#but I think it's decent for a person who's learning to draw now

[superanxiouspotato]

Happy (late) Halloween from a Luthor and a Super!!!

I’ve been working on this for days, I wanted to post it when it was actually Halloween but I still wasn’t happy with how it was looking by then and then I got nervous about posting as I’m still learning to draw so yeah, happy Halloween 3 days later 😂

[guildofscribes]

Okay, so I’ve been thinking… dangerous, I know, but anyway.

I often wonder how many people who write stuff about Steve Rogers have ever spoken to someone who was alive during and served during WWII. This isn’t coming from any derogatory line of thought, just a curious one since I’ve had the distinct honor of speaking to a few myself, as well as people who were alive during that time and were not part of the military due to age, medical, or occupational exemptions.

There would be diversions to behavior and speech patterns between them and the character of Steve Rogers, though the longer in conversation you go, the more their speech shifts to the way it was in the memories they’re recalling. The “formula” with which they tell the stories is different from the ones we use now, slight grammar changes start slipping in, older slang starts popping up, older turns of phrase, accents start thickening if they had a different or thicker one when they were younger, all sorts of interesting things start appearing slowly as you let them slide into memory without interruption. Usually it happens so smoothly, so slowly, that you never know when it began, one moment you simply notice that the turn was well and truly made.

Think about how awkward it can be to keep up with and change to new slang, to understand the changed in meaning for phrases as each generation ages up. Steve has a lifetime of habits ground into his bones, even in his twenties, and all of a sudden everything he’s ever known is stripped away, and all he has left is what he remembers.

While I believe Steve is self-aware enough to see that was was normal for him to say and do, like exclamations and walking to the bank and the street market for his food every week, tucking in his shirt and shining his shoes, these things that are normal to him are simply not done in the time he woke up in, and if blending in is what he wants to do, he’ll have to adapt. And adapt he does.

But Steve is also a young man without the perspective of having watched the times change over the progression of years, so the new learned behaviors are just that; learned behavior, like a broadway performance he’s acting out every day. And make no mistake, he seems to do quite well all things considered.

But back to the disconnect between the 1940’s and the 2010’s, it’s wild, a stark contrast. And given the story Steve was written into, the movies do a decent job of showing him as a man in his twenties from the 1940’s interacting with people in the 2010’s.

But mark the slightly off dialogue, the turns of phrase, and the silences. This is a man who grew up in the early 1900’s who is now told that everything about him is out of date, obsolete, outmatched, surpassed, and generally unwanted.

Except for his body as a fighter in the hardest battles to ever face the earth, people want to use that. And if he ever wants to be accepted as a person now, he has to change everything he’s identified himself with as a person from what he learned from his parents to the choices he made as a young man, to his style choices, the way he speaks to express himself, to the ideals he has built his character around… he has to change all of that foundation in order to be seen as a person instead of a relic out of a museum.

Some of the reasons I love listening to old people talk is the difference from what I see in my generation. Times were different and people were built by them in a way we aren’t being built. It’s a valuable perspective to keep in mind as history is being written around us, and one day we will be the relic nobody wants to hear or give the time of day because we have an older view of life and living.

…

…that ramble turned out much longer than intended.

Oops!

Anyway, highly recommend going on YouTube and finding videos of WWII veterans and tapes of young people in that era, listen to how they speak, what they focus on, how they conduct themselves, and maybe draw some lines between them and Steve Rogers.

Who knows, maybe you’ll even enjoy it a little.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Slip Into Me: Part 1 Saved Before Dusk✨

QZ! Joel x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Kofi

A/N: This just stumbled upon me when I was driving home from work this week, so I wrote this in about a day. I’m still not sure how I feel about the first chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for giving this a read for me! (I cannot keep up with tags, so be sure to go follow my notifications blog if you want to be notified when I post @mermaidgirl30-updates)

Chapter Summary: You run into trouble with one of the FEDRA soldiers, but a broad, handsome stranger comes along and intervenes.

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapter Tags: QZ! Joel, outbreak au, FEDRA soldier tries to attack reader, Joel steps in and saves reader, soft Joel, a bit of pining and a little flirting, eventual smut in next chapter, no use y/n

Word Count: 6.1k

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The Boston QZ is grimy, filthy, overrun with FEDRA soldiers who stalk and parade up and down the city of turmoil. Their tanks fill the streets night and day, ordering people around as if they were their own personal slaves. The buildings are rundown, furniture tattered and torn, bodies filing in and out day after day just trying to survive off the little ration cards they collect every week. 

   It’s not a place you wanted to stumble upon, not a home at all. But this was where you’d stay for now because your group was all gone, killed by feral raiders who murdered your friends in cold blood. You were the only one left, untouched in an infected world. You were lucky to make it out alive, but at what cost? You sure as hell didn’t want to stay here in this cage. But you guess it’s better than being attacked by infected or murdered in your sleep. 

   They offered you a little apartment, ration cards for a hard day’s work cleaning and organizing weapons for FEDRA. You don’t trust any of the soldiers, don’t dare look them in the eyes most days, only when you have to. Maybe one day you’ll make it out of here alive, but for now this place is giving you shelter, food, running water, electricity. It sure beats living on your own out in the woods somewhere where no one else can defend you. You’ve learned to be on your own, but that doesn’t mean you like it. 

   The air is warm as dusk draws near, the summer heat stifling even as you walk through the shade. Your shift is over, dinner gone and finished, so now it’s time to go back to your cold, lonely apartment. Maybe tonight you’ll actually get some decent sleep instead of waking up screaming from nightmares of distant times. You still see faces of loved ones you lost get murdered by infected and raiders, friends starve to death, companions freeze to death. You don’t know how you made it all this way, but you did. You had to stop holding on to the past, it wasn’t coming back for you. 

   You swipe your fingers against the cool bricks of falling apart buildings, making your way through the narrow alleyway that’ll lead to your apartment building. Just as you pass a stairwell on the side of the brick building, a dark shadow makes its way toward you. 

   You freeze, stopping dead in your tracks, fingertips still tracing the rough bricks. There’s a tall FEDRA man walking toward you. Navy blue pants, combat boots, a camouflage vest strapped tight to his chest. He looks menacing. Piercing blue eyes narrowing your way, coarse blonde locks that look like pure ice, a large scar running down the side of his dirty neck, and fists locked tight at his sides. 

   “Hey, girl. What do you think you’re doing out here all alone? Up to no good I suppose?” he asks as he stalks toward you like a hungry tiger, eyes locked with yours as a smirk meets his chapped lips. 

   You back up to the brick wall, feeling like you could sink like jello into the dusty cracks of the brown faded bricks. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. You’re trapped like a helpless little mouse. “No, I’m just trying to get back to my apartment.”

   “Sun’s about to go down, shouldn’t be out so late in the day close to curfew. You’re up to no good, aren’t ya? Trying to sneak around and steal some ration cards?”

   “No, I…”

   “Don’t lie!” He bites back, jaw seething as he pulls your wrist and clamps down on your skin. It feels like wires setting your nerves on fire, like he’s ripping through your delicate bones. 

   “Please, I’m only trying to get back. Let me go,” you beg, using all your might to get out of his tight grip. 

   “I don’t think so, love. Thieves get searched, and I’m gonna search you till I find what I’m looking for,” he snarks. 

   Before you can fight your way out of this mess, he spins you around and pins you to the wall, slamming your face into the sharp bricks as you cry out in pain. He crowds your body, digging his fingers into your hips as his other hand shoves your face against the searing surface. You can’t break free, can’t fight your way out of this. He’s too strong, too overpowering. You’re completely helpless. 

   “Please, stop,” you whine, feeling a warm tear slip down your cheek. 

   “No, I don’t think so, doll. Think I’ll stay right here between your…”

   Before he can finish his sentence, you hear a deep gruff voice growl behind you. “Get the fuck off her, Seth.” You feel the soldier’s weight being dragged off you, hear the sounds of a body being thrown into the side of the opposite wall. 

   You spin around and freeze, watching a stranger punch the soldier’s face with bruised knuckles. The soldier spits blood from his mouth, but the other man grabs the edge of his navy collar and pins his back against the brick wall.

   “Think you’re a tough guy, Seth? Think it’s alright to put your filthy hands on her? I’m sure she didn’t ask you to, so mind your fuckin’ manners and keep your goddamn paws off her,” he growls, spitting up into the soldier’s wide eyes.

   You don’t know what to do, what to think. All your brain can do is eye the back of the man who saved you. He’s tall, so very broad, wide shoulders, tousled dark curls that probably feel like silk. His green flannel is rolled up to his elbows, exposing cascading veins that drape down his tanned skin, ending in massive calloused hands. His dark jeans are faded, worn brown boots covering his feet. He looks like your knight in shining armor, your saving grace. Why he saved you, you don’t know. But you want to find out, now. 

   The soldier laughs in his face, but he only grips his collar tighter as he sends another punch to his swollen eye. When he spits more blood, he turns back to your savior and laughs casually like he didn’t just get beaten up. “Fancy meeting you here, Miller. Say, you ever find those cigarettes and drugs we sent you out for?”

   He clenches his jaw, releasing his collar so he can push the soldier again against the wall. “Ain’t got nothin’ for you, Seth. You want some, you can give me more ration cards,” he hisses. 

   The soldier laughs, shaking his head back and forth. “Five,” he wagers. 

   “Ten,” the broad man demands with narrowed eyes. 

   He raises his hands in defeat and sighs. “Fine, ten it is. Just hurry up with my order, will ya?”

   The other man slaps his face, hard. You can practically hear the split of a rubber band snapping against skin. The soldier cowers over, holding the side of his mouth in pain as he stands back up slowly. “Tell me to hurry up one more time, and I’ll break your jaw,” he seethes. “I’ll do it when I’m good and ready, Seth. You’ll be the very last.”

   He narrows his cold blue eyes, pointing a finger accusingly at the man who saved you. “Better watch it, Miller.”

   “You threatening me? I shouldn’t be the one that’s careful, you be careful. Wait till Tess hears about this,” he growls with furrowed eyebrows. 

   Seth backs up all wide-eyed and bruised, like he’s afraid of the name Tess. Before he can get anywhere, the broad bodied man nods his head to him. “Get out of here, and don’t mess with this girl again. Got it?” he growls with the bite of his scowling jaw. 

   Seth looks over at you and nods before he runs off in the opposite direction, clutching his vest like it’s the only thing keeping him at bay. 

   He huffs out a deep breath and turns to you, furrowed eyebrows turning into a contemplative, concerned expression. Your eyes go wide, taking in the front of his face for the first time. He’s absolutely gorgeous. Dark brown eyes that look like pools of honey hone your vision, sweaty, tanned skin glistening in the fading light of day. His dark beard is threaded with silver, a strong jaw set with plush lips that half open when he looks at you. He’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, and he’s so fucking broad. You decide then that his eyes could kill, they could devastate anyone in their wake by how beautiful they are. Warm chocolate eyes flecked with wisps of honey brown. Absolutely breathtaking.

   “You alright there?” he asks with concern lathered in his voice, careful with his large steps as he walks up to you. 

   “Oh, I’m… yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe out, suddenly forgetful on how to take deep breaths. Your heart is racing wildly, you swear it’s about to fly out of your chest. 

   He reaches out, but stops himself. Instead, he just points out the left side of your face. “Your face. You’re hurt,” he says with a scowl, clenching his hand into a tight fist at his side like he’s furious at the soldier for hurting you.

   Your hand shoots up to the side of your face, and that’s when you feel it. The blood, the aching feeling of having your face bashed into the hard bricks. “Ahh, fuck,” you whine, hissing when you try to brush your fingertips over the swelling area. 

   “Here, c’mon. Follow me. I’ll get ya taken care of. I’ve got supplies back at my place. Can fix ya up in no time,” he offers as he nods his head for you to follow. You stay put, weighing your options. You don’t know this man, but he saved you, so he must be safe.

   He takes a few steps forward and turns back around when he doesn’t see you following. “You comin’?” he asks with hope in his brown eyes. 

   You take a moment to breathe and then nod, agreeing to go with him. “Yeah, lead the way.”

   You follow after him, letting him lead you away from the narrow, dark alleyway. When you get on the sidewalk of the main street you notice he walks on the outside of you, like he’s shielding you from any other soldiers who might give you a hard time. You don’t know why he does it, but you owe him a huge debt now. 

   You cross your arms over your teal t-shirt, looking up at the tall man who saved your life while he leads you to building two where he must live. You’re about to speak, but he beats you to it. “You know, you shouldn’t be out alone when the sun’s about to go down. A bunch of no good soldiers swarmin’ the streets here. What were you even doin’ out?” he asks, turning to a stairwell where he leads you up to the second floor. 

   “I was just heading back to my apartment. I got a late start with work today, had some things to finish up.”

   He hums, looking back at you with furrowed brows. “Next time walk back with someone. Seth ain’t the only lowlife soldier. Gotta be more careful,” he tsks as he takes out a golden key in the pocket of his denim jeans. 

   You sigh, feeling as if he’s somehow blaming you for not knowing the safety rules around here. “Look, I’m new here. I didn’t know any better. I was just trying to get back to my place. I didn’t… I didn’t…”

   “Whoa, hey. S’alright. Nobody said you did anythin’ wrong. I’m jus’ sayin’ watch yourself. Alright?” he asks with his hands raised, like he means no harm. 

   You drop your guard and sigh. “Sorry, just a little on edge,” you mutter. 

   “Don’t blame ya one bit. Now, c’mon. Take a seat at the table. I’ll get you a warm washcloth,” he instructs as he opens the rusted red door, the hinges squeaking while you make your way into his little apartment. 

   He shuts the door, and you take in your surroundings. The walls are covered with chipped white paint, the kitchen tiny, a little solid wooden table surrounded by two brown dining room chairs. The living room is open, a sunken leather couch with a broken coffee table sitting in the middle of an old, threaded blue rug. White satin stain coated curtains cover the glass window, and light shines dimly throughout the small apartment. It’s worn down, but it’s cozy enough. 

   You make your way over to one of the chairs, slowly pulling it back as to not make it drag across the hardwood floor. When you get comfy in the back of the chair, you watch Joel disappear into the other room, listening to the trickle of a running faucet while the bathroom light shines down the narrow hallway. 

   You fidget your fingers together, tapping your foot nervously on the dusty floor. You’re in his apartment, the man who just saved your life. And he’s tall, broad, and devastatingly handsome. His looks could surely kill a man with just the gaze of those dark flecked eyes. He had danger written all over those honey colored eyes. Eyes that could eat you alive.  

   He comes back down the hall a minute later, tan washcloth in hand, flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows, corded veins skating all the way down to his massive hands. You’re nervous just by those large, thick fingers grasping the washcloth. You wonder what they’d feel like on your skin. Maybe like burning fire, hot charcoal, extreme heat rushing off his rough fingertips. He might feel like wildfire. 

   He pulls up the kitchen chair across from you and grunts when he sits, like his whole body hurts from the weight of working in the summer heat of the QZ. “Look up for me,” he requests, sliding his chair a tad bit closer to yours, enough to brush his knees against yours. 

   You gasp when his fingertips meet your skin, his hand cupping your chin and turning your injured cheek to where he can reach you. You were right. His fingers do feel like wildfire, calluses gliding against your smooth skin as he gets a good hold on you. It’s almost enough to send you jolting from the chair. 

   “This might sting a bit. Jus’ hold still,” he says gently, a deep voice escaping behind plush lips. You wince a little when the warm material meets your wound, but you relax when he gives you that certain look that says be still. 

   You hiss a little at the contact of the warm cloth across the scrapes on the side of your face. He makes eye contact with you and asks with those deep brown eyes if you’re okay, stopping his movements for just a second before you nod and let him continue. 

   From here you can see how clear the dark flecks in his eyes shine, a faint red scar above his right eye, silver threaded coarse beard that looks almost soft to the touch, and pink lips that look so inviting. He watches you study him, his own eyes flicking back and forth from your injury to your eyes, silently assessing you with a wary stare. 

   You see it in his eyes, he’s curious about you, maybe interested, but he doesn’t give much away. You see pain behind those dark irises, a worn body just getting by in the QZ day after day. You don’t know him, but you can tell this much. He’s reserved, quiet, careful, a man that keeps his guard up. You’d like to see behind those walls, if only for a moment. See what all he’s really been through. 

   After a couple more seconds of silence he finally talks. “You new here? Haven’t seen you around these parts before.”

   You nod, watching him trace the edges of the warm washcloth across your cheek. “Yeah. Just got here a couple weeks ago,” you murmur, clenching your jaw when he rubs against a really sore area of your cheek.

   “What the hell brought you here?” He says it rough, like he can’t believe anyone would ever dare come here by their own will. 

   “Raiders attacked my group. I was the only one left alive, and I just sort of stumbled upon the QZ gates. One of the soldiers found me and offered me a place here.”

   He hums, dark eyes assessing you slowly, sliding down your body briefly as something twists in your stomach at the sight of him really taking a good look at you. “M’sorry ‘bout your group, but I’m more sorry you ended up here in this hell hole. FEDRA runs this place, and none of ‘em are remotely friendly. Especially Seth.” He spits the name out like it’s poison on his tongue, and you see he can’t stand the man that attacked you. 

   You purse your lips and ask him the same. “And you? Why are you here?”

   He drops the washcloth from your skin, clenching his jaw as he stares with a hardline drawn on his forehead, shaping wrinkles across tanned skin. “That’s a long story that I don’t feel like answerin’ right now.”

   Before he brings the lukewarm washcloth back up you grab his wrist, preventing him from lifting his arm further. He stares at you, eyes partly narrowed, challenging you to ask him again. “At least tell me where you’re from. Your accent, are you from the south?”

   He leans back in his chair and sighs, nodding his head slowly. “Came from Austin, Texas. And you?” He raises his thick eyebrows like you owe him the same gratitude of telling him where you’re from. 

   “California. Northern part,” you answer, listening to him hum once again until he brings the washcloth back to your temple. 

   “You’re a little far from home ain’t ya?” he asks quietly while he brushes the soft material over your face. 

