#this becomes even worse when it's a competitive hobby

[cute-chamomile]

May i never become so invested in my kids' hobbies that i try to become part of the hobby organization's boards and commitees, making myself an inextricable part of this activity and making the employees' lives a living hell in the process just because i couldnt get my own, separate hobby, amen.

[whateveriwant]

could i request sumn real quick..

TF141 with a s/o who does archery, with those Japanese longbows (they’re called yumis, i think😭) ??

This was completely foreign to me so I hope I at least kinda did it justice 😭

Gaz

When you first told him about your hobby of choice, admittedly, he was unfamiliar with it

Archery as a whole was nothing new to him, but knowledge about your discipline in particular had entirely evaded him up until now

However, after learning more about it from you as well as researching on his own, he's now become your biggest cheerleader, literally and figuratively cheering you on from the sidelines

Whether you do it just for recreation or you do it for competition, he's always there to support you with 110% enthusiasm

He's like a proud dad whenever he gets to watch you in your element, always pulling out his phone to record you so he can show off to his mates later

Major cheeseball that he is, he's even gotten custom decals on his car to brag of your accomplishments, so that everyone can know about you and your unique skill

Soap

His interest was immediately piqued when you first brought up your incredibly specialized sport

You see, he used to do a little archery himself back in secondary school, and (not to brag) but he was actually pretty good at it

Of course, that confession gets your interest piqued, so you invite him to take some shots with your bow, which he readily accepts

He's positively preening as he nocks an arrow, confidence oozing from him as he takes aim… only to turn a shade of red just shy of tomato as he misses his shot by about 10 feet

He tries again and again, somehow getting worse with each shot, the frustration and embarrassment coming from him clearly palpable

Though you try to encourage him to keep going (after all, no one’s good at anything their first try), eventually, he timidly hands the bow back, saying he thinks he’s better off just leaving it to you

Price

He's a very physically active man himself, so learning that you're involved in a martial art was a major turn on for him

And him being in the military and thus heavily trained in all sorts of weaponry, the fact that it's a weapons-focused discipline was doubly appealing to him

From the first moment you brought your hobby up, he was practically begging to watch you shoot

It didn't matter if you had all the bells and whistles ready or not; hell, you could’ve been dressed in a flour sack aiming at tin cans in his backyard and he’d have still been over the moon

Wanting some privacy though, he took you to a range where you could show off your skills without distraction or disruption

And when he saw you take that first shot, hitting your target dead center, he would never tell you, but his pants got a little tighter after that

Ghost

While he finds what you do very intriguing, he wishes there was a more “real life” application to your sport

He knows how dismissive that might sound, but just think about it. In an emergency, are you going to whip out your two meter long bow to defend yourself? Exactly.

Ideally, he'd like to teach you how to use a gun. And you'll agree to let him… only if you can teach him how to use a bow

You might have some lighthearted bickering where he stubbornly insists that a gun is much more useful when it comes to personal protection

But well wouldn't you know it when one night he's awoken by the sound of someone trying to break into your flat, and what object should his fingers find in the dark? Yeah, I think you know

To you, your bow seemed like a perfectly good weapon when he used it to whack the would-be thief over the head…

Yeesh, now that earned you the side-eye of the century. But alright, he eventually conceded, maybe it does have its merits

[miller-n-morgan-2]

Take Me Home

3. Worthiness

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: Apologies for taking so long in between to repost these chapters, it's almost fashion week and I am CRAMMING everything my ass can handle into the next few weeks lmaooo. pls enjoy and let me know what you think!

Summary: Abigail gains a new friend and gossip partner to chat with over meals, and Pearson has had enough of it. Luckily, Dutch has something lined up and ready to take the kid out of camp.

Warnings: Mild Language, gun violence. Game typical violence. Robbery/heist shenanigans. Fluff and Angst, because who doesn't love that combo? Arthur and reader get into a fight and want to kill each other for like a split second but it ends fine I swear.

WC: 6.1k

“I think I could drop you where you stand.” You were all talk, now, and he knew that… but it still boiled under his skin the way you challenged him.  “You make quite a big to do of yourself… M’guessin’ that’s where most of your reputation came from,” he smirked, but he should know better than to taunt you about those men you shot dead. “Before I got here I barely spoke a word to no one… I got my reputation from shootin’ folks so fast they didn’t have time to repent to God.” 

You’ve taken to a new hobby. You’re not quite sure the word that describes it right, but to explain what it entails, a bit of background needs to be added for understanding. 

Abigail is borderline nine months pregnant. 

John Marston, the everloving man that he is, has taken it upon himself to steer clear of her in the last stages of her pregnancy. 

Given this unfortunate situation, Abigail finds herself eating more and more food to try and relieve the stress. She also finds herself ranting to you about the dimwitted man that impregnated her, because you seem the most open to listening without offering advice. Truth be told, you just enjoy the company of a woman that doesn’t shy away from you, or try to woo you over. It brings about a sense of normalcy. 

Now, in the past weeks that this has been happening, you’ve taken to eating at the same times as Abigail, shoveling more and more into your plate like she does. It’s now become a ritual, or as you would like to call it, a hobby, to sit and devour food while shit-talking John Marston as he’s away. ‘Keeping his distance,’ whatever the hell that means, when the woman you’re with is nine months pregnant. 

In the midst of this new hobby, Dutch and Pearson have had many arguments. Dutch was always less than concerned about it, whilst Pearson nearly threw a fit every time either of you came to get portions for a meal.

“I’ve had enough of it. They come, they eat, they leave! That new boy of yours hasn’t done anything since he got here but eat us out of our stock,” Pearson complained for the hundredth time. Though you’d kept up with chores around the camp, (trying to help Abigail pick up some of her slack) you hadn’t really brought any money into the camp, which was what Dutch brought you here to do.

“Arthur’s been trainin’ him well, I’m sure it’ll be no time at all before he starts runnin’ jobs with us.” Dutch knew what this was really about…

Pearson was madder than a hornet when John first got Abigail pregnant. Even worse when he found out she would be traveling with the gang from then on. Feeding a pregnant woman was sometimes like feeding two extra men… not to mention the fact that you joined her at every meal. He doesn’t want to say anything about Abigail, especially in the state she’s in… but maybe if you didn’t sit and eat with her all the damn time, it wouldn’t be as bad, and the rations would last longer. 

“He better start earnin’ his keep. If he doesn’t I’ll skin him, make a stew.”

Dutch let out a boisterous laugh, clapping Pearson on the back and shaking his head. 

“I have a feeling he’ll probably bring in as much as Arthur… There’s some sort of competition between them. I think as long as they don’t rip each other to shreds, they’ll be real beneficial,” He started towards Hosea, passing by you and Abigail on the way and tipping his hat. “Top of the mornin’ to ya.”

“Mornin’,” you nodded with a smile, taking a sip of your coffee before digging back into the bread and jam you both raided from Pearson’s ‘kitchen.’

He ducked into his tent, and you turned back to Abigail, listening intently to all she had to say. Today, she had news of an argument between her and John the night before. 

“It’s been all, ‘how do I even know that kid is mine?’ and ‘what if I don’t want to be a part of it anymore?’ since about the five month mark. M’startin’ to think that maybe I should’ve just left the gang, convinced some poor drunk dope from the town it’s his.” She gave her best John impression when quoting him, and as funny as it was, all you could feel was grief for the young woman. She was too young to even be thinking this way. 

You’ve not spent any one on one time with John, but he sounds like a real ass.

“As sad as I am to say it, Miss Abigail… I believe most of us men are stupid as they come. We can’t tell what’s right in front of us, even if y’all are screamin’ and shoutin’.”

“If that ain’t the truth…” she trailed, sighing with her head down. Even though she portrayed her sorrows in a comedic light, you could tell it weighed on her. 

You weren’t sure if you should even offer this, because you had no idea if you would even be hiding your secret this long, but the longer you go without revealing anything… you’re starting to think of your little secret more permanently.

“If push comes to shove… You can tell the kid it’s mine. Not too sure it’ll believe you, what with the carrot head I got, but if you want to…”

She laughed lighthearted, and sighed again, but this time out of contentment. 

“I guess not all men are stupid. You’re not even the first one who’s offered that to me,” she explained, nodding towards the outskirts of camp where an open tent fixed upon a wagon sat neatly kept. “Arthur said the same thing when all these problems with John started.”

You smiled, looking at his empty living space, barely anything to show that he occupied the place. He had a simple cot and bedroll, a small table, and just a few sentimental pieces here and there. He didn’t need anything fancy or grandiose to his name, just a gun and his hat, and he was satisfied. He’s even kinder than you thought, too, hearing it firsthand from Abigail. A good man, and a great outlaw. You found yourself longing for him nearly every day now, and it would only get worse from here. 

“He’s sure something, ain’t he?” You tried to be nonchalant about him, and it seemed to work in the eyes of Abigail, but if she’d known just one little thing about you, her entire mind would be changed. 

“Oh, yes. I’ll be damn straight with ya, I almost wish it were Arthur I met last year. Wish it was him that found me at the brothel. I do love John, but… he breaks my heart sometimes,” she let out, trying to hold herself together. She’d long since begun crying herself to sleep at night, pretty much since John decided she could sleep on her own. Now, though, was not the place to break down. You’ve been kind enough to listen to her, and she feels as though using your shoulder to cry on would be taking advantage. So she changes the subject. “While I’m on the topic of love… I’ve heard you got an admirer.”

Your cheeks grew red from embarrassment, and she thought that maybe you were blushing, but she didn’t know how far off she was. “I guess I’ve heard a thing or two ‘bout that…”

“Tilly is a sweet girl, I’m sure you both would get along fine,” she added, going back to her food. 

“She’s one of the kindest souls I’ve met,” you told her, trying to be as honest as you could without divulging anything she didn’t need to know. “I’ve just never…”

“You’ve never… what?” 

You shrugged, huffing a sigh and eating the last piece of jam covered bread on your plate. Already you could tell you’d be hungry again soon. “Never been in a relationship like that before.”

“I see. Is that something you think you’d want?” Her patience is why you liked speaking with her. Sometimes she had a short temper, but it was almost always warranted and towards those who deserved it. 

You took her question to heart. You’d not even considered a relationship since the day you ran away. Your self-found freedom had been from an arranged marriage. It had been your choice to leave that way of life. You never thought you’d ever find love in the aftermath of your liberation, but thinking about it now… You looked to Arthur’s tent, just a single glance to see if he’s returned yet.

“I hope so, maybe someday when the time is right. I just think that right now, I’m not so sure about anything at all, and it wouldn’t be fair to Miss Tilly to start up something I ain’t ready for.”

She sat and stared into your downward expression for a minute, meeting your eyes when you looked up. 

You smirked a little at her gaping expression, trying to make light of it. 

“I got somethin’ on my face?” 

“No,” she shook her head, knocking herself out of whatever trance she just fell into. “S’just that… I think you’re mighty wise for someone your age. And for a man, too.” 

“I reckon that’s a real fine compliment, and I’ll take it well.”

You both shared a laugh before going back to the stashed food for seconds. 

-

Dutch had an idea… a dangerous thing, but sometimes a very lucrative one. 

The worst part about this dangerous and lucrative idea? Arthur, Javier, John, and Bill were on board. It meant there was gonna be one hell of a party this afternoon, and no one in their right mind would have the courage to stop it. 

You were unaware of said idea until around lunch time, when Pearson just ripped you a new one for taking food before it was even ready. You shared it with Abigail of course, you’re not an animal.

Dutch and Hosea were making the plans for this afternoon, and came across you both sulking in the grass, just inches away from Pearson’s space. They grabbed some small provisions for themselves, as they hadn’t quite eaten much today, and you overheard some of their chatter. 

“I’m getting too old for all that excitement. One job here and there is all I can do anymore,” Hosea tried to reason with his dearest friend. 

“I need another gun or it doesn’t work,” Dutch sighed out, scratching the back of his neck as he thought of another solution. 

You stood up and peeked over the barrel you’d been resting against, leaning over it and making your presence known. 

“I got a gun,” you smirked, halfway joking incase he shuts you down. He hasn’t told you directly that he doesn’t want you riding with them yet, but he has asked Arthur if he thinks you’re ready… to which Arthur always replied, ‘almost.’ 

Dutch narrowed his eyes at you, looking back to Hosea, but the man held his hands up in mock defense. He was gonna sit this one out regardless.

“How’s your horse with gunfire?” he asked, genuinely considering your offer today. 

“He oughta be fine, otherwise I can take someone else’s.”

There was another moment of pause, and Hosea spoke up. 

“Sean would be happy to go, he hasn’t seen action in a few weeks.” 

You sighed, doing your best to act as if you weren’t upset, then started to speak loudly.

“That’s fine by me. I’ll just stay here and have lunch with Abigail…” you trailed, and immediately Pearson whipped himself around from his station. 

“No!” He shouted, and though you were partially joking, he didn’t want to find that out for himself. He’d had enough of you, and likely of Abigail, too. “As God is my witness, I will pack my shit and never look back… take him, I’m beggin’ ya.”

Dutch found his little outburst quite comical, as did you. He chuckled lowly and rolled it over in his head once more before deciding. Maybe what you really needed to learn was being thrown in the deep end. Hell, he knew what you were capable of. It was the very reason you stood on this ground in the first place. Now he needed to put those fiery trigger fingers to the test. 

“Son,” he turned back to face you with a look of sheer confidence, hopefully this didn’t mean the pressure would all be on you. “Saddle your horse, load up on ammo. You’ll be going with John.”

