#especially with someone experiencing it for the first time

[rhaenyraeri]

Forevermore - Remmick

minors dni, 18+!!

Pairing: Remmick x fem!Reader

Summary: During one of his nightly visits, you prompt Remmick to make a hard decision.

Warnings: blood play, oral (fem!receiving), dirty talk, biting, scratching

Word Count: 1.7k

Tonight, like most nights, you let him in. He’d came to your house, leaned up against the wooden post at the top of your steps, using that charm he had to impress you. He didn’t have to most nights. You’d grown particularly found of this vampire, and he’d the same for you, a mere human that he should want to kill. But you were different, and the both of you knew that the dynamic wasn’t good for either of you.

But here you were now, laid face down on the bed as Remmick ran his hands up and down your body. You’d been at it for a few hours now, and you were exhausted. He never got tired, but he understood that someone like you needed a rest every so often. He laid beside you as his hands worshiped the body you let him have every night, the occasional vampiric drool seeping out. Your blood was different to him. It called out of his name like a song, luring him in. intoxicating in a way that others weren’t. Maybe he just convinced himself of that, maybe it was actually different, or maybe he’d been too blinded by his star-crossed love for you. Part of him wanted to turn you, to have you forever, but the other didn’t want to rip you from the life you had. One that had an ending, had trials and tribulations. It would be selfish to change you. At least it’s what he thought. Had he had a choice, he wouldn’t have taken it.

“You’re awfully quiet, Rem. What’s on your mind?” You broke the peaceful silence, knowing that usually he’d had a lot to talk about but tonight he was silent.

“Oh, nothin’, darlin’. Just takin’ in the silence, is all.”

You knew him better, though. For Remmick to not have anything to say, especially now between your nightly sexual sessions. You loved him, and you could swear you felt that he loved you too. You wanted to spend your lifetime with him, as much as he’d probably reject the idea.

“I know you better than that. Come on, tell me what’s going through your mind.”

He sighed, moving to lay beside you on the bed. You matched his movements, turning onto your side to nestle into his body.

“I just.. Well.. I.. Darlin’, I wanna have you forever. I can’t rip you from this life you got, though. It’s too perfect, too taken for granted when you’re cursed to eternity like me.”

You looked up to him, eyes locking onto his face. For the first time, you saw a perturbed look on it, the sense of longing furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh, Rem. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, too. But, we don’t have to be like this. Each day I die a little more, years from now I’ll be all old and wrinkled, and you’ll still be you. Maybe, I.. maybe you’d..” you now took your left hand to push some of his short hair behind his ear, “maybe you could change me?”

His eyes shot to yours. He was shocked, a look you didn’t see very often from him. He couldn’t steal that from you. He also couldn’t bear to lose you, either.

“Darlin’, I.. I don’t want you to lose out on life like this. You’d be here forever, you know that, right? I-I’ve spent centuries here, and it was loneliest damn thing I ever experienced. But then I met you, honey. You’re special to me, more than you know.”

“Rem.. I-I.. I love you. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, a human committed to a creature of the night like you. It’s true, though. And I think, or at least hope, you feel the same way. I’m serious. I want to spend eternity with you.”

You felt your heart start to race at the thought of that. Eternity. Thousands of lifetimes, millions of people living and dying, experiencing things that makes humans.. human. All happening while the two of you were here on this earth to stay. Forever.

He sighed again, this time one dripping with debate. He couldn’t bear the rest of his life without you with him. The hours of daytime he waited in caves and old abandoned houses for the sunset to come, all spent thinking about you. The time between each fuck that you spent resting as he adored you. The times even, that you were most human. The nights you were sick, so you just laid in the bed as he held your sleeping figure. The nights where he got to just spend time with you, appreciating you in more domestic ways. He’d came around your house many times by now, more than you could count. He’d grown immune to the hunger that your blood caused in him. Some nights he wondered just how you would taste, if given the chance. An intrusive thought that refused to leave him.

“I wanna spend it with you too, sweetheart, I do,” he finally spoke, “but are you sure? I want you to be absolutely certain you want it. Everything you know will change. It’s gon’ be hard to get used to.”

“I’m sure, Rem. Sure as I could ever be.”

He gave you a slight smile, he was still unsure about it, having to kill you for you to turn. If he were to do this, he was to do it right. He kissed your forehead, and turned you onto your back. He sat up to hover over you, eyes now red and drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. He kissed you deeply, one filled with love and passion. He moved away from your mouth to kiss your cheek. His teeth grazed down your neck, piercing just enough to feel like a cat scratch but not enough to inflict pain. Almost as if he wanted to take his time teasing you, antagonizing you. He dragged his teeth back up your neck, the thin scratch he just made had become a little more painful as it was being irritated. Slowly, the blood seeped out of your neck and barely touched his tongue. A course and carnal moan erupted from him. The taste of your blood drove him insane. It was sweet, like you. Almost like the sweets he could remember from his childhood, days of many centuries past. He sucked the blood a little more out of your neck, savoring the flavor, then kissing it. One of his hands now had claws, something you’d never seen before. He placed light kisses on your chest down to your stomach, and then your hip bone, right above your core.

“Your blood is so sweet, darlin’. Lemme see how sweet your pussy will taste with your it, too.” One of his hands slid up your leg and up to your stomach. The claws came out as he laid his hand between your breasts. You’d only heard about them in some stories he’d told you. They slightly pierced your skin, dragging little scratches from your chest down to your hip bone. The blood seeped out quick, and he leaned up to lick his way back down your body, taking each droplet in with a moan. He swallowed deeply, drooling a little harder now as he looked up at you.

“You ready for me, sweetheart? I know she is.” You nodded, eagerness churning in your stomach. His mouth met with your pussy, lapping at it like it was his last meal. To be fair, it was his last meal of your humanity. After tonight, you would be a creature of the night alongside him, reigning terror amongst the unexpecting together. He hummed against you, savoring the sweetness of your blood and the intensity of your slick. Before you could grab his hair, he stops his movements and looks up at the scratches on your stomach. He goes up to taste the fresh blood and returns to your pussy, humming in content, then back up to kiss you. Now you’ve tasted what he desired, and it’s all intoxicating for you. He breaks from the kiss to flip you around on your hands and knees, and he puts a clawed hand on your hip, using the other to line himself up with you, before slowly pushing in. His pace is slow at first, taking in the last time you would have this dynamic. You moaned into the pillow, before giving a muffled, “faster.” His speed picks up, his hands on your hips to guide you back to his. Moans filled the room now, reverberating off the walls. It’s all either of you could hear aside from the slapping of your bodies together. You wanted him deeper, so much more deeper than he was now, something you knew couldn’t be acquired but you couldn’t get enough. He fucked you with a different aura tonight, you could feel the love and desire in each thrust. “Fuck, darlin’, you feel so damn good. You like it, huh? You like havin’ me inside you? Fuckin’ you like this?”

All you could do was moan in agreement, the sensualness of it all stealing your words from you. His sounds now turned filthier and rough, each one getting louder and louder the closer he got. “Fuck, Rem, I’m gonna.. fuck, I’m almost..” “I know, honey, let it out sweetheart, come on.” He twirled your hair around his hand and pulled you up so that your neck was level with his mouth. His tongue danced along the old scratches from earlier, tasting the dried blood. As soon as your orgasm hit, his vampiric teeth bit hard onto your neck, sucking on the delicious blood you offered up to him. Your right hand reach up to his face, pressing his teeth harder into you. He came right after, his orgasmic moans rumbled through his teeth and into the puncture wounds. You emitted sounds so ethereal to him, the pain and pleasure of him turning you was unlike anything he’d ever heard before.. almost heavenly. He sucked just a little more of your blood out of you, before slowly pulling out of you and lowering you back down onto the pillow. He laid down beside you once more, pushing hair out of your face as you looked at him. You weren’t in discomfort, no, but you were more at peace? He wasn’t sure how you didn’t react with pain, but the smile you showed him as your eyes fluttered shut gave him all the reassurance he needed. This was the correct choice.

You were his, and he was yours. For now and forever.

[joeldarling]

The View Between Villages (Part I) - Oldman!Joel x F!reader

Summary: Based on a request I lost, you are immune and Oldman!Joel saves you.

Warnings: Glasses!Joel mentioned, no reader description at all, no smut on this part but there'll be on the next one, a bit of angst and slowburn, stubborn!reader x caring!Joel, Abby doesn't exist here. Mentions of violence but nothing graphic. Joel just want to fix things and make reader happy.

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: Anon, I lost your request and I know that wasn't what you asked but I promise I will make something else, I just wanted to say I got REALLY inspired and it turned out something totally different, your idea was amazing and IT WILL BE SOLID ON MY NEXT WRITING! English it’s not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I enjoyed so much this one and the next part will be out in two days with the smut! I just felt like writing some angst background was necessary. You can find more oldman!Joel in my masterlist as well. Feedbacks are utterly appreciated and my requests are always open. 💌

When you arrived in Jackson on a hurried, blood-covered night, carried by a stranger and utterly terrified, you never imagined the community could feel so familiar, so much like home, as if the end of the world wasn't a primary concern. Here, people arrived from all corners, given the chance to reinvent themselves.

And you did the same, leaving your old life behind and deciding that your new beginning wouldn't depend on anyone's help. You were born to be alone, and you were—and always would be—a lone wolf. That no longer bothered you as it did when you were younger and less experienced, almost a burden to those who carried you like unwanted baggage. You had sworn to yourself that you'd never count on anyone again, a vow made the moment an exorbitant number of clickers had chased your last group, decimating all of them except for you, for a peculiar reason.

You were immune—and of course, you had climbed the highest tree you could find and hidden for two entire nights, unsure if you would survive.

You'd always known you were different. As a child, you were left almost dead by a group of revolutionaries after being bitten, but two weeks later, you were still alive, hungry and alone. The wound seemed to heal at a snail's pace, but it didn't kill you. That seemed like a secret to keep, especially with radical scientists looking for a cure. And when one of them finally captured you, you thought it was the end of the line, thinking that maybe what you deserved after tricking death so many times.

Joel Miller was a skeptical man, but few knew the violence that had led him to be so gentle.

Tommy and him had been investigating the same group that had taken Ellie years ago. Even with the significant loss of that damned doctor that Joel had killed, the doctor who was willing to sacrifice a child for a cure he clearly couldn't provide, they hadn't rested. They continued searching for those immune to Cordyceps. When they discovered a part of the group's hideout, Joel was the first to question whether they were holding hostages—people who had a chance to survive and live full mediocre lives—for an almost impossible greater purpose.

It was obvious Tommy didn't approve of his decision. But Joel wanted to understand Ellie; he wanted her to live in a world where, if someone else like her existed, she might feel a little better within Jackson's fragile walls.

Perhaps then, she could forgive him.

He embarked on a journey alone in the middle of the night, giving the excuse that he had swapped his patrol shift with some young boy he couldn't even pronounce the name correctly. He rode all night until dawn when he reached what appeared to be an abandoned hospital, experiencing the same flashbacks of years earlier when his heart raced at the possibility of losing his daughter—again.

Because Ellie was his daughter; he couldn't deny it. Not to himself, not after so much effort and sacrifice had been made to ensure she was breathing safely miles away.

Joel heard loud screams, which sounded like a woman, a desperate one, and didn't hesitate to enter the location with his gun ready to kill whoever was necessary. The place was empty somehow, with only a female figure chained to a gurney, wearing little more than a hospital gown, though it seemed she still had on her underwear. She was scared, appeared injured, and still had two IV access points in her arms.