   “Unfortunately,” you mumble under your breath. Another flick of those pools of honey your way and you see a hint of concern, maybe even sadness buried in those flecks of darkness. He seems to have so many layers to him. You want to unravel them, unfold every piece and dig into his past, his present, his mind. And maybe you’ll get there, one day. Maybe, just maybe…

   You suddenly realize you don’t even know his name, how have you not asked him yet? You heard the soldier say Miller. Maybe that was his last name. 

   You pick at the fading denim of your jeans and raise your eyes to his hesitantly. “Your name. I didn’t catch it.”

   Another brush to your raw skin, and his soft brown eyes meet yours. “Joel Miller. And your name is?” he asks with a piqued interest, raising his eyebrows slightly. You tell him your name and he says it back to you slowly, another flick of his dark eyes over your body. Like he’s memorizing you entirely. Your name, your shape, your essence. It makes the room sticky and hot at the sight of his eyes exploring you, even if it means nothing. 

   “Joel…” you repeat, slowly spilling the syllables off the tip of your tongue. 

   “That’s right…” He says your name again slowly, like honey dripping off his warm tongue, every murmur and gruff sound making you a bit dizzy. 

   “You’re gonna be alright. Might bruise up a bit, but nothing that’ll last long. Gonna be sore tonight, jus’ clean it good and keep it dry. Ain’t gonna scar over,” he says as he nods to your face.

   He cups your chin again, turning you slightly to him as his calloused fingertips brush a strand of hair behind the slope of your ear, breathing down your neck as you finally smell him. He smells woodsy, summer sweat kissing the air, cheap whiskey filling your senses. Then he looks deep in your eyes, one hand falling slowly to the top of the table, fingertips curling over the scratched wood, his jaw flexing as his eyes travel down to your lips for just a second, a breath in time. And suddenly you’re frozen in place, waiting for something to happen, something that shouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t, he’s not…

   Another soft graze of his rough knuckles to your cheek and then the front door slams open, sending both of you back in your chairs. 

   “Joel! Got some information for you about the drugs we gotta… Oh.” She stops in the doorway, eyes wide as she looks at you, surprised Joel has company. She’s tall, thin but built with muscle. She’s strong, long brunette hair, and hazel eyes clouding her vision. 

   “Joel Miller has company? Who might this be?” she asks curiously, slamming the door shut with a bang as she folds her arms over chest and nods your way. 

   Joel introduces you two, and you quickly learn her name is Tess. “Nice to meet you, Tess,” you say with a small smile, your arm resting on the edge of the table. 

   “Likewise. What happened to you? Looks like you got knocked up pretty good there.”

   “It was Seth. Fucker had her pinned against one of the alleyway walls and was givin’ her trouble,” Joel spits as he flashes his incisors Tess’s way. 

   “That piece of shit. Wait till I get a hold of him, gonna make him wish he never saw the light of day,” she scoffs. 

   “He’ll be running for the hills, Tess,” he chuckles as he places his meaty hands on top of his large thighs. “What’d ya need?”

   Tess leans up against the fading wallpaper and throws him a pack of chewing gum. “Found this when I was outside the walls today, but just wanted to check in about tomorrow. Wanted to go over the plans before we head out in the morning. I can come back later though and discuss it.”

   Tess’s hazel eyes wander over to you, and she gives you a welcoming smile. “So, how long have you been here? Not long because I would’ve noticed a new face.”

   “Just a couple weeks. Just getting settled in,” you reply as you play absentmindedly with your hair. 

   “Where do they have you working at? I can always stop by, give you some tips, show you around the area. I’m sure you could use a friend.”

   You nod and smile up at her. “Yeah, thanks. They’ve got me working down at the weapons station. Cleaning and sorting and whatever else they tell me to do.”

   “I see. I’m sure that gets redundant and boring, so maybe I can show you a thing or two to not lose your mind in this shithole,” Tess replies, making her way over to Joel. 

   “You’re lucky this one was around,” Tess says with a firm slap to Joel’s back, stifling a grunt from him as he pushes Tess playfully in the arm. “Joel can be a real pain in the ass, but he’s sure nice to have around.”

   “Yeah yeah, shut up. Thanks for the gum,” Joel chuckles as he pushes the pack of Spearmint gum into the pocket of his jeans. 

   “Sure thing, handsome. I’ll see you later.” She waves and gives you a nod before heading out the door. “Welcome to the Boston QZ again.” Tess makes her grand exit and shuts the door loudly, her footsteps fading into the distance.

   You twist your hands in your lap, suddenly overstimulated by the presence of an intimidating woman who clearly gets her way in the QZ. You wish you were stronger, braver, more outspoken like her. And clearly she knows how to pull Joel’s strings. You’re not jealous of her, only slightly envious that she has Joel hooked around her finger. 

   “She seems nice,” you say slowly, looking over at Joel as he laughs at your words. 

   “Yeah, she ain’t too bad. Trust me, she’ll be having Seth shakin’ like a dog out in the freezin’ rain,” he chuckles. 

   You laugh at his words, but suddenly you’re asking something you shouldn’t be. “Are you guys like… together?” you ask nervously, gulping down the rest of your words as you hold your breath like you’re underwater. 

   “Me and Tess? Nah,” he laughs, shaking his head at the mention of it. “She’s my neighbor. But we work together, she’s my partner. We smuggle things for FEDRA.”

   “Smuggle things?” you ask, confused by what he means.

   He leans forward and places his hands on the table. “Yeah, smuggle things. Items, sometimes people, whatever they need. We go out on a bunch of missions. Searching abandoned buildings, makin’ trades, doin’ deals with folks around here and for some of the soldiers. Kind of an easy way to get extra supplies and ration cards.”

   “So you’ve got sway with the soldiers here?” you ask curiously. 

   “More or less. Tess is the one with the real sway, but I guess you can say people kinda fear me. They don’t really mess with me. Hell, they know not to.” He knocks his knuckles against the edge of the table, and you reach up to scratch your face, wincing when you forget how god awful sore it is. 

   “Shit, I forgot about my face,” you whine, gripping the edge of your denim tight as you sink your nail beds into your thigh. 

   “Careful there, try not to mess with it,” he warns softly, bringing back the cool washcloth to your scratches. You sit back and let him tend to your wound, watching how careful he's being with every swipe of the cloth to your fragile skin. 

   He’s close again, close enough to where you can smell him, inhaling the woodsy scent as summer sweat mixes with the pinecone scent. You could get drunk off the smell, and you really hope it’ll stick to your clothes when you’re back in your apartment, alone with your delusions of having his large hands all over your skin. 

   You watch the way his large biceps cling against his flannel shirt, like he’ll rip the soft material at any given moment. His knees brush against yours, fingertips grazing your jawline like the edge of a soft feather, enough to send tingles down your spine. 

   “Is it just you here?” you ask while he holds the damp cloth to your cheek. 

   “Jus’ me,” he murmurs, dark eyes flicking back to yours. 

   “Do you have family around. Anywhere?” you ask cautiously. His jaw clenches, and his lip quivers while he analyzes the question, figuring out if he wants to answer or not. 

   He sighs, “I’ve got a brother. Tommy.”

   “Here?” 

   “Nah. Haven’t talked to him in years. Last I heard he was settling in Jackson, Wyoming,” he mutters, clearly annoyed about the topic of conversation. 

   “Why don’t you go find your brother?” you ask, conflicted if you should continue the questions.

   “It’s complicated,” he grumbles. 

   “What’s so complicated?”

   “He’s halfway across the country.”

   “So?” you say mockingly. 

   “So? That’s a hell of a ways to go to find someone that I’m not sure even wants to see me,” he says with gritted teeth. 

   “Joel, I’m sure he wouldn’t be upset. What makes you think he wouldn’t want to see you?”

   “We got into a bad fight, and we weren't agreeing on some things. Turns out we wanted different things, so I told him to leave, and he went. Followed some fireflies, hell if I know how long he actually stayed with them,” he scoffs, digging his worn boot into the wooden floor. 

   “Fireflies?” you ask with wide eyes. 

   “That’s what I said,” he grumbles with furrowed brows, getting annoyed with you already, but you just keep talking. 

   “Oh, that’s… well, that’s something. But I’m sure he’d want you to try to reach out. Would you go, if you thought he would? Do you have any other family?” you ask intrigued, pulling yourself to the edge of the seat. 

   He leans back and drops the washcloth to the table, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “You sure do ask a bunch of questions, don’t ya?” he huffs, crossing his arms as a hard line maps across his forehead. 

   “Well, I’m just saying. If I had family still alive I sure as hell would go find them, not stand back and watch them slip away from me! I fucking wish I had mine!” Your words come out louder, harsher than you mean to, and Joel’s just sitting there, staring at you with wide eyes and an expression you can’t quite read. 

   The room is suddenly silent, only the sounds of your labored breathing and teary eyes fogging up the room. You shouldn’t have snapped, shouldn’t have thrown that back in his face. You shouldn’t have pried, now look what you’ve done. “Sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

   He opens his mouth partially, big brown eyes lathered in concern holding your gaze. He looks like he understands your pain, maybe just a fraction of that. But he doesn’t share it with you. “S’alright. Don’t gotta apologize. Think we both jus’ over shared a little too much.”

   You nod, biting your tongue from saying anything else stupid. What’s wrong with you? “Yeah, guess so.” You take a deep breath, hearing him scrape his chair back while his left arm rests on the edge of the table. 

   You see it then, a black military watch clasped to his wrist, the glass broken and arms not moving on the watch. It’s broken, just a mere memory of some sort that you want to unlock, but now is not the time. 

   “Think I should get you back to your place,” he says in a deep voice, one that says he’s finished talking about family matters.

   “Yeah, okay,” you say quietly. 

   “Where are you stayin’ at?”

   “I’m in building four.”

   “Alright then. That ain’t too far. C’mon, I’ll walk you back. Make sure no soldiers give ya a hard time,” he says through clenched teeth. 

   “Joel, wait.” Before he can push himself up, you rest your hand on top of his, feeling his warm skin simmer underneath yours. 

   He stares at your hand on his, ticking his jaw nervously as his brown doe eyes fall back on yours. “Thank you, for today, for saving me.”

   “It was nothin’, don’t mention it,” he murmurs, sliding his hand out from under yours, memorizing the way his hand feels like fire underneath yours, mourning the loss of his skin on yours. 

   “I owe you.”

   He looks at you with a serious gaze, his thick fingers clamping down on the material of his flannel. “Don’t owe me a damn thing, sweetheart. I’d do it all over if I had to.”

   Oh. 

   His jaw twitches, amber eyes glowing into yours, a sudden tension filling the room. It feels a lot like longing, understanding, some kind of connection. But the spark of it snaps when he pulls back his chair and stands, nodding for you to follow him. “C’mon, let’s get you back before we break curfew.”

   He leads you out of his apartment, down the rickety stairs and steers you through the winding buildings, avoiding FEDRA’s eyes on the main road. His fingertips brush against yours as he walks briskly next to you, staying near and looking every which way as to not have another run in with a soldier. 

   The city is musty, old brick buildings barely staying intact. Military tanks litter the streets while old broken down cars sit to rot around the QZ. You stay close to Joel, keeping quiet as he concentrates on getting you back to safety. 

   You should be grateful to him, you are grateful. He saved you, even though he really didn’t have to. He took care of your wounded cheek, made sure you got back to your place safely. You were eternally grateful for the broad man that showed you kindness when no one else did in this godforsaken city. Joel was a good man, as far as you could tell.

   He leads you to your building, the one with the number four painted in white on the side of the old bricks. Your room is the first door on the right, a chip right next to the jiggling door handle. 

   You turn around and face him, leaning up against your solid oak door as you look up into those dark brown eyes you’ve grown accustomed of thinking about too much. “Thank you, Joel. For everything. Really, I owe you.”

   He chuckles, running a hand through his tousled curls as he smiles a crooked grin your way. “Gotta stop sayin’ that, sweetheart. You gave me company, I’ll call that even enough.”

   You swallow, nodding his way. “Alright then. I guess I’ll let you get back before they catch you outside your apartment.”

   You turn around and twist the door handle, pushing it open until he stops you in your tracks and places his fingers around your wrist. “Wait a second.”

   “Huh?” you ask, whipping back around to find him digging inside his back pocket and retrieving a little switchblade in his hand. 

   “Here.” He stretches his arm out and holds out the knife, nodding for you to take it. You just stare at it, your mouth open wide without even taking a step forward to take it. 

   “Well, go on. Take it.” He steps forward, brushing against your knuckles as he pries your fingers open and drops the knife in your palm, closing your fingers over the switchblade so you have no option but to keep it. 

   “Oh, no. Joel, I can’t. This is yours,” you argue.

   He tsks your way, clicking his tongue and urging you to listen. “Keep it, I’d feel better knowin’ you had somethin’ to defend yourself with. Ya know if someone tries to mess with you again. Jus’ be careful with it,” he instructs.

   You open your palm and assess the bronze blade, tracing the cold edges, watching the glisten of the sharp tip reflect off your eyes. You close it up and slide it in your pocket, looking back at Joel with a wide smile. “Thanks, Joel. You didn’t have to.”

   “I did and stop thankin’ me. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Jus’ want you to be safe is all,” he murmurs, his deep voice carrying through your ears as he pushes his hands nervously in his jean pockets. 

   “Oh, I see.” Your voice comes out in a mere whisper, but he hears you through the hot wind that blows against your hair. 

   “Jus’ watch your back, okay? It ain’t easy around here, and you can’t trust anybody.”

   “What about you?” 

   He knits his brows together and gives you a tight lipped smile. “You can trust me, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He cups your chin, rough fingertips meeting your soft skin. It almost feels electric, like his fingers are magic, and maybe he is. That’s what he feels like.

   His eyes hover over your lips for just a second, peeling them back up to meet your wide eyes. He’s got a soft side to him, something someone would miss if they weren’t looking close enough. You have a feeling he doesn’t let his guard down with just anyone, but with you he did, if only for just a few seconds. 

   He drops his hand from your chin and steps back, keeping his eyes aligned with yours. “Guess I’ll see ya around,” he says, stepping back away from your apartment. 

   “Yeah, guess you will,” you breathe.

   He nods your way and gives you a small smile. “Have a good night, trouble.”

   “Trouble?” you question, laughing at the accusation. 

   “Yeah, that’s what I said. Trouble,” he chuckles as he makes his way back through the narrow buildings, disappearing with one more glance your way, capturing the deep brown eyes that look your way, memorizing them, burning them in the backs of your eyes so you can remember every fleck and sparkle of those sweet honey eyes. 

   You walk into your empty apartment and close the door, kicking off your shoes and dragging yourself to your falling apart mattress. You collapse into the cool white sheets, closing your eyes and replaying every glance, every touch, every word of you and Joel’s time together. You don’t know what’s come over you, but you clearly have fallen for the broad shouldered man with beautiful brown eyes. 

   Maybe the QZ wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it wouldn’t end you like you thought it would. Maybe just maybe Joel would be your saving grace. Maybe those honey glazed eyes would haunt your dreams until you saw him again. And that’s exactly what happened that night. All you saw were crystal clear brown eyes and tousled curls tracing through your fingertips, sheets drenched in the summer sweat of him. You knew then that you were fucked. 

Tags: @milla-frenchy @amyispxnk @sawymredfox @aurorawritestoescape @akah565

@rav3n-pascal22 @keylimebeag

[007reid]

omg, i’m learning to crochet and i’m just imagining crocheting spence a scarf and him wearing it all the time

JUST IMAGINE

he’d be so touched that you made something for him with your bare hands

it would be one his favourite items, ever (folded neatly in his top draw when he’s not wearing it)

it wouldn’t matter if a few chains are wonky, he’d love it either way

i just imagine derek and emily taking the piss out of him for wearing it all the time. oh but penelope absolutely loves it!

anyways- yeh i’m crocheting

- 🦕 xx

written super fast cus i got inspired and not proof read, sorry guys

also i have not crocheted or have ever shown interest in crocheting my whole life so everything i made up so plz ignore the mistakes 😓enjoy!

scarf. spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader

to tell you that you’re good at crocheting would be lying to you but you don’t think that spencer is lying at all, because of course for a man who knows everything about the workings of the world, he doesn’t know what a good crochet scarf looks like.

originally it was a prototype of yours, your first attempt after watching a youtube tutorial twice but spencer insists on having it, saying that it's too much yarn to go to waste and when you said that you can just pull it out, he didn't sit around to hear. he carries it around like a trophy of some sort, making a point of wearing it everywhere he goes.

your attempts of trying to tell him to knock it off, promising that you'll make another one that looks more decent but spencer says he likes the uneven lines, likes how the fluff rubs against his skin and how it keeps him warmer than a normal scarf. you think--scratch that, you know that it's all bullshit, but spencer's one immovable object to go against. getting ready to go to work together used to be your favorite part of the day but now it's just embarrassing.

embarrassing would be a wrong word. more like frustrating.

"you crocheted it in my favorite color yn," spencer defends the ugly scarf like it's his child, throwing it around his shoulder and wrapping it snugly around his neck. the purple looks absolutely offensive against the beige of his thrifted sweater, but his eyes melting and lips pouting at you made the look work. kind of. it's still fucking ugly.

"that's 'cause you bought the yarn for me spence," you roll your eyes exasperatedly. the scarf's been a conversation topic every morning since spencer saw it sitting sadly in your closet and fell in love with it. considering how spencer's entire wardrobe is made of old man clothes and unconventional colors, you would understand the appeal of something looking wonky and strange, but the scarf is a stretch.

to be honest, you think it's endearing, spencer's tainted fashion sense. it makes him look softer, heartier, like a welcoming little plush bear with his wispy curls and pink cheeks and gentle voice and worn cardigans. the scarf does fit all his criteria for a good piece of clothing so you should've saw it coming that he would hold on to it like his lifeline and you would tolerate it if he didn't go to every single person he sees throughout the day and boast about the maker of the scarf and you shrinking in the corner as he talks about you. morgan was the first to laugh about it, followed by emily.