The smile you had immediately left your face. 

“Yessir,” you said quickly, leaving the group to do as he said. 

John Marston, the man you’d been shit talking for over a week now. Not to his face, of course, but to his lady it was enough, even if she was doing just as much if not more in sullying his name. 

You had a bad taste for him, that much you could say. It wasn’t going to be fun, but you’d prevail. You had to. It was time to start earning your keep. 

You found the rest of the men by the hitching posts, strolling up as confidently as can be. You enjoyed the baffled looks of confusion they wore, unsure of what you were doing here. Surely you wouldn’t be joining them…

“Howdy,” you teased, tipping your hat to them with a sideways smirk. Your young looking ‘boyish’ features gave them an inkling of annoyance with the look you wore, all cocky and arrogant for show. “Give me just a second, I’ll be ready to head out.”

“You’re coming with us?” Bill questioned, though it wasn’t out of sheer curiosity, but agitation.

“Damn straight,” you muttered quieter, done joking for now since they all seemed to be absolutely against you riding along. You got along with them in camp, why did they seem to exclude you now that a job was concerned? Why did they look like they were about to fight tooth and nail to keep you here?

You ignored their sarcastic chatter over your ‘scrawny’ appearance, and made ready your horse. You’d taken him riding several times since getting here, but he hasn’t gotten to see much action other than running down the side of the river bank. 

“What the hell are you doin’?” Arthur came up beside you, trying to gain your primary focus and lead it away from the horse… not exactly a hard task when you look like Arthur Morgan does.

“Dutch said I’m ridin’ on the job,” you explained, making it very clear, first and foremost, that you had permission to go out with them from the boss.

“When? Just now? Because as it was told to us, you weren’t goin’...” 

“I get y’all don’t exactly want me here, but he needed another gun. I happen to have one, matter of fact, and I’m pretty damn good at shootin’ it. I don’t understand your hissy fit, but it ain’t gonna stop me from goin’, so I hope we’re not gonna have a problem, here.” 

He kept his mouth shut. He needed to think and rehash his words in his head before he let something fly that he didn’t at all mean. 

“I’m tryin’ to protect you, kid.” He was even closer than before all of a sudden, and you had to make him the center of your attention once again.

“Protect me from what? I shoot faster than you, remember?”

You made a point, but he made a better one. 

“You mean ‘the one shot you know how to take?’ Is that the one?” He recalled your words from many days before, the day he began teaching you everything you needed to know. You’d been here nearly a month now, if you hadn’t learned enough already, you never would.

“Look, Arthur,” you turned away from him using all the strength you had, because dammit, you did enjoy looking at him. “I know you don’t think this is ideal, but it’s not your call to make. Take it up with Dutch.”

You strapped a rifle to your horse and grabbed its reins from the hitching post, leading the dark, glossy stallion over by where the boys were finishing up. 

“Marston,” you called, all traces of light hearted fun were gone from your tone, completely dulled and sullen from the loss of excitement. “I’m with you.”

-

Arthur rode with Dutch nearly the whole time.

You were on the caboose end of the cavalcade, and watched them talk up ahead. There was no doubt in your mind it concerned you, because that’s why Arthur is so high strung, so angry about this job. 

Javier gave you the run-down on the first few minutes of the ride. It’s a quick job, and shouldn’t get drawn any attention from the neighboring towns. Essentially, there’s a procession of carriages coming from the north and heading south east, and most of the folk traveling are fairly wealthy. The kicker is, all the valuables from each person are said to be stowed on a ‘safe cart’ in the middle of the procession. You’re not sure how they figure that, but you know Dutch has incredible sources. Using the team assembled, you’ll all have to separate the safe cart from the rest of the caravan, leading it off the trail and far enough away that it can be easily raided with no repercussions. The only downside? The safe cart is heavily guarded by several armed men and is manned by experienced drivers. 

Once Javier started getting into the logistics and details of the job, you zoned out, focusing on the conversation happening with Arthur and Dutch up ahead. You had no clue what they were saying, but the body language and facial expressions said a lot. 

Arthur likely expressed his concerns to Dutch, and thereafter, was told he need not be concerned… But Arthur was a persistent animal, he didn’t just dip his head and turn away. 

You think that Arthur may have listed a few points for Dutch to consider, and that the man did so, with the fact in the forefront of his mind that you were still on the job. 

By the time everyone reached the lookout, the two of them circled around to face the rest. 

“There’s been a change of plan,” Dutch called out, looking over every face and the horse they accommodated, and they lasted longer on you than the others. “John, you’re taking the frontside of the caravan with Javier.”

And just like that, you’d been replaced. 

“Where am I goin’ then?” You tilted your head in confusion.

“You’re with me, Red,” Arthur let out, his tone not nearly as angry as earlier. Now you gotta know what happened during that talk with Dutch.

“Yes, you and Arthur will bring up the back, makin’ sure there’s no surprises.”

You weren’t sure what to feel. Was he trying to keep you where he could see you? Did he think of himself as your babysitter? Why would he put up all that fuss just to give in as long as you rode with him?

“Alright,” you sighed out, acknowledging that bringing up the rear of the operation was still better than not coming at all. 

The rest of the plan stayed the same, and soon, everyone split off with their respective partners for this heist. 

You rode off with Arthur in silence to the waiting point, not daring to say anything until you’d been sure nobody was around to hear it. You weren’t going to rip into him about this, but you had questions. He clearly was concerned over your wellbeing if he fought so hard to make sure you wouldn’t be riding in, guns blazing, on your first job. You were just going to cover the rear, a measure of security. 

When you stopped just short of the trail, you hitched your horses, taking cover behind some bushes and trees to lay low. You turned to Arthur with a huff. 

“What the hell was that?” 

He was taken aback, but not jumpy about your outburst.

“Don’t start with this again, kid. I’m tryin’ to help you,” he crossed his arms, leaning against the tree and watching the road. It was still too early for the caravan, but he didn’t want to meet your eyeline.

“You ain’t helpin’ me, you’re holdin’ me back,” you grumbled, stepping on a small gathering of dead leaves, becoming even more enraged - for no good reason - when they didn’t crunch beneath your boot. 

“You’ll thank me one day…” he trailed, lighting a cigarette from within his pocket. You would have decked him in the face if you thought it would help. 

At first you’d been grateful to him, for seeing you no differently than the others, and even showing you the ropes to become better equipped. Now you could see it was all a ruse. He underestimated you and kept telling Dutch you weren’t ready. He kept ‘training’ you to keep you busy. You weren’t falling for that shtick again. You didn’t care how pretty his eyes were, anymore. 

“Where do you get off, Morgan? The shit you’ve been putting me through these past weeks…” you scoffed, finding it amusing almost just how unbothered he seemed to be. Maybe he really was just as mean as the town’s folk say. “I’ve been able to match or best you at everything you’ve thrown at me. Maybe I should just take you out of my way.” 

He chuckled, standing upright and creeping towards you with slow steps. His eyes narrowed, and for once, you felt you knew what it was like to be prey. 

“You wanna give it a try?” he taunted, towering over you with a threatening stare. Just seeing how intimidating he could really be, you wanted to back off. Of course, you didn’t. “You really think you could take me?” 

His voice was all too quiet, all too calm. The words he spoke held such heaviness, but it didn’t show in his tone. He was teasing you, and if you gave in, he’d likely give you a humbling. You knew he’d been eyeing your hand, as if hovered closely to your gun belt… so you dropped it to your side to defuse him a little. 

“I think I could drop you where you stand.”

You were all talk, now, and he knew that… but it still boiled under his skin the way you challenged him. 

“You make quite a big to do of yourself… M’guessin’ that’s where most of your reputation came from,” he smirked, but he should know better than to taunt you about those men you shot dead.

“Before I got here I barely spoke a word to no one… I got my reputation from shootin’ folks so fast they didn’t have time to repent to God.” 

Your dead eye stare caught him. He didn’t back down, didn’t waver… he was so staunchly preserved in his way of life that he didn’t even let it show in his eyes just how much you got to him with that line.

“Your twenty-one notches ain’t shit to me.” He’s sure that by now he’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands. Sure, most he shot in the back, but the number in which he didn’t still far surpasses your miniscule little twenty-one. 

“Then let’s make it twenty-two, yeah?” You didn’t plan on shooting it, but you drew your pistol faster than he could think, trying to put it against his chest to scare him, but his reaction time was faster than you had initially thought. He grabbed the gun from your hand before it ever neared him, and threw it into the grass behind him before shoving you down.  

“Damnit, Red! You have no clue, do you?” He stood over you angrily, looking at your frozen figure like you were an animal he was hunting. “You got a gift that none of us have. Hell, I’ve been doin’ this for sixteen years and I still ain’t as fast as you. You could be the best of us, but you’re too damn stubborn, and too damn arrogant. You’re never gonna get anywhere if you’re dead.”

You stood to your feet, staring at him silently. You didn’t have anything to say to him, and honestly, you weren’t sure what would even be okay at this point. He was still angry, but his arms were no longer tense, and he wasn’t seething through harsh breaths anymore. You turned away from him and walked to your horse, sitting back down by the base of a tree and tipping your hat over your eyes. This was going to be a long day.

-

It was approaching sundown when the caravan actually arrived. You’d been napping when Dutch and Bill first gave the signal. Arthur had been watching for it the entire time, and scoffed when he turned his head to you, finding you still fast asleep as if you had nothing to worry about. 

He took a few steps over towards your resting place, kicking your boot and startling you out of your peaceful slumber. 

“What?” you asked, annoyed. Your hat was still over your eyes, so he couldn’t see how dazed you actually were. 

“Sorry, miss… didn’t mean to disturb you,” he teased, his mood having cooled off since the hours after the fight you had. “Just thought you should be conscious during your first job.”

You huffed and stood to your feet, fixing your hat and making sure you hadn’t left anything on the ground. 

Arthur went back to the lookout position and watched through his binoculars for any signs that it was about to go down… you still weren’t one hundred percent clear on the plan, so you thought you might try and annoy him a little by reiterating it.

“So… Dutch and Bill are gonna close in on the sides, leadin’ the safe carriage away from the rest, and that’s when Javier and John stop it from the front. I got that right?” 

“You got it right,” he droned on mindlessly, trying his best to pay more attention to the small flaming signal in the distance. It’s getting closer, but until they put the fire out, there’s no need to mount your horses. 

“Then it‘s a four man job, they don’t even need us.”

“I s’pose you never heard the term ‘backup’ then, have you?” He snickered, still not even giving a glance in your direction. He was firm as stone in his resolve, and you figured it would be no use trying to entertain yourself further. 

“Didn’t take you as the ‘backup’ type…” you grumbled under your breath, mumbling some other incoherencies that he didn’t get a chance to hear. He was almost sure he saw Bill creeping over to the torch, and became positive when the light went dark. 

“Get on your horse,” he became quieter, more focused. You instantly figured it out that he was the type to zone in on his jobs, and maybe you could learn from it. If you really wanted to be his equal, you needed to learn to meet or best him in everything he thrives at. 

“You get the signal?” 

He nodded, “they’re coming down the trail, we gotta be ready to chase em’ when they come through.”

You both pulled up onto your saddles, holding the horse’s from moving too much. If your position was given away, they might derail the caravan from the trail. You reckon this many rich folk traveling in a pack oughta know someone’s gonna be stupid enough to steal from them. It’s why they have a safe carriage in the first place. 

Within a moment, you can see the caravan coming over the hill. It’s dimly lit as the sun lowers completely behind the mountains, small lanterns clinging to every vehicle on the trail. You look up to the ridge that Arthur had been scoping out all this time, and you see Dutch and Bill riding downwards in a rapid attempt to split the caravan. That’s when you spot it… the stone cold metal wagon, weighing probably more than all the horses in camp combined, and armed to the brim with men on every corner. They carry heavy repeaters, their heads on a swivel. They haven’t seen Dutch or Bill yet, but as they round the corner, they all raise their weapons, just for the sound of horse hooves. 

“Cover ‘em,” Arthur told you, grabbing his rifle off his horse’s saddle. You did the same, not hesitant to start shooting at the men in the distance. You had relatively good cover, and couldn’t really be seen, but upon seeing so much fire come from your side of the trail, they began offroading towards Dutch and Bill. 

“Do we go?” you asked, switching to your pistol as you prepared to let your horse run. 

“Not yet,” he held his hand for you to watch, leaning sideways to see around another tree. He had to make sure the rest of the caravan wasn’t following the safe cart. When he saw that most of them stopped in place, he flicked his wrist, pointing in the direction you needed to go. “Now.”

You rode quickly and out onto the trail, passing the other carriages. You could vaguely hear women crying and men yelling. They ain’t gotta be afraid for their lives, so long as they stay put. 

It wasn’t hard to catch up to the gang, as they had taken the remaining guards off on the way to stopping the carriage. There was one rogue horseman that Arthur turned and shot before he could get too close to the area, but other than that, they were able to get the damn thing stationary enough to rob. 

“John, hold him off,” Dutch commanded, watching the younger man hold his gun to the carriage driver’s skull. The man cried out for mercy, not knowing that Dutch would spare his life regardless. He was unarmed, and wasn’t standing in their way, so obviously they would let him go. The Van Der Linde’s did have a code, after all. “Arthur, you open the back.”

