#what's his deal!! I have so many questions

[thelazydetectivecat]

I became the mayor and the protector of this town as well as the ghost king. what do you even have to offer?

okay so I have an idea what if Amity park doesn't have a city spirit.

So everyone in Amity park already knows that Danny is phantom and they made sure that they have enough resources to fight ghost in case of emergency because having Danny being their only source of protection is not smart especially considering he's too young and basically a child soldier. The anti-acts have been repelled by Danny after much legal fighting and everyone is ready to move on out of Amity park.

Danny please now the ghost king and about to go to Gotham university with his daughter Ellie who got de-aged to her actual age and the city spirit is just suddenly born. She's a baby who took the form or a similar form to Danny. Danny adores this baby as soon as he saw her and decided to stay in Amity park and to become the mayor instead it's not like anyone's against him overthrowing Vlad.

So Sam and Tucker also stay because let's be honest there's no way they're letting their friend take care of their city spirit alone.

As soon as everyone finds out it becomes an annual celebration for Amity park they still have an information blackout but it's only for the rest of the world so how many park can be kept secret because they don't exactly feel safe with others especially with the justice League who has ignored their calls.

So Danny who overthrew Vlad and becomes mayor it starts renovating the town buying land and expanding it making it into a natural city but close enough that you would still recognize Amity park.

There are different types of buildings some are modern some are white and old the looking. every part of the city has a different aesthetic but buildings are not the only thing Danny does for the town.

He makes more hospitals , homeless shelters , soup kitchens , funds the police and fire fighter departments make sure there's a secure line for social workers and makes sure to make have apartments and houses at reasonable prices and affordable ones. funds orphanages for them to have better care for children makes laws for his town that protect children adults single woman children from abusive parents and it keeps on adding with every new situation.

With every new tourist that comes to Amity park they get amazed they read the NDA about not talking about ghost and keeping Amity park a secret and after reading the NDA they realize it's not much of a big deal so basically more people come into Amity park and ghosts and humans coexist peacefully.

Danny is managing both Amity park and the infinite realms and at this point Amity park is considered a part of the infinite realms or at least the in between like Danny so sometimes meetings in negotiations happen in Amity.

Everyone who lives in Amity park is pretty happy with their life and are more than willing to keep it a secret from others. Since when it comes to terms of accidents and crime rates it's not that high.

Meanwhile with Danny he's taking care of both his daughters while handling everything. Sam has a job of opening and listening to suggestions as well as making sure the greenery in Amity park is vibrant making sure justice is served. Tucker is in the coding department making sure security is up as well as making apps that help the people of Amity park and people from different cultures coming in.

Jack and Maddie are spoiling their grandchildren rotten with gadgets and toys and jazz is in Gotham university desperately waiting for winter break to meet her new niece.

So when someone from the justice League has amnesia and find Amity park to which they take them in (maybe it's one of the younger heroes since they're usually pretty caring to them and don't blame them for the actions of their mentors)

For now I'm going with Tim and he stays there for about a year and ends up dating Danny (they are the same age) when he slowly regains his memories and is questioning if he even wants to return (this is an alternative universe where the bats don't appreciate Tim and often take him from granted and often forget to include him in family activities)

He contacts Kon and his friends and telling them about Amity park after he got permission from Danny and they come visit.

One thing leads to another and sooner or later some of them decide to live there and some of them decide it's a good vacation spot they made sure to inform the justice League that Tim is not messing anymore and he had amnesia but he just doesn't want to go back.

So I imagine the only ones who know about Amity park now are young justice and maybe some magic users who helped Danny repel the anti-ecto acts

(someone please add on to this because I have zero ideas now)

[icallhimjoey]

hi, I love your writing. I know you’re currently writing a series but I just thought I would ask if you could write a quick one shot about Joe comforting his partner when they feel unworthy/undeserving of love? im really going through it right now :,(

BABE i gotchu <3 hope you're ok and that this will help a little! Wordcount: 2.4K

---

Held

You’ve never been hugged.

Well, of course you’ve been hugged, but every time you’ve hugged someone, it has felt like you were hugging them. You were the one providing the comfort for the other person, even if that didn’t make sense for the situation.

You can recognise that there’s a weird beauty to it, but it been starting to feel a little heavy.

It’s bothering you now.

It’s subtle, hard to name. Just this quiet ache that stays behind your ribs long after the arms fall away. You’re always the one holding, anchoring, giving. It feels like no one ever quite wrapped around you.

You’re the one that hugs.

You’re the one that comforts. That carries the burden.

It’s a quiet truth, not something Joe’s ever said out loud, not in so many words, but you feel it in the way he softens when he walks through the door. The way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day. The way he brushes his fingers along your shoulder when he passes behind the couch, as if just to confirm you’re still here. You are the exhale. The letting go. The place he lands.

And it’s not nothing, to be someone’s soft place.

You know what it’s like, to have no such thing.

So you offer it up to him. Your warmth, your presence, your willingness to sit in silence if that’s what he needs… You don’t always have words for the way his jaw clenches when he’s frustrated or how his shoulders ride up when he’s overworked, but you know how to draw a bath and sit on the floor beside it while he soaks, cracking jokes that make him laugh without quite meaning to. You know how to stay up late with him on the bad nights, how to touch the inside of his wrist with your thumb and say nothing until the storm passes.

And he lets you. He lets you be that for him.

So it’s jarring, honestly, when the ground shifts.

When you turn into the person that doesn’t want do the hugging, but wants to be the one that gets hugged.

Held.

You’re no good at it though. Haven’t had the practice.

Joe, however, is fucking fantastic at being hugged.

Joe knows how to let himself lean.

A true talent.

Joe is the one who lets you take off his coat and hold his bad days gently between your palms. He’s the one who drops his head to your shoulder at the end of a long shift and breathes you in like you’re peace and sleep and everything he didn’t know he needed until you gave it to him without being asked.

You never mind it.

Never question it.

You like being that person. Like knowing he can come home to you and let the weight go.

But tonight, it’s you who’s unraveling.

It’s a Tuesday. You haven’t cried in months, not properly. You don’t really cry in front of people.

Not even him.

Maybe especially not him.

But something small and stupid snags at you midday, something barely-there that shouldn’t matter, and then something else follows, and then another thing, and another, and by the time he walks in, keys jingling and shoulders tired and expression already softening because you’re here, the pressure behind your eyes is like a balloon about to pop.

It’s fine, though.

Joe looks like he needs a hug.

You’ll deal with whatever is making you ache behind your ribs later, in secret. For now you can pretend it doesn’t exist. You ignore the voice in your head, that sharp familiar one, that whispers that you’re only lovable when you’re useful. That says if you stopped being someone else’s gravity, you’d just silently float away without anyone noticing.

Joe gets his hug.

“Oh my God, I’ve wanted this all day.”

Your arms are strong behind his back, and he lets the whole day slide off of his shoulders. He groans into your neck a little when you tighten your grip on him even more – you’re a really good hugger.

Had lots of practice, you see.

“Can we just stand here for the rest of the evening?”

It’s a joke you would’ve laughed at had you been in a different mood. Would have maybe even seen it as a compliment, but today you press your lips into a line and duck into the kitchen with some half-baked excuse about dinner.

That feeling, that gnawing, stupid, shapeless feeling is expanding behind your ribs.

It’s only been a minute when Joe finds you sitting on the kitchen floor with your back against the cabinets, staring at your knees like they might offer answers. He doesn’t speak right away, just crouches beside you, something slow and deliberate in the way he folds himself down to your level.

“Hey,” he says softly, like the gentlest knock at the door.

You shake your head without looking at him.

“Don’t,” your voice cracks right on the edge. “Please. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

His tone isn’t accusing. Just quiet. Open.

You suck in a breath that doesn’t help.

“Just tired.”

He hesitates, then reaches out, tentative and unassuming, and offers you his hand.

It’s nothing, really. Just a simple gesture. But your chest tightens like it might crack open, and you can’t take it. You can’t. So you tuck your hands between your knees and look away, and after a beat, he lets his fall.

You hate that.

Hate how his hand looks empty now. You did that. He was just being kind, and look how fucking quickly you folded in on yourself.

You’re being too dramatic.

God, get over yourself already.

You try to.

Your thoughts are racing and none of it is kind towards yourself, but you think that if you make your way through all of it you’ll somehow come out on the other side and will be able to just get up and get started on dinner, like you said you were going to do.

Joe moves to fully sit down next to you now. Back against the cabinets, just like you.

He doesn’t push.

Doesn’t say anything.

He just… sits with you.

You’re unsure how long you’ve been staring at your knees, jaw tight and brow furrowed, when you decide Joe deserves a least a little more of an explanation. It comes out in a rush, “I just… I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”

You leave a pause for a reaction, but you don’t get one.

Joe’s quiet.

Listening.

“And I hate that you have to see it,” you add.

He mirrors your frown and asks, “Why?”

And that’s too much.

“I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic, I’ll–”

Joe stops you, “I asked why.”  

“Because I’m supposed to be–… I don’t know.” The strong one. “And you just, you must have had a long day at work, how was… are you tired? You must be tired. Hungry?” You try your best to switch gears. You’re supposed to be his person. You don’t know how to be the one who needs.

You can feel how the skin on the inside of your cheek has broken from biting on it too much.

“We’ll have dinner.” You say, moving to stand up. It’s silly that Joe found you sitting on the kitchen floor and joined you there, you suddenly realise, and you chuckle humourlessly. “Come on.”

Before you can get even close to getting up onto your feet, Joe grabs hold of your sleeve and keeps you there, sat on the tiles right next to him.

“What?” you ask, and you can hear how thin your voice sounds.

Joe’s eyes are soft when he looks at you.

“I lean on you all the time, don’t I?” he says gently, completely ignoring your questions about how his day was, or about dinner. “That’s never made me weak. Why would it make you?”

You don’t answer.

You didn’t even say any of that.

He shifts a little closer. “If you need to lean on me for a second, I’ve got a shoulder right here, ready and waiting.”

You try to brush it off, to laugh like it’s no big deal, but your voice catches in your throat unexpectedly.

Joe sees right through it. “Hey… talk to me. What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “It’s not one thing. It’s just… I keep trying to be okay. And I am, you know, I’m fine. But, like… I don’t know, I guess there’s a part of me that will always feels like… if I stop being… if I don’t… I don’t know…”

“You can say it.”

You’ve never been hugged.

“If I’m not the strong one,” God, that sounds so fucking cliché, doesn’t it? “I’ll disappear.”

You can see how that touches something within Joe that you didn’t mean to touch, and you’ve not even said the worst thing yet.

“You will disappear.”

Joe’s face drops.

Gut punch.

A moment of quiet.

You said the quiet part out loud and now, it’ll probably actually happen, won’t it?

Joe will realise that you’re right and he’ll get up and walk out of your life.

That’s it.

You’ve just gone and completely ruined your own life for yourself.

Well done.

Joe breathes out slowly, then asks, “Where did you learn that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Everywhere.”

His hand, the one you didn’t take before, finds yours again. More gentle this time, if that’s even possible, but it doesn’t wait for you to grab hold of it. Instead, it does all the holding for the both of you.

“Silly. You don’t have to earn being cared for…”

Oh.

“That’s not how this works. I don’t love you because you’re really good at holding it together– at holding me together. Baby, I love you because you’re you. All the messy, tired, brilliant parts.”

You look down at your joined hands.

You want to believe him.

God, you really fucking want to.

But it’s hard to unlearn a lifetime of bracing for impact.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. If I really let myself break, I’ll become someone even I can’t stand.”

Joe doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t correct you. Just thumbs slow circles against your knuckles.

“Well… you’ve held me through my worst days,” he says matter-of-factly. “And I’ve never once resented you for it. Or myself, for that matter. You think I wouldn’t want the chance to do the same for you?”

You blink. Hard. Tears threaten at the corners of your eyes, but this time you don’t swallow them.

“I’m… I’m just tired,” you admit, voice trembling.

“I know.”

You look at him, finally, really look, and there’s no hesitation in his gaze. No frustration. No waiting for you to pull it together. Just quiet, steady presence.

“Just need carbs and… hibernation.” It’s not a joke, but you both laugh anyway.

“Come on,” Joe uses your hand that he’s still holding to pull you up as he stands. When you’re up, his other hand finds your face, fingers warm against your cheek.

For a moment, you think he’s going to pull you into a hug that you don’t want to give him. It’ll be a hug that he’ll want to give you because he’ll feel like you need it, and the hug you’ll give him will just feel like you’re doing him a favour by reciprocating.

You’ll be hugging him.

Not the other way around.

“Come sit with me.”

And you want to tell him that, actually, you need to get started on dinner. Like you said you were going to do. Joe must have had a long day, his call time was so early this morning.

You’re tired, but surely, so is he.

However, to your own surprise, you let yourself be guided to the sofa by Joe’s hand that pulls you right along.

You let Joe move some cushions before he makes you sit.

Let him disappear for a moment and return with phone in hand.

Let him sit beside you with his left knee tucked under your right knee, close but not crowding, his body language as open as the night sky whilst he orders food to be delivered in thirty minutes.

When that’s done, Joe looks at you and waits for you to look at him when he tells you, “I’m not going to force you to say anything. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just be here. With me.”

You let the silence stretch between you, your eyes burning. There’s a part of you that wants to argue. That wants to reject this kindness before it can disappoint you later. But you’re tired. And he’s here.

You’ve never been hugged.

Not really.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He’s right.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Then we won’t.” he simply says, and drapes an arm along the back of the sofa, not quite touching you, but just there. A quiet offer. Just like his hand earlier.

You’ve never been hugged.

You lean in.

Hesitantly at first, and then with a bit more weight.

Joe’s hand finds your shoulder, then your hair.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, and you close your eyes.

The tightness in your chest doesn’t vanish, but it eases just slightly.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he murmurs. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

You breathe in, long and slow, with his scent, his steadiness, his heartbeat against your arm.

You think of all the times you’ve been the one to catch him, and now, here he is, catching you.

Joe kisses you again, warm lips to your cheek, and uses his other arm to cross over your front. Wraps you up.

You’re no good at this.

Haven’t had the practice.

Yet.

“Here, lean back a little. No, into me.” Joe shuffles you into place. Makes sure the two of you fit together comfortably. “There you go.”

Held.

Just like that.

You’re being hugged.

You’re letting yourself be hugged.

“If it helps, I think you’re fucking tough as nails letting me do this.” Joe whispers right by the shell of your ear, and to your own surprise, a soft giggle bubbles up your throat.

“Not going anywhere, you hear me?”

You’re being hugged.

This hug’s for you and for you only.

Fucking wild.

“Staying right here.”

---

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add yourself

[anonymous-dentist]

They end up having to leave Bin, the cart, and their supplies behind. There are too many knights at the rest stop, and getting caught now is not an option.

So they’re left with the clothes on their back, the few supplies they had on them before escaping, and whatever is stored in Lukey’s null space. It’s… not exactly optimal, but it could be worse.

Without the cart, the trip to this so-called “Tubbo’s” house by the sea is going to be a solid two months of walking through an encroaching winter. Lukey doesn’t mind the cold, and Pangi is more than used to it after spending half his life in the Green Kingdom, but it’s still annoying.

Even more annoying is Pangi’s sudden insistence on trying to dig up Lukey’s gods-damned backstory. He won’t stop asking questions, and not in a fun way. Not in a, “Did you ever have any pets growing up?”, way, but in a, “How aware are you of the Null Monarch’s habit of kidnapping people at political summits to try and force everyone to get along and stop going to war?”, way.

“It sounds like something they’d do,” is what Lukey keeps answering, because it does.

But that answer isn’t good enough, and how many times is Lukey going to explain that he was locked in his room in the Null before Pangi gets it through his thick skull that he doesn’t know?

