#and probably never would've made any of these connections that i did)

[spicysourchimken]

Interesting reunions

Tim and Danny are twins, Danny was given up for adoption by the Drakes when he was a baby and Tim was never told he has a brother.

After a reveal gone bad, Danny, Jazz, Sam and Tucker became thieves after closing the portal. They mainly target supernatural or cursed items. Their target, a necklace, is being held in a museum with their in being a private event to show off the piece before it's sent back to its owner.

The heist would've gone well if Tim hadn't also been in attendance.

------

'Lmao and here I thought you didn't want to be here'

It was a text from Dick.

Not exactly the strangest thing to happen when Tim was forced to attend an event.

He'd been benched after a mission resulted in a minor concussion. He'd personally been planning on going over his paperwork for Wayne Enterprises, but apparently that wasn't 'rest', instead he was sent off to be bored out of his mind at some art function. He didn't have time to prepare notes or even do any real research. But he still had Dick who had apparently been dragged along as his babysitter (And was fortunately interested in the items on display)

They'd been texting throughout the night. Dick fed him enough information to be mildly interested in topics of conversation, and when that failed the strange history of the main display. An old necklace that supposedly was connected to a string of deaths and all around misfortune.

So no, the text wasn't strange, but what was, was the photo attached. It was a picture of a man, grinning and chatting amicably with a woman whom he could barely make out as the collection's curator. His hair was longer than Tim's, tied neatly back to be clear of his glasses and to give clear view of the man's face.

Tim's face.

There was a clone at the event.

'can u get me another pic?'

Tim was now significantly more interested. Tim could identify the room they were in, housing the main display and it was about two rooms over from where he was currently hiding out. He could get there easily enough.

Dick sent him a thumbs up before replying with another, distinctly more uncomfortable photo of the man. He smiled awkwardly and Tim could finally get a better look at his face. Tim's brows scrunched together. A lichtenburg scar stretched up from beneath his collar and trailed along his jaw and in the light the man's eyes almost looked green.

He ran the photo through his facial recognition software, getting at least a few pings on himself before finally landing on Jonas Spencer, private security currently assigned to shadow one Morgan Deveraux. His history was solid, highschool records, even a spotty criminal history (points where he'd almost been arrested for bar fights) before he'd joined up with his firm.

So. not a clone. Probably.

Tim would still need to check it out. He pushed past a dark haired woman and entered the main show room. Dick, luckily had kept him in conversation but Jonas looked flighty, his eyes always drifting back to his charge.

Then he caught sight of Tim.

He froze. Staring at Tim for a moment before he tapped his ear- and what Tim assumed to be a comm. He made a move for Morgan, leaving Dick in the dust.

The lights flickered. Jonas reached for Megan, his hand wrapping around hers. Tim could've sworn his eyes darted upwards. Then there was a complete blackout. There was a clatter as a vent grate fell to the floor, shouts arose from the attendees.

Then the lights flickered back to life.

Jonas and Morgan had vanished, and so did the necklace as well as three other paintings.

Good news, its not a clone. Bad news, he might have a twin brother who is in a gang of thieves.

--

Daniel Fenton, or as his ID currently stated 'Jonas Spencer', wouldn't exactly call himself a thief- personally he was more of a collector. Or a curator, whatever the hell you might call a guy who grabs haunted and or cursed objects and dumps them in an alternate dimension.

And it wasn't exactly like he was normally the one stealing things either! That was mostly Sam, he'd done for a bit when they'd first started up (pushing his hands through the glass and taking a necklace with him, or making a painting completely invisible as he whisked it away) but then Sam started calling it 'cheating' and claimed 'his technique was lacking' and promptly took over his position.

(He didn't exactly mind, using his powers too often made his skin crawl. He may not have the GIW constantly hunting him, but he'd had enough run ins to make him sweat. He also didn't want to think about his parents.)

So maybe their entire deal wasn't completely altruistic. When you've been on the run since seventeen and had decided that you, your best friends and your older sister are going to become international thieves, sometimes you have to steal things so that you can have an income. And sometimes stealing is fun.

Unluckily their current job wasn't recreational. They'd heard word of a haunted necklace, there was a string of bad luck connected to it. Mirrors shattering, injuries popping up only days after interacting with the piece, lights falling out from the ceiling. There'd also been a case of near death.

Very clearly the latest display piece was cursed meaning they needed to grab it before it was shipped back into it private collection in France. That meant a time crunch, meaning they wouldn't be fully prepared. It was fine- they'd stolen the dagger of Amon Ra when they had half a day to plan, so three should've been fine.

He and Jazz manned the floor, Jazz kept to grifting while Danny worked as support if things went sideways on any front. Jazz, currently wealthy socialite 'Morgan Devereaux', draped an arm around a politician as he guided her through the collection. Jazz shot him a glance telling him to stay back, keep monitoring the main floor with the necklace.

That was fine. He could do that. He approached the curator and complimented the piece, letting her tell him about the struggles she had getting it overseas let alone her conversations with the owner. Ok, so definitely cursed.

Danny felt eyes on his back, and from the corner of his eye he saw someone take a photo. Tall, dark hair and a bright smile.

Sam pointed out that it was a Wayne.

At that point Danny made an attempt to leave, if he was going to get into a fight we wasn't going to do it there. He'd be too close to the necklace for Sam to get in and grab it without attention being drawn to her too. But Grayson cornered him impressively fast. He asked Danny for a photo, claiming that he looked just like his brother. Danny relented.

Then Tucker chimed in that someone had ran his face. Fuck. Dick kept him in conversation but Danny was eyeing their escape roots. Sam warned that another was coming through the left entrance and that she'd already lifted his phone. Danny turned, preparing himself for confrontation.

Then Danny saw him, his doppelganger.

Grayson hadn't been lying. That thought was terrifying.

Danny sent two taps into his earpiece and made his way towards Jazz. They couldn't risk staying any longer. Danny didn't know if they'd been made or not but he wasn't taking chances. He nodded to Sam who went for the jewels as Tucker cut the lights. Jazz and Danny took a painting each.

Sam went for the vents and Danny and Jazz disappeared through the front door.

[melanieph321]

If you can write for Kenan yildiz where he gets jealous because you’re friends with your ex

PS I like your work and I hope you have a good day😌🫶🏼

Ugh, love this! 😩

SEVEN DAYS OF REQUESTS 2.0

(DAY 5)

Kenan Yildiz x Reader - The Perks Part 1/2

+18

Part 2

Enjoy!

You stared at the invitation in your hand, feeling your heart sinking into the depths of the school grounds. "Marco, what is this?"

He stood before you with a cheap smile and box of chocolates in his hands. "Don't play dumb Y/N, it's an invitation to prom, what else?"

"Why are you inviting me to prom when you know that I have a boyfriend?"

"Who, Kenan?" Marco laughed. It was hard to believe that you used date him once. Marco was technically your ex boyfriend, but sharing the same friend group made it nearly impossible for you to avoid him.

"Be real Y/N, Kenan is not coming to Prom. Juventus has a game on Saturday."

"He might make it." You hissed. Although you knew how important Juventus game against Napoli was. The perks of dating a professional football player.

Kenan wasn't like any other guy though. He was muture and very determined about his sport. You met him through family connections, and what started out as an innocent friendship quickly turned into something more. Kenan however, never finished high school. A tradition like prom probably had little significance to him.

"Okay, let's say he does make it...." Marco explained, "Don't you think it will ruin everything?"

"How so?"

"Well, you'll never get any time for yourself, let alone on the dance floor. People, especially the girls, are going to flock after him like wild chickens, meaning the two of you won't have a moment for yourself. Is that really what you want your biggest night in high school to be like?"

You thought about it and remembered the last time Kenan came to visit your school. Along with your parents, he came to watch your performance with the school orchestra. However, all hell had broken lose, with even faculty members jumping Kenan, asking him to sign their belongings. Where you came from in Italy everyone was a fan of Juventus. It was as simple as that.

"Fine." You nodded. "I'll be your date to the prom."

"Yes." Marco punshed the air with his fist.

"But don't get it twisted, we're only going as friends."

"And we'll have a great time together."

You rolled your eyes, accepting the chocolates that were handed to you.

"See you Saturday beautiful." Marco blew you a kiss before running off. He was such a kid. But he did have a point about taking you to prom. Question was, how would your boyfriend feel about it?

Instead of going home that afternoon you went straight to Kenan's house. However, his car wasn't in the driveway when you arrived, meaning he had yet returned home from training. Instead you were greeted by the maid, Rita, who made you a snack as you waited.

After a long day of school you ended up falling asleep on Kenan's couch, only to be woken up by wett kisses serenading your face.

"Stop it." You muttered.

A chuckle. "Why? You look so cute when you sleep."

"Kenan?" Your eyes flung open.

He smiled down at you. "I didn't know that you were coming over. I would've picked up some food on my way here."

"No need." You sat up, rubbing your tired eyes. "Rita made me your favorite..."

"Kisir?"

"It was delicious."

"You little..."

Kenan threw himself over the couch. You were pinned down with your arms above your head as his weight fell on top of you.

"Say you're sorry."

"No."

"Say your sorry for eating my Kisir."

"Never."

You squealed as lips targeted your neck, searching for your tickle spot.

"Kenan."

"Say your sorry."

He continued to trace the kisses downwards, one had letting go of your pinned arms.

"Kenan, please." You giggled. Your laughter quickly turned to soft moans as Kenan's free hand slipped down your skirt, snaking it's way between your  trembling thighs.

"Kenan."

"Relax." He whispered. "I'll make you feel good baby."

Although it felt good, really good. It was not what you came here for.

"Kenan, we need to talk."

It was the panic in your voice that made him stop. He sat up, cheeks flushed. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" You pushed off your elbows. "Of course not, no."

"T...then why did you want me to stop?" The worry in his eyes was heartbreaking.

"Beacause..." You sighed, never having imagine how hard it would be to confess to him. "I have something to tell tell you. It's the reason why I'm here, not to..."

A moment of clearity appeared on his face. "Right..." He coughed. "Shoot...I guess."

He sat back on the couch, stretching for your legs to rest in his lap. "What would you like to tell me?"

"Well..." Where to begin? "I told you that my high school prom is coming up...."

"The party?"

"Yes, the party." You nodded. "With all of my classmates.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds like fun."

"And it's gonna be. It's just that..." You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "...Marco asked me to be his date and I said yes."

"Marco, as in your ex boyfriend Marco?"

"Yes, Marco Lazzarini."

"Okay, but why would you want to go to prom with that fool?"

"Kenan."

"He is though, a fool. You told me so yourself."

"Yes, but he's also one of my closest friends, ergo, I'm going to prom with my friend."

"Your ex boy-friend."

You legs fell as Kenan stood. He was clearly upset.

"Kenan, you know I would've asked you to go with me."

"So why didn't you?"

"What do you mean, Juventus is playing Napoli on Saturday, remember?"

He stiffened. "It's this Saturday?"

"Yes." You sighed, finally getting your point across."

"S...so you're only going with Marco because I'm not able to?"

You nodded. "That and other things?"

"Other things?"

You thought about what Marco said, how Kenan coming to Prom would ruin things.

"It's better this way." You nodded. "People would have bothered us if you came with me to prom."

Kenan frowned. "So that's it? I'm a burden to you?"

"What, no."

"Sounds like it."

"What, no Kenan? That's not what I meant and you know that."

"That's what it sounded like to me."

"Kenan, you got it all wrong."

He shook his head. "Nah, if you want to go to prom, go. I hope you and Marco Lazzarini have a great time together."

"Kenan?" His gaze, his tone. It was all spiteful.

"You heard me Y/N, go! I have to rest anyway. "

It felt like a shot to the head. You stood from the couch, your body trembling like noodles. You left Kenan's house with a lump in your throat soon replaced by hushed sobbing as you made your way home.

Part 2

[denaliwrites]

Road to Hell

Crowley x GN!Reader

Summary: Of all the subjects Crowley thought he might walk in on you researching in the bookshop, demonology was probably at the bottom of the list.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Crowley is a dick (affectionate).

"What're you reading today?" Crowley asked, towering over you with a contemplative look. You lifted the book for him to see and in return he offered a shocked choking sound in the back of his throat. "Demonology, huh? What... inspired you to read that?"

He hadn't told you anything about him and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel, respectively. As far as he knew, Aziraphale hadn't broached the topic with you, either. To him, there was absolutely no reason for you to be reading about anything even remotely connected to his or Aziraphale's status as supernatural beings.

Yet here you were.

Reading a book on demonology.

You shrugged in response to his question, bringing the book back down to your lap to read comfortably. "I'd never checked out the occult section before, so I decided to read something from there and this was the most interesting looking book on the whole shelf."

"Ah, right." That did, to Crowley's immense relief, make sense. You'd read at least one book from nearly every section in the bookshop -- why wouldn't you, at some point, venture into the occult?

"Can't help but wonder how accurate it is, though," you mused aloud. "Pretty sure we've all collectively decided that demonic possessions are all just mentally ill people being misunderstood and abused by the church, right? Or I guess sometimes maybe people seeking attention? So how much of this is, like... considered true, I guess?"

"Do you... believe in demons?" Crowley asked carefully.

"Not really. I mean, I feel like if they were real, we'd have more evidence than just... the church saying so? Like, surely atheists and Satanists would've met a ton of demons by now, but I don't see any atheists or Satanists ever talking about meeting demons."

Crowley had to admit that was a fair cop. Maybe a little... small-minded, at least cosmically speaking, but you were but a human. That could be excused.

"What if they were real?" he asked, coming to sit on the arm of the chair you occupied. "What if you met a demon? Knew a demon, even?"

You made a sound at the back of your throat that sounded an awful lot like the one he made. "I'd have a lot of things I needed to reconsider, for starters."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well," you started, closing the book and turning so that you were facing him. "If demons were real, then I think the next logical step would be that angels were real, and if angels were real then the next step from that point would be that God's real."

He rocked back slightly to better look at you, clicking his tongue curiously. "Is that so bad, really?"

You sighed dramatically. It was a sound he loved -- it usually came before something remarkably human. Something remarkably You. "Anthony Janthony Cranthony," you lamented, "I cannot ever, under any circumstances, let my parents know that I regret not going to church more."

Anthony Janthony Cranthony? Why had you called him that? Of all things, to go with Anthony Janthony Cranthony...

He supposed that wasn't really the point to what you were saying. Something about your parents and church, though, that was the point.

"Not sure why they'd have to know," he said casually with a shrug.

Your eyes widened in shocked realization. "Oh, fuck, you're right! They'd never have to know. You're brilliant," you said, to him -- you'd called him brilliant! He beamed at that. "Going to Hell anyway, if all that were real, may as well add 'disrespecting my parents' to my list of sins."

Oh.

"Why do you think you'd go to Hell, darling?"

"It's not like I've been living a pious life, y'know?" you said, blinking up at him. "I curse, I've fucked out of wedlock, I'm reading all about demons and witchcraft and shit. I don't believe in God? I'm pretty sure that's one of the big no-nos."

It was his turn to blink, but his was followed up with a laugh. "Oh, love, God does not care about any of those things. Trust me."

"Oh, God, are you a Christian? Have you been this whole time? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend--"

"No, no, nothing like that. I..."

How did he tell you? Should he even tell you? He was sure Aziraphale might have something to say on the matter, but right now he couldn't be fucked, because you were here, looking up at him so innocently, so adoringly.

"What is it, Crowley?" And you sounded so concerned, so ready to take him into your arms and comfort him and apologize for a crime you hadn't even committed.

"I'm a demon."

The words tumbled forth from his lips before he could stop himself, and they hovered in the air for several silent and tense moments after, where all you did was stare at him.

And then you laughed -- and he wished he could laugh too. Hell, he wished he could hear even a trace of joy in your laugh. But it was all nerves and fear, like you weren't sure if this was some sick joke or if he was delusional.

When his expression didn't change, when he didn't yell out "sike!" or "gotcha!," your laugh died and then you just looked scared of him.

It nearly broke him, because if this was how you reacted before proof, how would you react when he showed you the truth?