"got the hands to diffuse a bomb but not one to crochet a decent scarf, huh?" morgan would say as he walks past your cubicle, a cheshire grin on his face. emily would chuckle. you would snap at him, "shut the hell up morgan," and then sigh. because what the hell. the scarf is so fucking ugly but spencer parades it like the queen's necklace.

you get better at crocheting--it helps you think and you would do it on the plane to new cases sometimes and threaten to stab emily if she makes fun of you--and eventually, you finish crocheting a duplicate for spencer's monstrosity of a purple scarf. this one is more in the shape of a scarf instead of one wacky-looking pasta noodle, with straight chains and the shade of purple on this one is cuter; dark and elegant. you couldn't wait to show it to spencer, couldn't wait for him to finally throw away the crusty scarf he loves so much.

the new one sits, folded neatly, on the table on his side of the bed. for days. winter rolls around and spencer wears it to fucking sleep.

"give that poor scarf a break reid," emily comments. spencer chews on his lip as he flicks through files, silent and unbothered, fingers unconsciously running through the bumpy chains, back and forth. you mumble your agreement and when he pays no attention to you like he did emily, too immerse in his work.

after work that day, you and spencer take a walk around the city, bodies huddled closely together. the first snowflake falls and spencer catches it on his finger, shoving his finger closely to your face, proud of himself. his grin is hidden underneath the purple scarf and for the first time, you don't mind.

"it melted," you tell him and spencer drops his hand, flicking at his index finger disappointedly.

"i can't wait for it to snow," he says, looking up at the grey sky.

"i can't wait for that scarf to decompose," you say, just speaking off the top of your head.

"i like the scarf," spencer quips, mood clashing yours.

"i know you do baby," you sigh, defeated. spencer's frozen fingers grasp yours and runs his fingers over the bumps of your knuckles. being so close you can smell him, soft and sweet like vanilla and old cotton and comfort. "why don't you ever wear the other one?"

spencer shrugs. "just doesn't feel the same." he adds. "and i like this purple better."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for Getting Someone Evicted?

So I recently became friends with a group of people. There's a larger friend group, and a smaller sort of subset friend group that all lives in the same kind of communal house. I'm becoming friends with all of them, but I've become FWBs with the guy who owns the house, so just by the nature of having frequent sex with him I'm much closer to him.

The people involved are my partner, and two other men who live in his house. I'll call the partner Tom, and the two other guys Jake and Alex.

I'm friends with Jake, and Jake is friends with Alex, but honestly I absolute despise Alex. He's one of the most irritating AHs I've ever met. So I don't know if this is biasing me.

What happened:

I was sitting down drawing a few feet from them. Alex was sitting down taking Jakes measurements. This required Jake to kneel with his back to Alex. As guys do, they were making half a million sexual jokes about the situation. Then something happened that I think crossed a massive line.

Jake: (obviously playful/joking) "oooh choke me daddy!"

Alex then put both hands wrapped around the sides of Jakes neck and applied pressure. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to feel. (I am telling the story with info I later learned from Jake)

Jake (firmly): "hey don't actually do that, that's a massive trigger for me".

Alex then removed his hands from physically touching Jakes neck, but kept them hovering a few inches from his neck.

Alex (laughing): "good trigger or bad trigger?"

Jake: "bad trigger. Don't do that"

They then went back to fucking around and taking measurements. Jake says Alex apologized later but I didn't hear it so I don't know what was actually said.

I at first kind of brushed it off, since Jake handled it and seemed fine, but the day after it kinda hit that oh shit, I watched someone just grab someone else's neck as a "joke", this is real fuckin bad. So I told Tom I needed to talk to him about something, laid it all out, told him he needed to talk to Jake and make sure he was okay, and told him I no longer saw Alex as a safe person to be around. I would have liked to go to Jake first, but just bc of schedules I have recently not been able to see/talk to him at all, and that didn't seem like a text convo.

I think this was the log that broke the camels back, and Tom is now kicking Alex out. He'll have a couple months at least, but he's got terrible credit and rental history, and with the housing market where I live, I'm not sure what he's going to do/where he's going to go. Tom was also one of the people convincing everyone else to not just cut Alex off (he's done some slimy shit before this) so it's likely he may lose a decent chunk of his friend group.

Ultimately it was Toms call, but I'm questioning whether I was right to go directly to him about an issue that didn't involve me, and say i did not feel safe around Alex with so little evidence. It almost feels like I'm throwing my weight around as Toms partner, since he obviously wants me to keep coming around (and fucking him)

AITA?

[genericpuff]

(You can delete this ask if it makes you uncomfortable) Do you think I should give up on my dream of being a webcomic artist? It's been what I'd been wanting to for years yet from what I'm hearing, it's hard to get money and an audience and that the mainstream webcomic hosting platforms don't treat their creators well. It doesn't help that while my art is decent, I don't really know how to create webcomics beyond like really short 4-5 panel comics even though I'd been drawing for many years. There's also the issue of my ADHD making it difficult to commit to stuff but then again at least that can be hopefully fixed once I get medicated. So, now the career of a webcomic artist sounds like a pipe dream at best. Is it worth pursuing, even if I don't make much money with it?

"Do you think I should give up on my dream of being a webcomic artist?"

And this isn't just for you, anon, this is for everyone who follows my nonsense here.

Yes, it's hard to build an audience.

It's even harder to make money.

You should still make webcomics if you really want to do it.

The only practical piece of advice I can give you from the perspective of someone who's been doing this for years is to manage your expectations. Because that's the biggest mistake a lot of webcomic artists make (and I too, made this mistake) they go into it setting the bar that it HAS to result in them making a living off it, getting famous off it, etc. when that's unfortunately only the reality for the 1% who get lucky or have an advantage that the other 99% don't have. And then, of course, failing to meet those ridiculously high expectations makes the fall hurt that much harder if you fail, especially with odds like that stacked against you. That's not to say you shouldn't set a bar for yourself, but you have to set it in a place that's reasonable. Especially if you're an artist with ADHD (same, mood), we have a REAL bad habit of setting the bar unreasonably high for ourselves when we're still learning and getting our feet wet (it's why we're always taking on new hobbies after getting inspired by musicians or crafters and then getting immediately discouraged when we're not suddenly able to do the thing with that same amount of skill).

Set the bar in a reasonable place with reasonable expectations, and then when you MEET that bar, you'll have even more motivation and confidence to aim higher. What won't give you confidence is setting the bar alongside the pros who have been at this for years, because not only will it take way too long to hit that for you to see results, you might give up before you even come close because of how far away the bar is.

A career as a webcomic artist is about as guaranteed as making a career out of Youtube. But being a webcomic artist, period? You can do it. Anyone can do it. I'm still doing it in spite of everything. Like, I cannot even fully express to you just how much of what I do here is the culmination of a long list of failures. My art, my writing, the stuff I do here is built on the corpses of my failures. But those failures were still important, they had to happen to make me into the person and artist I am today. That person is STILL making mistakes, and that artist is STILL not rich LOL Failure is scary, but fear of failure is the true killer of joy and growth.

Do not tie the merit of being a webcomic artist to how much money you can (or can't) make out of it. Just like with starting a Youtube channel, you shouldn't go into it expecting money and fame right out the gate, but there are equal amounts of joy and experience you can gain by doing it. There's a reason people say you have to do it out of love and passion first because ultimately that's all you'll have to keep carrying you through if and when you fail to meet your goals. You don't have to be sure if you'll still want to do it a year from now or five years from now, none of that matters. If you want to do it now, then do it.

Make your 4-5 panel comics if that's what you enjoy doing. Make whatever tickles your fancy. Acknowledge your fears and doubts, thank them for their opinion, and do it anyways. "What if it ends up being a waste of time?" The time will pass anyways. Worst case, at least you'll be able to say you did it. That's better than never trying and regretting it in the end.

[auyuyu006]

Johnshi HCs

I'm sorry most of these aren't explicitly romantic I just have so many HCs about the two of them it's driving me crazy.

Johnny holds Kenshi by the waist, Kenshi holds Johnny by the shoulder or the bicep. After some time Kenshi starts to go for his hand instead.

Johnny is on his phone all of the time. Kenshi will either avoid the internet for a week or plays chess on the computer at the kitchen table for a day straight without talking to anyone (secretly uses Sento for this).

Kenshi has good spirits (literally) when it comes to his blindness, but can get very defensive when others pity him for it. Johnny is the only other person he will let touch his blindfold, take it off, or wash it.

Kenshi doesn't love the name "Johnny Cage" and thinks that "John Carlton" suits him. Johnny thinks that it sounds like an "old man's name"

Kenshi would visit Johnny on set sometimes but not say or do anything but sit in the background and watch him in silence until he was done.

Speaking of that- Kenshi had a good time filming in Outworld for Johnny's movie (made him feel like an action hero), but absolutely refused to watch the parts he was in.

Kenshi thought Johnny's movies were mostly cheesy before and after meeting him. However, he ended up rewatching all of them and got excited when there was news he got cast for a new one (before they started to officially date).

Johnny was a pretty good student growing up who made A's and B's as per expectations of his parents but hated school because he got picked on. He got into a decent university where he ended up falling in love with physics. He accidentally became famous around the time he was 20 (maybe he got street casted and went viral?) and had to balance acting with school to get his pHD. He is that school's most famous alumni.

Kenshi was mostly homeschooled by his parents and did not show much attention in academics in his youth due to his intense upbringing in the yakuza. This is something that he regrets but accepts that it wasn't really his choice to begin with. However he is quite knowledgable, knows broadly about history and literature, and can speak multiple languages (Japanese, Chinese, Korean, English, Spanish). He also learns braille relatively fast after losing eyesight.

Kenshi thinks it's so hot that Johnny has a pHD but also thinks its so strange he doesn't do anything with it. (It's a backup plan so he can write textbooks if his career tanks)

Johnny is great at drawing due to it being a hobby growing up stemming from him being a major comic book fan. Kenshi isn't very artistic however used to be able to do mediocre calligraphy (a skill he learned from his parents) before he became blind.

Kenshi breaking into Cage Mansion the second Cris left was admittedly pretty awkward for him (but he was too distracted by Sento to rly care).

Kenshi tries to not let it get to him, but he is saddened by the fact he cannot read properly anymore. Johnny tries to support him by buying him every audiobook in every language he understands. Kenshi will sometimes ask Johnny to read to him mostly because he loves the sound of his voice.

At first, Kenshi tried to get Sento to help him with daily tasks (cooking, cleaning, etc.), but after talking to Kuai Liang he tries not to rely on Sento on anything non-kombat related.

Kenshi has a slight lisp (I'm sorryyyy this isn't rly a hc but you can hear it in his intro dialogues he still sounds like a badass tho i think it's super cute thank god for Vic Chao)

Johnny makes their home a "smart home" a.k.a 30 Alexas in every room of their place, and a Samsung fridge he can live tweet from while making green juice.

Kenshi sometimes used to drive with Sento in the back seat and got arrested for it one time. Now he gets told off by Johnny for it every time he tries it again.

Kenshi will only drink milky coffee (lattes, cappuccinos, etc.) and prefers tea. Johnny hates coffee and tea and pounds red bull in the morning.

Kenshi used to care a lot about his personal style and mostly only wore suits and dress attire. After losing his eyesight, he didn't care as much anymore and just focused on wearing things that were comfortable (sweatpants, sweaters)

Johnny buys Kenshi soft fluffy things to wear all the time. Kenshi always says it's unnecessary but ends up wearing it anyway.

In MK1 Johnny is 32, and Kenshi is 39 (I like the idea of Kenshi being old it just makes sense to me). It both amuses and horrifies Kenshi that he's dating a white man 7 yrs his junior.

Johnny calls him "old man Takahashi" and Kenshi just goes along with it and says "get off my lawn you punk" or something LOL

I think Kenshi was more of the brawny "tough guy" of the yakuza than the suave, seductive type. He has more of an awkward and stony personality. And the fact that he was desperate to get out makes me think he wouldn't entertain the "flirty" role of the job. (a.k.a Kenshi is BAD at flirting unlike a certain someone)

Johnny sometimes helps Kenshis clunky azz samurai gear on before he engages in kombat. Johnny is also the reason Kenshi sometimes gives up and just wears a suit.

Kenshi shops like an old Asian dad. LOVES Costco, will eat all of the samples. Will buy everything on sale even if he doesn't need it. Will not take Johnny with him because his megastardom ruins the peace of being unrecognized. Has taken Raiden with him though. Will use Johnny's credit card. Johnny is dismayed that he hasn't taken a liking to Erewhon and Whole Foods

When Johnny isn't there with him at night Kenshi will play his movies and fall asleep to the sound of his voice

Kenshi will have sex with the blindfold on. He will fall asleep next to Johnny with it off.

Kenshi doesn't like sleeping with the blindfold on, but was worried it would scare or disgust Johnny in some way. It doesn't and it never did. In fact, Johnny appreciates the intimacy that it creates.

[just-jordie-things]

[part eight] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part eight] : "Bury A Friend" ___

(y/n) knew she wasn’t the ideal choice of mentor to Megumi.  But she was the only choice.  So she did everything she could to teach him everything she knew.  Megumi wasn’t always fond of spending his after school time learning, especially the more boring lessons (y/n) provided like history, or the specifics of the prominent families.

“This is important, Megumi” (y/n) said to the boy that had thrown his head down against the table.

“I’m tired of studying,” He groaned.  “I want to learn more about cursed techniques!” 

“And you will,” (y/n) told him.  “But I need you to understand this” 

“Why?” The boy whined, turning his head so his cheek rested on the kitchen table, staring at her.  “Who cares about a bunch of old people?” 

(y/n) laughed at him, reminded of Satoru and his distaste for the elders as well.

“These old people control everything in the jujutsu world,” (y/n) said.  “They’re in charge of all the rules, and they have the money to enforce them.  They’re very powerful, Megumi, and they don’t take kindly to those who defect” 

“Defect?” He asks, confused.

“It’s what they call sorcerers who… don’t play by the rules” She says carefully.

“Bad guys?” Megumi asks.  (y/n) nods.

“That’s one way to think of it” She sighs.

Her hands are wringing together, and she can barely look at him.  The young boy frowns.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, lifting his head.

“Nothing, honey, I just want you to pay attention” 

“You’re bad at lying,” Megumi deadpans.  “Are you defecting?” 

The question makes her eyes sharpen, and she stares at his inquisitive face.  She doesn’t want to tell him the truth.  She knows he won’t accept another lie.

“There’s a lot of things that won’t make sense right now,” She explains to him.  “I’m not trying to lie to you.  I’m just trying to keep things easy-” 

“Well then make it make sense,” Megumi cuts her off, shrugging his shoulders.

(y/n) gives him a look, shaking her head.

“Is it because of me?” He asks.  “Are you going to be in trouble because of me?” 

“Of course not,” She lies with ease.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, she leans closer, staring at him with complete sincerity in her eyes.

“Of course not” She repeats.

Megumi nods, a little bit.  He believed her.

It was the first time she’d told a decent lie.  And it was probably the most important one.

“Okay,” He sighs.  “Then what’s so tricky to understand?” 

(y/n) sighs, and she wishes she had spent more time practicing her cursed technique so that she could teleport away.  He was too young to be told the complete truth.  Even if he did understand it all, it was a harsh reality to bring a seven year old to

“Let’s just say your Dad had a knack for making things complicated, okay?” (y/n) says.

Megumi snorts.

“Yeah.  He sucks” 

(y/n) nods, smiling endearingly back at him.

“I’m not trying to lie to you,” She tells him honestly.  “But there’s a lot you still need to learn, and it can be complicated.  Is it okay if for now, we just take this all step by step?” 

The child nods in agreement,

“Yeah, that’s okay” He says.

“Okay.  So let’s go back to the big families” (y/n) says, drawing a chart on a scrap piece of paper of the big three.

The rest of their little study session goes well.  Megumi is a good learner, who picks things up quickly once he’s shown them.  (y/n’s) grateful he’s such a smart student, because she knows she’s a terrible teacher.

Once he’s got an understanding of the important families in jujutsu society, she decides to call it a day, with the promise of practicing with his shikigami over the weekend.  Megumi seems excited enough by that, before he runs off to tell Tsumiki about everything he’d just learned.

(y/n) stayed at the kitchen table, and once he was out of sight, she allowed herself to hold her head in her hands.  Her eyes fell shut, and she let out a shaky breath.

The idea of telling him the truth one day makes her gut twist into sharp knots.  Had there been anything in her stomach, she certainly would have rushed to the kitchen sink, keeled over it, and emptied it out.

Was this a mistake? She asked herself.  If I hadn’t gotten involved, could Megumi had happily gone with the Zen’in Clan? Now that I’ve harbored him and Tsumiki, have I made their lives worse? 

Her fingers dragged against her skin as she lifted her head.  Just as she opened her eyes, she noticed her phone was silently ringing on the table, the screen lit up with a photo of Satoru.  

She answers it, bringing her phone to her ear.

“What’s up?” She asks.

“(y/n)...” Satoru’s voice is serious.  

She sits up a little straighter in her chair.

“Satoru, what is it?” She asks.  It wasn’t like him to hesitate.

“How quickly can you come to the school?” He asks her.

“What happened?” (y/n) ignores his question.  “Is something wrong? Is someone hurt?” 

“I can come get you.  Where are you-?” 

“Satoru,” (y/n) cuts him off, standing from her seat suddenly, causing the chair to knock over and clatter to the ground.  “What happened? What’s going on?”

“(y/n), I don’t want to tell you on the phone.  Just- please, I can come and get you right now-” 

“Just tell me!” She’s yelling now, not thinking twice about raising the attention of the others in the house.

Unbeknownst to her, Megumi and Tsumiki had rushed into the kitchen as soon as she’d knocked over the chair.  They stood in the doorway, watching her with worry.

“It’s Yu,” Satoru sighs.  “He went on a mission with Nanami, he’s-” 

“I’m coming” She says firmly, before ending the call.

She turns around, about to go straight to Megumi and Tsumiki to tell them she had to go, only to find them right in front of her.  She startles, not having heard them come into the room.

“Hey, guys,” She sighs, crouching before them.  “Something happened, I have to go a little early” 

“Is everything okay?” Tsumiki asks worriedly.  (y/n) forces a smile on her face.

“Everything will be fine,” She tells her.  “But I need to go” 

“You’ll be back on Saturday?” Megumi asks, his voice small.

“Of course,” (y/n) assures him.  “I can’t wait to see your Divine Dogs, Megumi” She adds, bringing a small smile to the boy’s face, even though he knew she was hiding something, and things weren’t alright as she was trying to make them seem.

