#sometimes even I have to adjust to others

[karaeilish]

❝ mommy’s best friend . . . b. eilish ❞ . ◞

⭑ pairing :: military!billie × wife!reader

⭑ GENRE :: fluff !

⭑ SYNOPSIS :: every dog person mom needs a cat person daughter & wife.

⭑ WORD COUNT: 1k

"no cats in this house, ever. shark would never survive this!" billie sits on the couch, her voice rising in a commanding tone, making both you and lily flinch like little girls who've just been scolded in the principal's office. you both stand in front of her, pouting, but at first billie doesn't seem to be affected.

billie was a total dog person, and everyone in this family knew it. shark was her little baby, whom she loved like a full-fledged member of the family, who was always with you everywhere. and of course, both you and lily treated him the same, with love and affection. it's just that sometimes the thought of a small fluffy ball, whose mouth would not fit your head, flashed through your mind.

"mama—a, please!" lily pouts adorably, stamping her foot as a small grey kitten, all dirty, lies peacefully in her tiny palms, pressed tightly to her chest. you smile, standing next to her, one hand in your pocket, the other on your daughter's shoulder as a sign that you support her, because seeing how much your child cares about street animals was something magical, even if they were dirty and untamed.

"mommy, mommy! there's a kitten!" lily suddenly screams, her white dress completely forgotten, when in the alley near her house she noticed a meowing little kitten huddled in a corner. all dirty, shaking, but without a word and without a single hesitation she picked it up in her arms, pressing it to her body like a favorite doll; tightly, but carefully.

"mommy, we have to take it home!" the next second she's at your feet, looking into your soul with those big blue eyes she got from her mother. and now you don't even think about saying no.

"you know we need mom's permission to keep it?" you ask softly, but still supporting the idea.

lily opens her mouth in something silent that never comes out, giggles, and her next steps are skipping, while she babbles something about how mom will definitely allow it.

but mom looks at you like you've brought home an alien.

billie is silent for a few more seconds, but then she drops her hands to her knees, sighing heavily, bending down to take the kitten from her daughter's arms. "gosh and run a bath"

lily's face lights up with a bright smile, her cheeks turning red as she runs into the bathroom, stumbling and trying to reach the faucet handle and turn on the water. you look at billie as she picks the animal up curiously, bringing it up to her face to examine it.

"what are you doing, baby?" you laugh, watching intently as the kitten stretches out its paw, trying to reach billie's nose, which it finds very attractive.

"i'm trying to figure out if it's a boy or a girl." her eyebrows furrow charmingly, and you smile at her eagerness, then pat her on the back, hinting to hurry up and go see your daughter, who is clearly having a war with the faucet in the bathroom.

"let me help you, angel." you spread a small towel on the bottom of the tub, adjusting the water temperature to warm, then with practiced ease, sit your daughter on the edge of the tub so she doesn't splash around too much.

"i don't know how to wash cats" billie immediately tries to give in, but you quickly shut her up with a splash of water in her face, taking the kitten and almost ordering her to hold the shower head in a way that is comfortable for you. she doesn't dare disobey, muttering under her breath 'yes ma'am', earning a murderous look from you.

for the first time, you had to take regular shower gel, because no one expected such an unexpected guest to appear. lily's still sitting on the edge of the bathtub, swinging her legs and babbling something about different names, not caring whether it is a girl or a boy. she's in her own little world.

you slowly wash its small body, carefully feeling its fur to make sure that it does not have any fleas or other creatures. billie watches with about the same interest as your daughter, occasionally asking questions and then helping you carefully rinse off the foam, not getting it in the kitten's ears.

"angel, bring me a hand towel" you turn to lily, asking quietly and she nods her head with great enthusiasm, running to the other corner of the bathroom to grab a small white towel and bring it to you. you thank her, then picking up the kitten and wrapping it in the fluffy towel, patting away the wet fur.

"let me" billie suddenly gets excited and takes it out of your arms before you can even get out of the bathroom, clutching him to her chest. lily can't stop giggling, happily following her until they reach the large sofa in the living room, settling down on it. the baby climbs into her mom's lap while they both gently dry the kitten, and billie finally proudly declares that it's a boy. lily immediately explodes with a new stream of name ideas, hesitating and hesitating, but eventually settling on 'sam'.

you notice movement in the other corner of the room, turning your head to watch as the shark finally peeks out of the bedroom, clearly displeased and caught by the new smell in your home. he slowly makes his way over to the shared sofa with great interest, first examining the kitten from a meter away, and then moving closer. sam's eyes widen, looking at him like he's the death, ears drooping. it doesn't take more than a few seconds before he's looking around, backing up desperately, scrambling up billie's leg and scurrying into her wide pocket so that only his ears stick out.

both you and lily burst out laughing as billie writhes, feeling his sharp claws digging into her thigh through the fabric of her sweatpants.

"i think he likes you," you whisper.

"if he ruins my pants…"

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay, @eilishsfantasy, @ariieeesworld

[rainrot4me]

Can we get some platonic proxy reader dynamics with the other slender proxies?

Long one! I really enjoyed this ask!!!

๑ Warning: Blood, violence, panic

── .✦

✦ . TICCI TOBY

๑ “You ever just, like, th-think about smashing your head into a tree to see what it feels l-like?” Toby laughs, twirling his hatchet while you trudge through the woods. You blink at him, unsure if he’s serious.

“Toby, that’s brain damage.”

“So? Who nee-needs a brain out here anyway?” You both burst into a cackling fit, because after a night of chasing targets, absurd jokes are the only way to stay sane.

๑ You’re shaking after a mission goes south, hands covered in blood that isn’t yours. Toby is weirdly gentle, handing you a rag, leaning close enough you can smell the woodsmoke on his hoodie.

“H-Hey, you didn’t freeze up,” he says softly, almost proud. “That’s more than I did my fi-first time.” You manage a tiny smile, grateful he’s here to see you through it.

✦ . MASKY (TIM WRIGHT)

๑ Masky watches your stance with a deep scowl, arms folded. “You’re leaving your side open,” he barks.

“I just started.”

“And you’ll just get stabbed,” he fires back, then sighs and steps behind you, adjusting your grip on the knife. His hands are surprisingly steady, grounding, even as his voice stays sharp.

“Better,” he mutters when you repeat the move correctly. You see the faintest hint of approval behind the mask.

๑ Stuck in the car together, you pass a stale bag of chips back and forth. “If you snore, I’m pushing you out the window,” he warns you flatly.

“If you smoke in here, I’m throwing up on your shoes,” you counter. Neither of you means it. There’s a grudging affection in every word.

✦ . HOODIE (BRIAN THOMAS)

๑ You’re picking the locks of an abandoned warehouse. Hoodie wordlessly hands you a better tool, eyebrow raised in silent commentary about your clumsy methods.

“Thanks, Dad,” you joke.

He just rolls his eyes, a ghost of a grin under his hood. You both work smoother than you ever would alone. He’d never admit it, but he likes having you around.

๑ You stumble back to the mansion, bones aching, clothes torn. Hoodie is waiting, silent, holding out a medkit.

“You alright?” he rasps.

“Peachy,” you say, sarcasm dripping.

He snorts, nudging you to sit. His hands are gentle while he bandages you, and the quiet feels safe in a way you never expected.

✦ . KATE THE CHASER

๑ Kate is stretched across the couch, half asleep, boots still on. You flop next to her, sighing. “You know, sometimes I think this job is killing me,” you blurt out.

Kate cracks one eye open. “Good,” she says dryly. “Means you’re doing it right.”

Then she pats your shoulder, comforting despite her deadpan tone. You grin, and it makes everything feel a bit lighter.

๑ Kate disarms you again, sending your blade skittering across the floor. “Don’t telegraph your moves,” she scolds, offering a hand to help you up.

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” she teases, grinning wide. You do, in a way—she’s sharp, loyal, and always has your back.

✦ . PROXIES

๑ The mission got canceled. Slender’s occupied. You’ve all been technically given a free night, and nobody wants to waste it. Somehow, you wind up jammed together on the threadbare couch in the mansion’s “living room,” with a ratty TV that still kind of works.

Toby immediately claims the best seat, legs sprawled over half the couch, stuffing a huge bowl of popcorn in his mouth like he’s been starved for a week. “I’m picking the m-movie.”

“No,” Masky cuts in, “last time you picked Teletubbies edits for two hours.”

“It was ART,” Toby protests.

Kate is half-lounging on the armrest, boots still on, scrolling on her phone while ignoring them bickering. She’s pretending not to care but is absolutely side-eyeing the screen to make sure you don’t pick something too sappy. “If this turns into a rom-com,” she warns, “I’m setting fire to the DVD player.”

Hoodie is in his usual quiet mode, curled in the corner with a beer bottle, occasionally giving you a dry thumbs-up to let you know he’s alive. When you lean against him to get comfortable, he shifts just enough to support you better, solid and warm. “…Don’t drool on me,” he grumbles.

“Can’t promise that,” you grin.

Masky is the one with the remote (of course). He’s determined to put on something halfway normal, like a psychological thriller, rolling his eyes as Toby whines about wanting a slasher instead. “You kill people for a living,” Masky deadpans. “Why watch a bad movie about it?”

“It’s research,” Toby insists, mouth full of popcorn.

You’re in the middle, being the emotional buffer as they snipe back and forth. You wind up picking a compromise—a found-footage horror flick that’s scary enough for Toby, gritty enough for Masky, and boring enough that Kate can tune out on her phone.

As the movie starts, they settle in: Kate half-asleep, occasionally cursing at the screen. Hoodie doing that silent-laugh thing whenever Toby jumps at the jump scares. Masky throwing popcorn at Toby when he starts talking over the dialogue. You squished between them all, warm and protected

It’s a weird, cozy feeling, one you never thought you’d get in a place like this. All of you—killers, broken, haunted—still finding a way to feel almost normal, if only for one night.

๑ You’re all ankle-deep in mud and blood after a brutal hit.

Masky is dead silent, methodically wiping down a blade while his eyes are still wild with adrenaline, too tightly wound to speak.

Hoodie carefully checks you for injuries, gloved hands impersonal and efficient, but his breathing is ragged—he’s shaken in a way you rarely see.

Toby laughs, high and thin, still jacked on violence, and bounces around like a kid who had too much candy. He slaps you on the back hard enough to almost knock you over. “See that guy’s head pop? L-Like a melon!”

Kate doesn’t say anything, just grabs your arm to guide you away from a corpse you might recognize, forcing you to step over it. “Don’t look. Just move.”

When you get home, the group peels off soaked clothes, washes up in numbing silence, no jokes this time—only grim, shared understanding of what they are.

๑ It’s been storming nonstop, so you’re stuck in the Mansion with no power (like there was much to begin with). Someone digs out a deck of battered cards, and you all gather around a cracked coffee table in the dark.

Toby is terrible at any game requiring bluffing—his face is way too expressive, and he keeps slamming his cards down like an overexcited child. “Go f-fish!”

“This is literally blackjack, Toby.”

Kate is a ruthless shark, memorizing what everyone’s played and making cold-blooded moves to win every time. She’s the person who will absolutely gloat. “Too slow, mask boy.”

Masky tries to run the game fairly, scolding Toby for cheating and Kate for trash-talking, while you and Hoodie try not to laugh.

Hoodie barely engages except to quietly sweep the pot when nobody is paying attention, smirking behind his mask while you catch him at it.

“He’s stealing from the pot again!” Hoodie shrugs.

You end up just laughing as they bicker, making dumb jokes, the storm pounding against the window while you stay warm inside.

๑ After a mission goes wrong, you’re stuck in an abandoned shack with them during a howling, freezing thunderstorm, cop car sirens howling for miles.

Masky is half-delirious from a head wound, repeating little clipped phrases over and over like a broken toy. You and Kate take turns keeping him upright.

Hoodie watches the window, knife ready, eyes sharp enough to cut glass—he won’t let anyone sleep.

Toby, agitated by the sensory overload, rocks back and forth, digging his nails into his palms until they bleed.

The only heat in the place comes from all of you huddled close, breathing each other’s ragged air, waiting for a sign it’s safe to move.

Every crash of thunder makes Kate’s hand clench around yours. She hates the dark, and for a moment she doesn’t act so tough.

Nobody talks about what happens if they’re found—you all know it’s death, and there’s a cold comfort in surviving together.

๑ The team sets up a small campfire outside after a mission, deep in the woods.

Kate is the one who lights the fire (show-off) while Toby tries to toast marshmallows and immediately sets them on fire. “I l-like them charred,” Toby defends, chewing blackened sugar lumps.

Masky broods with a flask, giving off old-man energy while pretending he doesn’t like the smell of the woodsmoke—but you catch him actually relaxing a bit.

Hoodie carves little symbols into sticks, letting you lean against him, occasionally nudging you to hand him another stick.

Kate ends up telling half-scary, half-hilarious stories about past missions. “Remember when Toby ran into a tree trying to tackle that cop?”

Toby, mouth full of marshmallow, “That was a tactical move.”

There’s a strange calm about sitting together, letting the firelight dance over your faces, feeling like a family in the worst possible, best possible way.

๑ You end up badly hurt—too badly to walk—and they have to triage you in a filthy abandoned basement.

Hoodie is steady but you see his jaw trembling as he stitches you up. You keep grabbing onto his sleeves, begging him to stop, and it’s tearing him apart.

Masky paces, chain-smoking, unable to watch, muttering that he should’ve been the one protecting you. He could vomit at the smell of your blood.

Kate snaps orders like a field medic, but her voice cracks once, just once, when she thinks you’ll pass out. “Don’t you dare die on us.”

Toby tries to joke about it, but his grin is warped and panicked, his fingers fumbling with bandages.

The blood on their hands is yours for once, and you see it break them—because you are, in their twisted way, family.

๑ Slender orders a practice day, but it goes off the rails immediately.

Toby challenges you to a wrestling match, ends up in a headlock from Kate who is not playing fair, laughing at how easy he is to pin.

Masky tries to actually train you in hand-to-hand but gets frustrated when Toby keeps jumping in and tackling you mid-practice.

“I swear if you jump in one more time—”

“C’mere—” Toby yells, lunging for you again.

Hoodie helps you correct your stance patiently, gentle but firm, adjusting your shoulders and steadying you every time you fall over.

Eventually it turns into a dogpile, with Masky yelling, Kate cackling, Toby howling, and Hoodie halfheartedly trying to pull everyone off the floor.

Even Slender peeks in, sighs dramatically, and leaves you to the chaos.

๑ Slender doesn’t tolerate mistakes.

When you mess up, you all mess up—and he punishes you together. It’s all mental, but you feel every inch of it, every ache and jab and twist of your skin.

Masky goes deathly still, shoulders squared, resigned. He always takes the brunt if he can.

Hoodie endures silently, keeping his face blank even through pain, the only hint of suffering in how hard he grips your sleeve.

Kate struggles, biting down curses, glaring at Slender even when it makes it worse.

Toby goes completely nonverbal, shaking, trying to hide behind you if he can.

When it’s over, you patch each other up in the dark, no one daring to talk, no one daring to cry, because you know tomorrow you’ll be sent out again.

That night, you all sleep close together in someone’s bed, an unspoken pack, because in this world there is no one else who will ever understand you.

๑ You manage to drag them into the mansion kitchen for a “family meal” (more like a potluck mess).

Toby tries to cook something and nearly burns the place down.

“This is raw, Toby.”

“It’s medium-rare!”

Kate brings some half-decent pasta, acts unimpressed when everyone actually likes it.

Masky makes something very basic, like grilled cheese, but you can tell he cares because he makes yours perfectly golden-brown.

Hoodie, to everyone’s shock, is a genuinely good cook. He quietly whips up a full meal and pretends it’s no big deal.

“Who made this?” Hoodie just raises an eyebrow.

You all sit around the table, bickering, passing plates, Toby telling the worst jokes ever, and you think, yeah, this is family.

꩜ .ᐟ

[grantmentis]

A Compilation of my Favorite Women's Hockey Resources

I've posted these scattered around and figured it be fun to make a masterpost! im almost certainly missing some, so please feel free to add

A lot of these websites have tip jars, subscriptions, and more, and if you use them a lot, I highly recommend sending some money their way

Catch all:

Elite prospects <- Track many women's leagues and their stats, including international, historical, collegiate. you can also go to eliteprospects.com/womens to see transactions occuring between women's league. they also have an app now!

Giants in the crease <- Tracks goaltender statistics including quality starts and goals saved above average for PWHL, SDHL, and has historical CWHL and PHF stats.

PWHL:

Kyle Cushman's master spreadsheet <- includes depth charts, a game score model, breaks down stats by special teams, translates a lot of basic stats to over 60 stats to adjust for ice time, tracks attendance and stats for each team, and more.

Capbuddy <- PWHL contract information including rosters, who’s on reserve, injuries, and more in a super clean format

hockey-statistics.com/pwhl/ <- PWHL statistics including raw data you can download for game data, play by play, players, teams, and schedule, then some visualization. Includes an expected goal model, individual shot charts for skaters and goalies, and more

pwhl-insights <- similar to above, statistics for individual games, teams, and players. Includes game pace, a gamescore model, fenwick/corsi/high danger chances/scoring chances on a team level, individual shot charts, and takes a lot of the stuff from the pwhl game day app and makes it cleaner and easier to pull from

PWHL play by play scraper in python <- if you want to make some insights of your own, good github link. Creator also has a good article on an expected goal model here

The Ice Garden PWHL signing tracker <- Lets you know who extended with their team, who signed with a different pwhl team, and what kind of signing it was, and how many years

Mike Murphy, John Bouchard, and Gilles Dignard's 2024 PWHL stat spreadsheet <- Season 1 PWHL stats including scoring events, shot attempts, power play breakout data and more

Other Leagues:

I am probably missing some due to language barrier, so once again, if there's any you'd like to add go for it!

Swedish hockey stats website <- Includes on ice goals for v goals against, shot efficency, face off percentage, attendance, etc for regular season, playoffs, and relegation/promotion play

Auroraliiga stats and rosters from the leijonat website <- includes standings, rosters, game information, and player statistics (including time on ice) for Auroraliiga regular season and playoffs. Option to toggle the language to English at the bottom of the page and even has the statistics downloadable!

Postfinance Women's League official stat page <- not gonna lie they're kind of giving us nothing here but you do get a few crumbs

EWHL statistics <- Basic EWHL statistics including face off percentage, scoring efficency, special team stats and spectators

DFEL statistics <- Official German league stats which includes shots on goal, power play/penalty kill information, suspension and penalty news, and more

Collegiate:

NCAA statistics website <- Can toggle between D1 and D3, please note a lot of colleges and conferences also have their own stat pages that are sometimes cleaner and more in depth so worth googling. Usually on individual college website you can find things like total shots and face offs

USCHO <- Standings, Stats, polls, includes D1 and D3. Stats are easily searchable, which is nice if you, say, just want to see all the seniors and can search "sr,"

Clean Sheet Hockey's commitment and transfer list <- D1 hockey, there's a few different transfer and commitment lists on the internet but i LOVE clean sheet's for how, well, clean and organized it is and that they include context for different players

USports statistics website <- Includes shots on goal, has the ability to save as csv or copy which I love

IIHF:

IIHF tourament page <- you can navigate to different tournaments over different years and levels (click the three dots to get to U18 worlds, on the right hand side you can navigate different years) and will guide you to the website for each one, most of which include a statistical page. A lot of the top division tournaments track shot locations and time on ice if you select a specific game, scroll down to the bottom of the left side bar, and look for "official game sheets"

IIHF Asia and Oceania tournaments <- Same idea as above, but this specific shows events like the Women's Asia Cup and Women's Asia Championship

Historical:

Page of resources from WHKYHAC <- a lot of these are google drive or github links to things ranging from shot location data through olympics to transition data from the PWHPA. Also has historical CWHL statistics. Check out their youtube to see the projects people did!

theirhockeycounts.com <- historical PHF and CWHL statistics, with some college and international statistics too. A little more in depth than what is on elite prospects, including tracking primary assists

Collegehockeystats.net <- D1 women's hockey stats, rosters, schedules from 1999 to 2021

CWHL tracker <- nice and clean website with old CWHL statistic

Ice Garden's 2018 women's hockey statistics primer <- Primer itself still a good intro, and at the bottom are some websites hosting old statistics or projects from PHF / CWHL days. some links are dead (ie the old CWHL website) but can probably be found on a internet archive search

[eyekonvivi]

The Seventh Star - Chapter 5 - Katseye x 7th member reader

All right reserved

5,3k

Warnings : swearing

Notes : at the bottom of the chapter for now

A few days after the sleepover, an event broadcasted on social media was organized to present the performances we had prepared as a group of 2 or 3 in Los Angeles, in order to introduce ourselves more to the public, both as individuals and as a team.

