#he can provide no explanation because he thinks it needs no explanation

[wickjump]

hey.

would you like to hear an xtale siblings thought?

rhetorical question.

(abuse mention bc its the fucking xtale siblings)

so. according to jakei (via cornmayors twitter), xpapyrus is "the kind of person who would harvest his own food", which is pretty cute i think. ik corn has a comic abt xasriel being into gardening, and i think theres some canon stuff that might support that, too? so yeah neat, papyrus and asriel/flowey friendship prevails!! they have a common interest/hobby, thats pretty cute, yknow?

but like. i was thinking, right? what would make xpap want to garden? not that he necessarily needs a reason, but..

and i mean the (possible) explanation is pretty damn clear. its been shown before that xgaster doesnt care abt his kids and doesnt seem to provide for them most of the time. im guessing they went hungry a lot as kids.

and like xpap has been shown to be more outspoken, defying orders and/or talking back on multiple occasions (sometimes making cross step in to "correct" him to avoid or at least soften xgasters wrath), so i think if he was hungry hed just say it, and depending on his mood xgaster would either tell him thats not his problem or begrudgingly give them something (or make xalphys go buy food or cook or whatever)

but cross? cross wouldnt say a fucking word. he could be dying of starvation and hed say hes just fine to avoid the potential punishment of "inconveniencing" xgaster

so like. im thinking. what if xpap started growing his own food because he didnt want to be so dependent on someone who couldnt be assed to provide for them? because he was tired of going hungry and being punished for trying to get the only person who could do something abt that to actually... do something? because he was tired of seeing his brother suffer in silence because he was too scared to say anything?

i can see him finding some like.. tomato seeds or something. maybe just planting a slice from food xgaster finally brought them in the hope that it grows into a plant eventually. cross would definitely help him care for the plants. maybe xalphys would occasionally bring him books about gardening or new seeds or just tell him general knowledge so he could more successfully grow things.

idk like. we see a lot of cross caring for xpap (bc of course he would, hes his older brother), but xpap explicitly caring for and providing for cross in return makes me bash my head into the wall /pos like ik thats normal. to yknow. care for and provide for your family. but god damn.

they make me violently ill.

(this was very xpap centric bc im very normal abt him (lie) hope youre ok w that)

vomits glitter everywhere youre soright..!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also dont worry ily xpapyrus ilysm..... xpapyrus u deserved better... i love any characters from any au theyre all so cool....

UGHHHHHHHHHH i love it when younger siblings take care of the older ones,,, ugh.. .., i mean xalphys is the youngest of the three, meaning papyrus would technically be the middle sibling but yk what. that makes it better actully imo. middle sibling takes ccare of the other two.

ANYWAY yes. xpap is the most outspoken, as you said, out of them all about xgaster's mistreatment. while cross is silent and alphys is indifferent (outwardly) towards xgaster, xpapyrus is the one with the strongest sense of justice. cross is anxious, xalphys pretty much had her will to fight stripped away from her, but xpapyrus still has that spark in him, and that spark remains despite everything. he'd tell xgaster that he's hungry, because he's hungry, dammit, and if xgaster doesn't feed him, he'll take matters into his own hands. i can imagine xgaster picking a burger up for him after hours of nagging, and xpapyrus plants the whole tomato slice in a bunch of dirt in a tupperware bowl for later.

xpapyrus would defend those plants with his life if he had to because to him, as a child, i think they'd be synonymous with 'he doesn't have complete power over us. look, this is something i did on my own, something he doesn't control'. it would be the first bit of independence he's ever really had. xasriel probably helped as well because he thought it was just a fun hobby of xpapyrus' and not a means to not starve. this also probably helped cement xpapyrus and cross' loyalty to the dreemurr family,,

im ill about them too UGH.... the xtale siblings (+ chara/frisk) are my favorites ever and i just...man!!! the way xgaster abused them all in so many different ways is SO overlooked in this fandom and its my number one duty to make sure eveyrone knows how terrible xgaster is,,.!!! hes a child beater!!!!!!! cross, xpapyrus, xchara, xfrisk, and probably xalphys were beaten children!!!!!!

[youcanthandelthetruth]

My kid, in his most serious tone: "I think your favorite animal is probably owls. And Flywasps."

Me, looking around the room we are in, my kitchen: "Ok the owls...

... the owls I will grant you. What is Flywasps?"

[caelivir]

hidden lights | rayne ames

— synopsis. reading rayne ames is impossible. that's why you don't get why he offers to take you out on a date after you've been stood up again.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. modern au, you and rayne are roommates, fluff, you’re so oblivious it hurts, rayne's most likely ooc towards the end but we do it for plot,

— warnings. one kys thrown in at the end but it’s not in a serious manner

— word count. 3.2k

— notes. in honor of triple liner rayne being animated. i have quite literally been waiting to see it animated for years. also hi.

you can never tell what rayne ames is thinking. he wears the same cold, uninterested glare on his face at all times of the day. he never speaks unless spoken to, never lets you know when he leaves the apartment, never does anything to show that he actually has emotions.

you're asked on the daily how you survive rooming with him, and in all honesty, it's really not that bad. he does his half of the chores, and he doesn't leave his shit all over the apartment. really, the guy's only problem is his lack of emotion. it drives you up the wall.

finn says not to take it to personally during the one day he visited his brother. apparently, he's like that with everyone, but he's still a good guy. it just takes time.

you would like to believe that, but rayne makes that extremely difficult to believe when he looks like he wants to kill every person who so happens to exist in his direction.

so naturally, seeing him so angered after finding out that you've been stood up is surprising. it's an even bigger shock when he offers to take you out on a date instead.

you don't know what compels you to agree. even if you hadn't accepted his offer, something tells you that rayne would've found a way to get you to leave with him so there's no use in trying to deny him in this matter.

that's why you allow him to drive all the way to marchétte street, where a night market is being held in full swing. the road has all sorts of stalls lined up one after the other, ranging from foods to clothes. but because the marchétte night market is ridiculously popular, the place is packed to the brim with people.

rayne offers his hand once he notices that you're daunted by the crowds. you stare at him with surprise. when you don't make a move to accept this action, rayne huffs before grabbing your hand. he interlocks his fingers with yours and drags you into marchétte street's traffic.

the first thing you note is that rayne's hands are surprisingly warm and soft. for someone so incapable of talking, his touch is strangely reassuring.

he drags you to a vendor selling takoyaki. and even as he orders, rayne doesn’t let go of your hand.

“what do you want?” he says into your ear so that he doesn’t have to yell over all the noise. the feeling of his breath fanning over your skin sends shivers down your spin. it's maddening.

“oh. uh-” your eyes quickly scan over the menu, and you blurt out the first item that you read. out of habit you reach for your wallet, but rayne is quick to shut you down.

“absolutely not.” he grumbles, letting your hand drop to your side so he can pull out his cash. rayne hands the amount to the girl at the register, and she hands back his change that he drops into the tip jar.

“thanks.” you say quietly, still so flustered about the entire situation.

rayne only studies you before humming in acknowledgement. “come on.” he guides his hand to your upper back, moving you out the way so you can wait on the side for your orders.

it’s during this time you really look at rayne as if that would provide you with the answers you need to understand him. you try to wrap your head around it. you draft up every possible explanation, but none of them seem to make sense.

unless… it couldn’t be… does rayne like you? you shake your head, dismissing the thought as soon as it crosses your mind. no, that’s absurd, the furthest thing from logical. this is rayne ames we’re talking about. in the five months that you’ve been living together, you two have never had a solid conversation. how could he ever like someone he’s barely talked to?

you're about to confront rayne about his intentions until your number order is called, and all the courage you built up crumbles away as rayne leaves you to go pick up your takoyaki.

still, whatever his reasons for doing this may be, this is a rare opportunity to come by, and that means that maybe rayne doesn't have to continue being a stranger. maybe you can get under those layers and find that good guy finn said was there.

"i never knew marchétte had a night market." you say, breaking the silence as the two of you walk side by side through the market.

"i didn't either." rayne admits, poking his fork into one of the octopus balls, and shoving the whole thing into his mouth.

"what?" your face scrunches in disbelief. "then how'd you find out?"

"i asked finn as we were going down to the garage." your date shares nonchalantly.

you turn to look at rayne with the intent of questioning him further, but the sight of his cheeks bulging with food makes you burst out in a fit of giggles.

"what?" rayne asks, narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip to contain your laughter. your gaze falls on a mixture of crumbs and sauce that sits on the corner of his mouth, only causing you to smile wider.

"you got a little something there." you gesture at his lips. rayne fumbles for a moment, swiping his fingers around various sections of his mouth, somehow only cleaning half of the mess up.

you shake your head, still grinning up at him. he tenses when your thumb grazes the edges of his lips. you can feel his eyes staring deep into you, and you have to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

"all done." you whisper, wiping the remainders on the napkin in your hand.

rayne doesn't say anything regarding what occurred, only urging you to follow him further down marchétte street.

you swear that you see the tips of his ears go red, and something about that makes you all fuzzy inside.

as the night progresses, you and rayne abide your time by visiting stalls. well, it's more like you choose which ones interest you the most, and rayne follows behind. you comment on certain items that look nice; sometimes, you ask for your roommate's opinions to decide on whether something will be worth your money or not. to your surprise, rayne's advice is solid, and you end up listening to him.

at some point, you convinced him to buy a pair of absurdly looking mugs for the apartment. he fought you hard on it, saying that a mug shaped like a fish is extremely inconvenient, but in the end, you won with insistent begging.

when the two of you both got bored of the market, you decide to take rayne to one of your favorite spots in the city.

"the park? really?" rayne gives you a dead stare.

"hey, don't judge." you pout. "i love this place."

"why? no offense, but i don't think parks are all that special."

"i feel like i can take a step back here and just a catch a break from everything," you answer honestly. "sometimes, i sit down and watch people as they live their lives, and something about that is strangely comforting. it makes me want to keep going."

rayne doesn't follow up on your words, but you can tell that he's really considering them, and that brings a smile onto your face.

"plus, i feel like it's a good place for when you want to talk to someone." you grab onto your roommate's wrist. "come on let's go to the swings."

you practically drag rayne to the playground, which is completely deserted, but that's to be expected when it's already 10p.m. no parent would be dumb enough to bring their kid out this late.

you force rayne onto the the swing next to you, and all he does is sit there, unwilling to indulge himself in such a simple joy. annoyed with him, you hop off your own set, coming behind him.

"what are you doing?" rayne whips his head around as your hands plant themselves firmly on his back.

"oh live a little." you huff, mustering up enough strength to push him. the swing rocks forwards and comes back. even as rayne complains and threatens you, you continue to push him, watching as he goes higher and higher. he may be masking it, but you can tell that he's enjoying it.

you finally give up when your arms grow sore and a layer of sweat coats your face. slumping back into the swing beside rayne, you breathe heavily. "man, that was a workout."

"i told you to stop." your date reminds you, shooting you a look.

"you can be honest, rayne. i know you liked it."

"i did not."

"yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that." you wave him off, laughing.

for a minute, neither of you say anything. you're the one who said that the park is a place where you can talk openly with someone, yet there's not a single topic that you can think to bring up.

luckily, rayne swoops in to save it. "can i ask you something?" your half-blonde roommate asks, something more serious laced in his voice. it makes you swallow a lump in your throat. an anxious feeling creeps into your body.

"of course you can."

"why did you bother giving that guy a chance?"

it's easy to know exactly who he's referring to. you shrug. "he's nice and has good energy."

"but he had stood you up two times in the past though. clearly he isn't as nice as you make him out to be. you seriously can't be that dumb to have fallen for it three times."

that statement in itself should get you mad (even though he would be right), but there's something peculiar in what he said that had you ignoring the jab altogether. "how'd you know he stood me up twice before? i never told you that."

at that, rayne freezes, eyes blowing wide open. it's so obvious that he's trying to find an excuse right now, but you push further.

"who told you that, rayne?" you lean closer, watching as his ears turn beet red. you're not even angry with him. it's mostly curiosity making you push him. not to mention that seeing him in a flustered state is entertaining and quite cute.

"max did." your roommate finally admits albeit quietly.

you pull your head back. "max? as in max land? how the hell does he know?"

"your dates happened to be at the restaurant he works at."

"why would he bother telling you that though?" you wonder. "up until tonight, i don't think it concerned you."

"it did though." the half-blonde mumbles, thinking you wouldn't hear, but you do anyway.

"what?" you press.

"forget it." rayne shakes his head, growing irritated.

"no. fuck that.." you seethe, annoyed at his unwillingness to be honest with you. rayne bites his tongue to hold back. you see it. "don't act like this. just tell me, or i swear to god i'll text max right now-"

"it's because i knew that i could treat you better." the words rush out of rayne's mouth as he snaps his head toward you. the fire in his eyes die as he locks his gaze onto you. the harsh emotion written across his features softens. you can feel your own exasperation slipping away like that of a retreating ocean tide. he grimaces in regret, knowing that he didn't mean to let that slip out, but he did anyway. it's out in the open, and now you knew.

surely, you're hearing things wrong. perhaps you're misunderstanding what he just said. how could that be misinterpreted though? it's such a painfully straightforward statement, yet it still doesn't make any sense.

rayne sighs. it's like he can already hear your thoughts and your confusion. the least he can do is clear the air and dump everything onto you while he can. "i didn't expect to feel like this," he begins to explain. "when i moved in, i just assumed you'd be another person i wouldn't pay attention to. i'm sure you know how i am. i don't bother getting to know people, but a lot of people feel the need to force themselves into my life, and shit like that pisses me off. but you didn't do that. you introduced yourself, explained the ground rules of the apartment, and then left me alone."

"so... you like the fact that i leave you alone?" you tilt your head.

"shut up. let me finish."

"okay."

"but yeah, that's part of it. you keep your distance, but you still try to show that you care. you don't do anything groundbreaking. it's just that the small things you do for me got to me. it may sound dumb to you, but it meant a lot to me."

suddenly, you're hit like a train because you know exactly what rayne means. you recall all the times you ensured that there was dinner for him, the times you moved his laundry into the dryer when he forgot to do it himself, and the times you restocked his favorite snacks when they ran out. you hadn't realized that you did any of that. it just came naturally, no hidden meaning behind it.

"oh." you breathe out, blinking.

rayne nods, continuing. you're honestly floored over the fact that he still has more to say. "you don't notice it. at least, i don't think you do, but at some point, i tried doing the same for you. i started paying more attention to you and what you liked and how you liked things done. i did it mostly to pay back your kindness, but over time i continued just 'cause i liked seeing your smile."

you have to process that for a minute, piecing together how certain events lined up until it finally clicks into place. "s-so the island vase-"

"i replace the flowers because you like them fresh."

"the key holder?"

"you always forgot to bring your keys until i installed it."

"when you put on movies-"

"i check your letterboxd and hope that you'll sit and watch them with me."

"when i put on movies-"

"i sit with you because i want to be near you."

your jaw falls open. never in a million years could you have expected this. you thought that rayne could care less about your existence, but the reality was that that was far from the truth. cold, aloof rayne was always doing things for you. all this time, you've been so oblivious.

still, there's more to the story so you stay quiet, letting him get his feelings off of his chest. "to be honest, i was never going to say anything. max tried convincing me to confess on multiple occasions, but i was dead set on letting it pass. i didn't think you liked me in the same way anyway.