“Be safe,” She tells them as she stands.  “I’ll be back on Saturday” 

They both bid their goodbyes as (y/n) goes out the door as hastily as she can without running.  She mutters the incantation to lower a curtain hurriedly, and as soon as she seals the house under her protection, she brings her middle and forefinger to her forehead.

___

(y/n) appears suddenly at the school, stumbling on her feet a bit from the messy and sudden teleportation.  Her mind had been anything but clear when she’d summoned her cursed energy to bring herself here.  However this was the fastest way she could get here.

Her mind grows foggier, and eyelids heavier as she takes a few steps forward, dragging herself to the front doors.  Sleep threatens to overcome her, but she pushes forward anyways.

Teleporting like this was a risky choice, knowing she had yet to keep herself conscious after doing so.  But she had no other choice, and she was here now.  All that mattered was finding-

“Satoru” 

As (y/n) opens the door, she finds her friends, along with Nanami and Yaga right at the corridor.  She stands in the open doorway, or rather, she’s leaning on it, desperate to keep her body upright.

Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru rush right over to her, assuming the worst.

“Are you hurt?” Shoko asks, scanning her for injuries.

“Where were you?” Suguru asks.

She doesn’t answer either of them, she can’t focus on calming their worries when she knows something terrible has happened.

“Satoru,” She says to the man who hadn’t torn his gaze away from hers as soon as she’d arrived.  “What- what happened? What happened to Yu?” 

The room is silent.  Shoko and Suguru step back a bit, realizing she wasn’t in any danger, she was just wiped and starting to lose consciousness as a result of prematurely using her cursed technique.

The white haired sorcerer frowns, and reaches out to try to help her stand better.  She shuffles back against the door, shaking her head.

“Tell me,” She mumbles, her throat tightening, and burning.  “Tell me what- what happened to Yu?” 

“I’m sorry, (y/n/n)” He says softly.

There’s tears pooling in her eyes as she stares back at him.  She starts to shake her head in disbelief, but no words come out.

“Yu is dead” Another voice answers her question.

She looks past Satoru’s shoulder, to where Nanami is hanging his head, eyes focused on the floor.

(y/n’s) breath catches in her throat, choking her.  She sputters out a few shaky pants, before her knees give out and she’s crashing towards the ground.

Satoru’s faster than her fall, an arm wrapping around her shoulders to keep her steady on her knees in front of him.  Her head lands on his shoulder, tears seeping into his shirt as she begins to cry.

Shoko and Suguru look at each other, while the Six Eyes user silently tries to comfort her, his hand rubbing circles over her back in smooth motions.

“I don’t- I don’t-” (y/n) stammers over her words, despair, confusion, and exhaustion clouding her ability to form a proper sentence.  “I don’t understand- how- why-” 

Satoru shushes her quietly, knowing any minute now she was going to close her eyes and succumb to the fatigue.  He dropped his head so he could speak quietly to her.

“I’ll explain everything” He murmurs into her temple.

Her body shakes against his.  He has to close his own eyes to keep himself from tearing up just from seeing her in so much distress.

“Satoru- don’t-” (y/n) mumbles, fists weakly grabbing at the front of his uniform.

“I won’t go,” He assures her.  

Her body starts to feel a little heavier in his arms.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up, I’ll tell you everything” 

Her eyelids feel too heavy to bear, and when their weight is too much, she finally lets them close.  Shortly after, her breathing evens, and her body is slumped in Satoru’s arms.

“She teleported here,” Yaga says as Satoru gets a better hold on her, lifting her up with ease.  “That was the longest I’ve ever seen her stay awake after teleporting without a hex” 

“She was anxious” Satoru replies, about to walk away.

“When she wakes, tell her when she’s ready I’d like to speak to her” His teacher says, before he could walk too far away.

Satoru turns on his heel, his eyes fixed in a glare.

“She was only able to keep herself awake so long because she was grieving,” He said with a harsh tone of voice.  “She just lost someone she cares about.  And when she wakes up, she’s going to go through it all again,” 

Nanami watched Satoru intently as he spoke sharply towards Yaga.

“Don’t you dare try to get her to use that to perfect some stupid cursed technique,” He continues.  “Not a word of this to the elders” He says, head jerking around the room to make sure everyone present understood he was meant to be taken with absolute seriousness.

Everyone slowly nodded their heads.

“Understood” Yaga sighed.

“Good,” Satoru muttered.  “Now I’m taking her to rest.  Tell everyone not to bother her, or I’ll rip their head off” 

He finally leaves, teleporting himself to (y/n’s) room.  It’s dark, but Satoru leaves it that way as he carefully tucks the dozed off girl into her bed.  She doesn’t squirm or make a single noise as he covers her with the blanket.

Once he deems her comfortable enough, he wanders over to her desk, grabbing the chair from it and quietly placing it beside her bed.

He rests his head in his hands as he sits.

Why wouldn’t she just let me come to her?

Selfishly, he doesn’t want her to wake up anytime soon.  He doesn’t want to face her and relay to her how Yu’s mission had gone wrong.  He doesn’t want to be the one to bring her such bad news, to break her heart.

Yet at the same time, a part of him does want to be the one to tell her, so that he can be there for her if and when she needs him.  To dry her tears and tell her good, sweet things to comfort her.

It’s all a mess, he thinks, bringing his gaze up to the sleeping girl before him. ___

[TWO YEARS AGO]

(y/n) leaned further out the window of the classroom she was currently hiding in, making sure that all of the smoke she blew out her lungs went out the window.  Sneaking a cigarette on her first day of being at Jujutsu High was a bit reckless, sure, but her nerves needed to be relaxed and so far this was the first method that worked.

“That’s a bit stupid, isn’t it?”

She jolted at the sudden voice behind her, the cigarette in her fingers falling from her shock.  It fell straight out the window, and onto the ground.  Her jaw dropped as she watched a group of jogging upperclassmen run right over the thing.

Well, at least it was stumped out and she didn’t have to worry about starting a fire on her first day.

Annoyed, she spun around to see the perpetrator that had so rudely interrupted her.

It was a boy, standing in the doorway of the classroom.  He had lightning bright hair and an even brighter grin.  The oddest part wasn’t even the sunglasses he chose to wear inside, but how it seemed that even when she scowled at him, that grin remained.

“Having a cigarette on your first day here?” He chuckled.  “Do you know what they would’ve done to you if you’d been caught?” 

“Kicked me out?” (y/n) scoffed.  “Don’t you think I already knew that consequence when I lit it?” 

The boy laughed.  It was bubbly, and as annoyed as she was with him, she found herself fighting the urge to laugh as well.

“You’re right.  I owe you one.  Luckily I’m friends with the biggest nic addict here, so you’re lucky” 

“Lucky?” (y/n) repeated in a monotone voice.

“Sure are,” He replied.  “You’re the new first year right?” 

(y/n’s) brows drew together, disturbed that this overbearing boy already seemed to know who she was, and she had no idea who he was.

“Yes…” She answered slowly.  “I’m (y/n)” 

“Gojo Satoru” He introduced himself, walking into the classroom with his hand outstretched.

With a huff, (y/n) reaches her hand out to meet his, only to find something stopping her just an inch before touching him.

She retracts her hand instantly, and suddenly his name clicks in her mind.  He seems amused that she’d reacted to his Infinity in such a way.

“Shit,” She mumbled, her wide eyes staring up at him.  “So you’re the Six Eyes everyone’s been talking so much about” 

“Oh yeah?” He raises a brow, tucking his hands into his pockets.  “They sayin’ good things?” He asks.

“They’re saying you’re the most powerful sorcerer,” (y/n) replies.  “So I suppose it depends on who you ask,” She answers.  “Whether or not that’s a good thing” 

Satoru scoffs, his grin faltering for a brief second.  He had not expected such a cryptic answer.  Usually people flocked to him, always wanting something from him.  Clearly he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with this one.

“Normally being the best at something is a pretty good thing” He said smoothly.  (y/n) raised a shoulder and cocked her head to the side.

“Maybe,” She mused.  “But I can do something you can’t” 

He leans forward with a smirk, entering her personal space and peering down at her through his shades.

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” He asks slyly, clearly expecting some sort of sexy response.

(y/n) doesn’t give him the reaction he was looking for, instead keeping her face blank as she responds.

“Fly under the radar,” She answers.

His brows pinch together, chuckling to himself.  As if he’d ever want to do that.  What a stupid thing to brag about.

(y/n) steps around him, heading out of the classroom.  

“Don’t forget you owe me a cigarette, oh powerful Gojo” She calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

[PRESENT DAY]

Back when he’d first met (y/n), Satoru remembers that more than anything, she confused him.  She was probably the first person in his life to ever treat him like he wasn’t the most important person in the world.  She had weird opinions and a weirder personality.

And he was enamored with her.

It had taken him some time, maybe more than most, to figure out what she’d meant that first day they met.  He spent nights awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he’d want to fly under the radar, as she’d said.  But as he found his friends, Suguru, Shoko, and found himself in the meantime, he finally figured it out.

By that point, she’d already written him off.  Perhaps she didn’t hate him, but she certainly didn’t want to spend time with him if she didn’t have to.  Lucky for him, their mutual friends brought them together more often than she would have liked, so she had to get to know him anyways.

Years of training together, class together, hanging out with their friends, going on assignments- little moments and inches of steps brought them closer together.  Eventually he saw her give in a little, and (y/n) let him care about her, even if she wouldn’t reciprocate.

She stopped ignoring his texts, started laughing at his dumb jokes, and sometimes, Satoru swore that he would catch her smiling at him.  She openly enjoyed going on assignments with him, even if it was just from her competitive nature.  When Yaga would hand them the same mission, she’d smile at him, followed by her typical attitude.  But there’d be a bounce in her step.

He had been there the first time she’d tried to teleport without a hex.  She had been trying to save someone.  A kid.

The poor thing had been standing before a Grade One curse, trembling, frozen in fear.  Satoru had seen him first, but (y/n) was acting before he could.  She was too far to make it on foot, but without a second thought she did something she didn’t even know she was capable of.  It was as if human instinct and cursed energy merged in that moment, her drive to save that child overpowering her body and teleporting her there in the same instant she’d seen him.

In a second (y/n) was no longer by Satoru’s side, and was a few hundred feet away.  Her arms wrapped around his small body, and she stood there just long enough to scream for Suguru to exorcize the curse.  He came just in time, and once more, (y/n) disappeared from where she stood.

Kneeling at Satoru’s side, she kept her hands securely on the young boy’s shoulders.  He remembered the rushed, worried way she’d spoken to him.  

“Are you hurt? Are you alright? Do you know where your parents are?”

Satoru remembered when the boy finally ran off to where his parents were just a block away, (y/n’s) hands were shaking.  Just as he was about to congratulate her and help her to her feet, her body gave out.  Her eyes were shut and she was passed out before she’d even hit the ground.

That was a year ago.

Now, Satoru thinks that his stance with (y/n) is even messier than before.

He’d thought that he’d made some progress, redeemed himself a bit in her eyes.  At least he’d hoped he had.  She spent more time with him than she had before, and it wasn’t completely against her will.  Satoru had been overjoyed when she’d agreed to join him for breakfast.  He’d spent the whole day with her after that, and not for a second was he able to stop looking at her.  She’d only grown more beautiful, more confident and sure of herself, and as they matured bit by bit together, Satoru was certain he was only going to fall harder for her.

He’d known her for years now, and every day she challenged him in some new and exciting way.  He used to enjoy that about her.

Now, it brought him an immense amount of stress.

Not knowing where she was going when she snuck into town, not knowing what she was up to when she snuck back in late into the night, it had him worried sick.  He knew she was capable of protecting herself, she was a strong fighter, and loved her cursed tools almost as much as her friends.

But no matter how slowly the curiosity killed him, he knew he had to drop the subject.

After a lengthy discussion with Shoko, where she told him in all seriousness that she was certain (y/n) was meeting up with a lover, someone she cared about deeply and wanted a future with, he had buried every last feeling he’d had for her.

He’d decided he had to.  If he didn’t want his heart broken, he’d have to move on from her.

That was easier said than done. ___

(y/n’s) eyelashes fluttered for a brief moment, followed by a small groan.  It took a few minutes of stretching her tired limbs before she finally opened her eyes, and to her surprise, Gojo Satoru was sitting right there.

“You’re awake” He said softly.

(y/n) sat up and looked around herself, just to be sure she hadn’t woken up in the infirmary.  Just as she thought, she was in her own bed, her own room.

And then it all came flooding back to her.

“Yu…” She mumbled, her voice cracked over his name.  “He’s really gone?” 

Silently, Satoru nodded his head.

(y/n) leaned back against her headboard, her eyes on her lap as she processed this information rather slowly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Satoru said quietly, reaching his hand out to her.  “I know you were close” 

To his surprise, she took his hand when he held it out, her thumb pressed to his palm and her fingers wrapping around his securely.

“He just wanted to be nice and walk me home,” She said softly.  “He was just trying to be a good person and I- I pushed him away” 

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes as she remembered the last time she’d really spoken to him.  She’d seen him in passing since that day in Tokyo, but she’d been in such a rush all the time that she’d barely said more than a hello to him.

And now he was gone.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Don’t blame yourself for anything,” Satoru said, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand gently.  “What happened was an accident, no one could have known” 

She looks up at him, her tears falling freely now.

“What happened?” She whispered out.

Satoru sighed, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“Him and Nanami went on an assignment.  It was supposed to be a Grade One… but…” 

“Special Grade…” (y/n) mumbled, eyes falling away from his, glazed over as she thought it over.

Her hand that wasn’t in his tangled in her sheets, fisting them tightly until her knuckles turned white.

“Did they exorcize it?” She asks, her voice dropping an octave.

Satoru shakes his head.

“Nanami brought Yu back as soon as it happened.  They sent Suguru first thing this morning” 

“It’s morning?” 

“Almost seven” Satoru nods.

“It’s Friday” (y/n) confirmed, and he nodded again.

She nods back at him, the gears in her head turning.

She didn’t have to be at the Fushiguro house until tomorrow.

“Have you heard from Suguru since he left?” She asked.

When her eyes meet his again, there’s something there that he’d never seen before.  Something cold, and calculating.

“Don’t even think about it” He told her before she could even suggest what she was thinking.

(y/n) releases his hand, shuffling off the bed, but as soon as she stands, he grabs her by the shoulders to stop her.

“I said don’t even think about it-” 

“I’m going” She cuts him off, staring him directly in the eyes so he could see that there was nothing that could stop her.

“(y/n), Suguru will take care of it, you know that-” 

“It has nothing to do with that,” She snaps back at him.  “Yu was my friend.  I cared about him- and- and now he’s gone and he’s not coming back and I can’t just sit here and-” 

She’s getting choked up over her tears, and she raises her hands to violently wipe them from her eyes.

“I can’t just sit here and cry about it!” She wails.

She falters then.  The tears spilling over her cheeks won’t stop flowing no matter how much she wipes them away, she’s sobbing now, her whole body trembling.

Before she can fight him, Satoru pulls her into his chest.  She doesn’t put up a fight.  She lets him hold her and she doesn’t hold back a single sob that wracks her body.  He carefully sits them down on the edge of her bed, and she throws her arms around his neck as she continues to break down.

They sit together for quite some time.  (y/n) doesn’t leave his arms.  Satoru doesn’t let her go.

It’s a long day spent in the darkness of her room.  He brings her food and a new box of tissues every few hours, but for the most part, sits with her while she lays in bed.  Sometimes he holds her hand, sometimes he rubs her back.  She falls asleep here and there, but never longer than half an hour.

When it’s well into the middle of the night, she calls to him.

He’s sitting in bed with his back to her headboard while she’d been laying on her side, faced away from him.  But suddenly she turned over.

“Satoru?”

Her voice is strained, tired.  Her throat was surely sore from her day of grief.

He looks away from the book he was reading, something he’d stolen off her shelf.  Her eyes are sad, but no longer filled with tears, as she looks at him.  He hums softly in response to her, his hand sliding down the mattress to find hers.

When her fingers weakly brush into his, she tangles them together, slotting her own through the spaces between his.  His hand is warm, and comforting.

He’s warm and comforting.

“You’ll stay?” She murmurs, briefly looking from his eyes to his hand in hers, and then back up to his eyes.  “Through the night?” 

Satoru sets the book down in his lap, and now that it’s in her line of sight, she can see that he’s reading her copy of Charlotte’s Web.  The smallest of smiles tugs on the edge of her lips.  She had pulled it out of a box of old storage from her childhood just a week ago, having a newfound soft spot for the story after reading it cover to cover for the Fushiguro kids.

“Of course, sweetheart,” He tells her, and when she looks back up at him, she can see that he means it with every ounce of sincerity.

He picks the book up again, only to slide it onto her bedside table.  She watches as he then throws back the covers, sliding his long legs under them, and then the rest of his body.

He’s eye to eye with her as his head hits the pillow, and she can’t bring herself not to stare at him.

They’re incredibly close, since her bed wasn’t exactly made for two people, but the nerves that she would normally feel having him so close to her that she could feel his soft breath on her lips is nowhere to be found.

In fact she smiles.  It’s small, and her lips tremble in the slightest, but it’s a smile for him nonetheless.

Satoru squeezes her hand.

“I’ll stay as long as you’d like me to,” He tells her, his voice a hushed whisper.  “I’ll stay until you force me to go” 

She squeezes his hand back.

“Can I request one more thing?” She murmurs.  He nods.  “Would you read to me?” 

He turns to reach for the book right away, double checking what it was he’d been mindlessly reading just moments ago.

“Charlotte’s Web?” 

She nods.

“It’s grown to be a favorite of mine” She tells him.

“Then of course I will” 

He rolls onto his back, and he lets go of her hand so that he can open the book, flipping back to the first page.  Once he’s found a comfortable angle, he slides an arm around her shoulders, tucking her in close to him, to keep her comfortable, before he begins to read.

Satoru doesn’t even make it through the first chapter before (y/n’s) dozed off, her head resting on his shoulder, the rest of her body completely curled into his.

He finds himself getting tired shortly after as well.  When he finally gives into the drowsy feeling, he places the book on her bedside table, and lays his sunglasses on top of it.

