sombernstarless

[cobaltfluff]

matchablossom arguments :3c

also a bonuns kaoru bc it’s the prettiest I’ll ever manage to draw him:

[argiopi]

got the cops called on me for the most hilariously sensible reason last night

So i have a new industrial piercing (my first piercing..! i love it •w•), and it got infected because of course it did, it's a cartilage piercing and i live outside. Context i've been living in my car for the past few weeks, which has been pretty good but one of the tradeoffs is i do not have a bathroom. The piercer told me if the piercing got infected I could soak it in saltwater, so i needed a source of 1. salt, 2. water that is warm or at least not the below-freezing ambient temperature i currently exist in.

Gas stations have both these things. (I have yet to purchase salt for my occasional propane stove cooking). Only problem is it was past midnight in a rural area, so I didn't find a 24 hour convenience store until around 100 miles into my route for the evening.

At 3 AM local time the store was inhabited by just One stern-looking employee who was mopping the floor. My grungy ass walks in carrying a small collapsible bowl and immediately begins casing the place like the world's shittiest thief, looking for those little free salt packets. I looked around the (empty, no hot food at 3 AM) hot dog stand and saw only wet condiments so i circled back around to the grocery section in case they were selling salt shakers I could buy. No luck so i desperately returned to the hot dog counter in case I missed the salt, and noticed a cabinet labeled CONDIMENTS below the dog cooker, which did conceal salt packets. I stuffed a handful of them in my pocket and hoped the mopping woman wouldn't ask, then pivoted to the bathroom where I locked myself for the next fifteen minutes.

I filled my bowl with hot water which was actually cool water but at least it wasn't frigid, and mixed salt into it and held it to my ear. After a few minutes the staff, who had been understandably watching me from around corners the entire time I was searching for salt, knocked on the door. I replied "hello?" and she didn't respond, so I assumed she was just checking if anyone was in there before she tried entering to continue mopping. I finished cleaning my sad little ear and bought a bag of yogurt pretzels as a gesture of good will because I felt bad for taking her salt and taking too much time in the bathroom when she needed to clean.

Enter The Pig. I had returned to my car and grabbed my first aid kit to apply antiobiotic ointment, when an officer entered the store. Trepidation when he arrived since I knew I was being a freak, but then i thought he was just doing his own shopping, then he came back out and approached my vehicle.

Rolled down my window and he asks what was going on in the bathroom. (What if i had been just taking a long shit??). So I showed him my ear and my bowl and explained, as Alertly, Calmly, and Soberly as i could after driving for multiple hours after midnight, to the face of someone who can ruin my life with a penstroke, that I was on the road and had to soak this infected piercing. Luckily it was a confused young cop who was too bewildered to inquire much further, not an old hardass who might start asking more challenging questions such as "where are you going" or "where are you staying tonight and why are you washing your ear at the gas station and not there." He clearly barely even looked at my car - asked if i was a local when my license plate is from two timezones away - and let me go without even collecting my information.

That was the sixth time that police have confronted me for acting outside social norms. The first time was because I was plucking an invasive plant species from the side of the road and he thought I was falling when I walked up & down the slope. The second time I was walking home alone at night, and maybe someone called because I had a backpack on and they thought I was trying to rob a house. I was just walking home from the train. The third time I had been biking home in the dark without a headlight, and i fell on my face and didn't know I was bleeding until a bastard pulled up and told me someone called because they thought I got hit by a car. The fourth time was when I fell in the river last winter and i was knocking on random doors asking for directions home to minimize my risk of hypothermia, and I suppose the woman who drove me home called to send someone to make sure i was okay? The fifth time was the first time I slept in my car, which ironically was before I started serially sleeping in my car. I was falling asleep on the highway after an all-nighter so I took the next exit and took a nap in my driver's seat at the end of a random residential street before I ended up on the news, and that's how I learned suburbanites are paranoid as all hell about anything out of the ordinary because a cop knocked on my window and asked me if I was drunk (who would say yes to that question?). Now I select my sleeping sites very carefully, which is probably the most annoying thing about hashtag vanlife, but I haven't gotten The Knock again yet and sometimes when I pull into random public lands after dark I wake up to mountains I've never seen before and that fuels my soul.

Lesson learned is that if you need to snort sodium chloride in a gas station bathroom at 3 AM, just have an ear piercing and dampen the hair around it and carry a bowl around, and you've got a story that's Too Weird To Be Making Shit Up.

[easy-there-leftovers]

A Question Unasked

Written with season 1 Spencer in mind

Summary: In which your ambitious, workaholic nature makes Spencer wonder if you've got a crush on Hotch. This slight hitch in his plan causes him to miss a few signs.

[A/N]: Can be seen as a filler from Spencer's perspective of certain scenarios from "Mixed Messages" and a prequel to "As Cool As I Think I Am", but can also just be a standalone

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader | cw: slight spoilers for s1e04, allusion to inappropriate workplace dynamics (it's not true, relax lol), slight description of canon-typical violence, mildly inaccurate timeframe | word count: 4k

Spencer looks up from his endless stacks of files on his desk to look at the girl on the other side of his desk. Only a single carpeted walkway really separating them.

He could easily just get up and walk right to her. Ask the burning question that's been on his mind since the Arizona case, but he can't.

Why is that?

He's been your friend for a while, and he's known you for a while longer.

With his eidetic memory, he remembers so clearly when you first started working together. He remembers your starched blazer and pressed blouse, a stark contrast to his swimming-in-sweaters look, and how that alone let anyone know that you were serious about uniform and protocol.

You were, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen, and a fresh graduate just like him.

You were smart, beautiful, and started working at the BAU as early as he did.

And because you were new and young, one of the senior agents had been assigned to supervise your progress. So much like how he was mentored by Gideon, you had been mentored by the unit chief himself; Aaron Hotchner.

He'd like to think that he learned a lot from Gideon. He wasn't the type to hold his hand throughout a case, which he is thankful for, but he had been there to encourage him to think more outside the box. To let his mind be more flexible and creative. To see things from every conceivable angle. Leaving no stone unturned.

He supposed you learned a lot from Hotch as well. With your calm exterior, polite demeanor, and calculating mind that occasionally colored your less polite vocabulary-- He didn't know what Aaron must've been like in his junior years, but he supposed that having you as his colleague was essentially the same experience.

What he does know, however, is how close you are to your boss. Or is it your work?

Either way, you being glued to your work almost always meant that you were glued to him by proxy. You two being the first ones in and the last ones out showed that you spent three-percent more of your time with each other than the rest of the team, and two-percent more than with him.

Granted that had changed as of late, but still!

That didn't leave him a lot of time to ask you if---

"Dr. Reid, if you keep staring at me, I don't think you'll be able to finish your action reports on time." You had said without lifting your eyes from your folder.

Having been caught, he cleared his throat with a small 'sorry,' and directed his head back down to his still endless stack of files. The action earning a couple of chuckles from the bullpen where the rest of your colleagues had certainly seen, or at least heard, the exchange.

Not long after however, he saw Hotch from the corner of his eye lean over the railing outside his office. Calling for you both to meet him inside with his usual stern expression.

Spencer noticed how you got up, eyes still zeroed in on one of your files, and continued on your way up and into the unit chief's open door.

A clear sign that you had been invited there often enough that you didn't need to see where you were going.

You expected it.

He sighs and makes his way into the office as well. Dreading what the meeting could even be for, though he's confident he hasn't done anything wrong.

***

"As you might have noticed in our previous cases, I've paired you two to work on the more analytical aspects of it together. With these changes, we've been able to work twice as fast, and we’re thankful for the help."

Whatever Spencer had been expecting, it was not this. His raised eyebrows evidently agreed with him.

It wasn't everyday that Hotch complimented someone like this, much less in the proper environment. And if your respectful posture, but shining eyes in slight pride were anything to go off of, this was something new for you too.

As he was about to voice his thoughts, you had spoken up.

"Sir, Dr. Reid's knowledge in a wide array of subjects has certainly helped with our investigations. Though I'm afraid I haven't done much aside from ensuring it's accuracy and-"

"No! I mean--," He looked to see you already looking at him in slight confusion before continuing.

"She's been a huge help so far and has allowed me to exchange ideas with her to build a more accurate profile. Not to mention that her ability to mediate between departments has been beneficial to gaining access to pertinent information! So I think she's done plenty for the investigations as well." His voice dwindles as he realizes he's rambling on praises and he suddenly feels warm under the scrutiny of both his boss and his colleague.

He just didn't want anyone thinking you weren't doing anything by being humble. Especially since you're both so young.

Thankfully, it's Hotch who speaks up again after a beat.

"So what I'm hearing is that you're both satisfied with this arrangement?"

You both nod carefully and he smiles a small smile at that.

"Then we'll be carrying on with this pairing into the foreseeable future. Should there be any concerns about this arrangement, see to it that it goes through me. We can't afford to lose either of you." He says it with a finality that prompts both Spencer and you to leave with a nod, but the thought is instantly corrected when he speaks again.

"Oh and agent?" He looks only at you, but Spencer looks back as well out of instinct. "A private word, if you please."

Spencer sees you nod without a second thought and he takes it as his cue to hurriedly leave.

***

It hasn't been that long, Spencer argues with himself, since he left the unit chief's office. The blinds aren't drawn, he would know since he'd been looking at them periodically, so he also knows that nothing untoward is happening.

Yet something is bothering him about it.

From his position on his desk, he can see you and Hotch discussing something on his table very seriously, but he also sees how your eyes rarely leave the face of your superior. He can't quite see your expression due to the distance and the light, but he has this sinking feeling that it's a lot like the one from earlier.

He scoffs at the thought. If he wasn't thinking so rationally, he would've thought-

"Does she like Hotch?"

"Who likes Hotch?"

The new voice makes him whip his head back so fast to see Morgan with a confused face. Upon further examination, he sees him holding something that was definitely supposed to be flicked at him if he hadn't been caught so off guard.

He internally debates to voice his opinion, but he does anyway.

"Do you think that she likes Hotch?" He gestures with his eyes to their supervisor's office.

"You're asking me if I think 'little miss perfect' has a crush on a man that's hitched?" Derek echoes back with the use of your nickname. One that he coined as a playful jab at your no-frills behavior.

Spencer cringes when he hears it back though. He didn't ask this to get you in trouble, but it might come across that way now.

"Who has a crush on married man?" Elle joins in, and he only shrinks into his seat more.

"I'm not asking if she has a crush on him! I just want to know if she might like him and--what it is that she likes about him..."

The two exchange looks before looking back at him. Fully knowing that that's not the reason why he's asking, but they humor him anyway.

"Reid, what makes you think she likes him and not literally anyone else?"

"Well. there's her preference for prolonged eye-contact, a common indicator of interest for one. Her being in constant proximity to him, a sign that shows comfort in certain contexts, and then there's the amount of time they spend together."

The last one might be a bit of a reach, considering how you all work in the same area, but at this point he just wanted someone to tell him that he was either absolutely right, or crazy.

"Kid, that's crazy."

Duly noted.

"I'll say.” Elle chuckles out her response. “I haven't thought about it all, but those signs don't really mean anything. It just sounds like she has a habit of looking at whoever's talking to her." She notes, sharing her experience of being on the receiving end of your rather intense gaze.

His other friend adds onto that.

"And the whole closeness thing? You've seen her, she's like a computer with the way she works. She's a workaholic. And Hotch is another. It's just math, Reid."

Spencer furrows his eyes at the man's statement but before he can ask further, he sees you coming out of the office and staring at the small crowd that has now formed at his desk.

"Is something going on here?" You ask with tense brows. Eyes flickering to and fro.

He couldn't really think of something on the spot, but thankfully Derek had one at the ready. "Was just caught trying add my stack on to pretty boy's plate."

He sees you let out a small 'hm,' and you eventually turn your back to them to reach your desk.

He sighs in relief as he feels a firm pat on his back from Morgan.

"Next time, try looking at what she does when you're the one talking." He says before leaving to go to his own desk as well.

Spencer doesn't know what good that would do, especially now that he's worried one of his colleagues have caught wind of him liking you, but he at least takes note of it.

--------

He does not, in fact, take note of it until very later.

The team had been called to San Diego to deal with someone they had been calling, "The Tommy Killer." An unsub that had a preference for gluing his victims' eyes open.

As they were reviewing the scene in the jet, they had noticed a few stanzas of a literary work had been left behind at the scene.

"It's a ballad from the late 1600s. A Dialogue Betwixt Death and a Lady." Spencer had mentioned from where he stood.

"A 17th Century ballad?" Morgan had asked him incredulously from his seat, but it’s you who answers.

"One where a woman tries to bribe Death with all that she has in exchange for a little more time to live. Naturally, he doesn't allow it. Claiming that she was undeserving of an exception that even kings were denied of."

Spencer looks up from his own copy to see you still looking at your own from beside Hotch. With your brows furrowing in thought, he almost sees the actual gears in your brain turning.

"So what, are we looking at a literature professor of some kind?" Elle asks which immediately perks him right up.

"Well, actually anyone with access to the internet today. You should see what comes up when you type in the word, "Death" into a search engine." He laughed absentmindedly.

"Reid, no wonder you can't get a date."

Morgan's words made him frown, but he brushes it off.

Hotch, as previously discussed, then called on for the both of you to look deeper into the messages. To see if there was anything new that could be inferred.

He nods at him, and looks up. Expecting you to still be looking at Hotch as well.

Instead, your eyes meet his, but you quickly look back onto your file.

Reid thinks it's just a coincidence.

***

"Creepy, huh?" JJ had asked you two as she approached where transcripts of the written messages were tacked onto a board.

Spencer had been focusing so hard that he was caught off gaurd by her sudden appearance. Fully expecting the area to just be for you and him so he told her what first came to mind.

"Actually, conversations between Death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance."

Though perhaps the delivery wasn't as as good as he thought it was as JJ only stared back at him with an unreadable expression.

He thought it was interesting, really, but he supposed his slight stutter and breathy laugh at the end must have distracted her from his point.

He turned to look at you for help, but you too had been focusing on the messages and wouldn't be available to do that. So he just agreed with JJ’s sentiment, which seemed to be enough for her to leave.

He sighed out in relief.

"The lady never answers. Have you noticed it yet, Dr. Reid?" You turn to him as you ask.

He immediately refocuses on to the case and tries his best to reply after his prior blunder. "Oh uh-- Right, the dialogue in the ballad seems to be fractured. Well, it's more of a monologue than a dialogue seeing that there is no exchange of information."

A small smile graces your lips at that, and you gesture with a nod to go report your findings.

"So it is. Let's get going."

He follows you to where Hotch and Elle were discussing the sexual aspect of the crime and sees you take your place next to your mentor. The same position you were in when he was blowing out his birthday candles, as he also inserts himself into the discussion.

"Sir, we believe what the unsub has written at the scenes are most of the first three verses of the same ballad." You deliver, prompting your mentor to raise his brow at that.

"Most of?"

"Yeah, it's only one side of the conversation." Spencer adds. "There's no betwixt." He takes pride in your shared effort, which makes itself known by the smile that adorns his face.

Unfortunately, his satisfaction, isn't met with a positive reaction either as he sees Elle desperately trying not to make eye-contact, and your supervisor staring at him very pointedly.

He's thankful though at the little chuckle that you quickly try to hide behind a cough and a cover of your mouth to appear more professional. Quickly looking down at the ground.

He's happy that at least someone thought his joke was well-placed.

He continues to explain your theory about how the Lady in the narrative never answers, and that's enough for both Hotch and Elle to at least think about it.

Their attention is quickly stolen away however at an incoming call about a failed attempt nearby the precinct.

Quickly excusing themselves to get onto the scene as soon as possible, you see them call Gideon on their way out. Watching them as they leave the department doors.

But Spencer keeps his eyes on you as the thought just dawns on him.

You were the first one on the team to laugh at his jokes.

***

The more cases he works for the BAU, the more he realizes how much of his work isn't theoretical anymore. He feels it in the weariness in his eyes, the weight on his chest, and the shake of his hands.

Or maybe the shake is from the cold.

After all, he had dressed for the warm, California air. So now that he was in the cool, air-conditioned jet, he was seriously regretting not packing a sweater, at the very least.

He makes his way to the back of the aircraft after another successful investigation, and that's where sees you.

You had opted to shed your typically structured blazer on the seat beside you, leaving you in a softer blouse, both in color and form, that made everyone around you know that you were officially off duty.

It's a nice look on you, he thinks. A slight departure from your usually stern and hardened exterior. He wouldn't mind seeing a more relaxed version of you every once in a while.

A version of you that looked more your age and not constantly under the pressure of doing well.

He momentarily wonders if that's part of your mentor's influence as well.

He freezes a bit, as if catching himself in some depraved daydream, and takes a few steps back to return to the more vacant areas of the craft.

Before he can get any further though, you see him and beckon for him to come over with a tired wave of your hand.

"How's the flight treating you, Dr. Reid?" You ask, drowsiness lacing your tone as he sits on the seat opposite of you.

"Oh, it's the same as always, I guess. A little colder than usual, but that's to be expected. By the way, we’re actually lucky that we haven't experienced some semblance of turbulence yet on our flights, considering that the likelihood of it has increased by seventeen-percent in the last decade."

You laugh at that. "You really know just what to say, huh?"

He doesn't see it as funny as you do, so it seems. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you or--" "There's no need to apologize, sir. I find everything you have to say interesting, whether you mean it to or not."

He stays silent at that, suddenly nervous, and tries to make himself comfortable. He does so in the hopes that he can finally steel himself to ask you that question.

He talked to Elle earlier when they were waiting for the unsub's call. Asked her if she thought it was weird that he knew what he knew, and if it had anything to do with his inability to get a date. She had reasoned with him that it was because he didn't ask, but it couldn't be that simple, could it?

He mulls it over in his head before sighing. Opting to give up and just wait for a more opportune time.

Besides, jury’s still out that you could very well be pining over his boss.

The action, however, seems to remind you of something.

"Before I forget," You look into your baggage, rummaging around before finally finding what it was you were looking for.

You ask him to close his eyes, which he obediently does, and you place a thick rectangular box into his awaiting lap.

The sudden shift in weight causes his eyes to open, and he is certainly surprised to see what was on there.

"What is this?"

"It's your birthday. There wasn't a good time to give it to you, so might as well."

He takes the box into his hands and shakes it a little.

From the sound alone, or near lack thereof, there could be a multitude of things inside it. He looks at you questioningly and you only smile and gesture for him to open it.

He takes his time in doing so, and he doesn't know how or why, but he finds your reactions to his movements much more amusing than whatever could be in the box. As if you were more excited for him.

He finally peers into the now open box to see some sort of purple cloth. A ribbon of geometric designs cutting through its middle and he stares at it in wonder.

"It's a scarf!"

You smile at him, and he was thankful that the rest of the team were either asleep or just not paying attention as it allowed the both of you to savor the moment with at least some semblance of privacy.

"I've noticed that you had a tendency to wear a lot of layers. I wasn't sure if it was because you were cold, or you just liked dressing that way, so I made an educated guess and got you something practical."

And just like that, he's over the moon.

He immediately goes to put it on with a wide smile, paying no mind that it paired so badly with the short sleeves of his button up.

Not that he would know, nor care.

And just when he had been feeling cold earlier too! "Thank you so much. This means a lot to me, especially since you don't usually give gifts."

You shake your head. "I don't, but it's not everyday one spends their twenty-fourth at the BAU."

He continues to observe the cloth that now hung around him. Smoothing his hands over it as he does with an expression unreadable to you.

You worry a bit and hurriedly mention, "I'm sorry if it isn't your color. I see purple show up on your mismatched socks more than any other color, so I just assumed. If it's any consolation, purple is a great color to contrast the warmer hues in brown eyes?"

He flushes at your admission, but matches your urgency to set you straight. "No! Please, I actually really like it-- It's beautiful."

You breathe out a sigh in relief and nod slowly at that.

"Speaking of the color, did you know the origin of purple dye is actually quite fascinating?" His voice filled with enthusiasm. With his eyes, bright, and filled with a child-like fascination that makes your chest feel warm at the sight.

"Historically, purple dye was incredibly rare and valuable, which is why it became associated with royalty and nobility. The earliest known purple dye, known as Tyrian purple, was produced by the ancient Phoenicians around 1200 BC. It was derived from the secretions of a particular type of sea snail, the bolinus brandaris, found in the Mediterranean Sea."