And so he put his gun away and strolled up to the back of the wagon with his head held high, happy this robbery went according to plan… until of course, he opened the back, and was unprepared for a heavily armed man to aim right for his chest and pull the trigger. Two guns sounded at almost the same time, but yours sounded first, and it was just quick enough to skew the aim of the dead man, and he landed a non-fatal blow to Arthur’s shoulder. Both men collapsed, but one was still alive. Twenty-Two…

“Arthur! You alright, son?” Dutch yelled, running over to check on him. You’d already knelt down by where he had fallen back to, trying to sit up, but failing because of the pain. You immediately put pressure on his wound, trying to stop the bleeding on your own accord. You ripped the bandana from your neck and tried tying it up, but it was just barely long enough to go around his entire shoulder and underarm. 

“M’fine, s’just a minor shot, it went through.”

“Brooks, you oughta take him back to camp, see if any of the girls know how to patch him up,” he gave you direct orders, and you nodded, helping a moaning and groaning Arthur to his feet. 

“How’d we make out?” Arthur asked, looking into the open wagon, where Bill and Javier seemed to be rolling in money.

“Pretty damn good,” Dutch replied, giving a pat to your shoulder, since Arthur’s is in disarray. “And Brooks?” 

You looked over your shoulder at him, a hopeful look on your face, longing for the approval of someone besides yourself for once. “Yeah?”

“You did good.”

And there it was, the signed seal of approval from none other than Dutch Van Der Linde himself. 

You and Arthur remained pretty silent on the ride back to camp, mostly because he was in a shocking amount of pain and distress, but he did his best to hold it in.

You hitched and unsaddled his horse for him, doing the same with yours before following him into camp. He made way for one of the ladies, maybe Abigail if Jack was asleep already, or Karen if she wasn’t busy workin’ some of the town men. 

“Hey,” you recognized what he was doing, so you pulled him by the opposite arm in the direction of his tent. “I’ll do it.”

His living area was just wide open space in the trees, unlike yours, however, he got quite a bit more elbow room than you did. Perks of seniority

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m tryna apologize, you should let me.”

He laughed a little, a soft smile on his lips.

“What’re you apologizing for?” He asked, sitting down into his cot as you rummaged through the supplies he had on hand. Maybe not the best stuff around, but to stitch him up and wrap it after, it was fine. He’d survive. 

“Bein’ an ass, and taunting you when I know you could snap my neck in one hand.” You were flat in your tone, too focused on threading a needle to put any effort behind your words. 

“I’d never,” he said, laughing a little. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood for just having been shot. 

“You might,” you tied the thread off and bit the end to break it from the spool. Very hygienic, you know, but you didn’t find a pair of scissors. “You’ve only just barely reached the surface for just how obnoxious I can be.”

“Oh have I now?” 

“Mhm…”

You pulled at his shirt collar, opening just a few more buttons until it could pull back over his arm. He didn’t stop you, or even wince, just sat back and waited for the sting of a needle.

“This ain’t gonna tickle,” you braced him, but as soon as you started digging into his skin, making the actual stitches, he was surprised. You were pretty good at this… the reasoning behind it was probably just another one of your many secrets, he’s sure.

“S’not so bad, actually. You do this a lot?” 

“Not anymore… but I was a little rich girl, remember? Did embroidery and needlepoint since I was a little kid. I kind of miss it, actually.” 

“A gunslinger misses doin’ needlepoint?” he chuckled, feeling the hole in his skin being patched back together. Now you just gotta do the other side. 

“Well sure,” you furrowed your brows, leaning forward to bite the thread again and pull his body so you could see the exit wound. “I used to sit on the porch of my house and do it with my mama.”

He felt sorrowful all of a sudden. “Were you uh… close with your mother?”

You nodded, not speaking in fears you’d tear up, or your voice would crack. The way you both were sitting, he couldn’t see the direct look on your face, but he understood it was probably a sensitive subject. 

Oh to think, what a life you may have led if you were not born a girl. You missed your mother, and your old friends from school. You missed being able to do needlepoint, and other more feminine activities. 

“You know what I hate most about this life?” you uttered, your voice shallow, but you didn’t seem to care all that much anymore. He seemed to take a genuine interest in your problems, and your personal feelings. It was more than you could say about most men. “I haven’t worn a dress in four years… and I really love dresses.”

This wasn’t the meltdown you saw yourself having in front of Arthur, but he didn’t mind it. He placed his opposite hand on your shoulder as you bit off the last thread to seal his wounds. 

“How about this… someday, when you’ve told everyone that you’re- y’know…” he trailed, nodding his head around for emphasis. “I’ll buy you a dress in town. Whichever one you want.”

You couldn’t help but smile. In the span of one day, you’d gone through nearly every emotion you possibly could with this man, but in the end, your resolve had again been weakened, and you found yourself falling into his crystal eyes once more. 

“Thank you, Arthur… You’re a kind man, you know?” 

He shook his head. “Not so kind to most.”

You knew not to argue with him, as you were learning, he was very self deprecating, and there was no changing his mind. You took a leap, unsure of what might come of it, but you wanted to show your gratuity some other way. 

You quickly leaned forward, kissing his cheek ever so softly, almost as if it didn’t even happen. When you sat back, his eyes were a bit wider, and his brows were raised. He seemed to be frozen in surprise, and words failed him. You didn’t want him to possibly find words that could hurt, so you stood up to leave, calling after him whilst walking away. 

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

And that would have been good enough, but your heart skipped a beat when your sentiment was returned. 

“Night, Red.”

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll

[blues824]

Would it be possible to ask for the Housewardens from Twisted Wonderland having an s/o who's a lot like Kozume Kenma from Haikyuu? I didn't see Haikyuu in the fandoms you write for but I saw a request for Hinata Shoyo!Reader so I'm a little confused.

I don’t write for the Fandom Haikyuu!, but I will write about a reader/OC based on a character from that Fandom. This goes for any Fandom not on my Fandom list.

Gender neutral reader who is not Yuu, but is from Yuu’s world.

Riddle Rosehearts 

You were quiet and more reserved, much like the King of Hearts. He didn’t care for the video games that took your attention away from him, but there were worse hobbies (i.e. causing trouble with the ADeuce duo). As long as you showed respect for him and the rules, all is well.

When you told the first years that they didn’t need to show you any formalities as their upperclassman, your boyfriend nearly lost it. In his mind, the first years were of the lowest rank and needed to show their respect, especially if it was his significant other. As his ‘co-ruler’, you needed to be held in the highest regard.

He thought you were very shy at first, and it wasn’t until you played in the Spelldrove tournament where he saw your more competitive side. It threw him in for a loop, to say the least. You later admitted that you didn’t care at all for the sport even though you carried the team. You said that you wanted to win because of your friends, and the young Rosehearts boy thought it was admirable.

If you continued to play volleyball, Riddle would support you to the fullest degree. He would be at each and every practice and game, cheering the loudest. He would force the entire dorm to support you as well, and volleyball has now become a huge sport at NRC thanks to you.

Leona Kingscholar

He hated the fact that you played video games constantly, as it stole your attention all the time. He’s touch starved, don’t you know? Plus, you were his herbivore. He was losing to a freaking device. This jealousy came from a place of insecurity, because how could he compete with a game?

Leona doesn’t really care if you wish to skip formalities with the First Years. Hell, it might actually be a benefit to Savanaclaw, since they would be more comfortable with you. But, now that he thinks more about it, the more he dislikes the idea. Not only were you an unofficial member of royalty by being his significant other, but he doesn’t want you getting close to anyone besides himself.

The first time he saw your more competitive side was in-game. You were definitely fast and agile, and you definitely carried the entire freaking team. Savanaclaw still got 2nd, but y’all lost only by 1 point to Diasomnia. Leona wasn’t even mad about it, he was mad at how his team just relied on you to do everything.

If you decide to introduce volleyball to NRC, the young prince would support you both financially and practically. He might even take up the sport, as long as you were his teacher. He wouldn’t mind some ‘personal lessons’ either~. 

Azul Ashengrotto

He doesn’t care that you play video games until you are pretty far into your relationship with each other. He gets kind of clingy, especially after a rough day, and all he wants is your undivided attention and affection as a reward. How cruel you must be to deny him of a simple request such as this.

Azul doesn’t mind you ditching formalities with the First Years, as it’s very likely that you both have special nicknames for each other. It might be a bit weird for him to get used to at first, though. In addition to that, you are very close to the FY’s, adopting them as your ‘younger brothers’. 

In the Spelldrive tournament, you were on Octavinelle’s team, and you were a beast. Your beloved cecaelia was watching from the bleachers, and he noticed that  you were quick on your feet and good at making quick strategies on the field. One of the other players got a bloody nose because you shoved them face-first into the grass. Needless to say, you were the MVP.

When you voiced your desire to bring volleyball to NRC, he was worried about you getting hurt. However, he’s not going to stop you from playing. He will blackmail Crowley so that he establishes a volleyball club next year, and you start making plans for the next year. Azul helps you, and he becomes a sponsor for your beloved sport.

Kalim Al-Asim

He doesn’t know much about video games, but he’s definitely willing to learn about them! In addition to that, he’s the kind of guy who would get you the newest video game and keep track of when certain updates or sequels come out just so you don’t have to. He puts it all in his calendar that’s shared with you.

Kalim also doesn’t use any formalities with the First Years, so it would be hypocritical of him to judge you for doing the same thing. Any students going into Scarabia are put at ease because of you, and grow excited and eager because of your boyfriend.

You most definitely carried the dorm’s Spelldrive team, and it upset your lover because he was worried that either you or Jamil would get hurt. You did great, and he made sure to tell you that, but he knew that his dorm members would have to train harder so that they didn’t rely on you or his Vice Housewarden.

I think this man remembers small things about you, like how you mentioned that you liked to play volleyball. He had never heard of that sport, so he will ask you a bunch of questions about it. He even wants to learn, and that’s the start of your little club.

Vil Schoenheit

This man simply does not have the time for such frivolous things like video games. He has done some voice acting for some, though, to get some more experience with being a VA. Your obsession with video games is something he doesn’t understand, but he does feel a swell of pride in his chest whenever he hears a character that he voiced.

You not forcing formalities upon the First Years is a very foreign concept to him. He definitely makes them use the proper honorifics when addressing himself, as it is a sign of respect and superiority. However, if you don’t want that, he won’t make them use them for you. 

He had never gotten to experience your competitive side until the Spelldrive tournament. Vil was glad that you were playing for Pomefiore, considering you destroyed almost everyone. You placed the dorm in 3rd place behind Diasomnia and Savanaclaw. You later explained that you had no interest in the sport, and only tried because you loved him. You truly were a flatterer.

If you wanted to bring volleyball into Twisted Wonderland, your best bet is to get Vil into it as well. He has a shit-ton of followers on Magicam, and he will have you make instructional videos with him so that the sport gets tons of popularity. He enjoys it a lot, too.

Idia Shroud

A literal match made in Olympus. You both bond over gaming, and probably met each other online through a lobby. You both simp over the same characters, you main the same characters, you help each other out, and Idia just loves you so much because you understand him.

No one ever really sees him, but when they do they use the proper formalities that come with him being the Ignihyde Housewarden as well as an upperclassman. He might just wear a sign that says that they don’t have to, since the honorifics freak him out. You often have to be there to calm him down and explain to the younger students that you both can be called just by your first names.

The first time he got to see your really fierce side was when you were playing for Ignihyde in the Spelldrive tournament. You carried the team, but your strategy was pristine and your boyfriend definitely noticed. Mans was jotting down notes quicker than Usain Bolt can run.

If you tell him that you wanted to start playing volleyball again, he would build a court simulation that could allow you to get practice in. Then, it could be used to teach other students how to play. Idia tried it once, and found that he absolutely did not like it. The only good thing was how you played with his ponytail as you tried to comfort him.

Malleus Draconia

He does not understand video games at all, nor does he understand your obsession over them. He often finds it frustrating that he has to constantly compete against a device he knows nothing about for your attention. Finally, a worthy adversary.

Malleus wishes to have a close connection with the younger students, but his retainers refuse and say that it could disrupt his image as the Crowned Prince and Rightful Heir to the Throne of Briar Valley. He is often jealous when you tell the First Years that they can throw away the honorifics when talking to and about you. 

When he found out that you made it onto the Diasomnia Spelldrive team, he was angry. You could get hurt was all that was going through his mind. However, he was surprised at how fast you were and how quickly you were able to make decisions on the spot. You both ruled over the field, to say the least. Diasomnia won by a large margin.

The second that you tell him that you want to teach people to play volleyball, he is all in for it. Training for his dorm starts the next day, and he will use his power to make sure that Crowley supports your dream. He is a very quick learner, but he will make sure that he gets something wrong in his stance so that you could touch him in order to fix it.

[space-noods]

Training

JJK x Neko! Y/N

Growing up with lots of siblings meant you had plenty of people to train with. Growing up the strongest of said siblings meant most of these trainings were pretty null. Besides keeping your skills active, training had become rather unchallenging. The strongest in your clan were often working as sorcerers or dead. At some point, training felt akin to jogging. Steady and simple exercise.

You blamed all those weaklings at home as to why you were so wholly unprepared to train with Geto and Gojo. It wasn’t that you were weak. No, you were well on your way to become a Grade 1 sorcerer before you even graduated. But when your competition is Geto and Gojo, you might as well have been an infant. They were too strong and only getting stronger.

“Cmon kitten! That’s all you’ve got?” If you had any more strength, you would have sneered at him.

“Don’t bully her too much, Satoru. She’s definitely trying her best.” You never could decide who was worse. The brash and blatant Satoru. Or the underhanded and snide Suguru.