But you didn't run away, so he carefully removed his glasses and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Yours were locked onto the yellow irises, the slitted pupils that contracted and dilated at will.

He could tell you wanted to deny the reality of them -- that you wanted to write them off as contacts, but they wouldn't let you, because contacts couldn't dilate.

The only other things he could do -- well, within the confines of the bookshop, were show you his wings or turn into a snake. He wasn't huge on the latter option, at least not right now -- it definitely put him at a disadvantage, made him easier to discorporate.

So, instead, he moved to a stand. And his wings fanned out as you watched, and then, he figured, you'd run out the door screaming, never to be seen again. He hoped you lived well. He closed his eyes so that he didn't have to watch you walk away.

You got up -- he could hear the rustling of fabric, the relieved groan of the chair, the book falling onto the cushion. He expected the little bell above the door to signal your departure at any moment.

Instead, he felt your hands on his face, pulling him nearer to you. His eyes opened, stared into yours. The fear had gone, replaced by unabashed curiosity and deep, untamed love.

He expected many things to come out of that lovely mouth of yours. So God is real? Am I going to Hell? I don't want to go to Hell! What did I do to deserve going to Hell???

(You weren't going to Hell -- but after the initial question, people tended to panic and vomit the others out uncontrollably.)

He expected those questions. A handful of a select few others. He did not anticipate what you actually asked --

"Do you have a cool demon name?"

"A... Sorry, a what?"

"You know... Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Belial. What's your demon name?"

"O-oh... No... no 'cool' demon name, I'm afraid. Just... Just Crowley..."

He hadn't expected to be embarrassed and doubly hadn't expected to see a beaming smile on your face.

"I think Crowley's the coolest demon name, personally."

He could see in your eyes that you meant it -- and that made him smile.

"Isn't it just?" he asked with a relieved laugh.

"Now I gotta know what all you've done as a demon. I mean -- how old are you?"

"Old as the universe, darling."

He could see the moment your brain started trying to process that unfathomable information, and he could also see the moment it gave up. You moved on as if nothing happened, but Crowley took a moment to appreciate he wouldn't have to miracle your memories away before your brain went into nuclear meltdown.

"Why aren't you in Hell?"

"It's dreadfully boring."

"Why are you here?"

"I just think humans are neat... and your lot is very good at making booze."

"Have you done anything cool as a demon?"

"I met Shakespeare, I stopped some Nazi spies, I tempted Eve, I stopped Armageddon..."

"You what!?"

"Oh, yeah..." He made that sound in his throat. You copied it, seemingly from instinct. He wasn't even sure you noticed that you did it. "Long story, but Aziraphale and I convinced the Antichrist to just... not do the whole ending the world thing."

"Who's Aziraphale?"

"Oh. Right. Mr. Fell."

"... Mr. Fell? This Mr. Fell?" You motioned to the bookshop at large and Crowley nodded. "Is he a demon too?"

Crowley laughed -- an uproarious, barking laugh, that lasted much longer than was strictly necessary.

"Oh, you better not let him hear that," he said once he'd calmed down.

"... So he's not a demon?" you mumbled, and Crowley realized he'd accidentally made you feel bad.

He took one of your hands in his and guided it away from his face so that he could kiss the palm. "No, darling, he's not." He kissed your palm again. "He's an angel."

"I'm sorry -- he's a what?"

"An angel, of course. Really, like he could be anything else."

Nothing against him, of course, but he very much was what he was.

"So why are an ageless angel and demon wasting their time with me, a human who'll wither and die? Why go through that for me?"

"Well, it's not exactly our fault you weaseled your way into our lives," he said with an indignant hgk. "But now that you're here, we can't really imagine the place without you."

"I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, and I can't believe it came from a demon."

"Don't let the angel know I let you get away with calling me sweet. He'd never let me live it down."

[gh0stbeeee]

Rise of the Guardians/The Guardians of Childhood is low-key my Roman Empire.

Like, specifically in the movie verse, there's just... so much that was never elaborated on. It's one of the unfortunate side effects of being kid's media, things get dumbed down for no reason.

Like, Jack Frost in general as a character. He died. DIED. He DROWNED in a pond saving his sister and??? Nothing. The entire moment when he remembered became "Oh I'm the fun guy that had a family and saved my sister!" AND DIED. Very important part that is completely glossed over other than the idea of sacrifice. Like, the other guardians were "chosen," did they not die too? Did Jack lose his memories because he died, but the others were chosen while alive, chose to leave their lives and remembered?

And just, what were his early years? For a very long time, at least a decade, he probably thought he was totally invisible, that he could never have a true conversation with another person, because I doubt that he stumbled upon another spirit/legend for a while.

Like, that would have driven him INSANE. There's no way he wouldn't be super socially awkward from the isolation, much less just totally mentally well. Are spirit's brains built different? They'd have to be, but I don't think they should be able to withstand that level. Like what was the mim thinking??? Seriously just abandoned a TEENAGER he resurrected with no memory or possibility of support, that's wrong.

And on that note, let me reiterate that Jack died. In front of his little sister. Who had to go back home and tell her family what happened. Did he have a father too? More siblings? Friends and family? They had a funeral no doubt, mourned him. Because he died.

The worst part? He was right there. The whole time. Jack came back to that pond and settlement for hundreds of years, even when it became Burgress. He probably watched his funeral not knowing what was going on, saw his family mourn him without knowing it was for him. He was there when they died, not knowing who they were to him. Did he realize later on? I can only imagine the devastation.

The worst part is Manny probably had to take his memories, because Jack would have been DEPRESSED. He would've tried everything to make them believe, and they probably never would. His parents would probably never see him again, they were adults. His sister was plausible, but she's still mortal. She would have died, Jack would have seen his little sister grow old and die while he stayed eternally young. He might've not ever recovered from that, mim taking his memories distanced him from the pain for when he remembered 300 years later.

But he also could have moved on, grown and loved her descendants and honored her. The mim took that choice away, and that's pretty fucked up.

Then yeah, 300 years of pretty much no acknowledgement. Going into live blind with no guidance or memories, trying to figure yourself out but being ignored by the once who brought you here. Jack would realistically be a little nutty, because wow. It's shown the even other spirits didn't really talk to him, he made them acknowledge him by playing pranks and pissing them off till they confronted him. Maybe it's in spirit's nature to be recluses, but it's not in Jack's. He wanted attention and to be seen, but no one wanted to or could give it to him.

That's why Jamie seeing him for the first time always makes me tear up. This is the first time for HUNDREDS of years that a human has acknowledged him, not an out of touch spirit, but a regular person Jack can connect with, that chose to see him, to believe. That's beautiful, and special.

There's just so many layers to this story that we never got to see, and I'm forever sad DreamWorks abandoned the franchise.

(If anyone has any good fics that explore topics like this, especially Jack's family, please share)

[moongothic]

You know I was wondering if Crocodile ever did have any kind of involvement with the Revolutionary Army in secret (lest the Government finds out and revokes his Shichibukai status), what kind of involvement would that even have been

And now, with both the Vegapunk/Ohara flashback and Kuma's flashback, it's being made very clear to us that the Revolutionary Army was broke as hell 22 years ago. Like the fact that this has been brought up twice now in a relatively short span of time is interesting to me, that's usually a sign it's not an unimportant plotpoint

But you know who would have had money to help fund the Army

A funny little warlord who would eventually go and build a fucking casino to run for funsies. A warlord who had to give the Government some of his Pirating Income to keep his warlord-status

Like Crocodile hated the Government anyways so why not help fund the Revolutionary Army in secret, out of spite if for no other reason

Vaguely related, but I keep on remembering this scene (post-Enies Lobby), which at first glance just seems like a basic Lore Dump

But then there's the

"Yet..."

(Or "however", she says "no ni" in Japanese and you could translate that in many ways, I would probably have gone with "however" but that wouldn't have fit into the speechbubble)

Mind you, the conversation just kind of ends there, next we see Garp realize he probably shouldn't have mentioned Dragon infront of such a massive audience, so wherever that "yet" was going to lead to we will never find out, because Oda conveniently changed the subject before we got to it

And you know. Like yes, Robin could be just expressing her shock over finding out that the leader of the Revolutionary Army had a child with someone

But also, Robin was a part of an organization that was trying to overthrow one of the founding countries of the World Government in an explicit attempt to go against said Government (compared to like, Blackbeard, who currently wants to make Fullalead into a "pirate country" that's a part OF the World Government)

Like you don't have to be a genius to look at Crocodile's ultimate goals and compare that to what Dragon is doing and find a few similarities here and there maybe

(Also like, Crocodile's equivalent in Romancing SaGa 2 is meant to be Wagnas, the queer-coded leader of the Seven Heroes (whom the OG Shichibukai are based on) who "hoped to help the world". You know, an interesting detail and all.)

Not to mention, during the time Robin spent with Baroque Works, if Crocodile was ever in contact with the Revolutionary Army at all, considdering she has the ability to easily spy on people and that she didn't trust Crocodile one bit, it wouldn't be unsurprising if she ever spied on Crocodile and/or just overheard a phone call or knew about Crocodile having secret spending habits or something

(Mind you, I'm not saying "she knew" Crocodile was involved with the Revolutionaries, more that she might've been Suspecting Things, that "yet" being about her connecting the dots while unsure if her conclusion was right or not)

Of course Crocodile's plans can't have been Dragon Approved by any means, especially considdering the Army had been looking for Robin for over 10 years (pre-timeskip)

Four years of which were with Crocodile. Like if he was FULLY allied with the Army and KNEW they were looking for Robin, surely he would've called Dragon and been like "hey I found the kid from Ohara, wanna come hang out" or something. But no, he had bigger plans and kept Robin a secret from the Revolutionaries and the Government alike

Also like, I have seen people question why the Revolutionaries weren't involved with Alabasta's rebellion at all, and "Oda hadn't come up with the Revolutionaries yet at the time of writing" (/"OP was meant to end at Alabasta at one point so there would've been no reason to introduce the subplot at that point") aside Between Baroque Works being a secret organization working undercover (thus the Army might not have been aware of the civil war being manufactured), the framing of the King making him look bad and very much the type of monarch that deserved to be overthrown in the Army's eyes, and Crocodile maybe lying through his teeth about what was happening in the country... Yeah, the Army's lack of involvement with Alabasta suddenly makes sense

EDIT Minor addition: Just realized that because Crocodile was technically working for the Government, if the Revs ever did send forces to participate in Alabasta's civil army and taking down the throne, the Government could've easily ordered Crocodile to step in to stop the rebellion and take down the Revolutionaries, right? Because he was supposed to be on the Government's side, right? And surely the Army wouldn't have wanted to fight against Crocodile if they were secretly allied (Croc's secret betrayal aside), and if Crocodile refused to fight the Revs the Government could've seen that as a reason to revoke his Shichibukai rights (which wouldn't be great if they wanted to keep Crocodile in a position where he could fund the Army?). So it could've also been a case of it being for the best for everyone's sake to let this one play out "naturally"

But my point is

I'm just deeply intriqued by these little details and wonder if I'm Actually Masterfully Connecting The Dots Like a True Genius or just seeing a pattern where there's none. Like this is far from confirming the theory, I'm just saying, the pieces do kinda fit together do they not

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-Six

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty Four, Twenty-Five,

A/N: I am so glad you guys liked the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this on! Get ready with the tissues folks! This is gonna be one emotional ride!

Fate was on their side.

For once.

Her didn't run into any trouble while Zuko carried Orora to the war balloon. No one spotted them as they were lifted into the air and the clouds provided them with the cover they needed to stay out of sight. The winds were also in their favor, so maybe things weren't all bad.

While Zuko's intention had been to follow after Aang and his friends as they made their escape on the bison, he now had to make a small detour.

He couldn't keep the balloon in the air while also trying to take care of Orora, so they would have to make a stop where he would bandage her up and make sure she wasn't too severely injured.

His eyes darted to where he had laid her down on the floor just beside him. His pack served as a makeshift pillow for the time being, while his cloak covered her body, hiding the worst of her injuries from him. Checking the compass to make sure they were on the right course, Zuko turned his attention towards Orora.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered her.

Maybe even more.

While he had only seen her with short hair, he had to admit the longer hair suited her even more. It made her features appear far more softer. Her skin was slightly darker, probably from being under the sun for days.

He wished she would open her eyes so he could see if her eyes were truly as blue as he had seen in his hallucinations of her, or had that all been in his head.

But Orora didn't wake up.

Her breathing was even and her body relaxed, so that was a good sign, he thought to himself, his hand gently pushing away some of the hair from her forehead.

How long had she been fighting for her to get so tired that she would pass out?

Zuko shuddered to think what would've happened if he had arrived any later. It was obvious that his sister found out what Orora was to him. And if the Water Tribe girl had fallen into Azula's hands..........

His stomach churned and he felt like throwing up whenever his mind would wander to such thoughts.

Which is why he forced himself to focus on the present. And just be content and thankful that Orora was beside him. A little injured, but at least she was alive.

He had no idea how she would react when she woke up, but honestly, Zuko didn't care. As long as she didn't force him to stay away from her, he was ready to accept whatever she had to give him. His gaze flickered to where her hand peeked out from under the cloak. His own hand twitched, and he very nearly had to physically retrain himself from reaching out and taking it in between his.

No.

He didn't deserve to hold her hand.

Not after what he did to her.

Closing his eyes in resignation, his hand clenched at his side before he stood to check if they were on the correct course just so he would have something to do.

Little did he know, their destination was the very island Orora and her family had decided to call their home for the four days they had spent there before the Invasion.

                                          ————————–

It was nearing late afternoon when he sighted the island he had decided would be safe enough for them to take refuge on. For the past two hours, Orora had not stirred, and Zuko was starting to get more then a little worried.

As soon as the balloon landed, he quickly disembarked. Zuko had never set up camp as fast as he did then. There was no need for a tent, so a tarp overhead would have to do. Once his bed roll was on the ground he quickly rushed back to the balloon. Throughout his tasks, he had kept glancing in it's direction, afraid that Orora would wake up and try to stand by herself.

Cradling her in his arms, he gently placed her atop the bed roll, before pulling his pack towards himself and began to rummage through it. Once he had taken out whatever he needed, the young Prince set to work.

First, he made sure to clean the cuts that littered her arms and face. Her clothing had saved her skin from being cut open, but the tumble she had taken hadn't been forgiving when it came to her bare skin. Not to mention her gloves were tattered in some places as he removed them to allow her skin to breath. Dark bruises were already forming along her skin, and he gritted his teeth, regretting not taking down the soldiers then and there for hurting her like that.

Just then, she moved. A soft sound came from her parted lips, and her head fell to the side, now facing him.

Zuko paused, the cloth he'd been using to clean her cuts hovering just above the cut along her eyebrow.

But she didn't wake up.

And he resumed his task.

Once he had applied a soothing salve onto the cuts and bruises, he moved on to the injury she had sustained at her side. The sight of which had his heart constricting in his chest.

Somehow, despite the pain, he could see Orora had managed to heal herself a lot more then he had initially thought. The wound still needed to be dressed, something he was an expert at since he had to take care of his own burn a little over two years ago.

Not wanting to cut away her shirt, lest she feel uncomfortable when she woke up, he did his best to slowly and carefully cut the cloth around the wound, allowing the unmarred skin to show underneath. This time, when he applied the salve for burns, she did react. A sharp gasp that tapered off into a whimper echoed in the clearing, and her forehead creased at the pain she felt. Her hands clenched and her body tensed.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, his voice soft. "I know it hurts, but it won't in a bit. Trust me." As he spoke, he continued to apply more of the salve. And just as he said, the herbs within began to act and Orora relaxed.

She still didn't wake up.

Sighing to himself, Zuko picked up the roll of bandage he had packed. Gently guiding her into a sitting position, he leaned her upper body against his own, trying not to notice how her head rested against his shoulder, her warm breath brushing against his neck.

Wrapping his arms around her abdomen, he made quick work of bandaging her up, before laying her back down. He heaved a sigh of relief.

She looked much better now, he thought to himself, standing up and making sure the rest of the supplies were secure. A small stream ran just a little ways away from their makeshift camp. He was quick to walk over and get some fresh water before returning to her side.