He doesn’t know. He was first put in that room when he was barely nine years of age, and he doesn’t know what happened outside of that room besides the things Newt and the other Keepers would tell him.

But how many times of explaining that will it take for Pangi to understand?

“I get it!” Lukey snaps after his, what, one millionth interrogation. “The Monarch sucks! The Null is a horrible place, I get it! I wasn’t exactly there of my free will, either! And I’m sorry that you had to deal with that, but I don’t have the answers you’re looking for.”

He stands from the campfire, dodging the hand Pangi tries grabbing him with.

He pulls his hood over his head, vanishing from sight as the cloak’s effects kick in.

“I’m going for a walk,” Lukey tells him. “I’ll… be back in a bit, okay?”

Looking awfully like a kicked puppy, Pangi grumbles, “Okay…”

Lukey pinches the bridge of his nose, turns on his heel, and marches off into the woods. Ugh. Men…

In which Lukey is thrown in the deepest, darkest cell of the Yellow Kingdom’s prison for daring try and defend himself against a woman he met at the local marketplace after she tried to stab him to death in front of a fruit stand

He isn’t alone in there, he notices. There’s another man: sprawled across a wooden bench and looking bored out of his mind

Lukey, still very sore from the Architect’s murder attempt, smiles to himself.

“Hey, friend!” he calls, mindful of the volume of his voice (can’t attract too much attention!) “What say we get out of here?”

He paces the length in front of the cell nonchalantly, hands in his cloak’s pockets. His clothes are, frankly, of poor quality. His cloak is stolen and a bright vivid green. His goggles are dangling around his neck, but his pockets are empty of every bit of alchemical supply he had

But, well. The guards can’t search what they can’t see.

The man on the bench slowly looks at him, doubt written across his face

“I’ve already tried, man,” he says. “They even made me cut my claws.”

He frowns, flexing his hand in the air. Blunt nails

Lukey just smirks. “Well, watch this.”

He ducks into the corner and closes his eyes, one hand reaching out into the air in front of him. He can hear the man’s surprised grunt as his hand, of course, completely disappears from sight

A few moments of digging around later, Lukey is proudly displaying a couple of vials of acid and an explosive potion, much to the man’s obvious delight

“Gimme that,” he happily says, snatching the explosive potion

He grins, all sharp teeth and fangs- fucking fangs!

“I know where they keep the prisoners’ stuff,” he tells Lukey, eyes squinted up in delight. “Follow me”

(There’s an engagement ring hidden in Lukey’s null space, completely disregarded and purposefully forgotten about. He’s sure the Green Prince won’t mind him not wearing it; after all, he had already vanished by the time the ring arrived.)

[artisiumstudios]

“Grunkle stan?”

Stan turned around wide eyed, not expecting anyone to be awake, especially not the kids. Especially not dipper.

“Uh, hey there-“

“What’re you doing? Why are there so many boxes? Where are you-“ dippers voice rose with each question, his hands slightly shaking.

Stan kneels down, his knees creaking under his weight as he places his hands on dippers shoulders, “calm down kid, take some deep breaths with me.”

Dipper nods, the next few minutes spent inhaling and exhaling until his heart finally felt like it wouldn’t pop out his chest.

“Better?”

Dipper nods again, glancing behind Stan at the boxes, “Are you leaving?”

Stan sighs, “Guess there’s not point in avoiding it any longer. I mean you would’ve figured it out eventually, after all you’re staying with my brother.”

“But why?” Dipper stammers, “I thought you were gonna be here with us- I thought-“

“Dipper,” Stan said, his voice tight with emotion unable to make eye contact, “things are complicated with my brother, you’ve seen it, and they have been for a while. Even before the whole accident.”

Dipper grimaced, unable to deny it. Anytime either of the elder pines twins were in the room together the atmosphere would change into something more tense, awkward. Attempts at trying to talk to each other or trying to spend any type of quality time always resulted in snide remarks, some magical wacky adventure, or in worst case scenarios; arguments.

“Look me and Ford had a deal, and I’m just going through on my end.”

Dipper looked up, his brows furrowed, “what do you mean deal?”

“At the end of the summer I give him his name and life back, that includes me leaving.”

“But that’s not fair! You can’t just leave! Where would you even go?!”

“Kid it’s fine,-“

“No it’s not!”

“Dipper! Don’t be so loud, you’re gonna-“

“No! Yeah you have made mistakes and maybe you lied to us the whole summer, but it was for a good reason! You saved grunkle ford and gave up 30 years of your life without expecting anything in return! And maybe you weren’t the best care taker and sure you’re a criminal but you’re not a bad guy!” Stan’s words echoed in his mind from the day the portal opened, the rawness and desperation in his voice was not something he had registered at the moment but now in the that moment he understood what it meant; fear of losing his family once more and most importantly the love he has for them.

Dipper looked down in shame, now understanding where his sisters fear were coming from, why she was scared of growing up. It was not selfishness but rather fear of growing apart, just like their grunkles. “It’s not fair that you’re being kicked out again and much less by your twin.”

Stan pulled dipper into a hug, the comforting touch something out of the ordinary but not unwanted. “Life isn’t fair sometimes kid, and for once I’m not gonna lie and it does suck that this is happening, but I’m not going to fight ford about it .”

Dipper gripped Stan’s shirt, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“It’s gonna be okay kiddo.” Dipper heard sniffling, but chose not to comment on it. Eventually they pulled away, both theirs eyes red and puffy. “I don’t want you to fight Ford about it, alright.”

Dipper looked away, “I wasn’t gonna…” his cheeks turned slightly red having been caught.

Stan chuckled, “sure you weren’t, now go back to bed, we have to be up in a few hours if we want to drop your sister off on time.”

Dippers lips pursed, the thought of being separated from his sister making with stomach churn. His mind raced with ideas, plans and schemes. Great uncle ford’s words echoed in the back of his mind but all dipper could think was; what did greatness matter if it meant doing it alone and losing his family? He looked up seeing as Stan’s tired eyes scanned his room, his eyes dark underneath almost sunken. Perhaps it was lighting or the fact that it was midnight and the young boy could feel the exhaustion weighing down on him but for once dipper really looked at his Grunkle.

He looked older than Ford, age being unkind to him, or perhaps it was life. Would like be unkind once more?

Determination set in, he hugged Stan once more, throwing him off balance, “it’s gonna be alright grunkle Stan.”

“Dipper…” Stan said warningly.

“Can you trust me?,” dipper continued, feeling stan freeze momentarily, “please?”

A beat passed before Stan nodded.

With that done, he pulled away smiling before leaving the room to the basement. He had some demands to be heard.

(Aka an au/prompt where ford and dipper managed to seal the rift and dipper accepted the apprenticeship thinking it meant staying here with both Ford and Stan until he realized that Stan was leaving)

[prettysatomii]

this might be an odd request but i was wondering if you could do hxh hc ( any characters ) of them finding out their s/o has naturally curly hair 😣

Goldilocks

Included : Gon , Killua , Kurapika , Leorio , Chrollo , Feitan , Shalnark

A/n: Not odd at all, Of course I can. I appreciate the request ♡ (This did take a while to get to, apologies for the wait) Any characters missing that you'd like can be added! Hc w/ short scenario. Not proofread!

Gon

The boy was oblivious to the hair tools you constantly used to keep your hair the way he saw it as. You would be ready by the time he came around whether that would be your hair tucked back into your hood or straightened out.

Gon admired you whenever he had the chance to even if it was just a moment. He spent most of his time with you, tagging along or taking you on small adventures. Thus he assumed he had seen all your variants—which he adored equally.

He noticed when your face twitched when he would ruffle the top of your hair but he didn't think much of it. Gon would quit it after a few snickers apologizing half heartedly.

Gon was respectful of your space so he would find out on a whim that you had curls. It took him a second to register before he smiled while circling you. He was curious considering he hadn't seen your hair like that before.

It wasn't a big deal to him, not that it was insignificant but it wasn't something that changed how he felt about you. Gon asked many questions that ultimately ended with him poking at your hair and softly tugging at the strands.

Anytime after that he wouldn't exactly tell you what to do with your hair but would pout for a moment when he saw it wasn't naturally done. Gon would loudly state that he really liked your curly hair randomly to try to convince you to wear it like that more often.

Scenario

Gon would notice after spending a week away from you, it was a mere coincidence that he found out. He had gone back to whale island to visit his aunt Mito. He had told you he would be gone for a week give or take and he promised he would take you out after he came back. 

You went on with your week as normal, sitting in welcomed silence. Gon wasn't on his phone much considering he enjoyed the outdoors more but he would call you on the beetle before bed. You didn’t mind much knowing the nature of your boyfriend. You didn’t think of how unannounced he was though. 

Your hair was washed a few hours prior, you kept it as is due to it being unnecessary to apply any heat on it. You weren’t going anywhere other than staying in the comfort of your own home.

Besides, Gon was coming tomorrow which would give you time to style it. He hadn’t seen your natural hair before, due to your preference of keeping him in the dark about it. You had met him while your hair was straightened out and it stayed that way since. 

Two weeks ago you had ordered something online, a shirt you found perfect. You tracked the order like crazy, and you decided to check like you have for the past days. To your surprise it said it was delivered a few minutes ago. You got up, practically skipping to your front door to get the package from your door step. 

The door flung open in the process, your eyes flicked down. At first they moved to the package on the floor. Then they went up to the boy picking it up off the floor. “Gon?” You breathed out in confusion of him being a day earlier than expected and him being at your doorstep. A feeling of dread filled you realizing how you looked currently. It wasn’t technically a bad thing but he had never seen you like this before. 

Gon was level with you by the time you thought of shutting the door. “Yeah, Hey!” He didn’t notice at first, too busy looking at your face. Then he took a good look at you, eyebrows furrowing.

After processing it for a moment he smiled, sliding into your home placing the package down on a side table. “Mmmm.. Did you do something different to your hair?” Gon asked not yet touching your hair but moving curiously around you. 

“Different to you but I just didn’t do it. It's natural today.” Your eyes followed Gon moving around you, almost getting dizzy. He’s really fast. “Ah Natural..Your natural hair. You’ve never shown it to me before!” His focus shifted off your hair to you. 

Gon hugged you first before kissing your cheek. “Let’s go out, I told you we would when I came back.” You stared at him before nodding, he closed the front door waiting patiently on the couch for you afterwards. 

He wasn’t so patient afterall because he only let you change before ushering you out the door. His hand pressed firmly against your back forcing you to walk, “Gon, hey hey hold on!..my hair-” You only got a sneaky smile from him, “I think It looks good…We have to go already, No time!” 

You caught him a few times lingering behind you coiling up your hair with his fingers that day.

Killua

Killua has his own strengths, almost all are physical. The few that weren’t physical, he had been learning over time with you and his friends. He was observant of you in his own way but he wasn't the best with signs. 

He had noticed how attentive you were with your hair when the two of you were out. Killua often interpreted things wrong so he never asked you why you cared so much. He just assumed that you were much more careful with your hair compared to other people. It never crossed his mind that your hair could have been curly. 

When he saw you, it was like seeing you for the first time again. Killua picked up on the change immediately, staring at you with wide eyes. He was shocked he hadn't figured it out on his own sooner.  He was a bit frustrated with himself because it had been right in front of him for so long. 

After he got over himself, he calmed into his normal expression. Killua did enjoy seeing your hair more than he would like to admit because it was your most natural state. 

Killua would ruffle your hair when you start wearing it curly around him to hear you scold him. He hides your hair tools away from you when he doesn’t want you to use them. Expect him to use some of the tricks he had learned during childhood and sulk if they somehow don't work. 

Scenario

The day had been full of you and the four spending time together. Gon walked in front of everyone while Leorio and Kurapika walked behind him to make sure he didn’t wander.

You and Killua behind the group with your hands intertwined. He had grown out of being embarrassed of public affection and instead embraced it with pink cheeks. It was 7pm, the five of you were headed to the lake considering the nice weather. You had been to that lake before, it was crystal clear surrounded by tall trees.

However the only other time you had gone with Killua was when you were sick. That was in December when the lake was frozen over so he shared a blanket with you instead. This time the lake had fresh running water that you could relax yourself in. 

By the time you had gotten there, Gon was already taking off his shirt running into the water. Kurapika told him to slow down while Leorio yelled about something else. “Gon, you had to throw your shirt in my face?” Leorio's face twitched before he threw the shirt to the side begrudgingly.   

You found a log to sit on, Killua followed, placing your bag he had been holding next to you. You could tell he was impatient to get into the water but he was acting suspiciously clingy. “You are getting in right?” The boy tilted his head at you, standing in front of where you sat. “Maybe, check the temperature for me please?” You barely finished your sentence when he ran to dip his fingers in before jogging back with a wide smile. 

Killua nodded, “It’s good, fresh.” It was hard to hide your smile when he looked so happy. You took off the clothes you had as a cover before reaching into your bag. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that…I burn really bad.” He said while you applied sunscreen on his face and body. 

He went in the water before you did, splashing around with Gon. All you heard was laughs and Leorio parenting them at times. Then you would hear your boyfriend calling him old, what a great day. 

It took a moment of you not paying attention to them for Killua to sneak up behind you. “Gotcha!” He snickered while throwing you over his shoulder. “Put me down, I swear you won’t live another day-” Killua didn’t listen to a single word that came out of your mouth. He threw himself in the water along with you in his arms. 

He brought the two of you up to the surface as quickly as he brought you in. “Whoops?” He hugged you to try to make you forgive him but you pulled his hair as revenge. “I hate you.” He whined letting go of you to run away from your grasp. “Geez-I’m sorry! Not sorry…” 

Killua swam off to let you cool down from attacking him. You stayed where he left you, wiping the water off your eyes. You almost forgot that you had done your hair and Killua wet it all. The pieces were still semi straight considering you barely got thrown in but it was a matter of time before it returned to its natural state. 

Could anything be done about it? No, you were in the middle of a lake far from your home. So instead you sulked silently sinking down into the water. So much effort into your hair to be ruined in a few hours. 

When you didn’t come to bother or chase him he came back to check up on you. Killua was cautiously coming up to you, not ready to face any wrath you may have. “Are you okay-What happened to you?” He spoke as soon as he saw you before staring blankly at you. Killua pulled you up out of the water to see your hair in all its glory. “That’s yours?” He nodded slowly to himself answering his own question while he stared. 

You almost thought he didn’t like it from the way he was burning holes into you. He picked up on that going back to his normal expression smiling at you instead. His eye twitched when he looked away from you, irritated how he didn't figure it out sooner. “It’s mine, yes.” You spoke slowly watching him look away before looking back. 

“Looks nice, you should wear it like that more.” Killua scratched his neck, looking away sheepishly. 

You couldn’t count the amount of times you had to yell at him to take your straightener out his hiding spot.

Kurapika

Kurapika is a busy man but he knows practically everything about you. Your habits, likes, dislikes, preferences, so it was from pure coincidences that he didn’t know you had curly hair. He definitely had a hunch considering he had helped pick up heat protectant from the store for you a few times. 

The hunch wasn’t exactly the most accurate either since he assumed it was a bit wavy at most. There were times your hair had small dents from the hairclip or tie you had in that he thought was your natural hair. Kurapika was on the right track but walking backwards. 

He didn’t react initially when he saw it. Your hair wasn’t something he would be turned upside down by. However at the moment he did seem even more soft spoken.  A few hours later Kurapika would linger around you but he's so delicate that you’re a baby deer that'll run at any chance. 

When he finally speaks up about it, he compliments you on it. He doesn’t tell you what to do with your hair even though he likes it curly. Kurapika likes you to be happy with your appearance but he will push you to use curly hair products instead of reaching for a straightener. 

He’ll give you a small nod with a smile if you accept his silent offer. 