"Ain't here to hurt ya," he said, his accent echoing strong and gravelly. Despite being almost sixty, Joel was still in good shape, except perhaps for the prominent belly from all the beer he used to drink at Tipsy Bison with Tommy almost every night, and the knee pain he always ignored until he had to take a day or two off patrol to recover. "M'gonna take those access out of ya' and then I will give you m' jacket, okay?"

He slowly described everything he was doing to keep you from screaming, but your eyes were pure panic, as if you were completely dissociating, a way to make everything less painful. And well, the doctor and nurses weren't gentle at all; your arms would certainly be all bruised later if you made it out alive, and the wound around your waist had been roughly shaved so they could examine it. Gods, they didn't even have the right equipment for it. You screamed, begged for them to stop.

It was useless.

But as Joel tried, you nodded. It would be better to die by a bullet than slowly from pseudoscientific experiments.

Joel carefully removed the access points, adjusting the dirty piece of cotton as best he could to prevent any bleeding. Once he got you sitting on the gurney, he took off his own jacket and put it on you. It would be a long ride to Jackson, and you two hadn't much time before they returned. Joel had promised himself he wouldn't kill anyone unnecessarily, knowing how much Ellie would disapprove if she found out. He was tired of being a monster, but he wouldn't leave you to die to the whims of chance or fate.

You didn't say anything, no sound emitted except for a few moans of pain when your bare feet hit the cold, dirty floor. Joel agilely lifted your body and, even with his back aching, carried you with surprising gentleness to the back exit where his horse was tied. Getting onto the animal was a little difficult, but when he managed to adjust your body in front of his, trying as much as possible to keep your body warm in a respectful way, he didn't hesitate to move as fast as he could. Even during the small, breathless pause he took in the middle of the dark and silent woods, you refused the food he offered, not out of fear, but because you felt the horse's swaying would make you vomit at any moment, still groggy from the excessive amount of medicine they got you. Joel remained silent, his expression worried. He had briefly seen the wound that should prove your immunity when he put you on the horse, your body still trembling, but he said nothing. It was none of his business anyway.

You certainly didn't remember when you had fallen asleep, but when you did, you only woke to the sound of metal creaking and distant shouts. A group seemed to be on standby in case they needed to go looking for Joel, but they began to disperse when they saw the old man riding back to the gates, almost two days later, given his figure, holding a young woman in his arms, especially as she clung with all the firmness she could to his thick plaid flannel, which wasn't much, completely weak and hurt.

From that, you were taken to a doctor, received proper care and a new chance, without ever crossing paths with the man to whom you owed your life out of pure stubbornness.

He seemed hesitant whenever he saw you, always about to say something but never doing it. You gave no opening, afraid he would tell others about your secret or feel too intimate to be a regular part of your life.

However, Ellie Williams, or whatever her name was, seemed willing to break down all your walls effortlessly. She struck up conversations during lunch and all other meals, invaded your space, offered to walk you home even if she filled the silence the whole time with chatter and you couldn't even pay attention. It was more like she wanted to be listened to, and later you discovered that she was Joel's adopted daughter. He saved her just as he saved you.

It was one afternoon while she was skipping beside you that Ellie revealed Joel had told her about your immunity — you froze. It wasn't his secret to share. You opened your mouth and closed it, still unsure what to say to a teenager who genuinely seemed to want your friendship. You didn't want to hurt her feelings, but the anger was boiling your blood.

"I am like... this. No one knows it, of course, it's still dangerous even here but... Joel told me the day you guys arrived and made me promise I wouldn't act weird." Her voice was low, as if the two of you were sharing a secret, and in fact, you were. "I thought I was a monster but... You don't look like one. That just means I'm not alone."

A knot formed in your throat as you continued walking, your gaze fixed on your own feet. The wound, a constant reminder of your past, seemed to sting a thousand times more now, burning with shame. It was painfully clear that a girl like her, Ellie, was just lonely. And though you were still frustrated with Joel, you started to understand his perspective. It wasn't his fault, or yours, or hers. You simply didn't know how to handle it.

"I don't like talking about it." You cut the conversation short, something you'd never done before. Ellie looked upset, clearly taken aback by your sudden shift, but you didn't care. You'd reached your house anyway. Slowly, you climbed the steps, crossing your arms, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You stepped inside and slammed the door shut, unable to shake the annoyance. All of this felt like a curse, and honestly, you didn't care about a cure. Not when, after all these years, it clearly wasn't going to work. You were alone, and there was no reason for you to sacrifice yourself for anyone. Selfish tears streamed down your face as your body collapsed onto the sofa. You didn't even notice the fireplace was lit, as if someone had been there, not until you read the note left in rough letters on stained paper on the wooden coffee table.

"Figured ya'd could get cold. The house needs some fixing, let me know when you're available. — J" 

You weren't alone; all those people wanted to help you. Still, the only thing you felt was rage, having spent so long surviving on your own that any display of affection felt like the end of the world. You didn't feel worthy; you felt dirty.

But you weren't the only one. You weren't a freak of nature. You could handle this.

You should.

You fell asleep right there, and when you woke, sunlight had already faded, giving way to the stars and the full moon, another cold night. You searched for Joel’s jacket, the only one you owned, and put it on, deciding to head outside. The clock read nine o'clock; dinner had barely begun.

The leather still carried his scent. You hadn't mustered enough courage to return it, and it was warm, lined inside, preventing the dampness from reaching your other layers of clothing. For the first few days in your new home, you even wore it to sleep, not because you were cold, but because it felt familiar, something you couldn't recall feeling throughout your entire life.

As you walked toward the community hall, shrinking further into the jacket, your mind drifted far away. You knew you should apologize to Ellie; after all, you were the adult, and despite everything, she deserved answers too. You understood more than anyone how lonely Jackson could be. Maybe if you found her there, you could tell her how sorry you were and start again.

Your dissociative state, however, shattered when your body collided with another, sending you sprawling to the ground, your tailbone protesting with a loud crack from the sheer lack of exercise.

“Jeez’, doll!” You'd recognize that voice even with your eyes closed, but staring at his worn and heavy boots was enough to confirm it was Joel offering his large, calloused hand to help you up, a worried look on his face. He was wearing another thick, dark jacket, a scarf, and his glasses seemed fogged by the cold. His curly, graying hair was slicked back as if he'd just stepped out of the shower. “Didn’t saw ya’, my bad. Was lookin’ for ya’ the other day and…” 

His eyes lingered on your body as you stood, brushing dirt from the jacket. Joel would never admit how much his chest swelled with satisfaction seeing you still wearing his jacket. It was certainly too big, but even so, it looked better on you. His gaze softened on your rosy lips, on features he found so beautiful he almost forgot the years that separated you. You were certainly in your mid-twenties or so, but he was still sixty and could be your grandfather.

"I…" You started, trying to form a sentence, but since you'd arrived in town, you hadn't exchanged a single coherent phrase with him, stunned and scared. Joel seemed to understand. "Thank you, Joel. For everything."

That's what escaped your lips, and he nodded, the phrase heavy with meaning dissolving the earlier anger. Because above all, you understood he was just an old man who wanted the best for his daughter, who wanted to understand her world, and yet, he was generous enough for that to involve saving strangers in hospitals and risking his own life during the process.

"Ya' don't have to thank me," he mumbled back, realizing he was still holding your hand and making no move to let go. "Hope I didn't burn your house down with the fire today."

"No, you did not," you replied, pulling your hand from his and burying it in the jacket's pockets, feeling your cheeks burn with a shyness you didn't know still existed deep inside you.

Joel cleared his throat, sounding as awkward as you felt, but instead of moving on, just as he was about to take a step away, he looked at you again.

"Ellie told me ya' got a bit upset today. It was my fault, not hers. She likes you a lot. Don't be mad at her," Joel confessed, sounding somehow emotional. "It was the first time she really talked with me in months… When I rescued you, I told her the reason but… Today was the first time she…"

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't know she wasn't talking with you." You were sincere. "I was going to apologize to her. Maybe we could walk together? I… suppose you're heading to dinner?"

You stumbled over the words slowly, captivating Joel's attention with every second without even realizing it. He wasn't going to dinner, no. It was rare for Joel to have dinner; he usually spent his nights at the Tipsy Bison and ate whatever he found at home afterward since he hated all the chatter in the community hall and all the lines, the stress of choosing a group to interact with due to the lack of individual tables… Well, he was kinda a lone wolf too.

"Yes, sure," he grunted. It was funny how Joel's grumpy demeanor extended to everyone but you. How he seemed to ignore all the waves, especially from all the middle-aged women, as he walked silently beside you, hands in his pockets, toward the community hall.

Before you could even step inside, voices were already audible and you flinched. Joel seemed to notice, looking at you with a raised brow. You certainly hated the stares you attracted; it wasn't as if you'd arrived in Jackson as a refugee or anything. Joel had gone out on his own and returned with you, and whatever his reasons were, clear to you, they certainly weren't—and shouldn't be—to the rest of the community.

"I have sum' stuff at home I could cook for us. I know how… suffocating it can be," he offered gently, as gentle as his husky voice allowed, which sent shivers through your entire body. You knew you shouldn't accept, knew you should continue your life as alone as possible because you viewed all attachments as weaknesses.

That's what they had taught you your whole life. But here… here, affection was present in absolutely everything, and it made you long for something you couldn't have.

Even so.

"That would be nice…" You agreed, sighing in relief. The great food wouldn't compensate for the small talk that churned your stomach, all the filtered parts of your past during a thirty or forty-minute period.

You both began walking in the opposite direction. Joel had a long stride but seemed to make an effort not to let anxiety consume him, adjusting his pace to match yours.

"I saved ya' that day because I was looking for someone like Ellie. Maybe a child or a young man but… that wasn't… just fate. These damn so-called-doctors are stalking people down and treating them like a fuckin' experiment." He sounded almost angry, and you wondered if that's how his and Ellie's lives had crossed.

"I never stepped in to say thank you properly," you began, feeling utterly embarrassed. "I was alone since my last group left me to die, and I… Well, these people you rescued me from, whatever they are called, found and knocked me down. The last thing I remember was being tied and having my bruise scalped and…" Tears threatened to fall from your eyes, the air suddenly thin, and you couldn't finish your sentence, clearing your throat and looking up at the starry sky.

You rarely saw stars in the dense forest; they seemed almost a miracle, a gift.

"I just want you to know that I was alone my entire life, and it's hard for me to let people help… That doesn't mean I'm not immensely grateful for what you did for me. You saved my life, and I owe you forever." You said, your voice still thick with emotion.

"You owe me nothing, darlin', just be happy, and I'll be satisfied." He seemed sincere. Joel was difficult to decipher.

You walked for a bit longer before he pointed to his own house with his right hand. He lived at the end of the street, with a rather beautiful view of the surrounding fields and mountains. When he opened the door and let you in, it felt much more like a home than yours. The furniture was of the same worn standard, but picture frames were scattered about with the few photographs he had: an unknown girl in a purple shirt, placed directly above the fireplace in a photo where he was smiling and looked years younger, even before everything happened. A photo of Ellie and another one of Tommy beside a younger Joel. They weren't many things, but they felt personal.

The sofa held a beige blanket, and the fire in the fireplace was almost dead. He attentively switched on the lights and gestured for you to make yourself at home.

Joel wasn't good at small talk but neither were you and the silence felt comfortable. You settled into one of the chairs around the not-too-large table, entertained by what looked like a cube full of colors that never seemed to align correctly.

You hadn't seen much of the world, never even had the opportunity as you were born after everything had fallen apart. Deep down, you held onto the belief that you couldn't miss something you'd never experienced. Still, you knew life was about more than just surviving, eating rabbits, and leaving a trail of blood wherever you went.