She hadn't moved an inch.

And it didn't look like she would be waking up any time soon.

After a meager meal of bread and some fruit, he found himself beside her once again. He pulled the blanket up to her shoulders after slipping her feet out of her shoes, hoping it would make her comfortable.

Was it strange, for him to be looking at her like that?

Maybe.

But he didn't care. If he couldn't touch her, hold her hand, then at least he could just look at her.

And reassure himself that she was really there, and not just a figment of his imagination.

Zuko had no idea how long he sat there. Slowly the light dimmed as the sun set, but the moon was bright enough to allow him to continue looking at her. When did he change his position from sitting to laying beside her, his hand just inches away from her own, he didn't know.

Neither did he realize when his eyes closed and he fell asleep, his face turned towards her, one arm laying in front of him, as if even in his sleep, he was reaching out towards her.

His string glowing a strong blue.

                                          ————————–

Ice blue eyes blinked open, staring at the canopy of trees above.

Her entire body ached, and yet not a sound fell from her lips as she slowly sat up. The blanket dropped into her lap, as her hand lifted to press against her bandaged burn.

Orora blinked, slightly disoriented after having been asleep for so long. She raised a hand to press against her forehead, frowning at the bandage around her wrist. When had she hurt her wrist? She couldn't remember.

Everything was so unclear, as if she were trying to see things through a thick fog.

A slight movement at her side had the young waterbender turning her gaze in that direction.

Only to be greeted with the sight of a very real and very there Prince Zuko fast asleep.

So it hadn't been a dream, she thought to herself.

Zuko had been the one to save her. He was the one who had cleaned and bandaged her up. Her heart constricted at the sight of him, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. Allowing her eyes to drop to the string that connected them, she was not at all surprised to see hers flickering red every now and then.

Her heart and mind were raging an internal war, her eyes never wavering from Zuko.

It was ironic how their first encounter had been him saving her, and now, after all that had happened, after what he had done, their second meeting mirrored their first.

He had saved her yet again.

And it had opened the door in her heart, behind which she had kept her true feelings for him buried and hidden away from sight and mind for so long.

Because yes, she did have feelings for him. Feelings that had grown during their time together in Ba Sing Se but had stalled once he........well.............

Suddenly feeling like she couldn't breath, the girl quickly, yet silently, rose to her feet and walked off towards the edge of the tree cluster. Stepping out into the clearing, she took in the familiar sight. Seems Zuko had brought them to the very island where she and and her friends had been staying before the invasion. Her suspicions were confirmed further when a koalasheep with barely any wool covering it's body, walked past her.

A brief smile pulled at her lips before she began to walk further.

She didn't get very far though, her side began to hurt after a few minutes. Groaning softly, she leaned back against one of the many rocks that littered the surrounding and turned her face towards the sky. There was only half a moon that night, but it provided her with the comfort she needed.

Zuko was back.

He was here.

Just as he had promised he would be in her dream.

And even more strange was the fact that he was wearing the very clothes she had seen him wear in her last hallucination of him while she had been bathing before the Invasion.

Was this a trick? Was he going to try and lure her in and try to take down Aang and her friends? Was this Azula's plan? Or was it his father's? Or was it his?

Or maybe it wasn't a trick?

Because try as she might she couldn't ignore the fact that she had seen the glow of his string when hers had flickered with color as well.

And no one could fake their string glowing because it wasn't something anyone could tamper with. Not even the spirits.

What did that mean? Did he.............have feelings for her? But then how could he? How could he after what he had done? But her string flickering meant she still had feelings for him too didn't it?

But how could she? How could she be angry at him and hate him but also have feelings for him? Or maybe it wasn't hate? Maybe she was just angry and sad? Or just mad? Or sad? Maybe both?

Her head began to pound, and she reached up to rub her fingers gently against her temples to try and alleviate the pain.

Why did the Spirits have to give her such a complicated soulmate?

If she were honest, she didn't know how to feel about Zuko. There were so many emotions tangled up inside her chest that she could barely make sense of where one emotion ended and the other began.

"Orora!"

The sound of his voice calling out her name had the young waterbender growing rigid. Her eyes widened, and she pressed herself further against the rocky surface, ignoring the way a few sharp rocks dug into her already sensitive skin.

"Orora, where are you?" He called again. His voice sounded strange, she frowned, trying to determine the emotion within his tone. "You shouldn't be wandering around! You're hurt!" He called, and this time she was able to guess the emotion.

Or rather emotions.

Panic and worry.

She pursed her lips, wandering why she remained behind the rock hidden from his view.

"Please Orora! Answer me!"

The girl in question couldn't help herself as she took a small step towards the edge of the rock and peaked out from behind it. He was standing just a few feet away from her hiding place, his head turning this way and that as he tried to locate her.

"Orora!!" This time his voice broke at the very end, and though she had told herself she wouldn't allow her heart to feel anything remotely in favor of him, it did feel a pang of pain at the fear and heartbreak in his voice.

She watched as he dropped his head into his hands, before turning his gaze towards the sky where he glared at the moon.

"Was that all just a vision too?" He shouted, his voice echoing across the otherwise silent landscape, disturbing a couple of the sleeping koalasheeps.

Orora frowned. Vision? What was he talking about?

"Did I hallucinate all of that? Like I have been for the past few months? Am I going crazy?" He continued, raising his hands to his head and gripping his hair.

Her eyes widened as her mind finally caught up to what he was saying. He had been seeing her, just as she had been seeing him since their time apart.

But why would he see her? He had betrayed her. Was it out of guilt? Or was it because of what they had shared in Ba Sing Se? Questions burned at the tip of her tongue, and even more swirled around in her mind.

"Answer me!" He suddenly roared, making the girl jump where she stood and focus her attention back on Zuko. His head was tilted back once more towards the moon, and though she couldn't see his face, Orora knew there were tears in his eyes as he finally collapsed to his knees, his face buried in his hands.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, she began to walk forward. Her bare feet made no sound on the grass as she drew closer to him with each step.

"Please." She heard him say, his voice muffled. "I can't take this anymore." Curse the Spirits for her inability to see anyone, even people who had betrayed her, in such a heartbroken state. Because that is exactly what Zuko was right then.

Heartbroken and hopeless.

"I have to know if she was real or not."

She knew it was genuine, knew he couldn't fake it. Not when she could hear the pain in his voice and see the glow of his string, while her own flickered red.

"Please, let her be real."

She mirrored his posture as she dropped to her knees in front of him. Reaching out, she placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

His head snapped up.

Terrified amber eyes met an uncertain ice blue gaze.

                                          ————————–

The moment his eyes met Orora's, Zuko stilled.

For a moment, he even forgot to breath as he simply took her in.

Was this another trick? Another game his mind was playing with him?

But then his body seemed to register the fact he could feel her hand against his shoulder.

Warm, solid and strong.

And there.

She was staring at him, and though he could see the confusion on her face, he could also see the doubt in her eyes. And he had no one to blame but himself for that.

Once his breathing had calmed, she slowly retracted her hand, moving to sit on her knees properly, her hands resting on her thighs as she looked at him. This time with barely a hint of emotion on her face, as she watched him and waited.

It was strange how quiet she was. He had been expecting her to be angry at him, to yell, to cry, to blame him. And he had been ready to accept all of that.

This silence was somehow worse.

His stomach churned and a shiver of nervous energy passed through his body as he finally looked away from her. Too ashamed to meet her gaze. Her eyes, he realized, were the same as the ones he had seen in his vision. They were as blue as he had remembered them to be. Zuko focused on the bandage at the side of her waist.

Which only made him feel guilty at not being fast enough, not having been able to reach her in time.

"I-I-" He paused, clearing his throat.

Spirits! He had no idea what to say to her.

The next few minutes of silence were agonizing.

Finally, she sighed, and her body shifted, as if she were about to get up and walk away.

And that terrified him more then he had been while facing his father.

His right hand shot out, grasping her left hand within his. He felt her entire body freeze at the contact, knew that he had probably crossed a line, but he didn't want her to go.

Not when he hadn't said anything.

Still he did drop her hand and she resumed her previous position as did he.

"I-I was worried when I woke up and found you gone." He began, stumbling over his own words. "I thought maybe it had all been a dream." He admitted, glancing skywards towards the moon for a brief moment before resuming to focus on her injury rather then her eyes. "I know I'm the last person you wanted help from, but I just....."

He stopped, not knowing what else to say. Running a hand through his hair as an act of frustration he chanced a glance at Orora.

She was looking back at him, still silent.

The night air echoed with the sound of a humorless chuckle. "You're not going to say anything are you?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

Silence.

"Honestly I don't blame you. Even I wouldn't talk to someone like me after what I did." He paused, licking his lips. "I-I don't bl-blame you for ha-ting me." The word felt bitter on his tongue.

In front of him, Orora seemed to tense even more.

"I don't blame you for hating me." He repeated. "What I did, betraying you and uncle, after all that we went through and what you did for me, I went and betrayed you like that." His voice cracked at the last words, his eyes stung with tears but he didn't let them fall. He couldn't break down in front of her.

Not like this.

Not until he had at least tried to explain himself and what he had done.

Silence.

Whatever courage he had left, he forced it to the forefront as he finally lifted his tear-filled amber gaze to meet her ice blue eyes.

"I am so so sorry for what I did." He said, this time his voice did crack, and the tears that he had been holding back began to make their descent down his cheeks. "I was so desperate for my father's approval and to go back home that I- Spirits I'm so sorry Orora!"

Silence.

"Not a day went by when I didn't think about you or wished that you were with me." The words poured out of him.

From his lips.

His mind.

His heart.

His soul.

His very being.

"Spirits! Sometimes I missed you so much I could barley breath." He remembered those sleepless nights when his heart would physically ache at not having her near. "I mean I missed you so much that I actually started to see you everywhere I went. You would talk to me, give me advice and I thought I was going crazy but I didn't want it to stop. I didn't want to loose you." Though his voice quivered and broke, his gaze never did. It remained fixed upon his soulmate who continued to look at him.

In silence.

"But I did loose you after what I did. And I regretted that decision from the moment I made it." He paused, licking his lips before continuing, his body leaning towards her slightly as he did. "But I've changed now. I found out some things about myself. And its helped me realize why I've always felt so conflicted about my place in the world."

A slight breeze brought the salty sea air with it, while also allowing loose tendrils of her hair to brush against her face.

"And I realize I was wrong. I was wrong to think I could have my father's love back." He looked ashamed of himself, for even thinking he could have his father's love. That he deserved it. "You were right." Zuko continued, his voice and gaze earnest. "You were right about everything. I stood up to him and I told him everything." He shook his head.

"And I wasn't scared. Because of you." A look of gratitude crossed his features as he continued to look at her. "The thought of you and how you stood up to your father made me strong enough to face my own. Even when you weren't with me you were helping me." He was still crying, but the tears fell unnoticed.

Where her hands had been lying flat atop her thighs, they were now clenched into tight fists.

"Please believe me when I say that I'm done with my family. I am done trying to win back my honor and father's love. He never had any to give me in the first place." The realization, however horrible, was a reality he would have to live with.

"I am going to try and help defeat them so this war can end and everyone can have their lives back and leave in peace. I'm going to help Aang learn how to firebend, so he can defeat my father. Because I know that is the only way, the world....that you will be safe." Zuko knew that while his main focus should be to safeguard the entire world, Orora was his world.

He had to make sure she was safe. That she could never get hurt at the hands of his family.

"I-I don't expect you to forgive. Or to not be angry at me. I know you might even hate me." There was that bitter taste again. "But please believe me when I say that I am so sorry Orora. I am so so-so sorry."

Silence followed his deceleration, with the two teenagers just staring at one another. One having bared his heart, while the other struggled with her own heart.

"Please." He was begging her now. "Please Orora say something. Anything, please."

Silence.

Was this it then? Was she never going to speak to him?

How he could feel his heart begin to shatter physically was something he never understood.

"Please."

One last time.

His head hung in front of her.

He would beg her one last time.

                                           ————————–

If she had thought her emotions were a raging storm before, now they were a full blown hurricane. She still had questions.

A lot of questions.

But those would come later.

Right now she needed to make sure Zuko didn't deter from his decision. Because if his teaching Aang firebending could help save the world, then she could push aside her own feelings in favor of the greater good.

Or at least that was the lie she told herself.

Finally, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes before opening them again.

"Prove it." Those two words prompted Zuko to lift his head and look at her. "Prove to me," She forced herself to continue. "And everyone else that you have changed. That you won’t betray anyone like you did me and Uncle in Ba Sing Se." She saw him flinch at the reminder, but she continued.

"Teach Aang firebending and help us save the world."

She made no mention of her forgiving him. Or not being mad at him. Or not hating him.

Honestly, she just didn't have the energy to sort through her emotions right then. So, this would have to do.

But what she had said seemed to be the exact words Zuko needed to hear. He smiled in earnest. "I promise, I won't let you down Orora."

The girl pursed her lips, before simply nodding. Slowly, so as not to aggravate her injury she stood, with Zuko rising beside her, his arms raised slightly towards her, as if he were ready to catch her should she fall over.

But she didn't.

"Aang and the others will be at the Western Air Temple. I told them to wait for me there when I left them in the tunnels." She said, a hand resting atop her bandage. The burn was beginning to ache now, and it would be best if she laid back down. "We can leave in the morning."

With that Orora began to walk back to where their camp was.

Zuko stayed where he was, staring after her. He was just about to turn away when he stopped at the sound of her voice.

"Zuko?"

Hearing the sound of his name coming from her lips after so long had him standing completely still in utter shock. She had paused halfway towards her destination. Her shoulders were tense but she turned her head so she could look at him over her shoulder.

"Thank you. For saving me. Again. I-I owe you."

With that she walked away, leaving her string to flicker behind her.

An occurrence that was observed by Zuko.

And had a small flicker of hope to ignite within his chest.

                                           ————————–

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[greenandsorrow]

"Boytoy"

WARNINGS; sexual references, ken x fem!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, ken finding out about periods, fluff & happy ending, plot doesn't connect with the movie, probably grammar mistakes

Bonus Part

After their rather intense night they just got comfy under the covers, this time with Ken being the big spoon. Y/n was laying her head on his chest, just where his plastic heart is, his heartbeat lulling her into a deep sleep. Our lucky Ken had his arms wrapped around y/n's frame, while nuzzling the top of her head, inhaling the flowery scent of her shampoo, feeling his eyelids getting heavier.

~~

Since that day they've been inseparable. Ken figured out how to control his waking up in the real world or in Barbieland. He was also informed that there's a portal to y/n's world at his favourite beach. Y/n's house has become his own and she was happy and patient to get him used to human activities such as going out for a snack, walking her home after her classes and so on.

Life is good, it's sublime. Y/n is looking forward to Ken's surprise for her birthday...she was able to figure out what it was but she'd never reveal that to her giddy man. Ken is planning to take her to Barbieland for a day and that means she can meet her childhood friends, the Barbies.

Currently, Ken is waiting for y/n at her apartment because she had exams to take. He is so proud of her for the silliest of accomplishments so y/n can hardly imagine the excitement he feels for her determination and wit at studying. Unfortunately, she wasn't in the mood for celebrating, or making out, or having a tickling session, or watching horse documentaries. Ken was devastated.

Y/n went straight to her bedroom to change into the fluffiest pyjamas possible before curling up next to Ken and letting out a deep sigh.

"Why did it have to happen today out of all days?!"

Ken is puzzled by her statement. His expression is rather adorable as he tries to understand what is going on in her head. He finally speaks in a sheepish but also curious manner.

"What did happen today that shouldn't have y/n?"

She huffs and buries her face in his arm. She is already tired from all the studying, frustrated with her headaches and exasperated from the too familiar cramps.

"It's nothing Ken...", she murmurs.

Under any other circumstances she would've been delighted to share this part of her human experience with Ken...however the thought of having to break down what periods are to her blonde partner has y/n riled up now.

Ken is of course too dramatic at his reaction to her dismissive answer. He takes an expression of pure heartbreak.