Scenario

Kurapika had invited you over to his house after spending the whole day out together. The two of you were too tired, him to take you home and you to go home. He would've still taken you if you asked but the way you held his hand while he drove told him that it would be nice to have a sleepover. 

Recently it had been hard for him to get a night of rest and you were like melatonin to him. The passenger door opened a few moments after he exited the car. “After you.” He spoke up with a slight smile holding a hand out for you to take. “Thank you.” You took his hand, walking at his side after he closed your door. 

Kurapika led you to his front door, walking in after you made it in fully. His house was decorated with photos of you and some with the two of you. And what wasn’t a picture, was a trinket that reminded him of you in their own ways. 

You felt exhausted by the day but not clean enough to lay down on his bed. His home was like yours so you could really do anything you pleased. Many of your own items had found their way out of your home to his home. “Kurapika, do you mind if I take a quick shower?” He looked at you before shaking his head, “No, not at all. Go for it, I’ll be in the room alright?” 

Kurapika placed a hand on your shoulder, pecking your forehead before walking to his room. You went to the restroom, many of your items in the drawers and some of your towels awaiting you. 

It took you thirty minutes to decompress in the water and then to actually clean yourself. The warmth of the water allowed you to relax before you came back to Kurapika. “I have some clothes for you… They’ll be outside the door!” A voice said somewhat loudly to be audible against the water.

After you dried up, you creaked the door open to get his clothes. You had clothes in his closet but he never gave you those to wear knowing that you preferred to wear his. That was a lie, he liked it much more than you did. Once you were dressed you went to his room leaning your head against the doorframe. “Hello, You look clean.” Kurapika silently laughed getting up from his bed. 

His eyes flicked to your hair but he didn’t say anything more. It was sly enough for you not to notice that he noticed the curls slowly forming in your hair. Kurapika's gaze did soften while he led you to sit down with him. 

He conversated with you, sitting and touching your hands more than normal. After an hour and a half, he hugged you, “Your hair looks beautiful love.” He took his head out your neck, “I’m going to head in the shower myself now.” 

You stared at him before looking away, it was the way he said things that sounded so genuine. It was coming from the most innocent part of his heart instead of a place of necessity to say it. Kurapika chose to say it because he deemed it as true. 

Leorio

Leorio in his way takes notice of your physical appearance but not quite into how you achieve it. He likes your natural beauty as much as he enjoys seeing you getting dolled up. Any version of you is beautiful to him. 

However, he has no clue your hair is curly. It didn’t come up due to how perfectly you covered it up. It would come up randomly while the two of you were in the middle of a conversation. Leorio wouldn’t believe you at first until you told him you weren’t kidding. 

After it finally registered that you were telling him the truth he would think about it for a moment. Then he would go on to say how pretty you’d look wearing your natural hair and why you hadn’t told him any sooner. 

Leorio would want you to show him your actual hair almost immediately despite your hair barely being straightened. He would definitely be off put at first but he’ll end up loving it.

Nothing is forced upon you but he tells you to always have  your natural hair around him because he likes seeing you at your truest. 

Scenario

You and Leorio were across from each other having breakfast. You were in his home talking about whatever topic came to mind, taking turns adding on to what the other said. A few moments later, silence filled the air due to the two of you enjoying your meals. 

Then he spoke, “Ever since I became a doctor…I never knew recessive genes would be so important.” Leorio looked up from his food before taking another bite. “Like what? How is it important?” You asked curiously, you assumed he wanted to be more of a hands on doctor rather than paperwork and such. 

“Oh man…” He swallowed then took a sip of his water to prepare himself. “Do you know how many guys come in because they say their kids don’t have their features…Or people are confused where a trait comes from and come in to make sure it’s not a sign of something bad?” 

You smiled, “How many-” “A lot.” He answered, “Like colored eyes, curly hair, hair color, Seriously Anything!” You shook your head, holding a finger up to show him you wanted to speak. “That’s weird, my parents never went to the doctor because my hair was different then theirs.” 

Leorio thought about it for a couple moments, “But you don’t? You had curly hair growing up or something like that?” He took another bite waiting for your response. By that point you put your fork down, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him right?

“No, my hair is still the same. It’s just not how it naturally is, I straightened it.” His eyebrows furrowed staring at your hair. Leorio put some thought into it, was that why you told him a few times you needed time to finish doing your hair? That makes a lot more sense than what he assumed was just hair brushing. 

“Can you show me?” You shook your head, “I barely did it, I am not wetting it for you.” He smiled, thinking of another plan. Leorio was quick to get to his knees, his hands moving to your legs. “Get up!” You squealed trying to swat him away, “You are soo embarrassing!” “Please, Please, Please-” 

He begged until you stomped over to the sink, wetting a strand of your hair. His smirk was incredibly visible and he was not ashamed of what he had to do to get his way. 

“Your hair looks so pretty like that-” “I don’t wanna hear it.” It was relieving to hear he did genuinely like it. 

Chrollo

Chrollo had learned to trust you completely over time. Considering that he assumed he knew everything about you and expected you not to hide anything from him. Even if you did hide anything, he would find out eventually regardless if you knew that he did. 

Your hair type was one of the longest and hardest things to uncover. However Chrollo found more evidence of it over time. It wasn’t worth confronting you over but he was definitely confused why you never wore your natural hair around him. He would find you beautiful in any state. So did you dislike it? 

Well, he would make sure he would make you love it as much as he would. 

Chrollo would only come up to you about it when he was sure. Even then, he tried to make it a bonding experience for the two of you. 

Once he finally saw your natural hair, he seemed very satisfied with himself. Chrollo coddled you, complimenting your hair. You would have all the products you desired if you told him that you wanted to wear it natural onwards. 

Scenario

You were in the silence of your room. In the middle of getting ready to go out with your friends, for a small dinner. You had already done your hair, doing it like you usually did when accompanied by other people. 

A firm knock on your front door could be heard from the room you were in. You backed up from the mirror you were at to answer said door. Once you were at the door, you opened it slightly peeking through the slip. “Oh! You didn’t tell me you were coming by today.” You light up at the man in front of you. 

Chrollo slipped into your home, “I’m sorry about that, forgive me. I came by to ask you something,” He placed a kiss on your temple then closed the door behind him. You hummed in return, “It’s alright, what's your question?” You walked off back to where you finished up getting ready. 

Chrollo already knew you were going out with your friends which he didn’t mind. You had told him previously to make sure he didn’t worry if he showed up to an empty house. “You’re not hiding anything from me are you?” He leaned against the room door you were in. 

“No,” You titled your head curiously, “I’m not. Where is this coming from?” Chrollo smiled, shaking his head slightly, “You never told me your hair was curly, or showed me. I'm curious dear, why haven’t you?” He noticed how your gaze shifted back to him suspiciously. “You’re an observant one. I guess…I just never got around to telling you.” You gave him the simplest explanation there was. 

He stared at you, speaking quietly, “Do you mind me coming over tomorrow later in the afternoon?” “I don’t mind, that’s fine.” Chrollo nodded, “Don’t do anything to your hair, Alright? Have fun today.” He said his goodbyes, leaving as fast as he came. 

The day prior Chrollo had told you to keep your hair natural. He seemed genuinely curious to see how your hair naturally lands. So you didn’t do anything to your hair, you had done a small routine but nothing to get rid of your curl pattern.  You waited, he wouldn’t judge but the way he would take in every detail of you made you nervous. 

Would he like it?

He was waiting at your door, a bag of items in hand while the other knocked. “It’s open!” You spoke out from your couch where you sat. “I’ve told you it's not safe to keep your doors unlocked haven’t I?” Chrollo spoke firmly but gently, making his way inside. 

The door clicked locked before he put his focus back to you. “Oh wow,” Chrollo contentedly smiled. He walked over placing the bag on the coffee table in front of you before cupping your face in his hands. “You’ve hid this from me? How cruel.” He playfully spoke, “Hid? I wouldn’t say all of that.” You looked away, taking your face out of his hands. 

“Yes, you hid a beautiful gift.” He moved his focus back to the bag he brought. Chrollo reached for it then had a seat next to you. “You’re too sweet…” He shook his head like you said something he found nonsense. “I brought you a few things, in case you don’t like wearing your hair because of how it behaves. The saleswomen said these would be the best for you.” 

Chrollo handed you a bag of high end products that each had their own boxes. You slowly reached for each product, unboxing them, placing them on the coffee table, then grabbing the next. You couldn't finish before turning back to him, “I can’t accept all this, this most likely costs a fortune.” 

“I insist, I'll help you apply it.” He reached for one you had already opened, “This one is a lightweight moisturizer if I’m correct?” You giggled to yourself watching him open the product. “If the reason that you don’t wear your hair natural is because you don’t like it or it's too much work, let me help you.” 

That day Chrollo had learned how to apply products to your hair how you liked it. He took his time making sure you were satisfied with the outcome. 

“Beautiful.” 

Feitan

Feitan had no clue that your hair was curly. He cared about you and paid attention to your small habits he forgot to pick up on the big ones. The hairtools were something that he saw so often he just saw as normal. 

He found out coincidentally when you had come over to see him. He would think about it the whole time you were in front of him, questioning if it was natural. Feitan eventually figured that it was real and the straight hair you always had wasn’t. 

At the moment he didn’t say anything about it. He kept his normal demeanor but he kept it in mind until the next time he saw you. He had to think about what to say to you, that told you that he liked it without telling you directly that he did. 

Feitan ends up telling you directly that he liked it. 

Whenever you wear it naturally around him, he seems to stare at you more. He doesn’t say anything about it but you can tell he appreciates it. 

Scenario

Phinks had called you, you didn’t receive many calls from anyone from the troupe so you picked up quickly. “Hey, I thought I’d give you a call because Feitan got pretty hurt doing…I don’t know what. Nothing too bad but I thought you'd want to come by.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Thank you.” You hung up getting up to leave your home. You hadn’t gotten the chance to straighten your hair considering that you had stayed home the whole day.

You've gotten calls similar to that and it brought your worries down but you still were a bit worried. The Phantom troupe did have a higher pain tolerance level compared to a normal person.

You got there quickly, entering the building where you assumed they hanged out most of the time. A few members saw you, already knowing why you were there just welcoming you. You greeted them back, then you found him. 

Feitan was laying on one of the couches that they had laying around, his chest wrapped in bandages. It didn’t seem like it bothered him much considering how he was just zoned out staring at the ceiling. He did look a bit frustrated though. 

“Hey, you okay?” You spoke softly to bring his attention to you. He probably already noticed that someone came in but your point still stood to not startle him. His head turned to you, immediately turning to your face or rather your hair. 

He stared for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, Okay.” Feitan looked forward again, “Phinks called?” He asked, feeling your eyes look at his chest trying to almost see through the bandages. “Yeah, he did call. Does it hurt?” 

He turned back to you, “Dumb, Not really. I’m Okay.” You took a seat on the other couch next to his. Feitan stayed there, it felt easier to fall asleep when you were there. So he did. You stayed there for some time before going back home when you deemed it time. 

Two days later, he was already up and moving like he wasn’t still injured. You found him in your room, he sneaked through the window staring back at you. Your hair wasn’t done today either, you hadn’t found a reason to. “What brings you here?” You asked like he was a stranger which made you giggle a bit, “Aren’t you supposed to be healing?” Feitan huffed, approaching you, moving himself to face you as you moved. 

“I said I’m fine, right?” He looked down for a moment, trying to get the words out. It seemed like it was quite a struggle for him, “Your hair…looks nicer like that.” You followed his finger pointing at your head. 

Your boyfriend is awkward but he's definitely trying. 

Shalnark

Shalnark is the type of guy to know everything about you, not from asking you. He would find out from stalking you, which he considers just keeping you safe. He keeps tabs on you, your location just to make sure you're alright. 

The boy was always on his phone, so he would check every few minutes. Not like he was obsessed but just curious about your daily life. He would eventually find out when he was watching you.

It amused him to see that you still had surprises to you despite him watching almost all the time! Shalnark enjoyed seeing your hair like that, smiling excitedly.

He would want to see you as soon as possible. He would want to see it for himself, insanely curious.

It didn't phase him one bit, he was wondering why you didn’t ever mention it. Or ever let him see it. Shalnark is one of the more direct but lighthearted ones when it comes down to it. 

He makes it clear that he likes the most genuine version of you but still makes sure you know he loves you regardless of how you choose to wear your hair.

Scenario

Shalnark wasn’t doing anything particular at the moment. He decided to check up on where you were, seeing the last street camera he saw you on. He was the most online compared to anyone else in the troupe so he had the newest technology he could get his hands on.  That helped when checking up on you. 

The quality was better compared to other people’s devices which he took pride in. Then he spotted you on the cam, in a crowd of people on the street. “Huh…” He smiled, but he was more confused than ever. Was your hair always like that? No. Couldn’t be. 

Shalnark squinted his eyes, bringing the phone screen closer to his face. “Oh wow!” He laughed to himself, not from malicious intent but instead from genuine surprise. He put the phone down scratching his neck looking around. He wasn’t busy at the moment, so maybe he could beat you to your house. He knew you wouldn’t mind him stopping by.

You were walking home, you were just running quick errands. You just got a few groceries and a phone charger since yours was about at the end of its life. Your headphones were in, you didn’t pay attention to anything around you besides the signals of the street lights. You made it home in a couple minutes, not knowing your boyfriend had gotten there a few moments before you. 

You unlocked your door, placing your stuff on the kitchen countertop after you locked it. Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders which made your heart fall to your stomach.

You turned back quickly to see your blonde boy staring back at you. His eyes moved to your face and your hair every millisecond. You pulled your headphones off hitting his chest, “You scared the shit out of me! You need to stop doing that, it's not cool!��� Shalnark kissed you, trying to make it better. “You need to start paying attention to what's happening around you, getting kidnapped isn’t cool.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, “Whatever.” His fingers moved to your hair, wrapping it around his finger. “You never told me you had curly hair…That hurts my feelings y’know?” He placed a hand over his heart with a smile clearly not meaning it. You forgot as soon as he scared you the fact he'd never seen you like that before.

“So you’re here to complain about it?” You smiled a bit amused, leaning back on the counter. “No, no not at all. I actually like it a lot. Even considering this is the first time I’ve actually seen it I do prefer it compared to when it's straightened.” Despite his expression, he was being genuine.

“You look really pretty, well you always do. But even more so now.” 

A/n: This is all how I think they would be but If you don't agree that's fine! I'll improve to be more accurate to character since I am writing based on how they canonically are.

[mythicalmyles]

Hi, I love your writings! I was wondering if you can do something with Masky and Hoodie again? Male reader ofc <3

Thank you so much, glad you enjoy! Hope you enjoy this one. Masky and hoodie are southern for no reason other than i want it

(Spitroasting / Noncon / Threeway / Video Recording / Choking / Degredation)

Working for your boss was tiring, he was a paranoid borderline moron. Yet every damn time he surprised you, he almost always found who he was looking for. He was an older man, constantly hunched due to the kink in his back that had developed due to his poor sitting. His beard was a mix of black and grey, old age taking over him. Despite your criticisms, you were extremely proud to work for him.

As long as you kept any conspiracy talk away from him. The man had tinfoil coated windows and an old ham radio that played twenty four seven. He burst through the door, looking somehow more tired than usual. Dark purple bags swelling around his eyes like a bruise. He looked terrified, you mentally prepared yourself to hear about some horror concoction he had read somewhere.

Instead he looked at you, eyes wide and paranoid. “Anyone been here? Guy with a mask? Another with like a balaclava?” You frowned at him. Mentally you reminded yourself to make another appointment with a different therapist, you heavily disagreed with her assessment of him. “No one has been here, sir. Been dead all day.” You sighed out, flopping back into your seat. “I-I think i found the guys that killed that Laney kid.” It took you a moment before you recognised the name.