"but then you came home today and you told me about your date and i just got so... angry," rayne clenches his fist around the chains of the swing. the whole situation infuriates him every time he thinks about it. "it just wasn't fair. you spent so much time into looking your best just for that asshole to go and waste your effort. you're so beautiful, so kind and understanding, and i fucking hate the fact that he's been taking advantage of that.

"i really wasn't thinking clear when i proposed this date to you, but god after tonight, i'd do it all over again. i wanted you to know what it's like to be with someone who does care about you. i wanted to see you smile. i wanted to hear stories. i want you so badly it's all i can think about sometimes.

"i know this is a lot, and i'm freaking you out right now. i'm sorry but you-"

"rayne." you interrupt with a big smile on your face. he was unaware to the fact that you had got up.

"for fucks sake, can you let me finish? this is already weird enough for me to talk about as is." he rolls his eyes, narrowing his gaze at you, blush splashed across his cheeks. still, without any resistance, you pull him up from his swing by his wrists.

"then don't." you whisper as you pull him in.

and the moment you crash your lips onto rayne's, the world stops. he instantly melts into you, the palms of his hands finding the soft skin on your cheeks. your hands tangle themselves into his hair. his lips are incredibly soft. a faint taste of matcha and sugar syrup dances on his tongue from the boba he drank earlier. a noise of approval vibrates down his throat, and you can't help but smile against his lips.

rayne wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he deepens the kiss. you get what he was talking about earlier. this kiss is all it takes to prove it to you. you feel his affection and desire all at once. every single bone in your body is so aware of how much rayne ames cares about you.

when you finally pull away for air, it's like a smile is permanently tugged onto your lips. rayne trains his eyes onto you, engraining every detail of this moment into his head.

a comfortable silence falls as each of you take your time to catch your breaths. your stare finds its way up, admiring the night sky. there are barely any stars out tonight. no, that part isn't remotely true, not fully anyway, because light pollution drowns out stars and their lights. the reality is that there are billions of stars hanging high out of reach; they just go unseen.

rayne is kinda like that you realize. finn was right. his brother is a good guy. there's a hidden light within him behind all those aloof layers of his. you just have to squint and maybe put on some prescription glasses is order to see it. it's a shame it took you five months to to really acknowledge it. but now that you've finally found a glimpse of it, you'll continue to clear past the fog. you want to know every part of rayne and see his light just as he did with you. you want him to be able to shine at his full brightness with no fear. you'll take rayne ames for all that he is.

"come on," you coo, a lovestruck look in your eyes as you slip your hand into rayne's. "let's go home."

bonus:

rayne: finn, give me a date spot quick finn: are you actually going on a date? rayne: stop asking questions finn: there's a night market on marchétte street. finn: are you seriously going on a date though? finn: hello? finn: rayne. finn: stop leaving me on read. finn: is it (y/n)? finn: it is her, huh? finn: asshole.

delisaster: hey sorry delisaster: can we reschedule for next saturday? y/n: kys y/n: lol sorry that was my bf delisaster: bruh what? delisaster: did you have a bf this whole time? *this message could not be sent* delisaster: did you fucking block me? *this message could not be sent*

[writingwithfolklore]

Punctuation Rules

Punctuation is like the very last thing I actively think about when writing something (what's the point of fixing the punctuation of a sentence you'll end up taking out or editing anyway?) but it is still an important step!

Having proper punctuation increases your credibility and the overall quality of your work. Also, it’s doubly important in professional work, emails, and resumes. With that, let’s get into it!

Commas

We use them all the time. We get them wrong all the time. There are six rules for where you can use commas:

Use to separate items in a list or series:

The book was long, tedious, and painful.

The comma after tedious is called the Oxford’s comma. Feel free to debate if you need it in the reblogs, but you won’t get in trouble professionally if you use it or leave it out (in most cases.) It always comes before ‘and’ in a list to prevent confusion of the items:

I ran into my mother, my best friend and a scientist. (1 person?)

Is very different from

I ran into my mother, my best friend, and a scientist. (3 people)

2. Use to separate independent clauses, with a coordinating conjunction.

An independent clause is just a sentence that makes sense on its own.

A coordinating conjunction is: and, but, or so.

Miley had a ton of work to do, so she set her alarm early.

3. Use after an introductory statement.

Introductory statements begin with many different words, but typically: Before, after, when, while, as soon as, etc.

Before her first class, Stacy looked up her prof on Rate Your Teacher.

Main point about this, “Before her first class” is not an independent clause, it needs a second part.

4. Use to surround info in a sentence

This info is not essential to the sense-making of the sentence, but it should be relevant.

Parents, no matter how skilled, cannot function at 100% all the time.

5. Addresses and Dates

6. And with direct quotes

Important for essay writing.

Casey said, “I hate this house!”

Colons:

Introduce a list after a complete sentence:

I have three favourite foods: spaghetti, chowder, and garlic bread.

2. Use after ‘the following’ or ‘as follows’

Please provide the following information: your date of birth, full name, and address.

3. Don't use with sentence fragments

A sentence fragment is an unfinished sentence (that doesn’t make sense on its own).

My favourite foods are: spaghetti, chowder, and garlic bread.

This is wrong because, “My favourite foods are.” Isn’t an independent clause.

4. Introduce an explanation

My parents ask one thing of me: that I try my hardest.

5. Introduce a quotation

Mom always quoted the bible: “The truth will set you free.”

6. And times (12:00)

Semi-Colon:

Not super common, but makes you look good if you can use it properly.

Separate two related independent clauses

I never drink Starbucks; it tastes burnt.

2. Similar, but with conjunctions: however, moreover, therefore, nevertheless, etc.

I don’t like Starbucks; however, it does the job.

Agatha didn’t witness anything; nevertheless, she was called in to court.

3. Use to avoid misreading in a series

The invited guests are the club leader; the treasurer; the new member, Jason Tanner; and Wanda Johnson, the investor.

Semicolons clarify the separation between the four people. Had it been, “The club leader, the treasurer, The new member, Jason Tanner…” it would seem that the new member and Jason Tanner are two different people.

Apostrophes – Possessive

‘s shows possession of a singular noun

The girl’s parents were quite rich.

2. S’ shows possession of a plural noun

The students’ books were all over the place. (there are multiple students who have books)

3. ‘s to singular words ending in s, and nouns that are plural

My boss’s office My children’s toys

Apostrophes – Contractions

Use to combine two words (they are, he is, there is, etc.)

It is -> It’s a beautiful park They are -> They’re really good friends You are -> you’re good at this and so on.

[missmeinyourbones]

CLEAN ME UP 

c/w: established relationship, hurt/comfort, light mentions of blood and injury, atsumu lowkey gets his ass beat </3 but he is so sweet

Atsumu sits crisscrossed on the floor of your bathroom with a tender black eye and a busted lip—and though this should be a rare thing, you need all five fingers to count the number of times you’ve seen this film before.

The first two were ages ago, high school days when he and Osamu couldn’t stop themselves from throwing a punch or two over nothing at all. Their egos too big and brains too small, twice you'd gotten roped into their post-brawl aftercare. Another time it was a fight off the court, when a rival captain made a snide remark about his foul accent. The fourth, a drunken, immature mistake.

Tonight’s wounds are different. Because when Atsumu nonchalantly shows up black and blue at your door, he doesn’t tell you what happened. There’s no story attached to the bruises he bares, no lengthy explanations or excuses. And Atsumu is a lot of things, but speechless is never one of them. 

He looks childish, you think, the way his broad body folds itself into a tiny pretzel and hardly takes up a corner of your tiled floor. He’s oddly quiet, too. Sure, you heard his witty comments down the hallway about how you should see the other guy, but something’s still off. His eyes aren't lit with their usual flame of youth, pride. 

Only a few words are exchanged through the process of cleaning him up. Between wet washcloths and tiny sniffles, Atsumu fumes, You haven't asked enough questions yet, and it’s beginning to freak him out. He doesn't know whether or not he should be grateful or unsettled with your silence.

A frozen bag of vegetables presses against his left eyelid when you finally ask, "What the hell did you do this time?"

Atsumu smiles at the mere sound of your voice, an instant warmth against the burning ice on his body. "Why's it always my fault?"

You remove the bag from his brow to shoot him a look, that look. He knows better than to argue with that look. Arguing with that look gets him nothing but trouble and an achy back from a night on the couch. So, he diverts. 

"Nothing,” he sulks. “He started it, and—"

"—And you finished it, right?" 

Your words are meant to be sarcastic, at his dispense of how stupid he behaved, but Atsumu doesn't take them as such. Instead, at your interruption, he shoots you an earnest smile filled with satisfaction and dried blood stretched across his chapped lips.  

"See? So smart, baby." 

His hand rises to pet your chin but you lean back quick enough to dodge his caress. His eyes fall to the bag of vegetables that now sits by your lap. 

“Atsumu,” you try again, foreboding. 

He rolls his head back in a huff against the bench of the bathtub, and the ceramic feels warm against his neck compared to the still stinging chill on his eye. 

“What was I supposed to do? They were bein’ assholes.”

His whole team had gone out drinking tonight for a celebratory round or five, followed by a few days off. And as charming as Atsumu is, he does have his foes. People in the volleyball world he’s not the biggest fan of, for reasons he doesn’t seem to discuss with you. He likes to leave it at his good intuition, something you know he lacks.  

With the context clues provided, you can think of two or three people he’s implying. 

His reasoning is flawed, to say the least, but the way he says it has your heart breaking in the slightest. He avoids eye contact, as if he's embarrassed, dancing around the subject and wishing the ground to swallow him whole. 

His shyness has you trying a softer approach. 

“Everyone is an asshole,” you whisper, lightly returning pressure to his eye with the makeshift ice, “if punching assholes was reasonable, I’d do it all the time.”

Atsumu smiles a bit at that, but you catch how he winces slightly at the movement. 

“Yer so funny, baby,” he tries to trail off. “Funniest person I—”

“Miya,” comes his second warning, and by the look in your eye, he’s not brave enough to try for a third.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “but when yer a Miya, I’m playing that card on you, too. Y’know that, right?” 

You nod, and whether it's to his proposal or to encourage his words, you don't know. But it works, because Atsumu takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling again. 

“This time was different, okay?”

His tone is eerily soft. One only you get the privilege of hearing, and not because it's out of love, but because it's out of hate. Something’s shaken him so bad, he’s almost been rendered speechless. 

“How was it different?”

“They were talking about you,” he shakily exhales. “Sayin’ stupid shit that isn’t true.”

Your heart softens as you do your best to keep a strong facade, but maybe Atsumu does have good intuition, as his hand squeezes yours through the quick moment of silence. 

“If it’s not true, then it shouldn't have mattered, right?” you try.

“No,” he’s quick to work himself up again, eyes finding yours. “Like hell was I gonna let ‘em keep talking about you like that, ‘specially when I’m right fuckin’ there.” 

Your fingers lightly skim his jaw, nowhere sensitive but he jumps all the same. You apply pressure to tilt his head, forcing him to find your gaze. He does.

“Do you want to tell me what they said?”

Atsumu gaze softens, and after a moment of thinking, he shakes his head. 

“No,” he decides, “I don’t.” 

His eyes fall to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Do you want to know?”

You smile at his sincerity. Atsumu, who you know to be just as sweet as he is boisterous, would tell you if you asked. He’d do anything you ask. But, you decide against it. 

“No. No, I don’t.” 

Atsumu exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he lets his head nuzzle against your palm. Contrary to the ice, it's warm and soft on his skin. He thinks it could heal wounds faster than any bag of broccoli ever could. 

“I trust you,” he hears you coo into his hairline, kisses now dancing along his forehead and jaw, “even if you do have the emotional intelligence of a middle school boy, sometimes.”

Astumu hmphs at your words, simultaneously agreeing and brushing you off. He doesn't care enough to bicker, right now. He doesn’t need to tell you about how the man from the bar was talking about you. About how easy you’d be to persuade into bed. About how you're just with Atsumu for his flashy perks and award winning smile. 

He doesn't need to because he knows they're wrong. Because they don't see these moments, when Atsumu sits on the ledge of your empty bathtub. With popped blood vessels and tender welts, those men don't melt beneath your careful fingertips or soothing pecks. 

He doesn't have to say anything, because you trust him. You trust Atsumu, and it's the one thing in this world he knows to be true. 

He lifts his head up from your hold to find your lips. 

“I jus’ love you,” he insists, lightly pressing himself to you with such caution, “so much.” 

And if there’s one thing in this world you know to be true, it's that Miya Atsumu loves you.   

[confused-wanderer]

Edit: Guys I’ve read through the comments and all and realised that it’s been interpreted way differently then what I intended it to be. This was basically supposed to be a fun take that Bludhaven doesn’t care about how Dick gets the proof as long as it serves justice and it’s the truth. This post was supposed to be one of those scenarios in movies and tv serials where the heroes uncover the crimes by taking it upon themselves even though it may be against the law, and how the officials find it hard to believe their story but since the evidence they found is actually damning and proof that the guy is innocent/guilty they let it slide, PROVIDED no one was harmed or they created violent scale incidents. Dick Grayson as a police officer and Nightwing are both highly trusted and valued so they know they’d always get the proof so the community gives them a bit of leeway when it comes to the finer details.

I noticed that the way I framed things was misleading so I’ve changed the wordings, and hope this is better gets my point across

Dick is a cop.

But Bludhaven does NOT care about rules if the job gets done.

Got proof? 100%?

“You got the job done? You got the guy? And you didn’t walk in dripping in blood or with a target on your head and three organisations coming after you?”

You’re fucking promoted.

Dick Grayson is used to loopholes, but here he doesn’t even need to offer an explanation, no one even bothers to care. This was Bludhaven and actually doing his job was almost impossible through all the invisible red tape. So he thrived in the area of greys.

Dick *rounding up criminals and placing proof that by no way could have even been found, forget legally*

His handler *looks through them* : He’s the guy

Dick: .. yeah

Handler: .. and no mafia gonna declare war on you?

Dick: uh- don’t think so?

Handler: good, book him.

It does horrify all the justice league and batfamily because now instead of the painstaking work they have to put up that explains the many missing hole in their stories of how the information was obtained legally, nightwing can just walk into the police station, leave a sticky note saying “he’s the guy for the crime, I’ll get the evidence in a month brb. Signed, Nightwing~” and no one bats an eye. Because they know he’d always get the proof, and it’s always the truth.

Sometimes an officer even just takes a photo of a guy and texts nightwing “this the guy for the Nelson murder?” And if there’s a “yep :)” then that’s that.

[confused-and-dickless]

I love breathing. Love to be a part of it one day

[undercoverpena]

circles and squares

simon ghost riley x f!reader (cod)

an: you should all thank @halfmoth-halfman for this one and our early morning chat. I heart you lots.

an: written on phone, mind any errors.

Ghost is aware he’s not the easiest person to be with. 

He's an entanglement of repressed feelings, scars that run deeper than layers of skin and a need for solitude, that you seem to have slid past. 