"Are you bored of me?! Oh no y/n!"

Y/n can't help but chuckle a bit and her mood lightens up. He can't be so pure, it's infuriatingly cute.

"It's my period Ken, it's not your fault I act like so grim..."

Ken's confusion is comically obvious and she decides to explain what needs to be explained.

~~

By the end of her primary school teaching moment, Ken is looking at her with a new kind of awe. If women weren't fabulous enough before in his blue eyes, they definitely are now.

And so another monthly ritual is added to Ken's list of being y/n's hype man. He makes a huge, too bright and silly looking calendar and writes down his human's days of the month. She always has a bag of chocolates and plush toys waiting for her, maybe a flower or a cowboy accessory. Y/n has a whole collection at this point. The best part, though, is what comes after the marked days on the calendar end....

Let's just say Ken's libido is that of a teenager's and how could she complain when she's ovulating?

notes~~

Well, that's it... the little happy ending I had promised. Boytoy was the first thing I ever posted on here and the first thing I wrote in general for the public eye🥺 Looking back, I know I could have done it better, but I don't want to be ungrateful because Boytoy made my blog gain an audience. I want to expand my writing on other fandoms so stay tuned! Thanks for all the support <33

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[afsosville]

An alternative version of how Shen Jiu's trial could've gone down, based off of this one tt I saw>>

I'll forever mourn the fact that we'll never know what Airplane had actually planned for Shen Jiu's character and how he would've made use of his backstory. The OPM getting the human stick treatment in the SV timeline was probably supposed to allude to him being the original scum villain of PIDW. Shen Jiu was meant to either be a red herring to the real scum villain or a temporary antagonist. He was never supposed to meet the end he did since it was reserved for smn else entirely.

So here's one plausible version of PIDW that exists somewhere lost in Airplane's drafts>>

The trial goes as planned, with the accusations against Shen Jiu announced and he's already found guilty of them. Before any of them can go lock him away for good, he starts talking (which is never a good omen for anyone in his immediate vicinity). His statements cause ppl to actually dig around and investigate the meaning behind his words because those statements vaguely come off as indiscernible threats. Whether the crimes were fabrications, lies, or were perfectly justified, all become clear soon enough. Shen Jiu gets the last laugh because he self destructed on the spot and shattered his own soul after he said his piece so no one could reach him or hope to resurrect him.

It's mostly Luo Binghe himself who tries to get to the bottom of it just for the off chance he might find anything that could help him bring Shen Jiu back. And he doesn't burn Cang Qiong down after the fact bc that would mean he's more similar to Shen Jiu than he's comfortable with admitting.

Shen Jiu also left everyone with departing words about the OPM, but only Luo Binghe understood those implications at all since they were directly connected to him and his parents.

[basil-does-arttt]

been thinking about Trish a lot lately, and her connection to Eva

(Big ranty thing with some analysis into her character + my own headcanons about trish below)

She was created to be a carbon copy of Eva, right down to the most unimportant details. So much so that Dante recognized her immediately he didnt even do a double-take, as soon as those glasses were off he saw Eva standing infront of him instead of Trish. (I mean, blonde haired+blue eyed women arent uncommon and its not like Dante has never been into a public space before. Hes probably seen similar women to Eva many times throughout his life, but only Trish was so perfectly like Eva that he couldnt see anything else but his mother in her that first moment they met.)

But thats just physical features. It'd be too easy, too simple for Mundus to just create a look-alike to Eva. And i dont think that alone would've been enough to trick Dante either, Dante isnt an idiot no matter how dumb he acts sometimes. So, how deep into this "recreate Eva" thing did Mundus actually go?

Does Trish experience the same motherly instincts Eva had toward Dante (and Vergil)? Does she feel the need to protect them and cherish them like Eva did? Does she get urges to hold them, kiss and hug them and give them praise as Eva once did in their childhood? If so, does she ignore these feelings, pushing them down untill they're buried so deep within her mind that she's forgotten them entirely, or does she let them be and let them pass on their own, wether she acts on them or not. She's quite sassy with Dante in dmc4 and seems quite aloof in dmc5, so maybe thats how she copes with it instead - acting the total opposite to what Eva ever would.

Going even deeper into that, does Trish have any of Eva's memories? Even just vague snippets or imaginings of Eva's life, considering how well Mundus made Trish then that might not be an impossibility. If so, how much would she have the ability to recall? Could she even recall the fire, maybe? If she can, how would she feel about it. Would she grieve? Feel anger, regret, or nothing at all?

And how would she feel about all of this overall? Being a clone of Eva right down to the gritty details even Dante wouldn't know. Trish is so strongly contrasted to Eva in personality, style and tastes that i'd like to imagine she isnt that much of a fan, put simply. She's her own person, she wants to be her own person and she hates the person she represents. She hates how her existence causes pain to somebody she's wired to care so deeply for - sometimes against her will - and she hates seeing him cry or drink himself to death over that dusty old picture thats been sitting on his desk for decades, knowing that she'll only ever make it worse for him in the end, that his grief extends so far into the core of his being that nothing in existence will ever truly fix it.

She's conflicted.

She's Trish. But is she really? Or is that just who she says she is in an effort to push back and ignore the reality of her existence? Nothing more than a fake, a husk of a person who's time was cut short prematurely then taken advantage of by the very being that killed her in the first place.

She's Trish. Not Eva. She can't be Eva, and she never will be Eva. Nothing will change that. Not a dusty old picture, not an old man's delusions, not some dead demon king who breathed life into her form in the first place.

She's Trish. But who even is Trish? Her entire being has always been about Eva. She doesnt know anything else. So she overcompensates with acting sarcastic and sassy, looking hot and sexy and playing with guns and swords because those are things Eva wouldn't ever do herself. Eva. Again, it all comes back to Eva.

She's Trish. Devil hunter and the most 2000s representation of "hot blonde" one could get. Thats who she is. Or at least, that's who she's trying so desperately to be.

Trish needs more love from the developers, her character is so interesting. I have other analysis' of the other characters too if anybody would be interested in that but for now, ill leave you with my take on the iconic blonde from this wonderful series.<3

[curioushabitforarivergod]

I LOVE the historical context you add to tom riddle meta. im curious. at that time how important and wealthy would tom riddle sr likely have been? i.e. how nice was the life that Tom missed out on by growing up in the orphanage instead of with his dad?

Omg thanks so much!

We don't actually know much about the Riddles. They likely lived in Yorkshire, Lancashire, or the very west of Cornwall (200 miles from Surrey as per Goblet of Fire), but I think it's more likely they lived in the North, specifically in Yorkshire. The Riddle's name is probably locational rather than profession based, and from a village called Ryedale in the North Riding of Yorkshire. It was probably mutated over time because spelling wasn't standardised or even close to standardisation when last names were beginning to become a thing (roughly 11th century in Britain).

Okay, now the reason I went into that is because I believe the Riddles were the big guys back in the day (by which I mean late medieval period c. 1100s until the late 1500s) and were the kind of wealthy landowners who employed serfdom potentially even past the Peasant's Revolt of 1381. I know a lot of people place them as merchants who made money from trade but based on their name and location (Yorkshire is famous for its sheep) I think it's more likely they were landowners. They probably had pretty solid generational wealth, potentially even being landed gentry (a class of gentry who made their money on leasing land and known as lords of the manor), although I'm fairly certain they lost most of this later. I don't think they ever were part of the peerage (the level above gentry in the British aristocracy who hold hereditary titles) but gentry usually married into peerage and vis versa so they were likely quite connected despite never being "Lords" themselves. They got their name through their association with the village as the big whigs.

Even if the Riddles had kept up serfdom for a century or so after the Peasants Revolt (entirely plausible), serfdom was abolished by Elizabeth I in 1574. Whenever they stopped working as part of the feudal system, I don't think it had major impacts on their wealth. Like I mentioned above, they were probable landed gentry, making their money by leasing out land and still profiting off the lower classes.

With the Industrial Revolution and the Agricultural Depression of the 1870s, I think they would've lost quite a bit of money, potentially even their place as landed gentry. They would've still been quite rich, but their wealth was probably in decline and they had to look elsewhere. Maybe they never succeeded in this.

The thing is, we know next to nothing about the Riddles and the family we see through Tom Riddle's eyes is one that's lost status and connections because of the scandal of Riddle Snr. having run off with Merope without being married and (rumours have it!) having a child out of wedlock. The Riddle family probably declined economically with WWII (and to a lesser extent WWI) as well, although they never got a chance to really see the era through properly due to their… untimely deaths.

I think if Tom had been raised by the Riddles, they may not have fallen so far, providing Riddle Snr. married Merope before her death, or at least had falsified documents that he did. Tom would've still grown up in declining wealth, but more than enough money still to not have to work. Life for Tom would've been far better, what without starvation, disease, poverty and later, bombs and would've remain largely untouched by the war. The Great Depression wouldn't have it so hard, and Tom, not being surrounded by so much death, would've been fundamentally altered. I'm not sure what the Riddle's reaction to Tom being magic would've been like, but I'll leave that to any writers. All in all, Tom missed out on a far better life.

Thank you so much for the ask! It really made my day!!

[antianakin]

@theneutralmime

I don't believe Lucas himself has ever said this because quite simply it isn't true and it doesn't follow with the themes and messages Lucas put into Anakin's story. If you have a specific quote from Lucas you know about where he claims Qui-Gon could've kept Anakin from turning to the dark, feel free to let me know, but as far as I'm aware, he's never said it because it isn't true.

Plenty of OTHER people have said it, for sure, up to and including Dave Filoni. And there's probably a number of reasons for why they believe this.

Filoni seems to see the Jedi VERY critically as people who are elitist and too stuck in their ways to see the "truth", while Qui-Gon is enlightened and understands the "truth" better than anybody else. He thinks that this is the story TPM in telling and because Obi-Wan is a Perfect Jedi of sorts, it means that he can't really connect to or understand Anakin in a meaningful way, he's always going to try to make Anakin something he isn't and impose Jedi rules on him that are outdated and repressive in a way that Qui-Gon never would.

This is all complete and utter bullshit.

For one, Qui-Gon is only partly right. Yes, Anakin is the chosen one of the prophecy, but he DOESN'T have any concrete proof of this and the Council itself is right that Anakin's future is clouded and potentially dangerous. They're also right that Anakin isn't going to adjust well to the Jedi lifestyle which could make things difficult for him if they choose to waive the rules for him, something Qui-Gon is choosing to disregard. The whole point of the Council scenes in TPM is to showcase that they're BOTH RIGHT because Anakin at this point can go either direction in his life: he can fulfill the prophecy and become a hero, or he can turn to darkness and destroy the galaxy. Neither one is entirely right or entirely wrong in this situation because that's just... not the point. Qui-Gon is NOT more enlightened than the Council is in this instance even though he's not wrong about Anakin being a child of prophecy.

For two, even though Anakin would likely never be ENTIRELY comfortable with the Jedi lifestyle, I think it's undeniable that the Jedi teachings WOULD help Anakin with his emotional instability if they'd been able to do so without Palpatine's interference. This wouldn't ever get him to the point where he'd be a good JEDI, but it would get him to the point where he'd be emotionally healthy and balanced enough to recognize that this isn't the path he wants to walk and amicably chooses to leave the Order to pursue a life more suited to his needs and desires.

There's nothing in canon to support the idea that Obi-Wan struggles with training Anakin or that he has no idea what to do with him. The CLOSEST you get to that is Obi-Wan claiming to Luke in ROTJ that he thought he could train Anakin just as well as Yoda and that he was wrong, but this storyline got sort-of changed in the prequels when they swapped Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's positions in the narrative, taking the narrative of Obi-Wan being arrogant to something very different.

For three, and this is the biggest reason that this idea of Qui-Gon being able to save Anakin is complete and utter bullshit, the primary reason Anakin falls is because ANAKIN CHOOSES TO FALL. It's not about having a better teacher, there is NO other teacher Anakin could've had that would've kept him from falling because the entire POINT of the story is that Anakin made that choice all on his own. He DID have a good teacher, he WAS given all of the tools he needed to make a better choice, he just didn't want to use any of them because he's selfish and greedy and inclined towards attachments. Removing Anakin's agency in his own story by claiming Qui-Gon could've saved him destroys the entire POINT of Anakin's story. It HAS to be a choice Anakin makes DESPITE knowing it's the wrong choice to make or every single theme in Star Wars goes right out the window. There's no meaning to Anakin choosing to save Luke and sacrifice himself if it doesn't contrast Anakin choosing to sacrifice EVERYONE ELSE for power earlier. They're both HIS CHOICE and that's so so important. Qui-Gon being able to train him would change NOTHING. Anakin would still make that choice because it's the story Lucas wanted to tell. And this is why I'm like 99% certain that Lucas himself has never once claimed Qui-Gon could've saved Anakin because I KNOW he's said things in interviews where he specifically discusses that it was Anakin's choice because he's selfish and greedy. THAT'S the story Lucas was trying to tell and he'd never say otherwise.

Qui-Gon would not have saved Anakin, Obi-Wan was not a subpar teacher, and Anakin made his own damn choices and always would have regardless of who trained him.

[dawnwriterimagines]

Missing Pieces : Fontaine x f!Reader

Summary: After supposedly returning from a shooting he can't remember, Fontaine's memory seems to be a little jacked as something doesn't feel right. He sits down with Slick Charles, trying to connect the missing pieces in his daily routine, while everyone tries to explain to him that someone's missing...

Warning(s): Violence, Angst, Amnesia, etc.

It was loud, it was close, almost like it was right in front of him.

BANG!

A gun shot rang out.

Fontaine's eyes burst open, he sits up with a startled breath, almost choking on the first gasp he lets out.

Putting a hand against his chest, feeling for the indent of a bullet hole he was sure had gone through him at some point. But there was none, only the raised scars from a few mishaps or scuffles with any dumb motherfucker that used to try him. The ghost of pain was strange, as he shook himself out of his slumber it quickly settled and numbed to nothing. But it wasn't really even a memory, a nightmare?

He'd gotten shot before, never flat out in the chest like he'd felt when he got up. Somehow, he imagined it would've felt differently. But, then again, it was only a nightmare.

Fontaine ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily. The nightmare faded from his mind, he couldn't even remember what it was about, but it had left him shaken.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he seemed to wait for something, looking beside himself to see if anyone were sleeping at his bedside. It was empty, the other side's cover tucked tight.

Brows furrowing at the weird feeling that the morning had already brought for him, Fontaine huffed out a breath and stood, preparing for his day.

He got dressed, throwing on the white sweatshirt and a pair of worn down jeans, as he pulled them on, he caught sight of a silver chain on his dresser, a threaded cross at the end.

Walking over to it, he took it and looked it over, it was unfamiliar to the eye but he could've sworn at some moment he had probably worn it, or he had seen it on somebody else. He pockets it, leaving the room.

Outside, he meets up with his boys, the gang crowding at the corner, waiting on him. On the front yard, Fontaine lays on the lifting bench, putting an ungodly number of rusted plates on the bar before pressing the weight with no assistance.

The two other swole muhfuckas huddle around him hyping him up, throwing insults to goad him to a few more lifts as he nears his next rep, "One more! Weak ass nigga!" Fontaine huffs a puff of air, muscles flexing as he lifts another. "One more!"

"Hey Fontaine!" Junebug yells as he runs over, a Caprisun in his grasp.

Fontaine racks the weight with no problem, sitting up, he looks to the kid as he stops in front of him with a toothy smile, looking around. "Where she at, man?" Junebug asks, suddenly looking disappointed.

Fontaine raised a brow, before standing taking his jacket off the ground, "What you doin' here, Junebug?"

"(Y/n)," the kid says, "Where she at, huh?"

"I ain't got yo' babysitter, lil man." The name sounds familiar for a split second, until it doesn't.

Junebug frowns. "Did you get in a fight again?"

"What the fuck you talkin' bout, Junebug? I dunno no bitch named..." he pauses a minute, catching sight of a car, a 1975 AMC Pacer, a dark yellow color. It was parked up down the block, just behind his Pontiac.