He paused for a moment, wondering if he was boring you, but sees that you're still very much paying attention to him.

"The process to obtain this dye was incredibly labor-intensive and complex. It required thousands of these sea snails to produce just a small amount of dye. The snails would then be collected and left to decompose in large vats. After several days, a gland from the snail was extracted and crushed to produce a purple mucus. This mucus would then be exposed to sunlight, undergoing a chemical reaction that transformed it into the deep, rich purple dye we commonly associate with our modern day equivalent."

As he kept going, he suddenly remembered what Morgan had told him all those weeks ago.

"Next time, try looking at what she does when you're the one talking."

So he does just that.

He observes the way that your shoulders are more relaxed, how your eyes never stray from him, and how the small upturned curve of your lip makes itself known as you rest your cheek onto your propped up fist.

How he has your undivided attention and yet you don't even look the least bit bored of what he has to say. Only silently appreciating and subtly nodding along with the slow blink of your eyelids.

All clear signs of unguarded comfort, and or interest, in his presence.

Had you really been looking at him like that all this time?

Now the idea of you liking your boss seems silly. Especially when you’re looking at him the way he imagines himself looking at you.

"I did know that, actually, Dr. Reid. At the time, Tyrian purple wasn't only desirable for its rarity, people said it was also incredibly lightfast. That it was resistant to fading under the sun and the weather. Not to mention all that hard work that just to get a single gram of it. Then again, modern studies do claim that its lightfastness was, in fact, not an accurate feature as it's color diminished when it was exposed to light and UV radiation."

You laughed a little again, as if remembering some anecdote, and that sound was steadily becoming one of his favorite sounds. Following only after your speaking voice.

"Fortunately for you, doctor, I could only afford a synthetically purple-dyed scarf. Though that means that you won't ever have to worry about it fading under the sun."

Hands up in faux surrender, you give him a tired smile that he returns with one of his own.

A calming silence enveloped the both of you as you continue to bask in each other's presence.

At some point you doze off, draping your blazer on top of yourself to shield yourself from the cold, and that's when he starts considering Elle's words again.

"Do you ever ask anyone out?"

"No,"

"That's why you can't get a date."

He nods to himself, and reclines a little more into his seat. Snuggling into his new scarf that still has the faintest smell of you.

Maybe he will ask you out on a a date later.

_____________________________

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[sorrelchestnut]

I've seen a fair number of posts both here and on reddit that question why Tav (or the Dark Urge) would end up as a group leader for any other reason that "game mechanics say so." There's the requisite "okay, well if you play a high charisma character I guess it makes sense," or on the other end of the spectrum, "if you're playing Durge and murder someone right off the bat everyone would be too scared to tell you no." And I get where people are going with this! I really do. But it also fundamentally misunderstands a facet of human nature, which is that the vast majority of people do not actually want to be in charge, because that means being held responsible for the outcome. Accordingly, most people will dither when a group consensus is needed: have none of you ever tried to get a group of friends to agree where to go for dinner? Yeah, it's like that, but waaaay worse.

A lot of times "leadership" is just the willingness to say, "fuck it, y'all do what you want, but I'm doing this." I see it all the time in a corporate environment, where people will go back and forth on group meetings without anyone making a decision until finally one brave soul goes "in my opinion the clear answer is x" and then everyone gratefully goes along with it. Because now it's not their responsibility when something goes wrong! They're just following along with someone else's suggestion, and maybe it works or maybe it doesn't, but at the end of the day they don't have to worry about the consequences unless they're personally affected. In which case they might step up and argue back, and then they're stuck being a leader, too. Welcome to adulthood!

Lae'zel is the only one who ever even tries to exert some kind of control, when she tells you to follow her lead on the ship, or calls you her subordinate in the Grove. But, crucially, she doesn't ever make any serious attempt to take control: you can just tell her, "lol, no," and she sort of confusedly gives way, because she doesn't know how to handle this scenario. In her world there are commanders and subordinates, and everyone knows where they stand and falls in line. She's never actually had to take control of a situation and so at the first sign of resistance she falls back on the dynamic that's familiar to her, which is executing the commands of someone older and more experienced. She goes through a lot of growth over the game, to the point that she can take over as a resistance leader in her own right by the end, but at the beginning she's a wet-behind-her-ears private with some decent combat chops and it shows.

Otherwise, your party consists of:

Shadowheart, who's trained in infiltration and assassination and does NOT want a lot of attention brought to her or her mission for a variety of reasons;

Astarion, who has literally been a slave for two centuries and canonically takes a while to realize that he can exert an opinion beyond complaining about it;

Gale, whose only friend is his cat and couldn't project-manage his way out of a wet paper bag;

Wyll, who was probably trained for command at one point but has been doing the lone-hero thing for a decade and has a very large secret that he's trying to conceal; and,

Karlach, who's only ever been a bodyguard and a soldier and is genuinely just happy to be here.

Honestly, it would be more a surprise if Tav/Durge didn't end up as their unofficial leader, given the general power dynamics at play. The first time Tav/Durge says something like, "fuck it, we need to do something instead of stand around arguing about it, let's go check out those ruins over there," it's a done deal. They're The Captain Now! As long as they don't make decisions that fundamentally oppose something dear and important to the other group members, they're not even going to get any argument. Because at the end of the day, not one of these walking disasters has enough trust in themselves and their decision-making skills to feel any kind of certainty that they can choose the right path forward. If someone else is going to take that decision out of their hands? They're going to follow, no questions asked, right up until the moment they can't.

[heathermason6060]

Serial Killer!Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Teeth and Pearl earrings

Warnings: serial killer daryl, rough smut, inconsiderate smut, NO noncon, stalking, stealing, mentions of killing

Summary: Daryl can't decide if he wants to kill you, or fuck you. Switches between Daryl's and Readers POV.

Notes: SO SORRY ITS LONG This was really fun but really challenging to write, I tried to keep him as in character as possible, but that's hard when making him a serial killer lol! I'm making this a two pt, with the reader finding out in the next part.

Some days Daryl thought his luck might run out. He'd been lucky for too long. As far as he knew, no one suspected a thing. Every time he'd go out “hunting”, no matter how long he was gone for, he'd always managed to bring back something. Deer, rabbits, squirrels when prey was scarce. 

It was easier now that the world had ended to keep it a secret. No threat of cops catching on, no more cameras on every street corner, no need to try to erase every possible trace.

The only thing he found to prove difficult had been finding a place to keep his trophies. He didn't really have a preference, hair, a tooth, or a piece of clothing, it was something he didn't understand the meaning of but something he did each time. He kept it in his room in the vent above his bed, behind a few boxes of books. The week prior he took it down to put the wedding ring of a man who tried attacking Rick out on their supply run, he’d had to restrain himself and keep the stabbing to a minimum because of Rick's presence. 

He found himself growing uncomfortably interested in you. A revelation that he really, really didn't like. You were off limits, you were one of Rick's closest friends, you'd been there way too long. And you clearly hadn't done anything deserving of the things he daydreamed about doing to you, unlike the victims he’d killed before.

The more he tried to push those thoughts away, the stronger they came back. His hands around your throat, the way your eyes would tear up as you struggled against him and the fact someone you trusted so much was the one ending your life. 

His eyes followed you over the flames of the campfire as you took your plates and went inside. Aaron had hosted a little get together in his yard in Alexandria, cooking dinner for everyone in celebration of the newest addition to the town. Some nobody he found out there on their own, who jumped at the idea of joining a large group of people. 

If Daryl had to kill you, he’d keep a lock of your hair. 

He couldn't stop staring at it as you went inside. His mind flooded with flashes of pictures of it, his hand in it, stroking your soft locks before grabbing a fistful and putting a knife to your throat. The way you'd squeal and beg, squirm against him as he presses the edge firmer into your skin. 

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away after you disappeared in the house you shared with Maggie and a few others. 

It was like you were practically begging him to follow you. 

Five different times that week you'd gone out on your own to ‘clear your head’, whatever the hell that meant. 

First time he heard Glenn mention to someone that you'd just gone out beyond the walls, he wanted to follow you. The idea was far too tempting. But he didn't, he knew damn well he couldn't trust himself with you all alone, no one to hear you scream. 

The fantasies he had begun to form disgusted him. He didn't just go out and kill any random human he felt like, he had to have some sort of rules or else things would get out of hand real fast. If he were to get caught, it needed to be someone Rick wouldn't think twice about him killing. Some raider, or any kind of piece of shit who'd be a threat to their group. He needed to have a fallback, worst case scenario one of Alexandria caught him. 

Second rule, none of his people. Ever. His morals were questionable, if he had it his way he'd go out and hunt down any human he came across outside those walls.

But never his people. In a hypocritical way he did care about them, in the same way that any normal sane human being would care about their family. He could never even dream about hurting any of them, he’d rather die. But they had to earn that place in his heart. 

It was a wonder you hadn't been killed by anyone else yet. The way you walked through the woods with your light pink sweater, leaving tracks in the leaves that a blind man could follow, and that fucking humming. He could easily track you with his eyes closed for miles with the way you kept humming. 

You'd gone into an old shack in the backyard of an abandoned trailer.

A part of him felt angry then, how were you so stupid? If it had been someone else following you, and not Daryl, who knows what they'd do to you? And you'd have no idea until it was too late. 

He paused at the thought. If he wasn't careful, that's exactly what would happen. 

He followed you home about half a mile behind the entire time. When you were at the road that led to the gates he turned back, deciding it was the perfect time to go hunting. 

The crossbow on his back weighed heavier than it normally did as he slunk down into the underbrush at the forest's edge. He hadn't decided on what animal yet, but the frustration and confusion alone caused by you made it pretty easy to guess. 

He wiped the blood from the molar before he tucked it in the box in his vent, and decided to pay Maggie and Glenn a visit.

The house was completely empty, so he let his curiosity get the better of him.

Your room was pretty. 

Your bed, a whopping full size mattress, made his pull out look like a military cot. You had an array of paintings on your walls, he remembered some of them. As soon as you got your own room in Alexandria you went out on runs with Glenn and Maggie just so you could decorate it. 

His eyes went from painting to painting, then to your dresser. You kept it unexpectedly neat for someone who behaved so sloppily in the woods. Your journal, a small glass box you kept your sentimental jewelry in, a few makeup products. What drew his attention was the jewelry box, he could see the pair of pearl earrings you used to constantly wear. You never took them out back then, not even to sleep. 

Orange bled into a dark purple against his face and he blinked, coming back to himself in front of your bedroom window. A strange confusion twisted in his gut when he realized he'd just been standing there, staring out your window for so long the sun had set.

You weren't stupid, or blind. 

You'd have to be a fool to not notice the way Daryl had been taking interest in you. 

There'd been several times in Alexandria where you'd be busy doing something, turn around and see him standing off in the distance, staring at you like fuckin’ Michael Myers. 

If you'd go on runs and he came with you, you'd often glance at him to see him already looking. He'd always look away, pull out a cigarette and act like he wasn't just burning holes in the back of your head. 

You'd come to the obvious conclusion that he had a crush on you. 

What else could it be? You'd always thought he was really hot, men like that were hard to come by. Quiet, observant, strong as hell, he’d do anything for the people he loved and he wasn't an annoying pervert who'd suddenly turn into an asshole if you rejected him. Not that you'd ever reject him. 

Each time you caught him staring your heart would race and you'd try to give a friendly smile, but apparently he was too shy for that. Which sucked, because of all the men you could have the hots for, Daryl was the most unapproachable and intimidating. 

“Hey, have you guys seen an earring laying around anywhere?” You asked at dinner, glancing around the table. Carol had invited the inner group over for dinner, she'd made pasta and cookies. 

You could never get enough of Carol's cookies. 

“What's it look like?” Maggie asked beside Glenn, the two of them looking at you thoughtfully from across the table. 

“Just a pearl earring. The one's I always used to wear.” You took a sip of your sweet tea, looking at the other faces to see if any of them had a split second look of recognition. 

“Not that I can remember.” Glenn cleared his throat and shook his head after swallowing a heavy mouthful of alfredo pasta. 

“I'll keep an eye out for it.” Rick tipped his head to you, nodding slightly before continuing eating. You smiled in return, knowing if anyone was likely to find it, it’d be him. 

He'd grown very fond of you recently, the image of you had shifted in his head from another person he was responsible for, to a dear friend he could trust with his life. Mostly due to the way you were with Carl, always doing your best to be a figure of comfort to him. Not as close as he'd grown to Michonne, but more of a young aunt who takes too much interest in art and jewelry.

“I haven't seen you wear those in a while.” Carl spoke up. 

You sighed when no one had any leads. “Yeah, I know. Just been worried about losing them, they're pretty important.” You took the last bite of your cookie, dusting your hands together before speaking again. “It's really weird, they were both in my jewelry box last time I checked, but this morning there was only one.” 

“You think someone stole one?” Carol's voice held a tight tone of suspicion, her eyes narrowing so slightly you could've missed it if you blinked. 

“No, I mean, no one goes in our house besides you all. And I know none of you care about a single earring.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek in deep thought. 

You felt that familiar sensation of warmth on your cheek, like someone had a hot iron near you. 

You turned your head to your left, met with Daryl's eyes from his spot at the end of the other side of the table. 

To your surprise he didn't look away like he usually did. He kept his gaze steady, his elbows propped on the table and his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. 

You didn't feel butterflies like usual, and your cheeks burned for a different reason. For the first time you were the one to look away. 

Rick had put together a group to scout out further into town for more resources. The usual suspects, Aaron, Sasha, Rosita, Abraham, Daryl and of course, you.

He hadn't made up his mind on if he was glad or not. He'd been stupid, feeding the sparks of his mild obsession, and that pretty little pearl earring he kept in his jeans pocket felt like twenty pounds of red-hot metal.

They'd set up camp for the night in the woods right on the outskirts of town. Abraham had set up mediocre sound traps around the small clearing, and Daryl couldn't help but snort when you walked right into one and the cans failed to clash together. 

Fire was a dumb idea too. 

Daryl had started to remember why he preferred being alone. Aaron was too used to the safety of the Alexandria walls. 

Abraham told him he'd better put it out after dark, also throwing in a passive aggressive insult, and Aaron stuttered out an agreement. 

It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes off you. He sat across the fire from you, watching you smile and laugh and joke with Rosita like you were two young girls in summer camp.

As the flames of his fixation on you grew, so did his confliction. 

He had no problems with you. He'd barely even paid attention to you before you'd arrived at Alexandria, you were just another background character in his story that wouldn't make a difference if you died or not. But you'd grown close to Rick and Maggie, two people he cared about. So by extension, he cared about you too. 

He wasn't sure when it started. It kind of just happened over time.

He was always an outside observer, keeping details of each person he knew on a list in his mind. 

But you, he couldn't think of any reason you'd be so special. It was obvious you were smoking hot, he wasn't blind. But he'd seen his share of beautiful women. Maybe it was the fact you seemed to always have luck on your side, you could go out singing in the woods and never run into any trouble. 

If the two of you weren't careful, that luck might change tonight. 

Abraham and Aaron were busy looking at a map of the town and figuring out what pathing they'd take in the morning. Sasha and Rosita were sitting on their bedrolls cleaning their guns and talking about meaningless things, he didn't care enough to listen. 

You were the odd man out. Just like him. 

Sitting in the dirt on the other side of the fire, fidgeting with a stick in front of you while you thought. 

He could tell you knew he was staring at you again. And judging by the way you were forcing yourself to keep your eyes on the stick you were drawing circles in the dirt with, you were trying your best not to look up. 

He didn't expect you to look up. He almost let the confusion show on his face, caught off guard by his incorrect prediction. He saw the way your cheeks flushed even though the light of the fire made your face glow orange. He flared his nostrils at the sight, why'd you have to make it so damn hard?

His heart dropped when you suddenly stood and walked off into the woods. 

No one had even noticed, too wrapped up in their conversations. Another thing that succeeded in his self restraint slipping away. 

Daryl followed after counting three minutes in his head. He'd really hoped you'd come back before then, praying you'd be lucky enough to slip back through the trees before he got to his feet. 

It was dark in the woods away from the campfire. 

He could hear you a few yards ahead, your boots crunching lightly on leaves despite your attempts at being quiet. 

He kept his distance, just following the sounds of your footsteps and the slight silhouette of your body, the moonlight seeping through the treetops barely grazing your hair and shoulders. 

This was way too natural to him. 

Now out here you were just like any other victim, but it brought him comfort knowing there'd be no way he could hurt you and get away with it. The two of you disappear off into the woods at night and only Daryl comes back? He might think the people around the fire made stupid decisions sometimes, but they weren't stupid enough to not be suspicious of him. 

Maybe he could say walkers got you. 

He clenched his jaw when he realized he was at such a desperate point that an idea that stupid even crossed his mind. 

“Daryl?”

The sound of your sweet voice made him physically recoil, his hand falling from the knife in his belt that he didn't realize he'd been gripping. 

He could barely make out your figure in front of him. You were facing him, maybe six feet away, standing underneath a large pine tree. 

There was no use in hiding. Your eyes would've adjusted enough by now to see the shape of him. 

Finally, he answered, his voice coming out in more of a growl than a human speaking. “Shouldn't be out here alone.” 

There was silence before you filled it with the crunching of your footsteps moving towards him. 

His body tensed as you drew closer, now able to make out the pretty features of your face. An image of you flashed in his head, blood running down your nose and lips, tears in your eyes, your fingernails raking down his wrist. 

“I just needed a minute to clear my head.” You said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you weren't out in the dead of night stomping around loud enough for any walkers within a five mile radius to hear. 

Daryl said nothing, his eyes fixed on your face as you slowly crept near. Although he hated not being able to read your expressions, he was thankful for it, because he was hanging on by a thread and if you even showed the slightest hint of fear, he'd snap. He wouldn't be able to resist if your lips trembled, or if your eyes widened and you stuttered a single apprehensive syllable. 

But as his eyes adjusted even further, his mouth ran dry and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt like he'd been slapped in the face. That would've been less of a stun than the look you were giving him, standing only a few inches away from him. 

Your plan had worked. You'd been plotting it ever since Rick paired you up in that group, the silent attention Daryl had been giving you ended up driving you mad. You found it absurd that all it took was a few stares to make you feel like he was some A list celebrity giving you special treatment.

Maybe it was a little stupid the way you went about it, but the curiosity eating you up inside didn't have you thinking straight. Walking off into the woods was one thing, but at night? In woods so thick you could barely see your hand outstretched in front of you? Blindly trekking through the leaves in the mere hope that he'd follow you and make a move? 

You hadn't had sex in way too long. 

Yeah, that was it.

That's why you were making the decisions of a dumb bitch in a horror movie. But at least it was Daryl you were after, you knew you'd be fine if you ran into trouble. 

You thought you'd be fine.

Emboldened by the darkness and privacy you'd secured for yourself, you approached him. Your heart hammered against your chest, and you had to bite your lip to keep from panicking, the fear of rejection or a humiliating scolding almost made you change your mind. 

Your eyes strained in the dark to make out the features of his face. 

He looked almost expressionless, but there was something in his eyes, something that had your steady breathing turning into shuddering breaths coming from your mouth. His gaze looked like a textbook example of ‘dark’. Your heart felt like it was literally about to explode, and when you saw his upper lip barely twitch, you let out an accidental sigh, too exhilarated to feel embarrassed with yourself. 

He was right in front of you then. You'd crossed every single inch of ground that separated you, and you could smell his signature scent of cigarettes, smoke, those spicy little mint leaves he'd chew on for his oral fixation. There was a hint of male musk as well, just barely there after a day walking outside in the woods. 

You could see his chest rising and falling more dramatically now. 

He was still dead silent, his eyes never leaving yours, even as you looked over every inch of him. You'd been biting your lip so hard it started to ache, and so you released it, your mouth opening to speak, you yourself unaware of what you planned to say.

The sound of Abraham’s whistle signal breaking through the thick silence had you feeling like you fell out of a plane. You sucked in a gasp and pulled your hand back from where it hung inches away from Daryl's chest. 

Daryl's posture snapped into something so different it gave you whiplash. He was Daryl Dixon again, the sight so drastic you couldn't help but feel unnerved. 

He whistled back before looking at you once more. It was still too dark to tell if he looked relieved or disappointed. “C'mon.” 

Keeping his distance from people had never been a problem for Daryl. But what you did that night had permanently altered something inside him. 

