#stole it with the credit already cut off :

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Seams

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part II: Threads }

Rating: M

Summary: Joel has a problem. Having settled into some semblance of a 'normal' life in Jackson that no longer involves running for his life and living off scraps, his clothes are getting a little… tight. Self-conscious, he deals with it the way he does most things - he ignores it.

That is until one day, the zipper on his jeans finally gives up after one too many desperate tugs, leaving him stuck. With neither Tommy nor Ellie anywhere to be found to get him out of the tight spot, Joel begrudgingly heads to the clothing store he’s seen in town for help - and a new pair of jeans.

There, he meets you.

Warnings: Spicy thoughts, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, body insecurity, some language, Joel being unkind to himself, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6k

Notes: I haven't written anything this fast for a hot minute. It's both exciting and terrifying, especially as Joel is so new to the fandom. So this is a one-shot as it stands, but I'll be lying if I say I haven't thought about where this story can go. Please be gentle with me, Joel is easily the most intimidating Pedro boy I've written for so far. I hope this doesn't disappoint 🥺

‘TommmMMMMMYYYY!’

His voice echoes in the empty street, gruff with irritation. He can feel eyes on him - he always does, wherever he goes in this damn place - covert stares from behind curtains, peeking out of windows from the neighbouring houses.

The polished wood thumps hollowly under his fist. Head bowed in surrender, his forehead makes contact with the surface of the door with a dull thud.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath.

Trudging back to the house that’s been allocated to him - he still struggles to think of it as his - he slams the door shut behind him so hard that the sound rings in his ears. Well, more in his left than his right.

Tossing the keys onto a chest of drawers in the hallway, he yells in a last-ditch attempt, ‘Ellieeee!’

The house is silent.

The one time he needs either of them, neither can be found anywhere. Even Maria has made herself scarce - not that he’d ask her for help for this.

This being these stupid fucking jeans. 

His trusty jeans that he’s worn for years, other than on laundry days, which were few and far in between. They’ve literally seen him through thick and thin - the knees are so worn he can almost see the web of white thread beneath the denim.

Tess had gotten him these jeans. Stole them, if he remembers correctly. Once upon a time, he needed a belt to hold them up, or they’d hang down to his ass crack. By the time Ellie came into the picture, they fit well enough to render the belt redundant. He could still easily fit things into his pockets though, like a map or a switchblade.

But now - 

Now he’s stuck, and he can’t get them off.

If he’s being honest with himself, the jeans haven’t fit for months. The jobs in Jackson don’t come anywhere close to the backbreaking work in the QZ or being on the road with Ellie. The food is plentiful even during the harsh winter, and as much as he looks down his ideological nose at it, Maria deserves credit for the thriving commune.

He had a late start this morning. Ellie had already vacated the house by the time he came to. He was on autopilot, distracted by his thoughts about the porch steps that have rotted and need to be replaced. 

He was making plans in his head to nip down to the workshop to get the wooden planks when he started getting dressed. Stepping into the legs of the jeans, he pulled them up, hopping to stretch them over his thighs. Out of habit, he sucked in his belly to button them up, the waistband seemingly even tighter than usual. 

He relegated that to the back of his mind, the same way he’s ignored the fact that the jeans have been uncomfortably tight for months - to the point of hindering his movement when he lays bricks, or cuts off his breathing when he sits down. But he’s gotten used to it, like he does everything else. He’s Joel Miller with the stiff upper lip, after all.

The zipper was next. As usual, he met resistance about halfway up. Baring his teeth, he gripped the tongue of the zipper and yanked upwards. 

Except this time, it didn’t budge. Grumbling, he pulled harder, feeling the burn in his biceps -

It happened so quickly that he wasn’t even aware until he was wheeling backwards from the force, his arm flying up in an arc - and a metallic clink behind him registered faintly in his good ear. 

Disoriented, he glanced down at the zipper. The slider had come clean off.

‘Fuck,’ he swore and turned to the full-length mirror on the wall to inspect the damage. Running an experimental finger along the seam, it was clear that the zipper had somehow snagged on the denim. It was stuck. Dead stuck.

Turning the house inside out, he couldn’t find a single pair of scissors, and there isn’t enough space to fit a knife in without slicing himself open, at which point he left on his ultimately fruitless search for reinforcement.

Joel scrubs a tired hand down his face. He’s never been a vain guy - Tommy is that sibling. But he’s never needed to stress about his looks either, with contracting keeping him in shape before the outbreak, and the fight for survival after - until now.

Grabbing his jacket, he shrugs it on, hyper-conscious of whether it’s a tighter squeeze than usual (fortunately not) - and heads into town.

Main Street Outfitters, the only clothing store in Jackson, sits in the middle of the high street, sandwiched between the pub on one side and the welder’s on the other. For the most part, residents come in to trade in old clothes for new ones, but there’s also a nicer selection for the occasional party that one can barter for.

You’re in the workshop at the back, the afternoon sun filling the room through the skylight. 