Ignoring Junebug's nonsensical questions, Fontaine turns to Big Moss, who holds a handheld fan to his face, "Yo' nigga, who car is that?" he points to the Pacer.

Big Moss looks over, squinting a bit, "Ain't that yo' honey's, mane?"

"Ma' honey?" Fontaine made a face, clearly the only person lost here. "The fuck you on?"

The rest of the gang around made sour faces, some clearing their throats and turning at the suddenly uncomfortable conversation, attempting to nosily mind their businesses. "Not no mo', I guess," Big Moss says, awkwardly. Clearing his throat, "It's cool mane."

"The fuck--" Fontaine's interrupted.

"You and (y/n) ain't together no mo'?" Junebug looks disheartened. "What you do?"

"Ya'll niggas crazy, I ain't know no bitch named (y/n)--"

"Fonnie..." a gentle whisper in his ear startles him. A woman leans in close to him, he feels her hands drag up the side of his torso and up his chest from behind, hugging him close for just a second...

He turns quick.

His eyes instinctually cut to the yellow Pacer at the corner of the street as he finds no one to blame behind him. "Crazy..." he repeats, maybe about himself.

Fontaine decides to get in his car, driving to the liquor store. He buys a lotto and a routine bottle of Anaconda Malt Liquor. As he unscrews the cap, taking a swig, he hopes for a buzz or a sense clarity that never hits him, maybe it was time for something a little stronger.

He scratches the lotto, and the same outcome taunts him back with a 'You Lose' in bold. Tossing it to the ground, he walks back towards his car, coming up towards Frog, the homeless old man that always had some riddle to say. And he didn't disappoint. "Lovin' n' holdin an' they just takin' n' stealin', ey youngblood?" Frog says, holding up the styrofoam cup as Fontaine pours a good bit of the liquor to his cup.

"Yeah, Frog," Fontaine sighs, used to the nonsensical jabber. "Yeah."

Leaning up against the side of his car, he takes a drink, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the chain he'd found in his bedroom earlier. He brings it up to look closely, in some way he recognized it, but not enough to recognize it as something he'd worn in the past few days or even months.

As he holds the chain, he notices a smear of red along his finger, rubbing his thumb at the stain on the silver, rubbing off the red. He stares at it on his fingers, he recognizes it to be lipstick, a soft red shade.

Even more confused, he huffs out a breath, but he holds the chain tight in his grip, trying to think of any moment in time that he could've possibly been given it, or anyone that could've left it. He hadn't let anyone in his house in a while, let alone his bedroom, the last woman he had slept with had been...fuck when was the last time he'd gotten laid?

For some reason, he was convinced it wasn't as long ago as he thought.

He gets in his car, driving back towards home.

That's when he catches sight of someone. At the end of the street, a black man in a white sweatshirt limps down the road, his chest stained with red. He's on his knees, curling his arms around someone, dragging the person onto their feet, but they're limp in his grip, dead. A woman, jeans wet with blood and knit sweater falling off her shoulders torn and smeared with red. She's pretty, gorgeous even, from what he can see from here.

The man struggles to stand to his feet with her again, his shoulders shake from the effort or from the angry sobs that wracked through him. Fontaine can see that every movement is agony, he watches as the man hacks up a mouthful of blood. He'd been shot too.

As he hacks up a lungful, the man's eyes flicker up to see Fontaine driving past. They look at one another.

And for a moment, Fontaine sees himself. Literally. His hair, his eyes, his clothes even which he was wearing at this current moment. He forgets he's still pressing on the gas when he loses sight of him.

Fontaine stomps on the brake, stopping the car, he looks to the rearview mirror, quick. When did he start breathing so heavy? It had to just be a coincidence, just a trick of light or of his mind. That can't be him.

Interrupting his thoughts, a black van drives into the area, nearly clipping the Pontiac as it swerves around the corner and towards the couple.

"NO, NO, Nooo! NO!" the man even sounds like him..."Get the fuck away from us! Get the fuck off--! No!" he's cut off by the slamming of the car doors, muffling his screams and driving off quick.

All that's left of them is the red stain against the cement.

As he makes it home, trying his best to forget about the strange event, Fontaine pockets the chain he forgot he was still clutching.

He makes a sandwich, cutting it in half, he walks to his mother's door and knocks, "Mama, you hungry?"

She answers. "Nah, I'm good, baby. Josephine had a fish fry last night, I'm still full."

He walks away from the door, covering the plate for later and making another sandwich. He must've blanked out because next thing he knows he's making two new peanut butter sandwiches, cutting the crusts off one of them absently. Slowly stopping, he places the knife down, confused with himself.

He takes one of the sandwiches, sits down on the couch and turns on the TV. As a poorly filmed commercial starts, he swipes his malt liquor off the table and takes a swig. "--Gon getcha summa dis here limited-time-only Hotbox Spicy Chicken! Cause remember, who needs all these vices when you've got all these herbs and spices--" the narrator continues as folks dance after every bite.

A commercial he's seem about a hundred times, before another came on about perm cream.

Fontaine zoned out, chewing silently on his sandwich, wondering why everything seemed so off today. Who was (y/n)? Did he just imagine seeing himself today? Who's fucking chain was this?!

He tosses the chain across the table, it hits a box of pizza that halts its slide to the floor.

That's when he noticed the pizza box at the table, eyes narrowing as he quickly thought of someone. Slick Charles. "Motherfucka'..." he stands and takes his keys off the hook.

---

"You saw me, what?"

"Die, muhfucka!" Slick Charles repeats with an agitated yell. "I saw you and yo honey!"

This is the second time someone mentioned his 'honey'.

"I'm clearly not dead, nigga, where's my money?"

"There are more pressing issues to discuss here, nigga!" Slick Charles backs away from Fontaine, looking around his chest for bullet holes, anything to declare the man, undead. "Look if you don't believe me, we'll get, Yo-yo! She'll know, she done lef' around the time you came in, alrigh'?!"

Fontaine glared at the pimp, before rolling his eyes and exiting the hotel to make his way to his car, Slick Charles following. For some reason, his mind drifted to earlier that morning, seeing the couple, covered in blood and dying on the street.

Finding Yo-Yo about to sell some ass for a $50, they interrupt the transaction, getting the sassy prostitute in the car, clad in a fur coat and yellow boots, she sneers at them both. "Ya'll owe me, 50!"

Fontaine gets to the point, hushing the woman. "I need to ask you somethin'," he begins. "You seen me?" he asks, tentatively, almost in a whisper. Asking meant admitting to some degree that he thought he was actually dead and had come back. In some way, that would explain his very realistic nightmare.

"Not like that, nigga..."

"Nah, I mean...you seen me?" he questioned again, quieter this time, serious.

"Yes, nigga, I saw you," Yo-Yo admits, truthfully. "And wasn't (y/n) witchu? I ain't seen her, she ight?"

Slick Charles leaned back in his seat, remembering seeing the young woman in the car before the shoot out started. "Aw no," he whispered.

Fontaine glanced back at the pimp, confused and angry. "Who the fuck ya'll talkin' bout, man? Who's (y/n)?!" he hits the steering wheel, tired of the day, and the dumb shit that's been getting to him lately. "What bitch ya'll think I'm fuckin' with, huh!"

"Well ain't she give you that?" Yo-Yo pointed to the chain on his neck. The cross he had tossed and decided to take with him, he had just absently put it on, almost out of instinct.

"You know who's this is?" Fontaine held the cross up to her face.

"Uh, yeah, nigga, what's wrong wit you?" she gives him a distasteful look.

"Who?!"

"(y/n)!"

"You--"

Slick Charles slaps down a polaroid photo on the console divider, "So you tryna tell me, you don't remember her?"

Fontaine looks down, choosing to ignore the change in tone, Slick Charles has his pointer finger in the middle of an unfamiliar photo, he picks it up. The car is dead silent now as he holds it up to his face, luckily he had parked under a street lamp, providing him a little light to see.

Fontaine's eyes widen as he sees her fully for the first time. (Y/N).

They're frozen in time in the photo, in a paused state of a love he couldn't remember. She presses a smooth kiss to the side of his face, he wraps an around around her waist, pulling her into his lap, his expression was softer than normal despite a lack of a smile. But he wasn't looking at his lips, but the way he'd leaned into her, held her close, he'd never done that before, always keeping his distance from any actual relationship that he recalled in his life.

So this was (y/n)?

He felt he would've remembered someone like her. Why didn't he?

"Remember 'er now?" Slick Charles asked.

"I'm gon' need you to tell me what exactly you saw last night," Fontaine's eyes flickered to Yo-Yo, he's gratefully for how dark it is, he had a feeling now that he had seen her today, drove past her, let someone take her away. What the hell was going on?

---

There was an elevator that led down under the Glen, this tiny town was somehow apart of an entire experiment, for what? He didn't know.

But, it seemed to involve him. Involve you. And involve all the people of The Glen. And if he wanted to know why he seemed to have died late last night, he needed to find out what exactly was going on.

Luckily, he had some help, although he would've preferred a smarter duo, he was stuck with them.

As Slick Charles held his gold gun up to the pale-skinned scientist with a clean shaven afro, giggling and spasming seemingly uncontrollably, Fontaine made his way around the lab.

Yo-Yo began to mess with a few of the strange sets of chemicals within the lab, taking notice of the lack of experimental subjects: like mice or even rabbits, nothing. She tipped a beaker, blew on the white dust, she supposed was cocaine and swirled a bit of a blue liquid in a test tube.

Fontaine found two surgical tables, blue sheets over each figure that seemed to lay atop the metal slabs. Not a single breath moved through the sheets, nothing to signify either one was alive.

He moved one sheet first, it was you. (Y/N)...

And everything suddenly started flooding back in waves.

"Wake up..." she breathes, tapping his cheek as she yawns against his chest.

"I'm awake..." he responds, tiredly.

"No, you're not," she grumbles, before sitting up a little. The movement coaxes him awake, his arm pulling around her shoulders tighter to get her to lay back down.

"Be quiet," he pulls her down on him, she chuckles, conceding.

He scoffs out a humored hum, turning over her, they drift off for another hour or so, awakening to kiss the other. He's leaning over her, the chain she had given him, swinging in front of her face, hanging off his neck.

Fontaine notices it, taking it off in that moment and placing it on the dresser, "No, hey, that keeps you safe," you protest as he moves to shift between your legs. "Don't take it off, Fonnie."

"Yeah, well right now, it's distractin'," he squeezes your thigh, bringing one of your legs over his right shoulder. "I'll put it on later, if you're so worked up bout it."

"Ok, ohh--k, yeah..." he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, letting you take hold of a handful of his locs, your nails running through his scalp in a way that just told him to keep going. "Fon'..." you gasp as he cups the skin of your ass to move down lower, greedily.

After another hour of consuming the presence of one another for the morning, you both move through the day as you usually would. Fontaine would bench press a few reps with guys, you would start making campaign flyers for the protests during the week. He'd leave with Junebug later unbeknownst to you and deal with an amateur dealer that made the dumb decision to sell on his side of the streets. When he comes back, Fontaine and you would head to the store together, he'd get his usual Anaconda Malt Liquor and you'd usually go for a Moscato if not a pack of swedish fish. Pass by Frog for another daily lesson in senile obscurity and pour him a cup.

Heading back home, they'd have breakfast together, sometimes you'd make eggs and bacon, other times Fontaine would make the only thing he really knew how to which were peanut butter sandwiches. You hated the crusts, so he'd always cut them for you. You'd call him soft and he'd sit pause mid-way to let you finish yourself in bitter defiance, to which you'd quickly take back your statement. "Wait, wait, I'm kidding," you laughed. "Come on, finish, you cut them the best! Fonnie!"

"That's all you, baby," he took a bite of his. "All you."

"No, I'm sorry, please, please," you begged, wrapping your arms around him to pull him back to the kitchen. "Come on, Fonnie--"

"How many times I gotta tell you to stop wit' that, Fonnie shi', huh?"

"But I thought you liked it when I called you, Fonnie?" you teased with a smile.

"Fonnie sounds like a bitch, I ain't no bitch."

"You're my bitch though," you cackled.

"Whatchu say?" he turned, surprised at the answer. And you took off running. "Naw, bitch, get your ass back here, whatchu say!"

"Nothing!" You laughed as you ran through the house away from him. "I'm sorry!" you put your hands up as he grabbed at you, the two of you soon enough laughing together.

"Getch your ass back here!"

Later in the day, Fontaine recalls the customer dealings of his business, remembering that Slick Charles still owed him a pay day since last week. Fontaine got to his feet, took his keys, and you accompanied him into the pontiac, tapping the insignia on the hood of your Pacer car parked behind.

Driving off, the two of you enjoyed a moment with each other, you leaned over the console between you both, singing to the song on the radio. "I need a hug...I need a hug..." you nuzzled your face against his shoulder.

"You need to be quiet," he snickered, emphasizing 'Need', glancing over to you as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, and you just kept at it.

He finally parked up by The Royal, a hotel across The Glen, where he knew Slick Charles would be. "Stay here," Fontaine said before leaving the car.

You roll down the window, sticking your head out to wave towards the pimp as your boyfriend forces his way into the hotel room. "Hi, Slick!"

"(Y/n)! Why you ain't tell yo' violent ass nigga to show some goddamn muhfuckin' respect!" he yells mostly towards Fontaine, who glowers at him in return, threatening to punch him right in the grills if he don't keep his mouth shut.

You duck back into the car, choosing to let the two men figure their shit out, instead opening the windscreen, watching as a photo fell out to your lap. A little picture of the two of you, you recalled the day, you'd only been officially together for a few months at the time, but you were happier than ever.

Looking up you take notice of another photo, of Ronnie, you had never met the boy, but you had always wished to, knowing what had happened to the sweet kid, always made your heart clench with tears. You pressed two fingers to your lips and to the still frame of Ronnie, breathing sadly, in some way you felt you knew him, maybe had met him, caught glimpses of him in the street when you were younger.

A beep is heard, startling you to drop the polaroid of you and Fontaine, it slips between the seats and you curse, "Shit, ugh," you glare back at the car that had stopped behind the Pontiac, before driving driving again. "Motherfucker!" You sneered at the driver, who just kept his windows up, music blasting, glass shrouded in smoke.

Fontaine soon returned to the car, pocketing the fraction that Slick Charles had made, not enough to fully pay him back though. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I--" then you saw the same car rolling backwards, coming to a slow park just behind the trunk. But, it was the man walking up to Fontaine's side of the window that really terrified you. "Fon--!"

He turns a little too late, "GET DOWN!" just pulling out his gun when the window shatters, the car being layered with bullets, the young man on the other side frantically emptying the clip. The click of an empty magazine is the only thing left to hear besides the bass drum of the radio of the assaulting vehicle.

The young man stumbles backwards, stuffing the weapon into his shirt and racing into the car for a getaway, as the car speeds off from the scene, Fontaine takes a shuttered breath. Blood spilling from between his lips, his hand achingly coming up to feel the holes that had ripped straight through him.

"(Y/n)..." he heaved out, he turns his head as much as he can, every movement a strain on his failing organs. "(y/n)..." he said again, hoping you'd say anything. "Say somethin'," he huffs out, panicked. Say you're ok. "Say it..." he breathes. "Say it..." he repeats as he struggles to breathe, hoping he'd live a little longer to get some fucking help.

He reaches for you, his fingers inching towards yours, but you were already gone.

And then that's when the van comes around. A few men, white guys in black suits wrapped in plastic, gloved hands and unbothered looks as they swing open the car door. "Woah, he's still alive," Fontaine hears one of them say. "Do we still take him?"

Who the fuck were they?

Obviously they weren't police, or ER, or even some random passerby's.

"Won't last long, so yeah," another says, opening up the opposite door. "Not sure about this one though." He was talking about you, Fontaine was sure.

Fontaine blinked, blacking out a moment before breathing harshly once, as if his heart had stopped in that split second, he was somewhere else now. Suddenly, he had been hauled into the van.

"Guess we'll just have to wipe the next one till we can get a copy going, right?"