You looked pitiful. Your cursed technique was the ability to summon individual aspects of a cat. You could transform one arm to become a large mangle cat arm with sharp claws. And in more extreme cases, you could transform into a large cat-like beast. Right now, after blowing through most of your energy you were an amalgamation of human and beast. Your ears bigger and your fangs protruding. Your tail had also lengthened and both of your hands were in the beast form. And if you weren’t panting and almost keeling over, you would look a lot more threatening.

“Why…. Why do I have to fight both of you at the same time?

“You want to get better don’t you? If you don’t fight the best, you’ll never be the best,” Gojo claimed, as if explaining to a child.

“Unless of course, you don’t mind being weak. As sorcerers, it is our duty to protect the feeble. I would definitely feel more motivated knowing I was protecting you,” Geto smiled.

“Fuck you guys.”

And as usual, the day ended with you in Shoko’s dorm as Geto and Gojo continued to bully you.

When the next training day rolled around, you knew better. All those bruises and cuts taught you something. You were motivated… to skip class. With the minimal staff, and students leaving campus all the time, all you did was just walk out.

Although you had acclimated to society well enough, you were still fascinated looking at buildings. So your favorite hobby was to buy a milk from the vending machine, find the hill facing Tokyo and watching the hustle and bustle. On warmer days, it was also and amazing nap spot. Speaking of naps, as the warm breeze passed over you, the sun heating you, you felt your eyes struggle to open. And soon enough, you were napping at the foot of the tree.

Training days were both Satoru and Suguru’s favorite days. They loved seeing you change into shorts. They loved getting to caress and pet you, even if it was between hits. And, they actually did like seeing your progress. You were undeniably getting better. If you kept going at this pace, you would definitely be able to hold your own against them. And maybe they wouldn’t worry too much each time you were sent on a mission alone

They also loved seeing you panting and sweating. Especially when you would look up at them with those eyes, begging for them to go easier on you.

Therefore, they were quick to change clothes into their gym wear. Suguru contacted Yaga to let him know he would be using cursed beings and Satoru sat in the ground and pulled at the grass. You didn’t show up.

Ok, maybe something happened. You were probably still sore from last time, and needed to take your time changing. That’s probably it. Another five minutes passed and still no you.

They walked over to the changing rooms. They couldn’t ask Shoko for any help as she didn’t train with them. Pressing their ears to the door to hear nothing. Not even rustle of clothes. Nothing.

It took them a second before they pieced everything together. You were running from them, and that really pissed Satoru off.

“Calm down, Satoru. She probably feels embarrassed about her strength. I promise you, she’s definitely somewhere regretting her choices.”

Suguru was wrong.

Using his six eyes, Gojo was able to track your cursed residue. Because of your half curse nature and amateur skills, it was very easy to find you. And instead of a young woman lamenting her decision to forego practice, they found you.

Well, maybe you?

Instead of an actual human, there lied a skrunkly tiny kitten. The cats little belly plump with milk, as implied by the empty milk. The teens took a moment to just stare. The cats ear twitched as they got closer, but not enough to wake the cat.

Suguru watched as Satoru stomped over to the cat and picked it up by its scruff. He held it to eye-level, inspecting every hair on it. Poking its belly, he realized that yes, the cat was you. You ditched practice to lounge around as a lazy cat.

“It’s her?”

“Yup.”

“What do we do now? Doesn’t look like she’s waking up anytime soon.”

“If I had a choice, I would throw her off this hill and sick some curses on her. That would probably wake her up!” Satoru sneered. “Yaga and her would be up my ass about it, though if she makes it back… Well she is a cute kitten! Maybe I can keep her like this and adopt her!”

“She really is cute.” Walking up to Satoru, he takes you from him, holding you in his arms. Suguru has always been fond of cats. But he felt more endeared knowing that it was you. It was clear to everyone that the pair had a soft spot for you. As the first sorcerer in his family, he also felt alien in this world. It felt like he was running a race he didn’t even sign up for. And while he was also blessed with an exceptional technique that allowed him to catch up, he still had moments where he felt like an outsider. The most obvious came from his own friend. As much as he loved Gojo, it always felt like he was just a hair behind him. A small schism between them. One that promised to grow with them.

So when he first met you, he was jealous, of course, of the familial history you have with sorcery. But it was clear that you were like him. You didn’t sign up to be a sorcerer. If anything, you were worse than him. You were bred, like an animal, for the sorcerer world. You also didn’t sign up for the race. It was through this connection, that he was drawn to you. But it was your stubborn and laughable nature that kept him coming back. Your were both a feisty and ambitious girl, while a coward. Unlike both Geto and Gojo, you were aware of your mortality. You didn’t want to be the best, you just wanted to live. And if that meant ditching training sessions and embarrassing yourself, you would. To some extent, he could admire that too.

“Do you think we’re too rough on her? I mean, there’s no reason for both of us to fight her. We could take turns.” By now Geto had sat down at the base of the tree. He placed you on his lap, petting your head. Gojo leaned on the tree, looking down at the pair. “She needs to be strong.”

“Not everyone can be the Six Eyes wielder Satoru.”

“You’ve had less time training and you’re way stronger than her. She has potential. She can be a special grade if she works hard. Maybe if she spent less time catching mice and actually trained, she already would be.”

It was always about levels and strength for Gojo. Geto understood why. Satoru’s whole life is based on those pillars. He relied on being strong and representing his clan. He didn’t care for moral obligation or trying your best. He was the best. And to be fair, Geto hadn’t exactly challenged those views of his. He looked down, as you had begun to purr. Maybe you would?

Gojo must have sensed the connection between Geto and you as he nabbed you from Getos lap and placed you in his own. Petting you, Gojo couldn’t help but pinch you a little. It confused him why he was so drawn to you. Why did he want you to look at him, talk to him, see him. He was stronger. He was the best, undoubtedly. So why was he groveling for your attention? Why would he force you to train against him. Why would he harass you in and out of class. At first it started as entertainment. There really is nothing more fun than watching your tail stiffen or your ears go into airplane mode. But he needed you to be stronger. He needed there to be a reason for him to want you as much as he does. You and he were very similar. You both came from clans hailing you to be the strongest. You both were in restrained by rules of society. To your family, you weren’t a person. You both represented the worst in jujutsu society.

But unlike him, you weren’t afraid to rebel against it. Maybe not in the grand way of flipping the elders off and speeding away in a motorcycle like he would like to, but in your apathy towards their expectations. You prioritize yourself and your experience first. And while you are bound to a life of sorcery, you take joy in catching cicadas and talking selfies (which you recently learned of and haven’t stopped doing)

Satoru and Suguru spent the rest of the day on that hill. They would pass you off to the other after an allotted time. It was a little shocking you were still asleep for so long, but they didn’t mind. If anything, they were overjoyed at the fact that they could hold you like this for longer. By the time school ended, they walked back to the school, holding you all the way there.

Epilogue

When you finally woke up with a giant yawn, you were in Satoru’s arms as they were being scolded by Yaga. Jumping off of him, you did your best to pretend you were a stray cat. As you were walking away, you were yanked up by the scruff of your neck by Yaga. He had immediately recognized you.

Satoru and Suguru were forced to clean classrooms for a week. You were forced to catch mice for a week.

And if that wasn’t punishment enough, you had Geto and Gojo begging you to transform into the tiny cat version all the time.

_______________________________________________

Notes:

I actually don’t have a cat, so a lot of what I write is just observed from cat owners. I recently learned that you actually SHOULD NOT grab cats by their scruff! I wouldn’t want anyone to read this and think that it’s ok to do. So, just letting yall know do not grab a cat like that in real life!

Let’s just pretend in the JJK universe that it doesn’t hurt at all 🤪

Thanks for reading!

Images used are not mine!

More JJK x Neko! Y/N

Neko Reader Blurb!

Neko Reader Origin!

Neko Reader Doctor Exam

[jkknight98]

Bite-Sized Bats 1

So after who knows how long it's been, I'm finally making a comeback to writing again and it's for a new fandom, the DC universe! I hope everyone enjoys this first part of a series I am doing with Batman and Superman at its center. Of course, do not share this to the main fandom tag, and if you send me hate messages, do get a better hobby.

Warnings: Soft vore, implied character death, injuries, strong language.

Life in Gotham was never easy; the local populace was constantly infighting between the rich and lower class; villains and heroes caused property damage almost daily; and even the city atmosphere had an air of despair hanging around it. It was rare that a new building would stay pristine before it quickly ‘broke in’ as the city accepted it, robbery being the most common form. The normal citizen would always need to walk with both eyes and ears open, or else they would be robbed, killed, or used in a hostage situation by one of the many villain groups. Life in Gotham was tough, but somehow people managed to do it.

The other aspect of Gotham life that didn't help keep things easy was the secondary caste system that labeled everyone as either Predator, Standard, or Prey. A predator was a metahuman with enhanced senses and instincts like that of their categorization; they were a predator wearing a human mask, with mannerisms that caused the other casts to be wary of their very presence. They also have a dangerous ability to produce a strong pheromone when they enter a hunting state, having a major impact on prey castes and only affecting standards if the predator is especially strong or ravenous. It wasn’t uncommon that before the modernization of society, predators would actively hunt the other two groups for both sustenance and sport; now it happens rarely due to the work of the Gotham police. One would be a fool to think that it still didn’t happen behind closed doors and paid off hands, however. A predator takes full control of the prey or weakened standard when they shrink them down, especially in the case they decide to swallow them. This is done as a means to gain sustenance in an especially cruel manner, or in some worse situations, a predator has full control over their digestive system to create a living prison.

A prey is a metahuman that is almost indistinguishable from the Standard but is heavily influenced by a predator's pheromones, forcing them to become frantic and compress in size to hide/escape from the threat. This may have been advantageous when there were hiding places in the outdoors, but it would have almost become a death sentence if the city wasn’t so cluttered. Prey have also grown to be as difficult or unappealing to consume as possible, their anatomy changing to look as similar to predators as possible or to have a more lanky appearance to hide the hidden muscular system in their body. These metahumans are built to move and escape from any potential predation, so they excel in more athletic and sport-related career fields to keep their skills fresh, but it was too easy for a predatory manager to decide to thin his team and write it off as,’ They decided to pursue a different career path’.

The standard is, as the name itself states, they’re a human that can’t produce a predator's pheromones or be as easily influenced by them as a prey is. They sit in the middle ground as they usually can’t compete with the hyper-competitiveness of the predator while also lacking the physical abilities to compete with prey, leaving them to balance between the two sides without being attacked by either, almost acting as the mediator between the two. This wasn’t always the case as there would forever be bad blood between the two, and even a standard human could find themselves being shrunk or faced with the savagery of a cornered prey. 

But there is a glimmer of hope when a Predator decides to act against their nature and becomes the silent hero of Gotham, becoming both a symbol of hope for all three casts and an annoyance for those who seek the old ways or pure chaos.

~

Bruce sighed as he adjusted the black tie at his neck, both loosening and tightening it as his mind continued to wander. This event was supposed to act as a memorial for the passing of his parents as well as a means to raise funds to end the predator-on-prey violence charity he started ages ago, but he can’t help but think back to that fateful night down crime alley...

Bruce couldn’t help but laugh as he ran about the alleyway with his arms spread wide and spinning about; he wanted to be just like the superhero in the movies. He looked back at his parents with a hopeful smile. "Do you think I could be a hero too, even if I’m a prey?”

He remembered the look his parents shared before his father leaned down and ruffled his hair with a soft smile: "Well, we may not be like the superheroes on screen, but we are heroes to our fellow prey. By being at the top of the social ladder as we are, we beat out those predators and stand as a shining example for our people.”

His father was smiling so brightly when he finished that statement, it made Bruce’s heart sore with happiness... But a subtle smell caught his nose and caused both him and his parents to freeze. Bruce couldn’t even open his mouth before he was pulled behind his father and into the protective grasp of his mother, but it didn’t stop the smell from growing stronger. It was an almost heavy smell, full of musk and a sour smell of breath, which sent his hair to stand on end... This was the smell of a predator.

“Damn Wayne Family... stupid prey not knowing their place... even with all your money... I’ll show you where you belong on the food chain.” Stepping out of the shadows was a disheveled man; his clothes and physical appearance likened him to a coyote, a lurking predator that excelled in the city's darkened alleyways. He bared his teeth in a predatory smile that oozed hatred while the air started to grow thick with a sickly sweet smell.

Bruce’s father tried to pull out a handheld air purifier (a handy device that attempted to ward off a predator's pheromones), but the man tackled him to the ground before he could. His mother couldn’t help but scream at the sight before her, unfortunately causing her to breathe in deeply, which she realized as she turned and shoved Bruce toward the entrance as her body started to convulse. "Brucie... Run baby... and don’t stop til you get home!”

Bruce froze as his eyes traveled over his mother’s shoulder to see the man standing up with his shrunken father in his hands, squeezing him tightly as he laughed loudly, ”How do you like that Wayne, being put in your rightful place… I’m going to do that to your bitchy wife and bratty son too~” He lifted his father upwards and opened his mouth wide, Bruce turned and started to run as fast as he could. He stumbled slightly as his own body started to shake from his own exposure to the pheromones, feeling tears roll down his face and he fell and scraped his knees, staining the pants he and his mother worked so hard to pick out to match his father's.