You take it all in your stride, not fazed—not asking too much—the patience of a saint.

It’s not that why he likes you. It’s that you make up rules for the two of them with relative ease. Providing him with ways to express himself without using words.

For someone whose skin is littered with only a handful of marked memories and a heart still soft, you surprise him with how deeply you understand him.

How much you just get him.

In all of his future thinking, Ghost never envisioned such a soul would fall for him—although Simon had always hoped. 

Two fragmented parts of him working together, desperate to keep whatever was happening between the two of you intact. Even if he had little to give and not a whole lot to offer, you stuck around.

You say very little when it comes to his past, taking what you can with gratitude. When you’re ticking, turning over thoughts—needing something but unsure how to ask for it—you make up solutions to give him a voice.

Not a physical one, but one just as loud.  

“—like this,” you explain, taking the pen from his hand, drawing a circle—small, no bigger than 2cm—onto the plain, crisp page. 

The black stands out, all stark against the white paper on the chipped wooden desk. His eyes glancing up from the nib, to your eyes.

He wants to ask for an explanation, folding his arms, sighing as he runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You smile. 

He suspects it isn’t because you hear his sigh or because of the way he folds his arms—but because you know him. 

You know it isn’t to do with impatience or confusion, but rather because you understand that the two of you squirrelled away in a room brings questions. Ones he wants to save you from, as though you’re a damsel and not a lieutenant under him. 

You don’t need to protect me.

You’d said that once. Under him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your fingers brush over stubble and blemishes.

But he does.

Not just from the gossip, from the glances. But those who look for him—those who inflicted each defacement he lets you see.

If anything, you’re one of the very things he needs to protect. Keep you safe.

“If we fill it in like this,” you say, shading in the circle. “We’ll know the other person isn’t okay. We don’t have to explain to why, but we’ll know.” 

He cocks a brow, not that you can see it. His mask, the one all plain black, more for the base than out in the open, hiding his expressions from you. 

Ghost suspects, though, you see right through the fabric. Like you saw through him to begin with. Ignored the snark and the bitterness, saw something—someone—worth getting drenched for when you were both stationed in Europe. 

He hadn’t liked the rain before then, not the scent of it—not the way it made his clothes cling to his skin, how it suffocated him. But he likes how you looked in the rain, how your face relaxed even as your hair flattened to your head. How your hand turned palm over, catching droplets like they were blessings and not something which had ruined an entire night of recon. 

“Alright, but if we’re OK?” He asks. 

Your head nods, drawing another circle next to it. Not filling it, just leaving the outline there. 

“Not filled in means we’re okay.” 

It doesn’t cross his mind what they’ll do if there’s no paper, if there’s no way in a crowded room to get across that you’re drowning. That it feels too much. That you need him. 

You think about it, though. Because you always are. Always thinking of ways to make things easier, better. Ticking it off—always assessing, attempting to better things. Not for you, never for you (your selflessness knows no bounds), but for him. 

An answer to his inner thought was answered a month or two later.

It’s a mess, loud voices—arguments brewing in fractions as mutinies begin to build. Price in the centre, chewing his cheek, fingers twitching, likely desperate for a cigar or even a drink as another captain chews his ear off.

The 141 rarely partner with others for this reason.

He doesn’t linger on Price. Knows if he’s needed, he’ll hear his name cutting through the loudness. So he looks for you, eyes searching, finding you pressed into the corner. Alone. 

You’ve not been sleeping. Tossing, turning beside him. Fingers reaching for him, finding his side, his arm—even his fingers—as your brows knit and stencils lines into your face.

He never wakes you, just lets you take—and when you don’t take, he just holds. Clutching you close, pressing your ear to his chest, hoping the steady beat of his heart is enough.

Sometimes it is.

He suspects now wouldn’t be.

Your back is pressed against the wall, eyes down on the ground before they flick up, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Not just because your eyes are stunning, cutting into him from across a room, but because of how you look at him: a silent calling, a beckoning, a help dancing close to your pupils.

Slowly, for confirmation, he watches as you raise your right hand, drawing a circle on your left shoulder. His eyes track it, following it as it meets your starting point. Mind drowning out Johnny, not even listening to the group of idiots next to him—focused instead on how you begin using your finger to fill in the symbolic shape.  

He nods.

Feet moving, gloved hands pushing shoulders and bodies, parting the pockets of people as he moves towards you.

Ghost isn’t sure what he can do when he gets there, his pulse just thumping—following only a need to be next to you. He expects murmurs, more suspicious comments about how he’s always close by to you. Smarter soldiers recognise that he always has an eye on you if you’re close—they’re just not smart enough to identify something is already happening, and has been for a while.

As he nears you, he’s thankful he doesn’t need to ask it because you’re already keeping your eyes on him. Seeing as he gets closer that your lips are slightly parted, a little O created, chest rising and falling as you take in shallow breaths. 

He wants to offer something, whether it’s his voice, presence, or anything. Which is why he asks:

“Wanna get out of here?” 

He’s not sure if you expect it—not sure if you had considered it an option. Your head nodding, furiously, blinking away tears that threaten to spill as your hand brushes his wrist. 

Not to take his hand—the two of you don’t do that—but to tap. Once, twice. 

Thank you. 

He nods. Not able to (or wanting to) stop the way his heart soars at it—at being able to provide you with something.

Give you a fraction of what you give to him: a way out, a safe place.

In time, your things begin to merge with his.

Not just on base, but back in England too. Your socks are washed with his, your back covered in one of his tees that skirts your thighs.

He doesn’t mind, for the most part, only finding he struggles with it at night. When you’re sound asleep, soft snores kissing the darkness as he turns over the many ways you could be taken from him.

Ghost sleeps less when he’s home. Most of his REM is collected in the day, sun shimmering through the blinds, your fingers drawing shapes on his shoulders.

Sometimes they’re squares—which means either I love you, or I miss you—and sometimes their triangles. The latter, he’s not sure if they have a meaning. He just draws them back on your knee, watching your lips slide up into your cheek as you try to read your book.

He likes it—the code.

The one he can say down the radio. The one he can draw on your arm when you’re both pressed together in some place in the Middle East.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise him when you shout his name, the front door being kicked shut behind you—a surprise in a carrier bag.

“I know you’re struggling.”

You say it so plainly. Not a hello or how are you, getting straight into it, watching him as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

He says nothing either because there’s little reason to lie. He wears the truth well, the bags under his eyes worse than when he’s sent away on a solo—his need to pin you under him in the morning when sleep hasn’t been wiped from your eyes another tick against your assumption.

Retrieving the item from your bag, you place it on the counter with a tap. His eyes falling from you to them, noticing four magnets.

Nothing impressive, nothing too much. But he knows instantly what they are.

One black circle, one white circle; one green circle, one red circle.

“Naturally, I’m the colourful ones.”

“Naturally,” he snorts.

Moving towards him, you slide a hand over his hip. “They’ll live at the base of the fridge door, and we’ll slide one up—close to the top. When we remember,” you say, looking at him. “Same as the circles. For me, red is—“

“Black.”

Nodding, you try to smile. “Square.”

“Square,” he says back, quickly. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing a line across it.

Wondering, as he always does, how you remain so soft, so kind. How even though you’re haunted too, you still find ways to do things for him—

“Because I love you,” you say, as though reading his mind. “It’s easy because I love you.”

Swallowing, he holds your cheek more firmly, his other hand resting on your hip.

“Y… you don’t have to say it, I’m fine with—“

“I love you. It’s why I worry.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh—soft and small—before you nod. “I know, Simon. But we keep each other safe. Yeah?”

He nods back.

Because you do keep him safe. Not wearing a mark on your skin from him—or asking him to leave one—just in case. Your name on the place the two of you call yours, just in case.

An understanding is known about the future—mainly around rings and names, just in case.

“Which circle are you?”

His lips twitch, a smile wanting to show. “White.”

“Okay, good.” Your finger begins to draw a triangle, his eyes narrowing, your lips rising into a smirk. “Bought something else, too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you lick your lips, eyes widening as you continue to draw it on him. “Wanna go upstairs and… see?”

It hits him only then. The deviousness in your eyes showing.

Triangle means—

“I want you,” you whisper.

He snorts, his laugh dying in his throat, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his.

Kissing shapes against your lips, unshaded circles, squares, and then triangles.

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Misery Loves Company

A/N – Okay, so for anyone who loves Stand-up comedy as much as I do, I highly recommend you watch Daniel Sloss’ tour, Dark. That’s his first tour, and it was where he coined the term Wanker-Anchor, which is used in this story.

Warnings – None.

Rating – M

TAG-LIST: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch @reverse-soe @koirb @usernameunavailable2 @lavenderkita @kannakanan @mcueveryday @amarokofficial @mbruben-stein @tyrythewolf @lasagna-501 @bizzardvark @firefirefeline @kaylanotkk @missme-07 @memontica @angelsdemonsmonsters @tj4shy @midoria-kinnie @meesachan @fusehoundshipper @velvettenoctus @crescent-z @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @rosiescannibalwife @skylerbutterfly @hamthepan @latersgaters-steven @kryptidkova @sleepyhead-number27 @cherry-4200 @harcourtholmesii @alastorandluciferspouse @holyspacething @kedelman24 @becsmarvel @vash-yuu

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

“Whoa,” Charlie said upon seeing you.

She had seen your Demonic form before, but it was a rarity and it usually meant that you weren’t doing well mentally.

“Are you okay?” She asked, sucking in air through her teeth, her voice pitching high, indicating that she already knew the answer but didn’t want to point out the obvious in case it upset you further.

“I’m fine,” You answered shortly.

“Really? Because you uh, well,” Charlie twisted her hands back and forth, “You uh, you look a little- I mean, hey, I think you’re beautiful inside and out but when you’re like this it usually means- It’s normally-”

“You’re fucked up,” Vaggie finished for her, getting straight to the point.

“I’m fine,” You insisted, using the words everyone used when they were decidedly not fine. “Where’s Angel Dust?”

“In his room,” Vaggie explained.

“What happened? He was doing so well.”

Charlie’s eyes welled up with tears and she threw her arms around you, sobbing out an explanation, “It was my fault. I asked him about his contract, and he told me not to worry, but I did worry, and then I wanted to make sure he’d be okay when me and Vaggie go to visit Heaven, but he said he didn’t need a babysitter, and then I got Husk involved and Husk told me not to fuck with things I don’t understand, and then Valentino came-”

“Wait, Valentino came here?!” You pulled Charlie off you so you could look her in the eyes.

“Well, not exactly, but he sent his crew here and told Angel they had to film and I said no, and-”

You left Charlie and ran to Angel’s room. Both Charlie and Vaggie followed you as you pelted through the corridors. No wonder Angel had relapsed. That piece of shit Valentino had used Angel’s contract against him. As part of the deal they had made, Angel had to do any work Valentino demanded of him, and that fucking scumbag had dared to invade the one place where Angel felt safe.

Knowing Charlie, she would have pointed out that Valentino couldn’t use her property and would have to wait for Angel at the studio, but that wouldn’t matter. Valentino would play by the rules; it wasn’t really about filming at the Hotel, it was all a matter of proving that Angel belonged to him and that there was no safe place he could hide away.

Besides, even if Valentino hadn’t gotten his way at the Hotel, he would take it out on Angel the next time he was in the studio. It was a lose-lose situation, something that Hell was always too eager to provide.

When you got to Angel’s room, you paused to compose yourself. It wouldn’t help if you sounded too desperate or concerned; Angel didn’t respond well to that. It would make him blame himself for making you worry, and then he would spiral further.

You knocked on the door, “Hey Angel, it’s us. Can we come in please?”

“Go away,” Angel’s heavy accent came through the door, marking him more as Anthony than Angel Dust, though you didn’t say anything about that; there were very few people who knew his real name, and he didn’t like to be reminded of it.

For better or worse, he was Angel Dust; that was who he needed to be to survive.

You glanced at Charlie and Vaggie, then tilted your head, indicating that they should leave. Charlie hesitated until Vaggie placed a hand on her shoulder, then after an affirming nod from you, she let Vaggie lead her away.

“Come on Angel,” You said when they were gone. “It’s just me. Let me in.”

“Piss off.”

You sighed, then sat outside the door, and began talking. You didn’t have a grand speech planned, only what was on your mind, and if Angel wasn’t going to let you in, then it became a matter of letting him know that he wasn’t alone and that you wouldn’t abandon him, though you would respect his space.

“I get it. Valentino fucked with you. He love-bombed you, and that didn’t fucking work because you’re stronger than he is and you’re not going to fall for his shitty manipulation tactics. Now, he’s sending his goons here. It’s all just another one of his games, Angel. Don’t let him win.”

There was no response. You stayed quiet for a minute then were struck with a thought; misery loves company.

“Hey, I also kind of feel like shit today, you know? I kept thinking about Hell and… a lot of things. I told Charlie’s dad how I died. That was fucked up.”

Again, there was no response, but you thought you heard Angel shuffle closer to the door. Until that evening, nobody had heard anything about your mortal life, and now you were talking about it for the second time.

“I was murdered for a snuff film. I still have nightmares about it.”

There was a bluntness to your tone. Although it hurt to state the memory aloud again, albeit in less detail, you decided not to put too much thought into it. If your death could help someone, well, there had to be some good in bringing it up.

You stared at the peeling red wallpaper across from you, just so you had something to focus on. “I’m terrified that one day, I’m gonna walk down the street and see the guys that killed me. Like, what do you even do in that situation? Call them out? They’re in Hell, that’s punishment enough, right? Will they find it funny to see me again? Find new ways to hurt me?”

I honestly don’t know what I want in this scenario. I don’t want them to die, ‘cos then they’ll be here, but if they live, they’ll do this to other people. Kidnap them, sell them to the highest bidder, film it for the black market. I dunno… I’ve been here for a year, and I keep thinking about that.”

The door opened and you fell back, looking up at Angel’s concerned face.

“That’s the most fucked up shit I’ve ever heard.”

He lifted you up, setting you right with two arms, while the other two brushed you off.

“So… this is you?” He asked, taking in your rag-doll appearance.

You laughed and imitated his voice, your Demonic abilities kicking in to mimic him perfectly, “I can be anything you want, bay-by.”

“That’s the hottest you’ve ever sounded.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You waved him off blasély. “Just let me in, okay? I can help.”

“So, uh, with the voice, and the-” Angel gestured at your new look, moving his hands in a circular motion, “Can you uh- Be other people?”

“I don’t know,” You said slowly, looking at your hands, “Never tried.”

You concentrated for a moment, trying to transform back to your original self. Usually, it was effortless. Yet, as you stared at the stitches that bound you together, you found it difficult to do more than revert to your original skin colour. Seeing that beneath the stitches was somehow worse, so you stopped trying to change, accepting that for now, you were a ragdoll.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Fuck it. I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.”

You caught sight of Angel’s precious pet pig. Scooping him up into your arms and cuddling him, you cooed in a baby voice, “Besides, you still love me, don’t you Fat Nuggets, yeeeees, precious baby.”

Sitting down on Angel’s bed, you looked up at your friend, deciding that it was better not to let the difficult conversation wait and fester.

