull his hat down in the back just far enough to free the wings behind his ears, which flapped a few times at the chickens in return. 

The chickens went wild, some of them darting away, some of them flapping their wings back, some almost screeching; to the point that one of the farmhands came over to make sure they weren't fighting, and Hermes had to quickly slip his hat back in place. 

You'd never pet a chicken before; and the farm hand was kind enough to let you and Hermes each hold one. They were warm, surprisingly heavy, and you were taken aback when you realized the bird was purring. Not as deep and consistent as a cat’s purr, but still noticeable; the vibrations just barely palpable in your hands. Hermes' face was practically glowing in the low light, looking at you holding the chicken. After a little more cuddling of the soft feathers, and watching Hermes (probably) whispering a blessing to the other birds as well, the farmhand helped you place the chicken back in her coop, and Hermes led you to the last pen; the bunnies.

Angora rabbits, to be specific, with their carefully brushed fur and softly padded pen. A visitor could see clearly that these were the prized animals for the farm. And they certainly were cute; well-socialized and hopping over to see the newcomers, hoping for treats, clearly relaxed while being handled by the humans. 

You opted not to hold a rabbit, but you did get to pet a few of them as they wandered from person to person - their fur was as silky-soft as you imagined; always hearing about angora wool being special and extra soft (and probably extra expensive) but never going out of your way to find clothes made with it. 

The sun was finally setting in earnest, and the farmhands were beginning to pack up the petting area and move the animals back into their warm barns and hutches; the little country store was still open though, and it only took a little bit of begging to convince Hermes to go inside and look around. 

He’d already been planning on going in, but you were cute when you made your sad-eyes and exaggerated pout. 

Inside, the shop was warm and smelled like fresh cinnamon and vanilla. There were a few people milling around, looking at the different products - lots of fresh baked goods, homemade preserves, craft items, and even a cubby of milled goat milk soap. There was also a large sign on the counter that read “Chelly is OUT” in large red letters, and you assumed the tile that read OUT could be flipped to say something like IN as well. 

You wondered if you'd get a peek at Chelly. You did love shops that had kitties wandering around. 

Hermes unpinned his cloak so it hung at his shoulders instead of clipped at his throat, and you loosened your coat as well; the shop was nice and warm, and you were getting a little too warm under so many layers. 

Hermes was definitely just showing off his shirt - a meme shirt, because of course he'd been collecting those recently... 

You took your time looking at different things, eventually Hermes handed you a little shopping basket with a knowing grin, and you blushed again as you carefully placed a bottle of lavender oil for baking and a pack of flaky, delicious looking chocolate pastries into the basket. You were a bit surprised when Hermes actually added some things to the basket - namely two little crochet sheep that had a tag reading [80% angora, 20% wool] and a crochet chicken that apparently had a squeaker in its body. 

Oh gods. That was going to drive his siblings insane. 

And then suddenly, Hermes yelped and jumped, floating just a second too long before landing and looking down at the floor. 

Looking at a little tortoise riding around on a skateboard-like contraption.

The yelp had attracted the attention of the woman running the counter, but Hermes was unbothered; consumed with the sheer delight upon seeing the little reptile appear from under the shelves. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” the woman said frantically, “she's perfectly healthy, I promise, she just gets a little feisty when it's close to closing time, because she knows once the customers leave she gets a strawberry. She didn't bite you, did she?”

Meanwhile, Hermes had become a metaphorical kid in a candy store, sitting down right on the floor and cooing at the tortoise. He waved the woman off, saying, “She's so cute! So fast!” And then addressing the turtle, a mess of babbling that included “Look at your little wheels!” 

You'd seen many moods from your godly boyfriend. You'd seen him happy, frustrated, confused, annoyed (usually by your car and your coworkers). You'd seen him drunk and giggly, when he had twirled you around until you both threw up. You'd seen him cry, though rarely; he rarely felt safe to do so. You'd even seen him divinely angry once when a nymph at one of Dio's parties asked why a mortal like you were allowed to attend. 

You had not seen him like this. This was newborn-baby-cute-aggression levels of babbling. He gently scratched around the tortoise’s shell, watching the reptile wiggle when he apparently hit a good spot. (It was admittedly adorable.) You were pretty sure you could see his wings ruffling under his hat. 

Thankfully, the woman was pleased with Hermes' excitement. “Oh, yes. Poor Chelly was hatched without her back legs working. My son made the little wheel board for her. She has one that only has wheels on the back, but she seems to prefer the ability to race around.” 

Ah. Chelly was the tortoise.

“It's brilliant!” Hermes' replied, and then after a moment of hesitation, he surprised you again. “Can I pick her up?” He asked, almost bashful. 

The woman only laughed. “Sure, if she'll let you! Just be careful, she likes to give love bites.” She patted the reptile’s shell gently and asked if you needed any help before returning to the counter to attend another customer. 

Your boyfriend was still sitting on the floor. 

Not knowing what else to do, you joined him on the floor. 

He gently wiggled his fingers in front of Chelly, and when she didn't reach out and bite, he carefully scooped her off of her skateboard and held her right up to his face. 

“Helloooo, Darling! You like to go fast, huh? Go Zoomies? You're such a pretty girl!” He was almost blushing, and for the second time you wondered what clone had spontaneously replaced the man you were dating. Meanwhile, the tortoise was content to extend her neck and brush his nose with her face. Her front legs wiggled as if she was still walking or possibly swimming, and he continued to talk to her. 

The longer you sat there, the more you wondered if they could understand each other. 

With a sigh, you gave Hermes a kiss on his cheek, told him you were going to look some more, and left to explore the other shelves. (You may or may not have snapped several dozen photos of him cooing at Chelly in the meantime.)

He sat there with the tortoise a full ten minutes; meanwhile you found your own mischievous gift. You had paid quietly and hidden the item at the bottom of your purse, under the ‘valuables’ and wrapped in a brown paper bag. That was for later. 

When he finally rejoined you, you playfully bumped him with your elbow as he took some offered hand sanitizer from the counter to clean his hands.  He paid for the rest of the items in your basket, once again with real money, and you knew better than to question it at this point. The pair of you rebuttoned your extra layers and prepared to go out into the night. 

“So, are you replacing me?” you asked. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek with a little huff. 

“Nobody could replace you.” He replied softly, and your face suddenly felt a little warmer. He easily picked you up once more, having put your purchases into his trusty messenger bag, and with little warning he took off. 

This time, he did fly a little higher, just so you could see the stars on the way home. The cold wind bit your nose and you would probably have chapped cheeks in the morning, but it was worth it. 

He landed easily outside your apartment building, fishing the brown paper bag out of his pack. He would have to be back on Olympus tomorrow morning, and was leaving tonight to have time to leave a trap for Apollo. You barely had a moment before he pulled you into a kiss, then twirling you around and dipping you backwards, throwing off your balance. At least he kept you from falling, even if it was an almost cartoonish dip. He was probably floating to have you so far back. 

“So,” he panted lightly, his breath making little bursts of fog in the night air, “did you have fun?” You laughed, patting his shoulders as a request to stand back up. His face was positively glowing as he helped you right yourself. 

Yes, he had been floating, damn god powers…

You laughed anyway; “Yes. More fun than I have in a while.” You said, and it was the truth. Hermes' silly side was your favorite thing about him, and you had gotten to see so much of it tonight. His smile was brilliant once more, and under the shadow of his hat you saw his eyes start to glow silvery. 

“I love you.” he said, and kissed you again. “I'll be back in two days. I'll pick you up from work.” 

“Okay. Don't be too mean to Apollo, okay?” You teased. He rolled his eyes, and began to break away, before you grabbed the strap of his messenger bag and stuffed your own small gift inside, feeling it disappear into the organized clutter of the bottomless bag. He quirked an eyebrow in question. 

“Don't open it until you get back to Olympus. Promise?” You asked, and held up your pinky finger. 

He snorted. “Sure. Promise.” He linked his pinky with yours, and you shook. Truly a sacred oath. One last stolen kiss, and then he was gone, zipping away into the night sky. You hugged the bag from the store to your chest, and went inside to your (thankfully warm) apartment. 

The treats went into the kitchen, to be enjoyed for breakfast tomorrow. You were already scrolling your phone for that lavender shortbread cookie recipe you'd seen a week ago and thinking you would have to go to the store tomorrow after work anyway. The little sheep plushies (you now noticed one was a ram and one was an ewe. Dork.) went onto your shelf of ‘Hermes Trinkets’ for now, though you knew you would probably move them to your bed for cuddling soon. Damn those things were soft. There was also a pair of thick purple socks that you hadn't seen him grab, equally soft, and you already planned to change into them with your pajamas. 

Not even an hour later, as you were settling in for bed, you received a text message with a photo attached. 

Hermes, his hair wild and hat off, with a gigantic grin on his face. Proudly wearing the crochet headband with a carefully curled pair of stuffed ram horns. Captioned: ‘Better than my laurels.’

You suddenly really hoped he wouldn't wear that to council meetings. You'd created a monster. 

(If you enjoyed, please reblog!)