"It's called a 'magic cube,' you have to match the colors right," Joel said, his tone almost playful, as he put pasta into a pot of water and searched for other ingredients to make what was presumably a sauce. "I never solved it; it's quite impossible."

"Indeed it is," you agreed, examining it with curiosity, trying to find a solution.

"How old are you?" he asked, using another pot and pouring ingredients into it.

"Twenty-four. I'll be twenty-five next spring. I just don't know the day, so I just assume it's the first one after that." You answered, still too focused on the cube, but deciding to put it aside the moment you realized it truly seemed to have no solution, letting out a single laugh to yourself. “It’s funny.” 

“You can take them. Ellie has plenty of those. She lives in the garage.” He explained, seeming hopeful that maybe his relationship with his daughter could improve.

Joel continued to unravel the mysteries in his own kitchen and you started to feel slightly useless just standing there. Rising from that feeling, you moved to the sink, beginning to wash whatever he dirtied and set aside for more than three seconds. It was almost like a silent connection. You both seemed to function well, your bodies nearly touching, sharing the small space in synchrony with the warmth you both emanated.

You knew Joel was a broken man, and like you, he carried demons he'd never dared to face. Perhaps, that was the most beautiful part of him.

When everything was ready, and he set the food on the table, along with the plates and glasses filled with cold water, you moved towards your chair, bumping into him for the second time that night. This one, however, instead of letting you collide, Joel caught your waist, and your faces were forced to meet. His breathing seemed labored, and his strong arms were exposed by his moss-green t-shirt, having shed his outer layers minutes before for better mobility.

"Watch out, beautiful," was the only thing he said, making no move to release your waist, his touch deepening, as did the tension between you. He looked at you almost as if he were starving, and the confusion in your eyes didn't seem to be an impediment, because deep down, you felt the same thing. 

Joel finally looked into your eyes, and all you knew was that the entire world had fallen silent, as if it were waiting for something.

[sightseertrespasser]

Oh my gosh, your reply to the ask about Blue has such a genius idea! This is something that struck me and I wanted to share it (hopefully my ramblings here make some sense). The fact that Prowl and Bluestreak are twins already implies they’d have similarities, and while it’d probably be easier for other humans to tell the difference, of course the Cybertronians would have a harder time telling the two apart. Prowl and Blue have similar (if not identical) genetics; add to that experiencing similar side effects to being mecha pilots and any Cybertronian would be hard-pressed to tell the two apart at first glance. This does add more potential for after the Cybertronians find their human and they all officially meet each other. Because the Cybertronians would see similarities between the brothers, sure, but they’d also see how each of them is also very different. In hindsight they’d probably question how they’d ever mistake one brother for the other, especially given all the time they’ve no doubt shared on their respective journeys. Oh, and the parallels between the two of them…one can’t leave his mecha without dying, and the other is driving himself into an early grave trying to stay in his mecha. Once Prowl and Blue see each other, they’d probably hone in on just how bad things have gotten for the other. Twin telepathy aside, there’s things only siblings would notice.

Now going back to the Cybertronians rescuing their human...if they find the wrong one that’d just get all kinds of confusion and stress:

Sunny and Sides finding Prowl and panicking because "what do you mean you’re out of your mecha? Get back to your life support before you literally fry your brain! You can’t survive long enough outside, you know that! Why are you just staring?"

Then there’s Jazz trying to coax Bluestreak out of whatever machinery the Quintessons are using to keep him stable while they try to extract the super computer. He’s promising Blue that "we’ll be okay, the Quints are nowhere near us and I’ll make sure we get out. It’ll be faster if we just escape now though, and—wait. What do you mean you need to find Prowl? That’s your literal name. Did you get another concussion?"

Now, Bluestreak’s kind of out of it when Jazz finds him. However, the moment Jazz mentions Prowl he’s entirely focused on what Jazz is saying. Maybe he was super loopy from whatever the Quints did to stabilize him so they could remove him from his mecha, but just hearing Prowl mentioned brings more alertness. (Maybe the super computer in his brain picks up on that one mention of his brother and deduces that someone who’d mention Prowl in a place like this would only do so if they expected him to be there.) So now Blue is wondering if Prowl really is there, if his brother might actually be connected to this strange Cybertronian right in front of him. He starts talking about Prowl and how Jazz is right and that "we should leave now because I have to let my brother know everything’s alright since the last time we were together things didn’t end too well, and if I know my brother, Prowl’s probably been trying to bury things in work even though he knows that never helps—it never did before—and he’s probably going to need someone to pull him out of that spiral and you’re sure Prowl is here?"

And Prowl. He’d have been seen as the more stable of the two super computers, meaning the Quints were probably going to use him as a backup if whatever they’re doing to Blue failed. So maybe he started making his escape (he’d probably have learned more than a few tricks from Jazz’s repertoire), and because he knows he can’t get far without Jazz or his mecha, he’s currently trying to find one or the other. When he does stumble upon the room with his mecha, he’s ready to find Jazz and get out of there. Except when he gets closer to the shape he thought was his mecha, he freezes. Because no amount of blurry vision or vague shapes could ever make him forget Bluestreak’s mecha. Too many things play through his mind and he can’t make sense of it all. He knows the shape looming before him was destroyed and he doesn’t understand. So when he hears two complete strangers calling out his brother’s name…can he really dare to hope his brother’s alive?

There’s already so much you can do with either side of this, like the question of who will find who first. Will Jazz manage to get Bluestreak out in time to get him to his mecha? Would they run into Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Prowl, or would it be vice versa? Would the Quints find the whole gang right as they’re about to escape? Or would that just lead into an epic fight? It’s been so long since Prowl and Bluestreak had been on the battlefield together. What if they just as easily fell back into their roles, into how it used to be. Though of course, both might have picked up some tricks and skills from their respective Cybertronians. Imagine the surprise each of them have when they see the other pull moves they definitely did not have before. And in the background, the Cybertronians in question being very proud of how it was them that taught their human to move or fight like that.

This is definitely a fun idea!

Incidentally, I’ve found I really like stories with good uses of communication barriers and understandable misunderstandings so I propose this concept to add to it:

Jazz has been learning English and Bluestreak has learned cybertronian, but Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Prowl haven’t learned each others languages.

Even with Bluestreak being kinda out of it, Jazz could put two and two together of “long lost twin” and “person who looks exactly like Prowl but act’s nothing like him.”

But the Twins on the other hand.

They find Prowl and no one can communicate with each other. Everyone is having a breakdown.

“Why isn’t Blue talking to us anymore? Why can’t he recognize us? Did the quintessons erase all his memories of our time together? Did they somehow turn Blue evil? Because even when we first met he wasn’t anywhere near this hostile. Even if he’s kicking and screaming we have to help him. He hates us he hates us why does he hate us?!”

Meanwhile, Prowl is getting manhandled by a couple of mechs he doesn’t know and can barely see and he’s absolutely fucking furious about it

Just, imagine Bluestreak and Jazz meeting and it’s this whole emotional moment of “You’re alive! Your brothers alive! You might both be dying but please just hold out a little longer he’s got to be nearby. You miss each other so damn much and I’ll do anything to reunite you two.”

And then Sunny and Sides round the corner holding Prowl at arm’s length like some kind of Satan possessed ferret.

[eviesaurusrex]

longed for so long | P. Pascal

Pedro Pascal x Photographer!Reader

summary: Pedro didn’t think he would ever see YN—his sister’s best friend—ever again. Until he did. And oh boy, was he still smitten.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: fluff, mention of age gap (reader is described being around Lux’s age), more fluff, being part of the family, reader is a photographer, reader is described as being shorter than Pedro, insecurities, kissing, my Spanish skills using Google, not 100% proofread

author’s note: I think I’m finally onto something when it comes to the sweetheart this man is. Sorry for the shit ending, tho! Dividers are by @enchanthings-a!

It was always a joyous affair whenever someone's birthday was celebrated, and the family tried to come together. So it was no surprise when he arrived at his sister's house in California and was greeted by the people he held most dear to his heart, already celebrating the new year his sister begun.

"¡Feliz cumpleaños!" The man grinned widely after his booming greeting, one arm filled with presents, while his other hugged Lux close to him, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She laughed at his obnoxious grin and patted his cheek closest to her, pressing a kiss of her own to it. "Thank you," she smiled at him, accepting the stacked gifts. "Make yourself at home, hermano. But could you help—…. YN! What in god's name… Put that down, it's too heavy, querida!"

Pedro felt like he was experiencing a heart attack right this instant when his eyes fell on the one woman he never could quite forget, not even after years without seeing her. She was even prettier than in his lousy imagination, the man realized then and there when he watched her carefully balancing a cake board topped with the most spectacular birthday cake he had seen so far.

YN blinked in their direction, her arms slightly shaking in her pretty, flowy blouse dotted with tiny, delicately embroidered daisies, her eyes widening when they fell on Pedro standing in the hallway.

"Oh," was all that escaped her in a breathless whisper before her eyes settled onto Lux standing there with her fists propped against her hips, eyes almost burning a hole into her face. "It's not that heavy, Lulu. Remember, I carried this thing from the Airbnb into the car and up to the door—and even managed to ring the bell!" She didn't mention that she had done that with the tip of her nose and had experienced an honest-to-god moment of almost instant death when she feared the cake would follow earth's gravitational forces.

YN felt her heart beat so rapidly inside her chest that she felt like passing out when her eyes jumped back to Pedro's handsome face she seemingly saw everywhere she went these days—not that she minded. Quite the opposite despite the ache and longing always settling in immediately, and still, she loved the view of her New Yorker office directly onto a massive billboard showing Pedro Pascal in all his glory, watching her while she bloomed in her new job. It was almost as if it was her good luck charm, that silly billboard, because everything had been smooth sailing ever since seeing it across the street when she stepped into the new office for the first time on her first day.

But now? With him in his very flesh and bone mere feet apart from her?

Her lifelong schoolgirl crush came barreling back—the same lifelong schoolgirl crush she suspected was something much deeper and more profound than she would ever tell a soul. YN ignored the fact that she had spilled her secret to Lux during a drunk girl's night out with pleasure, especially when she caught the teasing, menacing gleam in her best friend's eyes. Perhaps she should put the cake down and instead take her feet into her hands and run, leaving the country.

That seemingly tempting thought evaporated into thin air when Pedro stepped toward her, closer than he had been in years, his big hands outstretched in her direction, kind eyes looking warmly down at her. YN knew her heart had just stopped beating altogether. Especially when he directed that smile at her—the smile he only showed in the rarest of moments; so sweet it almost turned her into a diabetic; so heart-achingly genuine YN knew he held not a single malicious bone in his body.

"Let me, princesa," he murmured, making her almost miss it entirely over the rushing sound in her ears. Was she experiencing a stroke? YN allowed him to take over; his hands slid under the cake board and heaved the cake into his hold with ease, their hands touching at the exchange, making them both freeze mid-movement. She couldn't avert her eyes from his, even if YN tried, the skin where he had touched her fingers tingling in the most pleasant of ways, forcing her to swallow drily.

Lux's clearing of her throat made YN jump out of it, pushing her to stagger a few steps back, a trembling smile gracing her lips. "Thank you." Pedro nodded woodenly, eyes widened a fraction before he turned on the spot and carried the cake across the hallway and into the living room, where the rest of the family started to cheer and greet the man.

YN, on the other hand?