So we had to convince the audience that Daniela and I have the most harmonious relationship on stage, despite our tumultuous rehearsals. This is one of our last public performances before the release of our first EP.

That's how I found myself on stage, in front of a rather small audience, mostly made up of media and a few die-hard fans.

A few members of the label stood in front of us, notes in hand, looking stern and focused. Indeed, this performance, just before the recording of our new songs, was a kind of test for Katseye.

I stood side by side with Daniela on the stage, twin beams of spotlight carving us through the dark.

"Bleeding Love," stripped down, raw, no dance—just voices, eyes, hearts.

I adjusted my in-ear monitor and glanced at Daniela. She still looked like steel : focused, contained, severe in her posture. But her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the mic.

I reached out, gently touched her hand.

Daniela looked at me, surprised.

"You're not alone," I whispered.

For once, she nodded. "Let's give them a reason to believe in both of us."

The music started. A piano note—quiet, lingering. Then my voice :

"Closed off from love, I didn't need the pain..."

The room fell silent.

I didn't just sing it. I lived it. Every heartbreak I never said aloud, every night I rehearsed until my knees ached—poured out in that line.

Daniela followed.

"Time starts to pass, before you know it, you're frozen..."

Our voices intertwined like a scar and a balm. Daniela's tone was sharp, crystalline ; Mine was smooth and trembling, like silk caught in the wind. 

On the bridge, we looked at each other. The harmony was ours now. Not a power play, not a competition.

A union.

The final note stretched long into silence.

No one moved.

Then—the room exploded. The judges. The fans  Even staff.

In the wings, Manon wiped her eyes. Megan fist-pumped the air. Yoonchae was screaming. Sophia just smiled with quiet pride.

Backstage, Daniela and I collapsed onto a bench, breathless.

"That..." Daniela began, "...was terrifying."

"And perfect,"I said.

We looked at each other.

Daniela leaned back and whispered, "You made me trust the song again."

I smiled. "You made me brave enough to sing it."

We sit for a few seconds in a comfortable silence, from which the usual tension is absent. And this time, when I turn to Daniela, I see something like a hint of affection in her gaze.

But before I can say anything, the rest of the girls burst into the dressing room, with Sophia leading the way :

"Girls, that was fantastic ! That was your best vocal performance since the end of Dream Academy !"

" It was truly beautiful." Yoonchae adds. 

" So it turns out that when you're not shooting glares at each other from across the room, you can get along and make something stunning !" enthuses Lara.

"Your chemistry was obvious ! Danon is in danger" says Manon, adopting a false air of sadness.

And just as she and Daniela begin a dramatic, tearful performance worthy of an Oscar, Megan approaches me and says, almost shyly :

" It was incredible y/n ! I really wanted to tell you because uh I know that sometimes you doubt your skills or your position in the group and all but you deserve recognition. Your performance, and Dani's, was really full of emotion. I can't wait to see how it all turns out when we start recording our new songs !"

"Aww thanks Meg, that means a lot to me."

I stand up and move towards her for a hug. She delicately wraps her arms around me, as if afraid to break me, and whispers in my ear:

" I'll always be your number one fan."

I laugh at her words and hide my blushing face in her neck.

When I finally pull away, I try a change of subject to calm my heartbeat :

"So, are you looking forward to start recording tomorrow?"

"Yeah I can't wait to really get into it. Although I sometimes feel that singing isn't really my strong point..."

"Stop torturing yourself ! You're so amazing Meg, don't you ever forget it." 

Megan looks at me thoughtfully, and just as she's about to phrase a reply, a staff member walks up to us and calls out.

"I need y/n y/ln and Daniela Avanzini in the interview room in 2 minutes."

I reply first, "I'll be right there," then add to Megan, "See you later Meg !"

She gives me a little wave, before I look around.

Daniela, after being elbowed by Manon, finally realizes the situation and heads towards me. We then follow the staff member into the interview room.

***

The staff member leads us to a two-seater sofa facing the journalist who will be interviewing us.

She appears to be slightly older than we are and smiles invitingly when she finally sees us :

"Y/n , Daniela it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Sally, I'm from the UK and I travel all over the world to share rising stars with my followers. I'm delighted you accepted this invitation".

"Thank you for taking the time to be here," I reply, shaking her hand before going to sit next to Dani on the sofa.

The interview is light-hearted, with the redheaded journalist asking us amusing questions that allow us to tell hilarious annectotes. I'm having a great time, and I get the impression that Dani is too, as she answers with a smile, her dimples fully extended.

After about fifteen minutes of interviewing, Sally introduces us to one of the special sections of her channel, "Romantic or not". These are questions about our romantic relationships, or even our relationships with other members, to which we have to give a very quick yes or no answer.

I'm a little reluctant to share this on camera, but seeing my concern, Daniela approaches my ear to....

"Y/n don't worry, the questions are pretty light, and you don't have to give any justification for your answers if you don't want to" Sally comforts me, leaning over slightly to place a comforting arm on my shoulder.

"Do as you feel y/n, don't feel pressured" adds Daniela in an unusually cheesy voice.

I frown at the behaviors of the two girls around me before gently releasing myself from Sally's arm to move slightly closer to Dani before replying.

"Okay thanks for warning me, but I'll be fine I think ! "

Sally then begins these questions, the first few of which are fairly easy and light-hearted such as  " Is humour an important quality in a partner ?" or " Do you have a lot of celebrity crushes ?" where Dani and me answered a quick and enthusiastic yes. 

This question was followed by long minutes during which we made an endless list of celebrity crushes and debated with Dani who was the best. And after I defended Sadie Sink to the death, we agreed to make her and Henry Cavill the best celebrity crush. 

"I have a feeling this choice is going to get people talking" replies Sally amusedly before asking us some slightly more challenging questions such as "What is the most important thing in a relationship?" to which I replied trust and Dani answered connection and loyalty.

But one question in particular took me by surprise : 

"Are you two close friends ? "

And while Daniela answers yes quickly, I don't think twice and answer

"No, not really..."

I suddenly realize what I've just said on camera, but it's too late, the damage was already done.

Time seems to slow down as I watch the disapproving look on my manager's face, but especially the smirk on Sally's face as she seems to have found her scoop of the year.

I feel Daniela tense up beside me and whisper furiously in my ear :

"What the hell ?"

Caught in a loop of guilt, stress and confusion.  I awkwardly try to justify my answer while shifting my gaze between an offended Daniela and an interviewer who was clearly having a good time.

"No, no you don't have to keep that part, I don't want absurd rumors about the band to get out. I mean, I, I am obviously close to Daniela as a member, and uh as a friend of course. But we're still getting to know each other so that's why I, uh I answered that. I love Dani, we get on really well..."

But the more I speak, the more I realize that the words coming out of my mouth sound fake, so in a desperate attempt, I put an arm around Daniela's shoulders and add vainly:

"You see ? We adore each other, we spend a lot of time together, we get along really well".

" Yeah, we get along really well" repeats Daniela with little conviction, looking at me with a mixture of anger, hurt and confusion in her eyes. She then discreetly slips out of my embrace, but it's enough to make my stomach twist.

I feel as if I've betrayed Daniela's trust, and she seems hurt by my reaction, even though she quickly adopts a neutral expression, with the only trace of emotion being the muffled anger that burns in her eyes.

I don't really understand her reaction: is she angry with me because of the public image we're giving of Katseye, or is it something more personal ?

But I'm interrupted in my thought process by a noisy voice that's starting to irritate me.

" Okay, let's move on to the next question" Sally adds, as if she had nothing to add to the words we'd just stated.

I felt very vulnerable having so publicly revealed the disagreement I'd had with Daniela when she didn't seem to feel the same way. Unless she was just answering for the cameras ?

To avoid this mistake being revealed publicly I interrupt the interview to ask Sally :

"Sally, could you please not show this question in your video ? I don't want it to send the wrong message".

Sally frowns as if she was annoyed by this announcement, but she quickly regains her jovial expression even when Daniela speaks up, her tone cold. 

"Our label could really take this the wrong way, whether it's on your side or ours..."

"I'll delete it then, if that's what you want," Sally asserts in a tone that's meant to be persuasive.

I can see that Daniela is having trouble suppressing her anger, but she lifts her chin and stares at the interviewer, her eyes gleamedcoldly, seemingly evil and full of menace, avoiding any glance in my direction.

The interview continues in a rather tense atmosphere, which only gets worse after I answer yes to the question "Are you single ?"

Indeed, as soon as the answer escapes my lips, Sally flashes a flirtatious smile and, completely ignoring the comment Daniela was about to make, cuts the camera off and says, looking me in the eye.

"It's very surprising for a girl like you ! We can always do something about it if you want. "

She punctuates her sentence by examining me up and down before handing me a piece of paper - probably her number - which she pulls out of her pocket with a smirk, as if she'd been planning it all along.

"Thanks for coming, y/n it was a pleasure to have you..."

Daniela cuts the conversation short by getting up from the couch abruptly, she holds out her hand for me to do the same.

" We are done with this shitty interview, come on y/n, let's go find the others girls. " 

I take her hand, let myself be drawn away from this disastrous interview and let out a sigh of relief at the thought of getting away from this Sally who was making me so uncomfortable.

"Careful. You're starting to sound jealous" I try to tease Daniela.

She lets out a dismissive sigh as she continues to walk briskly, her jaw clenched, staring straight ahead, without giving me a single glance.

I stop suddenly, letting go of Daniela's hand as she turns around, frowning even more. She seems to relax slightly as I shred Sally's paper and throw it with a small laugh of relief into the dustbin.

But Daniela doesn't laugh with me, yet she still waits for me to finish before continuing her walk.

***

"How was the interview ? "Lara asks innocently as we enter Katseye's dressing room.

"It was bullshit !" replies Daniela angrily.

"Why ?" asks Sophia with surprise.

As I take one of the snacks laid out on the table, I meet Yoonchae's envious gaze for whom I take a second before sitting down next to her.

Meanwhile, Daniela continues her explanation to the rest of the girls except Megan, who is nowhere no be seen. 

"And then she started asking us super stupid questions in a supposedly interesting section, except she asked if me and y/n were close friends, and then it only got worse. I obviously said yes, but y/n said no, so even though we asked that journalist to cut that part out, if she doesn't, we're in deep trouble, especially before the EP".

"I'm sorry Daniela, I didn't mean to..." I begin.

She glances vaguely in my direction before continuing.

" Whatever. The worst thing is that the interviewer started asking us if we were single but she didn't care at all about the answer, she just wanted y/n's phone number. She totally cut the interview to give her a damn paper ! What a waste of time !"

I watch Lara and Manon share a knowing smile before the latter replies to Daniela.

"Calm down, Dani, we don't want the headline in tomorrow's paper to read 'a hot latina kills a useless, nosy journalist'."

At these words, Daniela lets out a small laugh that seems to calm her anger slightly.

"I think tonight's free time won't hurt you Dani, how about we go to the movies tonight? There's that film you told me about the other day playing at the cinema near our house" suggests Lara.

"Yeah ok, let's do this, give me 10 minutes to get ready and I'll be there."

"Who wants to come with me to the Korean restaurant on Western Avenue?" asks Manon.

"I can't, sorry, I'm going out with my friends" replies Sophia.

"I'm sorry Manon but I'm going to stay home tonight, I'm feeling a bit ill" says Yoonchae sadly.

"Are you sure you'll be okay Yoonchip?" I ask her worriedly, putting a hand on her arm.

" Yes mom !" 

I laugh at her words before standing up and enthusiastically answering Manon :

"I'm in, I'm so craving Korean food, after all this nothing can stop me."

Manon seems happy with my answer. But suddenly a feeling of something like emptiness hits me, and after a few seconds, I manage to find out wh:

" Where is Megan ?" 

"Oh she went on a date," Sophia replies nonchalantly.

My stomach twists slightly, and I try not to frown too hard. It's obviously a failure, because at the expression on my face, Sophia adds.

"With her mom, she's in town for a few days so she wants to enjoy it as much as possible."

"Oh ok, yes that's right she'd told me about it" I reply, letting out a sigh of relief that I didn't think I was holding back.

I gather up the rest of my things, deep in thought, while the rest of the girls chat happily, excited about the evening ahead.

We split up into different cars rented by the label, and I get in with Manon, chatting happily on the way to the restaurant.

***

The car drops us off at the restaurant about twenty minutes later.

Manon and I get out of the car with enthusiasm, earning a wary glance from the driver. We approach the restaurant entrance holding each other by the arm, giggling hilariously.

"I am SO hungryyyy !" I exclaim, as we hop along towards the restaurant.

"Me too ! But I've never seen you so happy to be eating in a restaurant !"

"It's just that it's been a super stressful day, with the interview gone wrong, Daniela seeming to be angry with me just as I was beginning to think our relationship was evolving but at the..."

I'm interrupted by a waitress to whom we ask for a table more isolated from the window, because although we're not very famous at the moment, some fans recognize us in the street. It's such a bizarre feeling to be recognized by strangers.

The waitress directs us to a table near the kitchen. The restaurant isn't full yet, but I notice that the line at the entrance is getting longer and longer.

We sit down in front of our Korean barbecue, and I can see the calm but real enthusiasm on Manon's face. We debate for a few minutes about which Korean barbecue to choose before settling on one of the larger options.

After placing our order and receiving our drinks, Manon returns to the conversation we had as we got out of the car :

"So, how did the whole failed interview thing go? Because Dani explained it to us, but she seemed so annoyed by this flirty interviewer that I don't know if her version is super clear..."

" To make a long story shorter, there was a section where we had to answer personal questions yes or no, and when she asked us if we were close friends I said no and she said yes."

I watch as Manon raises her eyebrow slightly and nods for me to continue, which I do.

"The journalist jumped on the opportunity like a vulture on its prey. I mean, I don't even know if I can say that Daniela and I are friends, so close friends? I don't understand her behavior...  Sometimes she compliments me and encourages me, but on the other side, she gets angry with me and acts cold. I think that she hates me..." I finish, sadly.

"She doesn't hate you Y/n, why else would she have answered yes to the question ?"

"It was just for the cameras Manon, I don't see how she could consider me one of her close friends when she acts like that..."

"She cares for you. More than you think..."

"I don't know, Manon, I'd like to believe it, or rather see it more in her actions."

We continue on this subject for a while longer, before moving on to happier things, such as the release of our next EP, and the few bits of information we've had about tomorrow's video clip shoot.

And just as I was stuffing my face with kimchi, I hear whispers to my left. A group of 7 young teenage girls keep staring in our direction, looking hesitant.

I give them a reassuring smile that seems to give them the ounce of courage they needed to approach us, following a tall brunette Latina who speaks first.

"Uh I'm sorry to bother you but are you Y/n and Manon from Katseye ?"

I glance around, some of the other customers are looking in our direction but don't seem to recognize us.

"Yes, that's us !"  Manon sweetly replies.

I can see that the first girl is trying to contain her excitement, but it's obvious in the other girls.

" Wow ! We're all fans, we've been following you from the start and Sarah and Nancy's bias is Manon. And you see the little blonde behind, that's Beatrice, she's been a fan of Y/n since the beginning but is very shy."

Hearing these words brings me immense joy, knowing that young girls follow our, my adventures with such fervor gives me a huge responsibility. I quickly pull myself together and answer the brunette:

"And who's your bias ?"

"Megan obviously duh" she deadpanned.

"She deserves it, she's such a cutie !" I reply with honesty.

" Would you like to take photos or get autographs ? We can do them individually and in groups if you like" Manon addresses all the girls.

"We don't want to bother you..." shyly replies the denominated Nancy.

"The Eyekons never bother us !" I exclaim enthusiastically.

Each girl then approaches Manon and me individually to take a few photos and chat a little with us. But I see that the last girl, Beatrice, is reluctant to approach. Remembering what her friend said earlier, I encourage her : 

"Beatrice, right ? Your friend told me you were an original fan. Don't hesitate if you want to come and take a photo."

She puts on an incredulous expression, as if she doesn't believe what's happening to her. She then approaches me shyly.

I watch as she picks up one of the two identical bracelets on her wrist and hesitantly hands one to me before explaining :

"I always keep these two bracelets with me, in case I run into you by chance, and obviously I have" she laughs lightly.

I gratefully accept this gift, then read the inscription marked with the beads "never give up on your dreams."

"That's lovely, thank you so much !" I tell her sincerely

"You're welcome, I keep them as a reminder that I should never give up and that even if something seems impossible, it really isn't. Like you, who managed to find your place as the 7th member of a group that was supposed to be made up of six girls. You made the impossible possible, and that's why I admire you so much !"

"Thank you Beatrice, that means a lot to me, I'll take good care of it" I thank her sincerely, my eyes watering.

This moment is interrupted by her friends calling her over to take a group photo with Manon and me. My fellow team-member is already ready, and I can see that her initial embarrassment has given way to a sincere joy at sharing these moments with the fans.

I wipe away the tears that threaten to fall before putting my arm around Beatrice's shoulders for the photo.

The girls thank us one last time before returning to their tables with smiles on their faces. Manon and I have the same expressions on our faces as we return to our meal and discuss our feelings about this interaction, with light hearts.

***

When we finish our meal, it's still early, so I suggest to Manon that we take a walk through the streets of Los Angeles to discover places we haven't been before.

She nods happily before pointing in a direction to begin our exploration.

It's getting dark in Los Angeles, but the streets are still busy. We walk side by side in a relaxing atmosphere, punctuated by our comments on the landscape and the people we meet.

"Oh look at this restaurant ! I'm sure Megan would love it !"

"Look at that, it's not just a cafe but a cafe with cats ! We have to beg the label to let us shoot a vlog there."

" She slay so hard in this outfit !" 

After about an hour wandering around the city, we decide to settle down in a park with attractive fairy lights. A jazz band is playing background music, which makes the atmosphere of the park very lively and attracts people to the small dance floor in the center of the park.

However, our attention is quickly caught by the sight of a small food truck offering sweet snacks. Manon and I consult each other briefly before hurrying towards the queue extending in front of the food truck.

I feel my phone vibrate slightly in my pocket as I try to catch sight of the menu. But as we finally receive our order and make our way to the jazz band, now each with a massive waffle in hand, I realize that my phone hasn't stopped ringing, which I find quite unusual.

Confused, I motion to Manon to go and sit down on a bench to take my time and see what's going on more peacefully.

I scroll through the hundreds of notifications that have appeared on my phone, all containing the same words "conflict", "discord" and above all 'Daniela' and "Y/n". And no matter how I scroll through them, they all concern the same subject, so I let out an insult.

" That fucking journalist..." 

I see Manon's puzzled expression and show her my phone, where the interview video is playing. Understanding what it's all about, she quickly turns on her own phone to see the extent of the damage.

Meanwhile, I scroll through the various publications that follow Sally's video. Many people react to my comments, accusing the group of being toxic, of pretending to have a good relationship when in fact we hate each other.

The negative comments multiply, about the group, about me, in a spiral of hatred. And even if some positive comments try to defend us, it's too late, and it's all my fault.

But the last straw is a photo that leaked online — Me , mid-breakdown during a rehearsal, crouched behind the studio with tears running down my face. The caption?

"Can't handle the pressure?"

Anonymous account. Thousands of shares. Speculation.

I'm shaking when I see it.

A multitude of feelings take over me: guilt, sadness, anger and even shame. A ball of anxiety swells in my chest and I can't stand my environment any longer, the lights are too bright, the music is too loud, Manon's too compassionate look only adds to my guilt.