You felt your features soften. “Si-.” He barely registered your words, interrupting you. “And i think it’s the same people who got Maxie.” It had been a while since you had considered running head first into a wall. “Jack.” You yelled over his ramblings, he huffed as he shot daggers at you. “Well? Make yourself useful! I have research to do. I found this.” He shoved a drawing upto your face. ‘Don’t look or it takes.’ “You’re stealing from children now?” You questioned, half serious.

He snorted at you. “I went back to that cabin and took a proper look, pigs never do anything right. All corrupt you know? They listen in on your phone calls.” You shot him a look. “Yeah? What the hell would they want with you?” He gave you a dumbfounded look. “I do their job, but better.” You blanked, you couldn’t fight him on that. He never cooperated with police, choosing instead to solve it himself. You had at least managed to talk him into hiring some help, a rather large Samoan man. He wasn’t in today and it had certainly been sore without him. He had many stories to keep you hooked, hours would pass. Half the time you ended up with over pay due to staying longer, lost in his words. He had three girls, you had no doubts he kept them thoroughly entertained.

Nahele made dealing with Jackson a lot easier too, somehow easily curving him away from his insane conspiracies. A day without him was definitely painful. “Well? I’m not paying you to sit around.” You rolled your eyes, jumping up and making your way over to the coffee machine. It was probably the fanciest thing in the room, it was delicious. Completely worth tanking most of the budget.

You gazed out at the moon as the coffee machine hummed to life. You hated how noisy it was but damn did it make a good brew. You pulled two cups from the cupboard, the noise of the coffee machine auto cleaning drowning out all sounds. You turned around frowning, shivering due to a sudden rush of cold. You saw nothing and shrugged it off, the building was old. Or Jackson was smoking while hanging out of the window again.

You grabbed some milk out of the fridge, throwing some into the cups before putting them back. You were a barista with extra steps at this point, you were an expert with the machine. You always got the milk all perfectly frothy, it was like a little snowfall upon your cups. You finally set the coffee on, machine grinding loudly. You grabbed up your cup and took a quick sip, smile pulling at your cheeks. You grabbed Jackson’s cup and made your way to his office.

His door was creaked open, confusion flooding you as you got closer. You kicked the door open, keeping an eye on the cups to make sure they didn’t spill. “Coffee, sir.” You froze when you looked up, your bosses terrified eyes staring at you. Blood dripped from a cut on his head, soaking into the collar of his shirt. A hand suddenly landed on your mouth, an arm shooting around your waist. You tried to scream and kick at the person grabbing you, instead they pulled you to their chest harshly, cutting off your ability to draw in a breath.

You stopped struggling and he released his grip a little, letting you gasp in a breath. He kept a tight hold on you though, letting you know he wasn’t going to let you go any time soon. A man in a white mask stepped infront of you. He looked you up and down before turning back to your boss. “He know anything?” He pointed at you. Your eyes bulged, he was right? He had found something? “No! He’s just an assistant.” Suddenly a crow bar was slammed onto the table, causing you to flinch.

“Where is everything you have?” Jackson glared at him, refusing to speak. Before you could really think, a knife was pressing into your throat. You whimpered into the hand covering your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes. You had no doubt he could feel you shaking in his grasp, you could hardly think. “In the cabinet! In the cabinet! The bottom!” Jackson shouted out, horror filling his face.

The man in the mask suddenly ran to the cabinets, ripping all of the files out until he found what he wanted. He stood up with a chuckle. “This is it? You know who we were?” Jackson nodded, face filled with bitterness. He threw it to the ground before pulling out a can and a lighter. He sprayed the can towards the files and lit the lighter, a borderline flamethrower was the result. The files burned up, quickly turning to ash. When he was satisfied he pocketed both, walking upto his crowbar. He suddenly slammed it into Jacksons head, repeatedly bashing him in. You screamed and sobbed, fighting the man who was holding you as hard as you could. You felt some victory when you managed to kick him between the legs, causing him to groan and let go of you, falling to the floor.

You sobbed harder when you saw Jackson, or what was left of him. You quickly turned and ran, feet pounding into the cheap laminate flooring. “You cunt!” Was growled after you, you ignored their angered shouts. You all but ripped the door off its hinges as you pulled it open, hearing it slam off of the wall didn’t stop you. The night was filled with a bitter cold, winter coming upon you. You ignored the cold air that bit into your bear arms, you had left your jacket in your haste.

You didn’t live too far, it was a 25 minute walk away. If you could just make it home, you would be safe. You had to believe that. You had stopped hearing them chase you a few minutes ago but that didn’t stop you. You kept running until your body forced you to stop, you fell to the pavement heaving. The asphalt was rough against your skin, all you could do was lay there as you sucked in oxygen.

It felt like forever before you felt confident enough to stand back up, entire body shaking. You almost fell twice getting up, you had to pause for a minute before you continued on your way home. Exhaustion clawed at your mind, half convinced you would pass out before you got home.

You threw yourself against your door, shakily unlocking it. You paused, coming face to mask with the same guy from earlier. At that moment your body gave up, falling to the floor as the last of your adrenaline flushed out of your system.

You woke up startled, eyes widening when you came face to mask with the same guy from earlier. Before you could scream he had a palm slammed over your mouth, preventing you from alerting your neighbours. You wriggled under him, trying your best to get him off of you.

His free hand grabbed up your wrists and pinned them above your head, dropping his weight on you. You whimpered underneath him, compression making it hard to breathe. “You gonna stop?” You nodded, finally giving up. “If you scream I will snap your jaw.” You gulped and nodded, bottom lip quivering. You looked up at him with fear, you had already seen the man beat another to death.

“You’re gonna be honest with me aren’t you?” You nodded again, the threat evident in his words. His fingers dragged against your skin as he removed his palm, black holes staring down at you. “What do you know?” Your breathing stuttered as you exhaled. “N-nothing, i swear he doesn’t tell me anything.” Despite the hidden face you had the gnawing feeling that he didn’t believe you, tensing up his body. You choked back a sob, praying he wouldn’t hurt you. Suddenly a hand was wrapping around your neck, fingers flexing against your skin. You whimpered as you scrunched your eyes shut.

He let out a deep breath. “You better be telling me the truth.” Your brain was running in survival mode, words spilling before you could really think. “H-he has a hiding place, he keeps copies of everything.” You spat out when his hand tightened. He chuckled, muffled by his mask. “See? Not so hard.” He shot up suddenly, dragging you up by your neck.

The cold air was quick to wrap around your body, drawing out goosebumps. He let go of your neck, yanking you out of your ivingroom. You saw another man in your hall, you assumed the one who had grabbed you back at the agency. He had a black mask covering his face, stitched red eyes and a frown. He had on a mustard yellow hoodie, various stains coating the fabric.

You briefly made eye contact before shooting your eyes to the ground. They kept a close eye on you as they dragged you out of your home, barely giving you time to lock your door. The one in the white mask shoved you into a rather beat up looking pick up truck, half of it was caked in rust. You wondered if it was even road legal. The one in the hood slid in next to you, you assumed he would keep watch over you. That made escaping a lot harder. “Where?” Was all he said, sparking up a cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco enveloped the car, he cracked the window open. “12 Aliso Ave.” Was all you said, voice monotone as everything that had happened finally caught up to you.

Suddenly the truck grumbled to life, as the two spoke you finally picked up on their southern accents. You wondered how the hell everything had ended up like this, wondering just how far they had came to ensure your silence.

“So Masky, what we gonna do with him?” You could feel yourself beginning to sweat, anxiety creeping over you. At least you finally had one name. “Fuck if i know.” That was far more chilling, the uncertainty of your future was terrifying. They held your life in their hands and all you could do was numbly sit there, staring off into space. Finally you pulled up to your bosses house, sadness filling you. The dude with the hoodie grabbed your bicep and pulled you towards him as he exited the car.

It was awkward shuffling over to him, but you managed to get out of the car with little incident. You fumbled behind Masky, your body beginning to sweat the closer you got to the door.

Masky looked at you. “I don’t have a key.” Was all you said, he groaned and suddenly threw himself against the door. After two slams it had caved in and you stared wide eyed at Masky, who walked through. You were shoved forwards and you followed behind him. “Go on then, darling.” You hated the fact his southern drawl left you flushing, ducking your head as you walked by him and up the stairs.

You lead them to the study, making your way over to the wall to wall bookcase. You triggered the secret passage and led them through it, revealing the true study of your boss. Masky wasted no time in quickly tearing through the study, ripping open drawers and checking every single file. “Don’t think i forgot that cheap little shot you took.” His voice wasn’t as deep as Masky’s but it left a shiver running down your spine. His words held a hidden promise behind them.

“Here we fuckin’ go.” Masky finally found the files, holding them up and shaking them as he looked back at you. He flicked through a few, chuckling. “I thought he had more. He knows more than he should have without anyone catching on. Even got XV’s name.” He sounded angry, making his way towards you. You stepped back only to feel fingers tightening on your bicep, your attention drawing to the man next to you. “Ple-please.” You whimpered. “Any other surprises?” You shook your head and shrugged. “I don’t know. He was paranoid.” Hands suddenly grabbed at you, turning you around before he kneed the back of your knee and buckled your legs.

You fell to the floor in a heap, trying desperately not to break down and cry. A hand was suddenly twisted into your hair and your head was yanked back, forcing you to look up at the two men currently caging you in. You looked at them through blurry eyes, tears almost dominating your vision. “I think you got you some apologising to do.” Your face scrunched up in confusion, eyes still sparkling with a certain innocence. “You kicked me in the cock, it’s only right you apologise properly.” You steadied yourself before you looked him in the eye as best as you could, when he wore a mask. “I’m r-really sorry, I shou-shouldn’t have kicked you there.” You trailed off, eyes breaking away from him.

“Cute, but not what I meant.” Masky kept you in place while he unbuckled his pants, pulling them down just enough to get his dick out. You stared wide eyed at the cock suddenly in front of you, he was thick, above average and had a large vein running down his shaft. His cock stood proudly, you hadn’t even noticed he was hard. “Go on then, pretty boy. Open that little mouth of yours nice ‘n wide for me.” He dragged the tip of his cock across your lips, smirking behind his mask when you opened your mouth and allowed him to slide in. He couldn’t help but groan as a tight, wet heat enveloped the tip of his cock.

Your inexperience ended up turning him on more, your tongue clumsily licking at his tip. He groaned when your tongue pressed against his slit, the texture of your tongue dragging across him was euphoric. Almost made getting kicked in the nuts worth it. Almost.

“How’s his mouth feel, Hoodie?” If you didn’t have a mouthful of his cock you would’ve laughed, of course their names matched them well. “Fuck it’s good, nice 'n tight on my cock." He sounded breathless, suddenly forcing himself deeper. "Th-that's it, be a good little whore.” You whimpered around his cock, tears freely dripping down your cheeks and meshing with the drool leaking from your lips. Suddenly you felt your sweats get yanked down, jumping at the sudden action.

The fact you couldn’t see what Masky was doing was unnerving, leaving you shaking in anticipation. It left you hyper aware of when he was touching you, all too aware of the fingers that suddenly dug into your ass cheeks and spread them. You whined against Hoodie’s navel, entire body jolting when Masky suddenly spat onto your hole. The cold of his saliva was weird against your hot hole, the sensation of it dripping down you had a wicked heat building inside of you.

It felt wrong, and so unbelievably hot. You desperately pushed back, you didn’t want to enjoy this. They killed the man who had taken care of you since you were 15, you hated them. A finger suddenly pressed against your rim, teasingly circling before sinking into you. You groaned, screwing your eyes shut when Masky found your prostate. Suddenly you were glad for your stuffed mouth, you didn’t want to know what kind of sounds you would be making otherwise.

Masky was quick to shove another two fingers into you, stretching you as quick as he could. You hated the way your cock throbbed with every slam to your prostate. You had known you were gay for a long time, and had experimented with your fingers and a smaller vibrator but this was unlike anything you had done to yourself. It was so much rougher, your entire body humming with overstimulation.

You couldn’t even deny the fact that you liked the taste of Hoodie’s precum, your body enjoying the abuse too much for your liking. Yet as your brain deprived of oxygen, lines began to blur and you found your morals slipping as pleasure began to overwhelm you. You felt Masky’s fingers slip out of you, a whine slipping before you could stop yourself. “Don’t worry, princess. I got something bigger for ya.” He made his point by pressing his cock into your hole, your tired and worn out body barely putting up a fight.

“Smile, pretty boy.” You looked up in confusion, frowning as a black shiny object obstructed your view of Hoodie’s mask. Finally you focused enough to recognise a camera, your eyes widened in horror once it hit you. You tried to protest, words coming out muffled around Hoodie’s cock. “Oh, fuck, that’s it.” He groaned out. Masky suddenly pulling out and slamming into you stole your attention, turning you into a whimpering moaning mess as you slobbered on Hoodies cock.

It wasn’t long before a salty taste began to fill your mouth, Hoodie practically growling as he finally spilled. He pulled out of your mouth, the rest of his cum shooting out over your face. Masky’s hand appeared as the bottom of your jaw, keeping it closed. “Swallow up, princess.” You whimpered before you swallowed, his cum dripping down into your stomach. He tucked himself away, Masky’s hand sliding down to the base of your throat with Hoodie’s hand taking his previous place. This time he forced your mouth to open, getting a good shot of your cum stained face.

Masky pulled your hands behind your back, locking them behind you with his. Your voice was rough, cracking as you moaned. Masky fucked you harder than before, wanting to make sure you remembered being fucked by a real man. Hoodie yanked up your shirt, sticking it under your armpits to stop it falling. “F-fuck." Masky groaned out, loving the way they had reduced you to a moaning, sticky mess.

Hoodie’s leather gloves were definitely not something you were use to touching your nipples, the rough material tugging against you. You somehow got louder, almost screaming. “S’too, Ah! Much! Nh!” You sobbed out, hole feeling raw as oversensitivity burned at your prostate. “Su-such a pretty little c-cumdump. Seems like y-your best use, if your oh-own boss didn’t even trust you.” You whined at Masky’s cold words, twisting when his hand wrapped around your neck. He choked you as he pounded into you, inhuman noises being pulled from you.

You could feel Hoodie’s cum drying on your face, starting to get itchy. A sudden deep thrust had you spilling your own seed, going hoarse when you screamed. You fell limp in Masky’s hold, giving him full control over you. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you tight against his chest as he pounded into you and with fever. You couldn’t help but tighten up around him, hole left spasming with overstimulation.

Finally you felt him choke, hips stuttering as his orgasm began tipping him. “N-no! Not inside.” You begged, Masky chuckling as he rested his head on your shoulder. He slammed deep into you, making sure to shove his cum as far into you as he possibly could. You whined, feeling like he had just branded you. You almost sobbed when he began pulling out, cock almost burning as it dragged against your oversensitive walls. “Think the boss’ll let us keep a little pet? Jeff gets a dog.” You could hear the smirk in Hoodie’s voice. “F-fuck you.” You choked out.

[fishyaudio]

This question isn't asked out of hate, but of curiosity: Why do you ship Barbeque? What is in it that interests you?

LONG POST AHEAD. I'M SO SORRY

I had to think about it for longer, because the simple answer would be "fun vibes middle-aged scug couple", but I also have a more elaborate one (never ask me about opinions because it'll end in multiple paragraphs explaining my headcanons and interpretations that are worthy of a few-chapter-long fanfics I'll never write)

First and foremost I see them as best friends who'd play fight a lot, bicker for fun and be generally chill with each other, with the addition of being a mostly-stable middle aged couple, that type of vibe. With how I picture their personalities, I think they'd just mix well by sharing the adventurous attitude of "act first, think later", enjoying taking on new challanges and not being afraid of risks.