[dropthedemiurge]

Usually, I have only one fandom for a few years, I really cannot multifandom because I want to dive deep and know and follow everything, and I can't go into hyperfocus with several different artists or shows. But last year I saw Love for Love's Sake and fell in love with Lee Taevin, all acting, his manners, attitude and soul-whispering late night DJ voice – and somehow, I keep returning to him. And I keep going to his solo events too. I joined his fancafe and added many fan accs on twitter. And I went to his Bday/debut cafe as well. It doesn't help that Taevin's/LFLS fans in Korea are so fun and generous and prepare cool stuff they give out for free :')

ANYWAY I LITERALLY BUMPED INTO TAEVIN TODAY! I was gonna go to a couple of his Bday cafes, but then I saw on twitter that he already attended two of them and thought I totally missed him (I still had 30min subway ride to that area). So I was like: I don't have a great luck, at least I gave him high five last fanmeeting – and I went to the cool gamer-like cafe. Saw a huge line of fans, turned around and exited, thinking I'd better come later when there aren't many people, first I'll go to a different one next street. And as I came out of the building, literally Taevin hopped right in front of my face to the banner xD I stopped like a deer in headlights – I'm so lucky I managed to pull my phone and start filming, although my filming skills are sooo awful (cuz I try not to shove phones in artists' faces so I never know where exactly I point the camera)

And once Taevin was done taking photos, he saw me and I said: "Happy Birthday!!!" He was so surprised (probably not expecting a foreign fan recognizing him on the street) and was like "THANK YOU!" And then smiled so widely his eyes closed and did the 🙏 thanking gesture. His bodyguard smiled at me too.

Well, I went back to the cafe but since there was a line, we had to stay on the stairs and waited for him to go play with fans in the cafe. We said hi and wished him a HBD again when he was walking out :] (he was so busy waving and thanking the fans for coming that he bumped his head on a fire alarm, and was pouty about it xD)

Anyway, next to me was another foreigner (the only other one in sight) so when he came out, he did the 👁️👄👁️ face one again, full of surprise, and made sure to slow down and greet her directly (and smiled at me again). It's so funny, doesn't he know he has many foreign fans?xD He's actually quite popular in Korea, with guys and girls, even more than Joowan, I was surprised. Maybe he didn't expect someone to be his fan outside of BL events?

Anyway. I didn't talk to him much but even in these short interactions Lee Taevin radiates such warmth?? And I love his thoughts during LFLS interviews etc. Plus, he's almost the same age as me do I don't feel weird being a fan of some really young artist.

ANYWAY. I feel like I don't have a choice but to stan. Like, actually stan. I'm sorry to my K-pop ult group of 8 years, I will be cheating on you, but this guy. Lee Taevin. Lee Sewoong. Is so precious... 🥺

(and the cafe event was really fun and dope! They even had gacha and game arcades. I got a lot of gifts once again... where am I supposed to store them all?! don't multifandom, friends)

[vanpalmerenthusiast]

need need need pre-crash/no-crash parkinglot headcanons i’m recently so getting into them

omg headcanons about us yes ofc

i feel like you can view some of these as platonic or romantic or secret third thing, so however you want to interpret be my guest <3 wasn’t really sure which version to write for so it’s mostly romantic vibe stuff

okay so we’ve all seen the “lottie was lonely, not alone” thing by now (which is a fucking amazing little analysis by @before-it-felt-like-a-sin, love it so much) and that’s something i think van tends to notice about lottie pre-crash. she understands that lottie is different than the others, because van is different too. she senses that loneliness in lottie and that forms a kind of unspoken kinship between the two, maybe even before they officially become friends. they’re connected on a level neither of them really quite understand.

bouncing off of that, van has a bit of a deeper connection to lottie in that she looks up to her terminally. she would follow her anywhere, even off a cliff if lottie said it was the right thing to do. we see this in the wilderness, but no-crash/pre-crash it’s more of just an intense loyalty than a girlfailure cult leader and her lesbiacolyte

parkinglot are like, crazy confused about each other. van knows she’s gay (lottie maybe not so much), but even then it’s like “how the fuck do i feel about this weird ass girl actually”

the gray area is SUFFOCATING

both too nervous to make an official first move so i feel like their relationship ends up stemming from a simple innocent everyday comment to them like fully going at it

lottie braids van’s hair

she does

parkinglot at the end of the day is about unconditional, devotional love. they see each others imperfections down to their core, and they just do not give a fuck because they love each other so much.

van is not the smooth one in this relationship i do indeed fear

like she has her moments but i feel like lottie catches her off-guard and gets her flustered with a random comment and lottie’s just left wondering like why did she just get so red and run away

these silly lesbians

little spoon van big spoon lottie WHO SAID THAT!!

van is ALWAYS trying to get lottie into her favorite movies and i feel like medicated lottie would be a movie fiend too so it’s not that difficult of a process

parkinglot movie nights are a staple

“it’s fine, i’ll just eat it” van and “excuse me, she asked for no pickles” lottie

this is how you do butchfemme guys, parkinglot is how you do butchfemme

i can see them connecting on their family issues at like a big slumber party while everyone else is asleep because they’re both night owls

lottie talking about her parents not wanting to deal with her, van talking about her mom not wanting to deal with anything. this conversation definitely ends with them sound asleep beside each other and sleeping in hours after everybody else.

them being the only people they can each open up to, fully.

GOD I LOVE THEM

tried thinking about them in the adult years but it got too freaky and i could not for the life of me separate them from the narrative so just put this in highschool/college no crash au

part of that was just me rambling and the rest is just the most random little things popping into my head, hope it suffices x

also, i just noticed that my list of uni headcanons you sent an ask for a while ago has just been sitting fully completed in my drafts… not sure why that happened but i will be posting it the minute after i post this!! THANK U FOR THE ASK ILY KAT 💋💋

[midnightdahlias]

First Impressions

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summery - (based on pilot episode) you meet the boys for the first time, and it doesnt exaclty go smoothly word count - 1.1K cws - fem!reader, mentions of a gun, very very slight threat , mentions of john winchester (horrorfying ik), lmk if i missed anything a/n - Hi so this is my first time writing, hope you like it. I apologise if it's not the best, english isn't my first language. BUT I hope you like it either way and any feedback is appreciated !

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

“Dean. Something is starting to happen. I think it’s serious. I need to try and figure out what’s going on… [muffled voices]… If you don’t hear from me, call the number I left you. Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”

After running it through EVP software, neither of them was any closer to figuring out what the hell John Winchester had gotten himself into.

“What about the number he mentioned? Have you called it?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed as he replayed the message in his head.

“Tried it twice. Straight to an automated voicemail both times. Whoever it belongs to doesn’t seem keen on answering,” Dean sighed, frustration creeping into his tone. He had assumed it was a contact of their father’s, someone John trusted, but the silence from the other end only deepened his suspicions. Maybe something had happened to that person, too.

····································

Working odd jobs was your way of staying afloat between hunts. Running scams and hustling drunks at bars could only get you so far. As much as you hated working in crappy diners, the little bit of honest money made you feel better about yourself—well, slightly better. Hunting wasn’t exactly a glamorous life, but knowing you were helping people survive the creatures that go bump in the night gave you purpose.

You were just wrapping up your final shift at a shitty diner, ready to head out of town, when your phone rang again. Unknown number.

This was the third time today, and you were getting sick of it. The first call, you’d been asleep and missed it. The second time, you couldn’t pick up because you had a customer at the counter. But this time, you were free to finally figure out who was bugging you. You weren’t used to calls like this—you could count on one hand the amount of people that had your number, so to call this weird was a bit of an understatement.

But before you could even answer, the call cut off after just a few seconds. Weird. You almost didn’t bother calling back, but as you started to switch your phone off, it buzzed again.

You didn’t hesitate this time—just hit ‘answer’ and pressed it to your ear.

“Who is this?”

All you heard was some muffled noise on the other end before the call dropped.

It wasn’t exactly paranoia that made you hesitate to call back. More like years of experience dealing with sketchy things that were best left alone. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right, so you stuffed the phone in your pocket and started walking back to your motel. The day had already been stressful enough, but as you made your way down the empty street, a prickling sensation crawled up your spine. You were being followed.

····································

“Where’d she go?” Dean frowned, looking around. She had been just a few feet ahead of them, and now she was gone.

Sam didn’t even get a chance to reply before Dean’s body slammed into his, knocking him to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.

“Who are you, and why are you following me?”

The voice above them was calm but carried a dangerous edge. Looking up, the brothers found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun.

“You’ve got about ten seconds to answer,” you warned, your grip steady as you studied the two strangers.

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender, trying to defuse the situation. “Hey, hey, how about we put the gun down and have a nice, calm conversation?”

“You didn’t answer my questions,” you countered, cocking the gun for emphasis. “Who are you, and why are you following me?”

“Okay, okay,” Sam said quickly, his voice trying to calm the situation after his brothers failed attempt. “My name’s Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We’re the ones who called you.”

You narrowed your eyes. That answered part of your question, but it only left you more confused.

“What?” you asked, confused, but not about to lower the gun just yet.

Dean blurted out, “Look, we’re looking for our dad. He told us to call you if we couldn’t reach him. We saw you pick up at the diner, and we got curious.”

“So you followed me like a couple of creeps instead of just talking to me?” you shot back, irritation creeping into your voice.

The brothers exchanged an awkward glance, clearly realizing how bad it sounded, trying to come up with a defense that made them sound less like creepy stalkers.

“Wait, who’s your dad?” you asked, cutting off whatever pathetic excuses that were about to escape their mouths.

“John Winchester,” Dean offered plainly. Glad of the change in question.

The name hit you like a truck. You’d crossed paths with John only a few days ago, working separate cases in the same area. You hadn’t thought much of it when he disappeared; you’d assumed he’d wrapped up his hunt and moved on. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“You’re John’s sons?” you asked, though it was more of a rhetorical question. “Well, that makes sense.” You sighed to yourself, eyeing the two.

You lowered your gun and holstered it, extending a hand to each of the boys, helping them to their feet while silently offering an unspoken truce.