She had to lean her back against the wall right behind her, her head hanging lowly while she took deep, steadying breaths. A groan fought its way out of her when she heard the birthday girl chuckle. "You two idiotas need to stop this, whatever this is," she decided, and YN looked up through her lashes, brows furrowed. "I don't know what you mean, and I'm not sure if I like the train of thought you're seemingly having there." Lux let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes remaining on her, and YN wasn't sure if she liked that very much either. "Are you blind, querida? Everyone can see the signals—except for, well, you two. He is smitten. He is head over heels. He is longing for you. Do I need to write this down for your little chicken head to grasp it?"

YN sputtered at the suggestion, shaking her head in clear and complete denial. "Excuse me? Chicken head? I will remind you that I was valedictorian of our year—both in high school and college." Lux rolled her eyes with a smile, tucking at her lips before YN could even continue. "And I think you've read too many romance novels for your own good. Longing for me? Please." Even the implication was so laughable, the woman almost turned into a hysterically giggling mess.

As if someone like Pedro would fancy someone like her. He was this amazing, kind, compassionate, loving, and beyond-talented man who could have literally any human being walking this earth—men and women alike—while she was… well. She was YN. His little sister's best friend since childhood. The annoying girl who spent more time at their home than at hers, trailing behind him whenever he was near, looking up at him with wide eyes even though he had always ignored her. The woman who always tagged along during family holidays because Lux knew she would be lonely if she didn't bring her—in her opinion, YN had been adopted a very long time ago anyway. So, no. Pedro would most definitely not be smitten with someone like her.

"What's that supposed to mean, querida?" Lux watched her as closely as a hawk, her head cocked to one side. But knowing what the other woman would think and say if YN shared her self-deprecating thoughts, all she did was shrug her shoulders almost helplessly, wringing her hands in anxious repetition. "Och, love," the birthday girl smiled then so soothingly, it warmed YN from the inside out. "Well, I will keep my mouth shut—for now, but only because I cannot wait for my cake. We will be talking about this again."

It sounded like a threat, but either way, YN only rolled her eyes at that, allowing Lux to pull her arm through hers and lead them into the living room, where José sat up immediately, his arms opened wide. "¡Mi querida YN! ¿Cómo has estado? The cake looks spectacular, dear. You have outdone yourself once more." Smiling, she let herself get hugged by the older man, soaking in the warmth and welcoming feeling she had always received in this family. "I've been busy," she still smiled when his hand patted her cheek gently, a fatherly expression on his face. "So we've been told! We all were very proud when Lux told us about your new job—it was a brave thing to do, mija." Feeling her cheeks warm under the praise and the soft Spanish term for daughter, YN tried to get out of the spotlight. "It's barely worth mentioning, really. It was time for a change, that's all."

The woman felt a gaze on her body, and when she turned, she saw Pedro watching their exchange with a soft expression, a somewhat far-off look in his eyes, not even realizing she had caught him. He only woke from his trance when José and Lux pulled her to her chair—right next to him, sharing a conspiratorial look when they sat on their respective spots, deep in conversation.

Cumpleaños Feliz was sung, and the cake was cut into pieces in a flurry of emotions and laughter around the grand table when Pedro started to speak. "We haven't seen each other… in a while," he opened, and YN nodded at that, daring a glance in his direction, seeing him already watching her. "Yeah, I guess we were both pretty busy?" Apparently busy for years and always missing one another by a mere few days whenever they had visited. Pedro hummed softly, taking a savoring bite of the cake she had spent hours upon hours in the small kitchen of the even smaller Airbnb she had rented in the city, involuntarily asking herself if it was to his taste.

His slowly closing eyes and the soft moan escaping him at the fork-full of cake was more than enough for her—and not enough at all. The sound made a shudder run across her back and made her skin tingle yet again, her mouth suddenly very dry and competing with Death Valley.

"This is heavenly," Pedro spoke with so much sincerity after he opened his eyes again and stared right into hers, not moving an inch, barely even blinking. The compliment pulled at the corners of her mouth and tucked her lips into a broad smile, and Pedro was sure he stopped breathing altogether at the radiance she was personified. "You think so?" He nodded without hesitation, taking another bite, the flavors exploding on his tongue, and leaning back in his chair, he took the plate with him, cradling it to his chest, and continued eating the most delicious cake he had ever had the pleasure to taste. It hit all the boxes for him—and knowing YN made it? The woman he had longed for for so long? The knowledge topped it off like a cherry on top.

He watched her intently when her radiant smile morphed into a wide-spreading grin and YN leaned back in her chair herself, settling into the comfortable cushions and watching him just as intently. "Well, then enjoy. There is more where this slice came from. Unlike other bakers, I don't do fake styrofoam layers." Chuckling at that, Pedro let his cheek rest against the backrest of his chair, not letting his gaze stride away from her.

He couldn't, even if he'd try.

"Of course you don't," the man mumbled and felt practically thrilled when he saw the warmth in her cheeks and the bashful glance she threw in his direction. "What were you up to beside baking? You got that fancy job in Manhattan when we last saw each other. Are you still into photography?" He still remembered the excitement floating through the house back then, Lux already planning her move and the furniture they would need to find during one of their many girl trips. And he still remembered the heaviness settling into his chest at the prospect of barely seeing her anymore. That they wouldn't see each other for years? Pedro certainly hadn't expected that.

His life had been somewhat empty without her smiling eyes, her charm, and her witty retorts whenever they had quarreled and bickered like an old married couple despite trying to deny what he felt. He had played the denial game for so long, he finally realized how stupid it was. He couldn't care less for the opinions of others, of strangers when it came to his life and the one he wanted to share it with in his wildest dreams.

His eyes tracked the movement of her lips when YN gathered her glass of homemade lemonade, watched her throat move with each sip, her tongue gliding across her bottom lip after the glass had found its spot on the table again. By god, he still was as mesmerized by her every move as he had been before she had left for New York City, perhaps even more so than before, with only daydreams and memories of her as his companion.

"Well, that fancy job turned out to be a life and soul-sucking monstrosity in a pretty costume, which has taken me a moment too long to realize and do something about it." His heart almost broke for her if her next words didn't exist—and still, he felt the hollow ache right in his chest. "It took a while, but the moment I was brave enough to be done with it, I quit and never looked back. It was hard for a while, and it wasn't pretty, but Lux kept looking out for me." Pedro watched YN glance across the table, the clear love for his sister showing on her face a reminder of what these two went through together in all the years they had known one another.

As she shook her head gently, her soft locks caressed the skin on his arm, and the man was almost too weak not to lean closer, feeling it again—feeling more—but he kept his composure—for now. Pedro wasn't sure if he'd survive this day without doing something foolish because of how much she made him lose his mind with every little thing she did. He must not feel well because even watching her breathe did something to him.

"Papá said something about a new job?" Maybe he was noisy, maybe he was prodding at things he didn't have any business knowing, but he wanted so desperately to know everything there was. He was glad that Lux was so focused on the conversations around her that she didn't pay them any attention because if she had, he knew he would be in trouble.

YN turned bashful again, her finger following the wooden carving of the table. "I have this Instagram profile for my photography—I just put everything on there, you know? My professional work, my snapshots, unedited pieces. Well, someone seemed to like it all very much, my take on things, the way I capture scenes, my editing, so I… I handed in my application via DM? To Variety? And they liked it so much, I got a job interview within hours, and they…" Pedro edged a little closer. "They hired you. They had to. If not, they are a bunch of idiotas," he grinned, practically glowing at the sound of her giggle.

He had achieved that.

The woman glanced up at him through her lashes, making the man almost swoon, and yet again, he lost his grip on himself. He would make a fool of himself today; he felt it in the air—and he didn't mind it. Not when it was for her.

"These idiotas made me their Chief Photographer," she revealed with yet another giggle which suddenly died down when his hand found the side of her neck and his lips pressed a gentle kiss to each of her soft cheeks, lingering far longer than necessary. "I'm so proud of you, princesa. You, of all people, deserve it the most." It was a mere whisper, practically drowned by the other voices echoing through the room, and still, YN stared at him, her eyes slightly wider than usual, her lips slightly parted, and oh, how much he wanted to feel them, to taste them. Dios mío, was all Pedro could think, still leaning into her space, unable to move back.

She didn't seem to mind, though?

And this observation made hope grow inside him.

"I really missed you, Pedrito," YN then smiled at him, that sweet smile morphing into a full-blown grin when Pedro felt his cheeks warm at the familiar, silly nickname, his eyes averting for a moment or two before he glanced back at her teasingly sparkling eyes. But there also was a sincerity to be found, which let his heart rate spike in unhealthy ways, especially when his fantasy and imagination started to run havoc in his mind. "I missed you too, cariño, more than you think," he whispered back, his voice turning hoarse at the too-intimate endearment, but she continued to sit right next to him, not storming away.

Instead, a soft expression settled on her pretty features, and he saw her hand rising in the corner of his vision. Pedro held his breath in bone-shaking anticipation and didn't dare to let it out in a sigh when her warm palm cupped his jawline, resting there heavily. Everything around them seemed to move far away until only YN existed right in front of him—and the question she asked.

"Would you like to go for a stroll?"

YN wasn't sure where she had taken that bravery to ask him for a smidge of his time alone, away from the thrown glances she was sure Lux wouldn't deny if she asked, the satisfied smile on the face of José, and the teasing stares Nicolás and Javiera shared with each other. She wasn't stupid. Ever since that fateful drunken night, seemingly everyone in the family knew of her silly, soul-filling crush on the eldest child—and everyone seemed to be approving of it despite the age gap between Pedro and her.

It isn't as if I'm just out of college, a small voice in her head reminded her, and she had to agree. She was a grown woman with a respectable job and life experience. She had been in love, heartbroken, and had her own ups and downs, which taught her more than she cared to contemplate. She wasn't the school girl anymore, the younger friend of his younger sister. She was an adult—a successful one at that.

And still, another voice reminded her that he was Pedro Pascal.

But the hateful voice quieted down the moment they had reached the beach, and YN slipped out of her shoes, already bending down to grab them—but a larger, male hand was faster and snatched them out of her reach. Looking up, she blinked at the handsome man wearing a smile and turning him from handsome to otherworldly—her shoes dangling from the tips of his fingers before they found their spot tucked underneath his arm where his shoes rested as well. And suddenly, her heart stopped all over again when he stretched a hesitant arm out toward her, palm facing upward, a question on his face he didn't need to articulate.

It was nothing YN had to consider because her body reacted on instinct and desire alone; their hands fit together quite perfectly when their fingers laced tightly together and their palms pressed against each other. She had to swallow drily when his smile turned that tad sweeter, and she was sure he would be the cause of YN turning into a diabetic—she wouldn't mind it. Not when she was allowed to see more of those smiles he rarely—if ever—showed on social media.

"You don't have to carry my smelly shoes, y'know?" YN tried to joke around her anxiousness, around her nervousness and failed miserably when Pedro nudged her with their laced fingers, squeezing her hand in the process of it. "You are a lady, and I am a gentleman—of course I carry your smelly shoes, cariño."

YN's heart stopped anew at Pedro's use of the softest endearment known to mankind—in her humble opinion—and she knew she would never grow tired of hearing it. She had almost fallen to her knees when he had used it for the first time inside, her cheeks so warm, she was sure the aliens in outer space could see how flushed they were. And despite hating whenever she was flustered, she longed to hear it again.