I like to think of romance and relationships as really varied, both in media I make (fandom or OC content) and consume. These two just opened a door in my head to explore something with less emphasis on corny romance, hurt/comfort and lovey-dovey gestures, but with more focus on a bond formed on mutual understanding with no judgement, honesty and simply just wanting to spend time together and having each other's back (with lovey-dovey gestures sometimes sprinkled in-between. Why not). Not every relationship has to have the energy of highschool sweethearts who hold hands 24/7 and that's was an amazing realization to have at a certain point in my life as a creator, bwahaha

As much as I dig wholesome Artimand content where Gourmand is really caring and helps Arti heal with love and understanding, it doen't exactly fit my vision for the two. It kinda does but in a different way. I picture them as equal partners who talk about their problems with a heavier focus on fiding solutions aside from just comforting each other. I feel it supports them being mature indivuduals a lot more (and is way more helpful in the context of what Arti deals with) than just having one of them be the crutch for the other/babying someone who's struggling.

Whenever I think of this ship, it's always the case of throwing post-campagin Arti to meet mid-campaign Gourmand for probably obvious reasons - ain't no one dating someone who goes out of their way to murder people. This is where it all gets lengthy because we step into the territory of "why my headcanons for their personalities based on how I played them make them work"

I've always seen Gourmand as a great, ambitious leader with a lot of understanding and motivation to overall do good things and help others, but not a super responsible or consistent one, prone to acting on a whim and always trying to prove himself. Not out of any insecurity, just for the thrill of it, taking enjoyment out of simple things in life and being seen as a strong, fun guy (c'mon, look at all those in-game drawings where he's fighting lizards and vultures). I've always seen the food quest as this sort of grand challenge to take on in a new, unknown enviroment. Just to prove to himself he's still capable and talented as a treat, an adventure after which he could finally come back to his colony with many new (and probably a bit overblown) stories and a bunch of new flavors to bring into his cooking.

So imagine a straight-forward guy with a really positive attitude and most importantly - someone who thinks with their heart and trusts their gut and experience about things and people, moreover, doesn't dwell on things and doesn't analyze them in depth - if a simple solution works, then it's a good one.

Artificer is the more interesting case here because of how hard inserting her into any sort of relationship is with the trauma she experienced and the actions she took as a response.

I don't see her as 100% irredeemable, pure evil villain. I mean, I share the sentiment of her not being redeemable, but not in the most conventional way - the interesting question is, would there even be a way for her to redeem herself after murdering so many innocent Scavengers and their leader? How'd that play out in a case where she actually has regrets and would want to fix her mistakes?

I love to imagine Artificer not as someone who gets lost in her rage forever, but someone who's punished by the sheer realization, one she had a little too late, that:

1. she messed up so, SO BAD,

2. all she did never brought her any satisfaction, that "I was hurt so I will hurt you more and go for your beloved leader" was never "justice",

3. and there's no turning back from this.

I don't think she'd ever be accepted as the next leader after overthrowing the Cheiftain, she is not getting any respect out of the Scavengers - only fear and the aspiration to see her dead even more after that, from the braver ones at least. Nor would she be the one aspire to rule over the people she both despised and hurt. The only realistic option she has is leaving in shame and never coming back.

Terrible people are interesting, thinking of ways to punish them (or not!) is even more fun. And I feel like Artificer would suffer more than enough knowing she sealed her fate with unfixable mistakes. Her children aren't coming back, she's not getting any sense of closure or satisfaction, not even an ending - ascension is off the table too. I feel like this is a bigger burden to carry than any conventional physical harm or death.

Then comes a question of what to do in life after such events and with such baggage. If she can't make it up to anyone, does she just punish herself further by sulking in self-hatered? Is there even a moment where she could feel she has the right to say "okay I suffered enough, I can allow myself to be happy and live normally now"? Is there a way to reach that point if she can't fix what she had destroyed? There are no right answers to those questions, no one qualified to answer them from an objective standpoint.

But, after all, she's still a person that lives here and now like everyone else, with feelings, regrets and A LOT of shame. There's no way to tell when someone suffered enough for their mistakes and it's all in Artificer's own hands to make the choice to move on, or at least allow herself to live a normal life after all of that - being left to decide everything about herself alone instead of having some sort of punishment from above to endure with humility is also a terrible scenario to be in.

And I feel like Gourmand is someone who could open Arti's eyes to that. When I think about his attitude, I envision someone who, while aware of her past sins, sees the current Artificer as a really capable, reliable friend, who has a lot of useful skills and talents. He'd come to a simple conclusion - that she's better off being this instead of just acting like the shadow of her mistakes, both to herself and everyone around.

I imagine them starting off as really loose pals that'd meet on their travels, with the more apathetic Artificer slowly warming up to be more honest with Gourmand, a simple, understanding guy who just emits this absurd, contagious optimism. And despite him being more straight-forward and far from someone who'd ponder morality in depth, I feel like he could raise an important question to Artificer - whether she really thinks that not doing anything bad ever again is better than maybe trying to finally do something good. (I actually made a short three-panel comic about that question for my anthro AU. It's in the DC server but I never posted it here on Tumblr)

That's something I think only a guy who's willing to take the risk of offering help to a literal wanted criminal, because he trusts his gut that this is the right choice, could say.

There's no "redemption" for Artificer who'll always be tormented by her past, but maybe there's a future for her in a slugcat colony where she can at least lend a helping hand and live by her partner's side. There is a place for tales about mindless violence, revenge and justice, but there's also place for tales where things are a bit more messy and you can't really measure when someone's worthy of moving on or suffering in pain forever. That's also interesting to think about and I think Artificer's character is a perfect canvas for that sort of exploration. The game gives you just enough room to really ponder where "the point of no return" even is and what it could mean in what context.

What's also interesting to think about is why I dwell on headcanons and ships of characters made up of a bunch of single-colored pixels that never met in canon in such detail (nobody's reading all that), but I hope you enjoyed my ramblings! Thank you for the ask, I should think of this ship more but godmode took over my page. ah

[fountainpenguin]

Past Life Ep. 4 - MumJoel POV

Rapidfire bullet points for Joel/Mumbo's POV (My 3rd watch this session after Grian and Etho)

I'm glad every time we check in on the Rejects, they're busy complimenting BigB's muscles. I liked how Grian even mentioned that to Etho, who started laughing and was like "Yeah."

Mumbo: What else does a Joel do? ... He loves Etho! I'm on my way!

Wait- Mumbo deliberately sought out Etho with the intention of ruining relationships?? Geez. Mr. Confessions over here.

I enjoyed Mumbo trotting off to look for Grian because "Grian seems curious" about Mumbo possessing Joel's body. Even in character, "curious" is such a funny adjective to use in this situation.

I am crying over Impulse telling Mumbo about infinite cake and then when Mumbo questions it... Impulse admits he secretly replaces the cake and just pretends it's infinite. He is so funny and I'm charmed by everything he says. He could drop me in a giant sandpit and I'd thank him as long as he laughed at me.

......... I meant to pack my drawing of Impulse I had him sign at TwitchCon 2023; now I'm doubting that I did. I brought 2 of my 3 containers I use for drawings I've scanned, but I think I left that one behind, and I want to get it framed and hung on my wall. Ah, well- Next semester.

I enjoyed Mumbo's comment of "Wow, I got lost in my own base" while wandering around a world (and team) he's unfamiliar with.

Mumbo spent like 2 minutes walking through the Rejects maze, just trying to get inside.

Mumbo: Joel generally complains, but then continues doing what he was doing. Mumbo, 3 seconds later: I did tell Cleo I was aesthetically pleasing as a human being. Mumbo: It's not even really a maze, is it? BigB: No, it's just meant to be suffering.

Why does he just say things...

I like how Scott, Martyn, and Scott came over, and Scott ALSO comments on how they were watching the Rejects from afar and trying to guess what they were talking about, and Cleo said "Probably admiring BigB's arms," and then they walk over and THEY ARE.

That is all the Rejects want to talk about: How jacked BigB is. We're on Episode 4 and this is still a subject of conversation. Everybody loves hot, hardworking BigB.

I'm calling Jimmy out for addressing JumboBeans as "Mumbo." BZZZT! Go to roleplay jail.

Mumbo begging Tango for help in his fight with Scott, asking if there's anything they can do to ruin his ping... Tango like "I could make 70 redstone clocks in the area to lag him out."

It's so funny watching Cleo and Tango both build the arena. They are so incredibly sus as they tell Mumbo to go "do whatever it is he needs to do" and Tango saying "Yeah, you can't plan your own battlefield."

Mumbo: Oh, I could give [Scott] a little neck kiss, because I know that's- I know [Joel] normally reserves that to Etho, but that WOULD be threatening, if someone, like, comes into a war and then gives you a little peck on the neck.

MUMBO...

Jimmy: The hole has claimed 5 dinguses. Mumbo: ... Would it not be dingi?

So funny every time Mumbo possesses someone because he really doesn't have a filter...

Mumbo: I'm a drummer. I don't know anything about music and tone.

It infuriates me how many great gluten puns everyone's been able to come up with. You've got Glutenkhamun of the food pyramid, now everyone's greeting Ren by saying "Gluten tag..."

I love every joke Martyn and Mumbo were able to rapidfire improv about how business was booming in the new neighborhood (that just exploded) and that people are dying to get a deal, and that jobs for renovations have opened up... but I especially want to highlight Martyn suggesting Mumbo bring his kids and teach them to swim. in the exploded building.

Martyn: I do have to warn you, though, about the strange titanium egg. Uhh, we have heard that there are signs of radiation, uh, coming off of it, but! It only might make you sprout one extra limb. Mumbo: Wow! Martyn: So it's- It's a bit of a roulette? Mumbo: Whereabouts would this limb sprout? Martyn: Depends! It could be a third leg. It could be a second arm... Mumbo: A second arm? Martyn: /realizes his misspeak and starts cracking up [Both Mumbo and Martyn losing it]

I'm going to have to jump over to Bdubs' episode soon to hear better, but I appreciate what sounds like him trying to get Cleo ("Mom") involved because Scar keeps murdering him. Apparently, "Dad" isn't doing a good job watching out for Bdubs.

I enjoy Scar trying to throw the boogeyman under the bus by saying "Who's not here?" <- Man who got blamed for not being around during the octo-kill. Now he's responsible and trying to shift blame.

I love how proud both Mumbo and Martyn are that they "didn't skip a beat in improv" despite the other 6 people in the room blowing up. Imagine if that was your actual improv class and you come back and two of them are still committed to the bit.

<- Martyn and Mumbo would pass the "chicken reacting to nuclear bomb" improv test.

Mumbo to Cleo, talking about his upcoming arena fight with Scott: I must say, I'm feeling a little bit more confident now that I've discovered I'm indestructible, because I've just survived a gargantuan explosion, unscathed.

Huge fan of Mumbo and Jimmy realizing they can use the giant staircase Jimmy spent the episode building for a Rocky training montage. Perfection.

Jimmy, who pulled Mumbo aside for a pep talk: Hey! Scott, move a couple of steps back. This is backstage, dude; this is backstage. Get back a little bit. Scott: It's my fight as well! I'm allowed in the backstage!

I enjoyed the roleplay of Mumbo putting down a pressure plate so he and Scott could "weigh" themselves before the fight.

Bonus shout-out for Scott walking off saying "Wow" over and over while Jimmy runs after him, pleading "Minecraft fat is different to fat!"

Cleo: You're Steve weight. Mumbo, calling after Scott: You're Steve, not Alex!

slkdjfks... I actually do use Steve and Alex as measurement terms in 'fic (under the idea that all the default body types represent a different height and weight and that theoretically, a person can be measured along that scale), so this delights me.

[Sighs loudly]. Did Mumbo just say he uses a single finger to push his W, A, S, D keys? I've never heard him say that in all the times he's talked about his keyboard situation.

sldfjk, watching Cleo quietly say Martyn's name and nudge him a step farther back from the fight because she knows the arena's going to blow... She cares.

sldkfjsdlkfjsdlkfjsdklfj @ Martyn hopping back down as soon as Cleo's back is turned.

He looks RIGHT AT HER when he jumps down, too. And then he just keeps jumping back and forth, up and down... Does this man have a deathwish?

Clarification from my Etho liveblog, where I thought Mumbo said he forgot to turn keep inventory on. Incorrect; he says he forgot keep inventory was a thing, so he was kicking himself for taking off his gear and putting it in a chest. That's all. See ya next time!

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I love your eltrich au so much! It's just so interesting and uncanny💙 Anyways my question is were Fiddleford and Ford human at some point too or were they always like that?

Thank you! I've had fun with it :)

And yes, both Fords used to be mortal to some capacity. Maybe not human per se, but human equivalents.

The rough background I have is that Bill was his Canon all powerful eldritch abomination self, and at some point in the distant past got himself zodiaced, which in this case tore him into ten pieces and those pieces scattered. Each one became mindless/instinct driven representations of Bills power, powerful creatures that bounced the moment they came into being, leaving Bill with a mortal life and a soul that remembers being what he is but is very much a regular soul now. Basically Bill reincarnates remembering he was a powerful triangle and wants to be that again.

Then at some point Ford came in contact with the Hand, bested it in some way and absorbed it, and became a Hand monster, specializing in Deals. Some time after Fiddleford came in contact with the Glasses beast, bested it, and absorbed it's power to become a guy with too many glasses. Since they're both originally from Bill they recognize that their power originated from the same source and so see each other as family, and Bill is a part of that family but also annoying :/

I'm thinking Fiddleford was human, almost had his mind snatched by a creature that devours memories, and then memory gunned its brain blank and overrode its empty mind with his own in an awful brain/glasses heart eating showdown. Ford, on the other hand, I'm thinking was never human at all, or if he was he came from a dimension with no Stan. Summoned the hand, and since it made deals but didn't really have much of a personality outside of that, Ford was able to trick it into making a deal where he made deals for it, which ended with it merging with Ford in a way he very much didn't intend but didn't really regret once he had unlimited reach to countless dimensions and planes of existence.

[infiniteeight8]

Steter prompt :post wild hunt idea : Stiles questions why everyone else felt something missing when he was taken but Noah just happily went along with Claudia as a substitution, ends up discovering that Ghost Riders tapped into the deeply hidden resentment Noah had for Claudia dying over him and that small part that blames Stiles for her dying (you cannot tell me that S2 hallucinations fear didn't come from something), and Peter is the one to pick up the pieces when Stiles falls apart over it

This prompt is long enough that I’d normally turn it down, but I haven’t received many Steter prompts lately, and I did feel that I could do a piece of it, so here we go!

This is just Peter being there as Stiles falls apart. If anyone wants to write a full length fic of this, I would read the hell out of it. 😀

-

By the time Peter reaches his apartment door, he already knows that Stiles is on the other side of it, and that he’s upset, which is something of a mystery. Peter likes Stiles, he always has, but he can’t say the feeling is mutual. Stiles respects him, maybe even understands him, but he was hardly Stiles’ first choice when it came to socializing. Or comfort. At least, so he thought.

Peter opens his door and stands back. Stiles stalks inside, but it’s not anger; he’s tense because he’s barely holding himself together.

“What can I do for you, Stiles?” Peter asks casually, as if he can’t smell the distress.

“You said once that your family didn’t love you,” Stiles says bluntly. “At least, not the way they loved each other.”

Peter doesn’t flinch; it’s a truth he’s had a long time to get used to. “That’s right.”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest. “How did you make peace with that? Or get over it, or whatever.”

“Stiles,” Peter says quietly. “What happened?”

Stiles looks away. “My dad—” He swallows hard. “We were talking about the Wild Hunt. When I was taken. Scott, Lydia, they said they knew something was wrong even though they didn’t know what. But my dad…” Tears finally spill over. Stiles dashes them away impatiently. “He couldn’t tell. He didn’t realize anything was missing, not as long as he had my mom. He—” Stiles’ voice goes thick and choked, the tears coming faster now. “He was happier.”