“Soooo…” You scratched Fat Nuggets behind the ear, “Charlie told me that you relapsed. Wanna talk about it?”

Angel sighed and flopped back onto the bed so he was lying next to you, his legs planted on the floor.

He dragged two hands over his face, the other two lay despondently over his stomach.

“I- It was just such a shitty day, and Val sent those pricks here, not that they could fill any holes. Wrong kind of pricks, you know?” He half laughed, but it died when he realised the joke wasn’t funny in such a shitty situation.

Still, you smiled at him. When Angel was sad, he didn’t always need someone to sympathise with him. He needed to see that you weren’t going to change and start treating him differently. Sometimes that meant just listening, but other times it meant making the meanest jokes you could think of and laughing at how horrible everything was.

You were his Wanker-anchor, chaining him to reality by being a dick; Husk was the best at it, but seeing as he was nowhere to be found, Angel had you instead.

“Here,” Angel held up a small sealed bag, with his stash in it. So, he hadn’t relapsed after all. He’d just come very close.

“No thanks,” You joked, “I’m full from all the crack I had at breakfast.”

Angel got up and punched your arm, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” You took his stash, tucking it away in your pocket, then you stood up, leaving Fat Nuggets on the bed, and you offered Angel your hand. “Come on.”

“What-”

“You need a distraction. So, I challenge you, Angel Dust, teach me how to dance.”

“You’re fucking kiddin’, right?”

You shook your head. “You can dance, I can’t and I’m bored. So, come on, give me some lessons. It’ll be good to get moving.”

“When you fail, can I call you a retard?”

“Fuck no. You can’t say retard anymore, what the fuck is wrong with you. You can insult the shit outta me, but keep your terms acceptable, okay?”

Honestly, Angel had thought he was up to date on what insults and trash talk were deemed acceptable, but evidently, he was wrong.

“Alright, I’ll teach you to dance, but you gotta keep me updated on all the latest slang, and what’s changed up there,” He glanced up as if he could see Earth.

“I’ve been dead a year, bud. A lot can change in that time,” You said, thinking about all the ways you were probably outdated.

Angel grabbed his phone and turned up the tunes, “Sounds like a coward’s excuse to get outta teaching.”

And so it was that you and Angel started to dance. It was nothing like his work, or when he was forced to pimp himself out in clubs as a form of ‘networking.’ Instead, it was stupid, fun, and uncoordinated with you as his partner. Christ, he had never danced with someone so terrible. You let him lead, and together, the two of you laughed at each other’s expense and forgot all about the shitty things that had happened that day.

Up in his Radio Station, Alastor grinned sinisterly. He had heard you quite clearly as he went about his business in the Hotel. You were murdered? How delightful. Victims were so easy to manipulate. Furthermore, you were a ragdoll. Oh, how wonderfully he could exploit that power.

All it would take was an invitation of friendship, a desperate situation, and an offer of assistance. When Alastor had sent Husk away on an errand earlier, he hadn’t imagined it would turn out so wonderfully.

Now, there was a new piece on the chessboard, and Alastor was determined to capture you as his pawn.

Your soul would be his.

[halfagone]

Is it Canon or Fanon?

A little over a week ago, I received a very thought-provoking ask that wondered whether the Fenton parents could be considered good parents after everything they've done throughout the show. I did leave a response to that ask, and you can find the original answer here. But even afterwards, it had me thinking:

Why did we start depicting Jack and Maddie as Bad Parents to begin with?

I aim to answer this question through canon evidence to see where this argument might have come from. Now, something to keep in mind is that we still tend to ignore canon a lot of the time, so there may be some people who won't take this meta to mean all that much anyways. But for the purpose of fanfiction, we have to acknowledge that there needs to be an in-universe explanation to these events and sadly, the 'it's a Butch Hartman show' or 'it's an early 2000s cartoon' excuses don't really cut it.

So let's start with some basic stats. There are 49 episodes to the Danny Phantom cartoon (we will not be using the Graphic Novel, A Glitch in Time, for examples); 20 for the first season, 17 for the second, and 12 for the third. If you looked this up on Google, you might notice that these numbers don't line up with the episode list provided. This is because I counted any two-part episodes as one for convenience's sake. Season 2 has three two-parters: "Reign Storm", "The Ultimate Enemy", and "Reality Trip". Season 3 has "Phantom Planet".

Jack appears for 43 of those episodes, although he does not have any speaking lines in the episode, "Frightmare". Maddie, on the other hand, appears in 40 episodes. The three episodes that Maddie does not appear in, but Jack does, are as follows: "Memory Blank", "Flirting With Disaster", and "Double Cross My Heart".

Let's Start with Season 1:

"Mystery Meat": Jack is shown as dismissive to Danny and his friends' preferences, telling them, "True, I've never seen a ghost, but when I do, I'll be prepared. And so will you, whether you want to be or not." Later on, when Sam and Tucker are visibly shaking and Danny is panting from exhaustion, he doesn't realize something is off about this. When Jazz offers to drive Danny to school, the Fenton parents quickly assume that she's a ghost and go off to track them down... even despite her previous argument that she was mentally an adult (should I be concerned that Jazz called Danny an 'abused, unwanted wretch' to make a point to their parents?) A POINT TO MADDIE, she worried about hurting Jazz if she really wasn't a ghost but Jack quickly dismisses that, as their ghost-hunting device only hurts when gets into human hair (spoiler alert, it gets into Jazz's hair). She also insists that Danny is not a ghost, but unfortunately she ultimately doesn't try to stop Jack when he insist Jazz is a ghost. Standing aside and letting abuse play out does not mean Maddie is innocent of hurting her daughter too.

"Fanning the Flames": When Jazz and Danny are struggling to study for an upcoming test, Jack decides that they should put their kids into the 'Fenton Stockades' which is basically an iron maiden. And yes, the Fentons have an entire floor that is meant to torture people. I feel like that should probably be addressed at some point. A POINT TO MADDIE, she stood her ground and refused to let him put their children inside, and even locks him inside instead.

"Teacher of the Year": After hearing displeasing news about the state of Danny's grades in a parent-teacher conference, Maddie lectures Danny by saying, "Get this straight Danny. You're a Fenton. Fentons get As. Or in your father's case, B minuses." Before this, when Danny tried to explain himself, Jack shuts him up with, "Now that's enough of your sass talk mister." Do a lot of parents act like this? Yes. Does that make this a good, conductive way to help your child improve their grades? No, it does not. In fact, Maddie's response in particular probably reinforces the idea that Danny doesn't fit in with the rest of his family and further proves that Jazz is the favorite child. Not a great parenting moment.

"Fright Knight": In this episode, Jack tells Danny, "If I didn't consider it a sign of weakness, I'd weep with joy!" Not a very promising sign when a parent tells their child that it's wrong to show emotion. It's especially telling, however, when it's crying from joy and not even sadness. Yikes.

"13": This is the episode where Jazz 'dates' Johnny briefly, and we see Danny stalking them on their dates. I've seen people give Danny a decent amount of flack for that as well, so this would be a good time to say that the Fenton parents were there too and even encouraged him to keep stalking his sister. Danny was wrong to ignore Jazz's privacy like that, but he definitely learned it somewhere.

"Public Enemies": Here we see more of the Fenton parents' aggression towards ghosts. We get a line from Jack: "I'm gonna tear that ghost kid apart into a million different-" Notice something here? He recognizes that Phantom is a ghost 'kid' and yet still fully intends to shoot at him with the intent to hurt if not straight-up kill him. The only time Maddie disagrees with him is to insist that she does the dirty work because she has better aim than him. These are not the type of people you should let children stay with.

"Maternal Instincts": Okay, I gotta say it, this is a really cute episode. We get to see Maddie reminiscing over how close she and Danny used to be and wishing they had that bond again. Unfortunately she does get some points docked off for deciding what they should do as a bonding activity instesd of asking what Danny wanted to do and maybe learning more about his interests and who he is as a person now that he's a teenager. But there is this really sweet moment where Maddie tells Danny 'I love you' at the campsite which absolutely melted my heart and then later on when she saves Danny from the ghosts, Danny tells her she's awesome and gives her a hug. So sweet. But then she kinda ruins it by asking her son to act as a distraction and- Please do not ask your teenage children to keep skeevy old guys 'entertained' when you know he's a creep. A POINT TO JACK, while all this is going on he's defending his daughter and even shouts, "Back off, she's a minor!" That's some Dr. Doofenshmirtz energy right there, I respect it. He also talks about making Jazz an action figure, which was a really cute moment amidst the chaos.

"The Million Dollar Ghost": This episode is filled with some great Danny-Jack bonding moments and goes to show how much Danny cares about his father that he's willing to get caught to make Jack feel better about himself. We also get to see how much Jack cares about how Danny views him and he wants to be someone in Danny's eyes. Unfortunately, this is the episode where Danny gets lectured for not doing all his lab chores, such as cleaning the beakers and changing the ecto-filtrator- despite knowing that the portal could blow up if they don't change in time and knowing that Danny is bad at cleaning his own room. And we literally get a scene where Jack knocks something over and tells Danny to clean it up because he was too busy running around to do it himself. Is it important to give children chores? Yes, it teaches them responsibility. You should not be asking them to deal with hazardous, dangerous chemicals that can literally cause an explosion capable of killing people. Something to keep in mind.

Now let's look at Season 2:

"Doctor's Disorders": In this lovely (sarcasm) episode, we have Jack saying to Danny's face: "Poor Jazz. She's always been my favorite." I don't feel like this one needs much more explanation for how horrible this is. Also, this isn't really too relevant to the bad-parent-thing and more to the "they wouldn't take Danny's reveal well under other circumstances" thing, because Maddie literally says to Tucker: "Everybody knows humans can't have ghost powers." Which would technically, probably, dehumanize Danny in their eyes.

"Identity Crisis": There's one line in particular in this episode I wanted to point out, which is from Jack where he says, "Safety features? Why, safety features are for punks." ...I know this is probably supposed to be a joke, but when you think about it, it's even worse than you might think. In fanon we do tend to stress how forgetful the Fentons are when it comes to lab safety, but it's one thing to forget and it's a whole other thing to purposefully dismiss it. I could even argue that we're doing the Fentons a service by characterizing them as simply forgetful.

"The Fenton Menace": This is one of the episodes I referenced in the original ask as well, for its... plethora of concerning material. There are lines such as, "Whether it's air land or sea I won't stop until we capture a ghost and tear it apart. Molecule by molecule." A POINT TO MADDIE, she told her family she loved them by saying, "Nothing like spending quality family time with the people you love." However she immediately loses those points when she and Jack attempt to 'spin the crazy' out of Danny. The episode transcript reveals Danny's reaction to this, which is described by, "Danny screaming, his face and hair flying around. Zoom out to show him strapped to a table, which is attached to a metal arm. Zoom out to show the metal arm connected to a centrifuge-like device on the ceiling." As well as, "Danny is shaking, hair sticking up with bags under his eyes." Is this supposed to be a joke? I wouldn't know because quite frankly, I'm not laughing.

"The Fright Before Christmas": So in this episode we learn why Danny hates Christmas! Which is because he got peed on by a dog. As a baby. What kind of parent lets their baby get peed on by a dog? Again, child neglect is a criminally punishable offense, and if they had left him out, in the cold, with dog piss on him, we could have had a lot bigger problems here. They also ignore both their children for most of this episode due to their arguing, although they go back later on and tell Danny that he shouldn't be alone for Christmas and where was all this concern before?

"Secret Weapons": Ah... This is the episode where it happens. Here we get the infamous interaction. Please note how a ghost is referred to as an 'it'. Not a person, not even a kid. But an 'it' that can feel pain that will go ignored.

Jazz: "Does it hurt the ghost?" Maddie: [laughs] "Oh, Jazz! You know your father and I don't care about that. Jack: "Yeah! If we hear it scream, then we know it's working."

"Micro-Management": At the very end of this episode, Jack makes a comment to Danny, "I'm so proud. Our boy finally has the physical prowess of a 60 year old president. Here's to you son." Clearly it's meant to be a compliment, but I don't know about you guys, but I wouldn't take this as a compliment.

"Masters of All Time": This one takes a more distressing turn, because after Maddie catches Danny for snooping around, she has his strapped down to a table and fires a laser at him to interrogate him, thinking he's a ghost (though the laser doesn't hit him, just threatens him, which... isn't much better). And this is after he's already insisted that he's her son. He is still very clearly a child, and even if she doesn't believe that he's her son (for admittedly understandable reasons, people usually remember when they bear children), the fact that she strapped him to a table at all does not look favorably on her. Especially when he very clearly believed that she was his mother, and he was her son. And she still did this to him. Yes, there were time shenanigans involved, but that doesn't make this any easier on Danny just because he knows the truth.

"Reality Trip": This episode showcases that the Fenton parents can actually be decent parents. While they have a hard time believing the truth at first, they do eventually accept it. However, it is still important to remember that Danny could have never known what their reaction would be, so his fear is understandable and rooted in real concern for his life. Here are some of the best points from this transcript:

Jack: "Imagine, our own son has had ghost powers all this time and has kept them a secret from us. [confused] But we love him! [turning to Maddie] I wonder why he didn't trust us enough to tell us." Jazz: "[sarcastically] Hmm, let me guess. [mimicking Jack] "Hey, Maddie, let's destroy the ghost!" [mimicking Maddie] "No, Jack, let's dissect the ghost." [mimicking Jack again] "I know, let's catch the ghost and rip it apart molecule by molecule!" [normal voice, sarcastic again] You guys are so understanding." [Jack and Maddie drop their gazes, ashamed.]

Moving onto Season 3:

"Eye for an Eye": This is more a passing mention, but Jack seems to be a little obsessed with the GIW and huge fans of their work, and you do see it some more in "Livin' Large" later on in the season as well.

"Girls' Night Out": We see Jack trying to make an effort with Danny in this episode again. I did point out in the original ask reply that Jack was obviously trying to be a good father for Danny, which definitely deserves some points. However, it is still important to point out how generally uninterested Danny was in the bonding activity. It goes back to how Maddie ignored the chance to give Danny a choice, and how dismissive they tend to be towards him. I still want to award Jack a point for looking for advice from 'Father/Son Relationships For Stupids!' but I do so half-heartedly. Their interactions in this episode definitely reek with discomfort, but considering everything that has gone down in between now and "The Million Dollar Ghost", that does make sense.

"Torrent of Terror": This is another instance of extreme lack of safety precautions- the airbags don't deploy? In the GAV??? Somewhere out there, OSHA is crying.

"Forever Phantom": Maddie and Jack show a lot of anti-Phantom rhetoric in this episode. So this tracks how uncomfortable and/or threatened Danny might feel at home. Some examples include:

Jack: "He keeps this up he's liable to make people forget he's nothing but a putrid rancid ball of self-aware protoplasm."

Maddie: "Don't be fooled sweetie. He's up to something. Remember that time he attacked the mayor? Or stole everyone's Christmas presents? Once a filthy ghost always a filthy ghost."

"Livin' Large": Something to remember, the GIW intend to fire a missile into the Ghost Zone after gaining access to the Fentons' portal. While they didn't have the password right away, it cannot be understated that the Fentons basically gave away their house in exchange for wealth. Thankfully the missile was just a fake and not a real weapon of mass destruction, but do not mistake this to mean that- had it been real- the GIW wouldn't have gone through with it. And the Fenton parents would have been just as responsible.