He turned at the sound of his mother’s scream and cried harder at the sight, his mother's pearl necklace had been ripped from her neck and the white orbs were sent flying across the alleyway all while she was rapidly shrinking like his father. The Predator was standing over her form cackling as he watched her shrink, saying something that Bruce forced himself to block out as he got back to his feet and ran out of the alleyway, trying to blink away tears as his mother's screams grew fainter. He stumbled again as his body tried to stop the shrinking, but his training was done in a safe setting with a predator his family trusted, but this was real and the effect much stronger.

“Oooh Wayne Bratt…..Where did you go??”

Bruce froze at the crooning voice of the predator, he needed to hide because he couldn’t run anymore at his now tiny size. He looked for the best hiding space he could and dove into an opening formed by a collapsed building, hoping to find safety in the rubble and trash. He burrowed his way deeper into the debris and dirt hoping to hide his terrified scent and hide anything that would stand out, especially his crisp white button-down that Alfred worked so hard to iron. He made his way to a wall and curled tightly against it, using the small opening made by a water-wilted box to keep an eye out for his hunter… just when he thought he could relax and think he could think of a plan to get home… the voice came again.

“Are you here Bratt, this is the closest place a prey could get to at your size, you think I won’t smell you out, all you rich trash smell the same..” He couldn’t see the man yet but he could feel the small tremor of the man’s steps…. Almost as if he was in the dinosaur movie his father sometimes watched that had the T-rex and its booming steps….he wondered if this is how that goat felt. A shadow fell over his box and Bruce just closed his eyes to accept what was coming… he couldn’t fight or run anymore…but at least he would be with his parents.

But something else happened.

“Damn Bats…Rats with wings!!” The shadow moved away as a flurry of squeaks filled the air and the man left the building,” Damn kid probably isn’t here…” The muttering grew fainter as the man moved on, leaving Bruce in total disbelief…

It wasn't until a few hours later that a worried Alfred went to leave the manor to search for the missing Waynes and he stumbled upon a very disheveled Bruce just outside the manor grounds. The boy somehow managed to make it back though he looked like he'd been drugged through hell, and when he got the sob-filled story from the boy, the older man couldn’t help but think he did. Alfred knelt and pulled the boy to his chest, ignoring the smell of filth, and had to stop a protective growl at the scent of a predator on his young master.

“Come on Master Bruce, let's get you a bath drawn and I’ll set you up in your parent's room for the night.”

He tried to pull his arms away, but when the boy's arms tightened around his neck, Alfred sighed and resigned himself to lift the young master into his arms. He slowly began to walk back towards the manor as he listened to the boy's muffled sobbing, he liked working for the Waynes, even with the fact he was also a predator. He would take his own time to grieve the loss later but for now, he needed to focus on the boy he also viewed as a surrogate son, the young master will need a lot of help for this trama but he would see to it that all of Thomas’s and Martha’s work would not be in vain. 

His eyes were drawn upwards as a group of bats darted around overhead as they chased the midnight insects, he was oddly drawn to them.

~

“You’re going to wear out the fabric of that tie, Master Bruce, are you trying to start a fire with it, That really would put on a show for those stuck-up predators out there.” Bruce jumped slightly when Alfred appeared behind him in the mirror, the older man smiling softly up at him as he moved around him, gentle hands reaching up to fix the tie to perfection.

“You are truly a skilled man Alfred; I would never have defeated that horrible thing.” Bruce couldn’t help but crack the joke as the older man huffed in disappointment, but enjoyed the comforting feeling of the man’s warm hands as they brushed away any wrinkled or speck of dust he must have missed when he pulled on the suit. “I’ll be fine Alfred, I’ll deal with those predators trying to intimidate me into making deals or threaten to eat me with the hors d’oeuvres we will be serving tonight... What do you think I would go best with?”

Alfred could only huff as he turned away to check his attire for any blemishes,” For the bullheaded attitude like to take up with me and the villains you face... You would pair best with a toasted crostini with whipped goat cheese and pesto while you act as the sliced tenderloin, but you will not be on the menu tonight, Master Bruce.” The elder gentleman then turned to leave the room, pausing just enough to slightly ruffle the younger man's hair before he fully left, his voice echoing in the halls as he directed other staff to their roles for the night.

Bruce huffed as he tried to smooth his hair, ”What kind of butler ruffles his master’s hair.”

[mangodestroyer]

Not that I want to talk about it too much or anything, but now that I'm actually leaving retail for real (because I finally secured something else and can afford to leave), I'm kind of thinking a lot about how shitty this job actually is. And how I sort of just got used to it after a while.

I mean, first, there's the obvious of retail being a hella toxic environment. You're constantly facing the public, and have zero ways of standing up for yourself and avoiding it. Companies also push for you to reach extreme goals and push for workers to be super competitive over the metrics. All this micromanaging, as well as the bs from the customers, can easily cause co-workers to become burnt out and bitter. Leading to toxic work relationships as well.

Secondly, it's so much physical labor. And my job in particular also requires a high level of social intelligence. I mean, you have to actually SELL things to customers, on top of balancing a thousand different tasks (and completing them within a certain time frame while also putting out other people's fires). I mean, seriously. It's difficult to draw the energy to have a whole-ass sales pitch, individualized to the customer you're speaking to when you've been rushing to complete three projects.

It's also the scheduling. You can never have the same schedule every week. And the shifts are always all over the place. One week, you might have six four-hour shifts, the next week, you have an eight-hour shift where you work till nine at night, and then have another eight-hour shift the next day requiring you to come in at five or six in the morning. Maybe you worked nothing but evening shifts for the past three months. Now you're suddenly being scheduled morning shifts after you've gotten used to going to bed at four a.m. because you hate waiting to go to your job during the day. Maybe you're scheduled two 35-40 hour weeks because it's a very busy sales period and there is A LOT OF WORK TO DO. Then you're scheduled for nothing but 8 to 16-hour weeks and there's nothing to do/you have no money. You're scheduled for every weekend and holiday. You can no longer feel excited about those while everyone else is having a blast. In fact, you forgot that going to the store is something that people sometimes do for fun. If you ask to limit your hours and have certain times/days off, you'll get heckled for it. Sometimes, you're asked to cover shifts and people get annoyed if you decline. You're asked to find someone to cover your shift if you can't make it in. People get mad at you for being sick or for just wanting to use vacation days.

The pay. The pay is shit. All this for the lowest pay they think they can get away with giving people.

It is... exhausting! Even a simple four-hour shift leaves me feeling like I can't decompress. I have to take things to help me relax after work and to help me tolerate it the next day. Even then, I can't truly get myself to focus on my hobbies or anything. It's also made going to school difficult. It's so hard to think after being worked like that. Or to have the energy to stay on top of things. Also, I've gained weight since working this job. I was... 125 lbs when I started. I got all the way up to 165 lbs in three years and struggled to get down to 157 lbs these past few months. I feel like my stomach can't even digest a lot of food these days. Like, if I eat too much dairy or fruit or something, it feels like it just sits in my stomach for a long ass time until I get cramps and feel bloated. I never used to be like this. I also feel like I have more inflammation in general. And God forbid you have issues happening in your personal life. It makes all of this so much worse! Back when I was in a toxic relationship, I straight up wondered if I was developing b*polar/sch*zophrenia, d*mentia, or c*ncer. The stress was affecting me both physically and mentally THAT MUCH.

I spent three weeks away from my job a few months ago. I actually started feeling like I had some energy. I started feeling human again. It was pretty telling. Before then, I thought I'd finally gotten used to working that job and that maybe it wasn't so bad. Then I came back and was like, "Holy, fuck! This place is shit!" I started putting in job apps like my life depended on it for ANYTHING that wasn't retail or food service. ANYTHING. Even if I was underqualified.

And that's that. I will never do a low-paid customer service job again. If things ever get rough in the job market and I don't have a choice but to return to shitty work... I will literally do the actual SHITTY work of scrubbing toilets before I return to retail. I'm DONE.

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9

Today's (7/9/2024) Episode: Baby Blues

Noemi had been worried about giving birth, but it was the post-birth recovery that really demolished her, physically and emotionally.

Besides her much abused nether regions, her milk came in with a vengeance, leaving her feeling swollen and uncomfortable from top to bottom! Every time she had to get up and go to the bathroom it was an achy ordeal, and it felt like she needed to go to the bathroom constantly.

When her never ending need to go was complicated by a burning itch, she gave in and asked Isra to come over and watch Skye so Luigi could take her to the clinic. The meds she received for her UTI would help, but the milk that built up during the long wait left her in pain for an entirely different reason, her breasts unbearably heavy and full.

Things only got worse when Luigi started his new job. He’d offered to delay a little longer or have his dad and stepmom come help, but she’d said no.

Noemi knew how excited he was to begin gaming professionally and they needed the money. As for his family… as much as she liked them, she didn’t feel like socializing, and she wanted to prove to herself that she could do this on her own. Skye was their son and their responsibility.

Amaya had given birth to her boy Greyson at right around the same time as Noemi and she seemed to be doing great. There was no reason, Noemi thought, that she couldn’t do the same if she just tried a little bit harder.

Luigi had done his fair share of the baby care prior to starting his new job even though his squeamishness made it unpleasant. Once he was working, however, he became laser focused on his professional responsibilities, as he was prone to do, leaving Noemi to take on the bulk of the parenting.

She didn’t bring it up, not wanting to distract Luigi and reasoning it was only fair since she wasn’t planning to return to work until Skye aged up. She’d been enough of a burden already – she was starting to feel better physically, she could handle it.

At Luigi’s new office, he learned that Beau was not the only coworker with whom he had a previous connection. The two team rookies were warmly welcomed by Isra’s husband Rhys, who had also achieved his dream of going pro. The three sims quickly found themselves forming a tight bond.

Rhys and Isra lived right down the beach, and when Beau talked about selling his dad’s old place and moving out of the suburbs Luigi convinced him to buy a nice waterfront lot nearby that he and Noemi had rejected during their own home search due its lack of space for a stable.

One of the requirements of the boys' new job was to keep their skills sharp in their off time. He and the others used the nearby gaming center’s frequent virtual gaming tournaments to both practice and hang out. Soon the dedicated Luigi began to win many of those competitions.

With his name beginning to circulate on the gaming circuit the mods and app Luigi had made back in college for Sims Forever got noticed. He’d always had a small but loyal following of folks who liked his work but now the big-name publications and streamers that covered the game were interested.

Luigi had become a bit of an online sensation, and the recognition of his hard work made him feel fantastic!

Stuck at home, Noemi sank further into despair each day. She had so little time to herself, and no energy left to meditate or work on her own hobbies.

Her health had improved, but her mood was worsening, and that just felt ridiculous to her. She was thrilled for her fiancée’s happiness and refused to worry him with her own silly concerns, hiding her growing pain. This would all blow over if she just kept pushing forward, she was sure of it.

Instead of getting better Noemi hit her breaking point late one night. Rising from bed to attend to Skye’s cries, her breasts, as always, painfully full, Noemi went to feed their son but was unable to bring herself to enter the nursery. Suddenly it was all too much. Rather than opening the door she slumped to the floor beside it, an overwhelming feeling of sadness overtaking her.

Skye’s frantic wails finally broke through his daddy’s heavy stupor. Confused Luigi rose, stopping dead when he found Noemi slumped outside the door.

She didn’t respond when he called her name, but Skye’s unceasing cries dragged him away to change their baby. When he came back out to ask if she could feed him, she still wouldn’t look up, holding her hands out in front of her and making vague gestures as if to push him away.

Now Luigi knew something was very wrong. He gave Skye a bottle Noemi had pumped to deal with her overflow and hurried back to his distraught lover.

When he couldn’t get Noemi to tell him what was going on, her only response blank stares and tears, Luigi began to panic. In desperation he called the one person he knew that might be able to help, and her father agreed to come right over, despite the late hour.

Gilbert arrived quickly, but Noemi wouldn’t talk to him either. He finally told Luigi to take her straight to the hospital. With his promise to keep his grandson safe here until she returned, Noemi finally let herself be led towards the teleporter that would transport them to Magnolia Promenade.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[olderthannetfic]

The “gift economy” complaint feels like it’s appropriated from discussions about other hobbies where people get competitive, because it’s true that the more you expect people to put a lot of effort into something they’re getting little economic reward for, your hobby is going to get wealthier because poor people have less free time and also can’t afford to have a “job” they do for free when they could be doing a second job that actually pays them. But I don’t see how that’s the case with fanfic. Yeah, sure, I wouldn’t be surprised if people who do exchanges and stuff like that are more affluent than the average AO3 user for those previously stated reasons, but most AO3 users never do anything like that, and as someone who is prone to doing this myself I do believe it is “on you” if you sign up for something with the time investment of an exchange and then it turns out to be too much for you. But I don’t feel like there is any pressure on AO3 to do that or to put a lot of work into fic in general, take it seriously, etc. or at least if there is, that’s a problem that can be fixed by curating your fandom spaces better. Also I think the “gift economy” issues I talked about in the beginning are worse with hobbies that can be more easily monetized, ironically, because there becomes an expectation with so many arts and crafts type stuff for instance that you need to eventually be opening up an Etsy store, which requires getting to a certain level of “good,” but of course the vast majority of people making stuff on Etsy don’t make nearly enough to live on and might not be even making a profit anyway so it becomes another expensive hobby that is out of reach to people who aren’t as well-off. Fanfic not being monetizable sidesteps that entirely, and ime it’s a space where it’s way more ok to just be average at it and do it for fun and not just as a stepping stone to becoming a Serious Writer. Anyway, it’s bizarre to argue that Marx’s theory of alienation says you can’t have things you enjoy that take effort but aren’t paid for when it’s saying almost the exact opposite. And granted unlike most people discoursing online I’ve actually read Marx, but even the Philosophy Tube video series on Marx could tell you that

--

Writing is also something with low startup costs. Time could be an issue if you're poor and working several jobs, but you could also be underemployed or disabled and stuck at home with a fair amount of time but no money to buy hobby supplies. Some people pour out reams of writing when they're stressed even with limited time, while other people need time and space and quiet to get anything done.