Peter reaches out and pulls Stiles into his arms, half expecting him to pull away even now. But he doesn’t, instead burying his face in the curve of Peter’s throat and fisting his shirt in his hands. “He’s always— He thinks it’s my fault,” Stiles sobs. “He doesn’t want me.”

More accurate to say that he wants Claudia more, but Peter keeps that to himself. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” Peter says, rubbing Stiles’ back as he cries. “I never wanted this for you.”

A couple of minutes pass. Stiles’ shudders calm faster than Peter expects. Eventually, he pulls back—but not away—and meets Peter’s gaze again. “So how? How did you deal?”

“I went looking for someone who did,” Peter says. He snorts softly. “Can’t say I recommend that tactic. I got into a lot of trouble and never did find them.”

“You didn’t worry that there was something wrong with you?” Stiles asks. “Something that made you fundamentally unlovable.”

“I did,” Peter admits. “But you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh?” Stiles raises an eyebrow. 

“The whole pack loves you,” Peter says airily, instead of what he’s thinking.

The calculation on Stiles’ face says maybe he heard it anyway.

Peter can’t bring himself to regret it.

[etherealevangeline]

Midnight Morgue—The Morgue

hey ya’ll! please read the notes below. MDNI! please enjoy and don’t hesitate to leave feedback, it means a lot to us writers! words: 4.6k. my ao3: etherealevangeline

summary: reader finds herself joining Price as a coroner to pursue her “career,” as a mortician. this may or may not be an excuse to explore her eerie curiosity of death, considering her painful backstory of her dead family. this story deals with explicit themes such as smut, gore, horror, alcoholism, mental health, delusions, surgical themes/terms but probably inaccurate lol.

notes: just love the look of 2009 simon riley in this morgue AU. morgue may or may not be haunted :) ritualistic themes/cult like behavior. Takes place in Manchester. Price is the supervisor. Mactavish & Garrick are police officers. slow burn simon x reader, enemies to lovers, simon has a huge chip on his shoulder. maybe some johnny x reader. reader is questioning her belief in the spirit realm. feminine pronouns are used.

Manchester wasn’t loud. Not in the way cities are defined. It hummed—low and industrial, like something buried under stone and soot, whispering through alley cracks. The buildings leaned with age, bricks muddled and windows covered with grime. Light filtered through grey clouds like old film reels, casting the streets in a pale, sickly glow. There was always a drizzle, and something to talk about. It wore its history like second skin, the industrialized buildings a testament to it. 

Cigarette butts often loitered the alleyways, cats pouncing about, waiting for a can of sardines to sink their teeth into. Some were home trained, some weren’t. You’d know by their awful batting and festering skin, claws out like armor. Something eerie and dark awaited in these alleyways, however. It never truly was peaceful, despite its quiet nature. It resembled more of a looming threat buried under ground, but it always listened, always felt, always remembered. 

The pain and agony of that night never left you. Manchester felt it, in fact, sucked it in like it was its own pain. It left a sinking, wallowing hole in your chest every time you thought of it. And to disguise your pain—you had turned to drinking. The feeling of the whiskey went down like water on the weekends. If anything, it was less of a drink to you and a source of never ending depravity. 

A way to rot on your couch.

‘’A wee alcoholic, aye?’’ You’d remember the man's words. He wasn’t the new rookie deputy cop you’d expected. No, near him was a towering man, all clad in his uniform. He had a buzzcut. 

What you remember was his cognac eyes boring into yours, the sight of a frown pulling at his lips from the stress of the job already taken over. Crow's feet pinched at his eye corners. His hand rested on his walkie talkie as if cradling it to soothe him. A ring perched on his finger, he knew his loyalties well.

’’Bloody hell, I don’t remember his name,” You muttered weakly, a sigh leaving your nostrils. Your languid, half lidded eyes from intoxication gaze up at the ceiling. 

It spins. 

You could hear the background noise of your TV—it’s nothing interesting. 

It dragged on and on until her voice drowned out. That wallowing hole inside your chest can never be sewn, you thought.

And that was mostly why you worked in a morgue. Since seeing the death of your kind—it stirred something deep inside you. Something you didn’t understand from the very beginning. 

It was a need to know, a primal curiosity to understand death and how it impacted the human body. You were once told it was how you coped with what happened, but how many times did you believe that when you drank your hundredth for the night? What you still wanted to know was how it felt when that car wrapped around that pole. The smell of gasoline to burn your nostrils, and how it felt to have a 9mm blow your head off. The sound must be deafening. 

It must have had to blow in your eardrums and produce a shudder so violent you'd whip around. It was sickening and frightening, the kind of thoughts you had. Some would think so. But how could you sit there and write them off, when they whispered from the dark halls of your mind? Every night, beckoning. 

Chanting like venomous whispers.

And when the nights came, you’d sit and analyze. Hunched on your bed as the autumn night howled and the wind moaned for reprieve. Rain splattering like blood against the window. You’d replay what you’d see over and over again—only for your body to fall short of it all. The one thing missing was the experience. You were just an outsider when it happened to them, that is what it felt like.

But soon, the voices seemed to unravel. A slow hum settled down from the corner of the dingy, messy kitchen. Tablecloth slipped off, no center piece for decorum. The window was open letting in cold stark air. The lamp blinked, and surely enough your attention was back on the TV ahead of you. Rain pounds the screen as the reporter wears her flapping raincoat, eyes squinting as water raced down her pallid skin.

‘’Rattling the suburb of Salford, a 32 year old woman was found dead by the lake. Her body was found by a hiker.’’

‘’The small town is terrified as strings of bodies are found scattered around the area. Will get back to you once we take five.’’ Just like that the screen cuts off. You’re left staring, shot in one hand empty. It feels cold and stale all of a sudden. It churned uneasily in your stomach, gathering like a whirlpool. Pulling at your insides and causing your vision to tilt.

Before you knew it—you threw up again in your trash bin you kept beside you for when it did happen.

With all of the murders happening—bodies came in for an autopsy faster than usual. Normally, it was of a man who had fallen off a ladder and landed fatefully on his head. Leading to a subdural hematoma which then took his life. Or normally it was a druggie overdose.

But this—this pronounced a temperamental chill down your spine. Your arms brushed your sweater in uncertainty as you walked in, chest caving in. Your purse hung from your shoulder—as you gave a glance at the receptionist who was flat faced and had saggy smile lines, the weight of reality sinking in. 

She paid no interest as you walked past and down the rickety, narrow hallway. You punched the elevator and walked in—dim and yellow lights casting a pallid sickly glow on you. Once in the morgue downstairs, you ambled down the cold constricting hallways. It was peacefully silent, and occasionally, scuffles from inside the autopsy room were heard. 

When you walked in—you weren’t not surprised to see the bear of a man washing his hands in the sink, back facing you.

He wore a reddish brown sweater, and it was rolled up. Streaks of grey line his once dark hair. It was faint, but when you looked closely you could see it. In front you was the morgue table, an overhead fluorescent lighting sending your head pounding. 

The lab was beside the sink, the fridge to the side holding blood samples.

‘’You’re late,’’ Price greeted you gruffly, turning to wipe his wet hands on the nearby rag. He slapped it down a little too hastily for your liking--turning his shoulder to look at you, and you swallow, distant eyes tracking his boots. They were distressed, worn, and the leather was peeling from the toe front. The flaps weren’t firm anymore. His khaki pants slouch slightly at the rim of the boots.

’’Got caught up,’’ You said, the words sounding flat. It bore no heartbeat.

‘’Get on with it, MacTavish is coming in with a body,’’ Price said firmly and you nodded your head. His pinched eyes watch you closely, raking a magnifying glass over your weak form. 

You felt like a carcass—being picked apart under his gaze. He picked and prodded at the meat and torn flesh that resembled you, leaving nothing but that exposed hole of deprecation.

You shuddered under his gaze. You don’t like it. But you know this is how he is. Ever since you first came. It must be from all his years of military experiences which is why it came so easy to tear you apart like this with just a look.

You unwrapped your scrubby red scarf, hanging it in the closet door inside. You hung your purse and quickly scrubbed your hands, head lowered in the sink where he previously stood. 

You get under your fingernails, as the suds glide down. You scrubbed until red showed up and your chest felt less tense than it did under his gaze.

Price meanwhile, he wiped down the chalkboard to the back center of the room, his long arms swiping with ease. A hand steadies the side and he then rests the eraser on the ledge before turning to you, his boots scuffling, ‘’You know the drill.’’

Wiping your hands, you moved with haste. You walked past him and the smell of tobacco hits you. He moved back to address you, eyes lingering on the top of your head uneasily. 

His arms crossed as if surveying you. Was he a hypocrite, eyeing you as if you’d committed a war crime for drowning your sorrows? You shouldn't think like this—he’s your superior. But apart from that, you had little to no room to care for his reputation.

You drew a figure of a body, finishing the legs, trailing up to the arms, and head. You then rinsed your hands, and snapped on some gloves by the lab desk area. He should’ve told you to wait before washing them. 

Your fingers wiggle, and you turn to Price, holding up your hands and nodding. He makes a quick move to talk, ‘’You’re not dead until—‘’

‘’You’re warm and dead.’’

Something akin like pride flickered in his eyes as you announced it with ease. At first you didn't understand the implication behind the words but to him it held some sort of motivation. You thought it was silly to have said it--but upon seeing that glint in his eye it has you second guessing your thought for a second.

‘’If I ave’ to drag you to work, I will personally see to it that you’re warm and dead,'’ He said dryly, however, there was a hint of something in his scruffy voice but you couldn't quite name it. 

The way his expression was hidden makes you tilt your gaze to his to see what’s underneath. To cut him open like a can of worms, to expose his insides and all his guilt. Shame. Repressed nightmares. 

The way he'd done with you. Maybe you’ve been staring too long because he then cleared his throat.

The sound of boots thudding down the hallway came into earshot and soon a pretty, tall and boisterous man walked in. He’s sporting a mohawk, his skin somehow glistening despite the dreading atmosphere of the night, ’’We copped one, Doc,’’ He said in his thick Scottish accent, nodding a head before his eyes roamed over to you. His light eyes if it was possible--swelled with even more amusement. You stand there, ignoring him as the body rolls in. It's the new recruit, you remembered, the one who held his walkie like it was something beloved to him. You flash a glance at his uniform—Garrick. The victim was covered in a white sheet, you can’t tell if it’s a woman or man yet. The feet point out, unmoving and poking at the cloth. After Mactavish removed his gaze from your still form, his walkie beeped and he then came over by Garrick who situated himself at the other end. 

On three, they hoisted the body onto the table. ‘’I had it,’’ Price muttered, slapping his gloves on.

Mactavish gave him a sloppy grin before stepping back on his boots, ‘’Wanted to impress the Bonnie.’’

Confusion must’ve betrayed your normally flat face as you walked to the table, tilting the overhead lights to the body below. MacTavish's’ eyes glitter at your reaction, happy he got to milk some sort of response from you. Garrick scoffed and a hand rested on his belt.

’’You’ll get it soon, dinnae fash yer’ self,'’ You glanced at where the face is supposed to be, and then at Mactavish. Your lashes brushed your brow bone, unwavering.

’’Give her a few and she’ll pick up the Scotsman, yeah?’’ Garrick said roughly, moving so he strolled the gurney out.

He disappeared down the dreadful hallway and you hear the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights again. Something irked you. 

They spoke as if you weren't in the room. Then again, you had a habit of shrinking away to hide from the limelight. Could you really blame them? ‘’English, MacTavish,’’ Price mumbled, but MacTavish stepped back, saluting comically at you both before heading out, one hand resting on his vest.

You don’t miss the way his holster wraps around his thigh and hugs it, his sidearm jiggling.

Price grabbed his voice recorder from his table, fingers pressing the red button. It was small, and fit in his large hands perfectly, ’’This is the autopsy of an unidentified male, assisting with John Price is the coroner,'’ He mentioned your name and it almost had a grudging sense of respect behind it. Your heart lurched ever so slightly at the recognition. Did you like that? Did you like being seen? You're not sure what to think as you cross the line of curiosity and shame. 

He then gave a subtle nod to you to start working. Your hands ghosted over the edges of the thin sheet for a second too long.

’’Remove the sheets,’’ Price ordered, still not having loosen up his tongue from his ex military days. It's sharp and biting, firm. You bet it straightens the soldiers up before any real whipping.

And so you do.

You don't shudder at the sight. After seeing it so many times it burns like a memory behind your eyes. The pale cloudy eyes of the man met yours. At the sight you find it intriguing even, as his eyes convey no emotion. It’s flat, staring into an abyss. He had no consciousness of course.

But when you arrived at the scene of your mother, you thought you could’ve seen the horror written on her face in the aftermath.

''The unidentified male appears to be in his early 30s. He is wearing no clothes,’’ You begin, trailing your eyes down his features before his body. You reach out and wave his arm, seeing how the muscles move and flex.

‘’The man is still in rigor mortis,’’ You identify.

Price nodded, ‘’And what could that mean?’’

’’He was found in a colder temperature, or he just died within 24 hours.’’

Price got up to shuffle to the drawing board. He then wrote with the thin chalk, his back facing you, ‘’Timeframe 24 hours,’' His arm moved with haste. 

He doesn’t bother to write straight, his writing is long, narrow, and at the end his letter swoops down from the effort of removing the chalk. It screeched a bit, grating like nails on the walls.

‘’Blonde hair, possibly blue eyes but hard to tell since it's clouded over.’’

‘’So is it blue or not?’’

You give him a glance from under your lashes, and then suck in a breath,‘’Blue it is.’’

You then continue, tilting the head this way and that, a pinch forming between your brows as you noted diligently his features. You could feel Price studying you intensely. You know you have yet to have order to your examinations, ‘’Caucasian.’’

You could then hear Price writing on the green board.

’’Scarring around his ankles and wrists, like he’s been bound,’’ Price dropped the chalk on the ledge near the eraser and moved forward with ample experience dragging behind him like a shadow. He slapped his gloves on, standing at where the head is positioned and he nodded for you to go to the board instead.

’’Left and right?’’ He looked at you, watching as you walked past and to the board, a hand still adjusting the gloves. He had a bit of a struggle with the gloves being too tight on his wider hands. You circled the ankle and wrists as he taught you, to which you drew arrows and defined ���bound.”

He raised a brow and then his eyes lowered to the unidentified male, ready to start his own observations. The feeling first began as a trickle against his neck, almost like lengthy fingers stroking the skin there. Price rolled his shoulder, as if working out a kink to which you noticed after you turned.

How you wished you blinked an eye. You shifted in your spot.

“I’ve seen this before,” Price murmured, raising the ankles carefully. The joints were shattered, leaving the bone bruised and inflamed. It’s mottled purple and blue, the area ballooned. He reached out almost tenderly to push at the bone in the ankle where it meets the bulbous joint. The bone juts and pressed against the superficial skin, threatening to pierce. 

It slid uneasily.

“When?” You can’t help but ask. Curiosity hit you like a bolt, and you find yourself tip-toeing to eye his movements. 

He stood far, so you have only the view of his head tipped down, hands skillfully working below his waist. In fact his grey is pronounced even more. It shines under the light like silver, “Ten years ago…another male came in. Unidentified. Broken wrists and ankles just like this.”

You swallowed and Prices’ eyes flashed. Almost as if reliving a forbidden memory. It's the way he said it--like a breathy whisper, as if too afraid to still admit what he’d seen, “It was a kid at that time.”

“A kid?” 

Price nodded and then furrowed his brows. The skin pinched from the urge to shove the memory away. He then looked up at you, his eyes shadowed as he rested the ankle down.