When Pedro softly pulled at her hand when she halted her steps for a moment, YN caught back up to him, walking beside the man in the sun-warmed sand, their lands softly swaying back and forth. "You know," she began then, not knowing why she would say the things she was about to tell him. "There is this huge billboard in Manhattan of you—it's massive, really. Hard to miss." She was rambling. She needed to stop. "And, funnily enough, it's right outside my office. They gave me a corner office with windows from floor to ceiling, with all this natural light coming in—and your face was the first thing I saw when I stepped foot into this—my—new space." YN didn't dare to look up at him; instead, she let her gaze wander across the ocean to her left and the beach right in front of them. But then, as if something forced her to look either way, despite feeling bone-deep insecurity swirling around in her stomach, she glanced up at him. "I think you are my good luck charm."

Not the billboard. Not the picture of him.

But him.

He stopped walking and faced her instead, dark, warm eyes roaming across her face, looking for something he seemed to find because YN still recognized the soft thud of shoes dropping into the sand when he stretched out his other arm as well, his fingers grazing the skin of her naked arm. They wandered up and up and up until they reached one of her locks of hair, softly swaying in the breeze and catching it, Pedro slowly let it curl around his fingers, eyes never leaving her face.

"YN…" The raspy sound of his voice would be her undoing. "If I overstep… I apologize for it. I would never do something you don't want, but I… Please…” She had never seen him speechless in a way that would resemble this moment. It wasn't because of his anxiety, she could easily tell, but something else entirely. His eyes jumped from her eyes to her lips and back up again as if he caught himself too late and didn't want to make a wrong impression, but all it did was make her stomach flutter and her heart ache. So, she took a step closer, squeezing his hand gently while her other fingers slowly grasped for one of the buttons of his shirt, playing with it to distract herself from the stupid thing she would do in a matter of seconds.

Looking up at him, YN let her gaze linger a moment longer than necessary on his soft-looking lips before they shared a long look, which made his hand wander further from her shoulder up to her neck and cheek, where his palm cupped her skin and made her lean into the touch. "Pedro…"

It was her whisper that undid him, and the man dove for her lips, bending his neck to capture them in a tender but desperate kiss, pulling her in at their lazed fingers. He soaked in the tiny sound she made, a sound he wanted to hear over and over again, which made his knees turn into jello. A sigh left him at their contact, and he never thought he would crave her more than before, never thought it possible, and still, he felt it all the more because now he knew how she tasted—sweet like pastries—and how she felt in his hands, on his lips.

No, he would never get enough of this woman he had fallen for years ago.

He pulled her in even closer until their bodies were pressed together, and even then, he felt like it wasn't enough. "Mi amor," Pedro couldn't hold back the whisper escaping him when their lips parted to catch up on breathing, nudging her nose with his and complied to the urgent pulling of her fingers wrapped around his chin. He hummed, deeply satisfied when YN kissed him of her own accord just as desperately as he had, clearly showing him how he wasn't alone in his longing.

Lux had been right, after all.

"This is not a game for me, Pedrito," the woman in his arms whispered then, right against his lips, making him almost double over. Staring into her eyes and trying to convey as much certainty and assuredness as he was capable of, Pedro cupped her face with both hands, holding it as if she was something precious to protect—because that was precisely what she encompassed for him. "It's not a game for me either, YNN. I respect and adore you too much to treat you like something you are not, so let me be clear about it." A soft kiss was pressed to her lips before he continued: "I will wine and dine you, I will spoil you rotten, I will shower you in affection, love, and respect. You will be my number one priority every single day until you get rid of me. I am on my knees at your feet."

He could watch the smile spreading across her face and lighting up her eyes. It shouldn't shock him anymore what power she held over him, and still, he was shocked.

"So… Hypothetically, I don't get rid of you… Will you stay forever, then?"

Their laughter echoed across the beach when Pedro hoisted her into his arms and spun circles with the woman he loved on the beach they first met.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean the world to me if you'd consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog! <3

[infinitatis-ink]

Ocean Meetings

Dragon!Gojo x Ama!Reader

Summary: The first time you encounter Gojo, even the divinity you can feel radiating from him doesn’t stop you from threatening to kill him if he took any of the day’s catch.    

A/N: This is one of the more self indulgent ideas I had floating around my mind when I first got into JJK. There's still a lot I'd need to flesh out, but might as well put this idea out there first!

Other Notes: An ama usually refers to a woman who freedives to harvest seafood such as abalone. Later, they would also be known for pearl diving.

CW: Near death by drowning

MNDI. MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

The first time you encounter Gojo, even the divinity you can feel radiating from him doesn’t stop you from threatening to kill him if he took any of the day’s catch.    

You spend your days as an ama, diving for abalone and other shellfish in the ocean to eke out a meager living for yourself. It’s a hard life, especially when more experienced ama have claimed all the best spots, and a recent string of bad harvests means you can’t pay someone to take you out into deeper waters with more to catch. Now you’re stuck diving from the shore where the competition's keener, frustrated and fiercely possessive of whatever you can get.

So when you see this white haired stranger in luxurious clothes you’d never be able to afford poking around your meager catch, you snap. You must’ve looked ridiculous in his eyes, yelling at him to back off from your earnings or you’d gut him like a fish while wielding a tiny knife. It’s stupid and reckless, but you don’t care anymore. You’re not going to starve just because some stranger thinks he can simply take what’s yours, consequences be damned. 

But the stranger doesn’t get angry. He’s not even offended.

Instead, he laughs and tells you not to worry, because he was just curious, that’s all.  

Your anger’s suddenly doused by his words, replaced with unease and confusion. Now that you’ve got a cooler head, there’s a strange aura coming from this man. It sinks into your bones with a deep thrum, accompanied by the heavy scent of a stormy ocean. You even swear you can hear the faint crackle of thunder in the distance.   

Everything about this man demands reverence, and you’d spat in his face with your defiance. 

“What’s there to be curious about?” you ask, before hastily adding, “Sir.”

“Oh, there’s no need for honorifics,” the stranger replies, still smiling. “I’ve never cared for them. So, what is it that you do anyways?”

Shocked, you don’t know what else to do but answer him. And strangely enough, he listens with rapt attention as you give him clipped explanations of your job, from the tools and tricks of your trade (“You only wear a loincloth?” he asks. You don’t miss how he glances at your bare chest for longer than you’d like), to the stiff competition you face from other amas (“Fight back,” he simply says, but you shake your head. You can't afford to alienate your community when you have nobody else, as tenuous as the relationship was). 

Something about the attention the man gives you puts you at ease the longer you talk, until you’re telling him that you’ve had to fend for yourself ever since your parents died. You stop then, embarrassed that you had said too much. He doesn’t pry, and gets up instead.

“I like you,” he declares. “I’ll come back another day.”

You nod mutely, still taken aback by his directness. But as he turns to leave, you suddenly realise you never got a name.

“Wait!” you call out. “May I at least get your name?”

The man gives you a bright, sharp smile.

“Gojo,” he replies, and the sound of his name echoes in your mind long after he’s left.

True to his word, Gojo continues to show up before your work day, either to pester you with questions about your job and life, or with some nonsensical story. At first you indulge him with brief answers, but you soon find yourself waking up earlier and earlier to meet him by the shore. He's carefree, talking about anything that comes to his mind, but with a surprisingly sharp memory when it comes to you, and time passes by so fast when you’re with him.

You don't know when you began to fall in love with Gojo. Maybe it was when you'd agreed to watch the sun rise with him, and saw the way years fell from his face as he basked in the sun's rays, his lips twitching up to a tender smile. Or maybe it was during one of your many conversations with him, and you'd watch him laugh at his own joke and thought you'd never heard anything more beautiful in your life before that. One thing's for certain; around him, you remember how it’s like to feel loved.

But Gojo's reluctance to say anything about himself makes you hesitant to want more from your relationship with him. You notice he’ll have a bitter expression whenever you talk about the festivals your village holds, honouring their patron deities of the ocean. And any questions you’ve asked about him are deflected with jokes and long silences too. Once, you'd asked about his childhood, and Gojo had given you a confused look, like you'd started speaking in a different language. 

“I didn't have one,” he finally tells you hesitantly. It's the most honest he's ever been about himself.

Really, the more you see Gojo, the harder it is to ignore his uncanniness. His insistence on meeting at isolated spots on the shore, and refusal to be seen by others. Smiles that reveal glimpses of too-sharp teeth, the way his vividly blue eyes sometimes turn snake-like, how the air grows heavy with rain whenever he’s around. 

(And when you're in deeper waters, you swear you can see streaks of white shimmering in the distance.)

The strangeness doesn’t stop at him, either. Wherever you go diving now, the seabed is flush with abalones and sea cucumbers, more than you can carry and sell in a day. Unusually long periods of calm waters and fine weather. Fresh fish washing up on the shore, always right next to the tub with your day’s catch. You even found a large sea bream once, and when you cut it open, gold coins spilled out of its belly.

It all comes to a head one particularly windy day with rough, but swimmable waters. It happens so suddenly; one moment, you spot a large cluster of abalones in some deeper waters, and the next, you’re being pulled by strong current into the darkness below. You’ve always known that being an ama comes with the risk of drowning, but nothing could prepare you for how swiftly it comes, choking your lungs with seawater as your strength gradually fails you. 

Ah, so this is it, you think as your vision fades away. I’m sorry, Gojo, for leaving so suddenly…

The last thing you remember seeing before you black out is a flash of pearl white scales rushing towards you—

The first thing you notice when you regain consciousness is the feeling of sand against your bare back, and the distant rumbling of thunder. The second is the dragon in the water, a mass of white scales and gold claws as it restlessly circles the shallows, its blue, serpentine eyes constantly darting towards the shore.    

You only need one glance to know who it is.

(And everything makes sense now.)

When you step into the water, Gojo freezes, and for the first time since you’ve met, there’s no falsity between the two of you. 

You break the silence first, approaching him with your hands held up. You’re not angry, you say, and you know he has a good reason to not tell you about this side of himself. But if he was willing, could the two of you start over?

The silence after your question is palpable, and you think you’ve made the biggest mistake in your life.

But when Gojo glides towards you, scale and claw giving way to a human form, and he offers his hand to you, you know you’ve chosen right.

[tmblrplsdonutbanme]

Calling radfem artists and writers for @amireallymeangirl.

TW

@amireallymeangirl is a very very kind radfem who came to radblr to look for support. She has been having an extremely hard time because of her endometriosis which resulted in a hysterectomy. She feels dysphoric as a woman and posted that she felt suicidal. In a response to this, "blackpill feminists" have flooded her inbox telling her to commit suicide. some blackpills have posted that they hope she kills herself or dies in her operation. They successfully bullied her off tumblr, making her feel more alone than ever.

@amireallymeangirl came to Tumblr to look for a sense of community. I ask that radfems show your support by submitting a drawing, a story, or just kind words to help her go through this

I'll go first. I'm not an artist, and my pencil was running out of led around 20 hands in, but I attempted to draw a uterus made of hands tearing itself apart to represent to feeling of pain that comes with endometriosis. The addition of hands was to represent that her body was ejecting it and reaching out for help. I made this in attempt to ease her dysphoria after her hysterectomy by making it feel unnatural.