"Dunno, we've never had to do that before. Damn, this is going to be a lot of paperwork," the white guy sighs out before turning you in your seat, Fontaine finally gets a good look at you as he lays there trying to keep his eyes open. Your sweater was drenched in your blood, and probably a bit of his, the side of your face wet and broken up from the bullet through your temple. You had died as soon as it happened.

Fontaine felt his heart drop, blood filled his throat and he choked on the feeling, but he wasn't sure if it was from the heartache or the puncture. "...'er go..." he gurgled out, eliciting the attention of the disturbed men around him.

There was a pause. "Was that you or him?"

"Well, it wasn't me..." one of the collectors said.

"Let 'er go, muhfucker," Fontaine managed.

They had begun to drive, going around the corner and away from The Royal motel.

"Shit, he really is still alive," the white man gapped, but he still began to haul you out of the car. "We're not really supposed to talk to y--" then there was a gunshot.

Startling all of them as the man that had begun to unceremoniously strap you down to the metal, fell back and too his knees, silently. A bullet between the eyes. The van swerved in the mens sudden panic.

Fontaine had still had a hand on the handle of his gun all this time, the only issue had been getting the energy to pull the trigger. And he let his hand go around to pull again on the white man that moved to pry the gun from his grip, "No, stop!" the collector had shouted, but the gun went off again, this time right through his hip. "Ahh!"

"Oh, shit! Hey, get up!" picking his co-workers up off the floor, "Get the hell out of here, we'll send another unit!" the only uninjured stranger hauled the others into the van as Fontaine stumbles out of the car taking you with him, trying to get a locked eye on the last of them as they drive off and away from the scene as if they hadn't even been there.

And so, Fontaine sat on the curb for a moment, holding you tight, wondering if anyone else would try to just snatch them off the street again. He watched as the van drove off fast, he wondered why they had bothered to do all of that. To kidnap him off the street, as if they had known exactly who he was, where he would be and that he'd be shot. What did they mean by make a copy later?

Fontaine swayed, wondering how he had even lasted this long. He let his head settle against yours, he wished for the little snore of yours that would usually coax him to sleep. He recalled the first time you had fallen asleep against him, the first time he caught himself falling asleep next to you. Pretty much the first of any time he had let anyone catch him slipping.

And he waited for a single breath to slip from you, to bring him even a sliver of comfort.

But it never came.

Even in the early morning, when he found himself staring into the eyes of...himself? Driving by in the very same car that had been totaled to shit in the parking lot of The Royal motel.

Even when the same black van swept by, turning to haul the two of them up off the street and into the van. They don't let their guard down like the others, and he breathes for the last time in that van, holding tight to your hand, just before they pull you both apart.

- - -

It's not a memory that he can grasp onto, because it's not his to have. Just a copy of moments he's never lived.

And they flood his mind.

Fontaine leans over your dead body that laid on that cold slab of metal, the familiarity becoming knowing, absence of memory becomes an overflow of moments he knew he hadn't lived but he could still hold onto.

As the labs alarms go off, he takes you into his arms, ready to take you out of this horrible place, get you some place warm.

Something the previous version of him, hadn't been able to do. But, he was pulled to do the same as his previous self had tried for you.

"Come on, I got you," he spoke, miserably.

It was like speaking to a lover he had never had. But it was also like losing one he had never said goodbye to.

"Come on, please," Fontaine undid the straps, pulling the plastic sheet laid across your naked flesh. He shivered, you were cold, "I've got you," he stares down at the floor as he holds you in his arms. Memories still flooding his mind, sensations, sounds and feelings only a single version of him had experienced, and it wasn't him.

But he still knew he had loved you.

Slick Charles and Yo-Yo pull him from the lab, the alarm sounding loudly, meaning whoever owned this place would be on their way, forced to leave you on that metal slab, next to the original version of himself.

Fontaine was on that elevator. But, a piece of himself stayed down there, and he'd be back to find it again.

"Believe us now?" Slick Charles spoke the question almost sympathetically.

[blossomthepinkbunny]

I think a much better structure for Hazbin Hotel would've been to focus solely on hell for the first season. Charlie would advertise the hotel and there would be guests looking to be redeemed. Without having to focus on Charlie convincing heaven of her idea, they could've spent a lot more time to get us to actually care about our main cast as well as introducing the citizens of hell in a more natural way. I know they would still have to work with just 8 episodes but it would've been much more focused if they actually had the hotel be the main source of story for season one. Right now I don't really care for the characters of HH.

Like Valeria was an ex-exorcist? Okay, I don't really know anything about her that would've made me assume she wasn't, except for the fact that she loves Charlie and from how Charlie was portrayed so far I assume she is going to forgive her immediately. Oh, everything is resolved within one episode.

Sir Pentious (presumably) died and everyone is sad? Well they didn't seem to even know him that well and they never gave us the impression that they cared about him. His progression wasn't even shown and we don't know what he did that actually redeemed him. I guess it's still kinda sad that he died. Oh, he is actually alive ... alright moving on.

Charlie doesn't have a good relationship with her dad? Well it's gonna be interesting how they'll make me feel for their relationship when Lucifer basically neglected her and when he's someone allowing the extermination of the people Charlie wants to save to happen. Oh, they resolved it in the same episode he first appeared in by saying he actually just really cares for her and he was just misunderstood and rejected by people. It's good that Lucifer apparently cares for his relationship with Charlie, because I don't.

The only character moment I kinda felt for was Angel standing up to Valentino (which one could argue was also pretty mishandled, but that's for victims of abuse to judge). And making the viewer feel bad about abuse happening is like holding a box of puppies in front of an audience and then patting yourself on the back for making them say "aww".

The main problem is that we never get to spend enough time with any of these people because the show also has to focus on heaven, Adam and Charlie still trying to pitch her idea. In my imagination, the hotel does fine and attracts guests. Not too many but still some sinners who could be used to show the variety of hell and it's citizens. They could also show that there are people down there who aren't literally the worst sinners you could imagine, who wouldn't have gone heaven anyways, even if it wasn't corrupt apparently. Each episode could focus on Charlie trying to redeem someone, with a second plot maybe focused on a member of the hotel staff. And when a character needs more time dedicated to them specifically (like Angel or maybe Sir Pentious), you could have the redeeming either happening in the background as a B-plot or just fully focus on said character. Lucifer could be more present with making his bad relationship with Charlie one of her driving motives to keep the hotel going or with showing him actually supporting the hotel, probably giving it more believability in hell. The Vees would be the main antagonists instead of Adam of season 1 as they are in hell and could be connected to the characters' struggles. Valentinos and Angels storyline would work when he and his team have already been established as well. Vox could be used more in his rivalry with Alastor and maybe Velvette could also have some connection to the main cast (maybe with Valeria or Nifty or just in general with citizens in hell). The Vees could be used to flesh out hell as a place more and also the characters of course. And Adam wouldn't really appear in s1 but could be mentioned here and there, possibly with Lucifer making remarks like: "Adam isn't going to approve of this" or something like that.

The end of season one would maybe feature Charlie and Lucifer finally making up in a way and the end of certain character plots. There could also be a final showdown with the Vees and the character stories they impact could be solved in a way. The real last scenes could be that the hotel has reached a milestone, like maybe Charlie redeemed 10 sinners now and that's reason to celebrate. But as the sinners party happily, finally believing that theres a way they can resolve the issue without needing a war, the scene cuts to heaven and we see Adam looking to the sinners filled with hope and his face just makes it clear that he isn't going to let them get away with this. Adam would then be the main antagonist of season two.

Hazbin Hotel really just has a problem with the plot being really overstuffed. And even my version might seem like a lot to cover with just 8 episodes but it could definitely work if done right. A lot of stuff could be cut, like Carmillas whole arc, Charlie talking to Adam and visiting heaven, Valerias backstory reveal, introducing Sera and Emily, Building the army and the fight at the end (probably other stuff that I don't remember now). Carmilla could be introduced in s2, when heaven and the exterminations are really in focus. Velvette could still bring up the dead exterminator (possibly to show that even after the Vees were technically defeated they still exist and cause troubls, unless they were killed in the s1 finale of course). Mimzy and Rosie could just be cut fully or brought in in other ways. Maybe Charlie wants to redeem a really greedy sinner and so Alastor suggests that she visits Mimzy to really find out what makes someone so greedy or something. Or in season two, after the date of the exterminations gets moved forward, more and more sinners come to the hotel out of fear of dying. Charlie would want to know how to be a more respected and direct leader without coming off as mean and so Alastor introduces her to Rosie. Then they could still have the big cannibal army at the end.

These are just some thoughts on how the show could be structured better and make the story feel less crowded. This would obviously go hand in hand with some character rewriting.

[charcharbinks333]

S.G ~ Hayloft.

❝𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙮 (𝙡𝙤𝙛𝙩)❞

content:

highschool!sam golbach x highschool!reader.

warnings:

sexual references if you squint. use of y/n.

word count:

3.8k.

proofread.

Small, repetitive taps echoed throughout your room. Your eyes fluttered open, the noise finally startling you awake. You rolled out of your bed groggily, walking over to the window with careful steps. 

You peeked outside to see a familiar blonde haired boy outside your window. He held a handful of the pebbles that decorated the outside of your house. You rolled your eyes and cracked your window open. “What the hell are you doing, Golbach? Do you even know what time it is?” 

Sam stared up at you, immediately speechless as his eyes met yours. The dim lighting from your room barely illuminated your features, just enough for him to see. “Look, I know it’s late, and I’m probably the last person you want to see standing in your yard, but I have to show you something,” he pleaded, scattering the rocks back into their decorative piles among the grass. 

He held a hand out to you, knowing you couldn’t reach, but simply as a gesture to imply you should follow him. You knew you’d be dead if your parents knew you were leaving this late, but couldn’t it be deemed worth it to see just what he was bothering you for?

“And why can't this wait til the morning?” You asked skeptically. His watercolor eyes held a hopeful look, seeing as your response wasn't necessarily negative. It definitely wasn't a no. 

“What's the fun in that?” His big goofy smile made your heart skip a beat. He looked down, kicking at the dirt. “there's really no one else I'd rather show this to.” 

You stared at him for a moment more, contemplating your options. If you got caught, you'd be dead. But, what's the worst that could happen? “And what do I get out of this?” 

He shrugged. “Hanging out with me?” 

The hopeful look he held was nothing if not enticing to you. You leaned out the window further, sighing as you checked for anyone else around. It was just him, clearly he had no ill intention. Or maybe he did.

“Eh, why the hell not,” you say with an obvious eye roll, shutting your window before he could respond. You take your time moving toward the back door, making your hasty exit before you could be caught.

“I knew you’d come around,” he cooed with a cocky smile.

“Honestly, kinda felt like I was being held at gunpoint,” you teased. “I mean, what can I say? Can't ignore you forever.” 

He let out a small laugh. “I'm glad you feel that way.” 

“Don't make me change my mind,” you warned. “What do you even have to show me, anyway? Don't you have your little boyfriend, Cole or something?” 

“Colby is sleeping.” He emphasized his best friend's name. “My car is parked right up the street,” he mentioned, matching his walking pace with yours. 

“Uh, excuse me. I was sleeping too,” you muttered. 

“Well, he would've killed me if I woke him up. I thought since you want to kill me either way, it was worth a shot.” A small smile was plastered on his face. He felt as if he couldn't stop smiling, he finally got you to give him some sort of a chance. 

You roll your eyes, chuckling dryly at his statement. “Yeah, whatever. I never wanted to kill you, necessarily. That’s just an exaggeration…”

It wasn’t at all an exaggeration. Your mind helplessly wandered to your past interactions, not a single one showing any sort of connection. 

“Ew, as if, Golbach! Go bother your boyfriend instead,” you scoffed as he leaned closer to you, his signature—and clearly fake—cocky smirk plastered on his pale skin. You shoved him away and he stumbled back into a desk, his mouth hanging agape as he stared at you in shock. You’d never laid a hand on him, but he couldn’t do anything back… you were a girl! He couldn’t hit a girl…

The gross look on your face snapped him back to reality. “You know, that was really uncalled for,” he muttered before storming off. 

You shook the thought from your head, seeing as that scene happened all the way back in middle school. Maybe in that moment, you did want to kill him, but you never truly did. 

“Okay, Y/n.” He laughed, a sarcastic undertone to everything he said. You knew he was just protecting his heart. He had his guard up around you now, and you were starting to feel bad about it. 

Your voice softened. You didn't know how to apologize without sounding like a pussy, but you felt like it was needed. The weird tension was slowly getting to you. “Maybe I disliked you very much, but I never hated you, Sam.” 

“Past tense?” He asked, a laugh falling from his lips. “Do you actually like me now?” 

“I can tolerate your presence,” you rebutted. 

What seemed like a crack in his hard exterior became more and more visible by the second. He smiled. The realest smile you’d seen from him. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not too bad yourself,” he joked, playfully bumping your shoulder with his.

You both finally arrived at Sam’s car, after what felt like an eternity. The next shocker—he opened the door for you. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment before you ducked down and settled yourself in the passenger seat. 

“Y’know, I didn’t peg you for a gentleman.” He settled on his side and started the car after a few stalls. He glanced over at you with a dry chuckle, a clear and sarcastic sign that none of his gestures could be deemed gentlemanly.

Sam explained that it was quite a long drive before going quiet. An awkward silence filled the car as you listened intently to the soft radio. 

As houses and barns started to disperse, you knew you were leaving town. It was a small town, give or take, so you weren't necessarily surprised. What you were was concerned. “Are you kidnapping me?” 

Sam shook his head and chuckled, changing the radio station as he drove. “No, we’re going to a very common hang out spot among my friends. you may not like it though, princess,” he teased. He stopped his car in a large patch of pebbles, and all you could see was a large prairie on the outskirts of a small forest.

“Oh shit, are you taking me to the legendary barn?” You ask with an eager smile. You’d heard stories of this place, but never thought you’d ever go.

“Yeah, and it’s a long walk, so no complaining.” He got out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door for you.

You couldn't help your face from heating up at the smallest gesture. The moon illuminated Sam's features, especially the ones you had never taken the time to notice. You caught yourself staring, making your heart jump. You looked down at your feet as you followed behind him.  

You listened closely to Sam's soft footsteps in the dirt mixed with the noises of crickets chirping in the far distance. He quickly broke the silence. “I'm honestly surprised you've heard about our barn.”

“Your barn,” you muttered under your breath with a laugh. “It's not like you guys are secretive about your ‘investigations.’ Colby posts on his Facebook so much.” 

Sam laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, no, that’s true… I tried to tell him our spot would be invaded if he kept posting, but he’s stubborn. Don’t get me wrong, though, he’s a great guy, just doesn’t think ahead." The way he spoke about his best friend was kind of cute, like he held Colby on a pedestal of sorts, it was admirable.

“Are we almost there?” you chimed, breaking the momentary silence. Sam holds a low-hanging branch out of your way as you enter the forest.

“Not much further, so don’t worry.” You both trekked through the forest, making it to the edge of the trees when the barn finally came into view. 

The atmosphere was so peaceful, yet terrifying. Sam walking close beside you was a comforting presence. His hand brushed against yours, sending goosebumps all over your body. Your stomach was doing backflips as you looked at him.  

He led you into the barn. You Looked up at the hay bales stacked close to the roof. Your jaw fell open at the sight. “How the hell do you even get up there?” 

“Look, I’ll show you.” Dirt kicked up under his shoes as he jogged over to a singular hay bale on the floor. “You just climb up these, it's basically a staircase.” He jumped to the second one. 

You bobbed over and climbed on top of it, following his lead. “Is this safe?” 

He hesitated. “No.. But I'll make sure you're safe. don't worry, baby,” he teased with a smile. He held out his hand. You took it and he pulled you up to the next hay bale. 

Baby? The name alone made your heart pound out of your chest, or maybe it was the anxiety from the American Ninja Warrior-esque trek up to the top of the hay bails. As you finally made it, you had a straight-shot view of the moon. There were holes in the aluminum panels that gave you a perfect view of the night sky, and only wooden beams supporting the metal that could easily fall on you at any moment.