He didn't know if he wanted to fuck you or kill you. Maybe both. 

You became his new favorite pastime. 

When everyone fell asleep that night, he sat with his back against the same tree he'd been sitting under for hours, his eyes keeping their unwavering stance on your sleeping form. All the while he imagined hundreds of different things to do to you. 

His mind kept going between strangling the life out of you, watching it bleed from your eyes. Or the other one, the image where he was burying his face between your legs with his tongue and teeth sucking and nipping, licking till it became too much and you begged him to stop.

He carefully planned out his next encounter with you over the course of days. He acted it out the night of a “party” at Aaron and Eric’s house, so focused on his plan he didn't even know what they were having a party for.

Daryl didn't care if you caught him staring anymore. That night in the woods he could practically smell how bad you wanted it, it didn't matter to him anymore if he disregarded all basic manners.

The last time there was a party in Alexandria was when Rick's group joined. Daryl hadn't gone to that one, the feeling of being an outdoor cat watching indoor cats eating their fancy wet food too much for him. 

But he'd do anything to continue this little game with you. It was new, and there were no rules. 

For the most part he was his usual self, sticking to the side and keeping enough casual conversation to blend in. The perfect balance between himself, and the part of him that imagined in great detail all the sounds you'd make. 

He took a sip of the beer Aaron forced in his hands, his eyes looking back to you. 

You looked like a fresh cut of meat just waiting for him to sink his teeth into. 

The dress you wore hugged every single piece of your body, fitting you in a way that was almost poetic, but it was modest enough that it didn't draw unwanted attention. You were beside Rick most of the night, happily chatting and drinking champagne in a way that oozed confidence. 

Every now and then you'd look at him, and he'd savor all the details of the way your confidence faded into something he didn't have a word for. You looked nervous, but hungry, like someone reaching out a hesitant hand to stroke the pelt of a tamed predator. 

Daryl wanted to bite that hand, hold it in his harsh jaws while your other one stroked his fur. 

You played your part well, after most of the formal greetings and casual conversation had been taken care of you slipped out the back door. 

He counted three minutes in his head before making his exit, which was stopped by Carol.

“Leaving already, huh?” She gave him a knowing smirk, unaware that her assumption he was just bored was incorrect. He'd never been more entertained. 

“Yeah, shit ain't for me anyway.” He played along with a nonchalant shrug, pulling a lone cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Done enough already just by comin’.” 

Carol nodded, that smirk still on her face as she looked at the people standing around making friendly conversation. “Don't get into any trouble. Don't wanna help you hide bodies again.”

Daryl snorted, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. If there was anyone he'd come to for help hiding bodies it definitely would've been her. “Yeah yeah. Night Carol.” He gave her a pat on her shoulder before turning sideways to fit through the cracked door. 

He hadn't expected you to be so good at this. He'd been prepared to walk down the steps of the porch and see you standing down the sidewalk, waiting for him like he was your prom date. 

You weren't too good, though. He found you rather easily. The bottom of your heels left slight little indents in the dirt, leading between the houses, down the street, and right up to the sidewalk in front of your house. 

His heart rate sped up a little when he remembered that house was completely empty, all but you.

Or so he thought.

You weren't anywhere to be seen. He checked every room, growing increasingly irritated when each one turned up nothing. He was about to give up and just head home when he checked your room one last time. 

Something caught his eye, a blade of grass, his eyes followed the bits of grass to see those black heels sitting under your dresser, taking the place of your boots.

You tried to keep from anxiously picking at your fingernails as you stood behind the thick underbrush at the woodline, watching for any sign of movement along the outside walls. 

There was a spot at the back wall near a platform no one really watched anymore, which is where the both of you had gone to leave without being seen. 

You were beginning to think maybe you'd read him wrong. Your heart skipped a beat as you remembered that look he gave you at the party, it was impossible to describe. He was lacking any sort of expression, but in his eyes held this darkness that made swallowing your champagne hard when you'd seen it. The way he leaned against the wall near a group of people, his eyes steady and fixed on you, you could only decipher that as a look of craving for something he'd been wanting for a long time.

If you hadn't been looking at the Alexandrian walls, you would've missed it. For a split second you saw a flash of dark clothing, even darker hair, and you darted from your position behind the thickets.

Thankfully it wasn't as dark as that one night. 

The sun had dipped down below the trees and out of sight, but it left just enough light for the sky to be a dark blue. The full moon made it even brighter, and soon you were in one of the houses right outside Alexandria. 

You stood in the living room and waited. You'd already checked the house for walkers before this, not keen on the idea of a growling monstrosity of green and purple flesh ruining whatever might happen there when Daryl arrived. 

If he arrived. 

You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't coming. The heavy front door was open just a few inches, you'd wanted to be able to see him approach the house, to take him by surprise, maybe giving him the same fright he'd given you countless times.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy. You felt that feeling again, like you were in danger, the feeling you might get being stalked by a large cat. 

There was a breeze behind you, and you recognized it as a draft from the back window being opened. 

Although it was happening behind you, your mind raced as you played out the scene. His hands bracing against the walls on either side of the window, his first leg dipping over like a spider emerging from its tunnel. 

The tap of a boot meeting the wood floor under the window, so light and careful you almost didn't hear it. A second foot, he was in the house, only across the room from you. You held your breath as the footsteps drew near, slow, deliberate, you could tell just by the timing of his steps he was approaching you like a leopard closing in on a wounded deer. Confident, patient, nearly sadistic.

The feeling of his breath on your bare shoulder sent chills through your body and goosebumps down your arms. It was cold and barely there, you felt like if you turned around you'd be met with an empty house.

His fingers were just as light as his breath, tracing the thin dress strap over your shoulder, down and to the middle of your spine. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think Daryl could be this confident in this way. He acted like every antagonist in a romance novel, dark and self-assured with every move he made. 

You felt yourself relaxing as you leaned your back against his chest, feeling the leather of his vest on your skin, as well as the buttons on his black shirt. 

The feeling of his hand snaking over your shoulder and up to your neck succeeded in sending every last drop of blood in your body down between your legs. You were fully prepared for the best slow, deep, mind-blowing sex of your life, but that quickly changed when his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.

It wasn't a firm and sexy squeeze, it was a ‘wait that's actually way too tight’ squeeze. 

Your eyes shot back open but you tried to keep your cool, your hands instinctively reaching up to grab at his wrist.

Apparently, Daryl didn't like that. 

He suddenly had your back pressed against the wall of the living room with movements so quick and precise it made your head spin. You looked up at his face, lit with a dim blue light from the windows, searching for any signs that would be cause for panic. 

He decided to give you that reason you were looking for, and wrapped his hand around your neck again.

For once, Daryl wasn't fighting some internal battle on if he should kill you or not. 

He'd made the decision as soon as he crept in the window and saw you standing in the living room, facing the front door and biting at your nails. 

That decision wasn't final, though, you had the power in your hands to change his mind. 

Hopefully you'd be as lucky as you always were. 

He looked down at your face as he kept his one handed grip on your throat, burning the image in his mind. Your eyes were wide and full of this otherworldly beautiful fear, so much uncertainty it made his already hard cock twitch. 

Your hands were still on his wrist, as if it gave you some sort of control, something he found endearing. You still trusted him, you still thought you had a chance to regain the control you thought you had this whole time.

“This what you wanted?” He breathed, looking from your eyes to your lips. Your face had turned a shade darker from his grip, your lips turning a pretty hue of red. “Wanted me to hunt you down, and then what? Huh?”

He watched for your reaction, waiting to see how you'd play the hand you'd been dealt, and to his pleasant surprise you managed to nod. 

Daryl's hand loosened just enough to send the blood back to your head and you sucked in a deep breath, before letting out a trembling whimper. 

His lips twitched into a soft smirk, and he dipped his head down to press his lips against yours. You kissed him hungrily, swallowing the growl from his throat as your bare knee pressed against the aching bulge in his jeans. You moved it in firm circles, and he decided that earned a returned gesture.

He used his knee to roughly spread your thighs before giving you the same treatment. The whine that drew from your lips, and the way your eyes rolled back in your head, had him letting out a deep groan. He ground his knee up between your legs, long enough to feel the wetness seeping from your panties and through his jeans. 

You didn't get a chance to tell him about the bed you'd cleaned upstairs for this. Which was unfortunate, given you'd gone out of your way to do so, not that he would've cared anyway. 

He grabbed your shoulder and spun you around, fingers finding the zipper of your dress and unceremoniously pulling it down to your ass. Your heavy breathing fueled his desire and he grabbed a fistful of your hair before yanking your dress down with his other hand so fast it burned. 

With the grip he had in your hair he forcefully guided you onto the floor, releasing you only to settle between your thighs and slide his hands up your bare chest to his favorite part of you. 

You got that look on your face again. Lust blown pupils, breathing softly through your mouth. You still hadn't figured it out yet, that you could very easily be in danger. 

This time he used both hands. 

A yelp got choked from your throat as he squeezed, allowing himself a few seconds to please himself. The white of your eyes turned a light pink at the edges, a few beads of tears forming there as well, the sight making his dick throb. 

He released your neck and you gasped, sucking down lungfuls of air as your head spun. You felt like you were on a carousel the way you got so dizzy. 

While you regained your bearings he unbuckled his belt and took out his dick, his right hand wasting no time in giving himself relief. You took the opportunity to slide off your panties, and when he saw the glistening of your wet folds in the deep blue lighting he growled. The sinful sound earned a whimper from you, and he refocused on your face to see a pitiful look of impatience.

Daryl switched to stroking himself with his left hand, and guided the tip up through your slick folds. He savored the way you looked then, biting your bottom lip as you prepared yourself. 

Instead of giving the satisfaction he pulled his tip back and carried on fucking his hand. As soon as your eyes opened and you went to protest, his free hand went right back to your neck.

He loved the way you looked then, desperate and pathetic, so full of frustration it leaked out through tears in your eyes. He squeezed hard, completely cutting off blood and air to your brain, tugging his dick faster as you squirmed.

Daryl lifted up his knee to pin one of your thighs to the floor in an effort to keep you still. He took his hand away from his cock and spit in his palm, wasting no time in getting back to touching himself. 

He could've easily come right there. If he wanted to, he could keep squeezing just a few more moments, and your squirming would've stopped. He could spill his load on your stomach and effortlessly slip into his cleanup routine, but aside from the fact that part of him didn't really want to kill you, the way you orgasmed had him fucking frozen.

He hadn't even touched you, but you came. 

Your eyebrows scrunched together and the leg he didn't have pinned down wrapped around his waist, your hips rolling in a desperate attempt to get friction against your clit. He relaxed his hand from your throat and you let out this bubbly whimpering sound that made his hips instinctively jerk forward. 

Daryl watched you, holding his breath without realizing it. She just came from you chokin’ her. The words repeated over and over in his mind as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm. 

He had to snatch his hand away from his dick to keep his own orgasm at bay. Not yet, not a chance in hell, not after you just did that. You deserved something for showing him the hottest thing he never would've thought possible.

His body went on autopilot. He slid down from your body, planting kisses in a trail from your neck to your naval, down to your thighs, then back up again. He buried his face between your legs, not giving you a moment's notice or time to recover. He swirled his tongue around your clit, grazing his teeth against it before sucking it between his lips.

You bucked against him like a wild horse, the stimulation so much your body didn't know how to react. It was desperate, finally getting some stimulation, but you'd just had a world shattering orgasm only seconds before. He wrapped his arms under your thighs and pulled you down against his mouth again, his grip tight to keep you from squirming away again. 

The only control you had was your ability to choose what to do with your hands. Your fingers wrapped around clumps of his hair, winding up so tight it made his scalp burn. 

He growled in response and took your clit between his teeth, holding it there as a stern warning, only letting it go when you stopped pulling so damn hard.

If he had the power to freeze time for everything but the two of you, he would've eaten your pussy for hours. But he settled on just long enough to pull another orgasm from you, sliding the tip of his tongue from your throbbing clit to the new trail of slick cum dripping out of you. 

Daryl didn't give you time to recover from that one either. As soon as your cry faded out he flipped you on your back, ignoring the yelp of protest you made when your hip bones dug into the hard floor beneath you. 

The only warning he gave you before shoving his cock into you was a quick slide of his swollen tip between your puffy folds. Just right enough to lubricate the head, and then he drove it in.

The way you groaned in pain from the stretch almost made him cum right there. He stilled inside you, not for you to adjust but for him to fall back away from the edge. The benefit to you was just lucky. 

“Fuck.” It was the first time in a while that he'd spoken, and it was solely due to the way your hot plush walls squeezed his dick like a fist. 

He should've known you'd feel like that, he hadn't seen you with a man the entire time he'd known you. His chest shuddered with his ragged breaths, and once he was ready he put both hands flat on your upper back. He put his weight there, keeping him upright so he could lift his hips and fuck his dick into you with all his weight.

Your arms slid out in front of you, your hands grasping for something, anything, you needed something to hold onto.

He wouldn't grant you that kindness either. He rested his knees back on the floor on either side of your thighs and grabbed your arms, bending them painfully behind you. When he held your wrists together at the base of your spine he started fucking you again. 

Each rough snap of his hips drove a whiney moan from you. He liked that a lot, it sounded similar to a different type of crying, and he slowed down to keep his dick from getting friction burns. While you used the opportunity to squirm under him in an attempt to get more comfortable he spit on his fingers, letting it drip onto the base of his cock before changing positions once again.

He moved your arms up over your head and laid down on top of you, the weight of him pressing down on your back pushing all the air from your lungs. 

Your check rubbed against the floor as he started thrusting again, this time settling on a new pace, rough and fast despite the fact he barely drew his dick out. If he wasnt fucking you so roughly, the feeling of his head resting against yours would’ve given you butterflies. You became acutely aware of the closeness, there wasn't an inch of space between your bodies, and every grunt and groan he made had his lips brushing up against the side of your ear.

He used his hips to grind his dick inside you, the new motion drawing filthy gasps and whines from you from the way his tip seemed to roll and dig into each and every crevice inside you. You'd never felt anything like that before, so used to the normal thrusting. He only pulled back about an inch, rolling his hips in a way that had you shamelessly moaning. 

Daryl moved your hair from the back of your neck, pushing it up and away before leaning down to dig his teeth into the skin right at the base of your neck. He bit hard, something you didn't expect, and you cried out in pain, your body jerking under him. 

It was hard for you to breathe with his full weight on your back. The heat of his body gave you uncomfortable hot flashes, adding to the sweat you'd already made. Your hair stuck to your forehead and you made an attempt to push it off, which was made difficult when he changed paces once again.

He started drawing out further now, but he'd just drive back in harder, faster, causing your body to grind roughly against the wood floor. The skin over your hip bones started to burn as well as your nipples, something you found almost agonizing but shamefully pleasurable at the same time. 

He fucked you like that until you came for the third time, now around his dick. He pushed himself off your back and used his hands on your shoulders to keep you pinned down, watching as he breathed through his mouth at the way his cock disappeared inside you. 

You were lucky he felt like a new position. 

He waited until you stopped writhing under him from your orgasm before grabbing your thigh to turn you on your back. 

Relief washed over you as the pain in your hip bones faded, only to have that relief taken from you when he grabbed your waist and yanked you up and off the floor. 

Your feet didn't even touch the ground, your body swaying as you tried to get a sense of gravity, Daryl's hands tight on your sides as he took you to the couch. 

All you could do at that point was relax and let him move your body for you, your hands shaking against your chest as he sat you on the arm of the couch. You let him push you down on your back, your ass and legs dangling over the arm for a few dizzying seconds before he grabbed your legs and held them around his waist. 

Daryl pushed his dick back in your abused pussy and groaned, gripping your thighs tighter so he could pull you closer to him.

Your back arched almost uncomfortably, your hips angled up against his pelvis, the only part of your back that touched the cushions of the couch ended up being your shoulders. You were thankful you could at least breathe now. 

Daryl was skilled at taking small bits of relief like that away. 

He leaned down and bit your already sore nipple so hard and so suddenly you nearly shouted. Your hands instinctively went to grab his hair for support, but he leaned back and your fingers fell from his face. 

He was proud of the new angle. Your pelvis tilted up and him fucking down into you sent him as deep as possible, and soon he began fucking you rough enough that it bordered closely on too painful. 

Lucky for you, you liked it. Your walls burned pleasurably from the dragging of his dick, and he started speaking again. 

“Look at you, dirty little whore.” He teased as he looked down at your abused body with a grin. Your nipples and hips were red from him fucking you into the floor, your neck equally as red from the force of his hands. 

Your sweet, sweet pretty face, twisted up in a mix of pleasure and pain, your cheeks red, your lips swollen, streaks of black makeup running down your face. The sight made him seriously consider picking up drawing, because that look was, without a doubt, the best thing he'd seen in his entire life. 

“Daryl,” You finally plucked the courage to speak to him and he raised a brow, impressed, he'd gotten used to you taking it so well without any complaints. “Too much.” Your voice broke as you whined, another orgasm bringing you to shambles. 

He snorted as he watched you come around his dick yet again, your words asking for mercy but your body clearly asking him otherwise. 

“You can take a little more, yeah?” Even he was becoming spent, his heart banging in his chest so hard he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his hands down your sweaty chest to your breasts, his dick twitching inside you at the way you cried when he pinched that same sore nipple. 

“I don't know,” Another wave of shivers overcame you, eliciting exhausted, long and shaky whines. Your body couldn't process going a little under two years with little to no sexual activity, and then suddenly being mind numbingly overstimulated with the most exhilarating sex you'd ever had in your life. Each time you thought you'd gotten used to it he'd pull the rug out from under you, either by causing pain or giving you more pleasure that you knew what to do with. 

As if on cue you felt his flattened hand smack the side of your face, demanding your focus. Your eyes struggled to find him, your vision fuzzy and wobbly, but when you looked up and saw him your heart fluttered. 

“Look at me. C'mon.” He didn't want you passing out on him, that took all the fun away. 

Despite the obvious fact he had a clear disregard for your comfort or discomfort, the way he was looking down at you sent butterflies through your stomach and chest. His pupils were so blown with lust that you couldn't see the pretty color of his eyes, and his eyelids were heavy with the approach of his orgasm. His lips, glistening from the way his tongue had darted out to wet them, parted as he huffed in ragged breaths. 

You could tell if he had a picture of you like this, he'd be reacting the same way with just his hand. The thought had a moan bubbling past your lips. 

“C'mon.” His hips snapped forward roughly, jerking in a break from his steady aggressive rhythm. You cried out from that, your hands finding the sides of his dangling belt to grab onto like the reins of a horse.

He'd held back his orgasm as long as he could, but the sight of you shaking and trembling under him, exhausted and overstimulated, he couldn't last much longer. Your face twisted in discomfort as he fucked you faster again, your hips suddenly doing their best to wiggle up and away from the frenzy of his dick. 

You'd managed to get a few short moments of relief, sliding backwards until his dick nearly slid out.

His upper lip curled in disbelief, and he shook his head, scoffing at you. “Don't be a baby, you can take it.” You were yanked back down on his dick, the sensation of being forced back into overstimulation had you moaning in distress. 

You nodded your head feverishly, setting your jaw as you looked up at the ceiling, trying your best to keep it together. But each time his hips would ram into yours it made his crotch slam against your clit, and it got too much, your breathing sped up as the panic of overstimulation set in. You really tried then, actually tried to wiggle away, and to your surprise, and much needed relief, he stilled his hips. 

You were expecting him to maybe find a better way to restrain you, or put you in a position you couldn't move from, but he just used the moment to catch his breath before his demeanor changed completely.

“Hey, hey, shh.” The sweetness in his tone made you whimper, your eyes falling closed as he comforted you. It felt so fucking good, you found yourself willing to do anything and everything to feel that tenderness some more. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl.” He cooed as your breathing slowed and your fingers stopped shaking.

Daryl released your thighs and with unexpected ease, he slipped his hands under the arch in your back, picking you up and moving so he could sit down on the couch, keeping you stuck on his cock the entire time. 

The new position of being on top sent a fresh wave of pleasure flipping in the bottom of your stomach, the tip of his dick pressed right at the end of your walls.

It wasn't painful like you'd felt before when your cervix was accidentally hit too hard, quite the opposite, the feeling of pressure was so strangely good you found yourself pushing down with all your weight, desperate to feel more. 

Daryl tossed his head back with a grunt at the feeling, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting it. His hands took their place on your hips, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin there. 