I'm entrusting this in better artists because my vision ended up looking quite morbid

I'm officially out of led, and no pencil sharpener so ill stop here and leave the rest off to u

Look at the people who want to support you, @amireallymeangirl

Contributions

Art:

Contribution from @melancholy-symphony here

Photography:

Contribution from @niiwa-angel here

Posts:

Contribution from @colombinaa here

" I want you OP to know that you have my full support. This speculations are disgusting and horrible to read. Whoever came up with them is a heartless monster rotten to the core. I know what it's like to have nothing working for you anymore. I sometimes fear of having to get a hysterectomy in my future, as it's in my family history and my situation has been bad since my first menstruation. To go through such a surgery is so hard on the self. I may have not experienced one, but i saw it firsthand, with my own two eyes, and i saw what it does. I know that sense of guilt around having female-specific health problems, especially people's dismissal of them and of your pain. That look they give you... like they're deciding whether they wanna put you and your weakness in an asylum or to tell you to shut up and go back to work. Because of all of this, i want you to know that i see you OP, and i hear you. Your experiences and feelings are 100% valid. I also want you to know that me, and many other women on radbir, want you in this world. You deserve a place on Earth and i don't want you to think otherwise. You have all my love and support. ~~~ To see that you have deleted all your posts after your concerning words is very worrying. I know you may have simply decided to get off this app, which i think is what’s best for you right now; still, i am preoccupied. So if you read this, please know that i want you here on this planet. It is your right to live. You are loved and wanted by many. I’m sending you lots and lots of hugs, sister. You deserve life."

Contribution by @monsteradarling here

@amireallymeangirl is a woman with a great, warm heart, with intelligence to envy. She's thoughtful and kind, a sharp tongue when it's needed, and a softness when it comes to caring for others.

What she's been put through has been downright evil. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, never mind someone as genuinely lovely as her.

If you read this: those thoughts and desires aren't you. They're the cruellest attacks from a vicious voice that you don't deserve. Take all of the time that you need to heal, with all of the support that you need. You're not alone, and there are people here that really care about you. Don't ever be afraid to reach out for help. Love to you. x

#amireallymeangirl

Asks:

Contribution from anonymous

Contribution from anonymous

[wheels-of-despair]

Biscuits Pairing: Sam (Warfare) x You Summary: Mrs. Sam gets bored and picks up a new hobby. Contains: Sleeping, healing, a trip into town, breakfast, memories. Words: 2.2k

You've never seen a person sleep so much in your life.

Sleeping is healing. Sam's not grumbling or complaining when he's asleep. You're just happy that he's home, where you can see him (and hear him snoring) but honestly, you kind of miss him. You appear at regular intervals throughout the day to rouse him and stuff another pill in his mouth or give him an injection or force him to drink water and eat a little solid food, but otherwise… you're on your own.

You understood. You slept so much in the little blue armchair beside his hospital bed, you wondered if something might be wrong with you. A friendly nurse had assured you that it was normal; people sleep better when they feel safe. You slept better than you had in ages at Sam's bedside, in that awful vinyl chair that made your back hurt and your ass sweat, because he was with you. He's sleeping hard now because he's home, and he knows you're watching over him.

But damn, you miss him.

To keep from staring at your sleeping husband for hours at a time, you decided to start writing a book. That was the plan, when you quit your job at the publishing company and moved across the country; to write something that's good, rather than something that's popular. You want to write something that means something to someone. Even if it's just one someone. You're not worried about talk show appearances or becoming a blockbuster franchise starring today's hottest heartthrobs. You just want to tell stories.

And you had plenty of ideas, until you that blank document on your laptop stared you down.

So instead, you cleaned the house. You didn't really want to move stuff without Sam, because the house was still as his grandmother left it, so you scrubbed and dusted and put everything right back where you found it.

Sam snored on.

You were grateful for Dwayne, your neighbor and Sam's childhood friend, who stopped in a few times to check on you and provide a few minutes of engaging conversation. He was your only connection to the outside world. You have got talk to someone about setting up an internet connection here. If only your cell could get a signal…

When the day of Sam's first physical therapy appointment rolled around, you were positively giddy. You didn't want to leave him home alone, so you hadn't left the house since you'd moved in over a week ago. Your longest excursion in that time had been to the mailbox. You couldn't believe that you were actually looking forward to experiencing traffic and crowds again.

You planned to get him checked into the office, and then find the nearest grocery store and shop with other people and engage in small talk with the cashier while you buy everything that'll fit in your car. Maybe you'd even find a dusty shelf of former bestsellers somewhere in the store. You could use some new reading material, since all of your books are currently packed away in a rented storage shed.

Most of the books Sam's grandmother owned were of the cook book variety. You got so bored this week, you even read those. You weren't much of a cook, to be honest. You could bake, as evidenced by the treats in the care packages that Sam assured you his buddies overseas went nuts over…

But, like, cooking a whole meal? From scratch? Using ingredients? It had never been on your to-do list, but you were curious now (and really, really bored) and you wanted to learn. No time like the present, especially when you're stuck in a creaky old house with Sleeping Beauty and writer's block and no internet connection.

Sam was tired and hungry after his workout with the new therapist. You helped him hobble through the parking lot and back into the car, then stopped by a mom-and-pop on the way home. You went in to order burgers and fries at the counter and brought them to the car to eat, because Sam was too exhausted to do any more walking.

"What's this remind you of?" you ask, munching on your burger and staring into the trash-littered woods from the restaurant's parking lot.

"Friday nights on the hill," he answers without missing a beat. He dunks three fries in the little paper ketchup cup and shoves them into his mouth. "Miss that truck."

"She lived a good life," you tease.

Sam left Rusty Rhoda in your care when went to California for training. His beloved pickup got you back and forth from community college for about six months, until something exploded under the hood and a mechanic quoted you about ten times her actual worth to get it fixed. Rusty Rhoda was put to rest in a junkyard in the town where you grew up together.

Your dad and step-family still live there. Sam's mom had divorced the ponytailed douchebag and re-married twice since then. You're not sure where she's living now. You'd called to update her on Sam's recovery a few times, but she always had something more important going on and cut the call short. You told him that she sent her love anyway. He knew you were lying. He always does.

"Until someone killed her," Sam sighs mournfully.

"Rusty Rhoda was on her last leg when you bought her," you remind him. "Hence her unfortunate name."

Sam grins, knowing you're right.

He fell asleep on the drive home.

After you got him out of the car and back into bed, you had an entire store's worth of groceries to unload. You didn't have the energy to cook anything after all that, and since you'd already eaten, you read one of the trashy paperbacks you'd bought off the $1 rack instead.

The next morning, you woke up ready to start cooking. You pulled three different dog-eared cook books off of the low kitchen shelf and flipped through, but didn't find anything that sounded appetizing. (Or easy. Baby steps, y'know.) You went to put them back, thinking maybe you'd settle for cereal and try again tomorrow, but the books wouldn't go back on the shelf. You got down on your knees to see what was blocking the hole they came out of, and your eyes landed on a wooden box.

You hadn't seen that when you dusted everything last week. You reach back between the books, imagining fanged creepy-crawlies ready to pounce as your hand closes on the box, making you pull it out quickly. The box is the same color as the wooden shelf. No wonder you didn't see it. You blow the dust off of it and rub your finger across the top, trying to make out the carved text.

Mama's Recipe's

Sam's dad must have made this as a kid.

You rise with the dusty little box, placing it on the counter and staring at it for a moment. Why does this feel like a sacred object? Its just a recipe box. Made by a man who's dead. For his dead mother. Probably containing secret family recipes.

But you're part of the family now, right? Wouldn't Grandma Dottie want you to carry on her traditions, for Sam? Her only grandson? The one she left everything to, including this recipe box?

You start to open the top. The hinges creak, and you stop to glance around the kitchen and make sure you're not caught. Like you're a kid trying to sneak into the cookie jar. Stop being ridiculous, you tell yourself, before opening the creaky box the rest of the way.

It's packed full of hand-written index cards. Some are more worn than others, but all are a bit yellowed from age.

Your family would never dream of leaving you something as important as this.

The index cards are packed in the box too tightly to flip through, so you carefully remove a few from the front. You recognize Grandma Dottie's handwriting from the birthday cards she used to send you; each card contained a sweet sentiment about growing up, a thank-you for looking out for Sam, and a crisp $5 bill.

You'd given the money to Sam when he ran away to see her one last time, but you still have all of the cards.

The recipes are not in alphabetical order. You can't discern any order whatsoever, actually. But they all sound fantastic, so you wonder if perhaps Grandma Dottie just put her most recently-used recipe card in the front of the box. Or maybe the back? Is there anything in here that doesn't sound amazing?

You skim every recipe card, and you're still not sure what to make. You decide to start at the front of the box. Thanks to your visit to the grocery store yesterday, you have everything you need to make Mama's Biscuits.

You find yourself mumbling to a woman you've never met face-to-face as you measure and second-guess every move. "Is this right, Grandma Dottie?" "Is the dough supposed to be this sticky, Grandma Dottie?" "Where's your biscuit-cutter, Grandma Dottie?" "Do these look brown enough, Grandma Dottie?"

It takes far longer than you thought it would, but when you finally pull the hot pan of biscuits from the oven, they're gorgeous. They smell like comfort, and warmth, and something you can't quite put your finger on. Maybe they smell like the home you never had. You pluck one out with your fingertips and drop it on the counter to make it cool faster. You have to sample one, just to make sure it's good enough for Sam. When the biscuit has cooled enough to touch, you tear off a piece and carefully place it on your tongue… and moan. You've never moaned at your own cooking before.

You throw together a pile of eggs and bacon, which seems to take seconds after all that careful measuring and mixing and cutting.

Sam shuffles in while you're removing the last of the bacon from the frying pan. He sinks into a seat at the table and yawns, trying to rub the fog from his eyes.

"You're up early," you smile, glancing back before reaching for a plate. You were planning to wake him up and lure him out of bed with the promise of a nice big breakfast, so this is a surprise.

"I was dreaming about Grandma's biscuits," he says sheepishly, scrunching his face adorably and stretching his arms into the air.

You grin and step in front of the biscuit pan so he can't see you putting them on his plate. Once his eggs and bacon and biscuits are arranged neatly, you grab a fork and cross the room to put the plate on the table in front of him.

"What if I told you it wasn't a dream?" you ask, sitting beside him.

His eyes fall to the two biscuits on his plate.

He cautiously picks one up, tearing off a piece and looking at you suspiciously.

He pops it in his mouth and chews, and his eyes widen.

"How did you…?"

"I found her recipe box," you answer quietly. "I hope she doesn't mind."

Sam looks from his plate, to you, and back to his plate.

"I'm gonna be honest with you right now," he says seriously, "I'm not sure if I wanna cry or hug you or stuff twelve of these in my mouth."

"You're a talented guy," you smirk, "you can probably pull off all three."

Sam laughs and stuffs his mouth with a bigger bite of biscuit, then reaches for your chair and yanks it closer. He hugs you tight, chewing right in your ear. You'll let it slide… this time.

"Don't forget to cry," you remind him.

He laughs, and then he chokes on his big bite of biscuit, and you wriggle out of his embrace so you can get him a glass of the sweet tea you made while you were waiting on your biscuits to bake. He takes it and chugs.

"Tea too?!" he exclaims after he's washed down his biscuit. "Woman, if I hadn't already wife'd you up…"

"You owe this woman tears," you remind him. "And I can get them the easy way, or I can get them the fun way."

Sam laughs and splits open the other biscuit with his fork, piling it with eggs and bacon before topping it off and pushing the plate toward you.

"Try that before you decide what to do with me," he instructs.

You pick up the biscuit, losing a bit of egg out of the back on the way to your mouth, and take a bite.

"Oh, my god," you mumble through a mouthful.

"Tastes like Sunday morning," Sam smiles. "Grandma knew the only way to get me out of bed in time for church was to lure me into the kitchen with bacon and eggs and biscuits."

You smile and slide the plate back to him.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" he asks, picking his sandwich up and taking a big bite. He closes his eyes and lets out a quiet moan. That might be the highest compliment you've ever received.

You hesitate. Sam's brow furrows in concern as he chews. You wait for him to swallow, knowing he's going to laugh when you explain. And if he chokes on your biscuits again, you're going assume they're too dry, and that you've failed Grandma Dottie.