I can't stay, I've got to go, now.

I get up abruptly, reject Manon's offer of a ride and rush out of the park, not knowing where to go. I don't recognize my surroundings, I'm confused, I don't know where to go, so I wander aimlessly for a while before deciding to go to the place that's most familiar to me in this town: Katseye's house.

Despite my vision blurred by tears and my body trembling, I manage to call a cab and fumble the address when it arrives.

The drive is a blur, and I'm trapped in a vicious circle of negative thoughts. I can't think of anything else, all those hateful comments, remarks about my looks, my personality and especially about the other members of the group, because of MY mistake.

They'll never forgive me... And if Katseye's first EP wasn't released because of me, I've ruined everything... All because of a stupid mistake and a journalist hungry for gossip. Well, if I hadn't said that, if I'd thought a little more carefully about my choice of words, I could have avoided it...

I realize that the insults, although largely directed at me, are also directed at the girls and I can only imagine their reactions, Daniela's disappointed expression, Megan's tears, Lara's determined but sad expression, the leader's bitterness towards me when she discovers that I've ruined her dream, all our dreams, and Yoonchae, too young to be a target....

When the cab stops, I rush to pay before running towards the house, I only have one thing on my mind, to go where the others won't find me. I don't want to face their gazes.

Luckily, the living room is silent as I enter the house and I don't pass any of the girls on my way to my room.

Once inside, I grab Megan's old sweatshirt, a blanket and lock myself in the bathroom, where I can escape the outside world, alone with my thoughts.

***

After what could have been hours or minutes, I'm still in the dorm bathroom, in the dark, door locked, slumped against the wall. Panic still clawed up my spine.

Lost in thought, I didn't hear the knock, only the soft voice :

"Y/n . It's me."

Sophia.

"I saw it too," she continued. "We're handling it. But... come out when you're ready. Not because they expect you to, but because we want to sit with you."

More voices joined in.

"You stood by me. I'm standing by you." —Megan.

"No video can touch what we know about you." —Manon.

"They're just scared of what they can't control." —Lara.

"  We got your back " —Daniela.

" We're in this together, Y/n." —Yoonchae.

I hesitate for a few minutes: do they really mean it ? Are they really going to support me ?

My thoughts are punctuated by the voices of the girls who continue to show their support behind the door.

After a few minutes, I feel the weight of guilt lighten and I start to really believe the words that come out of their mouths. 

I open the door wih trembling hands.  That's the moment where I was ready to saw them. 

They were all there. No cameras. No staff. Just the six of them—some in pajamas, others still in stage makeup. Arms open.

I didn't say anything.

I just stepped forward and let myself be caught in their embrace.

***

That night, we did another kind of sleepover—unplanned this time.

No popcorn. No games. Just a single candle on the floor, and all seven girls lying around it like a makeshift constellation.

Lara was humming something soft. Megan traced patterns on the blanket. Yoonchae dozes off, disappearing under a pile of blankets, snuggled up to Sophia. I rest my head on Manon's stomach and Daniela rested her head near my feet, unusually quiet.

Her anger seemed to have evaporated, replaced by concern. When I left the bathroom, it was her embrace that was the tightest.

We discussed the situation for a long time before reaching this state of calm, and it turns out that in the end none of them seemed to blame me.

Sophia reassured me that it wasn't something that couldn't be fixed, and that there were plenty of comments from Eyekons defending us. She then gave us a reassuring speech, highlighting our strength as a group and giving each of us a little more confidence in our future together.

I also saw a lot of concern in Megan's eyes, not only about the group's situation but also about my mental state. We talked a long time in hushed tones about my mental health and the importance of preserving it, coming to the conclusion that stepping away from our phones wouldn't hurt. Thanks to her words and affectionate gestures, the guilt that had been gnawing at my chest eased.

Then, by collective decision, we locked all our phones in a box to give us more space to think about what to do next and lighten the weight on our shoulders.

As for Lara, she remained true to herself, holding her head high despite adversity and encouraging us to remain proud in the face of such hatred. Her strength of character encouraged each of us to lift our chins a little more proudly.

Manon's reaction was more composed and calm, trying to reassure all of us, always keeping a steady face even if the tension in her body betrayed her anxiety. Seeing her like this gave me the strength to pull myself together and look to the future rather than dwelling on the same thoughts.

Daniela was a real bundle of nerves, not against the group but rather against the haters, and she went to extremes to address them with bitter responses that we avoided her posting it at the last moment so as not to make the situation worse. This event highlighted Dani's protective nature, as she took every insult directed at Katseye members as a personal attack.

I was reassured to see that she could be counted on, and that even if she was angry with me for my mistake during the interview, she was able to put that aside and awkwardly try to reassure me by inventing the most creative insults in English and Spanish to respond to every single criticism addressed to me.

And what about me ? I don't think it's going to be easy for me to restore the confidence I'd built up within this group and even with the fans, but the girls have all proved to me that I can count on them in difficult times.

I know that if they stand by me, we can make up for this mistake and move forward together again to take Katseye to new levels.

-------------------

That's it for this chapter full of drama ;)

Don't hesitate to give me your opinion on the chapter, point out errors, make recommendations for the sequel and continue to share your favorite love interest (I still don't know myself who the reader will end up with).

And please don't hesitate to use this comment section as a place to discuss about Beautiful Chaos !

Filming of the clips of the first EP and continuation of the drama coming in the next chapter !!!

@firstclassjaylee @s-p-e-c-t-r-e-s @liancacoltrane1 @kawaiipeacemusic

[starry-stay-s]

Family of 4 turns to family of 5...?

☆Sylus xnonmc! reader

☆girl dad Sylus💪

☆fluff, suggestive moment or two

☆authors note; ok so im gonna say this here but I may add it to my about me page, but all of the pics I make will tend to have a curly haired reader as its underrepresented in many fandoms and as someone will curls, I gotta be strong and write for those looking for it💪; working on some other works rn so bear(?) with me pls

☆warnings; children ig?, curly haired reader and daughter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since you married Sylus, you decided it'd be best to be a housewife. Sure, you loved your job and it's made good money, but logically you had no need for it. No need for the stressful written reports coworkers who were far too stubborn(and frankly, stupid) for their own good, only causing you more stress. And let's be honest here, Sylus's bank account will run dry when pigs fly, so why not bask in relaxation at home.

Ever since making this decision, you've slowly adjusted to his sleep schedule. Becoming more and more of a night owl every day. Yes, it wad a bit hard at first but now it's almost as if this had always been your schedule. While Sylus when to meetings, deals, auctions he deemed to dangerous for you, you cleaned the base, cooked for you(and the twins if they weren't with Sylus), and then simply did nothing.

Yep, absolutely nothing but lay on the couch, bed, whatever you deemed worthy that day. Sometimes you'd watch a show you've been wanting to cus never had time for, or a new movie, or read a book from your tragically long to be read list. And sometimes, when you were in an especially good mood, you'd go to your favorite café and go on a mini shopping spree, often buying things for Sylus, the twins and Mephisto, who you've come to peaceful terms with.

It was amazing, truly, finally getting relaxation as you got to do anything and everything you pleased, having your beloved come home everyday and grettjng you with a hug and kiss. And God don't even get started on how much Sylus loved this new arrangement. Knowing his kitten was at home waiting for him to return safely everyday as she got to be greedy and do whatever she pleased, it satisfied something deep within him.

It's been a about 7 months since the wedding and everything is fine, you've both long settled into this new routine. But you can't help but start to feel a little lonely. Sure, sometimes the twins are home, but they're usually off doing their own mischief. Mephisto stayed most of the times too but he was usually far too occupied with finding new additions for his hoard. And Sylus was usually out on business, doing who knows what who knows where.

You let your thoughts wander one day as you're cooking dinner for the 4 of you, yes the twins included because they're practically your children. Children, huh? Surr you weren't anywhere near being blood related but you cared for them like a mother would, making sure Sylus wouldn't punish them too harshly for one of their regular pranks and mischief, sometimes even getting in on it yourself. Thinking about it now, you and Sylus haven't really touched on that topic yet.

Would he want children? Did you want children? Would you be able to raise them here in the N109 Zone without putting them in danger? So many thoughts and insecurities clouded your mind as you continue cooking, not hearing the door open.

As you stir the pot, a pair of warm arms embrace you from behind. You shake your head clear of your thoughts, though some linger in the back of your head. You look back over your shoulder to meet Sylus's gaze. Smiling you turn back around to ensure dinner isn't burned.

"Welcome home, baby." You say as he nuzzles hus head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your warm and familiar scent. He let's out a soft hum, akin to a low purring that you feel rumbles his chest. He places feather light kisses on your neck, not saying anything but he didn't need too. On days like this he just needed to hold you, to remember that you're home and safe, that everything he does is for you, that even the rough days are worth it when he sees you at home, making dinner or seeing the charges on his card from your usual stores.

You turn off the stove, dinner done but wanting to be held a bit more. You lean back into him, laying your hands on his and his trails soft kisses up higher and higher until he finally reached your lips. The kiss is deep, slow as if hes trying to memorize every line and curve of your lips.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes again, and you can't help but imagine having a mini Sylus running around, with his silver locks and ruby red eyes. You try to stop thinking about it, but you can't, maybe you'd been seeing too many cute baby tiktoks, but you suddenly have this urge to just have his children. He notices thoughts fogging your mind.

"Whats wrong, sweetie? You know you can tell me anything." He says softly, searching your eyes for any clue as to what you're thinking about. If only he knew you were thinking about jumping his bones until Chinas birth rates skyrocket-

"I've been... thinking about us. And how maybe instead of it being the four of us it could be... five." You say hesitantly, unsure of his reaction. You quickly look away and busy yourself with plating the food, slipping through his arms, leaving them limp at his side as he stares at you, eyes wider than usual. As you place the plates on the table and are about to call Luke and Kieran, he grabs your wrist gently.

"Are you saying... you want a child with me?" He asks softly, you turn to look at him and see the vulnerability in his eyes. The way he waits for your response, pupils blown wide and jaw slack, makes you smile.

"Yeah, I am, is that a problem?" You say with a nod, meeting his gaze. He shakes his head and just stares for a while, his expression of pure devotion like you just told him you hung up stars and moon yourself. You lead him to his chair and sit him down as he continues to star at you with the same look, calling out for the twins to come join you two. You hear a clambering wave of footsteps as they come from who knows where and stop in front of you, out of breath and mock saluting.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bossman" they say in their usual perfect harmony before settling down at their respective seats, you joining them. As you all eat, Sylus's eyes never leave you, his expression has changed to mask what he was feeling but you could still tell by that glint in his eyes. The twins talk most of the time per usual, about what the did and what they wanna do, as they stuff their faces. Sometimes it genuinely concerns you that anything you make them could become a choking hazard if it's them who's eating it. You add comments every now and then, getting up when everyone has finished and moving the dishes to thre sink. The twins thank you once more before running off, back to their usual shenanigans. Sylus moves silently beside you, helping you do the dishes.

You use a kitchen towel to dry your hands, passing it to Sylus when youre done. You stand there, leaning your hip against the counter, facing him with loosely crossed arms. He sets the towel back where it was before and watches you before gently speaking.

"So, children, huh, kitten? If that's what you wanted you could've told me sooner, you know your wish is my command." He says.

"I know, its just I didn't really think much about it until recently and... I dont know, I guess I was scared to mention it to you." You respond quietly, your eyes averting from his.

"What did you think id say, sweetie? I may be the big bad bossman of Onychinus to everyone else, but to you im just Sylus." He uses two fingers to gently grab your chin and turns you towards him, your eyes meeting again.

"I know, I know. But... would you want children with me?" You say with uncertainty.

"I thought you'd never ask, kitten. I want anything you're willing to give me, and if children is one then id gladly take all of them." He quietly affirms, his gaze intense but loving.

"All of them? It's not I'm not giving you a whole soccer team." You say, smiling with a playful tone.

"Pity, I was hoping for two so they can compete against the other." he says with his usual smirk, tone teasing as he slowly embraces you.

You giggle and lean into him, your weight. comfortable weight against him. He kisses your head and quickly picks you up, placing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You gasp in shock, clinging onto whatever you could as you laughed.

"Sylus, put me down! Where are you taking me?" You ask, softly hitting his back. He continues walking through the house as he chuckles.

"To get started on making our two soccer teams." He says and you could practically hear his smug grin. You continue hitting his back and laughing. He opens the door to your shred bedroom and lays you on the bed, crawling over you and kissing your lips gently as you hear him lock the door with his evol.

"Make my time worth it and we'll see about the soccer teams." You say gently against his lips. Hi smirks and presses his weight against you, your lips slotting against each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four years later you find yourself bathing your daughter, Nora, as Sylus sets everything she needs for after in yours and Sylus's shared room. She giggles in the bath, playing with the bubbles, face covered in them as she tried getting them on you too. Soon you burst her bubble(pun intended, please laugh) and get her out of the bath, ending her fun. You wrap her in her dragon hooded towel that she says looks just like her papa. AS you carry her out, your meet with the sigh of Sylus carefully arranging her pajamas. You smile and set her down, drying her completely before having Sylus get her dressed. She giggled the whole time, enjoying his attention. You went to find her brush and handed it to Sylus, as she refused to let you do her hair after bath time.

He gently brushed through the wet curls as she babbled on about what she was playing in the tub with you. He nodded along, listening attentively as if it was the most important business deal. He gently styles her curls as she continue, talking about whatever comes to her mind. Once he's done he gently puts on her bonnet, kissing her now mostly covered forehead. She jumps up and smiles, tackling him in a hug. He dramatically falls down on the bed, her laying on top of him, letting her play around with him, a soft smile on his face, his gaze soft as he watches her.

You watch quietly as you finish getting ready for bed yourself. You sneak up on her, quickly picking her up and spinning in a circle. She squeals, her adorable laughter filling the air, her dimples on full display.

"Papa! Save meeee!" She screams, giggling as you carry her away and to her room to put her to bed.

"Im coming, princess." He says as he follows you in a light jog. You look back and immediately walk away faster, smiling.

"I dont think so, this is my pretty princess!" You say as you make it into her room, her flailing in her arms as she waits for Sylus, who walks in mere seconds later.

"Hand over my dear princess before I take drastic measures." He says, standing just beyond the rooms doorway. You pretend to think about it as your daughter looks at you, eyes just as ruby as Sylus's wide with hope.

"Mm, I dont think so, I think I'll keep her to myself."

"You've left me no choice." He says, smirking and sending a small chill down your spine. The next thing you know his evol is pulling Nora out of your arms and behind him as he tickles you. You gasp and panic, trying to escape the attack, laughter filling the air.

"DAmmit, Sylus, let go!" You say through gasps of breath, trying not to die as he continues the assault, your daughter finding your suffering enjoyable as she laughs as well. He only lets go after a few more moments, tear falling out the corners of your eyes as you gasp to catch your breath, bunched over. He grabs your daughter and hold her tightly, kissing her cheek.

"My beloved princess is saved, did I do well, your highness?" he says to her, still playing along as your daughter lets out a final giggle and nods.

"Very good papa, you defeated the monster! So you have the honor of reading my bedtime story." She says matter of factly, already willing out of his arms, past you and into her bed. She gets under the covers and lays down, waiting for Sylus to follow and read to her. He chuckles and follows, sitting in the chair beside her bed for this sole purpose. He grabs the book she always asks for, about a princess being saved by the dragon instead of the prince. He looks over at you, who's barely recovering from the brutal attack. You glare at him, though there's no real heat behind it as you walk closer and kiss your daughters head.

"Goodnight, Nora. Sweet dreams, and only one story alright?" You say softly, staring at her lovingly as you wait for her answer.

"Yes, mama! Night night!" She says with a nod, practically shooing you away so she can have time with her father. You chuckle and walk out the room, settling into yours and Sylus's bed.

Once you leave the room, Sylus begins the story hes read at least a million times. Now Nora always has two reactions to the story; once, she asks Sylus to read it over and over again, and he does because for his daughter, hes a weak man, her ultimate weapon her pout and puppy eyes. Or two, she falls asleep to the low sound of Sylus's voice, a noise so comforting for her that she can't help but become sleepy before he's even halfway through the story. When this happens, he finishes the story, though he knows shes asleep, because he know she'll wake if he doesn't(it happened one too many times and hes finally learned his lesson)

This night sits the latter, her big crimson eyes drifting closed as hes only half way done reading. He continues in a softer voice now, ending the story and kissing her forehead, his whisper a breath.

"Goodnight, my princess. I love you dearly, sweet dreams." He puts the book back quietly and fixes her blanket before staring at her. Her little pink bonnet securely covered her silver curls, the ones you so diligently taught him how to care for and style. Her eyes, now closed but a perfect copy of his, her lips full and plush just like his as well. He quietly chuckles, thinking about how your genes didn't even bother fighting. He gets up with a small smile, making his way to your bed.

There you lie half awake, wanting to wait for him but exhaustion from the day catching up far more quickly than intended. You barely notice him walking in, only noticing him when his arms wrapped around you from behind. He whispers into your ear softly.

"Go to sleep, kitten, im here." He continues whispering sweet nothings until you fall asleep, which doesn't take long. Once he hears your breathing even out, he settles in more and sighs, thinking about how amazing his life turned out of be.

Not once did he think this kind of domestic life was possible, but the ring on your finger and Nora were proof that even someone like him could have a happy ending.

[punks-never-die205]

By the Horns

Hybrid Bull AU

Thanks to @don-mellow and the FANTASTIC Bullstass art that inspired @hannahbarberra162 -> and then me -> to write some Hybrid Bull AU content.

Seriously check out those two as soon as you can. I am incredibly lucky to have talented people in my orbit like this. It literally feeds me.

Personal Note: I do have a LOT of Kid WiPs. I have not forgotten them, I have not abandoned them. I haven't had the drive to write Kid in MONTHS. So rejoice with me.

CW: Hurt, sex, revenge, murder, abuse, dark themes, estrus, tensions between humans and hybrids, so much sex, so much - and in an unexpected twist: consensual drugging, 18+ only.

Tag List: @keiva1000, @mfreedomstuff, @likeeliterallywtf, @usopp-enjoyer

Chapter 1: Tail End

You ran. 

And ran.

Everything ached, but everything had hurt before you started running, and you only knew that you couldn’t stop. It was night time, probably sometime around 2 or 3 in the morning, still hours before the sun would rise.

Your breath billowed out in front of you like fog, and the tattered remnants of your clothing billowed out behind you like bits of sail. Bruises, dried blood, and dirt covered your skin in the places that the meager clothing didn’t cover, and honestly the bruises and scrapes were beneath the cloth too.

If you stopped running your farmer would find you, and he’d kill you.

You knew it as sure as you knew anything. Maybe it was the part of your mind that was an animal, an instinct that made you move even when all manner of conscious rebellion had been bred and beat out of you years ago. A strange desire to live, despite not even being sure you really deserved such a privilege.

Lights on the horizon, the edge of a farm, not the sky, catch your attention and you run toward them. If you’re around other people the farmer won’t kill you. At least not right away, and if you can get help before he shows up, then maybe he won’t be able to do so at all.

As you neared the source of the light something made your legs wobble. Relief, or exhaustion, or both. Someone steps out from the light into the dark, a bull you think, from his height and the horns, he wasn’t a farmer. Details about him flit into your mind and leave just as quickly, but you’re at least sure enough that he’s a bull that you continue moving toward him.

Bulls never hurt you, so maybe he could-.

“-help,” you gasp, your hoarse voice barely a sound above the breath that escaped you. It was enough for him to turn and look at you, eyes going wide in surprise. “Me.” 

The next step you took was all you had left, but you didn’t hit the dirt. You collapsed into a large, warm arm, that supported you entirely. You could see the dirt, and you think you managed to say some manner of thanks, but fear, exhaustion, and pain, took you into the darkness and you passed out.

Looking down at the form that’s collapsed onto his arm, Kid looks out to the fields and the horizon for any signs of lights or pursuers. It wasn’t every day a mostly naked woman ran onto the backside of the ranch like this, and given the state of you, you’d been running for a long time.