He'd only switched to this position because his legs were getting unsteady, but the way you looked above him was something he didn't expect to enjoy as much as he did. 

He took a second to catch his breath before he planted his boots firmly on the floor, pressing his back against the couch, and when he was perfectly leveraged he used his hands to keep your waist hovering above him, using the angle to fuck his dick up into you so hard you immediately came again. 

The way you came for the fourth time made his jaw drop. 

He watched you through heavy lidded eyes, taking in every second of it as he breathed through his open mouth. The way your face tensed up in twisted concentration, and then the way it dropped as you fell apart, your mouth falling open with a guttural moan that put every single goddamn porn video he'd seen to shame. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your mouth hung open in such a beautiful ‘O’, he broke. 

He let go of your waist so your full weight would slam down on his cock and he came, his head tilted back against the couch, his dark hair falling away from his face. 

You watched his face the same way he'd watched yours, rolling your hips down against him as you drew out every wave of the strongest orgasm you'd ever had. He looked fucking beautiful. You'd do everything in your power to get him like this again, but this time with your camera. 

His orgasm literally shook him. He clenched the skin over your hips in a tight grip, using it to keep you as tight as possible against him. In those few seconds his mind went blank, almost devolving him into an animal. Those instincts wanted to keep you there on top of him, so he did, rolling his pelvis to fuck his cum deeper into you. 

Daryl held you there until way after he came down from his high, only releasing his grip on your skin when he felt his dick grow soft. 

You couldn't move off him if you tried. Your legs felt like you'd lost all muscle mass, same with your arms. Your body slumped forward and you fell against his chest, your nipples burning as they rubbed against his shirt and vest. 

His arms wrapped around your torso, squeezing your body tight against his, his hips giving a few last weak rolls up against you. 

It took you both a while to catch your breath, the mouth breathing leaving the two of you uncomfortably thirsty. 

He made the first move when he realized you couldn't, and he slid your body off of his into the seat beside him. He sat there for a few more seconds before he carefully put his tender dick back in his pants. 

His belt buckle clinked noisily as he fastened it, his fingers shaky and inaccurate.  He watched as you slowly rose to your feet and grabbed your panties, the rising and falling of his chest gradually slowing. 

The sight of you struggling to climb into your dress had him feeling a smug sense of satisfaction. He chewed on the skin around his thumb, watching you slip your feet into your boots before you leaned against the wall next to the front door. 

You looked at it and faltered, realizing that the two of you had been pretty loud. When you looked back to him with a concerned expression you were just met with an uncaring smirk, the man now on his feet and wiping the sweat from his face with the top of his shirt. He grabbed his crossbow from the floor and flung it over his shoulder before leading you back home.

@ophelialaufey

[hayatheauthor]

Caught in the Throat: A Writer’s Handbook on Choking (Non-Violent)

The act of choking is so over-sexualised I genuinely could not find any more 'normal' pictures to use so ignore the banner lol

Choking is one of those scenarios that can instantly elevate tension and drama in your writing. It’s a visceral experience, both for the character facing the threat and for the reader witnessing the struggle. In this guide, we'll explore the mechanics of choking, the physiological responses involved, how to write believable choking scenes, and common misconceptions to avoid. 

1. Understanding Choking: The Basics

Choking occurs when an object obstructs the airway, preventing air from reaching the lungs. This can happen with food, small objects, or even vomit. Here are the two main types of choking:

Partial Obstruction: The airway is not completely blocked, and the person can still breathe, albeit with difficulty. They might cough, wheeze, or make high-pitched sounds.

Complete Obstruction: The airway is entirely blocked, leading to the inability to breathe, speak, or cough. This situation is life-threatening and requires immediate intervention.

2. The Physiology of Choking

To write a compelling choking scene, understanding the physiological response is crucial. Here’s what happens in the body during choking:

Immediate Reactions

Panic Response: When choking occurs, the body's immediate response is panic. The character may instinctively grasp at their throat, eyes wide with fear, or try to cough to clear the obstruction.

Increased Heart Rate: The heart races as adrenaline floods the system. This physiological reaction prepares the body for a fight-or-flight response.

Physical Symptoms

Coughing: A natural reaction to a partial obstruction, this can be loud and desperate. The character may attempt to clear their throat while making frantic gestures.

Color Changes: A person choking may turn red in the face as they struggle for air and may eventually turn blue (cyanosis) due to lack of oxygen.

Loss of Consciousness: In cases of complete obstruction, unconsciousness can occur within minutes due to lack of oxygen to the brain.

3. Writing Choking Scenes: Key Elements

When writing about choking, consider these elements to create a vivid and believable scene:

Setting the Scene

Build Up Tension: Introduce elements that lead to choking, such as a hurried meal or a character talking while eating. This sets the stage for the choking incident.

Sensory Details: Engage your reader’s senses. Describe the sound of a sudden gasp, the character's frantic movements, and the panic in their eyes.

Character Reactions

Realistic Responses: Show the character's physical and emotional turmoil. Are they flailing for help? Are they frozen in fear? Their reaction will depend on their personality and previous experiences.

Dialogue: If the choking occurs in a dialogue-heavy scene, consider how communication breaks down. Words become garbled, and panic sets in, leading to frantic pleas for help or confused shouts from bystanders.

4. The Rescue: Interventions and Techniques

In many stories, the choking scene will lead to a rescue. It's important to depict this accurately.

Heimlich Maneuver

Description: The Heimlich maneuver involves standing behind the choking person, placing your arms around their waist, and performing thrusts inward and upward to expel the obstruction.

Effectiveness: Explain that this is often a last-ditch effort. The character must be calm and composed to perform this correctly. A panicked rescuer can make the situation worse.

Call for Help

Emergency Response: If the choking person loses consciousness, it becomes crucial to call for emergency services. Highlight the urgency of the situation, as every second counts.

Character Dynamics: Explore the relationships between characters during this crisis. A close friend or family member may react differently than a stranger would.

5. Aftermath: Consequences of Choking

After a choking incident, there will likely be physical and emotional consequences:

Physical Recovery

Injury to the Airway: Choking can cause bruising or damage to the throat and airways, which may result in difficulty swallowing or talking in the days following the incident.

Potential for PTSD: Depending on the severity of the experience, a character may develop anxiety around eating or a fear of choking again.

Character Development

Bonding Experience: Surviving a choking incident can bring characters closer together, creating a moment of shared trauma that deepens their relationships.

Change in Perspective: A near-death experience may lead a character to reevaluate their priorities or behavior, adding depth to their arc.

6. Common Misconceptions About Choking

When writing about choking, it's essential to avoid common misconceptions that can undermine realism:

Myth 1: Choking Always Looks Dramatic

In fiction, choking scenes can often be exaggerated for effect. In reality, choking can be subtle, especially if the obstruction is partial. Characters may appear slightly distressed before panic fully sets in.

Myth 2: People Can Talk or Scream While Choking

While they might make gasping sounds or attempt to communicate, a person experiencing a complete airway obstruction cannot speak or yell.

Myth 3: The Heimlich is Always Effective

While the Heimlich maneuver can be life-saving, it's not always effective, especially in certain medical conditions. It’s crucial to depict choking with a realistic understanding of its complexities.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! Instagram Tiktok

[lunarmoves]

Can't stop thinking of the scenario where y/n leaves the Pizzaplex feeling like Sun honestly wanted them gone, and Sun becomes obsessed with finding them and also leads a robot apocalypse. What would happen if y/n caught wind that Sun is looking specifically for them and seeing all that has happened with the robots takes that as "Oh no, I thought he tolerated me but turns out he dislikes me so much he personally wants to get rid of me himself" so they try extra hard to go into hiding out of fear of what will happen if they're captured and taken to him?

ohhh my goddd nonnie u are so big brained!!!!!!! thank u for sending this in bc honestly i have also been thinking about this au for a while LMAO. if i was strong enough i would write a 50k fic spliced into two arcs (im thinking about it so hard u have no idea!!!!!!) for this but alas.... /stares at my incomplete wips/ i am not </3

(added in from future shay: what have u done nonnie this became so much longer than i'd intended, u basically get the whole fic outline here. cw for death and murder n stuff, typical fnaf. also spoilers for a fic i may or may not write?? like. this is me brainstorming and shoving all my ideas here lol. literally all of them)

okay so... let us set the stage a little bc i can't help myself. arc1 of this hypothetical fic would of course involve the pizzaplex where reader and sun get "closer" over the course of like a year. maybe more. well sun feels close to you. you, on the other hand, do not. why would you? this robot has been so passive aggressive with you and though it seems like he's nice enough to you (in comparison to the other humans), you really don't like how he treats you some days. what he says about humanity as a whole. you can't help it! yeah humanity sucks sometimes and robots were built to be everything that humans aren't, but he can't generalize in the way that he does at times and forget that these are people!! with feelings and ambitions and dreams! 'superiority complex' doesn't even begin to cover his issues, gahh!!

(the fact that he's been treated like absolute shit, working in the daycare does not help whatsoever. the mean parents, the kids who don't listen to him, the staff tht does the bare minimum on him in terms of maintenance because he's the daycare robot and not one of the glamrocks. it grinds his gears)

i imagine the reader in this fic believes that robots are indeed sentient, which is why you try to get sun to recognize and acknowledge his own emotions/feelings (which he vehemently denies, even tho there are literal riots happening worldwide regarding robot sentience. he's lying to you. you know he's lying to you. but you don't know why he denies it so much. ((maybe this is the point where he catches feels for reader and is denying the fact tht he's crushing on a human lol)). the government is not happy about these uprisings, of course, and every day the news shows more and more chaos unfolding as robots get tired of the conditions they are in). but eventually, things boil over and you end up leaving. that, and it's becoming more dangerous, living in this area, with everything going on. maybe your parents are trying to convince you to move elsewhere. maybe there are other external circumstances. in any case, you leave. there is nothing at the pizzaplex for you anymore, sun has made that clear.

(and moon... well, moon has been quiet lately. too quiet. you don't know what happened to him, he won't even look at you when you manage to get some time with him when the lights go out after your shift)

((i imagine this is maybe around when they get infected. that makes everything even more complicated. if you thought sun was obsessive before, then that's nothing compared to a glitched out sun unforch. it just amplifies the more questionable aspects of his entire personality. and like, he doesn't even have vanny/afton commanding him bc as soon as he gets the virus? he kills both of them))

(((also im imagining moon and sun don't really get along in this au bc they have differing ideals/views. like to balance out sun's unhingedness, moon is significantly quieter and softer and deffo does not believe in robot superiority lol. if anything, maybe he has an inferiority complex pfft poor guy. doesn't help when he gets glitchtrap'd and wakes up with blood on his hands)))

okay so you leave, right? and a few weeks later, you see the news on your phone--the pizzaplex has burned down. you don't know how to feel about it. sure you've been friendly to the glamrocks and stuff, but you find yourself thinking about sun and moon. there's a mention of one death--a blond woman, who died from her neck snapping before the flames could reach her. you don't want to think of the implications of that. there's no mention of the glamrocks--of sun or moon or the dj. you're not sure if the news anchors are just excluding robots, but either way, it makes your heart sink. you take a moment to mourn. bc at the end of the day.... you did know sun for over a year.

not even a few days after that, there is a robot uprising in your city. it's... bad. you're at home, watching the news with your apartment half in shambles from your plan on moving back home with your parents. in my head, since utah is home to fazco (a megacorporation with hands in the development of a LOT of the robots seen in society), it also means it's a hotspot for robot riots and the like. fazco vehemently denies robot sentience because it would mean a loss of money in acknowledging their workers are people yk how it is. as such, there are maany protests and riots and stuff, from both humans and robots. it's a shitshow.

ANYWAYS you're at home and it becomes evidently clear that you need to get out of dodge as soon as you can. they were killing people. the robots, built by human hands, were killing. it brings about absolute chaos. in prior riots/protests there were never deaths. injuries, maybe, but never deaths. people start evacuating like crazy.

you catch a glimpse on the news that the violent uprising in utah caused a chainlink reaction to extend all across the nation. maybe even the world. you're scrambling all over your apartment with the tv on the news, doing your best to pack up the essentials. there's live coverage on the tv from a helicopter somewhere not far from your apartment complex. and you're able to catch a glimpse of bright rays and a cheshire, white smile on the screen--leading what looks like an army of robots--before it cuts out.

you don't even know what to think. the image is seared into your eyes, the blood that painted yellow hands and a crescent face.

you get the hell out of your apartment and book it as far as you can. communications are down everywhere--the thing about robots? they know exactly where to hit humans to cause a catastrophe. as such, your phone is useless. they've hijacked the satellites and took down certain powergrids. having a phone on you would only be a detriment, so you ditch it. there's only you now. you must survive.

and then there's a bit of a time skip to start arc2. in this duration, you're long gone from that city in utah, living with a small survival group. if you've read my summer camp au fic, this is where i'll bring in "OCs" such as vincent (a play on 2015 vincent) and jeremy (fitzgerald or the VR guy tht used to work for fazco), maybe michael if i really wanna au fudge everything. you all live day by day, trying to run away from the robots.

at this point, a majority of humanity has either been killed or has gone into hiding. i think while the robots don't want to eradicate humanity completely (after all, there are certain tasks that need humans n such), they definitely want to make them a minority. they are a little more than halfway through their goal.

it's very difficult to evade robot surveillance. there are drones everywhere. all cameras are hijacked. i'm imagining a kind of cyberpunk type world. you have EMPs and tasers that you can use to disable electronics, but they're made from scraps you and your group scavenged. and upon immediately using one, all robots in the area are informed of your presence, so they can only be used in rare and desperate circumstances. they are all connected to the same network, which means they can have a hive mind, at times. life is scary, in this regard. big brother is watching.

you've heard rumors of a human base underground somewhere--a place safe from robots with the proper defenses. accepting to any and all. the only tough thing was finding the damn place, but you've seen the clues in graffiti and hidden messages designed to trick AI (think: captcha). you and your group just wants to get to that damn base and stop living in fear all the time, being out in the open or crawling as stealthily as you can through empty streets.

the one thing sun used to emphasize to you? the way robots are more efficient. and that they are. you see it in the way a new metropolis shines like a beacon on the horizon. they've already built their own kingdom of sorts. and their ruler? you grimace as you think about sharp rays and wide, white eyes. you haven't seen him in ages--not since that initial broadcast. but you hear the whispered rumors and news. how he has created a robot haven--the celestial city. how he scorns humans. you blame yourself sometimes. maybe if you had stayed and tried harder to convince sun that humans aren't all too bad, none of this would have happened.

(a memory comes to you--of your time back at the pizzaplex. of you sitting atop the security desk and kicking your feet lightly as you entertain sun's... uniqueness. ambitions--that you did not take as seriously as you should have.

"okay, i'll bite," you said in amusement. "what would a robot takeover look like for you?"

sun cocked his head, hands fidgeting with a plush. "hmm. well. i suppose it would be a very quick thing, for one. hit hard and fast." he squeezed the plush. "take down comms. strike power sources. go for those in power first, then the weaker ones." he gave you a shrug and an unreadable smile. "from then on, carnage."

and you--silly silly you--just rolled your damn eyes at him like he was joking around with you and asked him about more hypotheticals. picking his brain, in a way. it was exact with how it played out in real time. you thought about this often, at the dead of night.

it was all your fucking fault)

and then, one day, the scout/informant of your little group--jeremy probably--comes back with some news. the celestial ruler--sun--has been taking human hostages. it's been happening for a while now, apparently, almost nearly as long as the uprising. jeremy pulls out some hazy photographs he's gotten from some of the other humans he exchanges info with. you look at them, the hostages.

after a minute or two of staring, you realize something.

they all sort of resemble you.

there's a clear pattern actually. your hair or your face shape or your eyes or your smile. some combination of them. but never actually you. you ask jeremy what it all means, and he hesitatingly says that it looks like sun is looking for someone. it's clear to everyone who it is as they all stare at you.

and you? you're panicking.

he's looking specifically for you. just you. you've never heard of the robots taking hostages, and you have no idea what he's doing with them, but it can't be anything good. especially since he keeps taking more and more of your lookalikes hostage. you think back to your time at the pizzaplex--so distant, now, that it almost feels like a dream.

he wants to kill you himself. you're sure of it.

now you're trying even harder to get to that underground base. you go completely dark, doing your best to evade detection--and i imagine there are quite a few close calls, definitely a few instances where your face is captured on camera or you have to use an EMP. until finally, you and your group manage to integrate into the underground human base.

'base' doesn't even properly describe it. it's a whole city, actually, with unsteady houses made of wood and cloth. it's the perfect place to hide.

you spend a while down there, occasionally venturing up when you're allowed to by the guards (it's rare, very very rare). the city has strict rules that must be followed to ensure it's not found. the ones in charge are constantly looking for news on the actions of sun and the majority of robots. they don't really keep the citizens updated--it would cause too much chaos, you think. but you hear whispers now and then. (the robots have expanded territory. france is completely gone. australia's still holding out. most of china and india have been taken over and their factories have all been transformed to mass produce more robots)

for the first time in a while, you think you can find peace down here. it was only inevitable that this would be ruined one day.

you wake up to chaos.

the underground is under siege. the robots have found you.

you run out of your makeshift house and have to dodge crumbling stone. explosions rock through the air, sending dust and debris everywhere. you're scared for your life--your only instinct is to run run run get out it's not safe! you don't know where your friends are. you don't know if they're alive. for a moment, you hesitate. and then you're bolting to try to find them. they had their own little homes not too far from you. you can find them. no man left behind.

you can hear bullets and the hum of energy everywhere. people are screaming and crying all around you. you see people dying before your eyes, impaled by beams of light or stray bullets. it's all you can do to dodge and weave towards vincent's house.

but before you can get there, something tackles you from behind. you roll across dirt, and find yourself pinned under a robot--a staffbot from the pizzaplex, you realize. except it looks--different. more high tech.

it seems to scan your face. and just before it can finish, you manage to grab a stray metal rod laying on the ground next to you and stab it right through the eye.

you scramble, getting as far away as you can from the thing. but-- you run right into the path of a crumbling building. it buries you halfway under thick wood, and something sears its way through your leg. you're trapped. you're trapped and there's no one around to help you.

and just when you're on the brink of passing out, you see him. standing in front of you a ways away. those same star-patterned pants and dangling cap. but he's different somehow, he looks different. you can't place it, your vision blurring into red and purple.

moon looks at you as though you are the last thing he wants to see. and then you faint.

when you wake up, you're in a bedroom. your leg is in a cast and there are crutches near your bed.

it's... the nicest room you've seen in a while. the windows are covered by thick curtains that let in a sliver of light. you have to blink a bit to let your eyes adjust. and then you get up, noticing you aren't in the same ratty, dirty clothes you'd been wearing for forever.

you try the door first. it's locked. there's a sinking sensation in your gut that gets stronger and stronger the closer you get to the window. and when you pull open the curtains, you gasp at the towering buildings, bright green and blue light, and flying drones.

you are in the middle of the celestial city.

you panic hard. and then you notice the camera in the corner of the room, looking right at you. big brother is definitely watching. you give him the bird.

you wallow around in the bedroom for a bit. you are hungry, you cannot deny. and there is only a glass of water for you set on your nightstand.

but eventually, the door opens of its own accord. an automatic lock, you suppose. and it swings open into a dark hall. you do not have any other choice but to follow. it's clear you are being summoned.

there are no places for you to run or hide. you travel down a long hallway and end up in a wide room with someone tall standing at the far end by the window. it's a scene straight out of a movie. you are not impressed.

the figure turns around, and you do a double take. it's sun--yet it's not.

he looks different. taller, stronger. with clawed fingers and rays that look deadly to the touch. his smile is sharper, his torso has all sorts of compartments and attachments. he was modded to all hell, just like that staffbot you saw earlier. it had to have been self inflicted.

he only stares at you, really. white eyes rake up and down your form, taking you in. you don't say a word, only look back at him. and then you flinch slightly when someone emerges from the shadows next to sun.

it's... moon. looking just as modded as sun. you're confused. when did they become separate? but honestly, you think it makes sense. they never really liked each other. it makes sense that sun would want to be separated as soon as possible--and they had the resources to do so. you just wonder why they're still working together. comfort in the familiarity, maybe.

moon doesn't meet your eye. you notice his is different--the red tinged with purple. sun doesn't look away from you. it makes you uneasy.

you don't know why you're here, but one thing's clear: you are not getting out of here anytime soon.

i'm honestly not sure how to end things, but in my head there's a lot of reconciliation that needs to happen. obv sun is so incredibly down bad for you at this point (and moon), but there are many issues that need to be tackled first.

sun doesn't understand why you're so wary around him. moon keeps avoiding you at every turn. there's still an entire revolution and remaking of society happening. you are constantly being watched by cameras in the building. i can't picture things as returning to normal--post uprising--but i also don't know how to end things on a happy note LOL, though i do want to instead of killing off reader or sun/moon. maybe it'll be a bittersweet sort of end, maybe reader finally gets through to sun. maybe eclipse will make an appearance (jk, idk how i would even do that, this might be an eclipse-less fic).

in any case, the next bit would be a lot of sun and reader connecting better than they had in the pizzaplex, a lot of sun trying to understand humans better cuz he's trying to court you-- and has long come to accept his emotions tbh. tho he's still kind of mad at you for leaving, so there needs to be a conversation of sorts about why you left before sun can really begin to understand how he appears to you. idk!

i also feel like moon isnt nearly fleshed out as sun is?? i dunno, i might have to think some more about him. i just know he's terrified of hurting you, esp with him still having the virus (and sun, but he has better control of it). gonna be a lot of work on your part to get him to be comfortable around you again. also, he doesn't like the fact that society has come to this. he lowkey resents sun, but he doesn't have anyone else. what's a bot to do?

also there may be a scene where your survival group tries to save you lol, maybe with an army that tries to seize control of the celestial city. which may work. this would be a bad end, i think, cuz there's no way sun's getting out of that alive.

anyways yeah. i rambled enough LMAOO whoopsie! i rly just regurgitated all the thoughts in my head. no promises that this will be a fic, i've got enough on my plate as is LOL

[bunni-v1]

Okay so the traumatised!reader not forgiving Jamil was absolutely fantastic!