And that concludes our canon research for this argument! Let's wrap things up with some stats. Of the 49 episodes in the show, we have evidence in 21 episodes. That is roughly 43% of the show, and this does not include comments that Danny has made about his parents and how they treat him. Obviously, at the end of the day, human error is possible. There is always a chance that I could have missed another piece of information, or perhaps another thoughtful addition to this list. However, 43% is no laughing matter.

Yes, the Fenton parents had their shining moments, but with all the other evidence presented that overshadows those little gems, can you confidently say that they are good parents? And most of all, if you were in Danny's shoes, would you say the same thing?

It's easy to excuse this as a cartoon. When you're writing in this world, playing with these characters, that excuse instantly evaporates.

Thank you for reading, I hope you all learned something about the Fenton parents like I did.

[communistkenobi]

Hi, genuine good faith question if you'd like! How is TOS racist? It was my understanding that the OG Series was like, huge for equality in media?

I’m speaking primarily about the content of TOS itself, not its historical impact - I understand it had various historic firsts in terms of having characters of colour in respectable roles, which I’m not dismissing. My experience with the discourse on here surrounding the show is that people front-load these character representations as emblematic of the show’s progressive politics. Which, if we want to go that route, TOS was contemporary to the US civil rights movement, which provides us with a handy measuring stick to see how TOS actually grapples with race, not just the presence of characters of colour themselves. I'm going to be kind of defensive in this explanation, not towards you specifically, but because I have had this conversation with people online many, many, many times, and so any defensiveness on my part is in anticipation of arguments I know will come up as a result of making the basic claim that a show made in America in the 1960s is racist. I'm also going to be copy + pasting from an older post I've made on the subject since it's been a while now since I've watched TOS so some of the details are fuzzy.

Like okay, the premise of TOS is that the Enterprise, as an ambassador of Starfleet/the Federation, is seeking out new alien life to study. The Prime Directive prohibits the Enterprise crew from interfering with the development of any alien culture or people while they do this, so the research they collect needs to be done in an unobtrusive way. I think this is the first point at which people balk at the argument that TOS is racist or has a colonial conception of the world - the Enterprise’s mission is premised on non-interference, and I think when people hear ‘colonial’ as a descriptor they (understandably, obviously) assume it is describing active conquest, genocide, and dispossession. Even setting aside all the times where Kirk does directly interfere with the “development” of a people or culture (usually because they’ve “stagnated” culturally, because a culture "without conflict" cannot evolve or “develop” beyond its current presumed capacity - he is pretty explicitly imposing his own values onto another culture in order to force them to change in a particular way), or the times when the Enterprise is actually looking to extract resources from a given planet or people, I’m not exactly making this claim, or rather, that’s not the only thing I’m describing when calling TOS racist/colonial.

The show's presentation of scientific discovery and inquiry is anthropological - the “object” of analysis is alien/foreign culture, meaning that when the Enterprise crew comes into contact with a new being or person, this person is always read first and foremost through the level of (the Enterprise’s understanding of) culture. Their behaviour, beliefs, dress, way of speaking, appearance, and so on are always reflective of their culture as a whole, and more importantly, that their racial or phenotypic characteristics define the boundaries of their culture. Put another way, culture is interpreted, navigated, and bound racially - the show presents aliens as a Species, but these species are racially homogeneous, flattening race to a natural, biological difference that is always physically apparent and presented through the lens of scientific objectivity, as "species" is a unit of biological taxonomy. Basically species is a shorthand for race. This is the standard of most sci-fi/fantasy genre work, so this is not a sin unique to Star Trek.

Because of this however, Kirk and Co are never really interacting with individuals, they are interacting with components of a (foreign, exotic, fundamentally different) culture, the same way we understand that a biologist can generalize about a species using the example of an individual 'specimen'. And when the Enterprise interacts with these cultures, they very frequently measure them using a universalized scale of development - they have a teleological (which is to say, evolutionary) view of culture, ie, that all cultures go from savage to rational, primitive to advanced, economically simple to economically complex (ie, to capitalist modes of production). And the metrics they are judging these cultures by are fundamentally Western ones, always emphasising to the audience that the final destination of all cultures (that are worthy of advancing beyond their current limited/“primitive” stages) is a culture identical to the Federation, a culture that can itself engage in this anthropological mission to catalogue all life as fitting within a universal set of practices and racial similarities they call “culture.”

This is a western, colonial understanding of culture - racially and spatially homogeneous people comprise the organs of a social totality, ie, a society, which can then be analysed as an “object,” as a “phenomenon,” by the scientists in order to extract information from them to produce and advance state (ie Federation) knowledge. The Enterprise crew are allowed to be individuals, are allowed to be subjects with a capacity for reason, contradiction, emotion, compassion, and even moments of savagery or violence, without those things being assigned to their “race” or “culture” as a whole, but the people they interact with are only components of a whole which are “discovered” by the Enterprise as opportunities to expand and refine the Federation’s body of knowledge.

Spock is actually a good example of what I'm talking about, because he is an exception to this rule - unlike the others in the crew, his behaviour is always read as a symptom of his innate Vulcan-ness, where his human and Vulcan halves war for dominance in his mind and character. Bones (the doctor, one of the main cast) constantly comments on Spock's inability to feel things, that he is callous and unsympathetic, ruled by Vulcan logic to such an extreme that his rationality is a form of irrationality, as his Vulcan blood prohibits him from tempering logic with human emotion and intuition. Now you can argue that Bones is a stand-in for the racists of the world, that Spock proves Bones wrong in that he is able to feel but merely keeps it under wraps, that Vulcans are not biologically incapable of emotion but merely live in a socially repressive culture, but this still engages in the racial logic of the show - Vulcans are a racially-bound species with a single monolithic culture, and Spock's ability to express and feel 'human emotions' is the metric by which he is granted human subjectivity and sympathy.

And on the flip side you have the Klingons - a “race” that is uniformly savage, backward, violent, and dangerous. In the episode Day of the Dove, where Klingons board the Enterprise along with an alien cloud that makes everyone suddenly aggressive and racist (this show is insane lol), the Enterprise crew begins acting violent and racist, but the Klingons don’t change. They aren’t more violent than before (because they already were fundamentally violent and racist), and they don’t become less violent when the cloud eventually leaves (because they are never able to emerge from their violence and savagery as a social condition or external imposition - they simply are that way). Klingons are racially, behaviourally, psychologically, and culturally homogeneous, universally violent and immune to reason, and their racial characteristics are both physical manifestations of this universal violence as well as the origin of it. The writers and creators of TOS are explicitly invoking the orientalist idea of the “Mongolian horde,” representing both the American fear of Soviet global takeover as well as blatantly racist fears about “Asiatics” (a word used in the show, particularly in The Omega Glory where a fear of racialised communist takeover is made explicit) dominating the world.

This is colonial thinking! Like, fundamentally, at its core, this is colonial white supremacist thinking. Now this is not because TOS invents these tropes or is the origin of them, it is not individually responsible for these racial and colonial logics - these conceptions are endemic to Western thought, and I am not expecting a television show to navigate its way outside of this current colonial paradigm of scientific knowledge. I’m also not expecting an average person watching this to pick out all the intricacies of this and link it to the colonial history of Europe or the colonial history of western philosophy/thought. But this base premise of Star Trek is why the show is fundamentally colonial - even if it was the case that the crew never intervened in any alien conflict, never extracted any material resources from other people, this would still be colonial logic and colonial thinking. The show has a fundamentally colonial imagination when it comes to exploration, discovery, and culture.

I think a good place to end is the opening sequence. The show's first line is always "Space! The final frontier." I do not think the word frontier is meant metaphorically or poetically - I think the show is being honest about its conception of space as an infinitely vast, infinitely exotic frontier from which a globally Western civilisation (which the Enterprise is an emblem of) can extract resources, be they material or epistemic

[kaicubus]

Shoplifting | Wayne M.

warnings ✩° : smut, cursing, partial exhibitionism, fucking in a public place but in a private setting, enclosed space intimacy, p in v, unprotected sex bc i forgot to write a condom in, cursing.

pairing ✩° : wayne x fem!reader, characters are of age and NOT minors.

premise ✩° : known to be a bit of a kleptomaniac, you go to the mall with wayne in hopes of stealing some pricey clothes from a store only to find the two of you locked inside a changing room. what better to do than to take advantage of the situation?

word count ✩° : 4.8k

authors note ✩° : guys writers block is real. finishing this was HELL. might take a short break...just like this fic tho it’s short and rushed...i need my smut writing skills to improve IMMEDIATELY.

There’s something about the color orange that sticks out to you. Most people don’t like it, some do, but only because they’re taught it means warmth like summer or sweet like a tangerine. But you always thought orange was just a really nice color, no explanation. That’s why you chose it.

It was found on a rack in one of the most expensive stores in the mall that was known for its wide, yet very exclusive, selection of tops and lingerie. Victoria’s Secret.The prices in that store are always really high, so you just like to browse. Or at least that’s what you make it seem like.

Truth is, being a bit of a kleptomaniac has its perks. You don’t even think twice about grabbing tubes of $20 lip glosses or $36 perfumes and sliding them up your long sleeve hoodies or jean pockets. It comes naturally and you are a known prodigy in your craft. Long before anyone can realize or even detect on cameras, you leave with your pockets full of both money and items that would cost a fortune. The mall is your playground, and it’s not hard to get what you want.

Today you came in with your boyfriend Wayne, who’s known to be very strange looking. That’s not a bad thing, since it works out in your favor sometimes when you’re being followed or people try to hit on you or even worse, try and hurt you. But other than that, Wayne is known to be the reason people look the other way or lock their doors and shade their windows. No one knows how loving he is towards you, like a bear drawn to honey. He would do anything for you. But, side by side, it would be hard to go into certain stores without be given weird glances or worse, followed around.

When you first entered Victoria’s secret, you told Wayne specifically to wait outside, but knowing he’d get impatient with you, you gave him a task instead and asked for different sizes of different sets you liked. He gladly accepted, leaving you alone to try on different undergarments and admire yourself in the mirror for as long as two minutes per set. You knew he’d be at a loss without you in a forest of lace and ivory mannequins, and a part of you liked knowing that. You're lost in your own thoughts when you came across the orange and white set, now fitting along the curves of your waist and hugging the plushness of your belly, pinching you in all the right places that only enhances your beauty.

Your eyes trace along the fabric, how the white mesh covers over your barely hidden breasts, little embroidered oranges scattered across it in an orderly fashion. The cuteness of the design completely clashed with the way the bra was manufactured to be what you liked to call a window piece, but it seemed to work really well. You spin around, glancing at the panties from behind and noticing how it straddled your inner thighs and almost pushed out your ass more than usual. 

It was a good look, maybe a bit too tight, but it wasn’t constricting. Of course, the price made you gag, making it more appetizing to take off and slip into your tote bag resting on the seat provided in the dressing room you're already in. All you had to do was take off the tag and toss it on the floor, on top of the mirror or something. Luckily for you, taking off tags was one of your specialties, though finding them was a struggle.

You let out a sigh and begin tapping your hand around the usual places where a tag would be : on the side of the underwear, back of the bra, inside of the bra, but none seemed to have the tag. You started to wonder if the tag was already taken off which would make snagging it much easier than you’d hoped until the sharp edge of the thin piece of hard plastic struck the tip of your finger, located on the very back of the bra. Finding the plastic attachment of the tag, your fingers curl around to gain tension and then you start to pull at it, plucking it off easily. In your moment of fumbling however, you notice the doorknob start to jiggle just enough to catch your attention.

For a moment, you freeze. Every nerve in your body tells you to stop even though your thoughts are screaming to move and get the garment off your body, but you don’t move. Your hands stay on the tag and instead, you watch the doorknob slowly turn, painfully staring with an owl like expression, each hair standing upright. That all stopped when the door slowly pushes itself open, revealing a very familiar tattered hand, bruises and cuts all over pale skin, holding two more sizes of the same two piece set you had tried on earlier.

You feel a wave or relaxation wash over your body as your eyes stare into your boyfriend’s dull, grayish eyes that seem to go full and wide when he looks at you. Only this time, his head is just slightly tilted down as he’s busy looking at other bra and underwear sets of the same orange piece.

“I got the other sizes.” Wayne says, “They said all these funny lookin’ numbers, but I just took whatever ones looked like your size and—”

You grab the doorknob quickly and pull Wayne in, shoving him against the wall next to you with a firm hand on his arm in just under a second. Your eyes flare with a flash of anger, anger at Wayne that he managed to scare you so bad, but also anger that you got worked up for no reason. The pounding of your heart in your chest makes you shake.

“Jesus, Wayne! You scared me! I thought you were a worker trying to get in here! They have sensors you know!” You say, still gripping onto him, not even paying attention to the clothing now piled on the floor. “Why don’t you knock first?”

“Why would I knock?” Wayne questions, “And why would a worker be trying to come in here when it says occupied? I thought we weren't doing illegal shit today, we got the money, don’t we?”

Though his questions make sense and have reasoning, you can’t help but remain a little flustered.

For a second, there’s silence between you two. Even if he wasn’t shoved in with you, Wayne didn’t even look down when he was first pulled into the stall with you, and you had completely forgotten you were next to being naked in front of him. You knew that the only thing protecting your dignity and saving you from embarrassment was a thin layer of orange mesh with tiny embroidered oranges. Wayne seemed to know that too.

“You look...pretty.” He says, leaning back against the wall behind him, “I like your oranges.” His awkwardness makes him cringe, but it makes you laugh instead. Wayne wasn’t a smooth talker, so his execution of his compliments hardly made way of what he actually wanted them to be. But he could hardly even focus, especially now.

“Thanks.” You twist around and accidentally brush up against him, “I like it a lot, what other sizes did you get?” You grab the bundle of hangers and hold each one up, looking at the slight difference in the sizing. Wayne had a habit of looking into you while he spoke, you always noticed. When he listened to you talk, and especially when he liked what you were saying, he would subconsciously lean forward, almost as if he was drawn to you.

In that habit, Wayne had forgotten about how close you two are and in leaning forward, ends up stumbling over you and knocking you directly into the wall in front of you. In an attempt to catch himself and not slam the both of you into the wall, his open hands fly to your hips and he quickly grabs onto the sides of your half covered ass.

There were many times where Wayne had touched you like that before, it’s no new news that you two have sex. But this time was different. This time, you guys knew you weren't alone and there were many clueless shoppers and staff around, and for that reason it felt off. Still, the proximity of both you and him closes in a second and by the way you're dressed, and the way he’s so close to you, holding you from behind.

“We should probably pay for this. It’s getting kind of stuffy in here anyways. How much you got anyways?” You turn your head over your shoulder, expecting him to move first, but he doesn't.

“Probably enough to buy this thing for you.” Wayne pinches an orange cream ribbon from the side and drops it back down, “Why oranges?”

“I saw it and it looked cute, does it not? You just said it was pretty.”