“You said you come here often, right?” You wanted reassurance that the roof wouldn’t collapse on you and end up another town-wide horror story. He nodded his head as he settled toward the top of the hay, patting the spot next to him. You settle there hesitantly, nervous you’d fall down to your death at any moment.

“Don’t be afraid, you won’t fall,” he said, clearly comforting you. He wrapped his arm around your waist. “If you start falling, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t die or whatever.” He flashed a charming smile your way.

His touch made your mind foggy. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your waist as you spoke. “What do you and Colby even do when you're here?” 

“We play little kid games, like tag, and run around on the hay bales,” he explained. “Do you remember when I had to wear a fat ass brace to school for like, a week?” 

You nodded. He seemed to be amused that you remembered such a small detail. 

“Yeah, that was ‘cause my ankle got stuck in between these bales. Colby physically couldn't stop laughing at me.” Sam adjusted, scooting closer to you. 

His obvious attempts to remain close to you didn’t go unnoticed. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, trying to find something to say to keep talking to him. You couldn’t help but love his voice, especially with him this close to you…

“I always found your voice really comforting, y’know,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. His eyebrows raised in amusement as he glanced over at you, his teeth grazing his lower lip for a moment.

“Wow, really? People usually say I sound like a squeaky toy.” His joke was emphasized by an accidental voice crack, and his pale face immediately flushed red. You nudge him playfully with your elbow, teasing him.

“Aww, you sound like a 12 year old boy,” you coo.

“Wow, watch me hit puberty all over again,” he joked. “I'm kidding, I hit puberty a long time ago, don't worry.” 

You rolled your eyes as he winked at you. “Thanks for letting me know,” you reply sarcastically. 

“Really, though. I don't know what to say to that,” he admitted, avoiding eye contact with you. You watched intently as he picked at the hay under the two of you. He seemed hesitant, choking on his words. “Y/n, there's something I really need to tell you.” 

You turn back to look at him, your head cocked to the side. You’d never seen him so hesitant, he seemed… insecure, even. You held your lower lip between your teeth for a moment, the tension between the two practically killing you. “Y-yeah…?”

His eyes drifted to somewhere behind you, his brows raising for a moment. He had the chance to get away from this painfully awkward position, realizing he wasn’t quite ready yet. “There’s a… There’s a ladder behind you, we could go to the roof, if you’d like,” he suggested with a coy shrug of his shoulders.

Sam mentally chided himself. He wanted so badly to confess to you, but something about the moment didn’t feel right. Something was off. He scratched the back of his neck nervously as he awaited your answer, looking up at you through his brows. 

“Uhm, okay. Yeah.” Sam stood up and offered his hand to you. You gratefully took it and he pulled you to a standing position. You awkwardly followed him up the ladder to the roof. 

The night was gorgeous. Out in the middle of nowhere, there weren't any lights or noises to interrupt the music of the nighttime. You admired the twinkling stars in the sky that reminded you of Sam's eyes every time he saw you. You couldn't get enough of how he looked at you. 

He stood next to you, staring up at the sky as well. “It’s really nice outside,” he broke the silence, before turning to you. “Come sit with me?” 

You hummed in response. He walked to the edge of the roof and sat down, letting his feet dangle off the ledge. You sat next to him, mirroring his position. You sat dangerously close to him, placing your hand on top of his softly. 

You felt uneasy sitting up there, like you could fall at any moment. You looked down to the ground and tensed up, your hand squeezing Sam’s. He shifted closer to you and moved to wrap his arm around your shoulder, giving you a sense of comfort.

“Don’t worry, only a few people have fallen through or off this roof. Maybe like, 7?” You shove him gently as he tried to scare you, but it earned a hearty laugh from you.

“Alright, alright, no reason to be scared, blah blah…” you trail off as you turn your head, realizing just how close the two of you were. You could feel his warm breath against your face, causing a shudder to run down your spine. 

Sam’s gaze flicked down to your lips momentarily, before meeting your eyes once again. Something was hidden in the pale blue color of his irises, some kind of longing. “There was something I wanted to tell you, y/n,” he whispered, each word he spoke laced with unease and anxiety.

“Just fucking spit it out, Golbach,” you muttered. He was so close, you could hear his uneasy breathing. “Please.”

“I love you, Y/n. God, I knew I'd love you as soon as we spoke for the first time, even if you were mean to me,” he paused, taking a deep breath. 

Sam had been one of those untouchable boys since middle school. All of the girls wanted him, but he had never shown any interest. It was that moment you realized why. 

His bright blue eyes met yours. “Fuck, I've never loved anyone like I love you. You don’t- You don't have to say anything, but I want you to know.” He moved his arm from your shoulder to wrap tightly around your waist. You could feel how badly he was shaking. 

You raise your eyebrows, taking a moment to process everything he had said to you. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached out, brushing his hair away from his eyes gently.

“You mean more to me than you could ever know,” you murmured, “I never… meant to hurt you, Sam, I just taught myself to hate you because I thought you hated me, but in reality… goddamn, I think I love you too.” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, your touch ghosting his skin, feathery almost. 

His shoulders relaxed as soon as you confessed. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like he could walk on water. Anything was possible now that he knew: you loved him. He pulled you closer by your waist, his eyes boring holes into you.

“I’ve been waiting so long to hear you say that,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on your lips now, wanting more than anything to lean in closer.

His lips finally met yours. They moved in a sweet, sensual motion. He tasted of vanilla, a surprisingly sweet combination with your minty gum. He moved his hands down to your hips, squeezing gently as he held the kiss for as long as you let him. 

Sam could've kissed you forever. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his honey locks. 

You pulled away a moment to catch your breath, but he immediately chased your lips. He was insanely desperate for you, to not lose your touch for even a moment. 

You tug playfully on his golden hair, earning a soft grunt from him. One of his hands moved to the roof beside you to keep himself steady.

He pulled away, breathing heavily. He gazed into your eyes, resting his sweaty forehead against yours. You couldn't help but smile and place a soft peck against his lips. “I love you, Sam. I'm sorry for everything before, I wish I wasn't so stupid.”

“You're not stupid. I’m stupidly in love with you.” He grinned at the cheesy saying. You rolled your eyes with a contradictory smile. 

He took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles slowly. He looked up at the sky, the stars shining beautifully, sure, but they couldn’t compare to you.

“There's Orion's belt.” you pointed out the constellation, a smile on your face. What a dork… he thought to himself. He followed your hand and looked up at the sky once again, finding the constellation easily with your guidance.

“All these stars, yet somehow you shine brighter,” he murmured, as if thinking aloud without realizing. a red hue meets your cheeks as you look back at him, your brows raised.

“Well I'll be damned, he’s a poet,” you teased. He rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm a poet and I didn't even know it or whatever corny shit you’re gonna say next,” he laughed sarcastically.

You lightly slapped his shoulder. “Now I'm the corny one?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I should probably take you home soon, don't want your parents flipping out.”

You let out a sad sigh. “I guess you're right.” 

The venture back to the car was no easier than getting there. Sam helped you down the ladder and off of the hay bales. He interlocked his fingers with yours as you carefully walked out of the barn. 

“When can I see you again?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, I know we have school Monday, but that's still one day I don't get to see you. Do you even know how much I hate that?” 

You giggled. “If I'm not grounded, come over tomorrow. My parents are working, so we'll have the whole house to ourselves.” 

He smirked, “I'm completely okay with that.” 

You slapped his arm again. “Shut up, not like that!”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame a boy for his mind wandering.” 

The drive back to your house was silent as Sam was caught in his own mind. He could see you again tomorrow? And what did tonight mean for the two of you? He wanted to be your boyfriend, more than anything, but he couldn’t be sure that you wanted the same. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song playing—some old rock song or something.

He parked a few houses down from yours, getting out of the car before you and jogging around to your side to once again open the door for you.

“You are such a gentleman,” you say with a fake posh accent and a clumsy faux-curtsey. You giggle as he shuts the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to raise suspicion from anyone on the street.

He walked you back to your house, his arm around your shoulder, shielding you from the cold.

“You planning on coming in with me or something?” you accused with a quiet laugh under your breath.

“I mean, do you want me to?” 

“Yeah,” you tried to say nonchalantly, but ended up giggling. 

He followed you in through the back door and tiptoed quietly through the house. This was the first time he was really seeing your room. He looked around at your pale walls that were covered with miscellaneous decorations and your messy bed. He couldn't help but smile. He felt like he was looking at your whole life in one small area. To be fair, he was. 

You collapsed onto your bed with a huff. “I am exhausted.” 

“I’ll let you go back to sleep, I'm going to go home.” He walked over and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love you, y/n.”

“Wait!” You grabbed his hand as he started to walk towards your door. “Stay, please?” 

His face lit up as you grabbed his hand, he turned back to you, kneeling beside your bed. “Do you really want me to stay?” he whispered, his brows quirked.

“Of course I do.” You scoot closer to the wall and pat the spot on your bed beside you. He hesitantly sat down, leaning back against your headboard. He looked up and saw the Napoleon Dynamite poster on your ceiling, which brought a small smile to his lips. 

“I love Napoleon Dynamite,” he said, looking down at you once again. You looked 10 times more comfortable with him sitting beside you. His heart was immediately warmed seeing you grasp onto his sleeve. 

“So do I,” you said in a surprisingly casual tone, considering your stomach was being immediately swarmed with butterflies as he mentioned loving your favorite movie.

Silence filled the room for a moment. He interrupted the silence. “Why are you so far away? c'mere.” 

He opened his arms to you as he laid down in your bed. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his chest. “Y'know, it's so much cozier in here with you.” 

He smiled, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Everything's better when I'm with you.” 

You felt your heart, which was once pounding against your ribcage as you adjusted to his touch, calming down as you cuddled into his chest. You exhaled softly, feeling your eyelids growing heavier by the moment.