He forgets all about how he was supposed to be burying his feelings, he forgets about the stranger she’s been going out with, and all that’s on his mind as he falls asleep beside her is the hope that tomorrow will be a fresh start for her.  He hopes that she’s able to work through her grief, and begin the journey to move past it tomorrow.  He hopes that she’ll let him help her.

Satoru falls asleep listening to the soft, steady buzzing of her cursed energy beside him.  It pulls him away like a lullaby.

___

xoxo - jordie

[galactic-magick]

But Then I Saw You: Adam Warlock x Reader

Summary: Adam can’t take his eyes off you and he doesn’t understand why.

Words: 0.7k+

Warnings: SPOILERS!!

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Adam was slowly but surely learning to navigate his new life—a far different one than he ever thought he’d be living.

Between missions with the other Guardians, his new home is Knowhere. He has his own small apartment with an overlook of the city, and he’s been trying to inegrate himself into the community. It’s difficult, considering he violently destroyed the place less than a year ago, yet he’s made a decent amount of friends.

There’s one person he still hasn’t figured out how to talk to, though, and that’s you.

Adam sees you around town nearly everyday, and the sight of you always makes him feel something different. He doesn’t understand why he can’t just talk to you like he does everyone else, the nervousness always stopping him. He’s been made well aware that he left his cocoon too early, and therefore isn’t fully developed, but this feeling isn’t something he ever heard mentioned by his mother or his people.

“Ya know, it’s a good thing you don’t have laser eyes or something, because they’d be dead from all your staring,” Rocket jokes, catching Adam looking at you again.

“I don’t know why I can’t stop looking at them,” Adam says.

“Sounds like you got a crush, golden boy,”

“I am Groot,” Groot agrees.

“What’s a crush?” Adam asks, intrigued.

“Oh, geez, do I have to be the one to explain it to him?”

Groot steps up, wrapping a vine around Adam’s shoulders, “I am Groot. I am Groot, I am Groot. I am Groot! I am Groot?”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I guess we just don’t usually have those romantic type feelings in my species. We reproduce through genetic engineering and birthing pods, so we don’t have the need to be attracted to each other like that,”

“Okay, so what’s wrong with you then?” Rocket laughs.

“I don’t know,” Adam catches another glance at you. “But maybe it’s not a bad thing,”

“I am Groot?”

Rocket cackles again, “No way am I giving him dating advice, Groot. Go ask Drax or something, he’s the one who’s been married before,”

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Adam doesn’t waste much time, so later that day he asks Drax how he should talk to you. Of course Draw tells him about how he met his wife, talking about his attraction to her in graphic detail. Adam hangs onto every word, taking everything in as if he’d be quizzed on it. He asks lots of questions, trying to figure out how best to express his interest in you. Eventually he thinks he has it down, so next time he sees you, he’s determined to make his move.

Fortunately, that time comes pretty fast, and he sees you sitting in the main square on his way home. He sits beside you, attempting to be somewhat covert and casual.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you reply with a smile. “You’re Adam, right?”

“You know who I am?”

“Well, yeah, everyone here knows who you are,” you shrug. “Plus I see you staring at me a lot so I’ve asked some people what your deal is,”

Adam loses his entire train of thought, quickly realizing his plan had already failed. He clearly already weirded you out by his behavior, and he didn’t want to further discomfort you.

“I’m sorry,” are the only words he finds to say.

“Why?” you laugh. “I’m not mad, I’ve just been waiting for you to actually talk to me,”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to know what’s so interesting about me. Do I look like someone you knew or something?”

He’s relieved to know you’re not upset with his terrible social skills, but he still doesn’t know quite how to respond. How is he to explain how seeing you makes him feel?

“The truth is,” he starts, “I thought my people were supposed to be the most beautiful and perfect species in the universe...but then I saw you,”

Now it’s your turn to lose all words and thoughts from your mind. Is the Adam Warlock into you?

“I never meant to scare you, and I understand if you don’t feel similar feelings towards me,” he stand up, “I hope you have a lovely evening,”

“Wait, hang on Adam,” you stop him from leaving. “Why didn’t you just ask me out?”

“Out where?”

You laugh, his confusion endearing, “Anywhere, goldie. I need to get to know you better before I decide if I like you too, don’t I?”

“Ah, yes! Great idea,” he nods. “I will ask you out tomorrow, then,”

“Not now?”

“I need to go home now to feed my pet,”

“Of course,” you smile. “Tomorrow, then,”

He flies up into the air, leaving you to look forward to whatever he comes up with.

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Read this to make a Guardians request!

[stolasdearest]

hi! can i request (separate) headcanons of Alastor and Vox x Male! Reader who loves to write (poems, novels) and draws most of the time and is kinda ashamed to show them? Maybe they're distracted (Alastor and Vox) and Reader draws them in the back?

Vox x Reader x Alastor ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

ׂׂૢ pairing : Alastor x Reader | Vox Reader

ׂׂૢ cw : Not proofread

ׂׂૢ reader is male

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

♪ he absolutely adores the fact you can write, very often he'll stand behind you while you write, his hands on your shoulders while he watches you meticulously write

♪ has honestly come to you before telling you it would be more beneficial and nicer if you had a more "traditional" way of writing; take and do with that what you will he'll support you no matter what you do

♪ actually talks about you and shows you off in conversation a lot! He is absolutely in love with you and every extension of you which does include your artistry.

♪ very often you'll write each other poems, and read them both in both your spare times, he has everything you've ever written neatly put in a drawer in his room, he'd never ever admit it but c'mon, you know it's very obvious

♪ when he catches on that you also draw he's also immediately hooked on seeing what you're making, he's constantly looking over and asking to see what you're working on

♪ he absolutely has jokingly offered to be your personal model before so he's absolutely taken aback when he finds an actual drawing of him, sure he's not posing all pretty and proper but it's a defined sketch and he's completely in love with it, he carefully and silently takes it; slyly whistling observing you look for it; not asking him if he's seen it because he knows you'd call yourself out

♪ cherishes anything you'd make him even art, he laughed once when you drew some of his shadow followers and kept it around; even showing it to them and making them all thank you

♪ Alastor is a decent artist but. You're just so extremely impressive and talented in everything you do, you never fail to amaze him

♪ wants you to use your skills to also help him out, he trusts you with everything because Satan knows his employees are incompetent. Vox is constantly asking for your input on certain things concerning writing and formatting while you just sit there looking at him going on a tangent, he's cute when he's focused..Oh you said that out loud

♪ is also the kinda guy to pull you into his arms or lap and watch you do whatever you're doing; he just loves seeing you and the way your eyebrows furrow and how your eyes focus or when you lightly poke out your tongue when doing a sketch he's just all over you

♪ is embarrassed and flustered when he does catch you drawing him or seeing drawings of him, I mean he thinks it looks amazing but why does he look like that; does his face really do that when he's focused? Oh my god make him look better next time, he groans when you shrug and tell him that you'll draw his likeness how it is, and you find him perfect as he is. He's now in his office metaphorically twirling his hair

♪ this man cannot and I mean cannot draw or sketch, sure he's versed in writing due to his job but ask him to draw something? You'd get an "abomination" as he calls it so he requests you teach him how to and he is asking because he does want to learn..but he also likes you holding his hands and standing behind him or next to him softly telling him what to do

♪ like Alastor, Vox 100% shows you off and everything you make; cooing at you when you shy away and averting yourself, he finds you getting red and nervous so so so adorable he can't even explain it; it grosses Velvette and Valentino out how he's basically acting like an anime schoolgirl whenever he talks about you

♪ has caught on your "sketch my boyfriend while he's distracted habit" and makes an effort to look nice when he sees you nose deep in your sketch book with a few glances at him every minute or so

Authors note : ahhh this took so long...I do apologize I'm super iffy about my writing lately and I've been busy :(( please forgive me if its short and bad

Taglist : @k1y0yo @ihavetoomanyfictionalcrushes @anni1600 @d0nutsaur

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

Hey babes!!! Love your work so much, keeping me going in this trying time (cancellation)

Ive had this silly little idea bouncing around for a while. I was thinking like Noble turned Pirate Reader x Izzy hands

maybe the reader is really good at sword-fighting and Izzy doesn't know how, with some angst but a happy ending? Im sure whatever you do will be amazing!!! Thank you so so much <3

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Masterlist

I hope this is what you were looking for <;3 @im-a-fungi1234

Swordplay and Secrets 

After years on the job, Izzy developed a keen instinct for sizing people up quickly, based on their skill with a sword and their interactions with fellow pirates. Despite his confidence in this ability, you remained a mystery to him. The moment Blackbeard ordered the crew of Queen Anne’s Revenge to aid Stede Fucking Bonnet during his capture by the Spanish, Izzy’s attention was drawn to you. He observed as you effortlessly cut down men with your sword, displaying a level of confidence and eloquence he rarely witnessed among other pirates. 

After a week aboard Bonnet’s ship, it became glaringly obvious to Izzy that you and Jim stood in stark contrast to the other fucking morons on this crew. Both of you possessed formidable combat skills, Jim in knife fighting and you with a sword. What set you apart even more was your reserved nature. Jim appeared guarded and often simmering with anger, whereas you maintained a polite and unassuming demeanor when interacting with your peers. In contrast, the rest of Bonnet’s idiots on board had no issues drawing attention to themselves and behaving like utter twats. 

It bothered Izzy to no end that he wasn’t able to figure you out. The puzzle became a fixation for him, especially as his captain sank deeper into the clutches of Stede Bonnet, a situation beyond Izzy’s control at the moment. Recognizing the potential danger in not understanding who you were, Izzy was determined to uncover more about you. Izzy harbored a general distrust for people already, even the pirates he felt he understood. On the quarterdeck, he observed you attempting to impart a lesson on swordplay to Bonnet’s scribe on the main deck. Izzy couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be a lost cause; the scribe came across as particularly lazy. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

“Lucius, focus. I thought we were here to practice,” you chided, your words directed at Lucius, who glanced up distractedly toward the quarterdeck. 

Lucius had been the person you connected with the most on The Revenge. Aside from Captain Bonnet, he shared the most similar background with you. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to focus, babe, when Dizzy Izzy is up there shooting daggers at us,” Lucius grumbled, nodding towards Izzy who observed from above. “What’s his deal?” 

“Just ignore him” you urged, subtly glancing up towards Izzy. “I feel like he’s always just staring.” 

This comment elicited a smirk from Lucius. “Not at me, he’s not.” Lucius whispered. 

“Sword fighting is like dancing,” you began, ignoring Lucius’s comment. Your words caused him to audibly groan. “Each strike is a coordinated step. You have to be able to lead and follow, anticipating each move like partners in rhythm.” 

“For the record, I hate dancing,” Lucius whined. 

You attempted to teach Lucius the art of sword fighting, emphasizing the importance of balance, footwork, and precise strikes. However, it became apparent that he was quickly losing interest. He struggled with the movements, and after a few attempts, he let out a sigh of defeat. Part of you couldn’t shake the disappointment as you realized that in Stede’s crew, finding someone decent to practice sword fighting with was proving to be a challenge. You had hoped that teaching Lucius would offer an opportunity to hone your skills, but his quick disinterest was clear. Your father, a master swordsman, had instilled in you the importance of these skills. Learning to wield a sword had once only been a way of connecting with him, but now it served as a skill for your survival. 

A sense of loneliness crept in as your mind drifted back to your home, the family, and friends you left behind. You came from a noble family, a family secretly grappling with financial struggles. Outwardly you and your family always maintained the air and manners of nobility, even though you lacked the comfort of wealth. You never truly felt like you belonged in that world. The desperation within your family eventually led to your departure, seeking a way to support them. Piracy had become the only realistic option, even though it left you feeling like an outsider. Stuck between two worlds, you found peace in the civility aboard Stede Bonnet’s ship, grateful for the steady income it provided, which served as a lifeline for your family. The sole confidant in your past was Lucius, and while he understood your perspective, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that the rest of the crew wouldn’t share the same understanding. 

Suddenly, Israel Hands appeared before you and Lucius. “Fuck off, Mr. Spriggs,” the first mate spat at him. Lucius shot you a worried look but promptly followed the instructions, likely relieved to have an excuse to escape the lesson. 

Once Lucius was out of sight, Izzy turned back around, eyeing you curiously. “Who taught you sword fighting?” Izzy questioned accusingly. 

“My father,” you replied plainly. In your upbringing, the importance of listening to those stationed above you was stressed, but you learned that sometimes, answering as simply as possible could get you out of tricky situations. This was not the first time Izzy had asked you questions about your past, but he was getting more persistent. 

“Who is your father?” Izzy rolled his eyes, edging closer to you in an attempt to appear intimidating. 

“No one that you know, sir,” you replied curtly. You had no interest in divulging your background, well aware that it would only complicate matters. Witnessing how the crew reacted to Stede Bonnet’s station, you understood that maintaining a low profile was crucial. The crew’s tendency not to take him seriously reinforced your resolve to keep your head down and focus on making enough to support your family. 

Izzy was visibly getting annoyed as you continued to dodge his questions. You observed his furrowed eyebrows raise, and you sensed that an idea had crossed his mind. 

“Let’s have a duel then. If I win, you tell me who you are and where you’re from,” Izzy challenged. 

You considered the offer, a part of you hoping that a victory on your part would finally put an end to Izzy’s inquiries. 

“Fine. If I win, you stop asking,” you replied with a sigh, agreeing to the duel in the hope of putting this matter to rest once and for all. 

The clash of steel reverberated through the air as you and Izzy engaged in a fierce sword fight. The dance of blades unfolded with a relentless intensity, each parry and thrust executed with precision. For much of the duel, you seemed to have the upper hand, skillfully anticipating Izzy’s moves and countering with calculated strikes. Despite the circumstances, a sense of enjoyment crept over you. Engaging in this sword fight felt like a proper duel. It became a form of meditation, your mind fully immersed in the combat, anticipating every move Izzy might make. In that moment, all other worries dissipated, leaving only the dance of steel. 

As the battle reached its climax, Izzy found himself on the defensive, struggling to keep up. However, with a swift move, he expertly kicked a leg from under you, sending you sprawling to the ground. In that moment of vulnerability, Izzy seized the opportunity. With a swift motion, he pointed his sword at your neck, and looked down towards you with a smirk. 

A sudden surge of anxiety gripped you as Izzy’s sword found its mark, pointing at your throat. The anonymity you had enjoyed among your crewmates, the chance to start anew without the weight of a title, was suddenly under threat. The idea of revealing your true identity to Izzy filled you with a sense of dread. The prospect of disclosing your background to Izzy meant potentially forfeiting the freedom you had found among the crew. 

Izzy withdrew his sword from your neck, smoothly returning it to his side, allowing you a moment to sit back and catch your breath. After a while, Izzy, wielding his sword with gentleness, used the flat of his weapon to gently lift your chin, ensuring your eyes met his. As your eyes locked with Izzy’s, a defiant glare emanated from your stare. 

“Who is your father?” Izzy repeated. 

In a hushed tone, you admitted, “He’s a duke,” the defiance still present in your unwavering stare directed at Izzy. With a deliberate motion, you shifted his sword aside with your hand and rose to your feet. 

Izzy sneered, his expression twisted with disgust. “Oh I see. You’re just another rich twatty playing at being a pirate for fun. You’re just like Stede fucking Bonnet.”

This was the reaction you had feared all along. A surge of rage consumed you at the insinuation that your life as a pirate was a frivolous choice. In response, you turned away from Izzy, no longer willing to listen to his insults. However, his firm grip on your arm halted your departure. 

“Did I speak out of turn?” Izzy taunted with sarcasm, trying his best to sound proper. 

You weren’t sure if it was anger or lingering emotions about your family, but tears welled up in your eyes. “You don’t know anything about the sacrifices I’ve had to make,” you spat at Izzy, attempting to hold back tears, though a few managed to escape. Swiftly wiping them away with your free hand, you jerked your arm from his grip and hurriedly descended below deck. 

 ⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Izzy observed you leaving, a sense of vindication washing over him for what he said to you. He was tired of nobles deciding they wanted to be pirates on a whim. However, he couldn’t shake off his confusion at your reaction. Unlike Stede Bonnet, you didn’t exude pride, but the idea of a noble on a pirate ship didn’t make sense to Izzy. Abruptly, Mr. Spriggs materialized at his side, a presence Izzy had overlooked in his intense focus on winning the sword fight. 

“Well Dizzy Izzy, that was pretty fucked up,” Lucius started. 

“Fuck off,” Izzy grumbled, feeling uniterested in engaging in the conversation. 

Lucius paid no heed to Izzy’s dismissal, crossing his arms as he spoke. “It’s actually quite sad,” he remarked with a frown. “Their father squandered the family’s fortune through gambling, and now they send all the money they earn back to support their mother and siblings.” 

Izzy held his silence as Lucius revealed more about your circumstances, a wave of guilt washing over him for the harsh words he had directed at you. 

“They mentioned piracy was the only option they had.” Lucius concluded, walking away with a satisfied air about the point he had made. 

“Fuck,” Izzy whispered, his regret palpable, and he descended below deck in search of you. 

Izzy discovered you in Bonnet’s ballroom, seated amongst the scattered cannonballs. The dim light revealed traces of tears on your cheeks. 

Izzy approached quietly. He gestured toward the vacant spot next to you on the floor, whispering, “Can I sit?” 

You nodded in acknowledgement, but your gaze remained fixed ahead, deliberately avoiding any eye contact with Izzy. 

Izzy began, "Mr. Spriggs told me about why you're here. I said some things I regret. It's honorable that you're trying to take care of your family."

"I just chose the least honorable way to do it," you replied. Despite the weight of the conversation, a small smirk played on your lips, and Izzy was relieved to see that you weren't in tears. "If I had a choice, I wouldn't be here," you continued.

"Where would you be?" Izzy asked curiously.

"I miss my family, but I never really felt like I belonged there either," you whispered, a hint of sadness in your voice.

"Maybe you wouldn't have chosen this life, but you belong here," Izzy whispered back. "Piracy is a place for people who feel like they don't belong anywhere." 

As Izzy glanced over at you sitting beside him, an unexpected emotion washed over him. In this moment, he found himself admiring and respecting the choices you had made. Moreover, it was the first time in a long while that Izzy had encountered someone capable of wielding a sword as skillfully as he could.