Dean accepted your hand, brushing himself off. “You know him?”

“Yeah, I know him,” you replied, the faintest hint of distaste creeping into your tone. Sam caught it, his lips twitching in amusement, though Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s missing,” Dean said, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

John Winchester missing? That didn’t sit right with you. Although a right ass, the guy was tough as nails, one of the best hunters you’d ever met.

“He was hunting something out here and just vanished. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

You thought for a moment before answering. “I saw him a couple of days ago. Last thing he said was that he was heading to Sylvania Bridge to check something out.”

Sam stepped in, his voice hopeful. “Would you help us find him? If he told us to call you, he must’ve thought you could help.”

You hesitated. You weren’t the type to work with others, especially hunters. They were usually more trouble than they were worth. But there was something about these two that made you pause, something that felt like you were meant to help them. Not that you believed in fate or anything…

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “I’ll help. But don’t make me regret this.”

[fadelstylist]

@musiclyf

This is another thing I don't get. Why would you get this idea out of what Style did? It's completely wrong. Never, in any way, Style "betrayed" Fadel for a car.

Kant met Bison before Christ asked for his help. Kant went to Style's garage and said he "fell in love" with the man he fucked last night. And after that, he gets a call and meets Christ and then it's when it all started. To get to Bison, he needs to distract Fadel. Then it's when Style gets involved in this "plan".

Kant lies to Style saying that he wants to date the guy he "fell in love" with that night but he needs help to distract the older brother. Style would've helped him without any second thought because he is a helpless romantic but he realizes that the older brother is the one involved in his little car accident. He doesn't want to bother him anymore because he is a pacifist and Fadel seems scary. These two characteristics are canon: Style is a pacifist and a helpless romantic. He really believes Kant found love finally, after fucking around for a long time.

Kant insists and tells him he can give him something in exchange for doing this. And Style asks for something he thought Kant would never accept: his dad's car. But Kant surprisedly accepts. That must be serious, so Style is willing to do it.

Saying that Style betrayed Fadel for a car would imply Style knowing about the plan, about the brother's profession and also having any feelings for Fadel before this whole plan started.

Style didn't know a single thing about anything, and wasn't planning on bothering Fadel anymore after fixing the car. This is actually the reason why Style and Fadel get to fall in love in the process because Style never felt the need to lie or mistrust after he started to feel something more for Fadel. Style was being himself all the time and wasn't afraid to get close. It only started to go specially wrong when he knew about the brother's profession and then it's when Style starts to lie consciously and to act weird. Also, it's too late because he likes and cares about Fadel so he feels the need to save Fadel from his fate.

If we want to really talk about betrayal, we can talk about how Kant wanted something with Bison before the plan and how he joined it knowing he liked Bison and that Bison liked him too. He felt guilty all this time because he actually felt affection for Bison before the plan. Kant is the only one who really be performed the betrayal: he knew the effects he had on Bison, and he also cared enough to know it would hurt Bison and he still did it. That is betrayal.

This whole narrative about Style and the car is so out of nowhere and kind of misleading. If you think about it, it doesn't make sense, but it's not like the show even cares about making sense, it's all about balancing the bad actions so they don't have to fix any problem because people will just side with the "least bad" or just say "they are all bad" and keep going. Some bad stuff are not comparable with others.

This take is to show you guys how some directors get away with the fact that they don't really put efforts in their shows, never care about building characters that make sense. They just let it all to the fandom which will defend anything their favs do. But let me tell you that your favs deserve better characters. It's funny how it's always about some characters played by some specific actors who get away with being the most nonsensical and toxic shit on Earth.

Please. Someone needs to do better.

[knaveumineko]

Umineko Episode 1 Blog: None Shall Be Left Alive

We're on the home stretch. It's time to present my final (for now) theory on what happened in Episode 1.

The last few murders are probably the simplest of the lot to pull off. The deaths of the last few servants are pretty simple if you're assuming that the servants were in on the conspiracy the whole time. Maria claiming to have seen the witch again doesn't matter if you assume that the witch is "possessing" people and that the servants simply mislead her. Natsuhi's death was either a suicide after reading the contents of the final letter, or a more straightforward murder by the culprit, who was lying in wait for her. The latter seems a bit more likely, given the disappearance of the final letter.

I'm skimming over all of that because we need to talk about that final scene. I'm going to level with you: I completely misread this scene the first time. It's a good thing I'm writing this blog or else I would have been moving forward with a pretty huge misunderstanding.

On the first read, I somehow thought that this just meant Maria was running up to the portrait for some reason, and there was some colourful narration being used to cover up what was going on in the cousins' final moments. In my defense, it was very late at night and a lot of crazy stuff happened at once.

OK, so with our dual assumptions that magic isn't real and there's no 19th person, this scene explicitly confirms that at least one of the people we saw dead somehow survived, and that this dead person is the culprit after all. Rereading Maria's narration also reminded me that Maria recognises the culprit as the Beatrice.

This leads me to an angle I haven't tried yet. I think I've been a little too married to one specific theory and not considering other possibilities, and now's the time to correct that.

What happens if we assume every single person who Maria recognises as the witch is the same person? That is:

The person who gave Maria an umbrella and letter

The person who Shannon met in the halls the night before her death

The person Maria is referring to in the scene with Battler and the servants in the kitchen, when she says that the witch is in the room with them at that moment

The person who Kanon met before he died

The person the cousins see at the very end of the story

I argued way back when that Kanon gave Maria the umbrella, but Shannon and Kumasawa's alibis are also extremely weak. Maria's claim that the witch was in the room with her during the scene in the kitchen implies that the witch is Genji, Kumasawa or Kanon. The one the cousins met at the end of the story has to be someone we thought was dead, but not Genji, Nanjo, Kumasawa or Natsuhi.

The only person who plausibly meets all of these criteria is Kanon. I mentioned earlier that I think him meeting the witch in the boiler room could be metaphorical, so I don't see that as a huge roadblock.

This reading would imply that Kanon faked his death somehow. I guess we'd need Shannon's death to be fake, too, since Kanon definitely wouldn't kill her? Also, there's this:

I previously had no idea what to make of this end text, but under this new interpretation the game is basically telling us that Shannon and Kanon are alive at the end of the story. Notably, Maria's line does not say that Rosa is alive. It only says that Maria somehow received the her lost parental love. In some way, the wound within her was healed.

It's troubling to me that this theory requires us to assume that even the most convincing of corpses can be faked, but in all fairness this was never a mystery that relied heavily on material evidence. It's all about using storytelling to figure out what's going on, and this seems like a pretty good story. I suppose if we "spin the chessboard around" then the reason the faces were mutilated was to help sell the idea that Shannon was truly dead, and then the other bodies had the same done to them because it would look weird if only one of the bodies was marked this way. In any case, with this final scene we absolutely need to assume that at least some corpses are fake. There's unfortunately no getting around that.

We should also discuss the epitaph. When I first read it, it occured to me that the directions match the island pretty well. Battler makes a point of describing the initial path as pointlessly long and circuitous, like a river. There are a handful of buildings dotted about the island, with a small population living there, like a village. The story goes out of its way to have the grandchildren and Shannon visit a beach, which matches the shore that the "key" is supposed to be located at. Narratively speaking, it would make sense for the epitaph's directions to refer to places on the island, since these are the only places that the characters can access. We could also speculate that, much like the story itself, the epitaph is being tricky and switching perspectives, so that "my beloved hometown" actually refers to Beatrice's hometown. Beatrice is said to live in the woods of Rokkenjima and be the head of house by night.

With these revelations, my guess for how it all went down is something like this:

Kinzo died ages ago, but Natsuhi kept up the illusion that he was alive to help her husband stall for time, and to finally claim some real power for herself. Kinzo's inner circle help to maintain this lie.

Shannon goes to the beach with the grandchildren and finds the "key," whatever that means.

Kanon visits Maria in the gardens, claims to be the witch Beatrice, and gives her the letter and umbrella. It was hoped that this letter would provoke the killing to begin. The seal was done using Kinzo's ring, which was stolen from wherever it was being kept after he died however long ago.

The siblings turn on eachother during their argument over the inheritance and begin murdering eachother. The servants agree that this is the Demons' Roulette choosing appropriate sacrifices, and so they start carrying out the ritual described in the epitaph, in accordance with Kinzo's will.

In order to ensure there are enough sacrifices, Gohda is killed and Shannon's death is faked. The servants also clean up whichever of the siblings survived the initial altercation. I'm thinking the servants would probably only have to kill maybe 2 or 3 people tops at a time, which seems more reasonable than someone Rambo-ing 6 people solo.

That morning, Natsuhi enters the study after being bullied into it by Eva, and lies about Kinzo being up there, maintaining her deception.

After the bodies are discovered, Natsuhi decides that her facade can't survive a police investigation and takes the convenient out of claiming that Kinzo has mysteriously disappeared.

The servants enter Eva and Hideyoshi's room with the excuse of serving dinner, and instead murder both of them. They then create a fake locked room mystery by cutting the chain to the door and telling everyone else that the door was locked when they discovered the scene. The letter was simply written by one of the servants the same way the last one was.

Kanon may have also gone back to the storehouse and let Shannon out around this time, since the story mentions him going there anyway.

Kanon's death in the boiler room was faked somehow. Maybe he had Shannon's help, and the one fleeing from the boiler room is her. Shannon may also have been the one who deposited Kinzo's body in the incinerator at this point, since she was free to act while everyone thought she was dead.

The servants have another letter, which was intended to help fulfil the "praise my noble name" part of the epitaph. They place this letter on the table whilst Natsuhi and the grandchildren aren't looking. It is notable that Maria does not claim that Beatrice was the one who put the letter on the table.