You clamped your mouth shut, as it seemed personal, the voice recorder still rolling. 

Price swiveled around to open the mouth of the male. His hands pried and it fell open unnaturally, slack and limp.

His voice was clipped and tight, “Front incisor teeth are missing. Looks to be yanked from the root.”

You wince at the comment, imagining every bit of it. It made you shudder, a cold chill racing down your spine. You turned and continued writing down his observations, circling the mouth area. A nauseous feeling arose in you, swelling like a tide refusing to recede. You couldn’t tell if it was from the drinks the night before, or from seeing the body crudely mangled.

“There’s something stuck in the throat. The esophagus,” Price suddenly said, shining a light down the man's throat with a smaller penlight. 

You turn around, hair whipping slightly, approaching the table where the body lay. You move as light as a feather, your footsteps unheard. A steady hum from the light above soothed your nerves, “What is it?” 

Price sighed heavily, as if the nights worked dragged on. It did, you couldn't blame him, “When we perform the internal examination we’ll see.” 

During the internal examination, Price steadily held his instrument. The scalpel sliced cleanly at the pale flesh. When he inspected the throat area, he detached the larynx, the and the esophagus, where there was swelling and trauma. You narrowed your eyes in focus to see. 

“It looks…round,” You muttered as his gloves prod at it. 

Price extracted what looked to be a small pouch. When he lifted it in the air because his eyes occasionally struggled to see in the dark, his brows shot up. 

At first you couldn’t tell what his reaction was. That glimmer of surprise went away, as if squashing the butt of a cigar.

From behind the pouch as it swung, his gaze then shifted to you, brows lowering into an unsettling scowl, “It’s a small pouch. Looks like it didn’t make its way into the stomach, it was too big.” 

“So he choked on it,” You conclude but Price is quick to stop you. 

“We don’t know that’s how he died. Open this pouch for me.” 

You nodded and rounded the corner of the table, hands fumbling for the pouch carefully. He placed it in your palms and you moved over to the lab table, where the microscope is and your vials. 

You sat, eyeing the pouch under the microscope as Price continued speaking to the recorder, “The pouch was lodged in the esophagus, someone made him swallow it. Or he did it on his own. But the bound marks suggest otherwise, along with the shattered left and right fibula.” 

You shuddered gruesomely. Someone made him swallow it? It was looking more and more likely, especially with the bruises which pointed to a clear MO. 

You leaned in, eyes narrowed like lasers and eyeing the material under the microscope. You hummed and then moved away, glancing at Price who was working the victim.

“It’s just a pouch, nothing is inside.” 

“Why would he swallow something empty?” Price muttered, shaking his head as his eyes trail to the rest of the body. 

You wanted to know as well, to have the dots connect. 

Suddenly, in the line of work you found yourself feeling alive. A thirst for understanding death, yet a desire for figuring out the puzzle pieces. 

You thought you couldn’t feel that way ever again. You swallowed and your eyes darted away at the floor, and Price cleared his throat. 

You joined him. 

The night ended and before you knew it, you and Price concluded the death was caused by a stab wound to the heart. A tiny hole, piercing through the muscle and flesh, almost looking like a corkscrew. It was located laterally, by the ribs. It was nestled well. The thought of someone painfully easing it in, twisting and hearing the bone crack under pressure—It was too much. 

And then to endure the plain of everything else. It was borderline torture at that point. Maybe it was torture.

''Whoever did this must've had a helluva PTO,'' Price muttered, before he shut off the lights, casting the area in complete darkness.

''Who do you think did it?'' Your voice comes out strong and grounded. You gazed at Price who sighed and grabbed his hunky jacket, slinging it on. 

He glanced at you, ''If I took a wild guess, someone with a lotta' experience. They knew which bones to break, most importantly corked the mans’ heart fatally.''

You didn't necessarily feel an ache towards the male, but it manifested as an insistent need to analyze the situation. That was how your brain worked, like a piston.

Price had left a while ago, leaving you to fend for yourself. The night settled with a thick, blue haze stretching solemnly across the cemetery. 

The trees huddled and leaned in as if sharing secrets, but more than ever you feel it offered you no child-like curiosity, the way you would have felt when you were naive. 

Blankets of fog roll in like an oncoming wave. You strolled to your car, boots thudding on the pavement. 

“What d’ye find?” Suddenly, a voice cut through the cold stale air. A certain MacTavish called out from behind you as you walked, his keys jangling with weight.

Your arms crossed to tighten your burgundy cardigan around you, keeping out the cold. It offers little comfort. 

Your scarf flitted in the air as you turned around to see him. 

Mactavish was leaning against the patrol car, and biting into a sandwich. It reminded you that your stomach ached as well for food. 

Something warm. Something tangible beyond years of numbness. You eyed him before walking forward to stand beside him, although not necessarily mingling in his personal space. “What are you doing here? At this hour,” You asked, not wanting to discuss what had been on your very mind as you walked out the morgue. It was teetering at 2am now, and the idea of having a lengthy discussion of blood and bones didn’t interest you. 

“Got called in for a bar brawl,” He said with food in his mouth. You eye him with a sense of distaste, a brow cocking and your arms still crossed to shield yourself from the cold. 

You swallowed and shook your head. The shadows of the gnarly fork like trees draped over your faces, the lamp shade doing nothing to console your uneasiness, “Sounds better than my night.” 

“Join me, then,” He said a bit too cheekily. You scoffed, shoving a hair away from your cheek as it grazed in the wind. You’re sure you resembled Rudolf since the cold was getting harsher and unforgiving these nights. It consumed the forests and every crevice it could. 

You then looked at him, pausing and eyeing his amused expression. His eyes twinkled, most certainly remembering a certain event you two shared. 

Finishing the last of his sandwich, he dusted his hands off and stood tall, shifting on the pavement, “I’ll drop ya home.” 

Did he forget you had a car?

“Not necessary,” You said a bit too fast, cutting him at the last second. You stiffen up and grasp at your elbows tighter, as if trying to melt away in your cardigan. 

You’re not sure what’s worse, him seeing the bottles of alcohol on the ground, or your messy unkempt place. It looked as if a hurricane rummaged in there. And his joke of being an alcoholic—it rubbed you the wrong way. 

But there was no use hiding it. It’s what you depended on for a second long high. And then the weight came crashing down, it crashed hard. But now it had been a running joke of your drunkenness, when you came into work accidentally and met the cop, Mactavish. Let’s just say, you two played in places you weren’t supposed to be.

He happened to drop off a body, whilst he found you sitting at the stale reception desk, working. You typed clumsily and appeared dazed. The lady called in sick, so Simon took over your shift, a man you'd met a few times. Mactavish then grinned devilishly, “Aren’t ye' the new morgue lass?” 

And you gave him a bedazzling smile and grin as if you’d known the man. Cheeks lifted, hair flowing in waves, the warm light almost illusioned you in such a cunning way. You didn't know him, but the alcohol pumping loudly combined with the horrible urge, insistent urge to run away from your past, said otherwise. And behind your eyes you hid very well the pain and agony. It was believable, to the point Mactavish thought you were one of those rowdy restaurant girls, cosplaying as a mortuary assistant. 

Probably his favorite trope.

You remembered the way he hid without a care in the morgue storage. When the coin flipped tails, he lost. With a bickering laugh, he laid down, went in, and you shut it. 

To scare him—you suddenly spoke amongst the corpses when five minutes passed and he yelled, wanting to get out, “Lass, I swear to god next time ye’ will be in here.” 

He banged his head trying to get out. 

Snapping back to reality, as the wind howled like a wolf in pain—you knew that wasn’t the real you. This was. This distant, shrouded and shell of a self. You zoomed back in, the voices and vision fading away from view. You could hear him talk clearly now. 

He had his hands raised as if his hands were burned, brows raised, awaiting a response. 

You awkwardly glanced at him, to which he gazed at, before walking on the pavement, fishing for your car keys in your cardigan pocket. Your car beeped when you pressed the button and you sighed. Your silence left him stunned momentarily, and confused. 

The man wasn't sure of what to think when it came to you, your behavior. You were first Tinkerbelle, the manic pixie that night, and now you were a closed off wall.

“Get home safe, will ye?” He hesitantly said from behind you. He watched as your hair whipped and you then gave him a weary glance before leaving in your car. 

You thought he muttered something along the lines of, “Can never seem to pick one up, aye?” He sighed pitifully, turning away.

In your car as you drove down the narrow highway, trees whizzed past. An eerie fog had set in and you put on your hard lights to see ahead. You then slowed down, sighing through your nose.

Long morning, long drive.

© 2025 etherealevangeline — (do not translate, copy, reproduce, or reupload my work) 🤍

[one-annon]

hi guys! i had a crash out today so what better way to handle it then making my second favorite forsaken character crash out? haha anyway 7n7 crashing out on two time and shed but its my au and he knows what shed did to kasper and 1x...just a drabble so its not the best but i dont really care right now lalala! one day ill continue my actual au writes

seven was stressed beyond belief. first his child is here, now his fiance? how the hell did the spectre expect him to deal with this?

currently, he was sat on the couch the spectre had, oh, so graciously given the survivors. two time was next to him, shedletsky in the chair next to them. the two were chatting about that damn cult again. two never shut up about the damned thing. it wasnt even that big of a cult anyway. what the hell did it matter?

his cousin, 7e7 was standing near the staircase, watching him closely. his cousin knew how much he struggled like this. there had been too many nights of n7 crying on his shoulder. e7 could tell just by his mannerisms that he was on the edge of cracking. the way he stared down at the wood floors, eyes unfocused, hands clenched together and elbows resting on his knees. it barely looked like n7 was breathing. 

n7’s hand twitched. his lips parted just slightly. he blinked once, twice, three times. two times voice had risen in volume, hands waving around excitedly as he bragged about his god.

then it happened.

sevens tail flicked against the couch as he straightened his back, hat almost falling backward and off his head with how fast he sat up. his head snapped to two time, sharp teeth on full display and voice shaking with anger. 

“do you EVER shut the FUCK UP?” he barked out, glasses fogging ever so slightly from how hot his skin was. 

two time was taken aback, their hands lowering as they tilted their head. “what?”

7n7 pushed himself up off the couch, breathing out a laugh, “i mean, cmon! we’ve heard the SAME FUCKING STORY about the SAME FUCKING CULT over and over and OVER!!” he rolled his eyes dramatically, moving his hands in large, theatrical movements. “your god does NOT FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOU!!” he leaned in close to two’s face, his nose scrunched.

“dont speak such things-!”

“SHUT UP!!!” seven cut them off, groaning and running his fingers through his hair, gripping and pulling for a moment. “if they cared, you wouldnt be here would you?”

two time stood, holding a hand to their chest. “our lord, the spawn, has blessed me with the gift of second life!! spawn’s plan for me other than that is none of my business!”

shedletsky shifted himself around, moving between the two of them and setting a hand on both of their chests, “settle down!” he huffed, looking to seven. “whats gotten into you, man? youve got no reason to act like this!”

7n7 went quiet. his eyes met shedletskys. 

“you think you have any right to talk?” he asked, disgust dripping from his words. “mr ‘i experimented on my fucking kids and left them to die’?”

shedletsky stumbled over his words, hesitating for a moment before stating “i have no children..” 

“oh, you dont?” 7n7 laughed, glancing back to two time to see them making their swift escape. “thats funny - coulda sworn you had three, aye?” he smiled, a real, shark like teeth filled smile. “what about kasper? that missing boy? and null? your favorite creation?”

the brunette swallowed. how the hell did he know about all of this?

“i was there when he ran away. i watched him enter that fucking elevator knowing you were behind it. i recorded it too, dont you remember?” 

shedletskys wings twitched uncomfortably. he stayed quiet.

“i asked you a question.” 7n7 gripped sheds shoulders, “do you FUCKING REMEMBER leaving your SON, your CHILD, a living BEING, alone to fend for himself after you had INFECTED HIM? then- ha- then i exposed you!” he removed his hands, keeping one close to sheds face to point at him. he wagged his finger slightly, summoning the c00lgui with his free hand and typing in a few commands. video footage appeared on the small screen. “oh, but you didnt like that did you? you didnt like being exposed as an awful excuse of a god, of a FATHER, of a BEING.”

shedletsky stared.

“YOU LEFT THEM WHEN THEY NEEDED YOU MOST,” 7n7 let the footage play, watching as the former god stared. “youre the WORST JOKE OF A FATHER ANYONE COULDVE HAD!! hell, i dont think you even deserve that fucking title.” the gui vanished with a flick of his wrist.

there was a moment of silence.

a soft mutter, barely above a whisper. “and what makes you think you do?”

“what makes-” 7n7 inhaled, cutting himself off. he turned away from shedletsky, holding his breath for a long moment. he muttered something under his breath. his eyes seemed to almost glow red as he looked to shedletsky again. they made eye contact. n7’s hand came forward, clutching shedletsky’s shirt collar. “do you know how hard i tried for c00lkidd? do you know how many hours i stayed up just so he could feel safe in his own damn bedroom? and what did you do? kill your child because what? they werent up to your standards?”

shedletsky didnt crack, his head leaning back slightly. “1x was a danger!”

“a danger to WHO? to your image? to your ego?”

the cabin fell quiet. on the floor below, the remaining survivors had gathered around, watching them. some with concern, others with fear. 

“at least im not an exploiter!” he scoffed, giving seven the most disgusted look he could muster up.

seven shoved him back. “at least i take fucking blame for what i did.” 

e7 noticed the shift in shedletskys demeanor, the way his fingers reached for his sword that wasnt there. he noticed the tears welling up in sevens eyes. 

“n..” he sighed, reaching out and carefully, cautiously, setting his hand on 7n7’s shoulder. “cmon, man.” 

it took n7 a moment to relax. it took him longer to finally move away from the former god. it took about 2 minutes just to get him back to his and e7’s shared room.

they sat on 7n7’s bed, right next to each other like when they were kids. e7 held his arm out, humming as his cousin flopped onto him, resting his head on his shoulder. “none of what happened to us is your fault..” he started, one hand rubbing 7n7’s back and the other carding through his messy hair. “youre stressed. i get it. but you cannot go yelling at people like that…it wont ever end well.”

7n7 choked out a soft sob. “i always do this.” he cried out, “i always ruin my relationships with people one way or another!”

“no you dont..” e7 tried, summoning his own gui to contact the only person he knew who could help. it may not be much, but its always worth a shot. 7n7 whined out more words as the phone feature on the gui ringed. once, twice, then a voice.

“hell do you want?” was grumbled. it was a voice 7n7 was all too familiar with.

“noli?” he whispered, eyes glancing up.

“oh. hi seven! whats wrong? whys e callin?”

7n7 sniffled, shifting around to sit up. okay. he could handle this. he needed to calm down. then he would go apologize. 

fuck.

okay.

[runabout-river]

That thing you said about Time Vessel Association/the Star Religious Group wanted Amanai Riko killed was because they didn't want a Christian to become the next body of Tengen, who was a Buddhist God, makes so much sense, specially when you see the historical hostility between against Chrisitanity that has been in Japan (tho Buddhism had its detractors in Japan too by a myriad of diferent political and social reasons and as far as I know there still is a lot of mistrust against forgeiner religions in general).

I wonder what traditional Japanese sorcerers (specially from the Gojo, Zenin and Kamo clans) think about sorcerers who follow other relgions asides of Shinto and Buddhism such as Hindus, Muslims, Christian, Zorastrians, Jews or even Wiccans.