He looks at you with the same puppy eyes he always has on and gives a small smile of reassurance, moving his hands up from your hips to the sides of your stomach, slowly traveling up your body. 

“You forget we’re kinda in the middle of the mall here?” A grin plays unto your lips and you grab his wrist to stop one of his hands from moving up to your chest.

Wayne lets out a breathy sigh that tickles your ear, and you start to feel his rough and calloused hand start to squeeze and massage your breast. “There’s no one around. Plus, the door’s locked from the outside.”

Pause. “What.”

He looks at you in confusion and stops all movement, tilting his head to the side so his fluffy brown hair spills onto his shoulder. “What?” He doesn’t get it.

“What do you mean the door’s locked from the outside?!“ You spin around and shove your hands against Wayne’s chest, easily moving him out of the way. You wiggle the door knob, and low and behold, “It’s locked!?!”

Wayne rubs his hair back confusingly, “Yeah? I just said that, didn't I?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were serious! Did you lock it?”

“I didn't, no, but I saw a sign outside that had red marker over a piece of paper. Something about ‘do not enter’ and ‘stall is closed for maintenance and will not close.’ But it was the only one alone from all the others, and I’d be able to unlock it if need be.”

“Wayne! Do you realize that we’re both in here now?!” There was no point in arguing. On one hand, if you argue your way to a loud volume, you both would be found out and arrested for taking tags off of expensive merchandise. On the other, you would most likely rot there until something busted you out. The second option started to seem better than the first, judging by your circumstances. Plus, though anyone with half a brain could read the sign and understand it, but Wayne didn’t have half a brain. He just did what he wanted.

You flash your boyfriend an apologetic look, batting your lashes down and swaying your hips backwards to give yourself some room in the cramped stall. By the way he looks at you back, your heart aches a little for raising your voice.

“It’s not all bad, Wayne.” You touch his arm and smile, “It could be worse. Like, this could be a new changing room and the lock wouldn’t be rusted shut...and...it’d be harder to get out...?” You hide the fact you have no idea what you were saying, only trying to muster something out so Wayne would feel less horrible about himself. It was no use though, the same expression sat on his eyes and down turned lips. But he appreciates it nonetheless.

Wayne nods and looks back into your eyes. You flash him a smile before turning your back towards him, lifting your hair to the side and exposing your ribbon caged back to him. “Can you try and get this thing off? I can’t breathe very well and I’m trying to get the tag off.”

Wayne hesitates. “How’d you even get it on in the first place? I don’t even see a zipper.”

"These things don’t need a zipper. Just a pair of hands to untie it and get it on.”

He shrugs and starts to untie the piece, tugging at thin ribbons and cute lace embroidery, toying at the fabric like some cat batting around a yarn string. When it becomes clear that Wayne doesn’t know what he’s doing in the slightest, you turn around to face him and give him a disappointed look. But, in your attempt to do so, your top instantly falls to the ground, startling both you and Wayne.

“I-I had it.” Wayne chokes out, covering his eyes and desperately trying not to give into any thoughts to look at all the places he shouldn’t.

“It’s fine! Just let me—“ You bend down and try to pick up the top, accidentally bumping directly into Wayne, crashing right against his legs. When you try to stand up, Wayne moves forward to give you more room, but ends up throwing off your balance over all.

“Sorry—It’s just so cramped in here! Here, wait, go over there! No, over there—fine, ok I’ll go! Ugh! Wayne!“ You groan in frustration and finally, manage to stand up. Only, now you’re somehow closer than you were before, only centimeters apart to Wayne’s face, who’s now up against a wall, halfway down it.

His hands twitch as they lay on the smoothness of your thighs, giving into the slightest touch and only itching to have more. He quickly finds it in himself to pull you closer, bumping your exposed chest into his clothed one, not caring or even paying any mind to your nudity. He only curls his fingers of his unoccupied hand into your hair, reaching up and gently closing the gap between you.

You hadn’t realized before just how soothing Wayne’s kisses were. In fact, they were the only thing keeping you from freaking out, quite literally naked and full of anxiety that someone could walk in and see you both. But all fear washes out as soon as Wayne reminds you, yet again, to keep your attention on him.

It’s hard to focus on just him though, with people talking around you, the sound of metal hangers gliding across racks

He spoke slowly, “Can I?” asking for permission. With a head nod, you agree and maybe without thinking, you lean forward and kiss him again.

With no room to make any sound or talk after that, Wayne pulls you onto his chest, hoisting you up just enough so he can hold you with both arms. Even when his eyes are closed, he still knows the way to your body as if they were wide open. He begins to move his hand south, brushing his rough skin against your smooth body, tangling his digits in the spaces of the orange silk. You can feel his chest expand as a sign of his impatience, wasting no time to pry the fabric off your lower half.

You let him do all the work, since you have no room to, and feel as he undoes his own belt and shags it down just enough so the rough denim of his jeans hangs off his hips, enabling a window of his boxers to be seen. Even though you're too busy trying to stay quiet, the scene is all too familiar, you can practically see everything. Wayne hurriedly takes himself out, fixing his hold on you as he releases his cock out of it’s confinement, and wastes no time to press against you.

As you look down, the sight of his tip already soaked in precum makes your heart flutter. It’s just as hard and erect as you thought it’d be, seeing as the effects of your outfit must have worked like a charm.

“I uh...I thought of—” Wayne opens his lips and tries to say, his voice an level higher than a whisper.

“Shh!” You hush, already somehow winded, “Shut up.”

Wayne presses his lips together and nods, a bit stunned from your hostility. But there was no room to be nice, there was no room to do anything at all. Almost instantly, his big hands ride the saddle of your hips and he snaps back into motion.

“Hm!” You let out a small yelp as Wayne enters his way into you, pushing the lacy material of the orange underwear to the side, he uses the tip of his cock to part your legs open, his size stretching you just enough to send both of you over the edge. He waits for a second, just to catch his breath, and watches you as you adjust to his size. He’s always been a bit too big for a daily fuck, but you barley paid any attention to it. When you’ve caught your breath, you look up at Wayne and give him a nod, silently telling him that you’re ready for him to move. He nods back which moves the choppy bangs in front of his eyes to sway forward.

His pace is slow, at first, not wanting to hurt you but also a bit rushed, seeing as the public place isn’t the most convenient to share an intimate moment with. But seeing as you hadn’t planned it at all, you had little room to complain.

Even with what little room you have, you find yourself subtly grinding back on Wayne’s groin, not even thinking. The small movement makes him throb inside of you, an uncontrollable response. Before you two know it, you pull away and gasp for air, hot breaths meshing together as you try and catch what little oxygen the room has to offer. It’s stuffy, so it doesn’t help the rising temperature between you, and the heat emitting off your bare chest makes it worse.

Wayne watches as a string of saliva connects from his lips to yours and breaks instantly, effectively making your lips wetter and rosier than usual. The sight makes his heart pound. You barely register his expression before he moves again, rutting himself against you like a depraved animal.

Not wanting to make a sound, two hand covers your mouth as Wayne starts to thrust his hips into yours, hard and deeply. Wayne can’t move as much as he’d like, if he had the opportunity, he’d absolutely ravage you like he usually does, savoring each moment and taking it slow. Once he grabs hold of your hips and starts moving your body against his, the combination turns deadly.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight but Wayne refuses to look away. His icy brown eyes practically glued on your eyelids beg for you to open yours and just look at him.

Labored breathing works its way out of Wayne as you writhe under his touch, scraping your nails into his back, even with a shirt on, managing to make a few red marks that’ll sure to appear later. He didn’t mind, Wayne’s only concern was fucking you as quick as possible and then find a way to get out of the dressing room without being noticed. But how can he think clearly when all he can hear is the struggled, barley muffled noises coming from your mouth?

“Open your legs a little.” You can barley hear his voice, it’s so quiet. He must’ve actually listened. “Right there, just like that.”

It feels too good. Better than usual in fact, to the point where the idea of stopping or slowing down quickly fades out of the picture. All of Wayne’s lack of reason only clouds his head and encourages him to speed up his pace, using a firm hold on your chest with the crook of his arms to hoist you up and arch your back manually for him to get in a better angle. You never thought it was possible to be this overwhelmed with everything all at once. Jolting downwards more, you let out uncontrollable moans, just barely being muffled by the palm of your hand to attempt to conceal your location as best as you can. Still though, Wayne remains completely unbothered and continues to thrust into you, the sides of his length rutting against your walls as loud as he can possibly make it.

A bit of frustration takes control as you twist over your shoulder, giving him an annoyed expression as he looks at you with a heavy-lidded stare of confusion. It’s moments like these where you wished he had a bit more common sense than what he had by default.

“S-Slow down! I can’t keep up!” You groan out, shuffling back into him to try and bump your hips with his.

Wayne grips your hips closer, harder, which makes you moan out again, only louder, and encloses the distance between your mouths with his lips on yours. You struggle to find the right part of him to grab on, slapping your hands on his chest, arm, and finding his back that eventually satisfies as a place to hold on to. He, instead, finds the underside of your thigh. The feeling of his fingers pressing lightly into your sensitive skin makes the hair stand on your body, losing grip on his back, turns into frantic touching.The sting of his nails digging into your flesh makes your head spin and very quickly forget all sensibility, allowing him to speed up again.

You can only hear the creaking of the feeble, obviously run down condition of the stalls next to you, as well as a bit of tapping from the metal lock clanging together.

With every sharp thrust, Wayne hoists you up, shoving you against the wall in front of you. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s enough to send all sorts of vibrations of heat to your core, basically slamming arousal into you each time. Wayne stares at your hands clamped over your mouth, eyes full of tears from the heightened feeling inside your stomach. You can’t bear to look at him anymore in fear of cumming too early, to which he’s well aware of, yet he pushes you against the wall one last time, nearly tossing you off the edge.

”Y-You're making too much noise—” You tear your hands away from your mouth for a second, just to protest his roughness, but Wayne takes the chance and plants his pliant lips against yours. When his mouth meets yours, his tongue roughly licks down, making a wet plucking sound when he pulls away, only to repeat several times. 

“Someone might hear us, just w-wait a second!” You clench down around his cock, locking your thighs around Wayne’s waist to try and get him to slow down. But it doesn’t help. 

You feel yourself spiraling, head reeling, as Wayne hurries his hips against yours and pounds into you, over and over again, just rocking you back and forth as quietly as he can. But even he can’t think right now, so he doesn’t even count how many ‘accidental’ times he’s made a loud squeak or shuffled his shoes against the floor to get a better hold on you.

Your walls tighten and suddenly you’re seeing nothing but the surface of Wayne’s shoulder, biting down on the thin fabric of his t-shirt, “Oh fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!” The taste of cotton laps over your taste buds, but even that isn’t enough to ignore the feeling of Wayne speeding up, now desperate to chase the high you both have worked so hard to finish.

He moans in pleasure and starts to pepper your bear shoulder in sporadic kisses, biting and marking down on your skin to silence himself just enough to last for a few more seconds. Just a few more.

Just a few more was all it takes before the pleasure finally collapses and so do you, right onto Wayne. He finally stops all movement and lets you ride out your orgasm, slowly pumping in and out of you to finish himself off as well. You want to cry, you want to curse, you want to scream his name but all you can do is sit as silently as you can on his arms, holding onto your mouth for dear life. Wayne huffs with his voice, raw with restraint and gruff with passion, watching your sad attempts at trying to keep it all together despite his cum filling every gap of your body up. “M-Mhm! Mh mh!” You let out a segmented sigh, your breath falling short on and dying half way. When Wayne pulls your body off of him, just enough for his cock to spring out of your insides, you can feel a bit of slick leak down the side of your trembling leg. You dare not make another noise.

You break away panting, maintaining eye contact with Wayne as he rubs his hands all over your body, almost apologetically for making so much noise. You can hardly see straight since all the blood in your body seemed to go directly to your head. For a second, there’s silence, a time to actually catch your breath without worrying someone is waiting outside for you. You glance up at Wayne, who’s gasping for air as much as you are, smiling, “Let’s never do that again.”

Wayne laughs a bit and bites his bottom lip. You can barely move from the pure ecstasy as he sets you down gently, legs suddenly losing their solid form and quickly turning into jelly. You cling onto him for stability and quietly look up at him again, to which he gives an understanding head nod.

Wayne goes to kiss you but suddenly gets interrupted by a knocking from outside.

“Excuse me?” A voice says, accompanied by the faint jingle of keys on a key ring.

“SHIT!” You mouth, profanity now spilling out of your lips faster than ever. A flicker of panic splashes across your face as the subtle sound of the door unlocking fills every gap and space in the small room. Wayne goes to turn around to hide but ends up bumping into the wall, cursing a bit as well before spinning back to you with his hand on his head.

“There’s a uh. Wall there. Just in case you didn’t know.” He whispers.

“I KNOW THERE’S A FUCKING WALL THERE JUST GIVE ME MY CLOTHES!” You demand with an open hand.

It doesn’t feel real, but just in the amount of time you have, you manage to throw on your jeans over your shifted orange underwear and shirt, stuffing the orange lingerie top from the ground into your regular bra. Fuck knows that you aren’t leaving this trapped hell without a free souvenir to take home.

Right when everything makes it way onto your body, you straighten your posture and turn to face the locked door, feeling all sorts of rushes of emotions. Fear, panic, pleasure, worry, relief, all pumping at an all time high.

“Looks like you two got locked in!” The voice laughs, key clicking into the jammed lock with a rusted, silver key. And just like that, light flows into the darkened room and nearly blinds you both. Just as the light pours in, the friendly face of a young worker does the same, her thin lips spreading across her high strung cheeks, happily, looking at two people with stray hairs flying all over the place and flushed faces.

“When my boss told me she saw two people come in here on the cameras, I didn’t believe it!” The worker laughs, clacking her keys back onto her belt, “The sign must’ve fell off or something. So sorry for the inconvenience, we’ll give you both a discount for any item you purchase today!” She bows her head apologetically, “Let’s get you out of here, I’m sure you’ve been waiting for a while now, huh?”

“R-Right. Sorry, we just...we lost our way a bit, but thank you for letting us out. I was convinced I was going to die in there.” You give a half hearted chuckle, just to appear like a normal, functional person.

“No worries at all! Let’s get you two rung up if you're both ready to check out?”

You nod and start walking out, Wayne following behind you, “More than ready.”

As you two follow the worker, you notice Wayne lag a little bit behind. You stop for a second to grab his hand, securing him in his rightful spot next to you, rather than behind. He gives you a smile, to which you both share. The moment was over for sure, and hopefully there isn’t another time that would ever happen like that again. You let out a sigh of relief and Wayne notices, leaning down to say something,

“Maybe we should do it out in public more often. That was fun. Don’tcha think?”

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hello friend! I'm in love with your writing!!! 😍😍😍😍😍

Idk if your requests are still open but I'd like to request something if you don't mind!

I LOVED the hurt/comfort/whump fic you did for Hunter. Could you possibly do something like that for Tech x Reader?

Maybe Tech and the reader are on a mission together or maybe they've crash landed somewhere or something. The reader is badly hurt and Tech has to take care of her and treat her wounds and save her and comfort her in his own special Tech way 😂😍

Oh @arctrooper69 what can I say? I mean ... I think a thank you is just not enough. You have made my day with this request, so I took my time to give it the proper respect it deserves. I hope you like it. If it wasn't exactly what you were looking for I do apologize.