When the servants and Maria are forced to leave by Natsuhi, they meet Kanon, who was already hiding in the parlour. Genji locks the door, and then Kanon comes out of hiding while Maria isn't looking. He tells her that he entered by turning into butterflies, and then instructs her to look the other way and start singing.

The servants allow Kanon to set up their bodies in accordance with the epitaph, and then Kanon unlocks the door, leaves the letter, makes a phone call to the study, and flees the scene.

After discovering the bodies, Natsuhi reads whatever is written in the letter (a confession, perhaps?) and leaves to challenge the culprit, making sure to seal the door to the parlour so the kids can't follow.

Despite her efforts, Natsuhi is defeated due to being outnumbered and the culprits lying in wait for her. The culprits take the letter Natsuhi was holding with them.

Kanon and Shannon reveal themselves to the surviving grandchildren, thus fulfilling Jessica and George's wishes for them to return to life. They then all travel to the Golden Land, whatever that means. Perhaps understanding this Golden Land would be the key to understanding the grandchildrens' disappearance? Unfortunately, I don't see a way to progress much further on the epitaph, so I can't speculate much on this.

This will be my working theory going forward. With this, I will finally move on to the rest of the story and find out exactly how and why I'm completely wrong about everything.

[divine-misfortune]

Alright Miasma encouraged me to post the message from dms soooo...Wall of text below the cut, nothing outright nsfw just being weird : )

I am such a fucking freak for making Phantom naive and having someone take advantage of it i cannot help it

Bonus points if they're out at a bar, cause he just sees drunk people around them and that's what alcohol does to you, right? So he starts acting like the people around him. There's a woman at the far end of the room getting ditzy and handsy. Cuddly and giggly, leaning on swiss' shoulder, playing with his hand in his lap, practically purring through his glamor which swiss really should scold him for but it's so damn cute.

The second bottle is gone and Swiss hums that maybe he should swap over to soda for the rest of the night. Little thing like him surely can't hold his "alcohol" - and Phantom whines because "Well dew can drink as much as he likes!! He's lil!!" And yeah, he is, but Dew's got a tolerance for these things (smthn smthn fire ghouls burn alcohol faster like when you cook food w wine in it idk it doesn't matter much).

Huffs and puffs cause he's not a light weight and he's fine, barely feels anything, he likes it, cmon just one more? Swiss chuckles and shakes his head, gives him a little kiss on the temple and mumbles that "I'll learn to say no to you one of these days yknow." Gets a little happy chirp and a smug little "mhm 'course."

Cirrus gives him a look when he saddles up to the bar between her and Cumulus, asks if hes taking care of the little bug. It's his first time out after all. Swiss smiles innocently because of course he is, he'll always take good care of him, never let aaaanything happen to him. Just helping him have fun, feel good. Both ghoulettes know that tone in his voice but he's walking off with bottles in hands before either can call him on it - and besides, their tables aaaall the way over there, and Cirrus gets distracted by Cumulus eating the cherry out of her drink (and then tying the stem in a knot with her tongue).

Swiss tells him to pace himself and Phantom huffs he knows how to drink and yeah. Sure you do.

The level of the bottle goes down and Swiss' hand just keeps moving. From fingers being laced with his to squeezing his knee, drifting, petting his thigh slowly. Not super high up but enough he knows Phantom is watching and holding his breath for it.

Phantom mumbles something about feeling funny while staring at his hand, holding the bottle tight in both of his own, mouth of the bottle resting against his lower lip. He looks fixated. A little entranced by the motion. Swiss feels the ache of desire in his teeth, the same desire the wolf is driven by to chase the little stumbling baby deer.

"Think I wanna go back."

"Aw, already? We haven't been here that long baby."

"'M tired…"

"Poor baby, couldn't handle your drinks. Told you so."

"Noooo! Just tired, barely feel anything." Cute when he argues.

"Well its dangerous to go walking off on your own if youre drunk, but…If you're just tired, then you don't need me to walk you back then, do ya bug?"

He almost looks a little disappointed but tells him that no, he can make it home just fine."im not helpless or anything."

"Of course you're not."

And yeah it's only a few blocks!! It's not a long walk at all, but Swiss and that silver tongue have convinced him hes tipsy. And yeah, his body /is/ tired after all the travel.

But its a city he doesn't know. It's late and dark and the streets are so empty. Swiss doesn't know how he doesn't see the shadows and how they start to lurk, or note that the streetlights flicker as he passes. He forgot how much he loved to stalk. Especially when it's someone who doesn't know his dirty tricks.

Swiss giving Aeon a nonalcoholic beer one night without telling him, and being absolutely delighted when the little lightweight starts acting silly after half a bottle. Encouraging him to finish the bottle and cracking the lid on another as Aeon gets more and more "drunk", absolutely delighted at how easily influenced the new kid is.

Hope he doesn't take advantage when Aeon starts getting clingy and rubbing up against him.

That would be just terrible...

[itstobias149]

Little Macs Sibling Lore dump

Hey guys! Today I bring you a post made up of a collectionon of random lore drops about Marie through the eyes of Little Mac! I had a lot of fun, I'm sorry its such a long post. I hope you all enjoy it though.

This post contains stuff about my oc, if you don't like oc stuff this post may not be for you and that's okay! This is also based on my own Headcanons and ideas! Everyone has their own interpretation of the boxers and their stories and personlives and that's okay!

“Alright, so Marie’s like, my older sister or whatever, but I swear, she’s basically an old lady trapped in a chubby cutman’s body. She’s out here knitting scarves for nobody, like just endless scarves that pile up in her closet. She’s got this thing for baking cookies at 6 AM—6 AM!—like who wakes up thinking, ‘You know what the world needs right now? Snickerdoodles.’

Oh, and don’t get me started on her tea collection. It’s massive. She’s got every flavor you can think of, like she’s preparing for a tea apocalypse or something. You open her cupboard and BAM! It’s like a botanical garden exploded in there. She’s always watching those weird crime shows too—like, if you ask her about “Murder She Wrote,” she could probably write a dissertation on it.

And you know what really gets me? The puzzles. Marie will sit there at the kitchen table doing jigsaw puzzles for HOURS. Like, she’s got all these guys fawning over her, and she’s over here acting like a grandma just waiting for bingo night. It’s weird, but it’s Marie, y’know? Her card game obsession is just the cherry on top. She’s always trying to rope people into playing Gin Rummy or Canasta. If she doesn’t have anyone to play with, she’ll sit there doing solitaire, shuffling the cards like she’s in a Vegas casino. And don’t even think about beating her—she’s ruthless, calling out rules you’ve never heard of, like, ‘Actually, you can’t play that card because it’s Thursday.’

Marie also has these old-school habits that just make her seem even more like an old grandma, and I mean that in the funniest way possible. First off, she’s always trying to feed everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re hungry or not—she’s like, ‘You’re too skinny, you need to eat.’ She’ll whip out a full meal in five minutes like it’s a magic trick. Fighter? Coach? Cameraman? You mention you are hungry and she just appears with food, where does it come from? Her big beehive?

And the food—oh, the food. Marie’s kitchen always smells like she’s been cooking for a village. She’s making kugel, latkes, stuffed cabbage—you name it. She even learned how to make her own challah, which she insists on braiding perfectly, and don’t even get me started on her chicken soup. It’s practically a cure-all. Got a cold? Soup. Bad day? Soup. Sprained your ankle? Guess what? Soup.

And the guilt trips? Oh, man. Classic Marie. Like if I don’t call her when I’m out late, she hits me with, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll just sit here and wonder if my little brother is alive or in a ditch somewhere.’ I’m like, ‘Marie, I went to the store for five minutes!’ I get it I'm short and I'm only 17, but I've beaten guys that are three times my age and height.

Then there’s her obsession with coupons and deals. She’s not even strapped for cash, but if she gets something full price, she acts like she’s personally betrayed her ancestors. She’s all about ‘Why pay $5 when you could pay $4.75?’

Oh, and holidays? Forget about it. She goes ALL OUT. Passover, Hanukkah, you name it—she’s dragging me to synagogue, making matzo ball soup, and lecturing me on traditions like I’m in Sunday school again. But honestly, it’s kinda nice. Makes things feel like home.

Marie’s just got this old Jewish lady energy, even though she’s… y’know, Marie. It’s like she’s channeling generations of bubbes, but in her own chaotic, lovable way.”

“Oh man, don’t even get me started on Marie’s house. It’s like stepping into a time capsule. She’s got these old decorations everywhere—like, actual antiques. She’s got menorahs that look like they came straight out of the shtetl, ceramic pomegranates, and a hamsa on every other wall. There’s even this weird old clock that doesn’t work, but she won’t get rid of it because ‘it has character.’

And then there’s the singing. If she’s cleaning, cooking, or just puttering around the house, you know she’s gonna be singing something in Yiddish. It’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it half the time. She’ll be scrubbing a pan and humming ‘Tumbalalaika’ or ‘Bei Mir Bistu Shein.’ Sometimes she gets into it and starts belting out like she’s on stage, and I’m just sitting there like, ‘You good, Marie?’

It’s honestly kinda comforting, though. Like, it’s chaotic, but it’s her. I mean, yeah, she’s got this whole grandma vibe, but it just makes the place feel warm and alive. Even if she’s singing so loud the neighbors can hear.”

“Okay, so Marie’s list of grandma activities is endless. Like, she collects random jars and containers. Doesn’t matter if it’s an old pickle jar or a tin from cookies—she’ll clean it out and say something like, ‘You never know when you’ll need a good jar.’ Now her cabinets are full of ‘em, and I swear, half of them are empty.