Izzy chuckled, "You almost kicked my ass during that fight."

"You kicked me, literally," you replied, playfully rolling your eyes. "That's the best fight I've had in a while."

"It's because you're surrounded by a ship full of twats who wouldn't know what side of a sword to use," Izzy grumbled.

Your laughter filled the air, causing Izzy's heart to skip a beat for a moment.

"We should fight more often," you suggested with a grin. "If I win, you have to tell me something about yourself, and if you win, I'll tell you more about me."

"Deal," Izzy replied quickly, a genuine eagerness in his tone. He wanted to learn more about you, intrigued by the prospect of unraveling the layers beneath the surface. The fact that you were interested in knowing about him surprised and pleased him. People rarely asked Izzy about himself anymore; they tended to accept the rumors at face value. He hoped the future would bring more sword fights and late-night conversations with you.

[arogustus]

Splatband Analysis - Squid Squad + Diss-Pair

(Disclaimer: This analysis in based on what I get out of looking into the character descriptions we have of the splatband characters. If you disagree with what I say, that is fine, we are all beheld to our opinions. Just don’t be a jerk about it.)

The Squad of Squid (and that one urchin). Squid Squad was the first splatband, with the two super cool songs that dominated the music scene, one of which is an emblematic part of Turf War gameplay. They’re also the band with the juiciest drama out of all the splatbands. Plagiarism, violence and relationship drama. This band has it all, so let’s see what all that was!

Also Warabi is here too I guess. They’re just one octopus, so it’s easy to jam them in here.

The Band

Squid Squad was Inkopolis’ hottest act back in the first Splatoon, and evidently have been playing for a decent while before they gained notoriety in Turf Wars with their latest album, Fresh Kids. They don’t make many public appearances due to their popularity causing them to get constantly mobbed by fans. Despite that, their success hides their amateurish nature, as outside of Ikkan, none of the band members know much about making music, practically winging it when it comes to their stuff, though definitely with a lot of passion for it. 

Internally, the band seemed to be rife with discord between band members that got bad enough the bassist eventually up and left, though not before one final concert on Starfish Mainstage. After that, silence for everyone but Quinn, who later pops up in Diss-Pair in Splatoon 2. According to Booyah Base, the others were focusing on their solo careers. But they did come back as Front Roe, although now actively distancing themselves from their past, to the point of not even performing any of their old songs. They want a fresh start, and want the world to see them for their talent and not for their fame. Though it’s fair to say the failure of Squid Squad is probably still fresh in their hearts.

Ichiya

Oh, Ichiya. Who knew the guy who looks like a fish gasping for air out of water would be at the center of so much drama. Let’s start with the information we learned most recently. That is, that he’s not an Inkopolis native, but actually from the Splatlands! We don’t know what made him move over to Inkopolis, Beika is pretty vague about the circumstances, but he seems to have adapted pretty well to the local culture. His relationship to Beika itself is its own mystery. All we have to go over is that the two were close enough that they had shared knowledge of Now or Never. Maybe he used to be a part of C-Side before Inkopolis? Maybe the two were close friends, or dating? No one is willing to give a straight answer. According to Splatune 3, he and Front Roe have made no comment on the matter, though people assume they are outraged. Note the keyword “assume”, here, that’s just what the public thinks.

He’s described as selfish, with the temperament of a prodigy and rockstar charm that draws people to him. The trademarks of someone who’s letting fame get to their heads it seems, though not immediately noticeable considering the charm thing. He probably seems cooler when seen from a distance, but you realize his negatives once you get to know him. This aspect seems to have faded for Front Roe, considering their current distancing from their past fame is kinda antithetical to his personality in Squid Squad. He’s hiding his identity (poorly) alongside the others, so something must have changed.

On the topic of being a prodigy, Ichiya can’t read!.. Music. He doesn’t know how to read music, I assume his other reading levels are normal. This is shocking since he’s the one who writes the band's music. He’s just getting by with flashy guitar riffs. This is actually reflected in the music itself. I’ve seen plenty of musicians react videos of Splattack that point out how relatively simple and easy to learn and perform the song is. I wonder if this applies to other bands. At the very least Ikkan saw this potential and wanted to mentor him, but considering how that went (the two’s arguments got bad enough they got in a live shootout with each other), it’s fair to say he wasn’t receptive to that gesture. 

Namida

Namida is the crazy girl of the team. We don’t get an idea as to how other than the bunch of nicknames she gets people to call her. The examples we got are “Mida-Chan”, "Master Namida", "Naminami", and "Girl from Planet Namik". Mida-Chan and Naminami sound like casual nicknames you’d get a friend to call you, while Girl from Planet Namik makes her sound eccentric and out of this world. Master Namida gives the feeling of wanting to be looked up to, probably a nickname used whenever someone asks her something. Am I reading too deep into these random nicknames? Yes, that’s the whole point of this analysis.

One minor thing is that she has knowledge in jazz theory. Seems she was studying jazz in particular before joining Squid Squad. Maybe she likes Ink Theory? At the very least she’s noted to be pretty skilled. Her lore is pretty sparse, all things considered.

Murasaki

Murasaki is next. The youngest member of the band, as the original Squid Research Lab tweet describes him as a youngster, and he’s called wild child due to his drumming skills. Not that he actually knows much about drumming, he’s like Ichiya in that he relies a lot on raw talent. Uncanny sense of rhythm, but not a lot of technique. He’s passionate, though, considering he cries during his drum solos. Energetic and emotional, especially once he gets going on the drum kit. The Squid Research Lab also describes him as “rough around the edges”. He must have been a prickly (hehe) kid, but one with a good heart. 

We do get to hear about him in Splatune 3’s section for Front Roe. He’s hanging out in bars now, and gives a cryptic answer to the question of whether Ikkan would ever collab with Front Roe (I’ll go into that in Ikkan’s section). He’s probably just throwing off the interviewer for the sake of the band's privacy.

Small but funny thing, Squid Squad actually starred in a small, four panel gag comic once, picture below. Definitely the best treatment a Splatband has ever gotten before Splatoon 3. Considering it’s a gag comic, it’s hard to say if this is how Murasaki is treated by his fanbase. But uh, if it is, I think he’s got reasons to be a little prickly.

Ikkan

The other center of drama that also looks like a dying fish. Look at how much he and Ichiya have in common. He’s the oldest member of the band, and evidently the most experienced and responsible as well. Always arrives early before anyone else, and leaves the stage after everyone else. Even wanted to try and mentor Ichiya to help him actually learn music. Funny that he thought Squid Squad was just a passing fad in the grand scheme of things. Maybe he cared more than he let on? If you remember the Ink Theory valentine’s artwork

and look at his bass case, you can see he still has Squid Squad stickers slapped on them. And then there’s the whole thing with Front Roe’s other song, Sandy Side Up, which appears to feature vocals of both him and Warabi. The fact that both sides are being deliberately vague about a reunion does give the potential that it is a reunion, but there is no concrete answer.

Personality wise, beyond that dedication and passion for music, he’s not a very emotive person. That dead fish stare is apparently his default look, and he doesn’t move around a lot while performing. Still, when Ichiya shot him with a gun, he shot back with his own (what the fuck), and then he stopped showing up to rehearsals and eventually left the band entirely. His response to being asked a question he doesn’t want to answer (would he ever reunite with Squid Squad?) was to say “that’s a good question”, and then he just left the room and never returned.  

According to Splatune, Ikkan (back in Squid Squad) actually stayed at a celebration party for one of their live shows up until the very end. Hard to say if it means he’s a secret party animal, or just felt obligated to stay. The latter tracks better with his personality in my opinion, as we know his response to an uncomfortable social situation is to just nope the fuck out. He also arrived at the studio before everyone else like always after the party, showcasing that diligence we know and love about him.

Now, as we all know, he did come back in a new band for Splatoon 2, Diss-Pair, having found an Octoling twink overseas who he befriended. It’s through here that we get a bit more insight about his reasons for leaving Squid Squad. Specifically he disliked the lack of tension, and them just being yes-men to whatever he said. Considering their overall inexperience, Squid Squad didn’t have much in terms of discussion over the songwriting process. But he did find it with Warabi, at least. Their first meeting was mistaken for an argument, and they have this balanced dynamic of pointing out each other's flaws while still trusting each other enough to not even have to look at each other during performances. He really respects the octoling.

Warabi

Diss-Pair’s other half, and an octoling that has been living on the surface for quite some time it seems. Now, I don’t mean offense, but I don’t much care for the “Warabi is an Octarian” headcanon. A lot of the info we’re given of them pretty heavily imply they were born on the surface. Their parents are famous actors, they had a musical education for gifted kids, they visit up to twenty countries a year on their tours before Diss-Pair. All of it just screams surface octopus. Marina does state she’s friends with them, along with Paul, who’s heavily implied to be an Octarian octoling. Maybe they’re friends because she’s an octoling DJ in a city notoriously lacking in the species overall? At least one thing we don’t know is where they are from, as Ikkan met them overseas. But yeah, surface octopus. 

Anyway, onto the octopus, they’re a DJ, specifically a Beatsmith with a strong focus on EDM style stuff. Their interest didn’t start early though, having come after growing up surrounded by music genres from around the world through their actor parents, complete with classical music education. Electronic music came to them in their teenage years, which seems to be their main deal. No details on their exact relationship with their parents, but at the very least it seems they indulge them in their love of music, so the relationship might be positive. They’re apparently very demanding as a performer, with demands that seem all over the place, but that belies a clever and intelligent person. An eccentric artist it seems, probably someone who asks people to serve a bowl full of only red M&M’s, but who actually knows their shit. And considering they’re meant to be a mismatch with the stoic, unemotive Ikkan, it’s likely they’re much more lively and energetic compared to him just to make the contrast between the two clearer. Despite those differences and the arguments they seem to have, they get along and greatly respect Ikkan.

It’s nice for Ikkan that he found someone who he considers an equal.

---

I wonder what we'll learn about Front Roe once the Side Order artbook is released (nothing like it has been announced, but come on, it has to be coming). Will the Beika/Ichiya drama reach its tipping point? Will Namida get more crazy nicknames? Will Ikkan be there and somehow answer nothing? It's all I care about, really, I'd settle for just buying the splatband pages of the artbook.

[quibbs126]

So instead of more stylized Cookies, I drew that cacaolily redo yesterday (I just forgot about posting)

Anyways, so this is Night Rider. She’s replacing my old cacaolily kid, Snowdrop, because I thought I could do better (and frankly, Snowdrop didn’t have a personality outside of being a White Lily clone). So Snowdrop doesn’t exist anymore, and Night Rider replaces her

In any case, let’s get on to Night Rider herself

So basically, Night Rider here goes around Earthbread, seeking out and learning secret, ancient or forbidden knowledge/magic. She ultimately has good intentions in her research, she probably started by trying to look for a way to ultimately stop the Licorice Sea, or maybe to revive Pure Vanilla, but she can get carried away with her research and not think about the consequences of it (which I sort of tried to imply with the sketch, she’s trying to bring the Soul Jam to its fullest potential, but in the process awakening the Beasts). She’s been doing this for several decades and she really only visits her home sparingly; she’s gained a really poor sense of time and always thinks it’s been less time than it actually has

Outside of that, she’s a very cranky and antisocial person. Her decades of mostly isolated research have led her to view other Cookies as either not being able to appreciate the knowledge she yearns for, or that they ask dumb questions about her research. She respects and tolerates her father and the other Ancients (her mother disappeared when she was young, so she doesn’t really have a connection to her or opinions about her), even if she thinks they can fall into those categories. She can actually like people, and she can act like a decent person around them (or if she has to), but it’s pretty rare. She probably wasn’t always like this, it’s just something she built up over the years

Her research means she’s probably way ahead of all the other characters on the plot, like she’s known about the Beasts and faeries for years, but due to her general isolation and always looking for new knowledge, she’s woefully unknowing (that’s not the right word) of what’s going on in Earthbread right now. Like she doesn’t know Pure Vanilla’s back, her mother’s connection to Dark Enchantress, or even that her brother was banished in the first place

She likes her father well enough, she was mostly raised by him and she respects him, even if they value different things. She doesn’t see him as much due to her research, but she doesn’t see it as meaning she has any less connection to him. As said prior, since White Lily disappeared when she would have been young, she doesn’t really know her mother and isn’t sure what to think of her (though if she’s been to Faeriewood, she would have chosen to avoid White Lily’s coffin). Due to her nature of spending so much time away from home, she and Dark Choco barely know each other, but she thinks he’s fine enough. She thinks he’s just following in their father’s footsteps and being a good swordsman and prince back home, nothing out of the ordinary to note. She probably would have a reaction to knowing this isn’t the case

I’m also thinking she uses some sort of shadow magic, in part because of her research (and also because of her name)

I do kind of want to draw a younger version of Night Rider as well, before she started on her endless search for knowledge, since back then she was probably more normal

Can you tell I’ve thought way too much about her? Because I have

Anyways, let’s get on to other stuff

The name Night Rider comes from the night rider lily, since it’s a black flower

Night rider:

So if you can tell, she doesn’t look too much like her concept sketch. That’s because originally when I was making that, she was supposed to be a guy who was a knight that lived out in nature, or something like that. The original Night Rider concept was completely different. But then when I was listening to Unleash the Magic yesterday, it got me inspired to make this new version of Night Rider. If I ever bring that concept back, it’d probably be like her twin brother or something

Anyways, so I made her hair have gradients instead of streaks because I thought it worked better with her colors of red and black. Also Dark Choco sort of has that. Speaking of the red, it’s supposed to be because of the flower, even if the red doesn’t necessarily fit in with the rest of the family’s color scheme

Speaking of colors, my roommate told me she might have too many colors, which is honestly fair. She’s got black, red, purple and green in her design. It was originally going to be black red and purple, but then I wanted a pop of another color for her bag, so I added in the green. Maybe I’ll go back and tweak her colors more. If this becomes no longer applicable to her design, know that I changed it

I realize that her outfit may look a bit odd, as like some sort of bodysuit or whatever, but it was kind of just what came to my head. Maybe it’s some sort of special suit she got during her travels

Her design is probably simplistic, but it’s not necessarily bad. But I may want to tweak it a bit later on, we’ll see

But yeah, that’s Night Rider, hope you like her

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Drunk

Fandom: Castlevania

Characters: Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes/Alucard

Relationships: Adrian x reader

Note: I suck at titles

You walked through the dark hallway in hopes of finding your room. Even after months spent in Castlevania, you still couldn’t navigate through endless corridors even to your own space. You were confident you had walked through this particular hall three times now. Just when you were about to turn left, you heard a faint noise. You keened your ears to decipher the sound and concluded it must be someone's voice. There was only one person other than you who lived in the castle. You pushed the ornate doors to one of the drawing rooms ajar and found Adrian reclining in one of the lounge chairs.

He looked like he was posing for a painting, but then again, he always did. You knew Adrian was something more than a human but these small things which it showed, such as being in a state of constant elegance and poise, no matter the situation, still amazed you. He was lying on the comforter with his torso slightly turned to the back of the chair. One of his legs was stretched over the edge while the other one was bent at the knee. His right arm was hanging off the armrest while the other was holding an empty wineglass precariously perched between elegant fingers. How he didn’t splatter the red liquid on the pristine white shirt, which was unbuttoned to reveal almost the entirety of his chest, was a mystery to you. His head was buried in several pillows and golden tresses fell loosely down the chaise and around his face. He had a faraway look in his eyes and was mumbling something incoherently. When you stepped closer and had a chance to decipher his mumblings, you realized he wasn’t talking to himself, he was singing. Poorly.

“…and the fish’s at the sea…they sway by me…” or whatever gibberish you were able to discern. Probably some tavern song he learned from Trevor. That moment he noticed you standing there, golden eyes squinting at you.

“Oh…hello-” A small hiccup found its way past his lips.

You were trying your best not to laugh but your mouth still twisted into a smile as you watched him cover his mouth in embarrassment.

“Pardon me. I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He sat up, or rather, tried to sit up as he swung his legs over the sofa. You attempted to help him, pressing your arm at his back. “Are you alright?” You tentatively asked him. You didn’t know what his life was like before you came in. He wasn’t willing to share many details about his past, but from the small pieces of information, you concluded he was living a very sad, lonely life. That sometimes resulted in evenings spent drinking away his sorrows.

He shooed your hands away. “Nothing is wrong. I’m a vampire, so I am particularly able to hic keep my countenance in place.”

At that time you were fully grinning at his efforts to remain decent in his drunken stupor. Of course. You thought to yourself while you watched him fix his collar as if to add modesty to the already gaping hole in his shirt. There, you could see the pink sliver of scar that ran across his entire torso, marring the otherwise flawless pale skin. What sort of fierce battle the powerful dhampir face to mark him in such way. Every time you caught sight of that scar, your heart clenched painfully at the thought of Adrian in pain. He snapped you out of your thoughts with his drunken ramblings.

hic “You astound me, did you know that?” He said out of the blue and you were staring at him in surprise. He continued, “You are hic …most incredible person I’ve ever met in my life.” He looked you in the face a desperate look in his eyes as if he needed you to understand his statement more than he needed his next breath. “I mean that I mean it,” he softly whispered. “You are unlike anyone that I’ve ever met in my life, he put his hand on your cheek, studying your features.

“I…expose myself… to you.” You looked at his opened shirt in panic. The last thing you need is to have the dhampir deep in his cups to start undressing in front of you.

Adrian noticed your frightened expression and realized he was misunderstood. With laughter, he added, “no, not like that. I mean emotionally,” he grabbed one of your hands and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. It seems alcohol also made him sentimental. “I bare my soul and you don’t run away. I‘m a vampire lord’s son, THE vampire lord’s son…and you’re not afraid of me…and we can go on walks…and talk…and…and…I’ve just never met anyone like you…” his words dissipated into silence.

hic

Oh, Adrian.

All this time you had no idea he harbored such thoughts in his mind. You had a feeling he was being courteous to you by letting you stay in his castle, but not overly caring for your presence. If you knew what these brief encounters you two shared meant to him…

“I’m rambling a little bit,” Adrian bowed his head in shame and dropped his hand from your cheek to cover his face with it.