Please note that you are always welcome to send in requests. As this is a special request, it will be stored in my One Shots & Mini Series Master List.

The story got a little away from at 1400+ words, but I hope it's close to what you wanted.

And who doesn't love Tech. I love this adorable nerdy man.

Love oo,

His Promise

Warnings: Snow, injury, blood, explosions, crash, grief, fear, anxiety, hurt, fluff, near death, feelings of being a burden, getting in the way, I think that's it. If I miss any, please let me know.

Please note the explanation of Snow, Tech gives, was taken from the National Snow and Ice Data Centre.

AO3 Link   |   OS & MS Master List |   Main Master List  

The wind was picking up, as the snow piled down and was doing everything in its power to keep you and Tech from being rescued. You looked at the snow as it came down in sheets outside the entrance of the cavern he found, mesmerized by its beauty. 

“It’s beautiful and so calming …” you said slowly, your body already weakened from your injury and loss of blood.

“What are you talking about?” Tech did his best not to let the slowness of your breathing or even the breathless way you were speaking affect him. His anxiety was already high, and his fear of losing you was nearing his breaking point. 

“The snow…” you kept watching the soft flakes float down as they gently landed on the ground, piling on top of one another, almost as though they were unable to survive without the comfort of those around them. 

Tech glanced up to see the blizzard which prevented you both from leaving. As he watched the speed of the wind, he calculated it would’ve been nearly impossible for Hunter to bring the ship close to them. As he looked at the used bandages already soaked through with your blood his fear only grew. You needed immediate medical attention, more than he could provide at the moment, or it would mean certain death for you to be out here any longer.

Frankly, he couldn’t stop picturing the way you lunged forward as the ship crashed. He was helpless to watch you, as your body fell forward against the console, as a piece of the console broke off and jabbed you in your abdomen. It all happened too fast and somehow in slow motion. He could still hear your scream piercing his ear as he pulled you off the console.

He tried to stop the bleeding right away, however when he went to look for the med kit, he realized only too late that it had fallen out of the shuttle when the engine and the side compartment blew. All he had left were his emergency bandages and gauze and they weren’t nearly enough. 

At that moment, he couldn’t care less about how beautiful the snow was or how calming the blizzard looked from inside a cavern, that he only had to find because that piece of osik shuttle decided to have a fuel leak, catching on fire. 

Within seconds he had needed to drag you out of the relatively warm and safe shelter you both had, grabbing what supplies he could before the ship blew up. Thankfully, he had been able to send a message to Hunter when the shuttle crashed initially. So it was only a matter of time before the Marauder showed up, but …

His eyes fell back to the bundle of used gauze, his anxiety climbing as he knew you needed more first aid than he could provide at the moment. You needed the Marauder, you needed his med kit that he carefully stocked and kept safe on board the Marauder. At this point in time, he didn’t care about any kriffing snow.

“Snow is an accumulation of packed ice crystals. The condition of the packed crystals determines a variety of attributes, such as colour, temperature and water equivalent. As weather conditions change, the packed ice crystals can change as well, and this affects the characteristics of snow.”

You chuckled at his ability to pull forth information like it was nothing. Unfortunately the chuckle turned to coughing. Only causing you to dribble more blood out of your mouth, you wiped away what you could. He didn’t need to see that, “Tech …” you coughed again, “turn off your brain for two seconds, don’t think and just look. Just watch.”

He pulled the heater closer towards you, “Stop talking and try and warm up.”

“Tech…” you held his hand, “just look.”

His eyes drifted up your body, till he locked eyes with you. They were pleading for him to listen and to just have him appreciate what you found mesmerizing. He tried to follow your advice, focusing on the snow, but all his mind kept drifting back to was this blizzard that was preventing you from getting the medical attention you needed, so desperately. 

He shook his head focusing back on your abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding. Trying his best to keep you with him. 

“Tech,” you gripped his wrist “… stop …”

“No.”

His tone was firm and full of anger, why did he agree to let you come with him? If he used his brain instead of allowing his feelings for you to dictate his actions, you wouldn’t have been here. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Why did you always insist on following him? Why didn’t you just stay behind on Pabu? Simply because you wanted to see the galaxy, and he was excited to show it to you? It was his fault you were here. It was his fault you were in danger. It was his fault he … was going to lose you.

“Tech …” you squeezed his wrist. He removed your hand from his wrist, placing it off to the side as he focused on your wound. He didn’t deserve your touch, he didn’t deserve to have you comfort him. It was his fault you both crashed on this force forsaken planet. 

There was nothing you could do as you watched Tech pull away. 

From the moment you met him on Pabu, the way he worked with Phee as he helped rescue the villagers when the rogue wave was rushing towards the island, and the way he helped make everything more ‘efficient,’ you couldn’t help but fall in love with him. You wanted to learn from him, to listen to him go on with regards to anything and everything. Only problem was you never had the courage to actually utter the words you were dying to. Phee told you time and time again, ‘later’ was never a guarantee, and now as you lay on the cold floor of the cavern you were in, bleeding out of your abdomen, you realized how little time there was left. 

  Tears welled up in your eyes, as you realized you needed to unburden yourself. You needed to tell him what had been pressing on your heart before you didn’t have the strength to, it didn’t help that you were feeling weaker with each passing second. Also didn’t help that you could tell he was angry, actually a more accurate description would be infuriated, more than likely at you.

“I’m sorry.” You offered the only apology you could. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden, even now.” You took in a shuddering breath as Tech stopped moving his hands for two seconds as he focused on your face. “I’m sorry for always pestering you to teach me,” you offered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for not listening,” a tear slid down your cheek, “I’m sorry for putting you in this position. To have to feel responsible for someone like me.” 

He shook his head, his teeth clenched as his anger, grief, fear, and sadness overwhelmed him completely in that moment. He pulled off his helmet and placed it beside him. 

“Stop.” It was his only command.

“Please, I …” you coughed again, trying to not cough on him. “I just want … I need to …”

He cut off your speech as his hand cupped your cheek, “Cyar’ika …” tears welled up in his eyes, “you were … are never a burden.” He couldn’t believe that’s what you thought of him… that’s what you believed he felt for you. He shook his head again as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I have loved every second we have spent together. I made a point to record every moment with you, because they were more precious to me than breathing.”

You held on to his bicep, keeping him close as tears streamed down your cheek, “Tech … I … I don’t want to go… I want … I want to stay here with you…”

“You’re not going anywhere. I just got you …” his tears landed on your cheeks, mixing with your own, “you’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Hold me… please… just hold me until…I can’t feel your arms anymore.”

“I’ll hold you longer than that,” Tech pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he felt your body grow weaker. Your eyes were closed, your body was growing pale. He was so focused on you, he didn’t hear the voices calling out to him, at least not until he felt Hunter’s hand on his shoulder. He didn’t wait, there were no more seconds to lose. He rushed towards the Marauder with you in his arms, he wasn’t going to lose you. He promised. He was going to bring you back.

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Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, vomiting, minor injury, confirmation of minor canonical character death

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

The silence inside the truck was so uncomfortable that it teetered on the border of unbearable. Daryl hadn’t spoken a single word, not even when the caravan stopped to discuss forthcoming plans and you were invited to join. He didn’t have to speak. The intense glare that could have burned a hole through Rick’s head said everything his mouth didn’t.

You noticed Jacqui’s absence at once. There was an ache in your chest at her loss. She had been kind to you the few times you had interacted. You didn’t need an explanation. She had perished at the CDC. Whether or not it had been at Jenner’s hand was irrelevant. It had been his intent to trap you all there. In the end, it would still be blood on the doctor’s hands. 

“So, we’re all in agreement? Fort Benning?” The former sheriff met the eyes of everyone as they nodded. “Alright, that’s settled. I think we need to discuss our means of travel. We’ll burn a helluva lot of fuel taking so many vehicles. Any suggestions?”

Looks were exchanged, but Dale spoke up first. “I know the RV is by far the worst on the fuel but it does provide space and a means of shelter beyond what the others do. I’m probably biased but there it is.”

“No, I think as long as we can keep the RV running, it should stay.” Lori agreed with a nod and a hand on the older man’s shoulder. 

“Alright, okay.” Rick continued. “That still leaves four others.”

“We can ditch the van. Ride in the RV.” T-Dog offered quickly. 

“I can lose the Jeep and ride with you, Lori, and Carl.” Shane leaned against the vehicle in question and awaited a response. Rick shook his head almost immediately. 

“We’ll take Carol and Sophia, keep the kids together. You can go in the RV.” 

The first emotion that passed over the other officer’s face was sour, you noticed, but swiftly turned into a compliant smile and nod. You narrowed your eyes but held your tongue. Not your circus, not your monkeys.

“M’a take the bike.” Daryl stated matter-of-factly, not even waiting for input before he dropped the tailgate of the truck. “Ya help me with this?” He waved a hand toward the truck bed with a glance at T-Dog.

“That’s good, Daryl. Real good. Lori, Carol, the kids, and I in the Cherokee. Daryl and Y/N on the bike. The rest in–”

“Just me.” The redneck interjected, not looking away from the task of unloading the bike. You didn’t need confirmation to know what he meant. 

“What?” Rick asked anyway.

“She can ride in the RV.” Daryl huffed. Rick raised his eyebrows but ended with shrugging a shoulder and moving on. 

You, however, continued staring at the archer. It wasn’t public knowledge that the baby was Daryl’s. Amidst the panic and confusion at the CDC, no one took notice of the exchanges between the two of you. You assumed he’d like to keep it that way. Assumptions were all you had to go on at the moment because the bastard was refusing to speak to you! Still, if he continued with the very obvious disdain toward you, he was going to give himself away.

“Y/N?”

“Huh?” You turned to find all other eyes on you. 

“Rick was asking if you’re okay being in the RV.” Lori was tilting her head, watching you with a look you didn’t really like. “Oh. Yeah, I’m fine wherever you want me.”

“Probably be more comfortable there.” Carol smiled that gentle smile of hers. “At some point, we’re gonna have to address the elephant in the room.” Shane’s tone was condescending. You curled your lip when he shifted to cross his arms and spit off to the side. His eyes remained on you, flickering down to your stomach and back up. You were starting to get the feeling he didn’t like you much.

Lucky for him, the feeling was mutual. “We’ve got time.” Lori interjected before you could even open your mouth. “One thing at a time. We need to find somewhere safe to stay first. Get off the road.” “She’s right.” Rick started grabbing the fuel cans and hoses to siphon the gas from the vehicles that were being left behind. The rest of the group scattered to move things and automobiles around, leaving you and Shane in a staring match. You wanted to smirk when he looked away first, granting you one last glance before disappearing around the RV.

“Anything I can do to help?” You walked up to the door of the RV as Dale stepped down. He gave you a sweet smile and traipsed out of your way, motioning to the inside. 

“You don’t need to be pulling and tugging at things. You just go on inside.” 

You snorted. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. I can help.”

The older man was obviously torn but with a glance toward Andrea, he finally relented. Another story there, you supposed. “Maybe move some of the lighter bags and supplies from the other cars. They may have beat you to it, but that’s really all I know of that would be okay for you.” 

“Okay, I’ll check with Lori.” You smiled at him before he went about with whatever he was doing in preparation to leave. You really did appreciate his concern but you were new to the group. You had to show them that you could be an asset. It wouldn’t do for you to end up on your own with a baby on the way. You made it to the back corner of the RV before you felt eyes searing into the back of your head. Maybe Shane had seen the exchange with Dale. Glancing over your shoulder, you locked eyes with Daryl. This time, it was you who looked away first.

You had chosen to all but hide in the back of the RV, on the bed with a book that Dale had let you borrow. You weren’t really reading as much as you were listening to the exchanges between Andrea and Shane. He was showing her about maintaining a gun. When she mentioned her father, you felt a twinge of pain in your chest. 

The nausea had returned with a vengeance. Sips of water, you could handle with enough time in between. The constant rolling of your gut had you turning away from anything substantial. You knew you should eat. You needed to eat. Maybe when the next stop was made, you could ask about some crackers or something. 

Lost in your head, it wasn’t until you heard Dale’s distressed exclamation that you actually looked up, leaning out to be able to see what was going on from your hovel in the back room. 

“Oh jeez. Aw no. See a way through?” 

You tossed the book to the foot of the bed and swung your legs over the edge to get to your feet. Glenn was suggesting to turn around for a bypass but Dale quickly shot down the idea. 

“We can’t spare the fuel.”

“Jesus.” You whispered when you got your first glimpse of the disastrous cluster of cars and debris. As the RV idled, there was a pop and a white cloud drifted up in front of the windshield. “Shit.” You followed the others out the door, taking in the scene when you heard Daryl’s bike. The hunter weaved through the maze of vehicles and stopped in front of the RV. 

The others discussed options, a conversation you purposefully avoided. They were including you but having a say in things was a totally different matter. You didn’t feel like you were there yet. 

“There’s a whole bunch’a stuff we can find.” Daryl was right. The owners of the abandoned cars didn’t need the things they’d left behind in their panic. Except—not all of them had left. You could clearly see a corpse in the passenger side of a sedan. Was it a walker? Couldn’t be. It would have responded to the noise. 

“This is a graveyard. I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“I’m with Lori. It feels like—grave robbing.” While Lori’s comment went ignored, yours earned a look from Shane that made your skin crawl. He eventually sneered before his expression smoothed out and he gave the order for everyone to go searching. 

You stood still, biting your lip in hesitation. The thought of someone taking your father’s belongings from the camp just because he was dead made you see red. How could you possibly go along with this?

Maybe you could stay behind in the RV. Andrea was there, so it shouldn’t be a problem if—

“Go on.” Daryl gave you a shove you would almost define as gentle. It was the first time he had spoken to you since the CDC. You wanted to retort with something snarky, but what would that do other than piss him off more than he already was. “Grab anythin’ ya think could be useful.”

“Okay.” You kept your tone soft, picking up your pace to catch up to him when he brushed past. “Can we talk?” You really did want to smooth things over. You told yourself that the connection with Daryl was solely physical, but now you’d be raising a child together in an apocalypse. That would definitely be easier if you could communicate on some level at least. 

He never missed a step when he glanced at you while maneuvering between the automobiles. He’d peek in the windows of some but continued further out, probably to keep everyone else closer to your own cars. 

“Nah.” He finally glowered, walking backwards away from you a few steps before turning around and disappearing behind a cargo van. 

Sighing heavily, you took stock of your surroundings. There was no point in following after him. You didn’t have the energy anyway. The nausea was worsening and there was little to no water left in the RV. You allowed for a disgruntled breath, pressed a palm to your belly, and opened the driver door of the nearest car. The sooner everyone got what they needed, the better. 

The smell of the decaying corpse was horrific and forced you to pull things out with one hand while the other pressed over your mouth and nose. Luckily there wasn’t much more than a suitcase that held some men’s clothing. You weren’t sure what the men could use so you left what was there, with the exception of one shirt. Strategically ripping, you fashioned a cover to tie around your face. You’d work faster with both hands. 