After a moment he figured it was safe to assume you’d made a clean escape, where ever you had been escaping from, and adjusted you in his arm enough to stand up and walk back to the ranch. He’d just finished fucking a few of his heifers and, as usual, had energy to spare. Shutting off lights as he walked by he checked into the pens of his stock as he took you back to the main house, checking every now and then that you were still breathing.

Everyone else was down for sleep, or close enough to it, and so he detoured to the small clinic. House, one of the few non-hybrids on the farm, was put up there. She’d been the ranch doctor before he and the others took over, and she’d stayed on as doc afterward. Anything House couldn’t handle meant either a trip to the city for the hospital, or a call to the creepy emo fuck who had some of the most effective weirdo voodoo shit going on.

Walking into the clinic, Kid starts turning on lights, working his way through as quietly as he can. House would fuck him up six ways to Sunday if he made a mess, and if she was asleep he wanted to leave her that way.

Or so he initially thought.

Setting his little intruder on the exam table, under the harsh lights of the room, Kid had a better idea of how hurt you were.

“You might need the hospital.” He says softly, looking you over. Layers of bruises, but the more he looks the more he’s unsure where the dirt stops and the bruising starts. There’s dried blood, caked in places, and fresh trickles from wounds you reopened from running. “Fuckin’ hells.”

Growling Kid steps out of the room, turning on the water in the bathroom and pulling down washrags and towels. Just as he’s getting ready to knock on House’s bedroom door it opens. She doesn’t look angry, just tired.

“Help me, doc.” He commands, pointing into the bathroom. “I’ll bring ‘er in.”

House moves into the bathroom without question, but her eyes go wide when he brings you in.

“Gods,” she breathes, kicking off her slippers and climbing into the tub before he even starts to set you into the warm water. “Who is she? Ain’t one of ours.” 

“Ran up to me when I came out the back pens.” He explains, ripping the useless remnants of your ruined clothes off easily and tossing them aside. 

“Anything broke?”

“Nothing I could feel or see.” Kid answers.

“Eh. We’ll get her cleaned up and I can examine her. Human huh?” She asks.

“Think so. If she’s a hybrid, she doesn’t have a tail, or anything else.” He explains, helping House by keeping you stable with his arm, handing her clean rags and more soap as she cleans you up.

“She’s not nearly as dirty as I was hoping she was.” House says professionally. “This bruising is terrible. Layered too. She’s been beat pretty fierce for a long time. These scrapes and the blood are from it too. Bare hands, not that it makes it better, but it doesn’t look like he used a bat or anything.”

She takes care to check the worst of the bruises for fractures before cleaning them. Your breathing is steady, and you are effectively fast asleep. Poor thing must’ve ran until you were beyond exhausted, and your body was forcing you to rest.

Made it easier to get you cleaned up and checked at least.

“Fuckin’ pig.” Kid growls, helping House turn you on your side.

“Yeah, he-.” House freezes, eyes wide. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong doc?”

“Kid.” She looks up at him, and the look on her face already had his temper flaring. “You have to stay calm, Kid.” 

“Tryin’.” He snarls.

“Try harder.” House instructs forcefully. “You have to put her back on the exam table for me.” She orders, one hand on the girl, one hand on Kid’s arm. “You hearing me?”

“Yeah.”

“Put her on the exam table.”

“Yeah.”

Kid finally starts moving, and House moves with him. The water in the hall is a small price to pay, and so House doesn’t say anything about it.

Hybrids aren’t all that different from humans. Unlike actual cows, they’re smart, adaptable, and as far as Kid and his friends were concerned, perfectly capable of ruling the world. Aside from a few differences like horns on bulls, tails, bovine ears, and body hair that could get a little thick like fur down the back, stomach and shoulders, they could look human.

Tails were about the only consistent indicator of a hybrid, the rest could come and go, and a good many hybrids only had tails. Everything else was human. It didn’t make ‘em human, and it didn’t make them less of a hybrid, it was just how genetics worked. On the other side of that, one of Kid’s bulls had bovine legs, which was the other end of the extremes.

If you had any fur the abuse might’ve caused it to fall out, patches of your hair had rinsed out in the bath, but House hadn’t gotten around to washing it properly before she had Kid put you back on the exam table. Fur usually matched hair color, but right now he couldn’t even be sure the hair color was correct.

He already knew, though, what House had noticed, even as he laid you back in the room. It took everything he had to keep from going mad with rage, but if he lost his cool he’d break the clinic and risk you and House.

“Go get Killer.” House commands.

“House-.”

“Get the fuck out of my clinic, Eustass Kid, before you lose your calm, and send in Killer. Forewarn him and send him in.” She commands. The only time House has, or uses, any authority is in times of medical need. She doesn’t stop anyone from doing what they do, she just patches people up afterward, and sometimes she’s patching people up she beat the shit out of if they fought in her clinic.

“And if you find who did this, I want to talk to them!” She shouts out after him.

Kid hears her, even over the rage pounding in his ears. He hears her and in a way it helps him calm down. Kid was big and harsh, a great weight that beat into the world around him until it gave way to what he wanted. There was finesse in a sense, but he was by the old adage, a bull in a shop of fine wares, and Kid didn’t give a shit about things that weren’t his.

You might not be, technically, his, but you were on his land and you’d asked for his help. His first compulsion was to find the person who abused you like that and break them in half. 

Simple. Effective. Elegant in its own way.

But too gods-forsaken-quick.

House, rough around the edges as she was, was a doctor. A needle that slipped between the seams, and exacting presence comparatively. House would fix the bones he’d break, and make it hurt worse the entire time, inflicting at least half as much pain as your abuser probably deserved.

Now the trick was going to be keeping the fucker alive in the first place. Once Kid figured out who it was, he was going to have to keep his own red-laced rage in check enough to bring House anything more than a corpse.

Fucker cut off your tail.

[batbetbitbotbut]

@solongandthanksforallthefish42:

Question... I'm a new weaver, and every throw I have to hold the thread to keep it from pulling too tightly and getting excessive draw-in, even when I have my tension cinched up TIGHT on the warp. You're able to throw without having to hold the end to keep it from pulling too tightly. Does it have to do with shuttle, pattern, or something else I'm doing? I know troubleshooting without video might not make much sense

Hi! That's a fantastic question and uhhhhh tricky to answer! I am pulling this out of replies so I can type more (uh, not that that is necessarily useful) and add photos. Disclaimer that I don't much like the current red weft, just seeing how it turns out for a couple inches.

On some projects I have to hold the thread to keep it from pulling in just like you do, on others I can just throw merrily along like in this video. I don't entirely know why it varies the way it does so I may not be able to help even if you share a video. Every project has a figuring-out period for its throwing and beating needs as I start at weaving. Some things that I think influence it to greater or lesser degrees:

Dense sett - here 24 ends per inch. I think when I've worked with thicker yarn (thus wider sett) I have had to be more careful, because the weft is pulling against fewer threads at the edge (thus pulling harder against each thread). A few people sley more densely at the edge for this reason, but I don't think this is common.

Inelastic yarn - this cotton barely moves if you try to stretch it between your fists, so when throwing the shuttle the weft unspools readily without putting itself under much tension. In a recent project with both a silk weft and a wool weft, I could throw the inelastic silk with no trouble but I had to hold the fabric and/or adjust the laying-in of every bouncy wool pick by hand, because it would stretch itself out in the shed.

Tensioned warp - as you're already doing, cranking the warp tension right up so the weft has something to pull against. Also as in the point above, inelastic warp yarn helps because the yarn holds more tension rather than stretching when pulled on by the weft. This warp is cotton like the weft.

Vigorous throwing - trust your shuttle and loom for a bit, throw confidently and see what happens! (It might not work! That's okay, this is a process!) When I fumble a throw and have to inch the shuttle through the shed, I think the bobbin doesn't unwind quite as readily. Strong throw -> bobbin spinning -> lots of slack in the weft both in this throw and ready for the next throw. But sometimes you get the opposite effect and the strong throw just pulls in far too much at the edge or whoops you throw the shuttle across the room.

Different shuttle - I'm using a normal boat shuttle with bobbin, but you could try going cheaper (stick shuttle, you unwind the yarn before you pass the shuttle through so the weft is never under tension) or more expensive (end feed shuttle, the yarn lifts off the end of the pirn rather than needing even the slight tension of unwinding a bobbin; some people swear by these for nice edges; I've never used one because £££). Sticking with boat shuttles, a lighter-weight shuttle might help as it takes less force to throw it quickly.

The sweet spot on your loom - I wish I understood why, but my loom is happiest when weaving quite near the beater. In the "weaving zone" between the breast beam and the beater, if I wind on too far then my tension goes to shit and I can't get a clean shed and beating pulls extra warp despite the brake and the weft won't lay in nicely and it's just awful. I either have to weave verrrrrry slowly for a while (with lots of gripping the fabric or weft) or get up and wind yarn back onto the warp beam. Try keeping the fell line in a different place than you usually do?

Beating on an open shed - for most projects, I find I have the easiest time weaving as follows:

Throw shuttle

Pull beater forward

Change shed while beater is at the fell

Push beater back

The weft is free to move around while being pushed by the beater - it isn't yet trapped between the warp threads. So more weft can unspool and the slack can spread out fully during beating, rather than the edge of the cloth being left with no slack and getting tighter and tighter.

Floating selvedges? - the cloth photos above show not using them, for reference; the arrows point to some weft picks which don't reach the outermost thread. The first diagram shows no FS, the second diagram has a FS in red.

Sometimes I use them and sometimes I don't, some people always use them, some people never do. I can do a full explanation if you don't know what they are. I think they can have both helpful and unhelpful effects and be used in several ways.

They create a single column of plain weave at the edge of the cloth. Thus if you have long weft floats (in my little diagram I only drew 3-end floats but imagine, like, 7+) they are useful to make the weft go the full width of the cloth all the time - the weft must wrap around the outermost thread even if the floats stack up to mean that it wouldn't otherwise do so (eg if the last few warp ends go under weft floats for several picks then they simply aren't being woven, there's no over-under action). Some people find this helps them make neater edges all the time and find it helps give them something to pull the weft against. Some of these people weight the floating selvedges at a high tension separately to the rest of the warp, some make them extra thick and strong (doubled or tripled yarn), some use very slippery yarn or even fishing line with the intention of pulling it out after the cloth is done.

So if you haven't tried floating selvedges, try them! But if you already use them all the time... I have a hypothesis, untested, that if your weft floats are quite short (as in this video) then the "weft doesn't always reach the edge" can be helpful because then the stress is not always on the same warp end, it is spread out over a few ends. Floating selvedges may not benefit after all. So try not using them!

Selection bias or sampling bias or whatever it is - I leave most errors in videos, but they're still taken when it's going well. I just don't film if it's going badly and taking too much concentration or frustration!

Acceptance - A small amount of draw-in is fine and expected. The width at the breast beam is rarely (never?) quite the width in the reed. Draw-in creates a dense, strong edge; I treat it as part of the nature of woven fabric.

Loom noises and the first few inches of a tea towel (or teal towel, if you will).

Verse (repeat at least 20 times): brrrrrrr shhh thnk TSCH-TSCH tsch

Chorus: creeeeeeeeeaaaaaaak cli-cli-click

Resume verse and repeat for approximately 40 minutes per towel.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Why do you think climate change is a hoax? I agree that the news fear-mongers and exagerrates but where I live, it's pretty clear things have changed. Every summer there's a period of time where the sky fills with smoke so thick you can barely see the sun, from all the wildfires. That never used to happen when I was younger. The winters used to drop to -35C for weeks and the lakes would freeze over so thick you could drive on them. Now the winters are so mild that most lakes freeze and thaw in the span of a week or two. I'm not saying that sometimes the weather can't be wonky just by chance, but this has been an ongoing pattern here. I'm genuinely curious on your reasoning.

When I say "climate change is a hoax" I don't mean that climate never changes. I mean the idea that humans are causing the climate to change in solely negative ways, and the only way to fix that is by massive, worldwide government control of every aspect of our lives is a hoax. It's bullshit. Literally every single apocalyptic climate prediction has been wrong. Going back to the 60s, even. Every one. The models they use to game out "climate change" are all flawed and all rely of "adjusting" data to get the results they want to see.

As for your specific weather, an increase in wildfires al almost always caused by a decrease in responsible fire management. I don't know where you live, but in many left wing states like California, the forest services aren't allowed to do controlled burns to get rid of the flammable underbrush that cause most wildfires. Your lake? Yeah, weather patterns are changing a bit. Around me, each season has shifted about a month forward, give or take a few weeks each year. Some winters are more mild than others. We just has a very cold winter after 3 years of more mild winters last year. But that's just what happens with weather. It changes. It's been changing naturally since before humanity existed, let alone since industrialization which is what the climate cult blames all bad weather on. More importantly, humans can't manipulate the weather to create an ideal four season structure worldwide. It just can't be done. If the weather drastically changes, it's just something we have to deal with, not "fix" with high taxes, draconian restrictions, and self-flagellation.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Something To Take The Edge Off

[Rain struggles with his feelings in regards to Dew, and Aeon/Phantom is surprisingly insightful, if not a little devious.] Below the cut.

Rain doesn't smoke often, doesn't like the way the smell lingers in his hair or on his clothes, but sometimes he just needs something to take the edge off without the totality of alcohol; If he drank every time something stressed him out, he'd be so flushed with alcohol he'd die perfectly preserved without the need for formaldehyde, and his cremation would spark an explosion.

But theatrics -and a mental note that they don't use chemicals for preservation if they're going to perform a cremation- aside, Rain just prefers the acrid taste smoking leaves behind in his mouth to the sting of a potential hangover more.

Tapping the bottom of the flimsy cardboard packet, leaning against the cold, damp bricks of the basement stairwell, the ghoul hesitates before peeling the crinkly plastic off, crumpling it into a ball and pocketing it for later disposal.

It's been a long day, and while he could just as easily use other methods to unwind, the first drag makes the tension in his shoulders melt away, and the longer he stands there, the less wired he feels.

He huffs a little smoke out of his gills, surrounding himself in the not wholly unpleasant aroma -which he will furiously scrub from his body later with disproportionate disgust- and goes over the events of his day in his head.

For the most part, things had been normal, a couple hiccups here and there during practice, some tech issues that were resolved with Dew slamming his foot into an amp... and accidentally irritating his injury, then using his "authority" to tell Aeon to kick a second amp, jostling a loose connection back into place.

"Couldn't you have done that without hurting yourself?" Rain had chastised the older ghoul when he caught him limping around later, "Learn to delegate."

"Sure, sure..." Dew had hummed, not even really arguing with him, and adjusted his crutches without saying anything further, and *that* really hadn't sat well with Rain at all, so of course he had to ask...

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"It's just, I-"

"I said I'm fine! Rain, Satanas, just...!"

Rain blinks back to the present, the end of his cigarette heavy with ash.

He takes it from his mouth and taps it idly onto the ground, watching it hiss as it lands on the wet concrete.

"Mind if I bum one of those off of ya?" a cheery voice calls from the doorway to the basement, making Rain startle, "Sorry, sorry."

Aeon scoots around the door, clicking it shut, stepping up to Rain, expectantly holding out his palm.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asks, handing him the lighter.

"Since forever," the quint replies, pinching the cigarette between his lips as he lights it, "I just don't smoke around you guys."

"Huh."

Aeon joins him along the wall, inhaling deeply before sagging into a similarly relaxed pose.

"...So, what brings you to this..." Aeon gestures broadly at the stairwell, "...humble back alley?"'

Rain snorts.

"I don't know honestly." he admits, flicking his cigarette, "...Okay, maybe I do know, but it's stupid..."

"You and Dew aren't getting along, yeah?" Aeon guesses easily, "I saw you guys after practice today."

"Sorry you had to see that..." Rain cringes, "...It's just... Christ."

"Hey, language!" Aeon hisses, taking a drag from his cigarette, "You'll corrupt me..."

Rain groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Jokes aside, you good?"

"Yes and no." Rain shrugs, "Dew and I have gotten into it before, it's nothing new, but something is clearly wrong, and he's not talking to me, and it's like I'm annoying him just by asking... It's probably nothing and I'm overreacting, but, well, don't know until he says something."

Aeon hums thoughtfully.

"Well, I've heard," Aeon pushes away from the wall, spinning on his heels so he can face Rain straight on, "a certain hotheaded fire ghoul hasn't been resting the way he should be, so if he's being a bitch, it's no one's fault but his own."

Rain raises an eyebrow.

"Not for nothing, and you didn't hear it from me, because Omega and Aether would have my head for breaking good old doctor/patient confidentiality, but I do see things when I'm interning in the infirmary, you know?" Aeon hops up onto the first step leading up out of the stairwell towards the ghouls' private courtyard area, "Dew's not taking care of himself, and just earlier today, I heard Delta lecturing him about the importance of bed rest, but, of course, he had all of these excuses about why he can't sleep, or why he needs to stay up and alert..."

"Little man's paranoid-" Aeon continues, retreating further up the stairs, until he reaches the sidewalk above and looks down at Rain, "-about the idea of being replaced next."

"Papa wouldn't replace Dew-" Rain starts, then pauses, "...Not our Papa, not Copia, but... Do you think V would?"

Violet eyes narrowing as Aeon grins, "Now you're thinking like Dew. Heh~"

"Aeon, that's not very funny-"

"Good! Because I'm not joking." Aeon chirps, turning to walk away, leaving Rain alone in the stairwell, "That's your nut to crack, thanks for the cigs, I'm going back inside!"

Rain inhales sharply, cursing as he drops his cigarette on the ground and it fizzles out.

He grinds it the rest of the way out with the heel of his boot.

"God fucking dammit..." Rain pats his pockets for his pack, but the only thing he finds is the wrapper, "That little... AEON, YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"

Distant giggles and a far away, "Nope~!" are the only reply he gets before he hears a door on the opposite side of the courtyard slam shut.

"Fuck!"

Despite his best efforts to regain his stolen goods, Rain doesn't find Aeon anywhere obvious, and a few laps around the abbey's main floors has him feeling less hot about the situation as a whole.

By the time he's walking back to the ghouls' den, his head is clear, and he can feel himself leveling out, but the second his brain goes blissfully empty, a nagging thought crawls its way to the forefront of his mind.

Dew.

"V would be an idiot to replace Dew without notice." Rain thinks to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Especially when Pa... Frater... Especially when Copia is still around. He'd wind up as persona non grata, although it wouldn't be out of the scope of his authority..."

Rain shakes his head.

"No, even if he did replace Dew, it's not like he would have to leave, Aether is still here, Hell, Omega is still here! But... then again, Dew's position has shifted a couple times now, and he's been through multiple iterations of the project..."

Scratching the light scruff on his chin, Rain stands in the hall, eyes pinched shut as he tries to shake away these unwarranted thoughts, but...

"I can see why he's not sleeping." Rain finally says aloud, placing his hands on his hips, "Shit..."

Shaking his head again, Rain finds himself in front of the door to the ghouls' den, and pops it open only to be greeted by the sight of the very ghoul on his mind laying on the couch, foot propped up on a stack of pillows, eyes half shut as he stares blearily at the tv.

The lazing ghoul gives a soft grunt of acknowledgement, but his attention remains transfixed on whatever happens to be on screen at the moment.

Glancing at the tv, Rain gives a snort.

"Treasure hunting shows again? Thinking of becoming a pirate?" he asks, expecting Dew to bite back, even just a little at the remark, but instead, he just closes his eyes.

"Mn."

Rain frowns.

"You okay?"

"Mn."

"...Are you sure?"

Dew opens one eye a crack, blue and watery, fragile lashes flutter before shutting once more.

"Aeth gave me a jolt." he explains, voice light and shaky with the static of lingering quintessence vibrating its way through his body, "Itchy."

Rain's mouth parts into an "O" shape and nods.

Quintessence, while powerful enough to ease aches and pains, also has its own side effects, one of which is referred to simply as "the itch"; Akin to the sensation brought on by certain sports drinks -from the presence of beta-alanine in particular- it can be overwhelming when you're not used to it, and Dew, laying in apparent discomfort, was not.