(Also, I think that Gege mentioned that Angel was from the Middle East, which would likely make them a believer of an abrahamic faith since Heian was kickstarted after Islam establishment and both Jewish and Christians had an important presence and communities and their name is a biblical reference itself. Kinda wanna know how Angel arrived Japan before trains or planes were a thing and what is the deal of sorcerers outside Japan like Miguel and Laure. )

(Sorry for the long ask, lol)

Yes, the Star Religious Group being against Riko because of her religion makes sense so I was sooooo confused when no one talked about it :O

Rereading it, it was extremely low-key, so I get why not many picked up on it. (And to be frank, these parts of anglophone fandom isn't good with talking about religious themes anyway, especially when it's in a "foreign" setting with Christianity being the marginalized identity.)

On what traditional sorcerers would think of non-Japanese, non-Buddhist and Shinto sorcerers: There isn't much to go on because Gege kept the foreigners (and commentary about them) to a minimum while also highlighting that Japan is extra special about jujutsu.

Most Japanese sorcerers either wouldn't have an opinion on foreign sorcerers because they don't encounter many of them, or they would feel superior to them because their Japanese jujutsu society is magnitudes bigger and stronger than what other countries could cobble together.

Exceptions to this are:

Tengen, because she had no problem fusing with a Japanese Christian. Her compatibility to the star plasma vessel was more important.

Geto, his family was diverse because he cared about all sorcerers.

Gojo most likely, because he had no problem working with foreign sorcerers but he was clumsy about it.

The Heian gang like Sukuna, Yorozu, Uraume and Kenjaku because they seemed to be on relataively good terms with Angel. (At least on their end.)

Sukuna, because he would care about the strength of a sorcerer more than their specific background. He hates or gets bored by most people equally but as we've seen with Maki, he might have a special interest to see how the jujutsu of someone from a different religious and cultural background works.

We also had Dhruv, a foreign sorcerer nearly 2000 years old who was maybe of Hindu origin, but he was killed pretty quickly

On Angel, Gege confirmed she's from the Middle East and I think he said she flew to Japan? There she became part of an elite squad that was defeated by Sukuna.

We've seen that she's from an Abrahmic religion, already by her design and name, but also when Hana attacked Sukuna after he took over Megumi. The question would be which one as all three have stories about Jacob and his ledder. In Japan, Christianity is the one most known and taught about. I don't know how Judaism is perceived there, and Islam is mostly the religion of some of their few immigrants and even fewer converts and also the countries really far south.

From the JJK wiki we have:

A solid case for Angel being a Christian from the Middle East. Make her Palestinian while we're at it. Palestinian Christians are the oldest Christian communities in the world.

What Gege could've also incorporated into JJK is the Nazar amulet to protect against the "Evil Eye." In Muslim cultural and religious beliefs (and many more cultures around the world, too. "Being cursed" is a universal standard of belief in humanity) the evil eye resembles how CE works in JJK, basically cursing someone with bad luck and misfortune due to feelings of jealousy and hate. In popular culture you'll mostly see that with this 👇 blue eye design meant to pull the evil gaze and the curse of others to itself to protect you.

[climbthemountain2020]

Feysand | Ao3 | Drabble 1/?

A series of Feysand drabbles written for @popjunkie42 for our Leo Season Celebration!

Chapter 1: A Ceremony

“We deserve each other, and we deserve to be happy.”

The temple was quiet, their steps echoing on the stone as they entered the sacred space.

 They’d started from the townhouse, serious under the cover of night, but somewhere under the moonlight, between exchanging kisses and holding hands and the excitement of what they were doing, they’d begun to run. 

She knew he was faster than her, easily, but he never ventured too far—never left her behind. 

By the time they’d reached the side of the Sidra, they’d been stifling giggles like children caught past bedtime, Feyre’s hand over her mouth as they walked beneath the archway that led inside. The carvings on the walls began at the front steps, each stone so ornately decorated and with such precision that she longed to run her fingers across them—ached to paint the scenes depicted in such delicate detail.

Rhys had sent word ahead—no details, of course—just a notice that the High Lord would be coming to the temple. He trusted the people here, knew them all personally despite his time away. Feyre knew, even if he’d never admit it, how deeply the people of Velaris loved him. If he sent word he was coming, the acolytes and priestesses would be here.

Ahead, beneath the flickering light of candles and a solitary altar, stood a priestess, her robes brushing softly over the floor over her feet. She was fae, that much was certain, but not unlike the healers of the Night Court, she looked aged. Feyre wondered idly how old a fae would need to be to begin physically aging. 

The priestess smiled warmly, holding hands out, her palms facing up in welcome as they approached. As though she understood without either of them having to say why they were there. 

“Dahlia,” Rhys greeted, the woman’s face crinkling with a kind grin so warm and maternal that Feyre felt it in her very body.

“High Lord.” She offered a small, informal bow. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

He held up a hand. “How many times do I need to beg you to call me Rhys?”

“At least one more,” she said, her grin widening. She turned to Feyre, taking her hands easily in her own. The skin was warm and weathered, soft still against Feyre’s skin. “I’ve known him since he was just a boy, you see. Even back then, he was Little Lord to me.” 

The conspiratorial glint in her eyes drew a genuine smile from Feyre, who decided, then and there, that she very much liked Dahlia.

“But you, Feyre Archeron, you are new to me.” She glanced over Feyre’s face as though she was inspecting her, but the glint never left her eyes. “I heard what you did for our city. We will be indebted to you forever.”

“No debt required. It was my honor,” Feyre responded without hesitation. She meant it.  She would do it again without question.

“I received your letter, and took the liberty of clearing the temple of the acolytes. I wasn’t sure of the level of discretion you wanted.” She took a moment to pull what looked like long, wrapped sticks from the bowl of hammered metal at the altar, catching the flame and lighting more candles behind them and illuminating the room further.

The movement pulled Feyre’s gaze around the massive room they were in, eyes widening to see how it opened into the full night sky in front of them. The temple pressed out into a carved balcony, the Sidra and the mountains and stars all in a beautiful display ahead.

Home , she thought, effortlessly. This was home.

Behind her, she could still hear Rhys and Dahlia talking. 

“A mating ceremony, High Lord?”

“I’ll be swearing in Feyre as our High Lady tonight.” 

The shock was brief on Dahlia’s face, though Feyre saw it flicker there before something like joy overtook it like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Without hesitation, Dahlia stepped forward and embraced Rhys, who—being a great deal taller than her—immediately leaned down to return the gesture.

“Your mother would be so proud,” Feyre heard Dahlia whisper, the tears well and truly springing to her eyes this time. She felt the pulses of grief and love and nostalgia flicker through Rhys and echo around her heart. She would do everything she could to honor the memory of the woman who had raised him to be the male she now loved beyond reason. Feyre made the silent promise in the temple then, hoping that, somehow, she might hear it.

Dahlia’s voice was the only sound in the low light of the temple as Rhys took Feyre’s hand.

“Then let’s get started, shall we?”

It took only a moment to gather them in front of the flaming altar, Dahlia ready with small bottles clinking in hand. Rhys’s grip on her hand grounded her, her heart thundering with resonant joy.

They were doing this. It wasn’t a wedding, but it was more than that. It was a sign of their commitment—lasting forever, for as long as they lived. There would be time for the rest once they nullified the Cauldron, once everything had been settled. They could have a million ceremonies, but Feyre knew without a doubt that this was the one she’d always remember the most fondly. 

When Rhys had asked her, she’d simply said yes, ready to jump with his hand in hers. 

“Not consort, not wife,” he’d explained. “You will be my High Lady. My equal in every way; you would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside mine. Never sidelined, never designated to breeding and parties and child-rearing. My queen.” 

The words settled inside her, filling something that had too-long been left deep and wanting. He wanted her, he loved her, and above all, he trusted her. 

The fire flared as Dahlia tipped the vials into the fire, the flames’ colors changing to a deep purple then blue so dark it was almost black. She held out a small, jewel-hilted dagger across the flames and Rhys took it without hesitation, cutting a shallow wound across his palm and letting it drip down into the flames that flared wildly in response.

Would you like me to do it for you, too, love? His voice echoed in her mind. She loved how it sounded. It was as much a part of her as her own. She couldn’t believe how long she’d resisted, how long she’d held out, when the bond felt like every good thing that existed between them. It was all the love and warmth and safety that she needed, everything she’d had to live so long without.

I want to do this myself, she responded, her voice reverent, her heart full. She watched his eyes soften as she took the dagger from him.

It didn’t even hurt as she dragged the blade over her skin, mirroring his actions and letting it drip into the flames.

When it flared, his voice echoed again, the comfort and joy and contentment in it a visceral thrum in her chest.

I love you, Feyre. Always.

And I love you, Rhys. 

Dahlia stepped forward, her voice quiet but carrying, steady as the mountains beyond the temple’s edge

“Do you swear to protect the Night Court with all that you are? Your life, your magic, and your soul?” Dahlia smiled as though she knew the answer.  Feyre supposed she did.

Feyre looked at her, but her hand was still clasped in Rhys’s, the heat of his skin anchoring her.

“I do.”

“Do you swear to guard its people and its peace? To lead with wisdom, with mercy, and with strength?”

“I do.” The words left her easily, not because they were simple, but because they were true.

Dahlia’s eyes held hers, deep with knowing. “And do you swear to walk beside your High Lord as his equal? To rule with compassion, to share in power and burden alike, for as long as you both live?”

There it was. Not just the oath to the court, but the vow to him.

She turned to Rhys fully now. The flickering light of the flames danced across his face, catching the moisture in his eyes. Through the bond, she felt it all: his awe, his love, his certainty.

The promise that she meant this—forever. 

“I swear it,” she whispered.  

A single tear slipped down Rhys’s cheek. 

“Forever,” she added, as he closed his eyes and nodded. She could feel the tears on her own face now, the sense of longing that she’d always felt evaporating into nothing as she realized she had all she’d wanted. 

A home. A family. A place where she was loved. A place and people she could protect with everything she was—and know they’d do the same for her.

Something shimmered at the edge of her vision. A glow. A ripple. And then, the magic was curling up her arm. The shimmering, tingling crawl of it winding from her fingers to her forearm was familiar, almost comforting in its warmth. She looked down to find the edges curling, dark, beautiful whorls of black as dark as night adorning her skin. 

They were the marks of a warrior, and they matched her mate’s.

She thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful.

She could feel the power settling into her bones, into the spaces between her ribs, her breath, her heartbeat. She wasn’t just his now. She was theirs . The court. The people. 

“I know it’s not a mating ceremony, but I don’t think anyone would mind if you sealed the magic with a kiss,” Dahlia whispered conspiratorially from across the fire. 

Feyre laughed—light, unburdened. And Rhys, grinning, was already leaning toward her.

They were both moving at the same time, crashing together—a cataclysm of stars, just the way they’d been from the moment they’d met.

[paperclips37]

Mel Instagram anon here (I can’t believe that’s a thing I just typed…) Projecting or not, I think Mel would have as much fun with gender as she would with eras. And I do think she’d have fun!!

So here’s a question for you. I love the idea of Abby going crazy and Frank melting down, that’s amazing. What do you think about Mel’s side of that? The idea of her just being like “oh yeah I’m an influencer, nbd, it’s how I was able to put myself through med school and pay for Becca’s care, I make millions” or whatever is so awesome. So many fics are rich Frank or rich Abby but a super successful Mel is…everything to me actually. But I also really love the idea of her being like “what do you MEAN my Instagram went viral?!” Just out here having a blast and absolutely oblivious angel.

Thoughts?!

Hi! My fashionable anon!

Oh yeah Mel happily runs the gamut from masc to hyper fem. She will wear anything that she wants to wear.

Obviously evolving from her undergrad - high school was just about getting through to college so not much thought went into it then. Obviously she looses both her parents along the way and is then a full time carer to Becca so she doesn't really get time to invest in a lot of things for herself. So she had her tumblr and pinterest boards for her someday.

Then she has a really rough patch. Burned out to fuck right before med school and she realises that she needs an outlet. She needs to mind herself as much as minds her sister. So she starts thrifting once a month. Find things and learning how to tailor them.

She starts with preppy - her mom always liked that vibe. But as she grows in confidence she gets a little more adventurous.

Like her music tastes. So she starts blogging about it on tumblr. Discussing fashion on a limited budget, alterations and fashion with her neurodivergency. Many people have Mel dressing extremely simply because of her NDness 0 - I totally completely transpose my flair for clothes onto Mel. I think she'd be likely to use clothes as a means of telling people who she is.

After preppy she lets herself go all emo and goth vibes and that's when she starts her blog and instagram accounts. The blog has all the details and the how to guides. The insta is just vibes.

And yeah people are obsessed. Because she keeps it annoymonous but people have a strong parasocial connection with her. Because she's Mel. She's so honest and earnest. The photographs are only edited to disguise any majorly identifiable things like her face and tattoos.

She's real.

So she gets a HUGE following. Yes she does ads and stuff but it extremely upfront with her followers. She's a full time carer and a medical student with no family. Girl needs money. No go funds me's or donations. Mel does not need charity. She works for her money.

And people just love that. But all her deals are with ethical companies who give back. During the pandemic Mel goes all out in using fashion and style to fight misinformation by collaborating with doctors and scientists - recommending fits and altering stuff for them. Making face masks. Knitting kits and self care kits. Things like that.

She goes in on the Era's Tour and Sabrina Carpenter. Enjoying the fem fun that comes with all that. Super girly and sexy. Chappel Roan and pride. Punk. Megan Thee Stallion. She dresses for occasions.

But a major theme of her blog comes from her graduating into her career. So she has a side gig for her Dark Academia stuff. Unique enough that she feels like herself but all extremely appropriate for the work place. So her online presence expands into how to stay true to you in a professional setting.

She really doesn't see herself as popular. She makes enough to cover rent and savings and Becca's care but she knows it could disappear one day. But she's not huge - there are way bigger people out there hustling way more. She doesn't have the time or the energy.

Then one day Samira is bemoaning trying to find time to dress herself as an adult (because she never took the damned time to invest in that) and is absolutely gobsmacked by the over 250 thousand followers that Mel has.

"It's only 2500 people Samira."

'Mel it's OVER A QUARTER OF A MILLION PEOPLE?????"

"Oh."

She sees it as a hobby that pays.

Also the thirsty DMs can be intriguing - not that she engages. Though one account by the weird name of drslutstrands has piqued her interest.

----

I HAVE THOUGHTS MANY MANY THOUGHTS

(Garcia changed Franks user name and he doesn't know how to unchange it.)

You have unlocked something in me and MY GOD IT IS AMAZING

[artemisrisen]

I reread the entirety of post-timeskip saezuru over this weekend and I have so many thoughts - but more importantly, I have so many questions. and all the below have nothing to even do with yashiro and doumeki’s relationship, but with the overarching plot that’s happening around them - I ended up breaking it down by section:

YAKUZA WAR:

- what does yamakawa know about kai? why is he the connecting point in all this? why does he need to be protected but also kept under watch?

- why did okuyama take kai under his wing? he said that he owed kai’s father (a former kumichou, now dead) a tremendous favor - was was it? who was kai’s father?

- what is ryuuzu’s ultimate plan with l provoking an all-out war with multiple factions? do they think they have the firepower to go against both sakura and doushinkai? how do they intend to win?

DOUMEKI:

- how did doumeki manage to get/steal 20million yen when he was first attempting to rejoin the yakuza with misumi? what happened to it?

- what is doumeki’s true relationship with izumi-san? who is she?

- why did doumeki tell kamiya in an earlier chapter, “you should not expect me to get promoted?”

- what is doumeki’s end goal overall?

- what will doumeki’s test of loyalty be for the sakura group, now that he has protected yashiro instead of tsunakawa?

YASHIRO:

- what deal did yashiro strike with yamakawa? where did he drop him off?

- what is yashiro doing with all the money he has been accruing? he’s been amassing a ton of “dirty” money well before he knew doumeki was still in the yakuza.

- why has yashiro resisted rejoining the yakuza despite both misumi and nanahara both making it clear they want him to have his own group again?