After several minutes, you had found a damn treasure trove, including a beautiful knife in a holster that you had taken the liberty of securing around your thigh. It wasn’t a firearm but it was better than nothing. 

You were climbing backwards out of the backseat of a little hatchback when you took a break to steady yourself. You were drenched in sweat and felt a little dizzy. Maybe it was time to gather your findings and go back to the others for a break. You had gone pretty far ahead. 

The silence on the roadway was unnerving. You’d give almost anything for bumper to bumper traffic with an orchestra of angry shouts and sounding horns; for everything to go back like it was. You’d be in the woods at that time of day, tracking rabbits or squirrels. It didn’t take much to feed just you and your father. You didn’t have a smokehouse, so smaller game was ideal. You could still see his proud beam when you’d walk through the door. 

Those days were gone now. 

Back at your pile of finds, it occurred to you that you couldn’t carry it all back alone. Loath as you were to admit it, Daryl had been the closest. You pulled down your makeshift mask with a groan, but there was no other option unless you wanted to walk all the way back to the RV just to bring back help. They would likely demand you stayed put, but you didn’t want them to see you as incapable. Daryl was already annoyed with you, so requesting his assistance was your best bet. 

Your steps were dragging by the time you made it to the cargo van where he had so casually rebuffed your request. Barely around the rear bumper, your stomach decided to rebel. You lurched forward with a repulsive retching sound, stomach muscles cramping from the force of the heaves. Your stomach was empty. Rancid acid and bile burned your throat, the intensity of your gagging ensuring you could be heard all the way at the RV. 

Your stomach still contracted uncomfortably, excess saliva gathering in your mouth. You had just managed to wipe away any remnants on the sleeve of your flannel when a hand clamped down around your jaw. Fight or flight activated, you scrambled for the knife at your thigh, managing a single swipe before a hand caught your wrist. 

“Quiet, goddamnit!” Daryl hissed faintly against your ear. He was pulling you toward the back of the van and hastily shoving you inside before climbing in himself. You loured at him and sheathed your weapon while he scrupulously pulled the doors closed. 

“What—” His hand bore down over your mouth a second time, a finger raised to his lips. You only managed an indignant huff before something struck the side of the van with a thud. Vibrant orbs widened with realization that he had just saved your ass from what sounded like a sizable number of walkers. 

Daryl haltingly lowered his hand as if you’d yell at him despite the threat lurking just outside. The man was sweaty and panting, as if he’d been running. Giving him  once over you noticed the carmine liquid slowly saturating his shirt just above his hip. 

Your movements were slow and deliberate to ensure silence. He didn’t seem to notice you until you were almost next to him, resulting in him reeling back with a vexed expression. 

“You’re hurt.” You mouthed, reaching behind your head to untie the ripped section of fabric you had used as a mask. When you extended it toward the wound, he swatted at your hand. You couldn’t risk speaking so the two of you engaged in an intense staring contest. The hunter finally relented with a shake of his head, deeming alertness toward the flock of undead to be priority. You smirked and pressed the wadded strip against the injury. 

He let out a grunt but stayed still, eyes remaining on the doors. It didn’t take long for the bleeding to let up, giving you a chance to peel back one side of the slice in his shirt. The wound was superficial, wouldn’t need stitches, but it was abundantly clear that you had nicked him when he grabbed you. You felt your stomach drop. Or maybe that was just the nausea. 

“Think they moved on.” Daryl quietly informed you. Oblivious to your revelation, he opened one door, barely wide enough to see outside. “We can prolly head back to the—what?” He stopped short, your apologetic expression giving him pause. 

“I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t mean to—”

The hunter rolled his eyes. “S’fine. Won’t kill me.”

While he was quick to dismiss the event, you still felt terrible. It could have been so much worse. The whole thing made your desire to talk things out with him that much more crucial. “Daryl, can you just listen to me for a second?”

There was the briefest of moments when you thought he was going to acquiesce. There was something more than anger in the way he looked at you. Then he was shaking his head. “We gotta get back. Check in with ev’ryone.” You grabbed his arm with both hands when he shifted to climb out. “M’serious. I ain’t doin’ this.”

“I get that you’re angry—with me.” You swallowed hard against the strange taste in your mouth, ignoring the protests of your inexorable stomach. “You have every right to be.” Daryl growled and snatched his arm away. He climbed out and stood just outside the door, clearly not confident enough with the degree of safety to leave you behind. 

“Drop it, Y/N.” He warned. 

You had climbed out and blocked his path, hands hovering in front of his chest. “The least you can let me do is—” It happened just as suddenly as before. You had no time to react. You could only clutch your abdomen and pitch forward, vomiting up what little bile that had accumulated since the last episode. All over his left boot. “—apologize.” 

If it had been any other situation, the deadpan examination Daryl was currently giving his footwear would have been arguably hilarious. 

“I’m, uh, sorry about that too.”

His eyes moved up to glare at you from beneath his lashes. You didn’t think a mess on his boot would be enough to really set off a man who spent the majority of his time identifying—and very often stepping in—animal waste. This was just the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. He took a step toward you. Though you didn’t think he’d hurt you, even for reasons beyond the baby, you couldn’t say you knew him well enough to bank on that theory. Therefore, you took a step back. 

“Listen, woman, just ‘cause ya got my kid inside ya don’t mean I hafta—” He cut off suddenly, angling his head in a way that was familiar to you. You did the same thing while hunting; listening for sounds to indicate an animal was nearby. 

“What is it?” 

He shushed you harshly. When you focused on the sounds around you rather than the whirlwind of thoughts in your own head, you could hear it too. 

Your blood ran cold with dread. 

“Sophia! Lori, there’s two walkers after my baby!”

[cloudy-em]

shy reader and lip are my favorite. but i was thinking maybe she’s like that because of family? they’re mean to her so it’s better for her to keep to herself and she doesn’t tell lip anything until he sees it for himself

thank you for the request, anon! I'm thinking northside!reader for this one

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We're walking to my house, the thin layer of snow crunching beneath our feet. Although I'm thankful that my private school allows long pants in the winter time, and that we're provided with a thick knit sweater as a part of our uniform options, I'm still freezing. I don't know how Lip does it. He seems just fine with his jeans and layered flannel.

"You cold?" He breaks the comfortable silence, and I nod, knowing that if I speak, my teeth will clatter together. He pulls me into him, his arm wrapping around my shoulder. It's nice, just the two of us and the snow. It's quiet and peaceful.

We reach my front door and I unlock it, inviting Lip inside. He takes his shoes off and follows me into my bedroom, where he sits on my bed. It's not our usual routine. Normally I prefer going to his house, but my family was going to be home early because of some special news coming from Harvard University for my sister. Lip decided yesterday he would spend time with me until he had to sneak out of my window so I'd be on time for dinner.

I sigh, joining Lip on my bed, Wuthering Heights in hand.

"Read to me?" I mumble. He's prepared for the question, and no matter how many times he smiles and says yes, I'm still a little embarrassed. It's easier when he reads to me because I can hear his voice reading the lines in my head. He smiles like he usually does, leaning back and taking the book from me. I lean against him, listening as he reads.

"Y/N!" I hear my mom call from downstairs. I look at Lip apologetically, telling him I'll be right back. I trudge down the stairs, trying to delay whatever my mom has to say. I walk into the kitchen, joining her and my siblings. Oh joy.

"Why didn't you put the dishes away?" She asks, annoyed at my presence. I can feel myself fold in slightly, ready for whatever the family wants to pile on me.

"I- I'm sorry, mom, it's just that the oceanography club ran late-" she cuts me off, not needing to hear my explanation.

"I don't care what happened, Y/N. You have these things to take care of because the rest of us are doing more important things. Your father and I both work full time jobs all day. Your brother is a football captain, and your sister is president of the debate team. They have well-fulfilled, promising lives in front of them. What do you have? A weird obsession with fish."

"I concur," my sister chimes in. "Are you like, attracted to them?" My brother laughs, joining in on the game. "Probably, I mean it's not like she's pretty enough to date a human!"

They continue to take turns, finding whatever flaws they can to comment on. I shrink into myself, waiting for them to get distracted by their own arrogance and start talking about themselves.

This moment comes like it usually does, but never fast enough. I walk away as quietly as possible, and return to my room. Lip looks at me, his eyes searching mine. He still has Wuthering Heights open, his thumb and index finger holding the spine open to the page we left off on. He places the book face down beside him on the bed, silently opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. Without hesitation, I take my spot in his arms as he pulls me into his chest, stroking my hair softly. I try to bite back my tears, but a few escape, and suddenly he has tear stains on his shirt.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he whispers to me, swaying slightly. "I didn't know. We'll figure something out, 'kay? No reason you can't come stay with me. The kids love you, and Fiona'll come around when we tell her what's goin' on. You and me, right?"

I smile slightly, nodding against him. "Right."

[fuckyeahisawthat]

thank you so much for that excellent chani post. i've seen some annoying takes on twitter about how not making her totally devoted and subservient to paul makes her 'unlikeable' and i'm like. buddy. i think that speaks more to how you see women. than anything about her. this chani is very dynamic and interesting to me.

i'll be honest and say i've not read the books. this is me speaking from what i've seen of summaries, but i think giving her a real cause to fight for yet also genuinely loving paul gives her an interesting struggle, and also plays into how the portrayal of the fremen (seems to me to be) more diverse and nuanced. as in, the fremen themselves seem to have more of a push-and-pull to them. the clarification of how different fremen believe differently (the south being more fundamentalist) is a very important thing to include in a movie where you can run into the danger of saying that all adherents to a foreign, islam-adjacent (in coding) religion are all fundamentalists. that can (in less nuanced hands) be a pretty irresponsible thing. so showing that there's also more secular/pragmatic/less dogmatic sectors of the culture seems a pretty good counterweight.

so yeah. this is how i processed it as a movie-goer. and having chani represent that aspect (believing in people over prophecy, action over religion) and having stilgar as the humanized face of the southern peoples (showing that yknow, regardless of being fundamenist beliefs, theyre still PEOPLE with the capacity for love, friendship, honor) makes total logical sense. you're not just "telling" us that there's different aspects to fremen culture, you're SHOWING us by showing different characters who represent those aspects, without demonizing either or turning either into a one-note stereotype.

Thank you! I'm not someone who was a long-term fan of the books before the movie came out (I tried reading Dune as a teenager when I was reading a lot of classic sci-fi but found it too boring) but I did read Dune and Dune Messiah after the first movie came out, both because I wanted to know what happened next and because I wanted to have an opinion on how the movies worked as adaptations.

(book and movie spoilers below and also I basically ended up writing a whole essay in response to this)

My single biggest frustration with the book is that after they arrive at Sietch Tabr and Jessica drinks the Water of Life and becomes Reverend Mother...the book up and skips two years of the story and when we next see Paul he's already got Fremen followers who are ready to die for him and he's in an established relationship with Chani. Oh I was SO MAD when I got to this part. I was like FRANK. FRANK!!!! Did you seriously just skip two years of the most interesting part of your own story???

The thing is, even though I know that Frank Herbert's intention was to write a critique of the idea that oppressed people need an enlightened external (white) savior to liberate them...if you don't provide an alternate explanation for what's happening then you end up falling into some Orientalist tropes anyway. And because, in the book, we don't see the process of how your average background fedaykin comes to trust Paul as a military and political leader, there is nothing in the text to counter the idea that the Fremen are a bunch of unquestioning religious fanatics easily swayed to do violence by belief in a prophecy.

My second biggest frustration with the book is that we're given no reason at all why Chani would fall in love with Paul. While she has some memorable scenes, she doesn't have a lot to do as a character in the book, and she's missing from a whole chunk of the end...because she's in the south...because she and Paul have a baby, Leto II, who's then killed off-page when the sardaukar attack the south. (I'm honestly really glad they cut this from the film, because it never seemed to be given the narrative weight it deserved in the book.)

So you can imagine how happy I was when the Villeneuve movies figured out how to address both these frustrations by tying them together. The fedaykin don't just blindly accept Paul because of some prophecy. They come to trust him because he proves himself as a fighter, and because he starts out from a place of genuine solidarity and humility--which it is possible for him to do because he has no structural power over them at that point. And Chani falls in love with him for the same reason, in that heady environment of fighting side by side for a political cause, and maybe for the first time in a while starting to believe that you can win.

I think the Villeneuve movies improve a lot on what's in the book in terms of how the Fremen are portrayed...when we're with the fedaykin and/or Chani and Stilgar. There we see political debates and discussion and the fact that not all the Fremen think the same way. And we also see little humanizing moments of folks just hanging out, celebrating after a victory in battle and just shooting the shit and being friends.

I do wish the movie had extended this to more parts of Fremen society. If there's one thing I could have added, it would be seeing more of daily life in Sietch Tabr. It makes sense that when we're seeing things from Jessica's POV, she is more distant from and suspicious of the Fremen, seeing them as a force to be manipulated, but I wish we had even one or two scenes of people just being people in the sietch. It felt kind of weirdly empty and not particularly lived-in as a place, and I think they could've easily countered this, with scenes from Chani, Stilgar or Paul's POV, and that would have made it hit even harder when the sietch is attacked.

If there were two things I could have added, I wanted more exploration of the people of the south. Why are they more fundamentalist than the Fremen who live in the north? (We get one line about how "nothing can survive [in the south] without faith" but I wanted more than that.) While I think the movie did a fantastic job of humanizing and differentiating the Fremen we see around Paul, when we get to the south it does backslide a little into "undifferentiated mass of fanatics." Surely the people of the south also have some diversity of political views.

I think there are some interesting threads they could have pulled on in terms of how proximity to direct colonial violence shapes people's ideology. Sietch Tabr is one of the closest Fremen communities to Arrakeen, the seat of colonial control. They have probably had to mount some kind of armed resistance for generations just to keep from being wiped out. I can see that producing skepticism of the prophecy ("well I can't sit around waiting for a messiah but I do have this rocket launcher") as well as resentment at the idea of someone swooping in and taking credit for a struggle that you've put your life on the line for, and probably a lot of people you know have died for. There seem to be some generational differences, too, where young people of Chani's generation put less stock in the prophecy, while the true believers are mostly older. I can see faith in the prophecy coming out of despair--when you've been fighting for decades with no change, maybe you draw the conclusion that only an outside power coming to your aid will make a difference. While the people of the south are still under colonial rule, maybe being generally outside the reach of direct Harkonnen violence (the Harkonnens don't even know they're there) makes the concepts of both oppression and liberation feel more abstract and more receptive to being filled in with Bene Gesserit mysticism. It seems absurd to want more from a movie that's nearly three hours long already...but I wanted more of this.

Still, I do think they managed to improve on a lot of things that frustrated me or are simply dated about the book, while keeping the political thriller/war drama/epic tragedy elements that I think are the heart of the story, and in some cases drawing them out more clearly and effectively than the book did. The best kind of book-to-film adaptation imo is one that has a strong point of view in terms of what the story is About, on a large-scale thematic level, and is not afraid to change individual elements of canon in service of telling that story the most effective way possible in a cinematic medium. While there are always things I want more of, I feel like Denis Villeneuve really, really understood the assignment in terms of the overarching themes of the the story and he delivered so fucking well.