She’s obsessed with gardening, but not, like, normal plants—she’s growing herbs and weird flowers that I’m convinced nobody’s even heard of. She’ll come in with dirt on her face like, ‘Look, Little Mac, my rosemary’s thriving!’ Meanwhile, I can barely keep a cactus alive.

Oh, and she’s got this thing with handwritten notes. Like, she refuses to use her phone for reminders. Instead, she’ll write down recipes, to-do lists, or random thoughts on little scraps of paper—and they’re everywhere. You’ll find ‘em in her coat pockets, on the fridge, even in the bathroom.

Then there’s her perfume collection, which is wild. She’s got these vintage bottles that look like they came out of a 1920s department store. And the scents? They’re super flowery or musky, like classic grandma fragrances. She’s always dabbing it on her wrists like it’s a ritual, and if you say it’s strong, she’ll just shrug and say, ‘That’s how you know it’s good.’

And her dishes—oh boy. Marie’s got the fanciest plates and bowls, but they’re so old-school they’ve probably been passed down for generations. She’s got these blue and white porcelain plates she only uses for special occasions and some glassware that’s so delicate she practically makes you sign a waiver before touching it. Meanwhile, she’ll serve you cookies on a little tray that looks like it belongs in a museum.

Marie’s collections are a big part of who she is—they tell stories of her past, her culture, and her unique personality. Walking into her apartment is like stepping into a cozy, lived-in museum of sorts. It’s a collection of memories, keepsakes, and things that hold sentimental value. But at the same time, it feels like home, a space that’s warm and inviting despite all the stuff packed into every nook and cranny.

First, there’s her collection of old religious items. You can’t miss them. She’s got candles, menorahs, and even an antique silver kiddush cup that’s been passed down through generations. When she talks about these objects, you can see the reverence in her eyes—they’re not just decorations; they’re links to her family’s past, to the traditions her grandparents carried with them from Europe. She’s got prayer books in Yiddish and Hebrew, their pages yellowed with age, some of them with notes written in the margins. It’s clear that every item in her collection has a story, a memory attached to it.

Then there are her trinkets—lots of small figurines and dolls from different cultures. Some are from her travels, like the little wooden figurines from Slovakia or the hand-painted pottery she bought when she visited Romania. They’re scattered around her living room, on shelves or in glass cabinets, like little time capsules. Each one seems to have a story of where she’s been, who she was with, or something important that happened in her life. Some of the pieces are quirky—like the hand-carved wooden clown from a street market in Prague—but others are so intricate and beautiful, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Marie also collects vintage cookbooks. Old ones, some of them falling apart from how much she’s used them. She’s got this one cookbook that’s a hundred years old, and she’s used it so much that the pages are stained with grease and food marks. She said it belonged to her grandmother, who taught her how to cook all those old-world recipes. Every time I look at it, I can’t help but think about how much history is packed into those pages. You can tell these aren’t just recipes; they’re part of her family’s identity. Whenever she cooks, she’s connecting with her roots, with the women who came before her. It’s like she’s passing the knowledge down, one meal at a time.

There’s also a whole section of her home that’s dedicated to vintage postcards. She’s been collecting them for years—mostly ones from different places she’s been, but also some old ones she’s found at thrift stores or flea markets. They’re mostly from the early 1900s, showing cities, landmarks, and scenes from long ago. I remember her showing me one of New York from the 1920s, and she told me that her great-grandparents used to live in that exact neighborhood. It’s amazing how these little postcards capture a moment in time—like frozen memories of lives that were lived long before we came along.

And then, of course, there’s the collection of old dishes and teacups. She’s got this collection of mismatched, delicate porcelain teacups—most of them from different countries. There’s one that she’s really fond of, a cup with little roses painted on it that she got from a shop in Vienna. She says it reminds her of when she visited the city with her mother, back when things were simpler. Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, she’ll pull out one of her favorite cups, brew a pot of tea, and we’ll sit and chat, letting the time slip by. It’s like she’s recreating those small, intimate moments of her past, making new memories with each cup.

I’ve noticed how Marie’s collections aren’t just about having stuff; they’re a reflection of her life, her history, and her connection to both her Jewish roots and the cultures she’s grown up around. Sometimes, when she’s showing me her collections, it’s like she’s telling me pieces of her story without saying much at all. It’s in the way she talks about the items, the pride in her voice when she tells me the history behind them. It’s almost like these collections are her way of holding onto the past while moving forward—an acknowledgment of where she’s come from, and a way of keeping it all alive.

The coolest part, though, is how she’s started teaching me about her collections, how she’s opened up about the stories behind each item. I’ve learned so much from her—about her family, her heritage, and her way of seeing the world. She’s passed along some of the old cooking techniques from her family’s recipes, the way they used to stretch a meal and make everything from scratch. And every time we cook together, it feels like I’m adding my own little piece to her collection—like I’m a part of her story now, too.

Marie’s collections have this way of connecting the past and present, of honoring where she’s come from while she builds her life here and now. And even though I’m not really a collector, it’s hard not to get caught up in the magic of it all—the way she looks at each item, the pride she takes in preserving these pieces of her life. It’s not just about the things she owns; it’s about the memories they hold, the people they’ve connected her to, and the legacy she’s continuing. It’s a big part of why being with her feels like being part of something so much bigger than just the two of us.

Marie’s collection of old quilts and handmade clothes is probably one of the most personal and heartfelt parts of her home. Each piece is like a patchwork of memories, not just fabric, but moments in time, stories of hands that sewed them, and the love that went into making them. I’ve always been amazed by the way she talks about her quilts—how each stitch feels like it holds a piece of her family’s history.

The quilts are incredible. Some of them are centuries old, handed down from her great-grandmother and others from her mother. They’re faded now, the colors soft and worn, but they’ve got this warmth to them—almost like they still carry the imprint of the hands that created them. I remember the first time I saw them, spread out across her bed like a tapestry of the past. The designs are intricate, sometimes even abstract, and Marie can tell you exactly where each one came from. Some are made from fabric scraps, leftovers from clothes that her family wore, while others are more meticulously designed patterns that took hours to stitch together.

I think what really strikes me about the quilts is the level of care in each one. Marie says her grandmother made them during the tough years when they didn’t have much. They used whatever fabric they could get their hands on—old dresses, scraps from coats, bits of whatever they could salvage—and then she’d sew them all together into something beautiful and functional. It’s not just about making something to keep warm; it’s about creating something from nothing, something that could be passed down, that would be there to tell the family’s story.

Marie’s not only a collector of these quilts—she’s a maker, too. She’s shown me how she still hand-stitches some of the smaller repairs or adds new designs to the older quilts, kind of like preserving them, but also giving them a little life of their own. She told me that it’s part of how she connects with her family, with the women who came before her. Each stitch she adds feels like she’s participating in the same tradition, carrying it on in her own way. I never really understood how something like that could feel so personal, but when you see the care and attention she gives to each piece, it’s hard not to feel the love in it.

And then there are the handmade clothes. Marie’s always been into crafting—knitting, sewing, crocheting. She has this incredible collection of vintage sewing patterns that she’s gotten from all over the world, some dating back to the 1930s. I’ve seen her pull out these old patterns with these beautiful, detailed drawings of women’s dresses, coats, and even accessories, and she’ll talk about how she wants to try them out one day. She’s made everything from wool cardigans to hand-sewn dresses, each one unique, each one a work of art. The fabrics she uses are often vintage, too—like old silk from her travels or linen she picked up at a market in Spain—and she’s so particular about every little detail. I’ve watched her sew late into the night, her hands moving over the fabric with this incredible focus, like she’s channeling the spirit of all the seamstresses in her family.

One of the most special things she’s made, though, is a sweater she knitted for me. She gave it to me last winter, and when I first saw it, I couldn’t believe how much care she’d put into every stitch. The yarn was this deep blue, soft and thick, perfect for the cold weather. I don’t know if she meant for it to be anything more than a simple sweater, but when I put it on, I felt like I was wearing a piece of her heart. I wear it all the time now, especially when it gets cold, and it always makes me feel close to her, like I’m wrapped in her warmth.

What I love most about Marie’s quilts and handmade clothes, though, is how they represent her dedication to the people she loves. It’s not just about creating something beautiful—it’s about making something that lasts, that can be passed down through the generations, just like the quilts and clothes from her ancestors. It’s like she’s making her own legacy, stitch by stitch, and with each quilt she adds to her collection, each sweater she knits, she’s making a piece of history for the future. Even though she’s modern, her love for these handmade creations feels timeless, as though she’s carrying a tradition forward that might otherwise be lost. And every time I see her working on one of her projects, I’m reminded of how much of her heart goes into everything she does.

Then there’s her knitting addiction. She’s making blankets, socks, and hats for everyone. And she doesn’t just stop at knitting—she crochets too. Sometimes she’ll call me over and be like, ‘Try this on,’ and it’s some oversized sweater that I’m not even sure fits me.

Oh, and Marie LOVES writing letters. Like, actual letters with envelopes and stamps. She’ll sit at the table for hours with her fancy pens, writing to people who probably won’t even write back. She says it’s ‘more personal.’

I’m telling you, she’s basically 80 years old in a younger body. It’s kinda hilarious, but also weirdly comforting.”

“Okay, so I get it—Marie’s an immigrant from Germany, and her late family was super traditional. She’s told me the stories a million times: how they kept kosher, how her mom would light candles every Friday night, and how her dad used to lecture her about the importance of keeping traditions alive. Like, I know where all her quirks come from.