“I’m ashamed that you’re seeing me…like this,” he gestured to his disheveled appearance.

You patted his arm with placating smile, “It’s alright Adrian, sometimes we all have our bad days.” Then, you draped one of his arms over your shoulders and took hold of his waist.

Some light stumbling, a few knocked candelabras, and plenty of hauling on your part later, you made it to his bed-chamber. Where was the floating when you need one? You let out a huff as you threw Adrian’s limp body on the bed and almost fell on top of him in the process. The close physical proximity the two of you shared when walking into his room was already enough to paint your cheeks a rosy hue. You threw a blanket over him and prepared to leave when you felt a hand grabbing your wrist. The dhampir was looking soberer now. Still holding your arm, he brought you closer to bed.

He propped himself on his elbows and looked into your eyes with more clarity than before, “I likely won’t remember any of this in the morning…but…,” he paused for a moment as if gathering the courage to finish the sentence.

“I…can I…kiss you? Just one time…”

You were taken aback by his words once more. He practically confessed to you earlier, and the thought of touching those soft, plush lips sounded tempting. You didn’t realize that you’d been inching closer to his face until you felt his wine-laced breath on your lips and by then, you were too lost in his eyes to pull away.

He tasted like the sweetest of vines. Soft and supple, his mouth danced hesitantly over yours. You were sure that no vinery in the world has vine more rare and luxurious than the one you’re tasting on his tongue. You pulled away and whispered to him “goodnight Adrian.”

He mumbled goodnight to you as well and fell asleep mid-sentence.

You chuckled to yourself, caressing his cheek. *Creatures of the night, what symphony they make…*you pondered as you listened to his soft snores.

[mrm0rgansw0man]

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

★・・・・・・・・・・・・★ 𓄃 the story of arthur morgan and belle monroe 𓅓

summary: arthur morgan will forever be intruged by the woman be brought back to camp

Chapter Two: He knows. ★・・・・・・・・・・・・★

Arthur soaked in the words of the woman in front of him as she grasped his hand. He wasn't used to such a level of intimacy with someone, but he could tell this is what she needed right now. He had talked a bit more to Dutch come the morning, and he now knew for certain that Belle's past was nothing short of horrifying. It was hard to refuse something as simple as a steady hand to someone who had been through so much.

"I hope I can repay you, Mr. Morgan." Belle said with a small sniffle. She slowly let go of Arthur's hand.

Was it just in his head, or did she hesitate a moment before letting go?

"Nah." Arthur said simply. "No need ma'am. This one's on me, but if I have to pull you outta a freezing river again it's gonna cost ya'."

Belle smiled. It was a small, ghost of a smile but a smile none the less. Her eyes flicked away from Arthur to the various clothing items in her lap. A deep brown cotton skirt along with an identical one that was a charcoal grey color. Several different button up blouses. And bless this man, a new chemise and various other underclothes.

"I... I don't even know what to say." Belle said softly. She couldn't believe how she was being treated. "You truly are a good man, Arthur Morgan."

"Oh I don't know about that." Arthur said, dismissing the complement. He wasn't a good man, but that's not the type of thing you say outright to a woman who has been dealing with bad men her whole life. "I'll leave ya' to dressin' yourself. Holler if you need a hand, I'll send one of the women in to help ya'. Oh, Almost forgot. Got pair of boots for ya' right there on the floor."

"Mr. Morgan I will pay you back every cent! I swear it." Belle said urgently. She really owed this man now, as if saving her life wasn't enough!

"Like I said Miss, this is all on me. And the boots belonged to Miss Roberts, they fit 'er funny so she was more than happy to send 'em yer' way." Arthur said, he gave Belle a half smile. " 'Sides, can't have you walkin' 'round here half naked. It ain't right." And with that, he left the tent and closed the flaps. Leaving Belle to get herself dressed.

｡･ﾟﾟ･　　･ﾟﾟ･｡

"What a gentleman you are Arthur Morgan!"

Arthur looked up from his journal -where he was peacefully drawing and having a lovely time doing so- to see the face of John Marston. Ugh.

"I'm glad ya' think so, John! Maybe you can learn a thing or two from me!" Arthur snapped back, the annoyance in his tone very clear.

"Awfully nice of you to buy that woman some new clothes! You know Abigail and her seem to be 'bout the same size, I'm sure she could've borrowed something from her." John said pointedly, not even bothering to hide the smirk forming on his lips.

"You know when I brought 'er back here she was in nothin' but a nightgown, right?" Arthur said flatly. "She needed something of her own 'nyways. Especially if she's gonna be moving on from here."

"I know I know!" John said, putting up his hands. "I just think it's....charming of you. To take such good care of her."

"Don't you have a kid? Go bother him about bein' sweet on someone and leave me alone!"

"Never said you were sweet on her Arthur!" John chuckled, before quickly scurrying off. Arthur didn't get to see the stupif grin spreading across his face.

"You implied it ya' greasy bastard!" Arthur shouted. He ran his hand over his face in exasperation.

'Why is he so god damn ANNOYIN'!...' Arthur thought with a sigh. And besides, he had no right to be having any feelings for Miss Belle. They had barely even met, and that poor woman had a lot more to worry about right now then something like that.

Arthur was just taking care of her, it's what any decent person would do! You decide to take in an injured woman with nothing but a nightgown, you go buy her some clothes! Belle had nothing, what did John expect? He was just being nice!

With an irritated sigh, Arthur sat down on the ground next to the rock he was originally leaning on. He opened up his journal back to the sketch he had started, he asked Ms. Grimshaw to go check on Belle so he had a few moments to himself. He was sketching a woman, a decision he hadn't even consciously made. Arthur found that more often than not at times like this, his pencil had a mind of it's own.

The woman had a heart shaped face, with a button nose and doe eyes. She had long black wavy hair that framed her face and fell all the way down to her back. Arthur noticed what he thought was a smudge on her cheekbone but then he realized-

God dammit.

｡･ﾟﾟ･　　･ﾟﾟ･｡

Belle sat in the man- no Arthur's tent for a moment. She was truly rendered speechless. Even if she wasn't quite sure where she was or who she was with, she had been taken in with open arms. And for that, Belle would be forever grateful. Mr. Morgan said that she didn't need to repay him, but Belle swore to herself that she would. Somehow or some way.

'Maybe I'll save his life?...' Belle thought with a light laugh.

"Miss Monroe? Mr. Morgan sent me over, would you like some help?" Came a voice from the outside of the tent, pulling Belle out of her thoughts. She paused for a moment.

"Yes please, ma'am. If it's not too much to ask." Belle said quietly. Accepting help made her sick to her stomach with fear and dread, but she knew this woman wasn't going to hurt her. Arthur sent her.

In stepped a woman. she was older. Her graying hair was pulled back into a bun, and something about this woman screamed authority. Belle could tell she was a woman who was not to be disrespected.

"I'm Susan Grimshaw, I'm glad to see you up and at 'em so soon Miss." She said with a small smile.

"How long was I asleep ma'am?" Belle asked, she was almost scared to know. But Arthur hadn't expected her to be awake, and Ms. Grimshaw had said 'soon'. This time couldn't have been too bad.

"It was a few hours from dawn last night when Arthur brought you here, and now it's goin' on late afternoon. Around half a day." Ms. Grimshaw concluded.

"I'm sorry if you we're there when he brought me back.." Belle said with sigh. She knew it wasn't like she asked for it, and she truly was grateful, but she couldn't help but feel horrible for causing such a disturbance in the middle of the night. "I wasn't really myself."

"I'm here to help dress you, not judge you Ms. Monroe." Ms. Grimshaw said. "You're not gonna find much judgement in a band of outlaws."

"I'll be sure to fit right in then." Belle said, finally returning Ms. Grimshaw's smile. A silent thank you for helping her in her time of need.

"I see Arthur's got you all set! Have you picked out somethin' to put on yet?"

Belle nodded, she held out her charcoal grey skirt and a brown and dark blue plaid button up . It was a simple thing, but belle loved the sleeves. They puffed out around the shoulders and had buttons on the end near her wrists.

"Perfect! Have you tried standin' yet?" Ms. Grimshaw asked.

"I haven't, but I think I'll be able to undress fine while sitting down. And get my shirt and my underthings on, the only real problem is the skirt. I don't know if you've seen my knees but...." Belles voice trailed off, suddenly becoming weak.

"You might have trouble walkin' by yourself for a while." Ms. Grimshaw finished. grimly. "Do you mind me askin' how the hell you ended up like this?"

Belle began to speak, but she felt her voice become a lump in her throat. She tried again, but nothing. Her ears began to ring and she was starting to feel that floating feeling she felt back in the forest. Belle took a shaky breathe, and she looked to Ms. Grimshaw.

"Bad men." Belle said, forcing the words out through her constricting throat. "I wasn't ever lucky enough to end up with outlaws before."

"Oh.." Ms. Grimshaw sighed, a pained expression falling on her face. "Honey... C'mon, enough of thinkin' of that. Let's get you into that skirt and with luck, walking."

"If anyone can get me walking, you seem like the type of woman to make it happen."

｡･ﾟﾟ･　　･ﾟﾟ･｡

"Mr. Morgan! I've got some chores I need to get on, woulda be so kind as to show Belle around?" Ms. Grimshaw called out. She had gotten Belle walking all right, even if she was still in buckets of pain she had worked out enough to be able to walk.

Arthur had begun heading back to his tent just in time, by the time he got back Ms. Grimshaw and Belle were standing right outside. They said their goodbyes, Arthur had heard Ms. Grimshaw saying that she was gonna be put to work as soon as she was all healed up. Belle laughed, a small breathy one. Arthur smiled. It faded when he noticed Belle was walking with a barley concealed limp.

"You need a hand?" Arthur asked quietly, holding out his arm for Belle to take if she needed it.

"Oh, would you?" Belle asked in disbelief. "I'm sure I could manage on my own-"

"Don't push yer'self. It's no trouble." Arthur said. Belle gave him a small grateful smile and she grabbed onto his outstretched arm like a walking stick.

Arthur and Belle stopped by Dutch's tent first, since it was the closest. Dutch was smoking a cigar out in the front, Hosea stood next to him and Molly was seated at the table inside of his tent.

"Miss Belle Monroe! I am so glad to see you're up and walking." The man said to Belle as he noticed her and Arthur approaching. "My name is Dutch Van Der Linde, and I am happy to have someone like yourself riding with us!"

"Thank you for letting me stay, Mr. Van Der Linde." Belle said, she fought to keep her voice steady, but Arthur could feel her hands trembling. "I don't know what I would do if Mr. Morgan hadn't ran into me last night."

"A fate encounter, that's for certain!" The older man said with a caring smile. "I'm Hosea Matthews, Pleasure to meet you Miss. Monroe."

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Matthews." Belle said, her voice growing relaxed.

"And this pretty lady right back there is Ms. Molly O'Shea!" Dutch said, gesturing to the red head woman farther back in the tent. Molly smiled and waved, and Belle did the same. Belle and Arthur said their goodbyes and made their way over to the Marston's tent.

Abigail sat on a log outside of the tent, she watched Jack as he played with some little toys a few feet away. Who knows where John was?

'Glad he ain't here...' Arthur thought..

"Oh hi Arthur!" Abigail said with a smile as they approached. "Is this her?"

Arthur nodded. "Abigail Roberts, meet Belle Monroe." Arthur said, motioning his hands between the two of them.

"Hello Ms. Monroe!" Abigail said and smiled. "That's my boy over there, Jack. It's great to meet you."

Belle had opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a little tug on the back of her skirt. She turned around, and saw little Jack standing there shyly.

"Hi there!" Belle said sweetly, oh she had always loved children. They're the purest things in this world. "What can I do for you young sir?"

"Are you hurtin' Miss?" Little jack asked quietly. "I saw you last night, my mama thought I was asleep! You looked like you were hurtin', and your face-"

"Jack Marston!" Abigail scolded, she looked absolutely mortified. "You leave that poor woman alone, come on over here!"

"It's alright Miss. Roberts, promise." Belle said and softly smiled. She looked up at Arthur. "Help me down?"

Arthur didn't think that was a good idea at all, but he complied. As long as she felt that she was up to it. Arthur held onto both of her arms tight, as he helped her down to her knees. It hurt too much to kneel, so she just sat straight on the floor. Belle was level with Jack now, and he looked at her curiously.

"Tell me," Belle said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Is my face that bad?"

Jack burst into a fit of giggles, and he nodded. Belle draped her arm over her forehead, and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Oh no! Tell me, Doctor Jack, will I ever be beautiful again?" Belle said, her voice 'distraught'.

"Hmm.." Jack said. He walked up to Belle, taking her face in his tiny hands. Belle's blood ran cold, but she knew she was alright. "Yes! You will be!"

Belle let out a sigh of relief, she made sure to throw her head back and make her eyes go wide. "Oh, what a relief! My pretty face was all I had goin' for me! Now what about my legs Doctor?"

"That's easy!" Jack said. "Uncle Arthur can carry you til' your better- Right Uncle?"

Arthur chuckled, and he hoped the light redness covering his cheeks could be chalked down to the sunlight.

"Course, Jack." Arthur said and ruffled the boys hair. Jack smiled up as his Uncle, trying to fight away the hand in his hair.

"Thank you so much for the boots, Miss Roberts!" Belle said while Jack was distracted. "They are perfect."

"Oh Jack likes you so much, call me Abigail! And I'm happy to help you out Belle, those things pinched my feet!" She said with a small chuckle.

"If only I had my old pair of boots, they were just a tad bit big on me. We could've done a trade." Belle said, she let out a small laugh. But thinking of any of her old belongings broke her heart.

"C'mon Belle. Let's get ya' off the floor." Arthur said, Belle managed to get to one knee before Arthur stepped in and grabbed her upper arms. Belle stood and she gave Arthur an appreciative smile. That smile faded when an older man in glasses and a hat approached them.

"Arthur! I've been looking for you. I-"

Belle's blood ran cold. She trembled, violently. So violently her knees buckled and Arthur barley managed to catch her in time before she slammed to the floor.

"What the hell- Miss. Monroe? Are you okay?" Arthur asked, he gently sat her down next to Abigail. She looked from Arthur to Abigail to the man in the glasses.

"Is she okay?" The man asked. Belle felt bile rising in her throat that she fought viciously to hold back.

"Arthur!" Belle groaned, she grabbed onto his arm and squeezed her eyes shut tight, She felt Abigail grab hold of her shoulder but she was already too far gone.

"Arthur don't go! You cannot go wherever he's about to send you!" Belle said desperately. Her head swam with horrible images, a sick man, a fight. He spat. They were on a farm.

Oh god.

Then there was another sick man, in a different fight. Arthur. He was on a mountain, fighting for his life. Against someone, Belle didn't know who, yet.

"Get the hell outta here! Go!" Abigail shouted at the man in the glasses. He scurried off. "Honey are you okay? Has he done something to you? Did you know him?"

Belle barley heard Abigail over the ringing of her ears. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. She didn't want the nausea she was feeling to win against her. It was always like this, after she had one of her moments. Ugh.

"How'd you know he was gonna send me somewhere..?" Arthur asked, he sat down next to Belle. He remembered what Dutch had said about her, last night when Arthur brought her back.

'Witch.' Arthur thought. Could it be true? God the more time he spent around Belle Monroe the more intrigued by her he became. He had so many questions-

"Yes." Belle said, without opening her eyes. "That's right, Mr. Morgan. I'm sorry."

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 28

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Burning Hearts

Notes: /

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter:  28/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A joining?

A joining?!?

Matthew had always been someone you were enamored with. Yet, seeing the honey-eyed man now did not cause the same response in you that it used to. Especially not after what you had just learned.

Helio was blind to the shock on your face, and continued to sing Matthew’s praises, “He is a decent man. And I believe his affection for you has grown to match yours.”

It had you lost for words for a while.

He mistook it for being too overjoyed to respond. “I always hoped you would find a love as true as the one I and your mother share.”

It came out louder than you intended to, “No.”

Helio paused, “No?”

“No.” You said again, taking a step back. “There will be no joining.”

He clearly did not expected the response. “I thought you would be happy.”

The betrayal from Matthew was still fresh and this could not have come at a worse time.

“I am sorry, father.” You meant it, he was trying to make you happy and now you had to disappoint him.

You gave him no reason for the change in your feelings towards Matthew, and walked away alone towards the fort.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

After all that had happened, Matthew sharing your private matters with others was the final straw of your patience.

A joining? With him? You were so upset that you didn’t even want to speak to him again. But you wanted to get this off of your chest first and not let him think that what he did was proper. You found Matthew speaking to a few of the knights in the entrance hall and marched right over to him. They were chuckling among each other amicably, but quieted down when they saw the storm in your eyes.

“How is your nose?” You didn’t actually care in that moment.

“It doesn’t hurt any-” Matthew’s answer was cut short by the slap he received across the face from you. His cheek turned red from the impact.

He was absolutely baffled by the slap that had made the pain in his nose return with a vengeance. “What… why-”

Some of the knights had flinched.

You wasted no time bringing the matter up to him, your voice was loud in the large hall, “Are you telling them about my personal matters too?”

Matthew was quick to understand where your anger was coming from, he got visibly uncomfortable and asked the others, “Gentlemen, will you gave us a moment?”

They didn’t need to be told twice and left the hall before the storm could crash down on them as well.

“Y/n… I-” He stammered.

“Shut it!” You didn’t want to hear it, you didn’t care that you were shouting at him either, “How could you?! You promised never to tell, and now I learn that you have broken your promise! It was not your secret to share!”

Matthew’s expression filled with remorse. “I am so sorry. It was just talk among men, nothing else.”

It was infuriating how he tried to make it sound like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing, not to you. Trust was hard for the Dawn Folk, especially for yourself, and to be treated like this… “For you it was just ‘talk among men’, for me it is my personal affairs, that I trusted you with!”

He remained quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. “I did not know it would hurt you.”

Was he so inconsiderate?

Bitterly you told him of what your father had said, “My father thought it would be a good idea to have you as a knight, not just for your competence, but because he wanted to make me happy by having you live in our home.”

Matthew was pleasantly surprised, “Really?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “But ever since I’ve arrived here, you have been different to me. I am not one of your conquests, Matthew. We were never more than friends, even when I wanted to be more.”