“Goodnight, Golbach,” you teased, finally feeling the warmth of your duvet as he pulled it over the both of you.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He kissed the top of your head once again. He ran his hand up and down your back, slowly coaxing you into sleep.

~~~~~ collab with @hearts4golbach check out their page!

[hearts4golbach]

Hayloft.

This fanfiction is co-written by @charcharbinks333.

pairing:

Highschool!Sam Golbach x Highschool!Fem!Reader.

a/n:

"young lovers and they are not sleeping, young lovers in the hayloft."

proofread

warnings:

sexual references if you squint.

word count:

3.8k

Small, repetitive taps echoed throughout your room. Your eyes fluttered open, the noise finally startling you awake. You rolled out of your bed groggily, walking over to the window with careful steps.

You peeked outside to see a familiar blonde haired boy outside your window. He held a handful of the pebbles that decorated the outside of your house. You rolled your eyes and cracked your window open. “What the hell are you doing, Golbach? Do you even know what time it is?”

Sam stared up at you, immediately speechless as his eyes met yours. The dim lighting from your room barely illuminated your features, just enough for him to see. “Look, I know it’s late, and I’m probably the last person you want to see standing in your yard, but I have to show you something,” he pleaded, scattering the rocks back into their decorative piles among the grass.

He held a hand out to you, knowing you couldn’t reach, but simply as a gesture to imply you should follow him. You knew you’d be dead if your parents knew you were leaving this late, but couldn’t it be deemed worth it to see just what he was bothering you for?

“And why can't this wait til the morning?” You asked skeptically. His watercolor eyes held a hopeful look, seeing as your response wasn't necessarily negative. It definitely wasn't a no.

“What's the fun in that?” His big goofy smile made your heart skip a beat. He looked down, kicking at the dirt. “there's really no one else I'd rather show this to.”

You stared at him for a moment more, contemplating your options. If you got caught, you'd be dead. But, what's the worst that could happen? “And what do I get out of this?”

He shrugged. “Hanging out with me?”

The hopeful look he held was nothing if not enticing to you. You leaned out the window further, sighing as you checked for anyone else around. It was just him, clearly he had no ill intention. Or maybe he did.

“Eh, why the hell not,” you say with an obvious eye roll, shutting your window before he could respond. You take your time moving toward the back door, making your hasty exit before you could be caught.

“I knew you’d come around,” he cooed with a cocky smile.

“Honestly, kinda felt like I was being held at gunpoint,” you teased. “I mean, what can I say? Can't ignore you forever.”

He let out a small laugh. “I'm glad you feel that way.”

“Don't make me change my mind,” you warned. “What do you even have to show me, anyway? Don't you have your little boyfriend, Cole or something?”

“Colby is sleeping.” He emphasized his best friend's name. “My car is parked right up the street,” he mentioned, matching his walking pace with yours.

“Uh, excuse me. I was sleeping too,” you muttered.

“Well, he would've killed me if I woke him up. I thought since you want to kill me either way, it was worth a shot.” A small smile was plastered on his face. He felt as if he couldn't stop smiling, he finally got you to give him some sort of a chance.

You roll your eyes, chuckling dryly at his statement. “Yeah, whatever. I never wanted to kill you, necessarily. That’s just an exaggeration…”

It wasn’t at all an exaggeration. Your mind helplessly wandered to your past interactions, not a single one showing any sort of connection.

“Ew, as if, Golbach! Go bother your boyfriend instead,” you scoffed as he leaned closer to you, his signature—and clearly fake—cocky smirk plastered on his pale skin. You shoved him away and he stumbled back into a desk, his mouth hanging agape as he stared at you in shock. You’d never laid a hand on him, but he couldn’t do anything back… you were a girl! He couldn’t hit a girl…

The gross look on your face snapped him back to reality. “You know, that was really uncalled for,” he muttered before storming off.

You shook the thought from your head, seeing as that scene happened all the way back in middle school. Maybe in that moment, you did want to kill him, but you never truly did.

“Okay, Y/n.” He laughed, a sarcastic undertone to everything he said. You knew he was just protecting his heart. He had his guard up around you now, and you were starting to feel bad about it.

Your voice softened. You didn't know how to apologize without sounding like a pussy, but you felt like it was needed. The weird tension was slowly getting to you. “Maybe I disliked you very much, but I never hated you, Sam.”

“Past tense?” He asked, a laugh falling from his lips. “Do you actually like me now?”

“I can tolerate your presence,” you rebutted.

What seemed like a crack in his hard exterior became more and more visible by the second. He smiled. The realest smile you’d seen from him.

“Yeah, well, you’re not too bad yourself,” he joked, playfully bumping your shoulder with his.

You both finally arrived at Sam’s car, after what felt like an eternity. The next shocker—he opened the door for you. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment before you ducked down and settled yourself in the passenger seat.

“Y’know, I didn’t peg you for a gentleman.” He settled on his side and started the car after a few stalls. He glanced over at you with a dry chuckle, a clear and sarcastic sign that none of his gestures could be deemed gentlemanly.

Sam explained that it was quite a long drive before going quiet. An awkward silence filled the car as you listened intently to the soft radio.

As houses and barns started to disperse, you knew you were leaving town. It was a small town, give or take, so you weren't necessarily surprised. What you were was concerned. “Are you kidnapping me?”

Sam shook his head and chuckled, changing the radio station as he drove. “No, we’re going to a very common hang out spot among my friends. you may not like it though, princess,” he teased. He stopped his car in a large patch of pebbles, and all you could see was a large prairie on the outskirts of a small forest.

“Oh shit, are you taking me to the legendary barn?” You ask with an eager smile. You’d heard stories of this place, but never thought you’d ever go.

“Yeah, and it’s a long walk, so no complaining.” He got out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door for you.

You couldn't help your face from heating up at the smallest gesture. The moon illuminated Sam's features, especially the ones you had never taken the time to notice. You caught yourself staring, making your heart jump. You looked down at your feet as you followed behind him.

You listened closely to Sam's soft footsteps in the dirt mixed with the noises of crickets chirping in the far distance. He quickly broke the silence. “I'm honestly surprised you've heard about our barn.”

“Your barn,” you muttered under your breath with a laugh. “It's not like you guys are secretive about your ‘investigations.’ Colby posts on his Facebook so much.”

Sam laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, no, that’s true… I tried to tell him our spot would be invaded if he kept posting, but he’s stubborn. Don’t get me wrong, though, he’s a great guy, just doesn’t think ahead." The way he spoke about his best friend was kind of cute, like he held Colby on a pedestal of sorts, it was admirable.

“Are we almost there?” you chimed, breaking the momentary silence. Sam holds a low-hanging branch out of your way as you enter the forest.

“Not much further, so don’t worry.” You both trekked through the forest, making it to the edge of the trees when the barn finally came into view.

The atmosphere was so peaceful, yet terrifying. Sam walking close beside you was a comforting presence. His hand brushed against yours, sending goosebumps all over your body. Your stomach was doing backflips as you looked at him.

He led you into the barn. You Looked up at the hay bales stacked close to the roof. Your jaw fell open at the sight. “How the hell do you even get up there?”

“Look, I’ll show you.” Dirt kicked up under his shoes as he jogged over to a singular hay bale on the floor. “You just climb up these, it's basically a staircase.” He jumped to the second one.

You bobbed over and climbed on top of it, following his lead. “Is this safe?”

He hesitated. “No.. But I'll make sure you're safe. don't worry, baby,” he teased with a smile. He held out his hand. You took it and he pulled you up to the next hay bale.

Baby? The name alone made your heart pound out of your chest, or maybe it was the anxiety from the American Ninja Warrior-esque trek up to the top of the hay bails. As you finally made it, you had a straight-shot view of the moon. There were holes in the aluminum panels that gave you a perfect view of the night sky, and only wooden beams supporting the metal that could easily fall on you at any moment.

“You said you come here often, right?” You wanted reassurance that the roof wouldn’t collapse on you and end up another town-wide horror story. He nodded his head as he settled toward the top of the hay, patting the spot next to him. You settle there hesitantly, nervous you’d fall down to your death at any moment.

“Don’t be afraid, you won’t fall,” he said, clearly comforting you. He wrapped his arm around your waist. “If you start falling, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t die or whatever.” He flashed a charming smile your way.

His touch made your mind foggy. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your waist as you spoke. “What do you and Colby even do when you're here?”

“We play little kid games, like tag, and run around on the hay bales,” he explained. “Do you remember when I had to wear a fat ass brace to school for like, a week?”

You nodded. He seemed to be amused that you remembered such a small detail.

“Yeah, that was ‘cause my ankle got stuck in between these bales. Colby physically couldn't stop laughing at me.” Sam adjusted, scooting closer to you.

His obvious attempts to remain close to you didn’t go unnoticed. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, trying to find something to say to keep talking to him. You couldn’t help but love his voice, especially with him this close to you…

“I always found your voice really comforting, y’know,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. His eyebrows raised in amusement as he glanced over at you, his teeth grazing his lower lip for a moment.

“Wow, really? People usually say I sound like a squeaky toy.” His joke was emphasized by an accidental voice crack, and his pale face immediately flushed red. You nudge him playfully with your elbow, teasing him.

“Aww, you sound like a 12 year old boy,” you coo.

“Wow, watch me hit puberty all over again,” he joked. “I'm kidding, I hit puberty a long time ago, don't worry.”

You rolled your eyes as he winked at you. “Thanks for letting me know,” you reply sarcastically.

“Really, though. I don't know what to say to that,” he admitted, avoiding eye contact with you. You watched intently as he picked at the hay under the two of you. He seemed hesitant, choking on his words. “Y/n, there's something I really need to tell you.”

You turn back to look at him, your head cocked to the side. You’d never seen him so hesitant, he seemed… insecure, even. You held your lower lip between your teeth for a moment, the tension between the two practically killing you. “Y-yeah…?”

His eyes drifted to somewhere behind you, his brows raising for a moment. He had the chance to get away from this painfully awkward position, realizing he wasn’t quite ready yet. “There’s a… There’s a ladder behind you, we could go to the roof, if you’d like,” he suggested with a coy shrug of his shoulders.

Sam mentally chided himself. He wanted so badly to confess to you, but something about the moment didn’t feel right. Something was off. He scratched the back of his neck nervously as he awaited your answer, looking up at you through his brows.

“Uhm, okay. Yeah.” Sam stood up and offered his hand to you. You gratefully took it and he pulled you to a standing position. You awkwardly followed him up the ladder to the roof.

The night was gorgeous. Out in the middle of nowhere, there weren't any lights or noises to interrupt the music of the nighttime. You admired the twinkling stars in the sky that reminded you of Sam's eyes every time he saw you. You couldn't get enough of how he looked at you.

He stood next to you, staring up at the sky as well. “It’s really nice outside,” he broke the silence, before turning to you. “Come sit with me?”

You hummed in response. He walked to the edge of the roof and sat down, letting his feet dangle off the ledge. You sat next to him, mirroring his position. You sat dangerously close to him, placing your hand on top of his softly.

You felt uneasy sitting up there, like you could fall at any moment. You looked down to the ground and tensed up, your hand squeezing Sam’s. He shifted closer to you and moved to wrap his arm around your shoulder, giving you a sense of comfort.

“Don’t worry, only a few people have fallen through or off this roof. Maybe like, 7?” You shove him gently as he tried to scare you, but it earned a hearty laugh from you.

“Alright, alright, no reason to be scared, blah blah…” you trail off as you turn your head, realizing just how close the two of you were. You could feel his warm breath against your face, causing a shudder to run down your spine.

Sam’s gaze flicked down to your lips momentarily, before meeting your eyes once again. Something was hidden in the pale blue color of his irises, some kind of longing. “There was something I wanted to tell you, y/n,” he whispered, each word he spoke laced with unease and anxiety.

“Just fucking spit it out, Golbach,” you muttered. He was so close, you could hear his uneasy breathing. “Please.”

“I love you, Y/n. God, I knew I'd love you as soon as we spoke for the first time, even if you were mean to me,” he paused, taking a deep breath.

Sam had been one of those untouchable boys since middle school. All of the girls wanted him, but he had never shown any interest. It was that moment you realized why.

His bright blue eyes met yours. “Fuck, I've never loved anyone like I love you. You don’t- You don't have to say anything, but I want you to know.” He moved his arm from your shoulder to wrap tightly around your waist. You could feel how badly he was shaking.

You raise your eyebrows, taking a moment to process everything he had said to you. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached out, brushing his hair away from his eyes gently.

“You mean more to me than you could ever know,” you murmured, “I never… meant to hurt you, Sam, I just taught myself to hate you because I thought you hated me, but in reality… goddamn, I think I love you too.” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, your touch ghosting his skin, feathery almost.

His shoulders relaxed as soon as you confessed. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like he could walk on water. Anything was possible now that he knew: you loved him. He pulled you closer by your waist, his eyes boring holes into you.

“I’ve been waiting so long to hear you say that,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on your lips now, wanting more than anything to lean in closer.

His lips finally met yours. They moved in a sweet, sensual motion. He tasted of vanilla, a surprisingly sweet combination with your minty gum. He moved his hands down to your hips, squeezing gently as he held the kiss for as long as you let him.

Sam could've kissed you forever. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his honey locks.

You pulled away a moment to catch your breath, but he immediately chased your lips. He was insanely desperate for you, to not lose your touch for even a moment.

You tug playfully on his golden hair, earning a soft grunt from him. One of his hands moved to the roof beside you to keep himself steady.

He pulled away, breathing heavily. He gazed into your eyes, resting his sweaty forehead against yours. You couldn't help but smile and place a soft peck against his lips. “I love you, Sam. I'm sorry for everything before, I wish I wasn't so stupid.”

“You're not stupid. I’m stupidly in love with you.” He grinned at the cheesy saying. You rolled your eyes with a contradictory smile.

He took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles slowly. He looked up at the sky, the stars shining beautifully, sure, but they couldn’t compare to you.

“There's Orion's belt.” you pointed out the constellation, a smile on your face. What a dork… he thought to himself. He followed your hand and looked up at the sky once again, finding the constellation easily with your guidance.

“All these stars, yet somehow you shine brighter,” he murmured, as if thinking aloud without realizing. a red hue meets your cheeks as you look back at him, your brows raised.

“Well I'll be damned, he’s a poet,” you teased. He rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm a poet and I didn't even know it or whatever corny shit you’re gonna say next,” he laughed sarcastically.

You lightly slapped his shoulder. “Now I'm the corny one?”

He rolled his eyes. “I should probably take you home soon, don't want your parents flipping out.”

You let out a sad sigh. “I guess you're right.”

The venture back to the car was no easier than getting there. Sam helped you down the ladder and off of the hay bales. He interlocked his fingers with yours as you carefully walked out of the barn.

“When can I see you again?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, I know we have school Monday, but that's still one day I don't get to see you. Do you even know how much I hate that?”

You giggled. “If I'm not grounded, come over tomorrow. My parents are working, so we'll have the whole house to ourselves.”

He smirked, “I'm completely okay with that.”

You slapped his arm again. “Shut up, not like that!”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame a boy for his mind wandering.”

The drive back to your house was silent as Sam was caught in his own mind. He could see you again tomorrow? And what did tonight mean for the two of you? He wanted to be your boyfriend, more than anything, but he couldn’t be sure that you wanted the same. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song playing—some old rock song or something.

He parked a few houses down from yours, getting out of the car before you and jogging around to your side to once again open the door for you.

“You are such a gentleman,” you say with a fake posh accent and a clumsy faux-curtsey. You giggle as he shuts the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to raise suspicion from anyone on the street.

He walked you back to your house, his arm around your shoulder, shielding you from the cold.

“You planning on coming in with me or something?” you accused with a quiet laugh under your breath.

“I mean, do you want me to?”

“Yeah,” you tried to say nonchalantly, but ended up giggling.

He followed you in through the back door and tiptoed quietly through the house. This was the first time he was really seeing your room. He looked around at your pale walls that were covered with miscellaneous decorations and your messy bed. He couldn't help but smile. He felt like he was looking at your whole life in one small area. To be fair, he was.

You collapsed onto your bed with a huff. “I am exhausted.”

“I’ll let you go back to sleep, I'm going to go home.” He walked over and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love you, y/n.”

“Wait!” You grabbed his hand as he started to walk towards your door. “Stay, please?”

His face lit up as you grabbed his hand, he turned back to you, kneeling beside your bed. “Do you really want me to stay?” he whispered, his brows quirked.

“Of course I do.” You scoot closer to the wall and pat the spot on your bed beside you. He hesitantly sat down, leaning back against your headboard. He looked up and saw the Napoleon Dynamite poster on your ceiling, which brought a small smile to his lips.

“I love Napoleon Dynamite,” he said, looking down at you once again. You looked 10 times more comfortable with him sitting beside you. His heart was immediately warmed seeing you grasp onto his sleeve.

“So do I,” you said in a surprisingly casual tone, considering your stomach was being immediately swarmed with butterflies as he mentioned loving your favorite movie.

Silence filled the room for a moment. He interrupted the silence. “Why are you so far away? c'mere.”

He opened his arms to you as he laid down in your bed. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his chest. “Y'know, it's so much cozier in here with you.”

He smiled, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Everything's better when I'm with you.”

You felt your heart, which was once pounding against your ribcage as you adjusted to his touch, calming down as you cuddled into his chest. You exhaled softly, feeling your eyelids growing heavier by the moment.

“Goodnight, Golbach,” you teased, finally feeling the warmth of your duvet as he pulled it over the both of you.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He kissed the top of your head once again. He ran his hand up and down your back, slowly coaxing you into sleep.

[tmae3114]

So there's this theory I've had bouncing around in my head for *checks notes* about three years now and, well, it does not have nearly the level of evidence I tend to prefer before I make a theory post - it is, in fact, Predominantly Vibes Based - but it has, again, been bouncing around in my head for three years and I refuse to be alone with it any longer

(...also, if I'm right, I wanna be able to go "I KNEW IT" and have a timestamp to point to XD)

OKAY. So. Basically.

I think Alinua might be a twice-born.

Hear me out:

Firstly:

We know that Cloud Elves live pretty much exclusively on the Archipelago Nimbus and are isolationist (Extra Lore: The Three Elder Races - "The Islands have minimal contact or trade with the outside world, [...]" & "These Cloud Elves are unique in many ways, most notably their isolationism [...]" and Page 1.6.12 "I suppose a cloud elf outside of the Archipelago Nimbus is fairly unusual-") but Alinua has been down on the surface since before she can remember

That suggests unusual circumstances. Isolationist people who have minimal contact with the outside world don't just lose a baby in said outside world

Alinua's theory for this is that her birth parents "probably reasonably assumed [she] had the Chimeric Plague and dropped [her] over the edge" (Page 1.6.13) but, crucially, there is no actual evidence of this. It's what she assumes probably happened but she has no memory of the actual events (Page 1.6.23 "I don't even remember it. I've never met my birth parents […]")

Therefore, it is entirely possible that Alinua is wrong about how she ended up not on the Archipelago Nimbus. And I, personally, think it's pretty likely that she's wrong because we know that the Archipelago Nimbus can sometimes be even higher up than the peak of the Throne of the World (this post) and even with it usually being lower down than that, I find it... somewhat doubtful that an infant (toddler, at best) would survive that fall. Not impossible in a fantasy setting but... doubtful.

Secondly:

We know that the Chimeric Plague was Life attempting to connect with a vessel who could be her eyes and give her perspective (Pages 1.20.20 - 1.20.23)

Even before Life finally broke through, Alinua was incredibly unusual for a carrier of the Chimeric Plague. She didn't even find out she was one until she was about ten (Page 1.6.13 "I had a normal life and family for ten years- and then I learned I was a chimera bomb [...]") when most die before they turn five (Page 1.2.10 "I shouldn't have made it past five years old" and Extra Lore: The Chimeric Plague "[...] it is inevitable in every case that the child will lose total control of their magic within the first few years of their life [...]"). She was twice the expected age of a carrier when she found out.

We don't know why Alinua is the successful attempt that finally worked. Not only do we not know, Alinua herself brings it up while talking to Life (Page 1.20.23 "I… don't know if there's anything special about me that kept you from overwhelming me like the others, or if I'm just the lucky one you finally got right."). The question is open: is there something special/unique about Alinua that allowed her to survive where none of the other children did? And if so, what is it?

Thirdly:

So. Carrion crawlers.

We have not actually met any in the story itself yet, only heard Caliban bring them up in the context of an insult (Page 1.12.10 "Twice-born son of a carrion crawler! You had a plan this whole time?!") but fortunately! the Aurora tumblr exists! so we have additional information!

Carrion crawlers eat dead things and sometimes give birth to baby clones of one of their recent meals, which are called twice-born. A twice-born is a healthy infant, identical in every way to how the original would've been as an infant, and age normally for the species they were produced from. Additionally, they have no memories from their source material (so to speak) and develop their own, unique soul, though if they came from a mage, their soul will develop the same channels (this post and this post)

...now, I mentioned at the start that this theory does not have as much evidence as I would like and is mostly Vibes Based, and we have now hit the point where I run out of evidence and switch to vibes. I do not have any evidence which actually points to a connection between any of this.

However, I do still Have Thoughts

We know that Alinua was adopted had a happy (or, at least, "normal") childhood prior to figuring out she was a chimeric carrier (1.6.13, see above) and seemingly doesn't think about her birth family very often. It's entirely possible that she didn't ask questions about where she came from as a child. It's not been brought up yet how her adoptive family found her but, given that she assumes she was thrown off the edge of the Archipelago Nimbus, the possibility that they found a seemingly-abandoned baby just lying around doesn't seem too out there. And if Alinua is a twice-born, yet clearly doesn't know that herself, her family may also not have known that... or may have known and opted to keep it hidden, even from her, given that twice-born are generally considered "deeply unnerving and grotesque" (this post).

As for how Alinua came to be in this theorised scenario, there's two possibilities I've considered.

The first is that an adult life mage cloud elf was outside the Archipelago Nimbus for Some Reason, died somewhere where there are carrion crawlers, and things went from there.

The second, much sadder, possibility is that the "Chimeric Plague carrier baby thrown off the edge of the flying islands" possibility did happen... the baby in question just wasn't Alinua because the fall was, in fact, not a survivable one. And then, just as a twice-born will inherit being-a-mage, Alinua inherited having the Chimeric Plague.

And, in either of these cases, something about being twice-born subsequently protected Alinua from being overwhelmed by Life.