Privilege as a factor never goes away, but writing interacts very differently with privilege than, say, sculpting.

[krownest]

get to know me 🌻

tagged by @sunriseverse :)

do you make your bed?

yes...if i'm not in a rush....

what’s your favourite number?

16 because that was my assigned number in primary school which was based on the first letter of your surname

what is your job?

currently working as an environmental tech! erm daily i am acid washing glassware and other lab things. i will be on a boat doing sampling soon though so i am looking forward to it

If you could go back to school would you?

planning to do an msc this fall but i haven't actually set anything in motion yet.....

can you parallel park?

yes bc you have to if you drive in hong kong. drive through parking spots are a fantasy there

a job you had that would surprise people?

went up to arctic and lived on military base for 4 months doing environment stuff and it was very cool esp the polar night

do you think aliens are real?

statistically they probably are maybe? idk i'd have to see the science but right now i'd say no.

can you drive a manual car?

no.....that sounds scary.......

what’s your guilty pleasure?

same as spinecorset i do not generally do guilty pleasures but probably like. eating a big bowl of creamy pasta then watching a film or tv show while pleasantly sleepy in a food coma

tattoos?

no because parents would skin me and also because i love going to onsens too much. i would get a little peregrine falcon somewhere if i could. and also something silly and food-related like a sweet potato or a vitasoy carton

favourite colour?

depends on the situation as i love many colours!! blue or purple but i'm picky about shades (e.g. i have a strong dislike for intl klein blue...reminds me too much of blue screen of death)

favourite type of music?

my spotify likes are a huge mix but i'd say hozier/the crane wives/folk songs/songs w narratives in general/cantopop (70s to 2010s)/melancholy opening/closing themes of cdramas/dramatic fight background music

do you like puzzles?

am a hater because 1. i have no patience, 2. i am bad at it and it requires sitting still and 3. have too many hobbies i would rather be doing

any phobias?

spiders, worms, centipedes (<- pretty standard boring normie ones sorry) but it's to the point where if there's a photograph or realistic drawing in a book i can't open said book

favourite childhood sport?

badminton but not competitive and tbh i really only enjoy it more now as an adult. tbh snowboarding is my eternal favourite even though it's been a few years + snow presence is getting worse

do you talk to yourself?

yes in my head when i am Struggling (uni, during a difficult run)

what movie(s) do you adore?

infernal affairs (2003), princess mononoke (1997), belle and sebastian (2013), hunt for the wilderpeople (2016), kung fu hustle (2004), painted skin (2008)

coffee or tea?

both but not at the same time (don't understand appeal of yinyeung), i LOVE milk tea (hk, thai, malay esp 3-layer tea) and tbh i put a lot of sugar/condensed milk...i also do like coffee (caramel latte w whipped cream and syrup). anyway i love hot sweet drinks in general

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

vet bc i like animals but thankfully i moved past it (i genuinely think becoming a vet is more difficult than becoming a dr. also the mental toll is extreme)

tagging: @eusuchia, @zoronoas @daydreamey @bluebeetletedkord @planet4546b @pepsi-maxwell @yu-tap and anyone else who wants to play!

[candiphoenixesartblog]

After this Splatfest, I wanna put this out there:

A Splatfest, in the end, is JUST A GUSSIED UP OPINION POLL. Yeah, it sucks losing a tournament, but the fact y’all have acted like toddlers and psychopaths the last few days over fictional characters and a plussed up opinion poll is ridiculous.

Splatfests are solely for the intent of having a FUN bout of competition and fighting for your opinion, like debate club. Yeah, someone’s opinion is always gonna be turned down in favor of the majority’s support on a certain viewpoint, but the fact that you have people that agree with you should be cause enough to celebrate. The only time, and I reiterate, the only time, it’s a serious matter is the actual Final Fest, but even then, it’s still intended to be fun.

Winning isn’t the whole premise either (especially when everyone gets a prize in the end), it’s about working together and having fun. If you take competitions serious all the time, no one wins and it no longer becomes fun or worthwhile for yourself or others.

To the adult and teen players who have spent the last couple of weeks to several days being toddlerish and boarish over this, please get help from a psychiatric or medical professional. I mean it in the most sincere way. Because if losing an opinion poll bothers you that much or you’re getting so lost in a fictional world that you become consumed by it, that’s not a good thing and points to worse issues than poor sportsmanship. Also, taking a break from games to clean and fresh yourself and your roosting space up, getting some self care time in and getting “fresh air” will help improve things immensely too.

To the adult and teen players destroying their consoles over losing and getting mad that you no longer can play your games, YOU ACTIVELY MADE THE CHOICE TO DO SO AND SHOULD MORE ASHAMED OF THE FACT YOU LET YOUR ANGER AND UNABASHED ZEALOUSNESS GET THE BEST OF YOU. No one else is to blame for you making the choice you did and the consequences add up in the end for the actions you took. But with that free time, you can learn to find other means and hobbies to lean on to decompress rather than being consumed by a virtual landscape.

Finally, to those players that took things lightheartedly and were having fun, thanks for being a bright spot in this whole fiasco. Y’all didn’t deserve the vitriol of the over serious players and definitely deserve props for having fun. You are the ones who made it worthwhile and fun, and are the real champs.

(the fact I have to specify the player base is ridiculous as well).

[zodiactalks]

These 5 Zodiac Signs are the GREATEST SHOW-OFFS

Everyone likes attention. Whether it’s quiet admiration from afar or a bold, in-your-face, and praise-me-now approach.

Today, we are discussing the latter types. Bold, demanding of your attention, and not afraid to put themselves out there for all to see.

It can be entertaining to watch these displays of skill. Signs who are naturally bold are captivating to watch. It’s a head-turner for sure. Until they steal what was supposed to be your moment of glory.

Keep reading to find out the 5 zodiac signs that are the greatest show-offs. And discover how the desire to show-off can impact their relationships for better or worse.

#1. Aries

It’s no surprise to find an Aries showing off their skills. Especially if it has to do with sports. Aries are known for their physical energy and use it to excel beyond what is expected of them. Big or small, Aries will excitedly show-off their latest accomplishment or interest.

Aries can be pushy, demanding others pay attention and give them praise. Everyone in earshot will become their audience.

Aries could do well to take a breath and give others a chance without making everything a competition. Not all zodiac signs enjoy being challenged at every turn, and it may result in resentment from others.

#2. Leo

Leo is known for loving the spotlight and is prone to being a show-off. They can’t help it, they have so much of themselves to share! Creative, bold, and charming, Leo may not realize others may not enjoy being outshined.

Leo is right, of course. They have much to offer others. They can be a great source of support and encouragement. But have a tendency to take credit for the accomplishments of those they supported. They should be careful to not take the mic away from others, even if they built the foundation for their mentees' success.

Leo is ruled by the sun, so of course, they want to be seen! They are at the center of the universe (according to them), it only makes sense for them to shine.

#3. Aquarius

Always on the lookout for someone to listen to their newest theory, Aquarius could keep others captive for hours. Aquarius loves to show-off their knowledge and unique perspectives. Often, they will go on long-winded, one-sided conversations to prove their knowledge on any given topic.

They best be wary of not keeping an unwilling audience. Aquarius has a tendency to talk over others when they try to get a word in.

Some zodiac signs may be willing to engage Aquarius in their deep dive theories, while others may back out instantly. Knowing who they are speaking to is key. Not everyone is ready and willing to hear all the things Aquarius has to say.

If your Aquarius friend gets passionate about the topic of conversation, buckle up! The topics will be vast and the hours will fly by.

#4. Sagittarius

Jack-of-all-trades Sagittarius is always on the move. They are fast-moving, fast-talking, and fast at finding a new hobby. Sagittarius becomes absorbed in their current fascination and has to share it with others.

Displaying their newest skills can unintentionally intimidate their audience. Not every zodiac sign will appreciate Sagittarius's enthusiasm and instead see it as them being a show-off.

Sagittarius should be careful with whom they share their latest passion project. Many zodiac signs (especially fixed ones) will get annoyed with Sagittarius’ lack of follow-through. Leading to harsh comments that may destroy their current interest’s appeal. Though this is usually if the person is close to them, they are not dissuaded by people whose opinions they don’t value.

Then, they are onto the next big new thing.

#5. Virgo

Perfectionists to their core, Virgo takes pride in the finalized work they share with others. This could easily lead to other zodiac signs with less dedication to believe that they are a show-off.

Virgo is a zodiac sign that will hide all the mistakes they made with intensity. They don’t like to be seen as anything less than perfect. That’s why when they do deem a project worthy of being shared, they are loud and proud about it. Showing it to family, friends, co-workers, acquaintances, sometimes even strangers.

Virgo should try to be more reserved with whom they share their work with. Not everyone will see it as perfect, and like with Sagittarius above, can be completely wrecked by a negative comment. Unlike Sagittarius though, Virgo can get upset enough at a negative comment from literally anyone to throw out the whole project.

So, careful, Virgo. As hard as you worked on perfecting that project, not everyone will love it. Be selective with who you share your project with instead of showing it off to anyone.

[missameliasmithers]

This is the longest of long shots, but I figured, who else would help a random Internet Stranger with a penchant for the arts but Tumblr.

I need some help.

Like many people on this website, I'm a writer. I love writing. I've loved writing for years. For what seems like forever, I've been plucking away at my keyboard in my free time, writing fan fiction or short stories because it was fun. And it still is. It's my number one passion.

Two years ago, I started writing a book. It began, as all my other writing projects, as a hobby. However, as my health got worse (and I won't open that can of worms), I started to have more and more opportunities to work on it. Sitting around waiting for tests results gives you a lot of downtime. Last June, I put the finishing touches on it, and, guys—it's good.

I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I've worked so hard on this bad boy, and it's my pride and joy. I can so easily see it taking over booktok or being discussed at length on blogs here, and I so badly want to share it with the world. It's my dream to have it published—by a big name if possible—and this is where I've hit a wall.

To get a contract with a big publisher, you need an agent. I have written dozens of query letters—some of which have received positive feedback, only to be politely turned down because there's so much competition flooding the market right now. I knew things would be tough. I just didn't think they would be this tough.

I'm getting very discouraged. To the point where I fear I will never find representation. I know my book is good. I know people will love it. I just don't know if I'll be able to find someone who can help me down the terrifying path to publishing.

That's where you guys come in.

It would mean the absolute world to me if people could spread this around. My hope is that if this post becomes big enough, the right person will stumble across it.

I know it's improbable... maybe even impossible. The better half of me is scolding me for even typing this all out, saying that people aren't going to care. But I have to try.

Of course I wouldn't ask for this blindly. I've included the first chapter so you can judge for yourself if you think the story has potential.

I know everyone has their own preferences, so if it's not your thing, no big deal. But if you fall in love with it as much as I have, I would really really appreciate you spreading this post. A share could change my world.

Anyway, I've taken up enough of your time. If you have any more, please consider reading Chapter One below. Feedback is always encouraged as well.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day!

Chapter One

It’s days like this that make me wish I were an orphan.

Circe smacks me on the calves and I nearly tumble off the tightrope. It’s not a long way down, but a fall would hurt my pride if nothing else.

“Again!” she calls.

I suck in a hiss between my teeth as I regain my composure. It’s a simple matter to find my balance on the rope underfoot. I’ve done this countless times. Sometimes even blindfolded. This type of exercise should be as simple as breathing. But this time the others have been permitted to observe, and the feeling of their eyes on me is impeding my focus. I train alone. Or at least I have for the last few years.

My gaze flickers to Mirette and Elena as they whisper to each other while I once again make my way across the fibre rope strung across the glade. Their eyes are trained on me from below, their judgement weighing on my shoulders. My balance shifts again.

Smack!

“Again!”

This time, I cannot stop the scowl from crawling up my face. I right myself and then gesture to my audience with a flick of the wrist. “It’s hard to concentrate with these fools giggling to themselves like children!”

Circe glowers as she always does when I resist her commands. “You have far more distractions to deal with on a job than a few people gossiping.”

She always acts as if I’ve never been on a job before. I have. Twelve to be exact. Each one had its own distractions—hounds barking, families arguing, guards patrolling—but those were faceless, nameless creatures. These vultures beneath me are my peers. Not that any of us really feel like we’re on the same level, but we’ve seen each other grow over the years. That’s as close to kinship as you get in this village.

“I said again, Sarana!” Circe barks.

My eye twitches, but I push my frustration down. The sooner I cross this meadow, the sooner I can leave the pit of vipers beneath me.

I start again across the rope. When it was first tied up, the rough hemp provided traction for the soles of our boots, but it’s smoothed out over the years, which makes it more difficult to cross. An accumulation of friction, shoe polish, and probably some blood and skin from when the coarse fibre used to scrape our hands raw, has created an almost slick surface. I’ve gotten quite good at making it across despite this, but it does require a moderate amount of concentration.

Shrill laughter cuts my focus.

“Hahaha! Oh my gods, stop! That’s so mean!”

It’s Elena, or maybe Mirette. It doesn’t really matter who. My eyes dart down involuntarily, and then I’m teetering.