"I ate three when they came out of the oven," you finally admit.

"Grandma's still got it," Sam laughs.

[amethyst-marshmallow]

Please hold me / I'll hold you no matter what

woke up in a cold sweat had to draw gays/ref kinda erm anyway

rbs over likes!!!!!!!!!

yapping under cut :3 i love these guys sooo much (contains hcs for both and also their relationship) also erm side note this is like basically half the shrimpo yapping post i mentioned making and side note 2 ignore it if this makes no sense and it has one william typos it is currently past 2 am as im writing this and i am VIBRATING i lvoe them sm

i like to imagine cosmo as being like a doctor/medic of some sort to the other toons (given his ability to heal)(sprout and ginger (and whatever other healers end up getting added but they kinda have their own shit goin on with sprout being a main and ginger only being around during christmastimes) would also be kinda like this but cosmo is like this especially to me) not only in physical health but also mental health,, i think he just naturally is the type of person who is very good at comforting others plus he also probably does extra research to be able to help ppl and make sure everyones doing ok ^-^ even if it takes a toll on him too (why his ability also takes one of his own hearts*)

*i imagine that the hearts ingame are not only representative of their physical health but also MENTAL health,,, since ichor corrupts you by first taking over your MIND then twisting u to the point ur basically a zombiee (in my hcs)(i have a wip yap post about this too) which is why the mains have one heart permanently broken bc the whole situation stresses them out more,,

(Tw i use he/she/they for shrimpo and i use them all interchangeably sorry if this is confusing lmaooo)

Shrimpo on the other hand is sooo touch starved like SOOOO touch starved. they have many many issues and i also imagine that they were kinda disregarded/treated like shit by the toon handlers and also other ppl due to his role in the show. Also another pretty common hc but i imagine that bc of her species they have to drink more water than other toons but they were never??? told for some reason?????? speaking to how little they actually cared for shrimpo.,, anyway while gardenview was still active she was told to drink water but they viewed it more as the toon handlers just asking him to do stuff for no reason since you know. they were never told WHY and also he was given so little affection in general that sh ejust became really touch starved and got the impression that no one likes him and hes only there as a joke WHICH TO BE FAIR. IS PARTIALLY TRUE. so now hes just kinda worries that he HAS to be mean otherwise he will be literally forgotten by EVERYONE since he just. doesnt think he has any other defining characteristics (i actually think she does have many hobbies and talents/skills but she doesnt think shes as good as any of the other toons making him disregard any of those talents entirely) (the main intrest i have for him is writing but liek i just said he has intrests in like a zillion other things too) (am i projecting WHO KNOWSSSSSSSSSSSSS)

(ok for this paragraph i only used she/her for shrimpo and he/him for cosmo to hopefully make it less confusing)

So for their relationship would probably be literally the best thing to happen to shrimpo since cosmo is THERE for her to give her the affection she never got to get, to comfort her which is a thing shes never had before,, she couldnt even take a complement without assuming its a joke at first and now she has someone to support her to care for her,,, like almost a hurt/comfort kinda trope??????

Cosmo i think would probably have suspected she was hurting a long time ago like maybe even before gardenview shut down but once he KNEW he was hurting he wanted to help him,, and the experience is healing for them both bc cosmo kinda feels liek its his purpose to heal people and to be sprouts companion (BOO ANOTHER COMMON HEADCANON) but shrimpo has experienced thinking you only have one purpose before SO shes also there for HIM to let him know hes SO MUCH MORE than just a doctor,,,,,,,,,,, jkdbifjas so theyre there for EACH OTHER so SUPPORT EACH OTHER TOGETHER!!,!! and also its a reather common hc that while cosmo IS nice he is also very very polite so he wont rlly insult anyone but shrimpo is almost like the opposite so cosmo can teach shrimpo patience while shrimpo can teach cosmo that its ok to not neccisarily be polite about everythigns and to let ppl know when ur at ur limit :3 if you know what i mean,,,,,, ndifsiofbisan they can be SO GOOD together theyre such an underrated ship

ok rant OVER than k

[summercourtship]

Could I request an nsfw alphabet for ghostface?

of course!!!!! i miss writing ghostface lol he's such a weirdo. some answers I gave answers for both the real world and Entity's realm bc I think it's fun to think about both. It's implied that you knew and were involved with Danny before you were brought into the Entity's realm.

NSFW Alphabet: Danny Johnson/Ghostface (Dead by Daylight) (18+)

warnings: very unhealthy relationships, mentions/implications of dubious consent, typical horror content, danny is a weirdo and also not nice

SEND ME A CHARACTER FOR A NSFW ALPHABET | CHARACTER LIST

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Listen. He's not doing shit for you. If you want someone who actually cares about your wellbeing, a serial killer is not it. Maybe he'll give you a cigarette. If you fall asleep after, he might leave you something on your kitchen table for when you wake up.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: His hands. They are what enable him to do his work-- both in a reporting sense and in a killing sense. I see Danny as being a very tactile person-- he enjoys touching and feeling what he's doing. And that includes you. Yours: He is an ass man and you cannot change my mind.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

At first, before he trusts that you won't turn him in, I think he would use a condom. He's not risking leaving that DNA evidence behind. But once it seems like you're trustworthy, he'll stop. Then he goes kinda overboard-- he wants to mark you all over, be it your ass, tits, or face. (In the Entity's realm, he could be convinced to finish inside just so you don't have to worry about getting his come everywhere (ew) but also he's just as likely to not listen).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If you get him at the exact right moment, you could get him to be more submissive. But it would definitely be an exception rather than a rule in your relationship.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I can see him having more one-night stands than actual relationships. He definitely knows what he's doing, but he rarely finds himself seeing the same person more than a few times. But you... you're something different. He's not quite sure why, but he wants to keep you around for as long as possible, his attraction to you bordering on obsession.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He enjoys taking you from behind but has a certain affinity to taking you prone. Feeling you helpless beneath him is its own motivator for him, especially if you struggle a bit.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

If he's laughing, it's entirely at your expense. He is light-hearted, but in a way that puts you as the butt of the joke.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

OK so I generally am pro-bush for all characters I write for but for him specifically, I can see him shaving his body hair just to lessen the amount of potential DNA evidence he's leaving. Unlike with the condoms, this wouldn't change because he will still be killing other people and doesn't want to risk leaving any evidence behind.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is not and will never be a "romantic." The only time he would ever be remotely romantic would be if he was trying to maintain the ruse that he is Jed Olsen, a normal guy, and not actually Ghostface. But once you know his secret, he won't play around with tender words or affectionate touches. No, then you get to see him as he truly is and he won't hold back. You should just pray that you're as into it as he is (you are, even if you never tell him in those words).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he first started stalking you, he definitely touched himself while he was watching you. If he caught you masturbating? You can bet he pulled out his camera to take pictures and used said pictures as masturbation material for longer than he'd like to admit.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Predator/Prey, like, come on! This only got worse when you were brought into the Entity's realm-- now, he can really lean into the thrill of chasing you down and taking you on the ground, watching as your hands grapple for purchase on the ground and only manage to get dirt under your fingernails. He can be as violent as he wants because you'll just wake back up at the campfire, free of cuts and bruises and ready for him to take you again.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The floor/ground. It directly correlates to the aforementioned predator/prey kink, when he sees you he just has this primal need to push you onto the ground and take you then and there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

To name a few: voyeurism (both with you being oblivious and with you knowing what he's doing); the thought of killing you (but not actually, see the next letter); the knowledge that despite everything he does to you, you like it (though he would be in denial if you didn't, so good luck)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He'll threaten it (because the idea of it turns him on), but he won't actually kill you. Mainly because he knows that once he does it, he won't be able to get you back. But once you appeared in the Entity's realm? Those concerns are thrown right out the window! Now he can kill you whenever he wants and, better yet, do it again the next day.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

If he's wearing his mask, he's not going to bother with giving oral. When he does give, he's not too concerned with actually making you feel good but sees it as the precursor to intercourse. When he is on the receiving end, he also does not particularly care about your comfort. He'll fuck your face and only stop if it seems like you're going to throw up, he'll hold your head so he controls the speed, generally shitty behavior.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Danny views sex as a power play, and the way he fucks you makes this clear. It's rough, a punishing pace that feels almost like he is using you as a means to get off.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

A large majority of what the two of you do could be considered a quickie. It's a lot more likely that he visits, fucks you, and leaves than him staying around and spending the night after. But if he is taking his time with you, it will be an all night affair.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes! Although, again, it's on his terms and he doesn't really care if you don't seem to enthusiastic about the idea.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

If he comes to you before killing, it'll be one average length round (maybe a little on the short side, if he's willing to get on with killing/too excited by the prospect). If he comes to you after killing, he'll be going all night, it really gets his blood pumping.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No. Unless his knife counts. Or rope. Or duct tape.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He definitely likes to build up to it, though it may not be stereotypical teasing. He is a master at creating a suspenseful atmosphere when he wants to. He will semi-regularly role-play like you're in a horror movie, which definitely helps build up arousal. If he's just visiting for a quickie, it won't be that in depth, but he does love playing with his food. In the Entity's realm, expect him to spend the entire trial he has with you gradually building up to the moment when he catches you and has his way with you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Expect lots of grunts and growls and moans. And dirty talk, especially if he finds out that his voice modulator really gets you excited. Despite everything else about his demeanor when you're having sex, he does want you to know that he's enjoying himself.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is a very jealous lover. Don't even think about flirting with anyone else if you don't want to find polaroid pictures of their corpses around your home. The sex when he's jealous is particularly punishing, like he thinks you need to be reminded who you belong to. (You never forgot).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Slightly above average length, average girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high, especially after a kill.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He does not-- I imagine he often has to actually go find someone to kill since he's holding back from killing you, if he wasn't already on his way to do so. But you might wake up to fresh coffee and a somewhat nice but definitely creepy note on your kitchen table. In the Entity's realm, he also cannot fall asleep after because he either has to hunt down the rest of your team or figure out what he wants to do with you. Half of the time, he lets you go. The other half... well, at least you don't die permanently.

[just-a-carrot]

So I was originally going to ask something completely and totally different but I wanted to genuinely ask: we generally know the cast’s alcohol tolerance, what’s their weed tolerance if they were to do it? And what kind of high would they be?