At least not anymore.

"Anything I can do to help...?"

Not that there was much Rain could physically do for Dew in his given scenari-

"Can you hold me?"

-Oh?

"What?"

Dew shifts on the couch, making room.

"Just... I need..." Dew looks up at him pitifully, "I can't sleep like this."

"Okay." Rain steps on the backs of his shoes to pull them off, grimacing at the wet toe of one of them grazes his bare ankle, abandoning them by the door, and makes his way over to the couch, "How do you want me?"

"Can you squish in behind me? Just don't bump my leg, please."

Awkward and tentatively, Rain inserts himself onto the couch, careful not to rock Dew too much as he worms his way in behind him.

After a bit more wriggling, Rain has his arms wrapped around Dew's lightly buzzing form, feeling the shake of quintessence trying to break the surface and leech into his skin as well.

"He gave you a pretty hefty dose..." he remarks, feeling Dew shift, "Does it hurt a lot?"

Dew hums at him.

"Said it would help me sleep..." he replies, biting through a yawn, "...Been two hours now and nothing..."

"Have you been fighting it this whole time?" Rain questions, bringing a hand up to pet Dew's short red curls, "You know it won't work properly if you don't let it do its job."

"It's kind of..." Dew's words trail off, and Rain feels Dew's entire body tense and then relaxes a moment later, "...I'm wondering if I'm allergic to it."

"Quintessence?"

"Sleep."

Rain props his chin against the back of Dew's head.

"I don't think that's possible, but, you know, I don't know everything..." he says, fixing his eyes on the tv; A man in overalls and no shirt is standing in a field digging a hole in the ground in the middle of a snowy landscape, ranting about buried treasure, "...People are all, certainly, unique..."

"Mn," Dew yawns, "I'm sorry I yelled earlier."

"It's fine." Rain says on impulse, then backtracks, "It's... I get why you would snap like that, you're tired and your leg hurts, but-"

"You didn't deserve it, and I should have tried to be more patient, or, or maybe... maybe I should have just skipped practice." Dew's voice wobbles, "I mean, I'm not much use like this, and, and... Well, let's be real, it would be easier to..."

Rain snakes his arms around Dew, squeezing him a little, and shushes him.

"I don't have the words right now to tell you how wrong you are, at least not in an eloquent way," Rain sighs, "just know that you are wrong, and you're brain is being an idiot."

"Always the poet." Dew teases, but relaxes a little, "...Do you think V would..."

"V can't do shit unless Copia tells him he can, and I would personally like to see him try." Rain shakes his head, "Besides... What is that man wearing?"

"Hm?" Dew perks up and looks at the screen, "Ohh, yeah, that's the guy who's running the treasure hunt..."

"The top hat..."

"Yeah, he calls himself the 'Magic Man' or some shit..." Dew clears his throat, "Anyway, I... I appreciate you trying to, ya know."

"Talk you down?"

"Yeah."

Rain nods, bumping his chin against the top of Dew's head.

"Any time." he says, "So, uh... Words..."

Dew sags against him with a sigh, settling.

"You've been... distant lately." he tries, bringing a hand up to pet Dew's hair, tucking a few strands away from his face, admiring the light pink flush of his ears, "I don't see you as much."

"Obviously I've been thinking a lot," Dew supplies easily, voice heavy with the static coursing through his body -Rain feels it pulse and surge- he stops to shiver and reset, "about a lot of things... but..."

He trails off and Rain feels him drop, the sudden, dead weight feeling of his body going lax in his grip.

"Dew?"

A slow, deep breath.

"I dunno, I just... It's not just you." he says finally, "I promise it isn't just you I'm avoiding. I don't know if I'm really avoiding anyone, I'm just... Been tired, ya know?"

Rain soothes his hand over Dew's temple.

"The ministry keeps coming up with more things to do, more things that need my attention, and I just... My body can't handle it all, I guess." the ghoul admits after a pause, "I'm learning that."

"Everyone has their limits, Dew, even you." Rain says, "We can't take life by the horns every day."

Dew snorts.

"Yeah. Yeah... Yeah." Dew takes Rain's hand and pulls it down to play with it, running his fingers over his joints, brushing a thumb lovingly over the knuckles, "I know..."

Rain turns his gaze back to the television.

"Are you actually watching this show or do you want me to turn it off?" he asks, eyeing the remote on the coffee table.

"It's good background noise." Dew says, "Muffles the screaming goblins in my brain."

"Fair enough..."

"Rain?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for this."

Rain smiles softly.

"Any time."

[jjwolves]

RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK

What: 4 Coral Glasses X Reader Headcanons Where She Shares a House with You

Who: Coral Glasses from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~1000 words, ~4 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: None

Coral Glasses is a bit reluctant to move in with you at first. That's a big leap. For her, every single life decision is like carefully tiptoeing around deep puddles of soda in a desperate effort to keep her pants dry. And now you're asking her to stand next to the road and hope, no, pray, that a taxi doesn't zoom past and drench you both in Sweet Shrimp Energy: Code Pink?! The thought alone has her sweating! "Ah, I'm sorry, but--but! I'd like to, but--the way you're looking at me makes me think that you have a lot of expectations for this. I don't even know if I'm in the right job, let alone housing unit..." The pen that was tucked behind her ear comes loose and falls into her coffee. She sighs, resigned. You didn't want to force her into anything, but before you can rescind the offer in order to honor her comfort, she begins acting like there's no other option. Suddenly, it's a fact of life. "I'm too anxious to be a breadwinner... Huff, I'm not cut out for this at all. I'm not cut out for this life. Ugh... Well, if I'm going to be living with you, I'm going to have to ask... Do you have room for 100 business outfits?" Confused, you ask if she... wants this? She seems kind of put off by the idea. She responds to this with confusing resignation. "You want me to, right? Want me to, eh... live where you live?" You say yes, but only if she wants to(?) "Yeah, I mean... I already packed my stuff, so..." You get the feeling that this is going to be a trend.

She wasn't joking about the 100 business outfits, all of which are identical. The closet belongs to her now, out of necessity if nothing else. Besides the closet, she's slow to warm and integrate into the new living situation. You're over the moon that you get to spend so much time with her, seeing her every morning and every night. Beneath the weird faux resignation and constant analysis paralysis that Coral Glasses suffers, you can see a glimmer of someone who really loves you back and wants this as much as you do. You see it in the awkward, pale hand on your shoulder, and the tasteful outfit she arranges and leaves out for you in the morning. You see it in the fact that your plants stay watered even when you forget to water them, somehow. It's never acknowledged by her, though, because most of the time? Coral Glasses is just doing her best to take up as little space as possible. She keeps her clothes to the closet. She keeps all her papers crammed into a corner on your desk. Her briefcase is left directly next to the front door. Sometimes, you wake up and find that she had migrated from the bed and to the couch overnight. You don't know how to broach this subject with her. All you know is that you feel kind of guilty--it's not like you created these rules or anything, but it's clear that you're going to need to be the one to help her integrate a little. How can you tell a coral reef to grow out further than it already has? And would that be love, or would that be entitled?

You try to draw closer to Coral Glasses in lots of little ways. You put colored bookmarks into her folders to better organize them, doodling little marine creatures on them. The next time she opens the binder, a small, gentle smile graces her lips as she nervously adjusts her glasses. "Oh. Thanks, this is so cu--er, c-convenient. This is really efficient now. So. Thanks." One night, she comes home especially drained and frazzled from work, stumbling through the door with her suitcase in hand, trudging up the stairs like a zombie and collapsing into bed after dropping the case at the foot of it and slinging her suit jacket over a nearby chair. Already in bed yourself, you stir slightly as Coral Glasses unconsciously angles herself awkwardly in order to weakly grasp a hand in two of hers. It's not a normal sleeping pose at all. You don't notice that a miracle happened that night until you wake up to see that your beloved enterpreneur is still in bed with you, and on top of that, she was apparently comfortable enough to slap her suitcase next to the bed and put her clothes wherever was convenient. Also, your hand is really really sweaty. You silently realize that you may be the only person in the world who would be thankful to Runas for a messy room.

It seems like that moment of overwhelming fatigue was what was needed to crack open the oyster's shell, so to speak. After that fateful night, it seems like Coral Glasses is finally growing into your home. Her papers are scattered across your desk at any given moment and rings of coffee are stained onto the covers of any notebooks left unattended in the Business Radius. A business jacket is almost always hanging off of the chair next to your desk. And, yeah, you usually wake up to a soaked bed and clothes, especially if Coral Glasses was cuddling you while you were asleep. You love that girl, but your bed is permanently infused with the smell of seawater mixed with some sort of chemical toner. You joke one morning about it raining in your bedroom. Her coral's pulse slows for a moment. Then, much unlike her, Coral Glasses gives you a smirk which drips with irony. "But you knew what you were getting into." And then she pecks you on the forehead with a very clammy-feeling kiss before heading upstairs to get ready for work. You think you might have created a monster. A really sweaty, nervous monster who laid out an outfit for you overnight identical to hers. You'll pretend to be clueless... But secretly? You're more than OK being twinsies with her. She can never know.

[zapper-powerbutton]

*[The snow swirled around Friday's shoes as he made his way up the street towards Button's apartment, the bright blue scarf Chip insisted he wear keeping the cold from biting into his face too harshly. Still, Friday lamented his inability to melt into shadow--his preferred method of long-distance travel-due to the carefully crafted plate of cookies he balanced on his arm.] *[Friday let out a low, apprehensive cello note as he recalled the conversation he'd had with his dear friend that afternoon.]

---

"Friday. Friiiday. Friiiiiiday-"

Friday melted out of the shadows behind Chip, a questioning hum of a viola answering his call.

"Friday! There you are!" Chip practically bounced in place, a certain gleam in his eye.

Friday knew that look. It was the same look Chip got when he had one of his "super-awesome totally amazing ideas". The little Pippins was too enthusiastic for his own good sometimes, and it made Friday worry.

"Friday, you've noticed how…down Button seems lately, right?" Chip asked, his expression of hapiness at seeing Friday melting into something more serious.

Friday let out a mournful hum of bass in aknowledgement. He had noticed. They seemed…slower. Sluggish. Not as present.

"Exactly! And we can't let Button be a sad little Zapper! They're usually so…bouncy! Enthusiastic!" Chip counted off his points on his gloved hands.

Friday's constant hum of music, a constant, steady reminder of his presence, sharpens into a high, worried trill.

"I know, I know! It breaks my heart too!" Chip agreed. "We have to do something!"

Friday's music softened into a melodic, inquisitive hum.

"No, no, not me! You! Go check on Button! You're really good at that whole…listening, and making people feel better thing! Please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top and sprinkles and a little umbrella?!"

Friday’s hum becomes a long, drawn-out note, a sigh of resignation, but with an underlying current of affection.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the bestest, most shadowy, most wonderfully hum-tastic friend a Pippins could ever ask for!"

---

*[Friday stopped short in front of the apartment's lobby doors, peering up at the building with slight apprehension. He wasn't as confident as Chip that he could make a difference--not many people understood his melodies as well as his bright little friend--but he was determined to try.]

*[Friday stepped inside the entryway, searching the buzzer buttons for the correct apartment number. With a sigh, he adjusted the scarf around his neck and reached out.]

*BZZZZT!*

[The door clicks, allowing Friday to open the door and enter the building. It isn't anything too special about it, but there are a few event posters littered across the otherwise quite bland walls. Just a few floors up, Friday finds himself in a long hallway, and approaches the apartment where Button lives.]

[Button receives the alert that someone is here to visit them, startling them out of their busywork. Now? Of all times? Tenna just got back, it's not like they'd been out from work or missing. And with all of their memories flooding back with that dream they had... they haven't even spoken to her yet? Why now???]

[Button very hurriedly cleans up their space as best as they can. Stray papers, sticky notes, pens, and other stationary litter the room, which is worryingly empty otherwise. Sure, they have their TV setup with a couch, coffee table, and rug, as well as a large, plain chest of drawers, there's really nothing out in the room. Well, aside from the mess.]

[There's a knock at the door. Their heart sinks. They barely know the first thing about hosting guests, and now there's someone on the other side of their door, uninvited. The place is still a bit of a disarray. It's probably nothing, right? Just a coworker here to hang out, right? There's no terrible, awful news about Tenna being hurt or dying... right?]

[* Eugh, jus' answa da damn door, Button!!!]

[Button takes a deep breath in... ... ... and out. They shake their head like an etch-a-sketch as if to remove all the worried and bad thoughts to redraw new ones. They let their face relax into something a little cheerier looking. And gently, they open the front door.]

...OH! Eh.. Friday! Pleasant suprise seein' ya here!

[vivwritescrappythings]

petrichor

logan howlett x reader

Logan finds himself in upstate New York post WW2, and he is renting out a room from a sweet widow--you.

a/n: this is my incredibly late second contribution to @princessanglophile's 22nd birthday challenge--I'm so sorry it took me forever! The rest of the stories can be found here. I received 2013 Logan and 1940s as my time period.

tw: fem reader, afab reader, reader contemplates her dead husband, storms, fluff, comfort, kissing, interrupted just before smut, not proofread, first time writing for Logan, soft!Logan

word count: 4.3k

masterlist

MDNI

--

The kitchen smelled like bitter coffee as you let it brew, stirring the pot of oatmeal on the stove within an inch of its life. Sweat gathered at your brow, your jaw set with tension that you were starting to become used to in the early mornings.

Running a boarding house was far from what you had expected to be doing after the war. 

But, you kept Henry’s wedding band on a chain around your neck, the weight of it reminding you that few things went according to plan. Your wedding ring was tucked away in your jewelry box upstairs, sparkling and painful to look at. 

It didn’t actually matter these days. You were on your own all the same.

You looked up from the breakfast on the stove, the crack of an axe on wood drawing your attention to the window over the sink. The floral curtains were drawn aside just enough to give you a view of Logan���one of your quieter tenants–outside despite the threat of rain. He swung an axe down from over his head, splitting a log in two clean pieces. Then he adjusted, two pieces became four before they were tossed in an impressive pile he was amassing.

He’d forgone a shirt, you could see the flannel hung up on a branch near him. Steam rose from his tanned skin, the cool autumn breeze drying his sweat there. He must have felt you looking, his hazel eyes flicking up to meet yours. 

It seemed that he always noticed when you were around, gaze lingering as he kept an eye on you. He wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, but he was the first to help you around the house when you asked. Sometimes you didn’t even have to ask him.

Logan showed up on your doorstep six months ago, dirty and disheveled. He seemed hunted and dangerous at the time—a wounded beast with dog tags around his neck that were similar to a pair in his pants pocket with a wedding band threaded on them. He knew your Henry, promised him that when he got back stateside from Japan he would keep an eye on you until you got back on your feet.

Either way, you watched him chop through a few more sections of wood. Your mouth was dry, lips parted slightly as you watched his muscles move beneath his skin like ropes. It was hard to pinpoint when you started feeling a pull toward him low in your gut. You tried to ignore it, treating him like the other people you rented rooms to, polite and distant. Attentive.

But it was becoming harder to pretend that your heart didn’t flutter or your cheeks didn’t warm when he entered the room.

The smell of the SPAM starting to burn brought you back to the present. You didn’t see the way Logan’s lip twitched when you spun back to the stove, looking flustered as you grabbed the pan off the heat.

—

Autumn brought evening storms with it.

It was raining something biblical outside that night, loud against the eaves and the shutters as you did the dishes after dinner. The boarders had returned to their respective rooms for the night, both of them laborers in the lumber yard that would need to be up early. 

You preferred it that way. They left you to your solitude as long as breakfast was on the table in the morning, dinner was on the table at night, the laundry was done, and there was still electricity and running water. At first you had tried to befriend the occupants of your two extra bedrooms, inviting them to listen to the radio with you or play cards. 

It fell flat, the men meeting you with little enthusiasm. You eventually left them alone.

But Logan helped you out around the house. 

The first time was after you’d complained about your leaking sink out on the porch with Lucy, the woman who lived across the street. You were both sipping lemonade, her darling toddler playing with toys on the slightly overgrown lawn. The sink had been leaking for weeks, you resorted to just changing out the bucket beneath it every morning. 

When you went inside to stave off the afternoon heat of July, Logan was already on his back beneath the sink. He had Henry’s old toolbox out, grunting as he grabbed blindly at the different wrenches before twisting the piping back into place.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even ask for acknowledgement or a discount on the rent.

Soon enough he was doing all the odd jobs you had around the house, trimming tree branches and repairing holes in the walls and chopping wood. Logan eased some of the hardships that came from Henry’s absence.

You glanced outside, realizing he had stacked up all the wood on the porch where it wouldn’t be touched by the rain.  

The kettle you put on whistled, startling you for a moment before you poured yourself a cup of tea. There was a glass tumbler of whiskey on the counter, you grabbed it before heading upstairs.

A sliver of light was visible beneath Logan’s door, the quiet murmur of a radio playing just beyond. You bumped your elbow against the door to knock.

“Logan?” you called softly, taking a step back when you heard rustling on the other side. 

He pulled it open, still dressed in his work jeans and an undershirt. You felt your mouth go dry for a moment as you looked at him. His shoulders looked broad beneath his white tank top, the fabric sticking to him like a second skin and half tucked into his pants.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice low and rough. His hazel eyes ran over you once like he was checking to make sure you were still in one piece. One eyebrow arched like he was waiting.

You said nothing for a moment, just blinking at him before you came back to yourself. “Oh, um, I brought you this,” you said, holding out the rocks glass to him like an offering. Henry’s whiskey sloshed inside–you had poured a generous three fingers inside. Logan looked at it skeptically, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to poison him or come on to him. “Consider it a thanks for chopping all that wood.” 

He let out a grunt, nodding once as he took the glass from you. His calloused fingertips brushed against yours.

You pulled your hand back like he was made of lightning, nodding once. “Well, have a good night, Logan,” you said, offering a tight-lipped smile. 

If he answered, you didn’t hear it. You were already headed down the hall to your own bedroom before he said anything. Steam curled off the mug of tea you carried as you shut off the hall light and closed your door behind you.

The storm was fierce as you settled into bed with that day’s newspaper in your hands. It was a habit you picked up while Henry was deployed, wanting to keep up with the most up-to-date information about the war. Now it was just a habit, bringing the newspaper to bed with you became a ritual you fell in with ease.

Thunder rattled the shutters, rain pelting the windows in big, fat drops. The house creaked and groaned, wind buffeting on the outside walls. It sounded like the house was going to blow away at any moment.

You were trying to ignore it, reading about town gossip by lamplight when lightning cracked across the sky outside your window. It illuminated the sky and your room through the space in the curtains. You jolted, crinkling the newspaper in your hands for a moment. 

Something close by popped, a boom that sounded far too close for comfort.

The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then they died completely with a soft, electric sigh.

You huffed, still holding the paper in your hands as the house fell into silence aside from the rain. It was hard to notice the hum of electricity until it was gone, just the rain drumming against the roof filling the empty space. 

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hall between Logan’s bedroom and the upstairs bathroom. His steps were confident and certain, like the dark didn’t faze him at all.

You were suddenly restless in a way you weren’t before. The mug you brought with you sat empty on the nightstand–you needed more tea. Or water. Something to quench your suddenly parched throat. 

It was easy to feel around for your floral-patterned robe. The rayon satin was soft against your skin, covering your baby blue nightgown. It was long, cotton floating around your ankles as you groped for the taper shoved into a brass candlestick holder on your vanity, a box of matches lingering nearby. 

It took a few tries, but you managed to strike the match. The smell of burning sulfur filled your nose as you held the match to the wick, flicking orange light illuminating a portion of your bedroom.

It was easy to feel like Scrooge in A Christmas Carol as you picked up the candlestick, the brass cool beneath your fingers as you ventured out into the hall. The floorboards creaked beneath your bare feet, making you still for a moment before you took another careful step.

“Thought you turned in.” Logan’s voice carried from the stairwell. He had a glass of water in his hand, the amber light from your candle just barely reaching him. His eyes gleamed as they focused on you.