Another smack from Circe’s cane has my legs faltering off the rope. I shoot my hands out to grab the hemp to keep me from a humiliating fall. Dangling by my fingertips is less than ideal of course, but it’s far better than landing on my butt.

Circe, of course, isn’t impressed. “Sarana.”

I huff in irritation and haul myself back up and into a starting position. Circe will not relent until I’ve done this properly. Always the perfectionist.

The scavengers, clearly delighted by my near miss, have begun whispering and snickering in excess. Tristan isn’t here to make matters worse, but it’s grating all the same. 

Anger is simmering beneath my skin to where all I want to do is slide down the tree behind me and tackle every single tittering fool into the dirt, but I know it’s foolishness. My temper has gotten me into trouble more than a handful of times. Sometimes I still feel the ghost of Circe’s cane on my back.

Deep breaths, Archer taught me. Inhale, pause, exhale. Center myself. Don’t think about the stares. Don’t think about the whispers. Think about things I can control. Think about what I want in the current moment. About what would bring me joy. Focus on that.

I imagine the disappointment that will darken everyone’s faces when I fly across this rope, the picture filling me with a warm satisfaction. That’s what I want. To see the bitter jealousy of those who scorn me. To know that their derisive words will dry in their throats with the envy and desire to be me. I want to witness the distress they will feel as they remember the crushing reality that I am better.

It’s not a pure thought. But there’s no room for purity in Greenwood, no matter how pleasant the name may sound.

A numbness takes over me. It’s not a gentle calm, more like the silence that follows the snap of an arrow being loosed from a taut bowstring or the ragged exhale that comes from steel piercing flesh. I hear nothing. I see nothing. The other trainees are gone. Circe has vanished. It’s just me. Me and the mission that lies ahead.

I can almost sense the click of the steely determination that sets in. It settles in the shadowy part of me that comes to life on a job. The part that Circe planted and nurtured. The part I sometimes revel in. The part I sometimes resent.

In the span of two breaths, I deftly saunter across the rope to the other side. It’s over before anyone even really registers I started. They blink, and I go from one end of the glade to the other. 

Without waiting for approval, I drop down. If Circe wants to yell, it won’t be at my prowess. I know there’s nothing to critique.

Turning on my heel, I offer the obligatory bow to Circe and take a moment to relish the myriad of bitter expressions from my cohorts before ambling out of the clearing, back to the main village. From the corner of my eyes, I see Circe’s glare, not at all lessened by my flawless—albeit slow—execution of the exercise, and know that I’m in for a lecture tonight over dinner.

I decide to go back to my room and check my stores until the impending harangue. I’ll suffer through it as I’ve suffered through them all. Better to get it over with. It’s not like I can avoid her forever. She is my mother, after all.

Sure enough, Circe bursts through the door as I’m cataloguing my stash of oleander. It’s been running low, and I’ll need to either place an order with Glen, or barter for a day off to collect it myself. I’m trying to decide how much a purchase would run me when Circe’s shadow falls over me. She's livid.

“You dare leave training without being dismissed,” she seethes.

I shoot her a scowl of my own. “You’re the one who put me up on display in front of the firing range.”

She rolls her eyes. “So dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic?” I hiss. “You haven’t made me train with the others for years, and yet you put me up on a pedestal to see if they could knock me down.”

She narrows her eyes. “They almost did.”

“And for what?” I ask. “To humiliate me? Humble me?”

“To make you remember what I taught you.”

I fold my arms. “You’ll have to be more specific. Which one of your many lessons am I meant to remember, exactly? The ‘trust no one’ speech? The ‘you have no friends’ lecture?”

“Try ‘don’t get comfortable.’ You’ve fallen into a routine, Sarana. Routines lead to complacency. Complacency leads to laziness. Laziness gets you caught. And you know what happens then.”

“I’ve never been caught. I never will.”

Circe scoffs. “Such arrogance. Have you learned nothing?”

Indignant, I shoot to my feet. “I’ve learned everything! I mastered all your precious skills at eighteen. I’ve succeeded in a dozen missions, yet you still make me run drills! I’m the fastest runner, the best climber, the sharpest shot. I don’t need to have the trainees breathing down my neck, waiting for me to mess up so they can kick me while I’m down.”

Circe’s malicious frown turns to one of displeasure. “So, you’ll let your insecurities rule you, then?”

“Any insecurities I have, have stemmed from you,” I sneer. “You expect my every action, every word, every thought to be perfect.”

“Imperfection begets death,” she says. Then, gentler, “You know this.”

The memory of a letter between my fingers, crumpled and damp from tears, resurfaces unbidden. My gaze inadvertently peels off Circe to land on the chest at the foot of my cot where the weathered parchment lies folded neatly amongst my possessions. I sometimes wonder why I keep it. The ink only proves to invoke pain.

“Yes,” I say. “I know this.”

Circe takes my hand and guides me to sit with her next to the warm hearth. 

My mother is like a coin, her two sides diametrically opposed. One, the cold, strict, impersonal taskmaster, and the other the warm, tender, loving mother. Nowadays I see more of the former than the latter, but growing up, my mother was a source of comfort and adoration. We used to cook meals together, go on walks into the woods to pick herbs, have meaningful conversations while sharpening steel. She used to wear her mantle every day. Now she only shakes the dust off it when she sees I need it.

It makes these moments all the more precious. I yearn for them.

“Sarana, you know I care about you,” she says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Any harshness I show derives from the need to see you safe. People like us cannot afford to make mistakes.”

“I know,” I say softly. I know this not only because of the letter, but because of the faces that have never returned to the village. Nial the baker’s son, who was one of the first to play with me when I was a child. Cynthia the herbalist who suffered through my nagging questions as I learned the difference between royal fern and bracken fern. Rion the blacksmith’s apprentice, who gifted me his first set of knives, fresh from the forge. Miles. Fenway. Stella. Sven.

Archer.

Just as I have seen them disappear, so has my mother. The sting may even bite deeper for her. She chose them. She trained them. She sent them out. Only to never see them again. I wonder if she thinks about them as much as I do, but I see the shadows in her face of demons passed and know she’s haunted. I expect it’s a silent guilt she refuses to share.

I squeeze her hand back. “You won’t lose me.”

She gives me a rueful smile. “I better not. You’re all I have, moonbeam.”

The moment of sentiment between us helps give me the courage to request for the morning off to gather the herbs I needed to replenish my supply. I choose to do so over dinner. A frown settles over Circe’s face, but she wipes it away and brushes my cheek. “It is good to be prepared,” she relents, and as the sun rises, I grab my satchel and cloak off the peg by the door and hurry to the woods before my mother can change her mind.

When I was little, I never left Greenwood. I spent the mornings with my mother, played with the other children in the afternoon, and trained in the evening. As I got older, training took up more and more time, leaving less and less for play and socialising. Circe paid me special attention, gave me extra hours, and soon I was outpacing all the others. Well, almost all the others. Archer was always better than me.

Resentment among the other trainees grew with my skill until I slowly became a pariah. I was no longer welcome in their games or conversations. Their eyes regarded me with more bitterness and contempt. Their voices stuttered to a stop when I drew near. Their jabs during training became brutal and cruel.

I was too young to understand the darkness of jealousy then. I thought I had done something wrong. But no matter how hard I tried to force myself back into the fold, to be nice and kind and win back their friendship, I was pushed out with more ferocity.

I found solace in the woods. There were no malicious whispers or hateful glares, just the warm breeze, rustling leaves, and sheltering trees. The forest offered not only a safe haven, but various pastimes. During my time here, I studied the plant life, learned about the local fauna, and honed the skills I actually enjoyed. The trees were perfect for climbing, the bark and small game good targets for my knives, and I promptly learned—through some unfortunate trial and error—which forageables were edible.

At first, my mother was pleased with the improvement the forest visits were making, but eventually, my abilities plateaued. There were other skills I had to master, and she became less inclined to allow me the free time to venture into the woods.

On days like today where she shows more love than stringency, I’m able to escape for an hour or so. A far cry from when I was young, but things change as you grow. It’s a fact of life that I had to come to terms with quickly.

I know these woods like the beat of my heart, and I know exactly where the oleander blooms. I unsheathe a knife from the specialised scabbard at my side and twirl it around my fingers until it rests in the loose hold I use for throwing. The biggest danger in the forest are deer, but you can never be too careful.

It’s quick work to find the delicate pink blossoms. I use my knife to snip off several handfuls from the shrub and place them into my bag. I make sure to get enough for my various applications—some to suffuse in oil, some to dry, some to grind. Cynthia would have been proud.

Since they’re handy, I snag a few other plants while I’m out. It never hurts to have more snakeroot or jequirity beans, and it’s always good to have calendula and chamomile.

Along the way, I spy a branch under some leaves. I fish it out and examine the rough edge where it separated from the trunk. It’s splintered and doesn’t look too dry, meaning it must have broken off fairly recently. Likely by a stag. Maybe two fighting. It’s a bit too big to do anything with, so I half-snap, half-slice the excess off. I’m left with a good hunk of basswood. My favourite.

I set my pack down at my usual tree—a beautiful maple with sprawling roots that offer a perfect earthy seat to nestle into, and I do exactly that. I stick the knife from my hand into the dirt and riffle through my satchel for another. The ones I throw are not made to chisel wood.

The knife I pull out first is a special one. It’s a beautiful dagger that I keep polished to perfection. Smokey curls are etched into the quillons and a black leather grip leads to an obsidian pommel that flashes with dark promise. It’s also not made for whittling, and Archer would have murdered me if I ever tried—would probably come back to haunt me if I did now—but I just like to look at it. My most treasured possession. It never leaves my side.

I let my fingers graze the smooth lines of it before replacing it in the bag and pulling out what I’d originally been searching for: a sturdy sloyd knife. It’s nothing fancy, but it whittles like a dream. I picked it up for two copper pieces after a job seven years ago, and it’s served me well since. It doesn’t get used as much as I would like. Free time is practically non-existent these days.

I spend about an hour in the forest, carving the hunk of wood sliver by sliver. It’s taking a basic shape: the silhouette of a large cat. I haven’t decided which one. The only big cat I’ve seen is a mountain lion, but I’ve already made six.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, I tuck the figurine into my satchel and adjust the strap on my shoulder. If I don’t get back soon, the tentative peace with my mother will probably shatter.

Circe slips back into the taskmaster role with practiced ease as she has me running drills over the next few weeks. 

It's no surprise to me that she so quickly transitions after our tender exchange earlier. What does catch me slightly off guard is her lessened severity. She's usually all sharp commands, harsh critiques, and hissed criticism, but, while the strict orders and expectations are still there, she has also lightened. Her comments aren't as biting and she has allowed me to train alone once more, so something about our conversation must have struck her.

She watches me carefully as I run through the various combat forms one afternoon in the gloomy overcast of one of the training areas. Her eyes are careful, sharp, and dart around to land appraisingly on different parts of my body, checking for proper stance and posture. I can feel the moment she sees something she doesn’t like, but not in the harsh physical way I sometimes have to endure.

“Arms up,” she says. “You’ve allowed them to fall slack.”

I raise my arms higher as indicated and receive a satisfied nod. 

“Better,” she says.

She continues the lessons in this way—firm corrections and unaffected praise. Legs wider. Elbows in. Wrist down. Head up. Good. Better. Well done. 

A few days later, I finally recognize the shift in her tone and the adjustment of her behaviour to be guilt. It’s a rather gratifying realization that my words, however few in the grand scheme of things, had actually taken effect. I come to the understanding that just like I sometimes forget to be a daughter, Circe often forgets to be a mother. 

It’s a sad fact. But such is the reality of our situation. 

A whisper of a thought wonders idly why my mother has chosen now to allow guilt to reshape her actions, but as she hands me a glaive for the next exercise, it slips away.

“I have a job for you,” Circe tells me over breakfast one morning.

I perk up over my bowl. It’s been four months since my last job. “What is it?”

“Simple reconnaissance,” she says. “Hanival has a new governor: Odom Klaus. We need to evaluate his political standings and values.”

Recon is hardly my favourite kind of mission, but things have been so boring lately, I’ll take anything I can get. I feel a thrumming energy pulse in my blood as excitement and anticipation build. “I’ll get it done.”

My mother smiles, a rare expression these days. “I know you will. You leave this afternoon.”

To my chagrin, the job is cut and dry and I’m in and out in two days. 

Odom Klaus is an upstanding citizen: no skeletons in his cellar, no radical views that would dismantle society, no inappropriate actions towards his staff or townspeople. He is likely to be a perfectly respectable governor who will work to improve Hanival in the years to come. 

How boring.

The streets of Greenwood are bustling with activity when I return. People are chatting excitedly as they hurry to and from shops and houses or down the dirt roads. Some notice me, one or two of the older adults giving me nods of acknowledgement, but the others don’t seem to see me. Typically I’d find that preferable to the callous treatment I normally get, but I feel uneasy.

Close to the house, I hear Circe call my name.

She’s waiting by the front door. “Come here,” she says. I can’t tell from her voice if she's impatient or excited.

Her demeanour has certainly changed from her norm. It’s almost like she’s vibrating, an energy under her skin ready to burst free. I’ve never seen her like this. Her perfect façade is still in place, not a stray hair or expressive emotion in sight, but something is building. It’s either really good, or really horrible.

I follow her into the house and hang up my cloak. “What’s happening?”