Would it be alright if I requested the same premise but for Riddle after his overblot (he did insult us, attacked us and was the very first to overblot)?

Overblot Trauma: Riddle Edition

TW: Mentions and discussion of PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Childhood abuse, and most things in that vain!; Swearing!; Mostly un-edited, this took too long to write lol

Info: Ace, Deuce, Grim, Trey, Cater, Riddle x Reader (platonic (especially in grim’s case)); gn!reader, unless I managed to fuck up!

🍓Hi. Yippie, new writing, I did it! Anyway, I went for a different approach than Jamil's part simply because... well... Riddle's whole scenario is completely different! Btw, I wanted to make it clear that I ADORE Jamil, and me giving Riddle forgiveness isn't a bias thing! I simply believe that this is how this scenario would go! Love you all, mwah!

Tags: @kitsun369 @bloomstruck @squidsailing @roseinbloom02

Jamil Part

This year was going to be yours, at least it was supposed to be. You were the top of your class, the best in your field of study, and you had nothing but the best opportunities in your grasp. For once in your life, you were exactly where you wanted to be… until you weren’t.

A horse-drawn carriage wasn’t too big of a shocker for you. You knew that some farmers would try to socialize their horses by taking them through town. Maybe a bit odd for where you live, but you could accept it. Until it started coming straight at you, whinnying as it clomped toward you at Mach speeds. 

You tried to outrun it, you really did. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, but this horse was determined to ruin your life. And, oh god, did it. 

When you woke up, it was dark and you could hear voices muttering outside your… box? You were convinced you had died, and this was your judgment day in the afterlife. 

But no, it couldn’t be that simple, of course not. Instead, it was inter-dimensional travel, and you were now stuck in a Hogwarts-esque world with no way back home. You didn’t have any ruby red slippers to click you back home, not Toto to keep you comfortable. No, you got stuck with Grim who was anything but a comfort. 

You wouldn’t let it ruin your perfect year, though.

You’d decided to make the most of your shitty situation. You cleaned up your awful dorm, befriended the little troublemaking cat, and even fitted your janitorial uniform so that it was more comfortable to wear. 

Then… you meet Ace, and everything spirals. Again.

Statues caught on fire, chandeliers were broken, giant sludge monsters were fought, and unfair punishments were dished out upon you. That was fine! You could handle that! The monster in the mine was scary, but whatever, magic was going to be scary to you regardless. You could do this! You were going to handle everything life threw at you!

What you couldn’t handle, however, was Ace and Deuce’s tyrannical Housewarden: Riddle Rosehearts.

He was a selfish, entitled crybaby who had a stick shoved so far up his ass you wondered how he could walk without limping. All of his dorm members seemed terrified of him — except Ace, who also had the entitlement stick shoved up his ass, but this isn’t about him.

Riddle caused more than a handful of issues for you by kicking Ace and Deuce out — over a tart. Well, in Ace’s case, it was a tart. It was ridiculous, and it was more trouble than it was worth for you. More mouths to feed, more whining to hear, you couldn’t put up with it.

So you rush Ace and Deuce back to the dorm to find a way to apologize and end up meeting their far more responsible upperclassmen, Trey and Cater. The two of them were far more sympathetic to your position than Ace and Deuce ever were. You wished you’d managed to attract them instead of your bumbling idiots.

Still, they help you, and things are looking up for the idiot quartet… until they aren’t. 

The tarts that Ace and Deuce worked so tirelessly on were mouthwateringly delicious. Marron tarts with extra chestnuts! If they weren’t for Riddle, you would’ve torn into those things!

Things were looking good, especially when Riddle seemed more than pleased to accept Ace’s forgiveness gift…

Then, Riddle, stick somehow shoved even further up his ass than before, blows a gasket because of some stupid arbitrary rule. Something about no tarts on the billionth day of the month… ugh. So stupid.

He tore into Ace, he tore into Deuce, he tore into you. He just kept going and going on and on like a little child. You can’t even blame Ace for punching him, you were about to do it yourself if he hadn’t.

But.. something was wrong. You expected Riddle to just scream louder, but this time he didn’t. He was quiet, and you could see that his face was twisted up in a mix of anger and pain.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. It was thick and suffocating, crawling down your throat like it wanted to rip your lungs out. Only when you saw the black sludge leaking from Riddle did you realize it was ink invading your senses?

You watched with your mouth agape, body trembling, as his body morphed in front of your eyes. The clean, well-presented Riddle you knew changed into a disheveled beast who could hardly be described as human.

He looked dead, with skin so sickeningly pale, and his body moving in a way that it really shouldn’t be able to.

He kept moving, and he kept talking and screaming, so he wasn’t — but no one's skin should be that grey. No one should be leaking ink in the first place. 

The battle against him was a blur, you were simply running on instinct the whole time. Dodging, running, and throwing whatever you could to keep yourself safe. Still, you ended up with quite a few new scars and spent a sizable amount of time in the nurse's office.

Sure you got studentship for yourself and Grim, and yeah you helped Riddle overcome his trauma. You felt for him, you did. He was a good person at heart, and you wanted him to better himself and heal from the scars his mother left. 

But what about you? What were you supposed to do now that you’ve been through that? What about your scars? What about the scars he gave everyone else?

Surely you couldn’t be expected to pretend that everything was fine?

Ace and Deuce

-Ace and Deuce hadn’t seen you in a good few days since the last tea party Heartslabyul held. -You being reclusive wasn’t much of a shocker, you spent a lot of time alone, to begin with, but disappearing for this long…? 

-Now, it’s not like the three of you were absolute best friends at this point, but you had become pretty close up until now. 

-Plus you’ve survived a lot of very scary experiences together… surely that meant something?

-It meant something to them.

-Still, you’d practically ghosted them and it was out of character for what they knew of you.

-Even when they were annoying the shit out of you, you still gave them a place to stay and helped them take care of themselves. You were kindhearted.

-Ghosting your (tentative) friends wasn’t exactly a good sign.

-So, them being themselves, they decide to come to pay you a visit at Ramshackle and wrangle some answers out of you.

-They were not expecting you to answer with tear tracks down your face and eye bags so dark they almost looked black.

-Ramshackle wasn’t any better either. 

-You normally kept it so neat and tidy, but it was messy with clothes and dirty dishes scattered about. 

-It was so weird to see you in such a state since you were so happy and full of life and determination before this.

-Then again, it did sorta make sense. You’d been through a lot in the past few weeks, expecting perfection wasn’t fair for anyone in your position.

-All of you had been through a lot, Ace and Deuce were just better at putting up with it than you.

-Grim didn’t seem to be much of a help either, clearly lost on how to handle human depression.

-Luckily, Ace and Deuce are willing to help.

-By help, I mean to annoy you, but they’re doing their best!

-Ace definitely pokes and prods at you a lot, and complains that you have to get up and go to class.

-It’s annoying, but you know he’s right. 

-If he does take it too far Deuce is right there to put him back in line and assure you that you can take it at your own pace.

-The two of them are so sweet though, seriously. They help you clean up the place so that it's mostly back to its former glory (as much glory as ramshackle can have, of course).

-They walk you to class together every morning, even if you have ungodly eight ams. (You do hear Ace complaining a lot, though).

-They eat with you to make sure that you’re eating — and if you don’t eat with them, they come to your dorm with a full meal that they picked up for you.

-Most importantly, they keep you distracted from thinking about how horrifying the whole overblot was.

-The two of them need the distraction too, though they won’t admit it to you.

Grim

-Grim watches you go through everything firsthand.

-He lives with you, of course, he’s gonna see the rough stuff.

-He could tell something was off at the tea party, you just didn’t seem as involved as you usually were, but he brushed it off.

-He was more focused on eating as much food as possible.

-When you got back to the dorm, however, is when he noticed something was really wrong.

-Normally you’d take a nice long bubble bath, and the smell of your soaps would fill up the whole of your bedroom, but not today.

-You just fell onto your bed without a word.

-Still, it was a long day! Grim was pooped too, he wouldn’t wanna make up a bath either.

-Then you started to cry. You cried and cried and cried until you fell asleep.

-He didn’t know what to do, he never dealt with a crying human before!

-All he could do was curl up next to you and let you cry into his fur.

-You’d be better tomorrow, he told himself.

-But, nothing changed the day after that, nor the next, nor the next.

-By the third day of you laying around he was getting antsy. Would you ever cheer up, and could he help you at all?

-He’s grateful for Ace and Deuce coming around when you didn’t make it to classes that day.

-They explain to him, vaguely, what human depression is and how he can help more.

-Really, he isn’t able to do more than he’s already been doing, but you don’t need much more from him.

-He’s the perfect companion for you, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Cater

-Cater doesn’t know you, okay.

-He would love to get to know you! You’re quite a treat to be around, and you keep his pesky freshmen in line, so he does like you.

-Again, he doesn’t know you.

-He does, however, notice that at the little celebratory tea party, you are not doing too well.

-What he’s seen of you, you were a spunky bitch who didn’t take shit from anyone.

-But, here, now… you were quiet. You didn’t seem like you were really here with anyone in the room.

-He decided to keep a close eye on you, just in case.

-He noticed your symptoms, he’s lived your symptoms, so of course he’s looking out for you.

-Besides, the overblot scared more than just you — you just had a lot more to be afraid of than them.

-When Ace and Deuce wander back to the dorm complaining about how you skipped your classes for the day, a million alarm bells go ringing in his head.

-“Go check on them.”

“Cater- you were listening?”

“Hush, just go check on them! Now! GO!”

-Cater is not your friend at this point, the two of you are acquaintances at the very most, but he knows that you need someone there for you.

-Please excuse him for assuming, but he doesn’t think Grim would cut it.

-He also talks to Trey and Riddle about it all too.

-He knows that you and Trey are closer than he is with you and that he’s more likely to be of help than Cater is.

-Tells Trey to make you sweets that Ace and Deuce can give to you. Also give him advice on what to say in case you seek him out — especially since he’s closer to Riddle, you’re more likely to go to him with your worries.

-However, Cater does not expect you to seek him out.

-He was so busy working overtime behind the scenes keeping everyone together that he didn’t even think that he was part of the equation.

-You sought him out simply because he wasn’t Trey or Riddle.

-Trey would be more sympathetic to Riddle and Riddle was the core of the issue. But your reliable Senpai Cater? Surely he’d be more logical about this.

-You figured that he had something to do with everything since Ace and Deuce don’t seem emotionally intelligent enough to help you with something as sensitive as trauma.

-First you really just want to thank him for his help, but as you talk to him both of you just break.

-You, because you hadn’t really been able to talk about what you’ve been through. Cater, because he put everything on his shoulders as if it was up to him to fix it all.

-It’s therapeutic, to just cry with someone over the horrible things that you’ve been through together.

-You sort of become each other's rock when it comes to recovery.

Trey

-Trey is the backbone of Heartslabyul.

-I know we give him shit for being boring and normal, but he’s the reason anything keeps functioning around his dorm.

-He needs to be normal, because if he can’t keep a level head, who will?

-Sevens, he’s having a hard time now though.

-Riddle is going through his own issues, coping with the fact that he confronted his traumas head-on and hurt so many people doing it.

-Ace and Deuce were the core of the issue, and he could tell that neither of them was ready to deal with whatever feelings they’d been feeling.

-He can’t even lean on Cater like he normally does, because Cater is running around like a madman trying to ignore his own trauma.

-So… It’s just Trey, and he’s having a hard time figuring this shit out because he needs time to cope.

-He doesn’t get the chance to, though, because he has to be there for Riddle more than anyone.

-It’s not like he doesn’t want to be there for him, they’re best friends, but Sevens Trey is exhausted trying to get things back to where they were.

-You don’t even cross his mind in the chaos until Cater asks him to make you those marron tarts you seemed to love so much.

-You must be going through it.

-As he bakes them up for you (making some extras for his dormmates), he thinks about how hard this must’ve been on you.

-You’re not even from here. You were just trying to help out, and you nearly lost your life because his best friend couldn’t control his temper.

-You didn’t deserve that. No one did.

-He was supposed to give the tarts to Ace and Deuce, but after his thinking, he figured it was better he went to see how you were doing himself.

-The older brother in him couldn’t stop the worry from taking over now that you were on his mind.

-He knew that Ace and Deuce got you going back to your classes, and you weren’t so scared that you never came to Heartslabyul, but he wanted to make sure.

-When you open the door you look tired, but light up at the sight of the treats in his hands.

-While you and Grim are chowing down on the snacks he made, you two talk.

-Trey finally, finally, gets to talk about how he’s been feeling — because you are so sweet and so kind that you want to hear how he’s been.

-He gets to tell you how tired he is, how he feels as though he can’t allow himself a moment to deal with his own thoughts, how worried he is about everyone. How angry he was at Riddle, and how happy he was that Riddle was changing.

-It’s cathartic to get it all out, but he feels guilty for dumping it all on you.

-He was here to check on you, not pour his heart out.

-But, you tell him that you wanted him to talk to you about it. Ace and Deuce pretend like it never even happened, so to hear someone else be just as angry about it as you felt good.

-The two of you spend a lot of time together that night — Grim is there too, but this isn’t about him — and both of you feel like a weight is lifted off your shoulders afterward.

-Both of you make plans to bake something together later that week.

Riddle

-Riddle is going through it, okay.

-Not only is he dealing with the physical ramifications of his body twisting around in ways that it really shouldn’t, and the long-term lung issues he’s going to have thanks to all the ink.

-He’s also dealing with the fact that he acknowledged how awful his mother — whom he’d idolized — truly was. 

-How awful he was because of her, and how many people he hurt because he wouldn’t face the music soon enough.

-Still his life didn’t stop. He still had to ensure that he was fulfilling his duties as a houswarden, and he also had to continue tutoring and running the equestrian club and his own coursework.

-His way of coping with his issues is that he works himself to death.

-Sure, he does take time to tell Trey how he’s feeling, and he has spent many sleepless nights in his room crying, but he’d rather be working than doing that.

-So he does. He works and he works and he uses his work as a punishment for himself because he does not deserve a break after what he did.

-He has to make up for the horrible things he’s done to people who simply did not deserve it.

-He’s so busy working that he forgets to make it up to the person that matters most.

-You and Riddle aren’t exactly avoiding each other, but you certainly aren’t seeking each other out.

-You know that Riddle was going through a lot and you’ve already forgiven him at this point, but you haven’t found the strength to seek him out yet.

-The both of you just happen to bump into each other in the kitchen of Heartslabyul. (Courtesy of Trey and Cater!)

-You were waiting on Trey (he promised he would make some sweets with you today), and Riddle walked in (he was also promised sweets).

-It was… awkward, to say the least.

-What do you say to the guy who traumatized and nearly killed you and your friends?

-What do you say to the person who you nearly killed?

-Well…

-“I’m sorry,” Riddle finally said, snuffing out the awkward silence, “I allowed myself to become so angry, and I hurt and scared not only you but myself. I don’t know how anyone could ever forgive me, but I am truly sorry.”

You stayed quiet, mulling over his words. You knew he was sorry, from the way he’d looked at you since his blot. You could only begin to imagine what he was dealing with in his head this whole time. How harsh he must’ve been on himself since the incident — and isn’t that what started this whole thing in the first place? His unnecessary harshness? He shouldn’t be so hard on anyone, especially not himself.

So, you being you — forgiving and understanding — you sigh and place a hand on his arm. He looked at you, shocked at your gentleness.

“It’s alright, Riddle. Sure, you really scared the shit out of me, and yeah I’m still kind of scared of you, but I know you’re a good guy. It’s not your fault that you’ve been through such awful things.”

-You made him cry.

-Good tears though! Happy tears! It’s the first time he felt seen in a very long time, and he promises you that he’s going to change for the better.

-To his credit, he does start to make those changes, and he does so very quickly.

-He begins to be more open with his friends, and he’s more relaxed about the very stupid rules that he used to enforce.

-He goes out of his way to talk to you specifically at this time too. He offers to become your tutor (which you desperately need, since Crewel is well… cruel.), and you two grow surprisingly close!

-You bond over how much stress Ace and Deuce cause you, and Riddle learns how to socialize like a normal person from you.

-(You surprise him with just how popular you are, despite being essentially bottom of the barrel at NRC. He has much to learn!)

[purinfelix]

back home ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ - joao felix

pairing: joão félix x reader (established relationship) summary: after a solo trip away, you're a little worried about how your boyfriend might react to your return warnings: none, angst if you squint hard enough maybe? w/c: 770

a/n: HELLO IM ALIVEE im sorry for being so ia akjdnsa no excuse i'm just lazy ... but in the mean time i did go on a trip with some friends (which is what inspired me to write this lol) and went to my first in person football match !!! anw hope yall take this as my apology for being so inactive <3333

“It’s only two weeks.” 

That’s what you told your boyfriend months before you had begun planning your solo trip, knowing he was the type to fret over you and whether you were organised enough. You continued repeating this phrase to him leading up to your departure - you had mumbled it into his hair, whispered it into his ear, and even shouted it across rooms when he raised his protests. Whenever he would think a little too hard about how long it would feel for two people who never seemed to spend more than a couple of hours apart. Even so, you appreciated his worrying over you, taking it as a sign of him caring for you. 

But now, two weeks later, as you fidgeted nervously in the backseat of the taxi he had called for you to take home from the airport you found yourself repeating the phrase again, only now to yourself. It felt as though the moment you two had separated, all of Joao’s worrying had found a new home within you, and you had already begun counting down until your reunion. This was only made worse by the fact that it seemed your boyfriend was growing more and more comfortable in his solitude - and ultimately, your absence. It worried you to see this, as much as you could through the frame of your phone screen during each of your nightly facetimes. 

Even now as you stood fumbling with the keys to your shared apartment, you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying. What if he had come to enjoy his ‘alone time’, and took it as a sign to distance himself? What if this distancing led to him spending time away from you, or even worse - a breakup? As your mind wandered to the worst-case scenario, you pushed open the door with trembling hands. 

A tuft of brown hair peeking out from above the couch cushions let you know your boyfriend was home. Your many bags slipped off your arms and fell to a heap on the floor with a soft thump, the sound alerting Joao. 

You braced yourself, ready for a scowling expression or even one that was completely vacant. Ready for him to scoff, stand up and walk out of the room, disinterested at your return. Or for him to begin telling you about how he had already begun moving out, and how maybe this time apart had done you both some good. 

“Oh, thank god.” 

His voice was soft, fragile almost, as it broke the silence between you two, followed shortly by the padding of his feet as he rushed over to you. His body crashed into yours, sheer force sending you a couple of steps backwards and any worries that plagued your mind far, far away. If it wasn’t for how tightly he was holding you, hands digging into your shoulders, you were sure you would’ve fallen over. 