He tried to touch your arm but you recoiled from him. “We can be more, y/n. I want us to be more.”

“I DON’T! I can barely look at you now!” It was unbelievable that he could act like he had not betrayed your trust severely. “You didn’t see me. I was so infatuated with you and you never looked in my direction with the same interest. I do not think you even really care for me, I cannot even trust you anymore. Where did my friend go? The one who respected me as I was, because I was me.”

The memories of childhood, when you played together by the creek, were painful now.

Matthew went down to his knees, sensing that this conversation was going the bad route. “I do respect you. I do care for you. Please, forgive me. I am a fool.”

“That, you are.”

A voice came from behind you. Matthew looked past you to see the Ash Man watch him be down on his knees for forgiveness. If that not dented his pride…

You gestured with your hand for Lancelot to leave. He reluctantly walked passed you and Matthew, and left the hall.

Matthew was not happy with the interference but kept it to himself. “I respect you, you must believe me.”

Slowly you shook your head. “No, you don’t. And I… I don’t think I want to be friends with someone who saw me as just another conquest. I thought I was more than that to you, I was wrong. I can feel how you are trying to see me as someone I am not.”

You stepped back and heard the door of the fort open again, this time your father walked in and saw the knight on his knees.

Neither of you looked happy now, you had known Matthew for years, but maybe you never truly knew him at all. Or maybe you were not the only one who had changed.

You walked away before your father could ask questions that would only make it worse. If he needed answers, Matthew was free to give them.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Ciro had taken Squirrel to the place he said he often had ‘great adventures’.

The library.

Poor Squirrel was counting on a real adventure but had to settle for the written ones.

While Ciro sat on the floor to read, Squirrel searched the books for something that wouldn’t bore him too much. Your cousin was the first you saw when entering the library, Squirrel was trying to climb a shelf to reach one of the old books at the top.

Of course it had to be those…

“Here, let me help.” You hurried over, before he could break his neck, and plucked the book he was aiming for off of the shelf.

After looking at it for no more than three counts, he handed it back to you. “Mirena is teaching me how to read. But I don’t find it very interesting.”

You couldn’t believe that you were not aware that he could not read yet, “I never knew you couldn’t read.”

Squirrel shrugged his shoulders and walked along the shelves again. “It’s boring.”

Ah, yes. He was the sort of child that needed extra motivation for certain things.

You gave him some encouragement, “You’ll find something to read that you will enjoy. Or maybe you will even write something yourself.”

He didn’t have much faith on the matter, “There’s nothing here for me to read.”

There had to be something there that he might like. “What do you want to read about?”

The boy thought for a moment, then exclaimed, “Moon Wings!”

You recalled a book that had some stories about them. “We have something about them here. Let me look for it.”

“What does it look like?” He asked.

You began to search for it. “It’s a big, heavy book, leather bound. Brown, with golden details on the front.”

Squirrel began his search for this book as well. Minutes passed before you found it at the top of a shelf, what idiot had put it up so high?…

The boy helped you stack some books on top of each other and by standing on the stack you were able to collect the book. A thick layer of dust was covering it and you tried to get it off as best as you could, then knelt down on the floor to look through the pages with him. The small sketch of a Moon Wing decorated a page about a hundred pages in, there was some information on them that you helped him to read. It got Squirrel interested in the rest of the book, so you sat with him for quite some time, in the meantime Ciro was consumed by the book he was reading off in the corner. There were so many pages, it wasn’t until your eyes began to burn that you looked to a window and saw that the sun had gone down.

“I think I should be taking the two of you to get dinner.” You began to close the book.

Squirrel prevented it, now having grown interested in the literature, “Can I take the book with me?”

You saw no issue. “Of course you can, just be careful with it. We do not have as many books anymore since the war.”

He closed the book, picked it up, and when he tried to stand the book slipped out of his hands. It landed on the floor, one or two pages fell out.

Squirrel looked so genuinely concerned for your reaction and gave a sheepish small smile. “Sorry…”

You bend down to put the pages back into the book, then saw the pages the book had fallen open on. A page that held a drawing of something familiar, even the boy saw.

A sketch of an unknown face, with tear-like markings beneath the eyes…

“Those marks, they look like Lancelot’s.” Squirrel pointed it out.

This sketch was of a woman, who’s markings were eerily similar to those of the Ash Man. You picked it up and read some of the text that accompanied the drawing, it spoke of the Ash Folk, of their lineage and the little information that was known of them. There were some names, it mentioned the king of the Ash Folk and his descendant. The book almost fell out of your hands too when Lancelot’s name was written under King Ban’s.

The door of the library was opened, Mirena stepped inside. “There you are, I’ve been looking forever, dinner is getting cold!”

Ciro was on his feet and beside Squirrel not a second later. “Sorry, Aunt Mirena.”

You quickly closed the book and used one of the loose pages as a bookmark for it, you told Squirrel, “I’ll go and put the book in your room. Go on, don’t let dinner get cold.”

With an apologetic look in the direction of your mother, you ushered the children to go with her. Once they were out of the library, you reluctantly ripped the page from the book before Squirrel or anyone else could learn of this and spread the news around. You stuffed the page into the pocket of your vest, then did as promised and brought the book to the room Ciro and Squirrel shared.

Was Lancelot aware of his lineage? Did he even know who his family were?

It dawned on you that he never spoke of them, maybe he did not remember who they were. You decide to get some fresh air after being in the dusty library for hours, the evening wind offered it to you freely outside the fort’s curtain walls. One of the knights stood with his back leaning against the wall, drinking a tankard of last night’s ale, he greeted you.

You returned to the fallen trunk of the tree you had sat on last night. The page in your pocket felt heavy, you would need to give it to Lancelot, he deserved to know. The rapid sound of hooves hitting the ground neared you, and you turned to see a woman ride up the hill on horseback. Her horse galloped into your direction and you knew there was trouble. Your eyes fell on the village next, in the darkness you could see flames light up the night.

The woman halted close to you, panicking as she called out, “Dawn Woman, we need your aid! One of our homes is caught by fire, we fear there will be injured!

“Warn the others!” You shouted to the knight who was coming closer, “Make them bring all the buckets we have and anything that can be used as such!”

You approached her, and she gave you a hand to help you sit behind her on the horse.

She spurred the horse into a gallop immediately, and darted down the hill towards the village down below.

The smell of smoke reached your nostrils long before you arrived at it’s origin. It was one of the larger buildings that was on fire, you knew that it housed quite a few people. Chaos had overtaken the night and villagers tried to help those who had fled the flames. You were helping the first wounded the second your feet touched the ground again. A young woman was crying in agony, the burns on her face were severe. It was a relief to see them disappear when you touched her hand to sooth and heal. She had no time to thank you for it, you were already tending to the next wounded.

The situation was overwhelming, you did not want to run out of energy too quickly, but you couldn’t just let the worst injuries wait. If their situation got worse, it would only take more energy to heal them. You prayed quietly to the Hidden, pleading with them to give you the strength to help your people.

Some stood by and watched the fire consume the building and spread to the one beside it, others cared for the wounded. It was a constant running back and forth of people trying to put the fire out with buckets, with water from the well or of the wagons that hurriedly filled and brought them back from the lake nearby. They needed help, you needed help…

There was too much going on all at once and the panic was overtaking the people around you. An approaching horse darted through the village in your direction like a shadow passing through the chaos.

You knew that horse…

It came to a sharp sudden halt and the boots of it’s rider hit the ground only a few steps away from you. Even with the veil around his face you had recognized him right away, and saw that a part of his cloak was missing, he had used it to make the veil he wore now.

“Lancelot, no! You cannot be here!” You ran up to him, knowing the rules your father had given him. He was not supposed to leave the hill, and broke the rules with his presence in the village.

He had been in the stables tending to Goliath when he heard the woman arrive on horseback to ask for your aid. The call of the Hidden to follow had made him break the rule your father had given him.

Lancelot stubbornly moved past you towards the burning house. “There are still people inside.” He spoke only loud enough for you to hear, “I can smell them.”

Oh gods, no.

Your first instinct was to go towards the flames to save them.

He did not even let you take another step near the burning building. “Don’t! I will go.”

“No, you-” You weren’t willing to let him risk his life.

He saw the fear in your eyes, his hand quickly cupped your cheek, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “Fire cannot burn me.” He let go. “Stay here!”

You feared that the last time you would see the Ash Man, was him entering a burning building. Some had even tried to stop him from doing so to save him from the flames, he fought them off without truly hurting them, then stepped into the fire.

The Hidden made their strong presence known to the village through the burning ashes, they began to collect together and circle the burning building. If it was not so destructive, it would have been considered beautiful, magic hanged in the air. It silenced most of the chaos as people stared at it.

“Please, protect him…” You softly begged the Hidden.

The people around you needed your aid, their shouts for help forced you to spring into action. Finally, the knights of the fort arrived to help, even your parents were present. With tunnel vision you healed one person after another together with them, your eyes never fully left the flames or the presence of the Hidden.

The exhaustion was beginning to take hold on you, but you could not fail them now. Healers from the fort arrived and helped those who could survive waiting for the help of the Dawn Folk.

Mirena healed one next to you and spoke to you loudly, so you would hear her over the noise, “The Hidden is here!”

You saw the people try and fail to get close enough to the fire to put out the flames, the magic of the Hidden was circling it like a barrier.

“Mother, Lancelot is inside!” You cried out in despair.

She couldn’t believe what she had just heard and looked towards the building again. That look in her eyes… you would never forget it. Especially because she looked at you next and you could see the sorrow in her eyes, the pity.

No…

NO.

It was taking too long.

Now that you were a summoner, would the old gods not protect you from harm too? Did it even matter, when you feared that he was burning? It did not.

Mirena must have seen something in your eyes, because she tried to grab your arm when you jumped up to your feet, she failed to do so and called out to your father. “HELIO! STOP HER!”

You ran to the building, to the scorching flames, the heat of it struck your skin once you got close. And then you were on the ground, Helio held you down as you tried to fight your way back to your feet again.

“LET GO!” You did not even hear what he was saying, you screamed it so many times that your throat went sore.

Helio’s attention left you all of a sudden, a woman emerged from the flames with a crying babe that had not seen a blue moon yet. Matthew came to her aid immediately, as those around witnessed how the flames around her never touched her or the child, instead they turned to ashes once they got too close. He led her away from the danger.

The woman refused to go much further than a few feet from the fire and cried out to the flames, “My child!”

You pushed yourself free and got to your feet, Helio caught you by the sleeve. The flames folded open and away from the entrance of the building.

The Ash Man emerged, took some steps away from the fire, then dropped down to his knees. In his arms he held a babe, the other half from the set of twins belonging to the distressed mother.

Exhaustion struck him now that the power of the Hidden was released by him. He did not let it go fully just yet, the flames that perished turned to ashes much faster than it could naturally happen. The ashes were born from within the flames themselves.

The lack of crying made him fear for the infant’s life. When he looked down, he saw that the infant was staring up at the red glowing marks beneath his eyes, and reaching their tiny hands up to touch.

The moment of innocent joy slipped away when he realized. The veil…

There were whispers shared, and looks of shock. They knew who he was, his markings had betrayed him. And yet… no one attacked him. They had seen a man run into fire to save another. The man who had sought to kill them, was now risking his life to save them. He looked to Matthew, to come and take the babe from his hand, which the knight did and the child was returned to it’s mother.

They saw that he was one of them.

He removed the swords from at his side, and while kneeling in submission, laid them out in front of him.

A surrender. His life in the hands of his people, as it always should have been.

You ripped yourself free from Helio’s hold and hurried over to Lancelot. He lifted his head and shook it, signaling for you to stay back, fearing the reaction the people would have to your action.

Fearing you would be seen as a traitor.

A fear struck woman shouted, “It’s the Weeping Monk!”

“He is Fey!” A man called out loud.

Oh no…

You were standing between him and the crowd that grew louder by the revelation. There were weapons being drawn, you could hear and see it.

You reasoned with the shocked villagers, “Killing him will not bring your loved ones back!”

A woman wished for vengeance, “It will bring them justice!”

The war had made many of them colder, it was understandable yet saddening to see. There had to be a way to make them less apprehensive to give him a chance.

If they wanted this to be a trial, then you would give them the true facts, “Justice? He is Ash Folk! If you kill him, you take the last of them away from the Fey! This is exactly what the Church wants, for the Fey to turn against one another! This is why they stole him, as a Fey child, to torment his mind into believing he and any Fey is evil!”

Mirena kept an eye on all of those around, fearing for an escalation to come.

You continued with your pleads, “His death would mean a gift to the Church and a great loss to our people. If the Green Knight saw the good in him, if the Hidden chose him as a summoner, how can we not give him a chance?”

Some of them were willing to listen to you, some were not.

“He did not give us a chance!” A woman shouted and the roaring of the crowd began again.

“He spared the children.” You countered, “And our future by doing so.”

Lancelot did not move from where he knelt on the ground, letting his fate be decide by his people. Often you looked back at him and saw the shame and guilt he always tried to hide from you. There was murmuring among the villagers, they must have heard the stories from children who survived the cleansings the Weeping Monk had attended. Your father surprised all when he came to stand at your side in this, and risked his reputation as protector of the Fey to help Lancelot.

Helio spoke to the people he had protected for decades, “Is this the message we wish to bring our children?! For when they are taken, they are not to return to us?” He gestured to Lancelot. “This could have been any of us!”

He walked over to a Faun Man nearby. “It could have been your boy, Thomas. The Faun Folk’s gift for archery would have served the Church well.”

The man looked to the people beside him and then to the ground.

Your father walked to a Snake Folk woman and spoke to her, “Or your little ones, Hildegard. The Snake Folk’s talent for making poisons would be very desired by our enemies.”

She put her arms around her children and brought them closer.

Helio looked at the submitting Ash Man. “He was just a boy. Someone’s child, stolen from their arms and thrown into war. Break the child, build the monster.” He turned to the crowd once more and gestured to you, “It could have been any of us, it could have been my child.”

Mirena stepped to Helio’s side while speaking to the crowd, “The Hidden has returned the Ash Folk to us. Who are we to question their decision? We are not paladins, we are not Trinity Guards, we are FEY.” She looked at Lancelot. “If you believe he deserves to die, that he cannot be forgiven, I fear for what we have become.”

The mother of the children he had saved came forward from the crowd and slowly approached the kneeling Ash Man. You let her walk past you, seeing how the villagers watched her with silent awe. The Sky Folk woman stopped a step away from him, and for a moment she only looked at him in silence. The Ash Man lifted his eyes to her face when she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I forgive you.” Her words placed the next brick on his road to forgiveness.

This woman could not have thanked him in a more meaningful way than to give him what he so searched for. It was as if he could not believe she had truly spoken the words out loud. She returned to her children, the forgiveness within her was an inspiration to others.

Helio saw the change in the crowd’s attitude towards the Ash Man and approached him quickly. He grabbed the leather of Lancelot’s jerkin at the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Get up!” The poor Ash Man was startled by it. “Walk with me before they change their minds on sparing your life.”

“Father.” You didn’t expect him to help Lancelot at all.

Your father gave you the order as he led Lancelot back to Goliath, “Stay with your mother!”

Helio called out to two of the knights, “See to it that he is back at the fort.”

“Yes, Ser.” They responded and mounted their horses.

There was a strange silence creeping into the villagers as they watched the unburnt Ash Man mount the steed that no longer bore the symbols of the Church.

Helio gave him a low warning, “Leave the hill again without my permission and I will let you rot in the dungeon!”

All he could do was respectfully nod.

When Helio had turned his back and returned to see who else needed healing, Lancelot looked at you.

‘Go’ You mouthed to him.

The knights who were to accompany him urged him to follow, and after seeing your reaction he followed them back to the fort.

You were left somewhat shaken, and you were grateful for the help around you now. Mirena wasn’t too happy after having seen you run towards the fire, and managed to successfully give you a scolding whilst she healed people with you.

The fire had perished with the collective efforts of the village and the knights. And maybe the Ash Man had a hand in getting the fire under control as well, even if he was not aware of it. It was only a few hours before dawn when you returned to the fort, with the help of villagers who so kindly afford to bring you and your family back by wagon. Fortunately so, because this night had taken a toll on the Dawn Folk.

By the time you arrived back at the fort, you headed to your room without detours. You opened the door and by the time it fell shut behind you, you were already lying down on the bed, not even bothering to put the sheets over you even if it was a bit cold.

Faint knocking prevented you from slipping into the world of dreams. You called out quietly for them to enter, it even sounded incoherent to your own ears. The door creaked open, and clicked shut again.

There was no need to look, by now you could identify him based on the sounds and pace of his walk. Lancelot knelt beside the bed and touched your shoulder, “Is there anything you need?”

“Sleep.” You mumbled into your pillow.

A warm quiet chuckle passed his lips, then he was silent for a moment. Almost did you doze off to sleep when he remained quiet.

“Thank you.” He almost whispered, “For what you did for me tonight. I could not have faced them alone.”

You forced an eye open to look at him. “I’m with you, even if it is against an angry crowd.”

A yawn escaped and you closed your eye again. From your pocket, you retrieved the folded page of the book and waved it at him a bit.

Tentatively, he plucked it from your fingers, “What is this?”

“Ash Folk.” It was more mumbling.

He was silent again, probably reading what the page contained.

“Does anyone else know of this?” He sounded rather concerned.

Your eyes opened again. “I do not know for certain. I don’t think anyone has bothered to read the book it came from in years, it was covered in a layer of dust.”

The admission came from him, “What is written here. Is true.”

“About your family?” You risked asking.

He gave a slow nod, “Can we keep this between us? I am not who I once was, here and now is what matters most to me.”

“I promise I won’t tell a soul.” You vowed.

Your eyes grew heavy, all the healing had exhausted your body and it demanded rest. You let your eyes fall shut, feeling how hard it was to keep them open. “I’m so proud… of you… for saving that family. You were incredible.”

Another silence fell, this one lasted for a while. The warmth of his hand landed on your upper arm, it passed on to your skin when he rubbed in soft circles. It was terribly relaxing to experience. The last thing you registered before sleep took you, was the sheets being placed over your form.

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