“A messenger came while you were away,” she says. She’s got a piece of parchment in her hand, and for a moment, I am taken back to two years ago. My heart is in my throat, taking up too much space and making it hard to breathe or swallow, but I catch that gleam in her eye and I know now what it is that I couldn’t place about her. She’s positively thrilled.

It’s a sentiment she’s never worn. Not around me. Content, sure. Happy, sometimes. This is beyond that. She’s practically floating. To the untrained eye, her expression holds a semblance to that of someone who was told that crop yields would be slightly higher this year, but I’ve learned to read her better than anyone.

I slowly let out the panicked breath that I was unintentionally holding, and swing my bag off my shoulder. I set it next to the chest at the end of my cot. “They must have had something important to say. The town is tripping over itself.” And you’re buzzing.

“The king is looking for a wife.”

The world stops and my blood goes cold. We’re a tiny village known to the world as a small farming community. Why would such a message have come to us? The king should have no business here.

“What’s that have to do with us?”

Circe holds out the parchment. “The palace is encouraging all eligible women to travel to the capitol to see if they are suitable. They’re not limiting candidates to nobility.”

“What?” I ask incredulously, snatching the paper. Sure enough, it is as my mother said. Unmarried women over the age of eighteen are being invited to the capitol for some kind of application process. There will be no imposed limitation of house, family, or title. There’s a line that says the women will stay near the palace during the selection process, but there are no additional details besides that, and the whole thing sounds incredibly vague. “Why would he marry outside of the nobility?”

“It’s likely his uncle’s meddling,” Circe says, venom slipping through her words. She always goes ice cold when speaking of the royal family. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that you’re going.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for, Sarana. If you make it through the initial screening process, you’ll have access to the king.”

My brain feels as if it’s sputtering like a candle in a windstorm. The sounds from outside are replaced with a ringing that is both shrill and mute at the same time. It feels like someone took the dial of my pulse and cranked it to ninety. 

I stammer. “I won’t make it through any kind of screening. They’ll take one look at me and turn me away.”

“You’re beautiful enough to have attracted Duke Howden’s attention.”

I want to throw up. “Duke Howden was a lecherous swine that preyed on any pretty handmaiden no matter her age. He was a vile man who was dragged down to hell where he belongs.”

Circe nods in agreement, but maintains her previous argument. “You’ve caught the fancy of other, less abhorrent men. You’re as attractive as many noblewomen. Maybe even more so. You will have no problems on that front.”

True, I have had a number of men attempt to court me, but the vast majority—I do not count Vargas, the miller’s second son, for various reasons—had been while on a job. Those men had not fallen for me. They had fallen for Chloe, or Abigale, or Thalia, or whoever I had to become to accomplish my goal. The me on missions is flirty and gentle and dainty—a near complete antithesis to who I really am. Though, to Circe’s credit, I suppose my appearance never really changed much.

“What about the rest of me?” I ask. “I can’t compete with the higher class.”

“Sarana.” Circe’s voice takes a harsh tone. “You are talented. You are skilled. Have I not taught you how to blend in with all manner of crowd? Have I not instructed you in the ways of the court? What your beauty cannot convince, your finesse will supply.” She pauses, and her voice takes an even harder edge. “I would have thought this opportunity would delight you.”

“It does…” I say softly, because it’s the truth. The murky dusk in me is elated. I remember very clearly what the king took from me. Every day I struggle to push down the darkness the loss left me with. “I want nothing more than to take it, but along with everything else, you taught me to be realistic. They will not admit me. I am nobody.”

“You’re not a nobody, Sarana.” Mother takes my face in her hands. “You are my daughter. You were born for this.”

A surge of pride rushes through my veins. Praise has become a scarcer and scarcer commodity through the years, and despite my better judgement, the small girl inside me greedily yearns for it. It's a flaw I have yet to shake—the longing to please the few I care about. To be loved.

I curl my fingers around her wrists. “When do I leave?”

She hands me a bag I’ve never seen before. It looks packed full. “Right now.”

I nod. There’s no need for a sentimental goodbye since there’s no one in the village besides the woman in front of me who will truly miss me.

I peek into the bag to ensure I have the supplies I’ll need for the job. Sure enough, Circe has included various clothes in bright colours for days in court, and pitch black for nights in shadows. Containers of beauty products clink up against my vials of poisonous oils and herbs. Ribbons for my long black hair are wrapped around a cloth bundle that undoubtedly carries a selection of knives and lockpicks from my collection.

Everything a girl needs to assassinate a king.

[spook-spectre-ghost]

Mostly Fluffy Domestic Janegon Headcanons:

A year or so after they begin dating, they start toying around with the idea of moving in together. They don’t get much time alone hanging around the firehouse and Egon’s apartment is easily big enough for two people.

When they do decide to move in together, it’s initially quite jarring. They face the normal dilemmas and disagreements — Egon keeps leaving the toilet seat up or forgets to close cabinet doors. Janine reorganizes things to the point that Egon can’t find anything. Someone’s nose whistles. One of them keeps forgetting to clean the shower drain. It’s mostly small, petty things like that but eventually they work out their differences and learn to get along.

Egon is a deep sleeper and definitely not a morning person. He takes quite a while to get moving and dislikes being startled awake. Janine isn’t much for mornings either, so she usually spends a while snuggled up next to Egon.

On that note, mornings and evenings are their scheduled cuddle time. Janine is much more likely to want affection than Egon is, but when he’s sleepy he tends to get very cuddly. As a compromise, just-after-waking-up and just-before-falling-asleep cuddles are almost guaranteed. She likes being the little spoon because being wrapped in Egon’s arms feels very safe, but she doesn’t mind being the big spoon either. Cuddle time is also one of the rare occasions that Egon will allow her to play with his hair as much as she wants; he absolutely melts when she does, which makes it even better. He also has a tendency to want to get as close as possible to her during their cuddle time, which is very much a break from the norm. She loves when he nuzzles his face up next to hers so that they’re touching foreheads and she can feel his eyelashes every time he opens his eyes.

They’re both incredibly competitive, so a good way to engage in healthy competition is to play board games. It quickly becomes one of their favorite hobbies.

Janine likes it when Egon reads to her. She’ll happily situate herself under his arm and listen to him read for hours on end. His voice is ridiculously soothing.

They both love food but hate cooking, so they tend to make it a little less miserable by sharing the responsibility. They also play music and dance around the kitchen while they prepare a meal.

The tabloids begin speculating that Egon and Janine were secretly involved soon after the Crossrip. This rumor and others like it die down until six years later when the two of them actually start dating. When they move in together, it only gets worse. Egon hates that their private lives are subject to such scrutiny and speculation, so Janine decides to help him relax about it. She buys every phony newspaper she can find and brings them home to Egon so that they can make fun of the contents. “Uh oh, Egon, looks like I’m cheating on you again.” “Who is it this time?” “Ray.” “That’s funny; says here that I’m cheating on you with Ray.” “Well!! The nerve of that guy!”

Janine thinks it’s funny when Egon is preparing something stressful in the kitchen, which leads to him being very noisy. Slamming cabinet doors and banging pans echo out of the kitchen. The oven beeps and Egon yells “SHUT UP.” He drops a utensil and shouts, “STOP MAKING THINGS DIFFICULT.” She can sometimes hear him muttering “Cooperate with the process for the love of GOD” to vegetables as he’s chopping them or “STAY IN THE PAN” when pasta water begins to boil over. She knows he’s just being loud to let off steam and isn’t actually angry or upset.

Egon makes sure to bring Janine flowers to display on their kitchen table every week. Her face always lights up when he does.

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hi! Could I get a haikyuu, MHA and Percy Jackson matchup, please? My (nick)name is Shan, and my pronouns are she/her. I'm also straight. I'm a virgo with an INTJ/INTP mbti type. I have wavy brown hair which I usually straighten, they go down to my waist. I also have light brown eyes and fair skin. I'm 5 foot 2 and I'm pretty slim. I'm also very sarcastic, and often considered to have a very complex sense of humor. I don't talk a lot, unless it's with my friends and I'm very competitive about the things I'm passionate about (ballet and studying). I also like making silly jokes and puns to light up my friends' moods. I'm often awkward around new people, which is sometimes mistaken as rudeness, but I swear I just get shy. I like reading, ballet, studying, the color pink and little heart doodles. I dislike the rain, failing in tests and someone being better than me at things I like. My hobbies are writing, reading, ballet, swimming, playing the guitar and studying. That's all <3 Have a great day and make sure to stay hydrated, thank you!

Hi Shan! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took so long. I hope you like your matchups!

In Haikyuu, I match you with...

You and Yamaguchi are very similar at first glance. You’re both quiet and a bit awkward but underneath that, you both have a great sense of humour and a whole lot of sass.

I think the main difference between the two of you is that you’re more open with your sarcasm and humour than he is. Because of this, I feel like Yamaguchi often feels like you’re saying the things he wants to.

Yamaguchi’s definitely more in touch with his feminine side than a lot of his friends so he’d love it if you’d teach him some ballet. It might even help with his agility and coordination on the volleyball court.

He knows you don’t like failing tests so he’ll do his best to help you study in return. Whether you’re stuck on something or just want company, he’s there for you.

Please write little notes for him with heart doodles and slip it in his bag. Yamaguchi’s self-confidence isn’t great so this will mean a lot to him.

In My Hero Academia, I match you with...

The sarcastic couple of UA has arrived! No one dares challenge you or Shinsou when you’re together simply because they know that however sarcastic as you each are alone, it only gets worse when you’re together.

He’s pretty quiet and awkward as well but since you feel comfortable around each other, that’s not as much of an issue as you’d think.

Shinsou really likes reading with you. He might not get a whole lot of free time because of his hero training but he does enjoy reading a good book in better company.

I feel like Shinsou has a bit of a competitive streak as well. For you, it’s because you don’t like people being better at things than you are. For him, it’s to prove that he’s more than his quirk.

As long as you can support each other and help the other recognise when you desire to be the best is becoming detrimental, you’ll both be fine.

In Percy Jackson, I match you with...

Will is your exact mirror image: Sarcastic and funny on the outside, quiet and complex on the inside. It’s one of the reasons you two get along so well.

Enjoys studying with you. He’s got to keep up to date on his medical knowledge, so he does a lot of study sessions. It’s nice being about to sit with someone while doing that.

Loves listening to you play guitar. His inherited talents may lie more with medicine than music, but he can still appreciate some good playing when he hears it.

Like you, Will’s also not a huge fan of rain. He’s the son of the sun god so he usually prefers sunny weather. At least you can keep each other company when the weather isn’t so nice.

But when the weather is nice, please go swimming in the lake with him. He loves getting away from the ward and relaxing in the weightless feeling the water provides.

[zaunrising]

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

and

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

Let’s start with Silco. It was both a hobby, and also an important necessity so people wouldn’t get lost, but map making. I think I touched on that on my old blog, but not that this one. Regardless, Silco used to do map making, particularly of tunnels and hidden routes throughout Zaun. He even still has some of his old maps, and misses making them but he just doesn’t have the time anymore.

Do I think how I’m about to answer is exactly what you meant by the question about misinterpreting things? No. Am I going to use this answer anyways because I find it amusing? Yes. So there’s a thing about water. You take Silco out of Zaun, be it to Ionia, or wherever else and just drink water fresh from a river or something in front of him and he will look at you like you are crazy. You invite him to drink that fresh water himself, and he’s going to fully believe you are trying to play some weird joke on him. Everyone knows you can’t just drink water without filtering it first at the very least. That’s how you get sick. When he realizes that yes you can drink that water his reaction is a mix of amazed delight, and resentment fueled anger. Amazed delight because it’s nice not having to worry nearly as much about the environment itself trying to kill him. Resentment fueled anger because it brings into view even more just how badly Piltover harmed Zaun.

For Jinx, I’m not sure if this counts as a hobby, but how about fixing up (and playing at) the arcade. Putting back together the shooting game, and messing with the animatronics there, and getting to go there with other people, and all. I don’t think she does that anymore because it reminds her of the past, and it either makes her sad or angry.

Something she misinterprets… a lot of stuff to be honest. Jinx does not have the most normal view on things in general. I’ve got a couple things in mind be it someone trying to flirt with her, or criticism, or fear, but let’s go with something easy yet important. How common, and acceptable violence is. Even in Zaun she’s a bit of an outlier when it comes to how quick, and easy violence is for her, let alone anywhere else. If Silco sends Jinx your life is over. You can negotiate with Sevika, you might be able to make a deal with Silco, but Jinx? Jinx is simply going to kill you. Might be slow, might be fast, but when she’s sent it is to permanently deal with a situation. Over the years she has become more, and more comfortable with violence as a first and last resort. It even happens with Silco, when she gets upset and uses his injector to hurt him. As for her response if someone tries to get her to understand things? Disbelief and derision at best, anger at worse. Even if it’s from Silco, Jinx still won’t get it.

Last, but not least, Sevika. A hobby she misses, pit fighting. Yes it was to make money, and yes it was a competition, but she still considered it a fun hobby. Sevika had other ways to make money be it smuggling, or whatever else. The pit fighting was more a way to burn off steam, and the money as well as attention it got her was a useful byproduct. Sometimes she contemplates going back for a couple fights, and then her attention gets pulled to something else be it work related or other wise.

Misinterpretations, someone bumping into her on the street. She’s not going to take it as an accident, and will assume it was either disrespect, an attempt to pickpocket her, or a potential attack. Sevika does absolutely 100% expect people to move out of her way, and if they don’t she will make them move. What’s that? A misunderstanding? They were just distracted or something? Not her problem, do better.