But sometimes I look at her and think, ‘Marie, we’re not in the old country anymore.’ Like, I’m pretty sure nobody else in the WVBA is sitting down to hand-roll kreplach or yelling at the TV in Yiddish when the news is on. And yet, there she is, making gefilte fish from scratch and humming old folk songs while she does it.

I get that her upbringing made her who she is, and I respect it—I really do. But Marie takes it to a whole new level. She’s out here sewing patches onto my clothes, like it’s 1935 and I can’t just buy a new jacket. Or she’ll tell me things like, ‘In my family, we always did this,’ while setting the table with enough food to feed the entire league.

Okay, so yeah, Marie’s got all these old-school habits, but honestly? She’s been teaching me a ton of stuff that’s actually useful. Like, she’s a master at stretching a dollar. I used to think meal prepping was just for fitness buffs, but nope—Marie’s out here making meals that last a week, and they taste better every day. I’ve learned how to make a mean pot of chicken soup, and now I’m the guy everyone calls when they’re sick.

She’s also big on fixing things instead of throwing them out. My gloves were falling apart, and I was ready to toss them, but she showed me how to sew them up. I know, sewing doesn’t sound tough, but you’d be surprised how handy it is when you’re training and gear gets worn out.

And her cooking? It’s like a crash course in survival. She’s teaching me all these recipes that are cheap, filling, and taste amazing—latkes, kugel, even braided challah. She says it’s about ‘taking care of your people,’ and now I feel like I could feed an army if I had to.

She’s even teaching me some Yiddish phrases, which is great for trash-talking in the ring without anyone knowing. Marie says, ‘If you’re gonna call someone a nudnik, at least do it with flair.’

So yeah, she’s old-fashioned, but it’s like having my own personal life coach. I don’t just get a sister—I get a survival guide, a tailor, and a chef all rolled into one.

It’s like she’s stuck between being this old-world Jewish bubbe and a modern-day cutman, and somehow, it works for her. It’s just… sometimes I have to remind her that we’re in New York, not a little shtetl in Germany. It’s funny how people can look at Marie and think she’s just this old, traditional lady, but they don’t always know the full story. I’ve heard her talk about her parents, and honestly, it’s a bit heartbreaking. Her mom and dad, they were born and raised in Germany, and they had that old-school, strict mindset that a lot of people from their generation carried with them. You know, they had lived through a lot—survived the war, rebuilt their lives—and they were determined to keep their family traditions alive, even if that meant keeping a tight grip on Marie. They weren’t bad people, but they were overbearing in a way that you’d only understand if you were raised in a time and place like that.

She was expected to follow the rules, do things the “right” way, and stick to their ideals. It was all about preserving the family name, the old customs, the way things had been passed down from generation to generation. And I get it—her parents went through things most people can’t even imagine. They lived through the worst of history, and their experiences shaped how they viewed the world. They probably just wanted to protect Marie from the chaos that had torn apart their lives and their home. But that didn’t mean she had to stay trapped in that mindset forever.

Marie’s always been this independent spirit, though. She’s got her own opinions, her own ideas about how things should be, and as much as she respected her parents, she didn’t agree with a lot of the things they pushed on her. She loved them, no doubt, but she needed more than just their way of living. It wasn’t until after they passed that Marie felt like she could truly breathe, like she was finally free to make her own choices and live her life on her terms. I think that’s when she really came into her own. That’s when she left Germany and came here, looking for something different, something that would allow her to be herself.

It wasn’t easy, though. Coming to a new country, starting fresh, and breaking away from the expectations her parents had set for her—it was all a huge challenge. But that’s Marie. She’s never been one to back down, and even though she didn’t agree with the way her parents had raised her, she understood where they were coming from. They’d lived through the worst times in history, and for them, that kind of control was just a way of coping with everything they’d lost. But for Marie, it was suffocating. She wasn’t going to live a life defined by fear or by the shadows of the past. She came to us, to America, for freedom—freedom to be who she truly was, to make her own path, and to define her own future.

It wasn’t like she rejected everything they taught her—she still holds onto parts of her heritage, her culture, and the values that shaped her. But she learned that she didn’t have to live under the weight of their rules, and that’s something she’s always fought for. She believes in embracing the past, but she also believes in moving forward, in creating a life that’s her own. That’s why she’s so willing to learn from others, to hear different perspectives, and to understand people from all walks of life. It’s her way of reclaiming her own identity, and I think that’s what makes her so special.

She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that leaving Germany wasn’t just about escaping her parents—it was about finding herself, finding a place where she didn’t have to live in anyone’s shadow. And when she came here, she didn’t just step into the world that awaited her; she built her own life, on her own terms. It’s something I admire a lot about her—she took the lessons from her past, the struggles she went through, and used them to shape the woman she is today. She’s proud of her roots, but she knows she can’t be confined by them. That’s Marie—always pushing forward, always staying true to herself, no matter where she came from or who tried to hold her back.

But outside of her old ways her opinions are pretty modern. She is for the people, for the minorities. You know, sometimes Marie comes off as old-fashioned, especially with the way she carries herself. She’s got her routines—like making sure everyone’s got enough to eat, or making time for her old-school traditions, like keeping the house cozy with homemade quilts or sitting down with a good book. People might look at her and think she’s just this sweet, old lady who’s stuck in the past, but they couldn’t be more wrong. She’s actually one of the most forward-thinking people I know, especially when it comes to social justice.

It might not always look that way, but Marie’s got this fire inside her. She doesn’t just sit back and accept things because “that’s how it’s always been.” If she sees something she thinks is wrong, you can bet she’s going to stand up for it—no matter the situation. She might be the one sitting in a quiet corner at a dinner party, but when it comes to speaking out, she doesn’t hesitate for a second.

I’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with people who try to put others down, especially when it comes to injustice. Whether it’s racism, discrimination, or people being treated unfairly, she’s never afraid to call it out. It’s not always dramatic—she doesn’t make a big scene—but you can feel the power of her words when she does speak up. I remember this one time when a few of the boxers were making some off-hand remarks about someone’s culture, and Marie didn’t let it slide. She didn’t lecture them, but she calmly told them how those kinds of comments were hurtful, how important it was to respect every person’s background, no matter where they come from. The room got quiet, and for a moment, I think everyone realized how much they’d been missing—how easy it was to fall into ignorance if you didn’t stop and think.

Marie’s not the kind of person who makes a big deal about it, but when she stands up for what’s right, people listen. She’s never one to shy away from a conversation, especially if it means standing up for the underdog. I’ve seen her defend workers in the stores she shops at, the people who’ve been overlooked by others. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone cleaning the floors or serving food—Marie sees people as people, and if she feels like they’re not being treated right, she’ll speak up. She’s taught me that being kind and respectful isn’t just about showing love to people who are easy to love—it’s about standing up for the ones who might be forgotten or mistreated, too.

I think part of it comes from the way she was raised—growing up in a tough time and learning that you’ve got to fight for what’s right. It’s a different world now, but Marie’s sense of justice hasn’t changed. She was taught that you stand up for the people who don’t have a voice, that you make sure everyone gets a fair chance. She doesn’t just fight for others when it’s convenient or when it’s easy. She does it because she believes it’s the right thing to do.

And even though she’s old-fashioned in some ways, it’s clear that she’s got a modern heart. She understands the struggles people are going through today, and she’s got a strong opinion about how things should change. Whether it’s talking to one of the boxers about their behavior or stepping up for a cause she believes in, Marie is never one to back down. She may be gentle, but she’s got a backbone made of steel.

It’s honestly kind of amazing to see someone so rooted in tradition still push for progress. She reminds me all the time that standing up for others doesn’t have to be loud or flashy—it’s about doing the right thing even when nobody’s looking. That’s the real power she has: making sure people are treated with dignity and respect, no matter who they are or where they come from. And to me, that makes her more modern than a lot of people I know, despite the fact that she’s into old quilts and listening to language tapes. She’s got a wisdom that comes from experience, and I can’t think of a better role model.

“I mean, I’ve always been Catholic, y’know? It’s kind of in my blood. I’m Hispanic, so that whole church thing was a big part of growing up. Sunday mornings meant heading to church with my mom, and then there’d be the whole family afterwards for a big meal, and of course, we’d say grace before we ate. It’s just… tradition. My mom would make me sit still through the whole mass, even when I wanted to run around as a kid, and she’d always say the rosary with me at night before bed, counting the beads like it was a ritual. I’d pray to the Virgin Mary and Jesus, asking for guidance. It was something I didn’t always get, but it was comforting, like it grounded me in a way. Even if I didn’t understand all the words or the history behind everything, there was this peace in it. Church was a space for me to reset, y’know?

Then, there’s Marie. She’s Jewish—born and raised, and her family’s super traditional. I know she grew up with a lot of the same values, just with a different foundation. Every time I stay with her, I learn a little more about her culture and her faith, and she’s always open to hearing about mine too. I don’t think I ever realized how much I didn’t know about her traditions until she started explaining it. For example, she told me about Shabbat, how every Friday night, she lights candles, says a prayer, and makes everything peaceful for the weekend. It’s such a simple but deep thing, right? She said it’s about setting the tone for the rest of the week—something like that. Honestly, I was kind of surprised by how similar it felt to what we do, except ours is on Sundays. She also explained how lighting the candles is a way to honor the Sabbath, and I thought that was powerful. She said the prayer in Hebrew, and I couldn’t really catch all of it, but the way she said it… there was this calmness to it. I wanted to understand it more.