You struggled to muster up more worrying thoughts, overwhelmed by the warmth of his body pressed up against yours, the feeling of his embrace. You let out a deep sigh, not of fatigue or frustration but pure relief, feeling yourself melt into his touch. 

“I missed you,” he muttered, face pressed into your hair as if he was afraid letting you go might cause another two weeks apart. 

“I missed you too,” you heard yourself admit, words muffled against his chest. But he still understood you, which he made clear by squeezing you even tighter. 

It felt like forever before you broke apart, but still not enough as Joao continued to press gentle kisses to your temple, lingering with each one as if trying to show you just how much he had missed you. Finally, he brushed past you to shut the door and pick your several bags off the floor - bags which had required much effort for you to haul around but he managed to pick up with much ease. 

“Welcome home,” you can hear the smile in his voice, even though he’s faced away from you as he begins to walk to your shared bedroom. You watch him disappear around a corner, and he begins telling you about how his plans to surprise you at the airport with a bunch of flowers were ruined by training running overtime. You’re still in the doorway, a little dizzy - from jetlag, from a lack of sleep and proper food, from how hard he squeezed you in that hug. Even so, you feel a smile tug at your own lips because even though it was ‘only’ two weeks, you couldn’t be more glad to be back home. 

[mintsbubbletea]

𝐇𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨 - 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬

Word Count: 976

Contains: Gender Neutral reader, no pronouns used,Nothing bad lol

Proof read and Edited

A/N: thanks to @slayfics for the idea tehehehehehehehhe

You tapped your foot impatiently while perched on the edge of your bed, eagerly awaiting Shinso's message signaling the all clear. It had been a nerve-wracking 10 minutes since his last text, and your mind raced with worry that he might have been caught by a teacher - the worst-case scenario. Just as you were about to give in to your anxiety, a notification sound broke the silence. Snatching up your phone, you read his message with a grin, quickly throwing on a sweater before quietly slipping out of your dorm room.

After checking that the coast was clear, you shut the door behind you and made your way to the elevator. Stepping inside as soon as it arrived on your floor, you pressed the button for the ground level. The doors slid shut, and you descended to the lobby. As you stepped out into the lounge, you breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that no one else was around.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice suddenly rang out. Startled, you gasped and frantically scanned the room before your eyes landed on Tokoyami seated on the floor, engrossed in a book with Dark Shadow snoozing in his lap.

"Fucking hell, Tokoyami," you exclaimed, placing a hand on your racing heart. You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. He chuckled, setting his book down on the table. "Couldn't sleep?" you asked, walking up to him. He nodded, his gaze fixed on you. "Always, and what about you? You didn't answer my question," he smirked, already knowing the answer. You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully. "I'm going to see Hitoshi."

"Again? Didn't you see him last night? Around the same time as now?" he inquired, his observation skills on point. "You're quite observant," you blushed. "Could you keep an eye out for Aizawa?" you requested. He nodded. "Of course. Have fun," he said as you quickly left the dorm, stepping into the darkness of the night. The cold air hit your face as you made your way towards Shinso's dorm, where you would meet halfway and spend an hour or two together before heading back and getting some sleep.

As you walked, you finally caught sight of the familiar face you had been longing to see. "Hey," he greeted you with a soft smile, his black hoodie pulled up to his chin to keep warm. "Hi," you smiled back, leaning up to give him a gentle peck on the lips. "What took you so long?" you asked, remembering the seemingly endless ten minutes you had spent waiting.

"Sorry, there were a lot of my classmates around. I had to wait until there were only a few left," he explained, and you nodded in understanding. Unable to resist, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest, seeking his comforting warmth. His arms instinctively pulled you closer. "Are you enjoying yourself there?" he chuckled softly, feeling your face nuzzling against his chest. "Mhm," you chuckled, missing his scent even though you had seen him just yesterday. Eventually, you pulled away and settled down on a nearby bench together.

After 20 minutes of chatting and venting, a notification from Tokoyami popped up on your phone.

"Heads up. Aizawa is on his way," the message read. You quickly showed the text to Shinso, and both of you jumped up, ready to leave. However, your excitement was short-lived when you heard a voice interrupting your plans.

"Not so fast," the voice chimed in. You and Shinso turned around to find a tired and irritated Aizawa standing before you. "Mr. Aizawa," you began, but he cut you off. "Y/n, Shinso, you both know the rules. You can't leave the campus after hours, especially without a teacher's knowledge," he said, rubbing his weary eyes. "What are you two doing out here?" he questioned.

"We were just talking, sir," Shinso replied softly, sensing the tension in the air. "Talking?" Aizawa repeated, clearly not convinced.

"Yes, we just wanted to spend some time together. We don't really have the opportunity during the day, so this was our only chance to see each other," you explained, trying to gauge his reaction. "I'm sorry," you added, feeling remorseful.

"How many?" Aizawa asked, his gaze shifting between you and Shinso.

You and Shinso exchanged glances before turning back to face Mr. Aizawa. "What?" he inquired, clearly confused.

Aizawa let out a sigh, his frustration evident. "How many times have you two been sneaking off? I want the truth," he demanded. Shinso's gaze dropped to the ground, feeling a sense of shame for getting caught by his mentor while trying to see you. "It's been happening for the past two weeks," he admitted reluctantly. You reached out and took his hand, gently rubbing it with your thumb to provide comfort.

"Well, that ends now," Aizawa declared firmly, and you nodded in agreement. "It won't happen again," Shinso assured, his eyes still fixed on the ground. "I'll drop you off at the 1-A dorm every night and pick you up after two hours. Is that enough time for you?" Shinso's head snapped up in surprise, and after a few seconds of freezing up, you squeezed his hand and he soon replied, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Aizawa," with a soft smile. Aizawa nodded before walking away. "You have 10 minutes left. Then you guys have to part ways."

Once Aizawa left, Shinso looked down at you, his hands still holding your waist as he leaned in to kiss your ear. "I didn't expect him to make such an offer," you spoke up, laughing softly at his affectionate gesture. "Me either… but I guess he likes seeing me happy," Shinso mused mostly to himself.

"I'm just glad we don't have to sneak off anymore," you said, relieved. "As long as I get to see you, I don't mind."

tags: @slayfics Lmk if you wanna be added 🐸

[kedsandtubesocks]

cowboys like us

Bull Rider!Din Djarin x F!Reader x Bronco Rider!Jack Daniels

summary: one cowboy is already a challenge, but two is either going to be your best blessing or worst curse

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern rodeo cowboys AU, Din is still a papa and has his baby, light discussion of the rodeo and events, light angst & miscommunication with eventual resolution, Jack & his sweet talk with calling reader ‘baby, honey, sugar,” bar scene with moments of drinking, heavy making out, intense grinding & dry humping, spicy moments, M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship

word count: 5.9k

a/n: welcome to the first fic of the ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series! I know, I know, this is such a strange combo & AU but I’m such a sucker for cowboy Din and of course Jack decided to barge in and here we are lol, the biggest and deepest thank you’s go to @perotovar @lowlights @nothoughtsjustmeds & @beskarandblasters - this wouldn’t be here without y’all and I’m so eternally grateful…and to you if you’re reading this thank you so much

You wonder if maybe you’ve unknowingly slipped into a strange country song and not realized it.

Popcorn litters the floor all around. The plastic arena seat is a bit uncomfortable. A drunk woman behind you almost spilled beer on you but apologized profusely. There are more cowboy hats here than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

But as you sit in this strange existence a voice over the loudspeaker comes and sparks up your soul. As the announcer’s voice booms, loud screams swallow up the air of the stadium.

You spot him already climbing onto the bronco and your heart jumps into your throat.

“The man smooth as whiskey!” The announcer screams clear and booming with an accented southern pride.

“Give it up for Jack Daniels!”

Shrill shrieks erupt fanatically loud as if the place now morphes into a boy band concert instead of a rodeo competition.

That is until the alarm sounds. The chute opens, and the ride begins.

Focusing on Jack is chaotic. The bronco bucks frenzied trying to throw the cowboy off with a wild strength. His black Stetson hat goes flying and your stomach drops at how rapidly his body whips around. Back and forth, back and forth, he tries holding on with simply one hand.

It’s terrifying. It’s hypnotic.

Then it’s over fast.

The beautiful horse flings off Jack and he lands on the dirt. You clutch the edge of your plastic seat. The horse continues bucking and your mind rushes to the worst case scenario of the creature’s strong might rearing down on Jack.

Then the cowboy springs up like nothing.

A smile even illuminates his handsome face and it ignites the crowd into a gleeful roar.

You don’t even know if he did good. You barely understand the point system or average or whatever it is.

The horse thankfully settles and Jack struts away effortless.

Suddenly Jack’s salt of the earth eyes flick up. He scans the crowd until his gaze lands on you.

The seat you’re in sits close to the edge of the arena, on the floor just right outside the ring.

Then, with all the confidence of a man whose job it is to ride a bucking bronco, Jack blows you a kiss.

The drunk woman behind you along with her friends scream their heads off thinking he blew the kiss to them. Maybe he did. He’s a damn flirt. You even glance backward to see one of the girls, very drunk, tries to calm herself down from freaking out.

Jack now walks heads to the side to exit. His eyes however stay glued to you. And the minute you turn back to stare at him…he winks.

Then he vanishes.

This cowboy might be this event’s closer, but this isn’t the end of the rodeo for you. The incoming bull rides shift the air. It’s considered another heavy hitter main event and the anticipation bubbles.

Unlike Jack, who arrives like a firecracker ready to brighten up any room he enters, this cowboy emerges like a shadow.

Keeping his head down, it doesn’t help that a protective mask covers his handsome face. However, the energy radiating off the cowboy’s deadly focus composure is like a quiet storm on the horizon.

He stays silent, doesn’t even lift his eyes up, almost in a focused trance.

“Mr. Silent and Deadly himself… Din Djarin!” The announcers boom out his name.

Then you watch as the man becomes a myth, one who tames a wild force of nature.

Din and bull fly out of the chute with a choking force.

In the same way your breath stopped watching Jack getting bucked around, the same dizzying panic fills you as Din battles the same force.

He stubbornly stays on, rides as the bull thrashes around. You wonder if this is where some mythologies stem from because it is something unreal watching this man move with this powerful creature.

The crowd hoots and hollers cheering Din on. You stay petrified in your seat.

Then the ride finishes fast.

Din flies off the bull and your breathing stops. Rapidly the trainers along with other cowboys scramble to settle the bull and check on Din. The bull rider casually rises up unbothered, unshaken, and the crowd goes wild.

You exhale a loud shaken sigh of relief. Your body feels like jello, as if fear has finally been exorcized from your body leaving you a boneless mess.

Suddenly Din rips the guard mask off and all attention falls to him. Sweat adds a shine to his face and his hair is a tousled mess but he’s never looked more gorgeous.

“What the fuck?! Dude, he’s hot too?!” Someone squawks out.

The ladies sitting behind you of course notice Din and squeal out feverishly. Unlike Jack, an actual peacock who owns the crowd basking in the attention, Din’s face stays lowered with his eyes averted shyly.

Until his dark eyes suddenly flicker up, like a viper peering out from a cave. His eyes find you surprisingly fast.

You and him simply stare at each other. Then so quickly Din averts his eyes away again and heads off.

The shakiest exhale leaves you.

Your heartbeat drums loud in your ears as if you were the one who just finished the wild rides. And maybe you did in your own way.

“Oh my fucking god!” Behind you one of the girls screams. “So many hot cowboys! Like, how the fuck do you pick just one?!”

Alcohol drenches her playful words. However, to you they become barbed and catch on your heart. Because how do you pick between two handsome cowboys different as day and night.

“Babe!” One of the girls giggles. “That’s the secret, you don’t pick just one! You have ‘em all!”

She howls a wild laugh and the others scream scandalized but gleeful. One of them even jokingly says ‘so you gotta catch ‘em all like pokemon!’ which almost makes you laugh.

But the words hang in your heart like a rusting anchor.

Grabbing your bag, you head out. Arriving at the backstage area of the arena, you flash the visitor’s access pass to security who lets you through. You’ve only done this a few times before but your heart still races getting this type of entrance.

Earlier today Din said he’d wait for you after in the small rest waiting room. When you open the door, you stumble upon a sight.

Jack's hand firmly holding Din’s face -

As the two men passionately kiss each other.

Jack’s taller than Din, slightly, not by much. Din’s build however is firmer, solid, compared to Jack’s sleek stature.

Immediately they both break away from each other as if electrocuted.

Din and Jack’s eyes catch sight of you and their faces fall. Din whispers your name out while Jack stays silent.

Reality rams into you like a released wild bull.

Because you realize you’ve interrupted them. You're barging in, an actual third wheel.

You want to move, want to say something. But you can’t even imagine what. It clicks that you read this whole situation wrong. Maybe neither of them actually held feelings for you.

A sudden loud knock on the wall makes you and the cowboys practically jump.

One of the event announcers pops his head in casually.

“Hey sorry, but you’re needed out back Djarin.” He says to Din then leaves.

Even with the surprise arrival and then departure, the thick tension doesn’t leave the air. If anything it’s caused a strange vacuum to form.

Jack now breathes out your name hesitantly. Yet, his eyebrows are furrowed hard, concerned and upset. Din’s dark eyes shine so visibly soaked with worry.

Before you can even say anything one of Jack’s main coaches and manager, Champ, waltzes in. He’s a striking presence that draws all the focuses to him

Champ whistles loud. “Who died in here?”

No one says a word.

“Alrighty then,” Champ shrugs, not wanting to dive into whatever he senses.

“Daniels come on,” he urges. “I ain’t waiting anymore. They’re probably waiting for you too Dinny.”

Champ’s nickname for Din, which Din himself detests, makes you smirk and brightens your spirit for a moment.

But the awful tension stays sticking to your skin allowing a poison to seep in.

“Hey there, sweet pea.” Champ nods his head acknowledging you. With a weak smile you nod back.

You politely excuse yourself and leave.

The walk out of the arena is the longest of your life.

Everything you just saw flashes through your mind a rapid flip picture book. You can process what you saw but can’t fully grasp it.

Even outside, the roar of the rodeo swirls around even in you.

You might have wandered into a country song earlier but you didn’t realize it was going to be a heartbreak one.

You met Din first in a grocery store parking lot.

It had been a total accident. Literally. You had gotten into a small fender bender with him in the parking lot of a grocery store.

He drove the oldest silver Honda Civic ever still existing and still can’t believe it didn’t even manage to take a hit. You were also horrified when you saw there was a baby sleeping away in the car.

Yet the entire time Din was so kind and concerned about your wellbeing.

You didn’t realize it then, but that shy and very handsome scruffy man with his ancient Honda Civic would change the orbit of your life.

Because that day you accidentally collided with a cowboy, it opened your world like a vast desert horizon.

Jack arrived soon after.

If Din was the soft daybreak, then Jack came in like a dust devil.

Though they competed in two different categories, you discovered many rodeo circuits crossed paths.

When you went to visit Din months ago at the ranch housing many of the cowboys for training, that’s when you first met Jack.

He walked straight up to you and asked if you were lost because he was concerned heaven was missing an angel.

He hasn’t shut his mouth since.

Before it was simply you and Din. But Jack is a force that seems to barge his way in like the wild broncos he rode.

He is shameless in flirting. He often playfully touches yours and Din’s cheeks often, or casually drapes himself over you or his fellow cowboy.

Din on the other hand is quietly sweet. He routinely sends you photos of the sunrises of all the cities he travels to.

So opposite, they almost are like the sun and moon.

You began caring for them fiercely and fell so fast.

But now, you contemplate if you simply played yourself a fool becoming your own rodeo clown.

All the ideas, all the heavy conflict of having to pick between the two of them, taste bitter on your tongue. You take a long swing of your drink to hopefully wash it away. It doesn’t.

Din texted you asking to please meet him here at this bar near the secondary training arena and now you wait.

It’s lively tonight. Even after being thrown into the world of cowboys, or rodeo circuits, sitting in the honky tonk bar feels as if you’re on another planet. The music thankfully has a nice beat so you enjoy the song playing.

Someone slides in besides you, not even sitting on the bar stool.

“You seem lonely.” The voice of a stranger.

Besides you, a lanky college freshman looking guy leans against the bar staring at you.

“Just waiting for a friend.” You politely answer.

“Well, maybe you’d like some company waiting?”

You’re about to decline when a looming presence arrives at your back.

“Sorry there buckaroo, but this lovely peach is taken for the night.”

Jack’s smooth voice rings out and shocks your system.

The stranger’s face drops comedically fast and the punk scrambles away without another word.

You turn around and it isn't just Jack behind you but Din is as well.

Jack wears his black cowboy hat and you’re surprised to see Din in one as well. He rarely wears his Stetson but it transforms him.

In typical western, the dark midnight cowboy hats are that of the outlaws, the bandits. One of Din’s managers, an older man named Cobb Vanth, once told you that.

And maybe these two are.

Yet, even as bandits, they stand before you like two country romance song dreams. The kaleidoscopic lights dance and radiate off them.

Din mutters your name with hesitation swirling in his eyes.

Panic prickles against your skin. You’re not ready yet.

So you turn to the bartender and order three rounds.

“Honeypie, we gotta talk.” Jack says low, strikingly somber.

Shaking your head, you swallow hard. “Not now. I just…can we just please…just wait for a moment.”

Please let’s just enjoy this false dream a little longer, is what your heart whispers out.

“Of course.” Din mutters and they both move to sit on either side of you, a sort of barricade you’re already missing.

The drinks come and in a nervous quiet move you and the cowboys cling your glasses together. Everyone tosses the shot back. The tequila burns and helps slightly.

You decide if this a goodbye to this dream, you want to at least enjoy it a bit tipsy. So you order another round.

“Careful.” Din urges, ever the cautious one.

“Come on.” You now perk up. “You two both scored high yesterday! We gotta celebrate.”

Which is true. Even with your brewing heartbreak, you still got excited seeing their scores from the app alert. Because that’s the person you’ve become. You have apps on your phone dedicated to rodeo cowboy scores. Well, you might be deleting those apps soon.

You move to take the next shot.

You raise your glass to your two dear cowboys - the ones who you text everyday, the ones you try facetiming as much as you can, your dearest friends.

And maybe that’s all they will be.

You toast to their scores and to them.

Din’s eyes hold a pained shine in them that makes your heart twist. Jack instead wears a rather terrifying steeled up composed face.

You feel empty taking this shot and only Jack throws his back with you. Din even doesn’t touch his drink.

This time the tequila goes down warm and numbing.

The alcohol begins to work its confidence magic in you as you tease Din for not wanting to drink with you. He however glares at you and you’re reminded of an unwavering mesquite tree.

Maybe this is a bad decision.

You can’t be selfish about this. These two found each other. All those moments you thought they had feelings you simply had read the situation wrong.

“Look,” you sigh now, deflated. “I’m sorry-”

Jack suddenly smacks his hand against the bar countertop. It’s aggressively firm, a loud startling whack of a noise.

“Dancin’.” Jack declares loudly. “We’re gonna dance.”

“What? You and him?” You ask over the music.

“No.” Jack snaps. “We’re all goin’. So get your asses up.”

Din scoffs.

Jack, with firm hands yanking on yours and Din’s sleeves, actually drags everyone to the dance floor.

You can’t comprehend what’s happening. The floor is heavily crowded and no one notices three more additions.

“I don’t dance.”

“I can’t dance.”

Both you and Din fling out the same hurried replies to Jack.

He barks a laugh.

“It ain’t about being good at dancin’. S’about feelin’ the music, feelin’ the beat.” He yells back and then instantly transforms into a commanding force.

Sliding behind you, Jack turns you around to face Din.

His and your eyes go wide.

Jack then reaches to yank at Din’s dusty jacket, effectively pulling him forward -

Straight to your front.

Your heart hammers loud in your ears, so loud it drowns out the music blaring.

“Relax.” Jack purrs out. “Just…feel.”

You want to bark back about how that’s easier said than done. But your tongue gets tied up so badly you can’t form words.

Then one of Jack’s solid hands moves to your hips while the other reaches across to rest against Din’s shoulder.

You’re locked into them.

Jack begins to move you slowly.