You shrugged. “I did,” you answered, a slight nod. You realized that you didn’t get up for water, you just didn’t want to be alone.

Henry used to sit with you through storms.

You bit your lip, uncertain. It wouldn’t be hard to turn back, to pretend like you had just come out to check on the noise and go back to bed. Or forge ahead to grab a glass of water like you had originally planned. 

“I… I didn’t want to be alone,” you breathed. The candle flame guttered in the draft of your whisper. You were embarrassed as soon as you said it out loud, warming from your chest to your forehead as your gaze strayed from Logan’s perceptive stare. Some days it felt like he was seeing straight through you.

He paused for a moment, both of you staring at one another as you blinked.

Logan didn’t laugh at you, though. He could have. You were already imagining it, a huff of air through his nose that would substitute for a chuckle if he were anyone else.

But instead he nodded.

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly, that same gravel tone you had grown used to after months of him renting your room washing over you.

He walked to his bedroom door, leaving you space to decide if you wanted to follow. You did, scampering after him like an imprinted duckling as he held the door to his room open for you.

You lit the candle on his nightstand, setting the one you held on his dresser as you looked around. His living quarters were almost Spartan–any personal touch in the room was some decoration you had before he rented it out. Embroidery was framed on the walls, frilly and lacy in a way that didn’t suit him. But he didn’t seem to mind, his own sparse belongings neatly organized and tucked away.

He gave you little reason to enter his room, always piling his laundry outside his door before he left for work at the lumber yard in the mornings, expecting you to leave it folded in the same place in the evenings. 

“So, how have you been liking the room?” you asked, struggling to think of something else to talk about. He pulled out the chair from the small desk, nodding for you to sit down as he sat on the edge of his bed. It was still made, the quilt crisply tucked in like a soldier’s. 

Spending more time in his room made it obvious to you that Logan had served.

“Room’s fine,” he muttered, drinking more water before he fixed his hazel eyes on you. It seemed like he didn’t know what to say, his gaze cutting down to his hands. He flexed them.

“You know, I’m not very good company,” Logan said, softly, as though he didn’t want to let you down. His head turned, lifting just enough so he could see your face still. “I’ve got a lot of shit, y’know? I’m usually by myself.”

You nodded understandingly. Sitting across from Logan reminded you of caged lions at the travelling circus rather than a man. It was in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, his jaw tense and brows furrowed. Despite his haircut and trimmed beard, he didn’t quite seem like belonged between four walls and in a bed. 

“I am, too,” you said, hands clasped together as you spoke. Loneliness became your constant companion. You thought the extra bedrooms in your home would be filled with children by now, but instead you rented them out. “But if you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

He grunted, shaking his head. “No, that’s not what I want,” he told you, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “But you probably should go.”

Your brow furrowed, arms crossing over your chest as you leaned back against the seat. The candlelight illuminated the curve of your cheek and the curious gleam in your eye. “Why?” you asked, guileless as you spoke. Logan had lived with you for over six months, he never seemed like anything other than helpful, maybe too introverted.

There was another huff of air out of his nose–an exasperated chuckle. “Because, I’m not the type of man you should get close to. I’m not someone you let in after the lights go out,” he explained, voice low as he spoke. 

You rolled your eyes at the cliche. “You seem just fine to me, Logan,” you said, tapping your fingertips against the silky fabric that covered your arm. “If anything, your reputation precedes you in being too helpful in this town. You do things without people asking you to, you don’t ask for anything in return. Not really a monster.”

He let out a huff, one side of his mouth curling into an almost smile. It was the closest thing to a smile you had seen him make. 

“Consider me a wolf in sheep’s clothing, bub,” Logan countered. There was a lift to his tone, an attempt at humor that wasn’t there before. It made you smile, still closed-lipped as your gaze drifted to your lap. 

You snorted, a brighter smile on your face as you shook your head. “I’d hardly consider you a sheep, either.”

Logan looked at you for a long moment, mirth flickering in his eyes before he shifted back on the bed, pulling a pack of cards from his nightstand and nodding for you to sit down with him. “You know how to play poker?”

You eased yourself onto his mattress, legs half tucked beneath you as you watched him shuffle his army-issued playing cards. His motions were fluid, well-practiced like he had shuffled a million times before. “I have nothing to bet,” you murmured, hunching to rest your chin in the palm of your hand. You knew enough to be dangerous.

“Just for fun, for something to do,” he said, dealing out onto the quilt. 

“Well don’t be upset if I win,” you murmured with a smirk, organizing the cards as you picked them up.

He chuckled, hazel eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. There was a moment where he sized you up, his half-smile turning into a smirk. “Alright, bub,” he murmured, adjusting how he sat to better face you, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

–

Logan obliterated you so efficiently it couldn’t even be called cruel. It was obvious you didn’t know what you were doing, missing a full house and a three-of-a-kind because you thought you needed all four cards. He caught onto your tells, on the way you got a gleam in your eye when you got cards you wanted, the slight slump of your shoulders when you didn’t have anything good.

“Let me teach ya,” he murmured, leaning in as he pressed the top of your cards down enough to see over them. His forehead was nearly touching yours as you looked at the cards clutched in your hand, his warm fingers wrapped around your wrist.

He tipped his own cards into view. “See, right here you’d beat me,” he tapped your cards with his fingertip, the noise satisfying, “You’ve gotta full house–three of one kind and two of another. I’ve only got a two pair–full house always beats a two pair.”

You nodded solemnly like you were in church, hanging on to Logan’s every word. He dealt out the next hand, still keeping his close proximity as he talked in hushed tones about what you would do next. 

Despite nodding and humming in all the right places like you were taking it all in, you were distracted. The smell of cigar smoke and cologne and the laundry detergent you used filled your nose, a combination you found heady and enticing as you leaned in slightly to get a better smell of it. 

Logan had leaned in too, chasing the view as the cards in your fingers tilted back toward your chest on instinct.

His hair brushed your forehead, your gazes lifting. Logan’s nose nudged the side of yours, his hazel eyes shining like pools you could stumble into. 

It felt like gravity, both of you converging on a point. The progress was halting, breaths shared between you as you oscillated between hesitant and eager. Logan had always had a sort of weight to him, something that made him feel entirely inevitable. But he still moved like a man expecting to be turned away.

His mouth hovered over yours for a breath. For a second, all you felt was the heat rolling off him, taking in the way the flickering shadows of the candles moved over his face.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or hungry, not like you had expected it to be.

Logan’s lips were warm, if not a little chapped, melding with yours with a gentleness that you would think foreign for a man like him. He kissed you like it was his first and last time he’d get the chance to, slow and deliberate. If you had to guess, he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth by memory.

Your palm rose to his jaw, the scratch of his trimmed beard beneath your fingertips welcome as it cracked something wide open inside of you.

The last time you kissed a man was with Henry. You never realized how different it could be: Henry had always kissed you with purpose beyond just kissing. He was always clean shaven.

The press of your hand on his jaw unlocked something between you, Logan feeling for your waist over the silky fabric of your robe. The cards on the quilt were forgotten as he pulled you closer. Your knee pressed into his thigh, you could hear the stack of playing cards spill across the rug.

Logan cupped the nape of your neck, tilting you into him. You followed willingly, a lamb following a guardian dog’s steady guidance as you pressed yourself into the spaces he left for you.

You undid the tie of your robe with frantic fingers, the hand on your waist hesitant as it slipped beneath the open article to bunch in your soft nightgown. 

“Do you want this?” he asked against your lips, voice little more than a grunt.

You nodded frantically, pulling your robe off your shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. That was enough to convince Logan, his big hand splaying wide over your ribs as he dragged you across his lap and pressed you into the mattress beneath him. Your nightgown twisted around you, the robin egg blue fabric riding up on your thighs and the strap falling off your shoulder. 

He looked down at you like you were something marvelous. It had been years since someone looked at you like that.

“You ever let anyone touch you like they meant it?” he murmured, low and rough as his hands ran up the outsides of your thighs. It was like he was enchanted by each inch of skin he revealed, his eyes stuck at the lace-trimmed hem of your nightgown. 

You didn’t know what to say, warmth blooming on cheeks as you resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands under his gaze. 

He paused, like he wanted an answer from you before he was willing to continue. You let out a huff of air, a nervous smile twisting your lips. “Henry and I didn’t have a lot of time together to explore before…” You trailed off, not sure if bringing up your dead husband was the wrong thing to do. 

It probably was–you couldn’t imagine how that would really be exciting bedroom talk.

Henry’s wedding band was warm against your sternum, the gold glinting in the candlelight. Your fingertips drifted to it, wondering if you should take it off. 

Logan’s hands kept moving up, your nightgown bunching on his wrists. If he was bothered by you bringing up Henry he didn’t let it show. He bent, capturing you in a slow kiss as your thighs parted over his hips. His hand found the swell of your hip beneath your nightgown, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

His forehead pressed against yours, your breaths slow and heavy.

There was weight behind his gaze, he was steady, strong above you. He was watching you–something cautious and unsure behind his eyes. Maybe protective, even.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, his finger hooking over the waistband of your panties. Goosebumps ran down your arms.

“I don’t wanna…” he swallowed hard, “I don’t wanna take something you’re not ready to give.”

It was easy to see that he expected you to pull away. His shoulders were tense, bracing for your rejection. His free hand squeezed the sheets beside your head, like he already thought he took too much.

Your hand slid to the back of his neck, your fingers threading in his hair. 

Surprisingly enough, you were comfortable. You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, trying to pull him back in.

But Logan pulled away, trailing kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “Tell me. I need to hear it,” he said, his voice low and gravel-warm. You feel the blunt scrape of his teeth on your neck.

You whined, soft and a bit overwhelmed. It took a moment for you to find the words. “I want this,” you breathed into the quiet of his bedroom. “I want you.”

Logan nodded against your throat, hands moving again. “Okay,” he said, like a vow. “Then I got you.”

You sighed as your head tilted to give him more space. His palms slid beneath your nightgown, over the plane of your stomach. He felt you like a map beneath his touch, trying to memorize you without seeing. A hand dipped between your thighs, warm and sure as it pressed to the damp gusset of your panties.

Then–

CRACK.

The violent snap of wood echoed from outside Logan’s window. It was sharp and too close for comfort, followed by the wet thump of something falling to the dirt.

You both froze.

Logan lifted his head, eyes cutting to the window. The storm howled outside, rattling the glass. Wind buffeted against the outside wall.

“Tree came down,” he muttered as he pulled his hands away from you. They pressed into the mattress, his body tilting to get a better view of outside. “It was close.”

“Did it hit anything?” you asked, sitting up. Your heart was racing, but your lust was long forgotten. 

He listened for a moment, head still cocked to one side. “No,” he said definitively, looking back down at you. “But even if it crushed the fence, or the shed, I’ll fix it in the morning. Promise.”

You nodded, successfully talked down from the spiral of anxiety. But everything felt different now. Your skin felt warm from where he touched you, nightgown still rucked up haphazardly. The storm pressed in once more, the rose-colored haze gone from the room in an instant.

Logan leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. His hands smoothed your nightgown back over your thighs, curling around the backs of your knees.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said softly, hazel eyes soft and sincere as he looked over your face. 

You were touched by his sincerity, looking up at him through your lashes. He wasn’t trying to push through the pause, you would have let him if he asked.

“Can we just sleep?” you asked, sounding small. Logan nodded, shifting off the bed to take off his jeans. You looked away as he changed into blue, drawstring pajama pants and blew out the candle on the dresser. The one on his nightstand flickered as he lay down next to you, an arm open to invite you in without a word.

He blew out the other candle as you settled against him, cheek to his chest, heartbeat under your ear.

“Gotta warn you,” he murmured in the dark, arm curling around your back to hold you close, “I’m not very good at staying in one place.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just placed your hand on his sternum. His dog tags made a metallic clinking sound beneath your fingertips. The rain was slowing outside, or at least you could convince yourself of it as your eyelids started to get heavy.

You were right on the edge of sleep when he spoke again, your lips parted, your breaths evening out and becoming soft sighs. It was so quiet you almost could convince yourself it was a dream. 

“If you asked me to… I might.”

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83 @death-in-a-tar0t-card @straw--b3rry

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), gaslighting, manipulation, boxing match, bleeding, vomit, alcohol consumption, violence, Woodbury, the Governor.

Part 10

Between Brothers - Part 11

The winter had settled over Woodbury like a heavy blanket, thick and unforgiving. The frost crunched under Merle's boots as he made his way to the pits, his breath forming white clouds in the frigid air. The cold bit through his jacket, but it was nothing compared to the bite of survival you'd known before Woodbury.

Damn glad the she's warm inside, he thought, adjusting his grip on the metal pole he used for walker wrangling. Curled up under them blankets in those thick winter pajamas, probably still sleepin' like an angel. Wonder if she's dreamin' about me... bet she is, deep down. Bet she's got her legs all tangled up in them sheets, that thick flannel riding up just enough to show off them pretty thighs.

The thought made him grin despite the cold, his body responding to the mental images. Living in the same apartment, sharing the same space - it was torture and paradise all rolled into one. You trusted him completely, padding around in those winter pajamas like he wasn't a man with needs.

But he was patient. Had to be. You were the kind of girlie who deserved better than a one-handed redneck with more scars than sense. Still didn't stop him from wanting to spread you out on that kitchen table and eat you like his last meal, make you come so hard you'd forget every other man who ever existed.

"Ah, Merle! Right on time," Milton called out from beside the walker pits, his breath visible in the cold air. He was bundled up in layers, looking like a scarecrow wrapped in blankets. "We've got quite the selection today. Three fresh specimens, minimal decay."

"Morning to you too, Milty," Merle drawled, eyeing the walkers shuffling around in the pit below. "You sure are cheerful for a man about to poke at dead folks."

Milton adjusted his glasses, seemingly immune to Merle's sarcasm. "Science waits for no one, not even winter. These cold temperatures are actually quite beneficial - slows decomposition, gives us better data on motor function in sub-zero conditions."

Merle lowered the noose-pole into the pit, expertly snaring the first walker around the neck. The thing snarled and clawed at the air, its movements sluggish from the cold. "You know what your problem is, Milty? You think too damn much. Sometimes a dead bastard is just a dead bastard."

"Perhaps, but understanding their behavioral patterns could be crucial for long-term survival strategies." Milton made notes on his clipboard as Merle hauled the walker up. "Speaking of behavioral patterns, how is your ... roommate?"

Merle's grip tightened on the pole, his jaw clenching. Last time Milton had gotten too friendly was at that community dinner, filling your head with theories about biters retaining consciousness. Merle had found you later, crying your eyes out over the possibility that every walker they'd killed might have been aware, might have been screaming inside their own heads. Took him the better part of two hours to calm you down, and even then you'd been shaky for days.

"Say what now?" Merle's voice carried a warning edge.

"Your friend Merle. I was simply wondering how is cohabitation with someone who isn't actually your romantic partner going for you ?." Milton said it so matter-of-factly, like he was discussing the weather. "It must create certain... moral issues."

The walker Merle was restraining suddenly seemed less important than the skinny scientist standing too close to subjects that weren't his business. "What the hell you getting at, Milty?"

"Nothing untoward, I assure you. It's just that from an anthropological standpoint, the dynamic is fascinating. Two unrelated adults sharing intimate living space, one clearly harboring romantic inclinations while the other remains unaw—"

"You finish that sentence and I'm gonna feed you to these biters piece by piece," Merle snarled, his voice dropping to something dangerous. The walker in his grip thrashed harder, as if sensing the tension. "And let me make something real clear to you, you piece of shit - I take care of that girl. Make sure she's safe, make sure nothing bad happens to her. She trusts me, and I damn well earned that trust."

His eyes blazed with fury at the implication. "You think I'd hurt her? You think I'd take something she didn't want to give? Boy, you don't know shit about me or what kind of man I am when it comes to her."

Milton shrank back further, realizing he'd stepped over a line he didn't even know existed.

"I protect my own," Merle continued, his voice low and deadly. "Don't you dare stand there and act like I'm some kind of animal who can't control himself around the girlie's."

Milton took a step back, his face pale. "I didn't mean to overstep—"

"Remember what happened last time you got a little too friendly with my girl?" Merle's eyes were cold as the winter air. "When you filled her head with all that bullshit about biters being conscious, made her cry thinking about all the people we might've killed? You remember how that ended for you?"

"Yes," Milton whispered, unconsciously touching his jaw where Merle had connected with his fist after finding you sobbing in the apartment.

"Good. 'Cause next time I catch you upsetting her with your sick theories or sniffing around, there won't be enough left of you for your precious experiments." Merle secured the walker to the restraining table with practiced efficiency. "She's got enough nightmares without you adding to 'em."

Milton nodded frantically, scurrying to the truck. The rest of their interaction was purely professional, the scientist having learned his lesson about boundaries.

Little doe don't need some four-eyed freak putting ideas in her head, Merle thought as he worked, his mind drifting back to filthier thoughts. She's confused enough as it is, bless her heart. Always asking me if I'm alright, if I need anything, bending over in those damn pajamas like she don't know what she does to me just by breathing.

The cold air did nothing to cool the heat building in his gut. Months of living with you, months of wanting what he couldn't have.

After delivering three walkers to Milton's makeshift laboratory, Merle was heading back through town when the Governor intercepted him.

"Merle! Just the man I wanted to see." The Governor's smile was warm despite the cold, like he had some secret that pleased him. "Walk with me. I have a proposition that might interest you."

They strolled through the quiet streets, past windows glowing with warm light and the promise of domestic tranquility. Merle found himself thinking about you again, probably awake by now, maybe making that coffee that always smelled better when you made it. Girl's got magic hands, he thought, remembering how you'd fixed his stump so gently, never once looking at him like he was broken.

"You know, Merle," the Governor said, his voice thoughtful, "I've been watching you these past few weeks. Impressive work on the supply runs, excellent instincts on patrol. But I can't help feeling like we're not utilizing your full potential."

Here we go, Merle thought, his radar pinging. Man wants something. Question is what.

"I need you to do something for me," the Governor said, breaking into his thoughts. "Something that requires your particular skill set."

"What kind of something?" Merle kept his voice neutral, but his eyes were already scanning for exits. Old habits.

The Governor led him to a secured building Merle had never been inside. When they entered, the smell hit him first - death and decay, but controlled, contained. There were several walkers chained to the walls, their movements restricted but not entirely eliminated. The setup was too organized, too deliberate to be just storage.

"I need you to remove their teeth and fingernails," the Governor said casually, like he was asking Merle to fix a leaky faucet.

Merle stared at the walkers, then at the Governor. "You want me to what now?"

"Teeth and fingernails. All of them. Make them safe but keep them... functional."

Safe but functional. What the hell does that mean? Merle's survival instincts were pinging like crazy. Nothing about this felt right. "Safe for what?"

The Governor smiled that politician's smile of his, the one that made promises without saying anything concrete. "Entertainment."

"Come again?"

"Picture this, Merle." The Governor gestured grandly, like he was painting a vision in the air. "An arena. Crowds cheering. Skilled fighters facing off against each other surrounded by defanged opponents in controlled combat. Give people something to cheer for, something to take their minds off the harshness of our reality."

An arena. With walkers. Merle's first instinct was to call the man crazy, but something in the Governor's tone made him pause. The man wasn't crazy - he was calculating. This wasn't some random idea, this was a plan.

"You want people fighting walkers for fun?" Merle asked slowly.

"Not just any people. Heroes. Men like you, Merle." The Governor's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm, or maybe something darker. "You've got the skills, the presence, the natural charisma that commands attention. People would see what I see - a warrior, a protector, someone willing to risk everything for their community."

Damn, when he puts it like that... Despite his better judgment, Merle found himself considering it. He'd done worse things for worse people, back when he was breaking legs for money. At least this had a purpose, gave him a chance to show off what he could do. Lord knows I got skills worth showin' off.

"Think about it," the Governor continued, his voice taking on that persuasive quality that had convinced Merle to stay in Woodbury in the first place. "Controlled environment. Declawed opponents. You'd be in complete control, showing off decades of survival experience to an appreciative audience."