One night, I asked her about some of the prayers she says before meals, and she told me about the bracha, the blessing over bread. That was something I had never heard of. She said, ‘Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,’ and she explained how it’s this deep connection to what the earth gives us. I liked that. It felt really… connected, you know? Like, appreciating where food comes from, where life comes from. I actually started saying a little prayer in my head after hearing hers, kind of like how we do grace before meals. It wasn’t exactly the same, but the feeling behind it—being thankful, taking a moment to appreciate what we have—it made sense to me. It’s not that different when you really think about it.

She’s even asked me to teach her some of the Catholic traditions, like the rosary. I showed her how we pray with the beads and how the Hail Mary and Our Father are part of our routine. At first, she didn’t really get it—like, ‘Why do you have to repeat so many prayers?’ But as I explained it to her, she seemed to find it interesting. She said something like, ‘It’s kind of like meditating, right? Repeating the words to focus your mind?’ And I guess, in a way, she’s right. It’s not just about the words, but about the mindset. About putting your trust in something bigger than yourself, taking a minute to just breathe and let go.

It’s funny because sometimes we’ll sit together, each of us in our own little world, practicing our faiths in the way we know how, but we never judge each other. Instead, it’s like we’re both learning from one another. I’ll catch her lighting candles, and sometimes, without even thinking, I’ll say a prayer to myself. Or we’ll sit down for a meal, and she’ll say her bracha while I quietly say grace. There’s no conflict, no “this is better than that.” It’s just… respect. We’re different, but there’s a shared understanding that both of our faiths are important parts of who we are.

I remember one day, I was feeling kind of off after training, and Marie noticed. She looked at me and said, ‘Maybe you should say a prayer for strength.’ She didn’t know what I usually do, but I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to explain. I just said, ‘Yeah, I think I will.’ And we both took a moment, in our own ways, to connect with something bigger than us. I said my rosary prayer, and she said one of her own, and it was like, for just a moment, we were both in the same place spiritually.

Honestly, the more we talk about it, the more I realize that faith isn’t just about the specifics of the tradition. It’s about believing in something, having that foundation to stand on when life gets tough. And Marie… she’s shown me that while our religions might look different on the surface, the core of it is the same: love, family, tradition, and a deep appreciation for the life we’ve been given. And, I guess, in that way, we teach each other, without even trying.”

“Man, when I think about how Marie and I have blended our cultures together, it feels like it’s more than just about food or traditions—it’s about a deeper connection. We’re from different worlds, right? Me, with my Hispanic background, raised in a Catholic household, and her, with her Jewish upbringing, coming from a family that holds onto traditions like they’re a lifeline. At first, I didn’t think we’d have that much in common when it came to holidays or meals or anything like that, but as we started sharing more of ourselves with each other, I realized it’s all about finding that space where both of our worlds can exist side by side.

I remember the first time I went with Marie to her family’s Shabbat dinner. It was so different from anything I’d ever experienced. The candles, the prayers, the way everyone gathered around the table to share the bread and wine—it felt intimate, spiritual. I had never been part of anything like that before. And I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand all the prayers or the Hebrew, but I could feel something deep, like this connection to the past, to her ancestors. It was like they were carrying on something that meant so much, something that had been passed down for generations. There was such a reverence in the room, a respect for tradition. I felt like an outsider at first, but Marie, she didn’t make me feel that way. She just told me to do what felt right, and that was enough.

And then, she started asking me about my own traditions. I remember the first time I talked about Día de los Muertos with her. She didn’t know much about it—how we honor our loved ones, set up altars with candles, marigolds, and pictures, and how the food, like pan de muerto, is a symbol of life and death coexisting. I could tell it really resonated with her. She asked a million questions, like she was trying to understand the whole concept—not just the rituals, but what it meant to me, how it shaped my perspective on life and death. And I think that’s when I realized: it wasn’t about just explaining a holiday; it was about explaining a part of myself. Sharing that with her felt like we were connecting on a deeper level than I ever imagined.

When we decided to merge our two cultures for Christmas last year, that’s when it really hit me how much we were growing together. I cooked up some tamales, and she made her famous latkes. I swear, she was more excited about my tamales than I was—she was curious about every little detail, asking how I wrapped the masa, what kind of fillings I liked. And when it came time for dinner, we sat down together, and it wasn’t just about eating—it was like a celebration of both our families, both our histories. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that meal was a symbol of us coming together in this space we created—our own little mix of everything.

But it’s not just the meals or the holidays. It’s how we’ve both started weaving bits of each other’s cultures into our everyday lives. Like when Marie would teach me the Yiddish words her grandmother taught her, and I’d throw in some Spanish phrases she didn’t know. Or when we started making room in our lives for both the rosary and the Shabbat candles—one for the end of the week, the other for the beginning. It’s small stuff, but it feels monumental, like we’re building this bridge between us, brick by brick, until the difference between us doesn’t feel so different at all.

And the best part is, we don’t feel like we have to choose one over the other. It’s not about me abandoning my roots or her abandoning hers. It’s about realizing that the beauty of our relationship isn’t in our sameness, but in how we’ve learned to respect and embrace each other’s differences. It’s like each holiday, each meal, each little ritual, is a way to say, ‘I see you. I understand where you come from. And I want to be a part of that.’

We’ve built our own traditions now—ones that mix the old and the new. Like, this past year, we decided to make a whole bunch of different dishes for Thanksgiving. We had the turkey and the stuffing, of course, but we also had marinated brisket, challah bread, and tamales. It was a weird combo at first, but when we sat down to eat, I realized that this—this was the new tradition. It wasn’t just one holiday, one culture, or one history; it was a reflection of both of us, coming together and carving out something that was uniquely ours.

And the deeper I get into all this, the more I realize it’s not about any one meal or prayer—it’s about what those things represent. It’s about learning the sacredness in each other’s customs and realizing that, even though we’re from different backgrounds, we’re both carrying pieces of something bigger. That’s what’s made this whole journey with Marie so special: it’s not just about learning from each other, it’s about creating something new together, something that honors both of our pasts while looking forward to the future we’re building.”

Marie’s always looking for ways to connect with people, even when it’s hard. She’ll invite the other boxers over for dinner or lunch, and it’s not just about feeding them—it’s about sharing something, learning from each other, and seeing if they can break through the barriers that sometimes exist between them. I’ve seen it firsthand. No matter how different the boxers are, or how much tension might be between them, she’ll set a table for everyone. Whether they’re from different parts of the world, speak different languages, or come from different cultures, she’s always trying to create this space where people can connect.

Marie doesn’t expect miracles. She knows she can’t always get along with everyone, and she knows that sometimes, people aren’t going to suddenly become best friends just because there’s food on the table. But she tries anyway. She makes an effort to make sure everyone feels heard, even if it’s not easy. I’ve seen her with Bald Bull and Soda Popinski—those two can barely stand each other, but somehow, at one of Marie’s dinners, the tension fades a little. It’s not like they forget their differences, but it’s like they understand each other a little better. They’ll start talking about their hometowns or their favorite foods, and even if it’s just for that moment, the rivalry takes a backseat.

She’s got this deep need to get to know people, not just as boxers but as individuals. She’s always looking for common ground, always trying to understand where someone’s coming from. It’s not always about speaking the same language; it’s about making the effort, showing respect, and being curious. That’s why you’ll find her listening to language tapes in the car on the way to the gym or before bed. I don’t think she ever stops trying to learn. She’s always listening to lessons in German, Yiddish, Ladino, or Spanish, working on something new to help her communicate better. It’s one of the things I admire most about her—she’s not content just knowing what she knows. She wants to understand more, and she’s willing to put in the work to bridge those gaps.

And even though not everyone gets along, she still believes in the value of that connection. She knows there are going to be days when the boxers clash or when there’s a rough atmosphere in the gym, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to build something different. If she can’t make them all get along, at least she can try to give them the tools to understand each other better. She’s not a miracle worker, but she’s definitely a bridge builder. It’s something small, but it has a big impact. Even if they don’t always see eye to eye, I think they leave her dinners with a little more respect for each other and the cultures they come from.

Sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that mean the most. She doesn’t ask for much in return—she doesn’t expect anyone to suddenly speak fluent Yiddish or learn all about her background in a day. But it’s the effort she puts in, the conversations she sparks, that slowly starts to change things. I think it’s part of who she is—this belief that no matter where someone’s from or how different they seem, there’s always something you can learn from each other. It’s not easy work, and sometimes it feels like it’s not making much of a difference, but she’s always at it, trying to make the world a little smaller, one dinner at a time.

Oh, man, Marie’s definitely had her moments with the language barrier. It’s actually kind of funny how hard she tries, and how sometimes, it just doesn’t go the way she plans.

I remember this one dinner with a few of the boxers—Bald Bull, Soda, and a couple of others. Marie was really excited because she’d been studying a bit of Turkish for a while, trying to connect with Bald Bull more. She had this whole plan to surprise him by speaking a little Turkish when he arrived, and she’d been listening to language tapes for days. So, she’s all pumped, right? The food’s ready, and she says to Bald Bull, “Hoş geldiniz!” (which means “Welcome”), and she’s smiling real big, waiting for his reaction.

Bald Bull just stands there, blinking for a second, and then he says, “What’d you say? Is that a new kind of soup?”

Marie’s face went from excited to totally confused, and we all just started laughing. It turns out she’d gotten one of the phrases wrong. She’d meant to say something welcoming, but it sounded like she was offering him a bowl of something. Bald Bull wasn’t upset, though. He actually laughed, too, and started teasing her about being “fluent in food, not language.”