The music shifts into something sultry, almost aching to be a slow dance, but a lively beat keeps it moving. You didn’t even think country songs could have this kind of vibe. Even though Jack mainly guides your hips, you already start swaying to the beat on your own.

That’s when Jack slowly bumps and nudges his hip against yours, fully pressing you closer to Din.

The position isn’t lost on you. It’s undeniably intimate, overly sexual, and you’re worried how this looks to others in the bar.

Then Din presses forward firmer against you and your mind blanks for a moment. Now sandwiched between a cowboy canyon, a dangerous heat burst from your chest.

Jack moves his nose against your face.

“Relax gorgeous,” he whispers. “Just enjoy.”

Your eyes hazing over flicker to Din who stares out with a deep desire swimming in his eyes. Cautiously his hands now move to rest on your hips. One of them goes on top of Jack’s.

You swallow hard and pray the lingering liquid courage will bless you.

Deliberately, sensually, your hips wiggle and grind between the two of them. You might not be properly dancing right or even swaying to the beat, but desire is the one guiding your body.

Many times nights alone in your bed you've thought of them like this with you. And now, you’re here caught in the sticky heart of that passionate desire.

Din dives forward and presses his face against yours.

Jack groans as his nose buries into your hair. Their cowboy hats create a sort of cover over you casting a shade against the glittering bar lights.

You’re literally under their shadow.

“Oh baby.” Jack whimpers.

Your hands, which you awkwardly kept close to your chest almost afraid to touch this dream and have it pop like a soap bubble, now tingle. You want to touch them both as much as you can.

So one of your hands slides up to hold onto Jack’s face while your other runs up Din’s broad chest to his shoulder. Your hips continue to sway and grind between them.

Then, like a spark ignited, something shifts.

Maybe it’s more people crowding in on the dance floor, or the heat finally bubbling over, but you’re suddenly squished firmly between them, practically glued together. Din’s face, his striking nose, presses against yours while Jack burrows the side of his face against your cheek.

They purposely rut into you. You think this is maybe the closest taste of what it would feel like for them to fuck you and you drown in it.

With Din and Jack, both hard, grinding against your front and back, your eyes close. A debauched sensation sinks its claws into you. It’s sinful and utterly deliriously delicious. You worry you’re about to melt.

Lust rips through you, an incinerating beast, and you bow to it.

In that haze, Din leans down and licks the sweat on your neck. His tongue against your skin, electrifies you. You ascend out of your body and moan.

Your body bucks up hard begging for attention and release only to find you’re still firmly caught between a cowboy canyon.

Jack shushes you firm but low. “G’damn y’all ‘re gonna be the death of me.”

His voice slurs, almost sounded drunk in something dangerous. Din continues licking at your neck not stopping once.

Suddenly Jack moves and shifts your body. The jostling breaks the movement and snaps you aware, like you’re slowly waking up, wearily trying to recapture your focus.

Quickly he snags your hand and Din’s. Out of reflex you clutch onto Din’s jacket. Jack, now a focused man on a mission, guides the three of you out of the crowd.

“Where are we going?” Din mutters against your face.

“Don’t know.” You answer truthfully.

You can’t tell where Jack guides you. The haze still fogging up your focus keeps you surprisingly pliant. It also doesn’t help that Din now practically drapes himself against your back, a protective cowboy like cloak. His lips continue to softly try and kiss any inch of skin he can reach.

You never thought he’d be the greedier one.

Jack guides everyone down a hallway past the restrooms. He even shouts a friendly greeting at someone. Of course he would know people here.

“Get your asses in here.” Jack now growls and his accent seems stronger.

That’s where he opens a door to a small back office type room and barrels everyone inside.

Jack’s not gentle. He almost yanks everyone in like a panicking kid trying to hide something from their parents. The door slams behind him. You’re transported into a badly lit mess of an office.

Jack whips around, pitches forward and before you can react he moves to attack your neck alongside Din.

His tongue licks a possessive strip up to your jaw then starts biting at your skin.

A wild moan escapes you as your eyes blissfully close.

You’re burning up. Your body, now molten, is only held up by your cowboys pressing flat against you. Both Jack’s mustache and Din’s faint beard scrape against your skin beautifully. Two tongues maping out your skin makes your mind evaporate. Every inch of your body screams for them.

That’s when you feel Jack drag his tongue on your neck down towards Din.

With another playful nip at your skin, Jack moves to lick against Din’s mouth still on you.

The wildest moan escapes you and you almost come right then.

Both cowboys almost kiss each other while also trying to still taste at your neck has you absolutely dizzy.

It’s hot and consumes every inch of you. You’re panting ridiculously loud and you can’t even hold back your whines or whimpers anymore. Slick pools between your thighs and sticks to your body. Your neck feels just as wet with the spit covering your skin.

Suddenly a loud aggressive bang rattles the door and your perfect illusion pops.

Panic barrels into you like a wild bull and your eyes go wide.

But your cowboys react fast. Din protectively curls his sturdy arm over you and draws you closer. Jack whips around and stands protectively in front as if to block the view.

Thankfully no one opens the door.

“Ya better not be fuckin’ on my god damn couch, Daniels!” A man howls with laughter.

“No fuckin’ way in hell.” Jack hollers back. “Not when your nasty ol’ ass calls its home.”

From the other side of the door the owner of this room laughs electrically loud. The man smacks on the door twice, an almost playfully goodbye.

The blazing heat that was melting you now simmers out like a fast dying out ember. An awkwardness settles in its place.

Your mind sorts through the heavy doubts again. Were you just a toy for them to play with? And even though a more aggressive side urges you to just enjoy and not think more into this, you don't want to be seen as just an accessory to their duo.

So slowly and quietly you untangle yourself from them.

Din mutters your name slightly confused and Jack turns around looking towards you.

“Where ya headin’ out to, peach?” Jack asks surprisingly composed.

You quietly tell them you’re gonna head home. A thick tension returns, choking the room.

Din calls your name, solid and striking.

“We need to talk.” His words are firm.

You want to make a sarcastic quip that they weren’t much for talking a few moments ago. But you don’t. You want to go home, maybe wash your skin off till you reach bone. You want to wash them away because it’s sinking in.

This last taste of desire is maybe your goodbye.

“Now why ya gotta make it sound like we’re talkin’ about a goddamn funeral, darlin’?!” Jack huffs annoyed.

Din shoots him a sharp annoyed look.

Darlin’

You’ve never heard Jack call his fellow cowboy that.

His nicknames for Din ranged from ‘pigeon’ to ‘sourpuss’ all were affectionately teasing in nature. Now the tender pet name holds the unspoken truth, as if seeing them kissing didn’t solidify it earlier.

“I’m sorry, I just…I read this wrong…” your voice becomes small and deflated. You would head home with a broken pride, but you didn’t want to be bitter about this.

Your eyes flicker up to them.

“You two… I’m glad you both found each other.” You smile weakly, the strongest attempt at being honorable and good. Yet the words turn to ash on your tongue.

You promise you’ll text them when you get home and now turn to leave again.

“The fuck s’that all about?” Jack snarls and his words snap your spine straight.

“Jack.” Din chides him sharp and your attention whips back to them a bit panicked.

Anger, along with the faintest edge of annoyance, colors Jack’s handsome face as he glares at you.

Your face scrunches up confused. What is he so upset about?

“The three of us were practically just humping like fuckin’ barn animals in heat and you wanna say shit like that?” A hot flash runs in Jack’s eye and you swear he even sounds hurt.

“Don’t say it like that.” Din glares.

Your eyes flicker between them and an edge of panic starts crawling on your skin.

“Wait, what?” You mutter out confused.

Silence suffocates the room and it feels like you’ve entered into a classic western standoff waiting to see who will strike first.

“Oh baby,” Jack’s gentle exhale shatters the moment as his eyes stare so directly at you. “Ya haven’t realized it?”

“What?” You squeak out confused.

“We’re crazy for ya… like a bunch of fools tangled up in a damn lasso.”

Jack’s words ignite a flurry of sparks within your chest that knock you breathless.

Turning towards Din, you notice his Stetson hat slid off, possibly during the heat of the moment earlier. But it allows you the clearest view of his gruff face and you think he’s never looked younger. His face is open. Hesitation and worry linger in Din’s dark road eyes reminding you of how secretly tender hearted this cowboy is.

Then Din nods so slowly, agreeing.

You almost choke on an inhale.

The sudden thought of picking between them has a fanged spike of anxiety rushing through you.

You didn’t want to pick. But, were you being selfish because of that?

Sensing your hesitation, or catching whatever emotions now flood your face, both cowboys now hesitantly move towards you.

“Talk to us, please.” Din softly urges.

Your voice cracks, tripping on itself annoyingly conflicted. But you manage to cough out that you don’t think you can pick between them. You don’t think you ever could and you’re worried your heart might not even handle it.

“Oh sweet baby,” Jack breathes out.

Suddenly the back of his hand tenderly strokes your cheek. Din gently glides his hand to your back and softly rubs you soothingly.

Your heart jumps into your throat at their sudden shift in affections.

“You don’t have to worry…or pick.” Din explains softly and with comfort.

Wait.

“You both…” you exhale shakily. “You two want me? Want us?”

For some reason, the notion of ‘us’ strikes you right then and there. That idea of you and them becoming an ‘us’ feels like the most natural progression in your mind.

Your best friend, when you told her about you and these cowboys, had cautiously asked if there was maybe a possibility of a poly type relationship happening. You immediately shot her down, not even wanting to think of the option.

But if you had been honest, a part of you started feeling guilty at the thought of wanting that. You enjoyed spending time with Jack just as much as Din. And you enjoyed spending time with them together.

Now you stand on the new ground of something beautiful waiting for you to step into.

“Sweetheart, hate to break it to ya…but we’ve been an us even before our dumbasses even realized it.” Jack snorts.

Din rolls his eyes and you snicker. But Jack is right.

Tentative date-like nights included Jack joining. Jack constantly invited both you and Din to his ridiculously lavish RV he used for the rodeo road trip days. That eventually led to days where you and Jack waited together for Din to finish. Or Din and you watching Jack practice. Din even began bringing his adoptive son over and Jack took to the baby like a fish to water.

This path you unknowingly had been on now is about to be crystalized before you and it warms every bit of your soul.

But a sharp fanged doubt suddenly gnaws at you.

“Wait,” your voice wavers. “This…this isn’t the alcohol talking right?”

Din sighs, shaking his head no but Jack answers first.

“‘Fraid not gorgeous. Been wanting this for a while.”

All worries get snipped and float out of your body leaving you so limitless.

Din leans to draw you into his side embrace and burrows his face against you.

“Sorry we didn’t discuss this sooner.” He mutters. “It all just…kind of happened.”

You understand and lean back against him. Din exhales shaky, soaked in a relief you can almost feel in your bones.

“Now, now, you two angels can’t go leavin’ out ‘ol Jack.” Of course Jack chimes in.

“Maybe it’s time we rethink this.” Din dryly comments and you laugh when Jack squawks out like a disgruntled crow.

But he effortlessly manages to borrow against both you and Din. It’s a little cluster, a soft clanging of bodies, but it’s cozy and feels right.

Someone yells outside the door laughing and your heart jumps.

“Whose office are we even in?” Din mutters out.

“Jimmy’s. Well technically mine too since I own the bar with him.” Jack casually drops.

Of course he did.

“And as cozy as it is here,” Jack adds gently. Both of their hands now intertwine against your hip.

“I say we move this little party somewhere nicer, like let’s say…my trailer?” Jack offers.

His RV is nice. Din’s is very spartan compared to Jack’s that had a full king sized bed and jacuzzi.

They truly are your sun and moon, so opposite and yet so beautifully brightening up your sky. A beautiful buoyant bliss fills you knowing you’re in their orbit, just as much as they’re in yours.

Din’s baby boy is a fidgety one. While he enjoys running around, he also loves to watch the world form anyone’s welcoming arms.

Which at the moment happens to be yours.

The baby chews happily on his favorite adorable stuffed longhorn plushie while the two of you enjoy the peace of the arena.

Without the noise, the yells and commotion of the crowd, or the sea of cowboy hats, the arena is strangely quiet, almost church-like in its own way. You understand now how it can even inspire a deep devotion.

After all, you see it through the eyes of two cowboys.

The baby happily shrieks and begins twisting in your arms. You turn to see what’s gotten his attention.

“Why howdy there my lil’ tumbleweed!” Jack warmly cries out and without hesitation scoops the sweet little boy into his arms.

The baby squeals in delight as Jack peppers him with kisses. Your heart melts at the sight.

“Don’t worry, didn’t forget about you too darlin’.” Jack winks and leans to kiss you soft now.

His mustache tickles your lips and you smirk. He also playfully and lightly smacks your bottom. You shoot him a look while Jack innocently shrugs.

“Our cowboy come out yet?” He asks.

You shake your head. Not yet. Din being ever the respectful man he is, allowed the others to use the practice bull first and took the last slot available for the practice times.

However, his team and the others arrive just as fast. Din steps out, the true silent assassin he’s regarded as. He’s memorizing to watch, so deeply focused and intense.

The baby now whines at being held and demands to be put down.

“Don’t worry I’ll watch him, you watch Din.” You reassure Jack while he places baby boy on his feet. The baby immediately waddles away, absolutely giddy to be free.

“Lil’ stinker.” Jack affectionately teases with adoration shining in his eyes.

Your eyes now watch the curious little babe you treasure so dearly. Behind you though, the training starts.

The clang of the chute being prepared and the commotion of the team getting ready fills the arena.

Then the alarm blares. The loud noise has the baby jolting in surprise. Before he can cry at the sudden noise, you quickly scurry over and swoop him back in your arms. You playfully press a loud raspberry against his sweet chubby cheeks and he giggles.

The noise of the ride erupts with the thrashing of the bull and the upheaval of the dirt.

Then, it’s all over.

“Attaboy!” Jack cries with a loud proud clap.

The baby, now fully distracted by the commotion, seems happy in your arms again as you approach Jack’s side.

Quickly your gaze goes to the arena to make sure Din’s alright.

“How did he do?” You ask about Din.

“Better! Still ain’t as good as yesterday's time but rides like these just help keep ya warm and flexible.” Jack explains.

With the bull settled, Din moves towards Vanth to discuss the ride.

Din draws his helmet up and already has so much sweat on his face. It’s unfair how handsome he is, rugged and adorably scruffy.

“Bweh!” The baby happily spots his papa and squeaks.

The noise causes all in the ring to turn towards where you three stand. Cobb Vanth grins kindly and Din’s eyes soften immediately spotting your little cheering group.

“Yeah lil cowpoke, you didn’t get to see how good your papa was, but he did great.” Jack coo’s as he softly smooths out the baby’s hair.

With a pat on the back from his manager, Din jogs over to you and Jack.

It’s unique, this new carved out existence of yours with them. But it’s beautiful and feels as if it’s always meant to be, like this has been in your veins long before you even knew.

Din reaches the edge of the ring and you and Jack shower him with praise. It’s adorable watching him get flustered at all the attention given to him, especially when you lean and Jack lean to kiss his cheeks.

“Seems like your ridin’s was a little rusty today though, cowboy.” Jack purrs. “Maybe we should all have a nice private lesson after this.”

“Hope those lessons aren’t with you. Last time you were out by the second count.” Din, like the surprisingly snarky man he is, effortlessly replies back as snatches the baby wiggling trying to for him.

Jack squawks hilariously upset and you snicker as your heart fills to the brim.

The arena is quiet, a sacred space that watches over all of you together like this. And it’s special, having this moment here with both of them.

You think there might not be many country songs about snagging two cowboys, but it’s okay.

You find this song in your heart feels eternal.

[hoshinasblade]

Professor!Hoshina thoughts.

Like I instinctually think he’d be an English teacher who does higher level courses specializing in Japanese literature and poetry. The kind where the class size is like 20 people or less.

On the other hand, I can also see him teaching gen ed literature for entering freshmen and just being a super chill guy. He’d be all “I get that the majority of you don’t want to be here, but you gotta so let’s get through this together.”

Regardless of type of course, I think Hoshina would know exactly how to motivate (oo la la~ lol) his students. He understands people have lives outside of his classroom. He’s attentive during one-on-one conferences, and has great office hours. General student consensus is that he’s strict, but fair.

Also glasses. Like reading glasses. He doesn’t wear them while teaching, but he does in his office for grading and doing computer work. Idk if this is what you’re looking for l, but yeah

if i could make out with this ask, i would have 🥹 this is a bit long so buckle up.

quick trivia that i am an english major; that's why i mentioned in my post before that i am biased on making vice-captain hoshina an english professor if i am going to write a fic where he is a teacher. it just fits his character, i would agree. it's also canon that he reads poetry so there's that too. personally i agree that he would be someone who teaches something esoteric as this parallels his role in the manga/anime. might be slightly off-tangent but this assumption of mine relates to how hoshina is portrayed as someone who is stubborn and proud. it was clear in the beginning that his own father thought that use of blades is already obsolete, but what did hoshina do? he persevered, earning a spot beside the highest ranking official in the third division. i would say something similar would happen when hoshina decided to go down his own path of being a professor - he comes from a well-off clan, i suppose he can choose any other profession if he wants to, but he stands by his decision to be a part of the academe anyway.

now off to the good stuff. NSFW AFTER THE CUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

hoshina is strict within the four corners of the classroom because he values his principles and his reputation. he can be friends with a few of his students outside school but during class hours, he carries himself as serious and businesslike. which is why i arrived at two scenarios if we are going to discuss anything nsfw involving professor!hoshina:

professor!hoshina x student!reader has a very slim chance of happening but you will be able to make it happen because hoshina sees himself at you. of course you being hot and attractive also helps out your case, but what takes the cake is that you aren't scared to speak your thoughts and fight for them. i can imagine a classroom setup, a heated argument about a required reading, and you find yourself on the opposite side of the discussion from hoshina. usually a student would be afraid to disagree with a professor's opinion, but not you and that gets his attention. having learned that you are in his class not because you ran out of elective program to enrol to but because you actually like the specialised course, i see hoshina getting impressed at how much you respect his field of expertise. the thing is i don't believe he would proactively initiate a sexual relationship with one of his students, but one after-class consultation leads to another, and the farthest he is willing to go with you is... sexting. he is already gambling with his life here, but he thinks this is the safest the both of you can go where losses will not be much. you don't send him nudes right away because you know him better than that - the pictures you send him are just enough to provoke something inside him: a shot of you wearing a black lace bra that barely covered your nipples, or a skimpy skirt that showcases your ass. his response would be him telling you in explicit detail what he would like to do to you once you are not his student anymore. when you got your clearance to graduate, he celebrated by asking you to sit on his desk, commanding you to show him your pussy and finger yourself for him as he jerks off his cock in front of you, watching. he will most definitely fuck you on top of the desk after, and to hell with the papers and documents atop his table, he won't stop his thrusts until he gets to cum inside you for the first time.

professor!hoshina x colleague!reader where hoshina is rightfully hesitant on starting anything at all because he thinks workplace affairs are tacky and impractical. but you make him laugh, and you are not bad at your job too (he's interested at the fact your students are fond of you despite the fact that your program has such a high rate of failing students). he commiserates with you on the struggle of being an effective class facilitator and he is surprised at how you and him have so much in common - you are both into poetry but hates superficial verbiage, you and him believe that a professor's role is not only to teach, but to make sure that students are learning - sometimes those two can be different things - and that although you prefer less sugar, you and hoshina are into coffee. when the literature department spent a friday night drinking at the local bar, you were stuck in the streets during the late hour, and hoshina being a gentleman, offered to take you home. which he did - take you home, just with the worst intentions. maybe it's the alcohol that made him cockier than usual, or maybe it was him catching a glimpse of you undressing so you can change into a more comfortable blouse, but he took the leap of kissing you first, shoving his tongue in your throat, his palm roaming on your chest. let's just say that you were lucky it was the weekend the morning after, because it would have been embarrassing to be walking funny in campus.