The Governor began pacing, his hands animated as he painted the picture. "People are getting soft, Merle. Comfortable. They're forgetting what it takes to survive out there, forgetting to appreciate the men who keep them safe. This would remind them. This would make them remember that they need warriors like you."

Warriors like me. Usually, people called him a lot of things - redneck, asshole, liability - but never warrior. Never hero.

"You'd be the star of Woodbury," the Governor pressed, reading Merle's expression perfectly. "The man everyone looks up to. The champion they cheer for. And your girl..." He paused meaningfully. "She'd see you as the hero you really are. Women love a champion, Merle. Love a man who can provide not just safety, but excitement."

Hell, maybe he's right, Merle thought, his imagination running wild. He could picture it clearly - you in the crowd, watching him take down opponents with skill and showmanship. Your eyes wide with admiration instead of that careful wariness you sometimes got when you thought he wasn't looking. Lil doe's been cooped up all winter, probably bored out of her pretty little mind. Could use some excitement in her life.

"People need this," the Governor continued, his voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "They need to remember what it feels like to cheer for something, to feel alive. Winter's been hard on everyone. Morale is low. But give them a spectacle, give them a reason to feel proud of their community, their protectors..."

The Governor moved closer, his voice taking on that intimate quality that made you feel like you were sharing secrets. "You're exactly the kind of man who can give that to them, Merle. You've got that natural swagger, that confidence that makes people pay attention. And after everything you've survived, everything you've overcome..."

"You really think I could do this?" Merle asked, trying to sound casual even as his chest swelled with pride. Christ, when did I start needin' validation like some kind of puppy?

"I don't think, Merle. I know." The Governor's voice was full of conviction. "You're brutal when you need to be, smart when it counts, and you've got that natural charisma that makes people remember you. Plus, you've survived this long with that disability of yours. That's not just impressive - that's inspiring. That's the kind of story people need to hear."

Most people tiptoed around his missing hand like it was something shameful, something to be whispered about behind his back. The Governor made it sound like a badge of honor, proof of his toughness rather than evidence of his failures.

"Think about the message it sends," the Governor continued, warming to his theme. "Here's a man who lost his hand and kept fighting. Who adapted, who overcame, who didn't let anything stop him from protecting what matters. That's heroic, Merle. That's legendary."

The word hit Merle right in his ego. He'd spent his whole life being the redneck, the loose canon, the one who couldn't be trusted with anything important. Daryl was the tracker, the sensitive one, the only one capable of kindness ... Hell, thats why Daddy had spent years beating the breath out of them. Merle was just the muscle, the wild card who caused more problems than he solved.

But here was the Governor, looking at him like he saw something worth respecting. Like he saw potential that went beyond just being good at hurting people.

"Ain't like I got much else goin' for me. Might as well put on a show if people want to see one."

"Don't sell yourself short," the Governor said smoothly. "You've got more going for you than you realize. Your girl certainly seems to think so."

My girl. The possessive warmth that spread through Merle's chest at those words was stronger than whiskey. You weren't his girl, not really, but the way the Governor said it made it sound like a fact rather than wishful thinking.

"She's been through a lot," Merle found himself saying. "Deserves to feel safe, to have something good to look forward to. Maybe even feel proud of the man who's been lookin' out for her."

"Exactly." The Governor's smile was triumphant, like Merle had just proved his point. "She'll get to see you for what you really are - not just a survivor, but a champion. The kind of man who doesn't just endure, but conquers."

The praise settled into Merle's chest like warm whiskey, filling up spaces he hadn't even realized were empty. When was the last time someone had called him a champion? When had anyone ever seen potential in a Dixon beyond there capacity for violence?

"'Course," Merle said, his voice carefully casual, "if I'm gonna do this, I want guarantees about safety protocols. And I want to make sure my girl's taken care of if something goes wrong."

"Of course," the Governor said immediately, like he'd been expecting this concern. "Your girl will have the best seat in the house, right beside me in the where she'll be completely safe."

The image was seductive - you dressed up nice, sitting in a place of honor, watching him perform like the warrior he'd always known he could be.

"She'll get to watch her man become a legend," the Governor continued, his voice full of certainty. "Watch him become the hero this town needs. And trust me, Merle - there's nothing more attractive to a woman than watching her man succeed."

Her man. There it was again, that possessive warmth. The Governor kept saying it like it was true, like you belonged to him in some way.

"Alright," Merle said finally, his decision crystallizing. "I'll do it."

"Wonderful" The Governor extended his hand, and Merle shook it with his good one.

As they walked back through town, Merle found himself standing a little straighter, his chest a little more puffed out. For the first time in longer than he could remember, someone was counting on him for something other than just raw violence. Someone saw him as more than just a useful psychopath.

The first night of the arena fights, the cold seemed less biting somehow, warmed by the excitement of sixty-eight people gathered around a makeshift ring. They'd constructed it out the back of the old warehouse, with bleacher seating and flood lights that made everything seem theatrical, larger than life.

You sat beside the Governor, bundled up in every warm piece of clothing you owned, your breath visible in small puffs despite the heaters they'd brought in. He pressed a warm mug into your hands - mulled wine that smelled of cinnamon and cloves, a luxury you hadn't tasted since before the world ended.

"Drink up," he said with a paternal smile. "It'll help with the cold."

The wine was sweet and warming, spreading heat through your chest as you sipped it. The crowd was buzzing with anticipation, voices raised in excited chatter and bets being placed, but you felt sick to your stomach despite the alcohol's mellowing effect.

"Magnificent turnout," the Governor said, his voice warm with satisfaction. "Look at their faces - they're alive again. This is what community looks like."

You nodded absently, your eyes searching the crowd for familiar faces, trying to gauge how many people were actually excited versus how many were just going along with it. The energy was infectious, you had to admit, but something about it felt wrong.

"I'm not sure about this," you said quietly, your accent making the words sound smaller somehow. The wine was making you feel floaty, less sharp around the edges. "What if someone gets hurt? What if—"

"That's exactly the point," the Governor interrupted gently, refilling your mug before his hand found yours and squeezed reassuringly. "The possibility of danger, the thrill of survival - it reminds us what we're living for. What we're fighting to protect."

You took another sip of the mulled wine, the warmth spreading through your limbs and making the harsh lights seem softer, more forgiving.

The crowd suddenly roared, and you looked up to see Merle strutting into the ring like he owned it, his knife-hand gone leaving only the metal prosthetic glinting under the lights, his grin wide and confident. He was shirtless despite the cold, his chest puffed out with masculine bravado, scars and tattoos telling the story of a life lived hard.

"WOODBURY!" he bellowed, raising his arms to the crowd. "Y'all ready to see some real entertainment?"

The response was deafening. People were on their feet, screaming his name, and you could see him feeding off their energy, puffing up with pride and showmanship like he was born for this moment.

He looks so... happy, you thought, confused by the mixture of pride and terror warring in your chest. You'd never seen him like this - completely in his element, beloved by a crowd, the center of attention in the best possible way.

A younger man entered the ring, lean and wiry with the compact build of someone who'd learned to fight out of necessity rather than choice. He looked nervous but determined, his eyes finding someone in the crowd - a woman with worry etched across her face.

"Oh God," you whispered, realizing this wasn't just entertainment. These were real people with real relationships, real stakes. "His girlfriend's watching."

"Wife, actually," the Governor said conversationally. "Just married last month. Sweet ceremony. She's worried, of course, but Crowley insisted. Pride, you know how it is."

Your stomach dropped. This wasn't just a show - it was two men risking everything for the approval of people they barely knew. You took a larger gulp of wine, trying to steady your nerves, but it only made the lights seem brighter, the crowd's energy more intoxicating.

Then they released the walkers - three of them, stumbling and reaching but somehow less threatening than usual. It took you a moment to realize why, no teeth, no fingernails, just grasping hands and empty mouths that couldn't tear flesh.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" the Governor said, leaning closer so you could hear him over the crowd. "All the excitement, none of the real danger. Though don't tell the audience that - they need to believe there's genuine risk. The fear has to feel real, even if it isn't."

You watched in horrified fascination as both men began to move, circling each other while keeping one eye on the declawed walkers. Merle was in his element, trash-talking and showboating, but Crowley was all business - focused, methodical, treating this like the life-or-death struggle it appeared to be.

"Come on, boy!" Merle called out, his voice carrying that familiar mix of condescension and amusement. "You gonna dance with me or you gonna let them dead bastards do all the work?"

Crowley didn't respond, just kept moving, and you realized he was smart - letting Merle wear himself out with the theatrics while conserving his own energy. But the crowd was eating up Merle's performance, cheering every taunt, every swagger.

The first real exchange came when one of the walkers got too close to Crowley. Merle used the distraction to rush in, throwing a wild haymaker that Crowley barely ducked. The younger man came up with an uppercut that caught Merle in the jaw, drawing a grunt and an approving roar from the crowd.

"Now we're talkin'!" Merle laughed, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "Got some fight in you after all!"

They circled each other again, both men breathing hard now, sweat gleaming under the harsh lights despite the cold. You found yourself leaning forward, caught up despite yourself in the brutal ballet playing out before you. The wine had loosened something in your chest, made you feel more present and yet somehow detached from the violence.

"Another?" the Governor asked quietly, already refilling your mug. The gesture seemed so normal, so civilized, that it made the brutality in the ring feel almost surreal.

Merle threw a combination - left hook, right cross - but Crowley slipped both punches and countered with a body shot that doubled Merle over. The crowd's roar shifted, some cheering for the underdog now, others yelling for Merle to get up and fight back.

"This is what they need," the Governor said in your ear, his voice almost reverent. "Look at them - they're unified, focused on something other than their fears. This brings them together."

But you were focused on Merle, who was straightening up with that familiar stubborn set to his jaw that meant someone was about to pay dearly for underestimating him. His eyes had gone cold, calculating, and you recognized the shift from showman to predator. The wine made everything seem slightly dreamlike, softening the edges of your worry into something more manageable.

"Alright, college boy," he growled, his prosthetic catching the light as he raised his hands. "Playtime's over."

What followed was a masterclass in brutal efficiency. Merle might be older, might be missing a hand, but he'd been fighting longer than Crowley had been alive. He used every dirty trick in the book - an elbow to the temple, a knee to the solar plexus, even using one of the chained walkers as a shield when Crowley tried to tackle him.

The crowd was going wild, on their feet screaming, but you found yourself gripping the Governor's arm without realizing it, your movements slightly unsteady from the wine. This was too real, too visceral. You could see the fear in Crowley's eyes as he realized he was outmatched, could hear his wife screaming from the stands.

"Stop it," you whispered, but your voice was lost in the roar of the crowd. The alcohol made your tongue feel thick, your protests less sharp than they should have been.

Merle had Crowley backed against the chain-link now, landing punch after punch while the younger man tried desperately to cover up. Blood was streaming from Crowley's nose, his left eye already swelling shut.

"That's enough!" you found yourself on your feet, shouting. "Stop the fight!"

But no one could hear you over the crowd, or if they could, they weren't listening. This was what they'd come to see - raw, primal combat that reminded them they were still alive.

Merle stepped back suddenly, his chest heaving, and for a moment you thought he was going to show mercy. Instead, he turned to the crowd, arms raised, drinking in their adoration.

"Y'all want more?" he bellowed, and the answering roar shook the walls.

That moment of showboating nearly cost him. Crowley, summoning reserves he didn't know he had, launched himself off the fence in a desperate tackle that sent both men crashing to the ground. They rolled, grappling, each trying to gain the dominant position while the walkers strained against their chains just feet away.

Crowley ended up on top, raining down punches, but Merle's experience showed. He bucked his hips, rolled, and suddenly Crowley was on his back with Merle's prosthetic pressed against his throat.

"Give up pretty boy," Merle snarled, not loud enough for the crowd to hear but clear enough for you to read his lips.

Crowley's face was turning red, his hands clawing at the metal cutting off his air supply. His wife was screaming from the stands, and you found yourself half-standing again, torn between horror and fascination.

Finally, desperately, Crowley tapped out.

Merle held the position for just a moment longer - before releasing his hold and standing up. Crowley gasped and rolled onto his side, alive but thoroughly beaten.

Merle basked in it, arms raised, bloody and victorious, looking like some ancient gladiator who'd just conquered Rome. His eyes found yours in the crowd, and the grin he gave you was pure predatory satisfaction.

When it was over, when the crowd had finally dispersed and the fighters had been helped away, you sat in the sudden quiet feeling hollowed out and strangely exhilarated. The wine had left you with more then a pleasant buzz that made everything seem slightly unreal, like you'd watched a particularly vivid dream rather than actual violence.

Through the haze of alcohol, you could see Merle making his way through the dispersing crowd, sweat still gleaming on his chest, blood spattered across his knuckles, the metal cap catching the flickering light like a blade.

"Is Crowley... will he be alright?, " you said, your accent thick with drink and emotion. The brutality you'd witnessed had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

The Governor's smile didn't waver, but something cold flickered in his eyes. "Crowley knew what he was getting into. Sometimes a man has to pay the price for challenging his betters."

Before you could ask what he meant, Merle was there, still breathing hard from the fight, his good hand reaching for you.

"Hey sugar" Merle said, his voice rough with adrenaline. His eyes were still bright with the violence he'd just unleashed, and when he looked at you, there was something predatory in his gaze that you'd never seen before.

"Well, Merle, she's all yours now," the Governor said, his words carrying weight that made your skin crawl even through your intoxicated state. "Been asking for you all evening, haven't you, sweetheart? Couldn't take her eyes off you during the fight."

The dismissal was clear, as you were being guided away from the arena, Merle's hand firm on your back as he steered you through the cooling night air toward your shared apartment.

Everything felt strange, like you were floating slightly outside your own body. "The way you fought... your strong... but Merle, you didn't have to be so rough with Crowley. He's just—"

"Crowley's fine," Merle cut you off, his voice sharp with leftover aggression. "Man wanted to test himself against me, he got what he asked for. That's how it works in the real world, lil-doe. Strong survive, weak learn their place."

His casual dismissal of the other man's pain echoed the Governor's words in a way that made your stomach churn. This wasn't like Merle - or maybe it was exactly like him, and you'd just never seen this side before.

It wasn't until he got you inside your apartment, closing the door behind you both with a finality that seemed to echo in the small space, that Merle really looked at you. His expression shifted from satisfied to concerned as he took in your flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and the way you swayed slightly even standing still.

"Sugar... how much hooch did you have ?"

"Not much," you protested, though the words came out slightly slurred. "The Governor kept... he said it would help with the cold, and I didn't want to be rude... kept bringing me more..."

Understanding dawned in Merle's eyes, followed quickly by anger. "Aw, hell. That son of a bitch." His jaw clenched as pieces clicked into place. "You ain't used to drinkin', are you, lil' doe?"

Before you could answer, your stomach lurched violently. You clapped a hand over your mouth and rushed toward the bathroom, barely making it before the evening's wine came back up. The retching was violent and embarrassing, your body rejecting the alcohol with prejudice as your system tried to purge itself of the unfamiliar poison.

Merle was there immediately, his good hand holding your hair back, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the rage you could feel radiating from him. "Easy now, darlin'. Get it all out."

When the worst of it passed, you slumped against the bathroom wall. Your head was spinning, and the brutality of the fight kept flashing behind your eyelids - the sound of fists hitting flesh, the crowd's bloodthirsty cheers, the way Merle had looked standing over Crowley's fallen form.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't mean to... I'm not used to... and the fight, it was so violent, I—"

"Ain't nothing to apologize for." There was anger in his voice, but not directed at you. "Governor should've known better than to keep pourin' drinks into a little thing like you. Should've been lookin' out for you, not..." He trailed off, his expression darkening as he processed what had really happened.

He helped you to your feet, sitting you on the edge of the bed and knelt to untie your boots, his movements efficient but charged with an energy that made your skin prickle.

"Arms up, darlin'," he said softly, reaching for the hem of your sweater.

The rational part of his mind - the part that wasn't clouded by adrenaline and months of the Governor's carefully planted suggestions - knew this was dangerous territory. You were vulnerable, trusting, barely conscious, and the way you'd looked at him after the fight... made him feel like he was some kind of hero instead of the violent man he really was.

The devil on his shoulder however was working overtime, fueled by months of the Governor's poison about what women really wanted, what men were entitled to after proving their strength.

She's yours for the taking. All soft and doopey, she won't even remember it clearly ... go on, she'd probably thank you after.

These weren't thoughts he'd ever had before Woodbury, before the Governor's subtle comments about conquest.

Merle might've been a bastard, but he'd never been the kind to take advantage of a helpless girl. That was a line he'd never crossed. Not when she can't really choose. Not when she trusts you this much and you'd be betraying every bit of that trust.

You'd seen what he really was in that ring, seen the violence he was capable of, and it had scared you. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

"There we go, sugar," he said, his voice rougher than he intended as he fought his own demons. "Let's get you tucked in."

He guided you under the covers of your own bed - your bed, not his - and pulled the blanket up to your chin. You stirred slightly, and when he moved to gently sweep the hair from your forehead, you flinched. The reaction was small but unmistakable, and it hit him like a slap.

"Jesus," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. He caught your chin gently, turning your face so you could see him clearly despite your unfocused gaze. "Look at me, I would never put hands on you. Never. You hear me, lil' doe ?"

Your eyes searched his face, some of the fear fading as you saw the sincerity there. He waited until you nodded, until some of the tension left your shoulders, before he stood.

"Get some rest, sugar. I'll be right next door if you need anything."

Merle made his way to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him with barely controlled restraint. Once alone, he scrubbed his hand down his face, the weight of what had almost happened - what he'd almost let the Governor manipulate him into doing - crashing over him like a wave.

With a frustrated growl, he grabbed the empty whiskey bottle from his nightstand and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash, but it did nothing to quiet the storm of self-loathing and anger churning in his gut.