It was funny, but it also showed just how hard she works to make that connection. She could’ve easily just stuck to speaking English, or German, or whatever she knew best, but no—she’s always pushing herself, trying to speak someone else’s language, even if it doesn’t come out perfectly. And honestly, even though it didn’t go as planned, it meant a lot that she tried. After that, Bald Bull was actually way more open to talking to her, even teaching her some Turkish words. He got a kick out of it, and by the end of the night, everyone was joking around in a mix of languages—English, Yiddish, Turkish, even a little Spanish from me.

Marie’s always learning and pushing herself, but she doesn’t take herself too seriously when things don’t go perfectly. The language barrier’s still there, but she doesn’t let it stop her. That’s just Marie. She’ll stumble, but she’ll keep going, even if it means saying something that makes everyone laugh.

Oh, Marie’s always so thoughtful about these things, so before she gives anyone a hug or that European cheek kiss, she always checks with the management first. She doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable—she’s just naturally affectionate, you know? She’ll ask them, “Is it okay if I greet him this way? I just want to make sure it’s not too much.” She’s got this polite, considerate side that’s honestly kind of funny considering how enthusiastically she greets people.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always go as smoothly as she thinks. I remember one time, Marie had just been told by management that it was fine to greet this new boxer from Eastern Europe with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They’d said it was cool, so Marie went for it—no hesitation. She walks up to the guy, big smile on her face, arms open wide, and as she goes in for the hug, you could see the panic in his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

He tries to awkwardly sidestep her, but Marie’s already there, giving him this big warm hug, and then she quickly plants a kiss on his cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But here’s the thing—this guy doesn’t even know how to react. He turns bright red, completely flustered, and backs up a little like he’s trying to get his bearings. At first, he’s just standing there, looking around like he’s trying to figure out if he’s supposed to do something in return. Is he supposed to kiss her cheek back? Hug her again? What was happening?!

Marie, not missing a beat, just smiles at him and says, “There, see? Wasn’t that easy?” as if it’s a casual, everyday greeting.

But this poor guy? His face goes even redder, and he starts mumbling in a mix of broken English and his native language. He’s flustered, trying to explain he’s not used to the whole European cheek-kiss thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her—it was just, well, a cultural shock. He looks over at the other boxers like he’s hoping for some guidance, but everyone else is trying to hold in their laughter, not wanting to make it worse.

Then, just to add to the comedy of the situation, one of the other guys (who’s seen Marie do this a hundred times) leans over and says, “It’s okay, buddy. Just wait until you get the full Marie treatment—you’ll get used to it!”

It wasn’t that the guy didn’t appreciate the greeting, but the suddenness of it caught him totally off guard. After that, he made a point of giving Marie a little wave every time they passed by, but still kept a bit of a distance—like he wasn’t quite ready for the full embrace yet.

Marie, though? She just laughed it off, completely unaware of how flustered he was, and continued to ask management about the next person she’d be meeting. She never wants to make anyone uncomfortable, but she’s definitely got that big, heart-on-her-sleeve attitude that sometimes takes people by surprise.

Man, when I think about Marie, there’s a lot I could say. She’s definitely not perfect—nobody is, right? She’s got her quirks, her old-school habits, and sometimes, she comes off a little… overbearing. But in a lot of ways, that’s what makes her who she is, and honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

She’s a hugger(sometimes), always going for those big, warm embraces, and the European kiss on the cheek greeting is so her. I’ve seen her catch people off guard with it—guys who aren’t used to that kind of thing. She’ll greet anyone like they’re family, whether it’s Bald Bull, Soda Popinski, or some new guy we’re training with. Sometimes, they’re flustered or confused at first, but they come to appreciate it. She doesn’t judge people, and she doesn’t care where they come from. She just wants to make sure they feel welcomed. And that includes asking management if it’s okay to greet someone that way, making sure no one’s uncomfortable.

Marie’s got a lot of old traditions—she loves her Yiddish, her German roots, and her ethnic foods. She cooks like you’re at your grandma’s house, and she’ll make sure you know every single ingredient in that dish, even if it’s hard to pronounce. And don’t even get me started on how she’s always trying to learn new languages—she’s listening to tapes in the car, studying words late at night, just so she can connect with the guys better. She knows it’s not always going to work, but she tries anyway. Even when there’s a language barrier, she’s trying to make that bridge. It’s like she believes that communication, no matter how imperfect, is key.

She’ll invite boxers over to dinner, even if they’re from different cultures, just to get to know them. Sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it’s a little weird, but she makes it work. I’ve seen her do it—making those cultural exchanges happen, finding something in common, and trying to break down those walls. Even when they don’t get along, she’s there, working her hardest to build some kind of understanding. She doesn’t let differences keep her from trying to make people feel at home, even if it’s a battle sometimes.

Now, I’ve seen the way she handles things with her family, too. Her parents were strict, real traditional—especially with her being Jewish and growing up in Germany. They had a way of thinking that didn’t always mesh with Marie’s need for freedom. She didn’t agree with everything they said or did. When they passed, she left for the U.S. She came here for a new life, for more opportunities, and for the chance to live on her own terms. She didn’t let anyone hold her back, and that took a lot of courage.

She’s got a big heart, but she’s also a fighter in her own right. She stands up for social justice, even when it’s not popular. You don’t always see it, but she’s got that fire. She might not be loud about it, but she’s quietly pushing for what’s right, helping people out in the ways she can.

But yeah, she’s not perfect. Sometimes she’s overbearing, sometimes she’s got her own ways that don’t always make sense to everyone, and sometimes she makes things awkward with her affection or language mishaps. But that’s what makes her Marie. She’s real. She’s stubborn, kind-hearted, and she doesn’t stop trying to make the world a little better—whether it’s through food, hugs, or just taking the time to learn about people. And to me? That’s enough. She’s family, and I’m proud to have her as my sister.

P.S. If you ever find yourself at one of her dinners and you see her pull out a dish that looks like it came straight out of a history book, just smile, nod, and eat it. You’ll be fine—unless it’s one of her experimental Yiddish-Slovak fusion dishes… then just pray you survive the taste test.

P.P.S. If you’re ever wondering why Marie insists on giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek every time you walk through the door, just remember: it’s not because she thinks you need it, it’s because she’s convinced that if she doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget that you’re loved and appreciated. She’s like a walking, talking emotional safety net.

P.P.P.S. And if you’re one of those boxers who’s not into hugs or physical touch? Don’t worry—Marie’s got a backup plan. She’ll give you the warmest, most awkward air hug you’ve ever seen, complete with a look like she’s praying it doesn’t freak you out. Or some cheesy joke. It’s her way of saying, “I respect your boundaries, but also… I really want to hug you, just so you know.”

[sp00kymulderr]

Get to know your moots!

ty for tagging me beloveds @bonezone44 @morallyinept @perotovar 💕💕💕

What's the origin of your blog title? 'baby, I'm a giver' bc I am obsessed with The Giver and everything about Chappell's performance of it 🎀

OTP(s) + Shipname: I don't really ship these days, although my otp remains Bobby/Chrisjen from The Expanse bc they are v important to me and always will be 😍

Favourite colour: Pink I love pink, especially brights 🩷

Favourite game: I don't really play anything at the moment because I don't have a gaming console. I'm great at solitaire though 😆. Obsessed with Baldurs Gate 3 right now too, but only from watching playthroughs

Song stuck in your head: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

Weirdest habit/trait? I'm one of those people who can't have different items on their plate touching, and almost always eats meals from worst thing on the plate to best. Is that weird?

Hobbies: 'Writing', weightlifting, reading

If you work, what's your profession? I work in higher education admin

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? I don't particularly dream of having a job, I dream of not having to work.

Something you're good at: ??? idk I guess I can be creative

Something you're bad at: Everything rn

Something you love: Pedro (duh), Dieter Bravo, aliens

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: Theatre (particularly West End theatre circa 2012 - 2016), Sci-fi, Dieter Bravo

Something you hate: Apart from the obvious? Hm, people who don't unload the bar after their sets (glaring at the guys in the gym who leave all their plates on the barbell after bench esp)

Something you collect: Hard Rock Cafe badges, postcards, I think I have enough vibrators now to say it's a collection 😅

Something you forget: To set my coffee machine on the timer so i have coffee ready in the morning

What's your love language? Words of affirmation

Favourite movie/show: Movie right now is probably Aliens, show is The Expanse (always)

Favourite food: I lovelovelove sushi

Favourite animal: Cats. Cats are the best ever.

What were you like as a child? Shy, quiet, bookish weirdo

Favourite subject at school? I always loved English lit the most

Least favorite subject? Maths

What's your best character trait? I think I'm kind and giving.

What's your worst character trait? I'm too quiet and too shy and too anxious

If you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? I would have ordered pizza and also not be in pain

If you could travel in time who would you like to meet? Maybe Christopher Isherwood, or maybe Octavia Butler

Recommend one of your favourite fanfics (spread the love!): Just one! hmm, there are so many incredible fics in this fandom but I think maybe for me one of the greatest of all time is into the beat of the night by @perotovar - it means so much to me to see an non-binary characther featured in a story with a Pedro boy, and i know it does for others too. I think Erin writes about their relationship beautifully and there's clearly a lot of care and thought put into it (even though i am sososo behind on my reading of it still I'm sorry ilysm)

Tagging lovely moots to do this! (Sorry if you've already done it!) @covetyou @chronically-ghosted @missredherring @grogusmum @ghotifishreads

@amanitacowboy @quinnnfabrgay-writes @for-a-longlongtime @qveerthe0ry @seventeenpins

@javier-pena @nothoughtsjustmeds @jessthebaker @whatsnewalycat @whocaresstillthelouvre