Because I can imagine Iggy takes one puff and starts seeing the hat man (That’s not normal btw. Bro just has insane weed anxiety. Definitely rambles “oh my god my parents are gonna know I’m high” despite being 30 years old + living by himself at that point)

Orlam was in a frat. He has smoked before in my honest opinion. I like to think his tolerance is similar to his alcohol. Orlam’s been high this whole time. He’ll, he’s nearly greened out, but no one can fucking tell because he’s playing it off so well (Nobody let him drive tho. It’s not safe genuinely). All his college buddies are like “Orlam did you even have a hit” and Orlam’s 9 hits deep and looks like he could file his taxes (I imagine him having the WORST hangovers tho to make up for it. He looks like the dead when he wakes up the next day and doesn’t move for a solid 6 whole hours)

I have ideas for the other characters but I genuinely want to know your opinion (if you’re comfortable) because thinking about it is genuinely so hilarious to me

Hahaha what a question 🤣

I admit I'm not very experienced in this, so perhaps my answers can't be very thorough (and may not be super accurate either, as they're only based on vibes). I have only tried it once myself and didn't really like it so it's hard for me to say with a lot of certainty 😂

starting first with what you said, it feels pretty accurate to me. I agree that Orlam would probably be similar as with alcohol where he wouldn't really show it at all. It just feels very fitting for him. I think that perhaps he wouldn't be one to indulge in it often but if offered (and using his acumen to ascertain the vibes and security of the place) he would be happy to, especially with others. I don't think he's the type to ever use it on his own though, more so as a social thing

Iggy also feels accurate. I think he'd be the type to get a bit wary around it, especially as he's always had a thing about "not getting in trouble," and also just get really zonked out and squishy and touchy, just like wanting to cuddle and letting his inhibitions go of liking to feel someone's warmth against him in a secure soft way, especially because he'd quickly just get so out of it and woozy. I think it'd be hard for him though because he can't handle the smoking aspect. so he'd probably need edibles or someone to blow it in his mouth no I have never thought about this not once ever 😃

I think Genzou'd probably use it the most out of the crew, it just fits him somehow LOL he'd probably be the type to just roll himself one before bed sometimes. Or if he's having a particularly bad day. He's probably quite used to it so would need a lot to feel a strong high, and in those cases would just get really lazy and chill and a little bit silly

Gidget feels like the type who might have used it sometimes in college while hanging out in big groups but not really afterwards, maybe just in very certain occasions with friends. I think they'd mostly just get a bit giggly but it's hard for me to picture super well

I don't think bucks has ever or would ever tbh, she just doesn't strike me that way, so it's hard for me to say. Probably because there would have been quite strict regulations while she played ball so she never even thought about it and it carried on even afterwards

I hope this feels mostly accurate hahaha 🤣 but also since I'm not much of an expert I welcome anyone else's head canons about it

[octavikravecell218]

Ok once again im gonna break this down so it’s easier to comprehend

1) how dare you 😂- lease don’t make me out to be some massive heartless bitch or call me vile

As someone who was bullied everyday at school and by family family members ( and abused by them in every way ) I do feel sorry that lando got bullied - but that does not give an excuse to be a prick or mean you had a hard life . I’m talking about his upbringing the way he was raised by his family . Bullying has got nothing to do with that

You clearly didn’t get my point- lando makes out that comes from hardship , financial hardship and has had to work for everything he’s ever done

He makes out like he’s from a rough background

And I’m telling you as someone from Bristol who HAS experienced that hardship that that is not what lando has come from

Lando comes an insane amount of wealth and privilege but he never admits that

That is my argument which you clearly didn’t understand the first time hope this helps

Also I’m using max as an example because I do support max and you(lando fans) seem to want to crucify him and Oscar

Lando said in DTS point blank that he had a hard upbringing because he was bullied and max had it so easy especially when it came to getting into f1

I call that bullshit

Lando comes from such vast wealth and a supportive family who paid for his junior career

Who’s only difficult was getting bullied - which does suck but doesn’t mean you’ve had a hard LIFE

Vs max who’s been abused since he was a child and came from a violent and broken home and everyone knows that

I’d rather be lando with all my money and my mansion and my private school and my horses than max getting abused

2) my point is I don’t care if you don’t say anything - ignorance it’s dangerous

But it’s not as dangerous and publicly praising someone’s bad comments

I can pretend that Oscar doesn’t support mark Webber and therefore I’m not driven to either

The second Oscar publicly says he agrees with and supports webbers statements then I will go after because he has a large platform . Lando has done that and so I am Oscar hasn’t made that mistake yet

Staying silent isn’t the answer but the bar for f1 is so low that I will take the silence over dangerous words

3) am I talking about you personally ? Do I know you? Have I ever met you? No

I’m taking about lando fans AS A WHOLE

His fan base absolutely coddles him and treats him like a child

Also please don’t make out like I dismissed his mental health work when all I said is that HIS TEAM (not him) weaponises it

I’ve been on antidepressants since I was 17

My mother killed herself when I was 14 I’ve had multiple suicide attempts- I’ve got depression anxiety and PTSD cause I’ve been through ACTUAL HARDSHIP

Please spare me the mental health talk I don’t need it from a random stranger who doesn’t know me

I’ve praised lando for his mental health advocacy as I said above if you read it is that I can’t imagine how stressful it must be for lando and that I do think he needs to talk to someone

But two things can be true at once

Lando does need help and McLaren use his mental health as a shield to deflect from criticism

4) I’m using Seb and Lewis as examples because THEYRE THE ONES YOU COMPARE HIM TO

once again not talking about you specifically just in case you think it’s about you personally I mean lando fans as a whole

You guys love to compare him to Vettel

And in the media he gets called the next Hamilton

I’m saying that if you’re going to Chuck those big comparisons out there they better fucking stick

And they’re not

Because lando hasn’t done any best as much, as big, or as good a work as the two aforementioned drivers

I’m not using them to tear lando down

But if you guys wanna compare them I will compare them in every sense

And lando can’t hold a candle to those two

That’s what I was saying

5) who am I defending ? Max? I know you don’t know me personally but I have been VERY critical of max verstappen

His association with the piquets is something I’m uncomfortable with - like Oscar’s with Webber

But again until max puts something out into the world that’s dangerous and tells other what to think I’m not gonna make it an issue

Plus as I said above it’s clear that max is a victim and if you cant recognise that ….

I think thats vile

Have a nice day ☺️😁

A message for the McLaren girlies :

I don’t care how good you think he is (he’s overrated btw and not as good as Oscar. If f1 were a spec lando wouldnt be in the top 5 but not my point)

I don’t care how much of a silly little goofy guy he is (also he’s a 25 year old grown man y’all need to stop infantilising him)

If you are a woman, a POC, queer or marginalised in ANY way

YOU SHOULD NOT SUPPORT LANDO NORRIS!!!!!!!

Because he has actively shown support- and told other to respect and admire- people who would actively see harm down unto you and to your loved ones

He does not deserve any semblance of praise or respect you give him

This goes beyond f1 - people like that shouldn’t be put on a pedestal just because they’re fun

And I know this can be said for many drivers - but none are as big as lando and it’s bullshit

Instead of showing your support for lando ‘trump supporter’ Norris can I instead direct you to Sebastian Vettel? He said society REGRESSED when trump was voted a second time - he just held races for women in Saudi Arabia in fact. Or Lewis hamilton? Who cares so much about marginalised groups that he had to be told to stop protesting in f1

I’m not saying people have to be perfect

And you do have the right to believe what you want and support who you want

But there’s a line

And lando had crossed it

By supporting the man who is helping fund a genocide - who tried to overthrow the government- who calls people aliens if they don’t look like him - WHO RAPED A WOMAN!!!!!

That’s your guy???????

I would ask you to take a hard look in the mirror cause I wonder what that says about you

#btw please share this I need as many McLaren fans to see this is as possible cause I need them to straighten up and wise up

[geminisee]

doing a steven universe watch-through with my cousin who’s never seen it. notes so far:

- they were pleasantly surprised by the fact the episodes are less than 15 minutes

- she gasped super hard when Opal appeared

- they were absolutely GAGGED when I told them that the voice actor for Sugalite was Nicki Minaj

- her jaw dropped at the lapis lazuli reveal (when steven pulled her from the mirror)

that’s where we are so far after a day of binging. will add updates as we go 🫡

[itadooori]

yea i rewatched the s1 finale. did a lil doodle about it

[magentagalaxies]

commented about the buddy cole documentary on a youtube video that has nothing to do with the kids in the hall and just got a reply from someone who hasn't heard about the doc but LOVES scott thompson saying they're so excited that this project exists and immediately subscribed to my channel. i'm so happy genuinely the best part of my night

second best part of my night was watching john mulaney's netflix talk show live and texting scott asking if he wants to (re)watch it together when i'm in town and getting the reply "i'd love to do that. he is fantastic" (the fact that scott is a major john mulaney fan makes me so happy bc mulaney was one of the first comedians i was obsessed with)

third best part of my day was listening to the "masturbation fire" bit from kevin mcdonald's standup for the first time (he referenced the story when i met him irl but i didn't know the full story was available anywhere until now)

also i made a reference to "too many cooks" at dinner and realized my brother had somehow never heard of it so i'm very excited to hear his reaction. i'm usually a person who doesn't care about spoilers but watching "too many cooks" with zero expectations is such an experience i'm lowkey jealous of him seeing it for the first time lmao

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

THELMA AND LOUISE?? HELLO????

[reasonsforhope]

"In Sacramento, California, an estimated 6,615 people are experiencing homelessness, a number that — while still heartbreakingly high — has declined 29% since 2023, according to the latest Point In Time counts. 

But a new project, which has been in the works since 2022, might bring that number down even lower.

A new 13-acre property purchased by Sacramento County will soon be home to the Watt Service Center and Safe Stay. 

The county broke ground on the mixed-use service center this week, which will provide shelter, emergency respite, safe parking, health services, and more to community members who are unsheltered — meaning they don’t have a place to safely sleep at night.

“We wanted to do something that is not only larger, but a large-scale campus to provide more than just the shelter,” Janna Haynes, of the county’s Department of Homeless Services and Housing, told KCRA3 News.

The Watt Service Center will have amenities to help meet the needs of anyone staying there, including bathrooms, showers, laundry, and food, as well as mental health, treatment, and employment services.

“You can also meet with your case manager, get behavior health services, look for a job, get rehousing services, a place for your dog,” Jaynes added. “It’s really everything you need, not only for your day-to-day life, but to hopefully end your homelessness.”

While the center is a costly offering, the city explained that it is ultimately less expensive than allowing the homelessness crisis to go unmitigated.

The land was purchased for $22 million and will cost an estimated $42 million to construct the center. According to ABC10 News it will be mostly funded by the American Rescue Plan Act.

While the center will have the capacity to host 225 beds in Safe Stay cabins, 50-person capacity in Safe Parking, and 75-person capacity for emergency/weather respite beds, it will serve countless others outside of the 350 total people it can house at any given time.

According to a press release from the county, “conservative estimates” have found that over the course of 15 years, the center will serve 18,000 people.

In 2017, the city found that the average cost for an “unsheltered individual” was about $45,000 a year, considering public systems like county jail, shelters, behavioral health, and more.

With the projected impact of the shelter, that cost lowers to less than $3,600 per person.

“If you break down the funding, it’s actually not that expensive,” Rich Desmond, county supervisor for District 3, told ABC10.

“It’s a heck of a lot cheaper than letting someone stay out in the community, unsheltered where they are extremely expensive in terms of the emergency response from fire, our emergency rooms, our law enforcement response.”

Providing what the county calls “wraparound services” not only brings down costs but truly helps people meet their basic needs.

“The really great thing about this site in particular, that we don't have at any other shelters, is the sheer size and the ability to really wrap everything people need,” Emily Halcon, director of the Department of Homeless Services and Housing with Sacramento County, told ABC10. 

One notable feature is the center’s Safe Parking spaces, which are the first of their kind in the city. People living in their cars will now have a safe place to park, monitored by security.

“We know a lot of people who are unsheltered actually are living out of their cars,” Desmond said, “maybe a family that’s barely hanging on but they still need that vital transportation to get their kids to school or get to work.”

This support is especially helpful for those who are newly homeless, Halcon added, building on the amenities provided in the county’s two other “safe stay” facilities. 

While Sacramento County just broke ground on the Watt Service Center, officials say they hope to begin moving people into the facility in January 2026.

“Our staff is putting in extra time and attention to this campus, ensuring that it houses everything we need to end homelessness for people,” Desmond said in a statement.

Once it’s up and running, Jaynes told KCRA3, they plan to onboard formerly unhoused community members as part of the staff at the facility.

“When you have a conversation with someone who understands where you’ve been, and you see the success they’re having now,” Jaynes said, “it really does give you hope something could be different.”

-via GoodGoodGood, January 24, 2025