[multiheadcanons]

250 FOLLOWER SPECIAL: AUTHOR’S PICKS BY MERCENARY

scout: scouts paragraph in mercs and hands is still one of what i would call my best descriptive paragraphs to date. and it was almost the switch flip in my brain that made me go yeah… yeah i see how people can find scout hot. he’s not my particular type, but when i start having to describe scout’s physical attributes i do start blushing a little. he can be cute, as a treat! he’s like the guy all my friends think is hot and i nod along. i don’t want to look in fear that i will agree.

soldier: sometimes i do feel like i write soldier very… flat. but soldier definitely shone heads and tails above the other mercs in the mercs and praise post. it was so on the mark for soldier as a character, while effective in the execution of the prompt, it was just lovely to write! and he’s absolutely lovely in it. i felt the crush begin as i wrote that post. love that funky stupid ass american. he’s so unbelievably stupid. i wish i was better at being more creatively idiotic. i have to do jane doe more justice.

pyro: all of the fluffy pieces with pyro make me feral because i’m so desperately touch starved that i throw it all on them and make them the touch starved one. past that, pyro’s paragraph in flirt with the mercs was so tasty and funny to write! it’s an arguably more dynamic way to write pyro, without going immediately to finding their dynamic via violence. pyro is cool! pyro is a generally affable and almost adjusted person. and i think that came through best on that post.

demo: god, i love tavish. which is why i hate that he is still the mercenary that i have the least confident hold on. however, i think that’s what has made demo so fun to write! as i continue to explore tavish as a character, the more i slowly continue to get a hold on him. but my favorite iteration for our belemoman is any of the romantic posts. flirting, go on a date, mercs with a crush, the funny sex number, any of the romantic posts are so yummy. they were yummy to write, and they’re so yummy to go back and read.

heavy: i loved putting heavy in the crossover posts. the lake post, the reality show posts, every single one of those, particularly with heavy, is such a treat to write! it’s really allowed me to open the door for him to get to be funnier, and lighter, and just the fuzzy-feeling-causing do-it-all man he is to me. and while i do enjoy writing heavy in more serious moments (i LOVE writing serious heavy, that is equally as yummy as writing funny heavy), the lighter moments are so enjoyable to write and put him in. he deserves a break sometimes!

engineer: it’s so off color, but engineer’s paragraph in thieving ass mercs is so good… so good. i’d let him rob me blind. there’s just something about the way i executed it that i really like! suave, professional, though i wouldn’t say this is engineer at his moral best, it is definitely engineer at his best, if you know what i mean. and i didn’t personally write it, but cycs was still so right, and i am still so obsessed with mercs weaponizing their environment. that man commits vehicular manslaughter. i see it so clearly in my mind. ever since cycs said it there’s been a drabble in the works. who knows when it’ll be finished.

medic: all of them. except for mercs in the heat; i butchered the grammar and have no interest in going back through to try to fix it because to me the actual execution of that paragraph was so bad i can’t even go touch it. so it just looks like that. its not the worst, but i’ve done the doctor better, so it’s the worst out of the bunch. i go back and reread my posts because i like remembering all the situations i put this guy in. but the medic-centric fics are my favorite to write, and they’re my favorites to go back and reread. i don’t know if that’s obvious. there is one fic/drabble amongst the posts. it is untitled. that, i would have to say, is my magnum opus. i go cry to that one regularly. it makes me want to throw up. it makes me want to message robin and apologize.

sniper: i think mercs in the city is truly one of the best characterizations i have done for sniper and i don’t think i’ve achieved anything close to it with him since. sniper’s bit in mercs in the city is just perfect, and one of my all time favorites to go back and reread. it’s cute, it’s humorous, it’s charming, and it just makes mick look like a right treat! it was a wonderful way to both push him out of his comfort zone and push me out of mine. i still find i struggle writing him sometimes, but not nearly as much as i did when i started. he’s just the most guy ever!

spy: a silly little moment with the sniper and the spy is hands down my favorite characterization of spy that i personally have written. i feel like i almost can’t give spy the space to shine in the full lineup of the mercs. it’s almost the point of his character, to me. his influence is in his absence. so when i can aggressively pare down who he’s interacting with, and focus more on the relationships he fosters one on one, it is so much easier to allow him to take center stage. and allow myself to write spy almost the way i write medic! i find it fun to explore spy and all of his facets, being the suave conman, being the stupid fucking idiot, being the evil mastermind always forty steps ahead, being APH france but with a balaclava on, i truly find myself enjoying writing about spy! but i have to give him the space to shine. and he’ll never take the medic’s space in my heart, so he also ends up getting the most aggressive edits in his paragraphs.

[wannabedragon-yep-lumenemporium]

Oh Baby Jesus😭😭 I cried my f*cking eyes out ohhhh oh oh 😭😭😭

Okay it was a good episode. Daamn it was a good episode, let's begin my dudes: my take, episode's themes I noticed and the sus/interesting details.

There be Spoilers

_________My take (I'm part of the R&M cult, so, impartiality)________

Expectations: the episode started totally on point with my expectations, actually, I couldn't believe I was really watching Beths so openly discussing the elephant in the room, I loved it. The show usually tends to be more subtle, and despite being a catchy way to give life lessons without sermonizing, sometimes I really wish they could take a well defined stance more often and explaining stuff more clearly, bcs not always the writers point of view/life experiences match with the viewers': sometimes something obvious to you isn't that obvious to me.

Important life lessons: as always, Rick and Morty is quick to deliver more accurate, better life lessons than our actual overpaid therapist: both Beths quickly dismiss the daddy issues thing with "write a book abt it lol" (a reference to Morty Junior), only for the show to prove that the daddy issues were in fact the main issue. But why both Beths didn't realize where the problem actually was? Well, that's how this episode shows us what the essence of a successful therapy, of your "healing process", if you want, is: to feel. You can cognitively understand something (ex. you have daddy issues) but you can't fix the problem without directly dealing with it, without speaking about it, without understanding your reaction to it, without processing it, without feeling it on your skin and accepting what is actively doing to the person you are right now. To bottle up emotions into a cold consideration about your life's misery, is sadly not enough to cure your wounds. This lesson really reminds me of a Doctor Ramani video I saw lately, about how important is to feel, in order to found yourself again after narcissistic abuse forces you to shut down all those emotions your abuser dislikes.

Beth unprocessed abandonment: the real core of the issue is shown in a quick but decisive exchange between the two Beths.

Being abandoned triggered in her a violent response against everything and everyone. Why do I have to take care of everyone if no one is taking care of me? Why should I, if nothing matters, not even family bonds? I'm just so angry all the time. This resulted in an adult Beth full of remorse about her past actions, that only wants to take a lot of distance from her father's steps. Adult Beth tries to fix everything she can, taking on herself more responsibilities that she can/should actually handle.

In real life it's not possible for a 10 yo showing this level of psychopathy to grow up into a mildly narcissistic person, nor even a sociopath (which, to put it really simple, is an "improvement" over being a psychopath), but R&M world has a lot of ways to stretch reality just as needed. For example, we can speculate that all the Beths that actually survived had a Rick Prime-like dad, and a probably very messed-up/totally neglectful Diane mum: but at a certain point, a "good" Rick shows up, a Rick who lost his Diane and Beth, he build Froopyland and other toys to keep Beth busy and entertained, basically he tries to re parent a very difficult child, probably even with the help of his technology, somehow managing to raise some kind of well adjusted adult (kinda). Is it yet unclear though, for how long Rick stayed with child Beth: did he left and then returned, then left again? There were different Ricks every time? The kind of experienced genius that builds Froopyland to help his daughter, doesn't sound like the same Rickhead that leaves his wife and child for Infinity. At the same time, we know that adult Beths grew up with their mother, without a Rick during their childhood. Also, despite knowing about Froopyland, Rick is not familiar at all with Beth's trapped dungeons...

a Beth's peculiar tendency that reminds me more of Rick Prime than our actual Rick. That might suggest that Froopyland Ricks arrived after Prime-like Ricks already left the family. I guess we are still missing a lot of data about that time window.

In a nutshell: remember when Beth asked Rick if she was evil?

Turned out this was tormenting her since season 3. Making a clone didn't fix the problem right away, but allowed Beth to talk with herself, to give time to herself, and to gradually start accepting herself. A good metaphor for re parenting. Rick on the other hand... I'm starting to understand his answer from s3. At first I thought: "Whoa wtf you don't tell kids they're evil, you f*cking raised them, it can't be their fault if they're traumatized" but in this case, it wasn't Rick's fault either. Rick C-137's Beth, the one from his memories, looks like a serene, loving, normal child. Considering that good Ricks probably arrive long time after some Prime-like Ricks left their Beths, good Ricks really try their best with what they have. I would love to read some fanfic about the time another Rick "returned" home and tried to deal with this little devil lol.

Season 3 parallelism: I have the feeling that we are literally seeing the other half of season 3 (it's an 8, u get it?), like the missing part of it, the side that all characters missed by that time. We have a lot of s3 reference, the same dark, grim atmosphere, even a Citadel episode. Yet at the same time, all our beloved characters, the Citadel itself, are forever changed. I know there are still a lot of seasons, but I have this bittersweet feeling that we are very slowly approaching the closure of this unique, astounding, heartbreaking show.

Other gems from the episode: like, damn gurl, that's such a smart way to transport criminals, it gives that "players-totally-abusing-the-mmorpg-mechanics" feeling 💀💀

Beths shrieking, omg I laughed so hard, she's a living nightmare but I totally love this f*cked up kid(s) with all my heart💀

Okay... can we talk about the moment that made me cry so, so much please?

I wildly loved Rick's arc, simply being a good parent instead of the same manipulative dude, hidden behind layers and layers of Idon'tgiveafuckness. It's just a super old, fragile Rick, and the daughters he's so proud of, hugging and crying, all grieving together about those failed promises of love (all bcs of Prime if u think abt it, f*ck that guy fr).

I feel like this scene was really a gentle caress on the cheek of a lot of fanfic writers: for real, I saw this line in sooo many R&M fanfics and art, this moment was so longed by a huge part of the fandom, and I love when the show's writers are ready to deliver, it means caring about your community, it should be the standard.

In the end, maybe you don't need to be an intergalactic hero or the perfect surgeon to be loved and seen.

Switching to plot B: the message was pretty simple, humanity sucks in general, and yes I agree. Our society is completely messed up, so an earth themed park like that actually makes sense; and now that i think about it, maybe the park thing was a metaphor about the duality of people, just like the duality of Beth, due to trauma. There can be so much good and so much evil in humans. Well maybe not just in humans...

I like this little parenthesis about Morty starting to understand what basic, adult relationships requirements are, like respect and connection 💀 It's also heartwarming to see Rick interacting in a more normal way with Morty and Summer, (and there's even Jerry getting along, wat)... even when one of his ideas fails dramatically, with Morty joking about Rick punishing him for criticizing him: same Vat of Acid vibes, different outcome, 10/10 💛💛

Look at this cocky yellow dude, look at him go. I love it 💀

Omg rick losing his shit abt the wrong themed park 💀💀💀and everyone bullying him a little bit 💀💀💀 Morty is acting more like a young adult and less like a teenager, while Summer is definitely the adult of the group (yes, I'm not even considering Jerry), I love how she quickly takes the wheel as soon as the situation start to escalate.

In general, I really liked the episode: it wasn't something shockingly new, it was a good elaboration of themes we saw before and were left unsolved. I think we cannot talk of an actual closure yet, but what we saw was definitely some good character development on all sides. Also Doctor Dogballs... the name killed me in its absolute 8 yo irony 💀

________________Ep. Main themes in a nutshell_________________

the duality of people's nature: it can be violent and cruel or compassionate and forgiving, all seems to depend on how much we work on ourselves and our universe. Being cruel or not basically just depends on how f*cked up our childhood was and how we decide to cope with that, great take.

there's a parallelism with the episode Final DeSmithation, the zebras' zoo in particular, when everybody in the commercial start to eat each other and Morty deduces that the visitors of the park were the attraction themselves, just like in this episode: humans themselves were the main attraction just bcs Dogballs was nuts.

__________________Sus stuff/interesting details___________________

Meta energy: there is a looot of purple energy everywhere lately. The hypercoal, doctor dogballs energy, and before that Rhett Caan's crystal, Prime's outfit, the reality goggles that freak Morty out... everything that gives incredible results is fueled by meta energy and they are reminding us quite often. A lot of powerful stuff is meta related, probably bcs its function is to alter the reality of the show itself.

side adventures: Jerry was apparently transformed in a trash can and Morty knew about a Rat Utopia thing, both references to adventures we never saw on screen, so it seems like the whole family is actually spending some time together even outside of the tv show now 💛

Gene is divorced but not exactly...? I wonder what's Gene full story and I also felt a little bad for him 💀 I mean I don't like him much, but he didn't deserve double baby Beth on the run.

Okay, all done! And remember:

Life is good, there's Rick and Morty 💛

[orellazalonia]

elle I have a request that I was wondering if you would maybe do???? I was wondering if either a bucky x reader or Yelena x reader (if you're up for Yelena) where the reader is autistic and they're going to a family dinner with Bucky/Yelena but their parents aren't fully supportive or believe the idea that reader is autistic and end up making the reader uncomfortable and stressed out?

Thank you🫶 have a good day/night/afternoon

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

Hello there! I hope you don’t mind that I did Bucky and Yelena. I’ve been wanting to write for that ship/trio for a while now, but didn’t know what others thought of it honestly. Anyways, I kept this simple and those two steady and sweet. So, I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request! Happy reading!!!

Meant to Be

Summary: After agreeing to attend a family dinner, you find yourself overwhelmed and dismissed by your parents, who downplay and question your autism. Bucky and Yelena quietly but fiercely step in, defending you and leading you out when the situation becomes too painful. (Bucky Barnes x autistic!reader x Yelena Belova)

Disclaimer: Hurt/Comfort. Some angst. I do not have autism. If anything is improperly represented, don’t be afraid to let me know and I’ll adjust/remove where applicable.

Word Count: 1.7k+

Main Masterlist

You weren’t always sure how to describe the way your brain worked.

Sometimes it was too much or too fast. Other times, it seemed too little like the world was muffled behind a glass wall. Certain sounds hurt, certain textures made your skin crawl, eye contact was difficult, and words sometimes slipped out wrong, or didn’t come at all.

But with Bucky and Yelena, you didn’t have to explain anything. They just… got it.

Bucky noticed the way you tensed when a room became too crowded and would guide you quietly to the side. Yelena, despite her sharpness, always carried soft napkins in her bag because she knew you didn’t like paper ones. Neither of them forced small talk when you were quiet. Neither of them got offended when you needed to stim, went nonverbal, or shut down completely.

They didn’t try to fix you. They stayed and adapted. And most of all, they made you feel wanted, even on the days when you doubted yourself.

You’d been together for just under a year now, and things had slowly settled into a rhythm of quiet mornings with mismatched mugs, blanket piles on the couch, and late-night takeout shared over movies you didn’t always finish.

But then came the invite. Dinner at your parents’ house.

You’d mentioned it offhand once about how your mother still didn’t really believe in autism. How your dad brushed it off as “over-diagnosed nonsense.” How they thought you were just being dramatic or difficult when you were overwhelmed.

“They don’t really… get it,” You’d admitted, voice small. “They think it’s a phase or made up.”

Yelena had frowned. Bucky had sighed heavily. You thought they might try to talk you out of going.

But instead, Yelena said, “We can go together.”

“Only if you want to,” Bucky added, looking at you with that softness only he showed. “And if it gets too much, we leave. Deal?”

You nodded. You weren’t sure why, but maybe part of you still hoped they’d listen this time. That they’d try to understand you. Maybe seeing Bucky and Yelena at your side would change something. Or maybe it was simply that you didn’t want to go alone.

The drive to your parents’ house felt like watching someone else’s memory. One you didn’t want to remember. It was the same street, same yard, same uneven porch step. And still, you went.

You’d barely slept at all the night before. You had gone over every word you might say before tearing it all down and building new scripts. What if they asked about your diagnosis? What if they didn’t ask at all? What if they just smiled like they always did and acted like you were being ridiculous?

Yelena parked in front of the house, her knuckles pale around the steering wheel. She didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes met yours in the mirror.

“You alright?” She asked, not judging, just checking in.

“Yeah,” You whispered, even though you weren’t.

Bucky opened your door and held out his hand, warm and steady.

The three of you ascended the porch steps together. Your mother opened the door like she’d been waiting right behind it, smile wide and bright, too practiced to be real.

“There you are! And you brought your little… entourage,” She added with a laugh, eyeing Bucky and Yelena like some kind of novelty.

“We’re happy to be here,” Bucky said smoothly. You could hear the edge beneath his voice, even if your mother didn’t.

As all of you entered the house, everything was still the same. Strong smells from the kitchen, mismatched dishes crowding the table, every light in the house on including the ones no one was using. Your dad waved from the living room, holding a beer and half-watching a game on the television.

“Hey, kiddo,” He greeted. “Didn’t think you’d show. Figured your ‘sensory stuff’ might be acting up again.”

Your stomach sank. Bucky’s hand tightened slightly as he held yours while Yelena didn’t even bother hiding her glare.

You didn’t say anything as you sat down at the table. Yelena on your right and Bucky to your left. The seat cushion felt uneven like it always had, the silverware wasn’t straight either. And dinner started loud.

Conversations layered over each other as nobody waited for one person to finish talking before another started. You picked at your food, nodded when spoken to. Smiled, even if it hurt.

Then your mom turned to you, wine glass in hand, and said too casually:

“By the way, your aunt said something about you being ‘actually autistic’ now? What’s that about?”

There it was. More amused than cruel, like it was some phase. A trend or a punchline.

You felt your shoulders go tense as you reached for your water, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

“I didn’t suddenly become autistic,” You said quietly. “I’ve always been. I just… have a name for it now.”

Your father chuckled, not unkindly, but full of condescension.

“Come on, kid. You really think that’s what this is? You just never liked change. You always needed things a certain way. That doesn’t mean you have some disorder.”

“I’m not broken,” You murmured. You weren’t sure if they heard you.

“You just need to push yourself more,” Your mom added, like she was giving helpful advice. “If you’d stop reading those online articles, maybe you wouldn’t be so convinced something’s wrong with you.”

You went silent. Too many thoughts and responses swirled in your mind but none of them reached your mouth.

Beside you, Yelena slowly set down her fork.

“She never said anything was wrong with her,” She stated, her voice flat and cold. “You did.”

Bucky didn’t even look at your parents. His eyes were on you, and only you.

“You good?” He asked softly, leaning close. “We can go, just say the word.”

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to leave. But your hands were clenched in your lap, and your mouth wouldn’t work.

Your mother leaned toward Yelena with a forced smile. “We just don’t want her limiting herself. You know how kids these days like putting labels on everything. It’s all TikTok this, self-diagnosis that.”

“I was diagnosed,” You said finally. “Formally. A year ago.”

They blinked.

“Ah. That.” Your dad said. “By who again? I mean… it’s just that doctors over-diagnose everything now.”

The shame hit like a wave. Not because you were ashamed of who you were, but because they wanted you to be. That they think you were just making this all up.

Yelena pushed back her chair.

“Enough.”

Bucky stood too, calm and controlled despite the anger he felt for you. “You want her at your table, but only if she acts like someone she isn’t.”

Your mom started to respond, but Yelena was already at your side, helping you to your feet.

“We’re leaving,” She said. “Maybe by the next time you see her, you’ll have learned to listen rather than judge.”

Your mouth still wouldn’t open, but your feet moved. Your chest ached, but your hands found theirs. And that was enough for now.

The door shut behind you with a hollow click. No one followed.

The cold night air hit your skin like a bucket of water. It was quieter outside, quiet enough to hear your own thoughts again. But even then, they didn’t make sense. Everything was tangled. You blinked hard against the sting in your eyes. You didn’t cry often, not where people could see. But tonight, you couldn’t help it.

Yelena draped her coat over your shoulders without a word. Bucky didn’t ask if you were okay. He just opened the car door and waited, patient and steady, like always.

The drive back was silent. Not awkward, just calm and soft. Yelena adjusted the temperature when she noticed your hands had gone cold. Bucky sat with you in the back, brushing his fingers across yours soothingly. Enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

When you got home, they let you lead. You went straight to the couch and curled up without saying anything. The lights were already dim, just the way you liked. Here, there were no questions, noise, or pressure.

Yelena disappeared into the kitchen. You heard the sound of a pan clinking gently on the stovetop. And Bucky sat down on the floor beside the couch, back resting against it, close but not crowding. His arm brushed your knee.

“You did really well tonight,” He said quietly.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure you believed it.

After a pause, you whispered, “It was stupid to go.”

Bucky looked up at you, brows pulling slightly together. “No it wasn’t.”

“They don’t listen,” You retorted. “They never have. I thought maybe if they saw you two–if I looked… stable–they’d try.”

“Милая,” Yelena’s voice called gently from the kitchen. “You are stable. They’re the ones who aren’t grounded.”

She returned a moment later, a bowl in her hands. In it was plain pasta with a bit of butter and cheese prepared just the way you liked it when you couldn’t eat much. You sat up as she placed the bowl in your lap and crouched in front of you.

“You don’t need their approval,” She said. “You’ve always been exactly who you were meant to be. And we love that person.”

You picked at the food slowly, quietly admitting, “I wanted them to say they were proud of me.”

“I’m proud of you,” Bucky said instantly, without hesitation. “I’ve seen how hard you try every day.”

“And I like you better than anyone else we saw tonight,” Yelena added.

That made you snort, just once. A real sound. It made Bucky smile a little.

“Even if I can’t always talk right?” You asked. “Or do things the way I’m supposed to?”

Yelena leaned in and bumped her forehead lightly against yours. “You say more in silence than most people say screaming.”

Bucky nudged your arm. “And you don’t have to explain yourself. We get it.”

The bowl of pasta was warm in your hands. The room was quiet and safe. The tension in your chest began to ease; even if not all the way, it was enough to breathe again.

And later that night, you sat between them on the couch. Your head rested on Yelena’s shoulder. Bucky’s fingers gently traced patterns against your arm: slow, repetitive, and grounding.

While your family made you feel small, the people you loved and chose you made you feel real.

And that was all that mattered for they loved you exactly as you are.