... i feel like i yapped too much, so im gonna stop now lol. if you have more thoughts, my inbox is always open. :)

EDIT: just an addition because i think i missed the last part of your ask - YES, GLASSES ON PROFESSOR!HOSHINA. i already came up with a scene where you took his eyeglasses off because you already wanna eat his face and he's like "you know i can't see you that well without my glasses right", and your response will be "that's fine, i can take the lead". my brain is melting with all the ideas, someone help me 😩😩😩

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

If Chase Yuong and the First Ninja start a fight, who will win in your opinion? Either way, it's going to be epic.

anon ANON thank you. I've been dying to think more about those two in the same context, ever since i realized the similarities of these two idiots i like (greenish hair? martial artist? magical? kinda lived long???) But i've shoved those crossover-ish ideas away since i am busy with other stuff lol. but this gives me an excuse >;)

Ok, if we do NOT take canons in consideration (because lets be truthful, cartoons rarely can give a full scope of a character to our satisfactions lol) so I have 2-3 vague scenarios in which they clash (IMO either of them can win??? (because i like them both, even if i am more of First fan, so I cant decide who of them winning would be more entertaining lol)):

If First Ninja in his prime (sometime after imprisoning Sorcerer but before the Ultimate Lesson) clashed with 700 yo Chase Young (since this fucker is canonically 1500 yo) who would probably try to defeat First in order to make him part of his Jungle Cats harem:

Chase is ridiculously, stupidly overpowered but one could argue that at 700 he hasn't yet reached the height of all his powers, so First would certainly have a fighting chance. First is supposedly uniquely trained since (probably) his birth by his Ninja Clan and continuous battles with the Sorcerer (and most likely other creatures, like Sorceress and Tengu and etc.) throughout his teenage-young adult life to take on enemies like Chase - overpowered magical beings/soulless monsters - with the help of Ninja Mask and all its powers.

Admittingly, in this case the win will most likely go to Chase, if only because of his experience and overwhelming array of powers at his disposal. Though considering we do not know the full scope of Ninja Mask's powers, First has like maybe 15-25% chance to win (and at least 30-45% in my mind if i consider my own hc about the mask lol), but not 0%.

If First Ninja's 800 yo. spirit somehow was released from/embodied by Ninjanomicon to clash with 1500 yo Chase Young in the Modern Present:

Here a lot of my hc come in play. I fully believe that if First - with all the developed abilities, experiences, memories, power (and possibly spirits) acquired during his stay/merge within the Ninjanomicon and from over like 200 people who ever used the mask over 800 years - fought 1500 yo Chase - who spent at least a century or 2 or 3?? hidden away in his Fortress, growing just a bit complacent, since he clearly became too strong and thus bored of the world when it couldn't offer him decent opponents anymore, at least not until current Monks - the fight could go either way.

Chase is still stupidly OP, but its clear that he was deprived of good opponents for a loooooong time, since he resorted to fight against/taunt teenagers and Omi, who is basically a kid still. And they frequently managed to outmanoeuvre him in their confrontations, if not in an actual hand-to-hand fight then at least in common sense lol.

Meanwhile First trained and learned with his each of his successors years in and out, and while we dont know exactly what sort of things happened, we can say for sure that the fighting was continuous. Ninja barely had any rest, for the Sorcerer probably attracted chaos inclined allies and minions and thus a never ending stream of enemies for Ninja to battle.

If basic bitches clash aka OG Good Chase and First Ninja before he was First Ninja:

This is just for fun and because I fully believe that pre-Ninja Mask First will trounce Good Chase. xD

We do not know Chase's past, and there are various headcanons on how he came to be a Xiaolin Monk, but let's just say that judging by his apperance and XS voice, he is probably a very young adult-ish before he drunk his Soup, so he most likely was a Monk since at least his pre-teen/teen years. He appears to be insecure in his Monk-ness and in his abilities to become the greatest warrior despite his competence, since he was swayed/manipulated/convinced? to sell his soul to a demon for more power and freedom from Monk values.

If we judge First's appearance and voice, he would be perhaps a slight bit older than Chase when he became The Ninja, and not to mention since he was born into the Ninja Clan, he was likely trained since he was very young. His personality appears to be very studious and there is certainly a great deal of strength in his character since he not only managed to continue on with his duty even after loosing his brothers but also not succumbing to the overwhelming Power of the Mask that can corrupt those of weak belief and hold the title of the Ninja longer than anyone else.

(Not to mention I am of very biased opinion that Ninjas are cooler than Monks. lol. Also we can assume they all have magic of some sort. Like think Naruto like Ninjas and Xiaolin Elemental Dragons/Monks.)

ALSO in case 1, obviously if they fought with the agreement that if Chase wins he would ABSOLUTELY add First into his Jungle Cat harem. First will most likely add/request a stipulation that Ninja Mask was not taken with First and I can see Chase honoring that agreement, so the Ninja legacy will continue on and Chase still gets an incredible warrior to his ranks, and perhaps more warriors if the future ex-Ninjas would decide to try and fight him later on. ;)

(first's animal form would be either a leopard or iriomote cat (both native to Japan) or a crow because tengu connection/associations ;D )

And if First wins, he certainly would figure out how to contain Chase, (perhaps even in the Ninjanomicon itself hohoho) since he somehow managed to contain a sorcerer that controls chaos with some binding, magic from a mythical beast and in a deep hole that perhaps connected to some dark realm, like??

;)

[missycolorful]

The scene with q!Forever and q!Philza at Global spawn in Pugatory is something that will always kinda sit in the back of my head. Because it truly, truly solidifies the strength in their dynamic, and neither of them will probably realize it lol. Hello, I'm here to be insane about q!philever, so buckle up

Like everyone else, q!Phil was dealing with a lot in Purgatory. He began to lose trust in close friends. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to save his children. While trying to uphold his morality and not kill except in self-defense, he was very much walking a fine, jittery line. All while trying to keep his team organized and motivated. Aside from kind of losing his mind like the others, there was no clear indication that Phil's composure was dangling by a loose thread.

But then he's allowed a moment of peace to exchange information with another team. It's just him and Forever. No kills planned, nothing. Just two people allowed to talk about the absurd situation they've been thrown into. A moment to really take everything in.

During the conversation, Forever doesn't hold judgement toward Phil or anyone else due to the event, even when he comments on Philza's kill on Rivers. Even when Phil tries to justify his actions, Forever doesn't hold it against him. It's hard to say exactly how important this is to what happens next, but I feel like it means something here.

It's when q!Forever says that once they leave Global Spawn, that they become "enemies" again, this is when q!Philza breaks. And I think this moment has been glossed over by many (I want more fan art, dammit >:T) cause it doesn't feel big on the surface. It's not like cc!Philza genuinely sounds heartbroken, his cries sound... a little exaggerated/dramatic, you know? What he cries about isn't anything groundbreaking, it's what many of them feel ("I don't want to be here." "I don't want to kill my friends."), even though Phil fans can sense a deeper meaning here. And after Forever briefly consoles Philza ("Everything is going to be good. This is what we need to go through."), Phil, like a flick of a switch, is right back to his composed, level-headed self. It was like that moment never even happened.

But it did, and it drives me crazy that he did it in front of Forever. cc!Phil made that conscious choice to have his character lose composure, his character that he and his fans knows is an emotionally constipated motherfucker. And the reason it drives me nuts is because how the fuck did we get here?

I can imagine this scenario with lots of characters, and it never plays out like this (i.e. with Tubbo, he'd likely just keep it all in. Et cetra.). I don't see him letting himself be this vulnerable around most others. Hell, before this, I never would've imagined he'd do this in front of Forever, either.

But the more I think about it, it kinda makes sense.

Phil and Forever's relationship is a funny one. Early on, Phil wouldn't trust Forever with a toothpick. He'd never be emotionally open with him. Forever even held a bit of animosity toward Philza after Phil'a final rejection. But that rocky start is honestly a huge part of why it is as strong as it is now. Cause, well, the strength of any relationship comes from accepting all parts of a person. Flaws and all.

Some characters hold Philza up on a pedestal (i.e. q!Missa). They don't really see his flaws. They don't think about his ugly sides. They just see a pillar of a man who is always willing to help, who can do anything and everything, who keeps composed and lighthearted and level-headed in any scenario. q!Forever was kinda like this, at one point.

But Forever realizes that isn't the case eventually. Because Phil's not great at dealing with emotional situations, and Forever learns that the hard way. Phil's not good at talking about feelings, he can be blunt and a bit harsh, because he's a pragmatic sort of guy. But it takes a softer, gentle approach to reject someone, and Phil wasn't ready for that. So, in retaliation to the hurt Phil caused him, Forever had a conflicted relationship with him. It didn't last long, but I digress. This brief shift in their relationship was for the better. By not placing him on this pedestal anymore, Forever began to see Philza in a different light. One that didn't cast Brunim in its shadow.

With Philza, Phil saw Forever at, arguably, his worst in the beginning. Obsessive, threatening, clutching onto a pipe dream with no regard for Phil's feelings. But over time, Phil got to see the much more real sides of Forever. When Tallulah lost her first life, when Forever made NINHO. He saw a passionate and intelligent side to this guy who was obsessed with him, and he respected that person. And with this recognition, he offered his trust to Forever, such as giving one of his presidential votes to Forever.

Both of their perspectives for the other changed throughout the first few months, and I believe they gained some level of appreciation between them because of that. They share this newfound respect and trust. And that is the core to their new relationship. Consistently, Forever and Phil have given each other open and mutual respect and trust. Never is either of these things taken for granted, abused, or manipulated in any way.

When Forever is hooked on the happy pills, he subconsciously seeks out Philza's help, which Phil offers with ease. Before Forever goes to the Nether, Phil expresses his worry and wants to help. But he doesn't push, because he respects Forever's agency, and trusts that Forever is doing what he thinks is best. (also during this scene, when Forever gave him access to the warpstone in that secret part of his base, only Forever and Richas had access to it beforehand, which feels like a big moment according to his fans, so! :D). So when Forever returns to the Nether, while he doesn't believe Fit and Pierre when they say they tried to save him, he absolutely, 100% believes in Philza.

Because he knows Philza by now, and Philza knows Forever. Maybe not on equal levels, but still. After merely a few months, they've slowly begun to understand each other a bit more. So I guess it's only natural that they'd be more open around each other.

I'd even argue that this isn't the first time Philza lets down his walls around Forever. It just didn't happen when Forever was awake.

I wouldn't say that Phil talking to Forever while he was in a coma is the same level of vulnerability as the scene in Purgatory. Because Phil wasn't totally direct with his feelings, he sort of deflected (the story, banging the pots and pans, calling him an idiot, etc). Hell, even when he is expresses how he feels, he's not entirely direct: "We just really care about you. We wanna see you come back. You're making us worry." Like, of course everyone cares, but to say this as we when it's just the two of you obviously feels like a moment of vulnerability but not wanting to admit to it. Cause, hey, under different circumstances, he absolutely would've committed to visiting Forever in the hospital every day. Still, his very open worry did give off a sense that his walls were crumbling.

So with all of this, if Philza can meet with someone alone in practical hell, and that someone, a person he openly trusts and cares about, can look him in the eye and say "I don't judge you" on the things he's has done, maybe that allowed the floodgates to open for a bit. Maybe once Forever said they'd be enemies outside those doors, the situation hit Phil like a truck, and he just couldn't keep it in anymore. And maybe knowing it was just the two of them, Phil knew he could be a person around Forever, not a leader or a mentor or a force to be reckoned with. And Phil really needs someone on equal footing with him like this. He needs someone he can feel safe around. So for him to find this in Forever, of all people, even if it's just for this moment, is extremely important to me.

The way their relationship has progressed, perhaps it would've been simply a matter of time for Philza to be open with Forever. I dunno when Phil will be quite so open around Forever again, but I do say when with a fair enough of certainty (or I could be wrong and I'm simply talking straight outta my ass but who knows). Because to have this moment with Forever was intentional, even if it feels like a blink and you miss moment. It may have been under a minute, it may not feel important to other viewers. BUT to me, it genuinely says so much about their relationship, how far they have come, and where they are now.

[redrum-alice]

So I've been sketching Beauty and the Beast AU for ABAcelsus, and I just wanna lay out some HCs lmao...

First and foremost, the AU has its own twist and is loosely based on the fanfic "A possession of another name" on ao3. I kinda just wanna do some scenarios bc im doing some scene sketches for funsies. This is set in 1600s

P.S., some of the HCs are cheezy as hell, because Im cooking for myself (this whole AU is my own food lol)

TW: some headcanons may contain mature topics

ABA was the daughter of the town's doctor, Dr. Hohenheim (please bear with me). He was the one who makes successful medicine and healing potions for the sick and poor.

Because of his aptitute in medical field and science, the ignorance of townsfolk saw this as a threat of witchcraft and alchemy, accusing him to be worshipping the devil (may or may not be true, but he insists he was doing it for good)

Although he was met with criticism, Dr. Hohenheim wanted nothing more than to improve lives, until he met his untimely demise.

Leaving his daughter all alone and ostricized due to their family's reputation, ABA was taken in as a scullery maid in a mansion. She was left with a key that she turned into a necklace and a book of incantation in case she was in a dire situation. She held these two objects dearly

Just like her father, she was somehow skilled and knowledgable about medicine and healing, especially when it comes to blood. This unfortunately sparked outrage once the other maids outed her for her suspicious activities. They intend to burn her alive.

She quickly fled to the woods to escape the mob. When it was clear, she took out the incantation book to recite a protection spell. Turns out she summoned a demon named Paracelsus.

Paracelsus ignited flames in the outskirts of town in response to the young woman's call for help. The townsfolk quickly fled away and left the girl alone with the demon. Sadly, ABA fell unconscious due to the injuries her masters and other maids have inflicted on her. The demon eventually took her inside the pocket dimension to heal properly.

Paracelsus is a bloodthirsty demon that was captured by Dr. Hohemheim and a man named Slayer long ago before ABA was born, fearing the dangers he might inflict on people if he was loose. They kept a chain and lock around his neck, magically bound to the book and can only be free with the use of the key ABA is currently wearing.

Dr. Hohenheim gained his knowledge in medicine with Paracelsus' help, since the demon possessed knowledge one could not achieve yet in their era. This was all in exchange of blood, and Dr. Hohenheim was tricked into killing some of the people he was helping. Not wanting to be manipulated furthet, Dr. Hohenheim sealed him away. The doctor soon wrote a letter to his young daughter revealing the truth one day when she grows up, tucked inside the book

After ABA read her father's letter, she was devastated. With no one else to turn to, she became dependent on the only being who shown her kindness: Paracelsus.

Paracelsus wanted nothing more than to feed on ABA's blood, ignoring her plea to be his companion. Over time, he pitied the girl and slowly soften up. Even going as far as offering a pocket dimension to be her resting quarters if she got tired of traveling in search of a new place to live.

ABA notices how fond Paracelsus was with roses, just as much as she is with blue flowers. Paracelsus explains it was because they're close to the red shade of blood.

In some gruesome yet magical manner, Paracelsus performed a magic where he turns ABA's blood droplets into roses to amuse her. (Weird but romantic ig?)

Because of that, she scanned the book of incantation and finds a spell to turn her blood droplets into roses so she can surprise Paracelsus. The demon wont admit it, but was a very thoughtful gesture. He had to patch up ABA though

ABA has always been insecure about herself, after having been emotionally and mentally abused by her owners at the mansion. She never felt beautiful in her skin and cannot look at herself in the mirror. So in a twisted way, she sees Paracelsus' "attraction" to her blood as some sort of affection.

In a symbiotic sense, ABA found company in Paracelsus, while the demon feeds off on her blood as fuel to protect them both. He had to keep a close eye on the girl, for she holds to key to his freedom. He cannot use the key for himself because it was blessed and it'll burn him if he touches it.

Paracelsus doesn't want to admit that he finds ABA's meekness endearing. Whenever she wanted ask about something she didn't know (she grew up in a small town that has nothing to offer, and her master wouldn't let her out of the mansion), Paracelsus was glad to fill her with knowledge.

He finds ABA's curiosity to be charming as well, but it comes with him protecting her from impending danger. The girl was reckless at times.

Soon he found himself enchanted at the girl's pure hearted nature. He fears that his influence may corrupt her one day and tries his best to shield her from his bloodthirsty intentions.

ABA naively asked Paracelsus if they could marry. He flatly said no, but she kept trying lol

[epiphainie]

what are some moments you’d like to see or you think we *should* get together between bucktommy in season 8? ‘should’ - not as in must get! but moments you think would be important to their growth and establishing them as a long term couple and would be very good for the story they’ve built so far

Hi anon,

Sorry for the very late reply, I had to think about this a bit because I love this question! This will get long, sorry in advance.

I think first things first, we need some drama lol. Seeing how a couple overcomes conflict for the first time is seeing how the relationship can/will prevail in the long term. It's also important as a story element, conflict is what makes characters make decisions and take actions, what enhances the emotional impact etc. After all, what is more satisfactory than the sense of resolution that feels earned?

I think the first type of conflict I would like to see them navigate through would be something interpersonal. I don't really want a bloated case of miscommunication because so far they have been presented to do very well in that aspect (Buck is for once not just going with the flow but proactively pursuing this relationship, they both apologize, they both hear each other, they both reassure the other etc.) but the reality is every new relationship will have a stumbling bit when it comes to communication.

I don't know what they'd specifically deal with (like Henren had trust issues and Madney ignored talking about mental health) but Buck - despite his progress - has very well-documented issues around his self-perception and the concept of love and we know it took Tommy a great deal of effort to become the guy he is today (who's in tune with Buck and seem to communicate very well), he also has his own demons. So the right triggering event can cause a moment of unexpressed emotions on both sides. (Our fic writers have been great coming up with ideas for this and I've seen many posts speculating, so if anyone has any specific scenarios in mind please put in the tags.) What I would really really love to see in a scenario like this is an explicit, on-screen reassurance of each other about the root of their issue. I want Buck to have a love interest who with clear words say what Buck needs to hear and I want Buck to reciprocate. Like I said, we've seen BuckTommy be mutually really good at this so far, so I would love to see how it looks when they deal with something bigger.

The second type of conflict I'd like to see them handle would be a conflict caused by an external threat. Maybe not something as dramatic (and hurtful) as Madney dealing with Doug but anything that puts them through the wringer a little bit. This and what I said above wouldn't need to be mutually exclusive events obviously (Gerrard, for example, can be an external threat AND a trigger for individual insecurities, interpersonal conflict etc.) but this I specifically want because I believe to convincingly set them up as a long term/significant relationship, they should show us them being a team, a united front. Where my first point was about seeing how they would navigate their individual traumas together, this is about seeing how they'd deal with the world that throws them a wrench.

Now that the heavy stuff is out of the way, I think we need to see how they would act as a couple in a group setting. This obviously touches many of the points we've collectively made over the past few months about how there's so much potential re: Tommy interacting with the other 118 members. I think one of the biggest fails of Buck's previous relationships from a writing point was how little they existed within the rest of Buck's world. The first time I watched that scene of Buck, Taylor, Eddie, and Chris having dinner together I had to do a double take because so much of Buck's relationship with Taylor and Buck's relationship with everyone else felt like two different shows. It was cute when Buck said "You don't want to see a hangry Taylor" - it made them sound domestic, it made their relationship feel actually lived. This is such a little thing for BuckTommy to feel integrated and real imo. I don't mean they have to write BuckTommy as the center of attention in a group setting, what I mean is that they need to extend BuckTommy's existence as a couple to the broader context of the show.

Kind of building on this, another thing I think would serve very very well here is if we see Tommy interact with others when Buck is not there. If we want BuckTommy to exist beyond the context of their 1:1 scenes, we need Tommy as an individual to exist beyond that as well. Again, this is going back to how Tommy has the potential for these dynamics to feel organic in a way that didn't exist with prior LIs before. And I think one specific thing I would really like to get (and this is gonna sound ironic bc I said we need Tommy uncoupled from Buck just now) is Tommy talking about Buck to other people. As we need Tommy to exist in Buck's greater world, with his people in a way that his ex-girlfriends didn't, we also need Buck to exist in Tommy's world even when he's not there. The only comparison I can make here is Abby as she was the only previous LI who had her own relationships, but damn, did we ever see a love interest talk about why Buck matters to them, how he makes them feel etc. I wanna know how Tommy perceives Buck. This is like 101 if you wanna sell to the audience the love interest is actually interested too.

Couldn't find a place for this (maybe group-setting entry was more fitting love) but I also would really like to see them act casual. This is way more superficial than my other points but I was just watching some 911: LS scenes and I truly believe one of the reasons Tarlos is sold so well is because we get domestic, comfortable touches in every scene. Again, making a relationship feel actually lived. I don't think any of the 911 couples engage in this as much as Tarlos do but they certainly still do to a degree and I want and need that for BuckTommy.

Thanks for the ask anon!