With your skill in thread and needle, you were the obvious candidate for the job when you arrived in Jackson. Over the years, it has become your sanctuary. The walls are lined with wooden shelves, where neat - though mismatched - boxes of buttons, trimmings, thread and trinkets slot perfectly into place.

You spend the days checking over incoming clothes after they come back from the laundry, making sure they are in reasonable condition and mending those that are not. The shop also charges for adjustments and repairs, and the tasks easily fill your working hours.

It’s a Tuesday, and it’s usually quiet this time of the afternoon. If you’re lucky, you can be undisturbed until you clock off at five - which is why you’re surprised when you hear the tinkle of the doorbell.

The footfall is heavy, it sounds like a strong work boot. You hold your breath and your fingers hover mid-air as the door shuts with a slam. You hear the customer clear his throat - definitely a man - as you wait in vain for the front of house to greet him.

But of course Lucy has sneaked out again. She’s a sweet girl, but manning the counter has always been too dull for her.

‘Hello?’

The voice is deep and gravelly, and despite your reluctance, it doesn’t sit well with your work ethic to keep a customer waiting. Sticking the needle into a pin cushion, you noiselessly rise from your seat and make your way to the front of the shop.

Your first glimpse of him is his back. Standing in front of a rack of jeans, the grays in his hair catch the light streaming through the shop front windows. You study him for a minute, curious eyes running over the width of broad shoulders under a beat-up, khaki jacket. Lower, his jeans are… well-worn, to put it kindly. And from sight, a sitting a bit tight on his hips -

You must have shifted your feet without you noticing. At the minutest creak of wood, the man whips around, one hand reaching behind him in search of the butt of a loaded gun or the hilt of a knife. It’s your good fortune that you see neither on him. The intensity of his gaze is just as effective as a blade on your neck to pin you to your spot.

There’s no question that he’s a newcomer. You’ve seen the same kind of intensity in everyone who’s braved what’s out there to get here.

But even if that didn’t give him away, you already know who he is. He’s Tommy’s brother. Joel, if you remember correctly. Maria approached you for some clothes a few months back when he arrived with his kid for the second time. They’ve been the talk of town since - not that you listen. In fact, you try not to, but you can’t help it if someone talks loudly enough at the next table in the canteen to interrupt your lunchtime reading.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles as the tension in his body recedes. ‘You’re very quiet.’

You duck your head. ‘Sorry.’

‘You work here?’

Wringing your fingers nervously, you nod and take two timid steps towards him, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremour in your voice. ‘How can I help?’

You’ve heard things about Joel Miller. The words most frequently whispered as he ambles by in town include ruthless, cold-blooded and steer clear.

You can’t exactly reconcile the man in front of you with those particular words right now.

There’s nothing that speaks to ruthlessness in the way he averts his eyes and shuffles his feet, the blunt tip of his shoes catching the wooden floor. You also find it hard to believe that a truly cold-blooded person would willingly cross the country and all its horrors in search of his brother, or take a teenager under his wing.

You might not think much of yourself, but you know that your judgement of character has kept you alive so far. And your instinct isn’t telling you to steer clear of this man - quite the opposite, in fact.

But that’s neither here nor there.

He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with your scrutiny. ‘Just lookin’ for some new jeans.’

‘Alright,’ you reply, taking the remaining five steps to the other end of the jeans rack, a safe distance away from him. ‘What’s your size?’

To your surprise, he huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘At least one up from whatever I have on right now.’

Sucking in a breath, you gesture vaguely at him. ‘Um, do you mind if I take a look at uh - you? So I can guess what size will fit you?’

You’re used to being the most awkward person in the room wherever you go, but this man is  giving you a pretty good run for your money right now. While you divert your gaze as he unbuttons the front of his jacket, he fixes his somewhere over your shoulder to the right, grinding his teeth, as if he wishes he was anywhere but here.

Dragging your eyes back to him, you take stock of your customer as he sweeps the lapels of the jacket to the side. Underneath, the green flannel cuts off at the top of the jeans, and you see the soft pouch of his abdomen beneath the fabric. While the shirt is well-fitted, the jeans are obviously too small. The waistband bites into his sides, you can see the subtle overhang of his love handles. Even by the way he’s standing you can tell he’s uncomfortable, packed in way too tight in the denim.

And then… you really shouldn’t, but you stare at the front of the jeans. Now, you know for a fact that the fit will be just as snug there even if he goes a size up…

‘Sorry, not much to look at,’ he grunts, breaking the silence.

Taken aback by the self-derision in his voice, the words leave your mouth before they register, sharper than you mean them to be. ‘Don’t say that.’

He blinks at you. ‘What?’

You gape at him. Does he really not see? His tall, solid frame? The strong columns of his thighs? Is this man blind on top of being frustratingly attractive -?

But of course you can never say that. Instead, you pull out three different pairs of jeans in quick succession and all but throw them at him, heat prickling the tips of your ears as the disbelief that you spoke to a customer like that sinks in.

‘The dressing room is there,’ you squeak, pointing at the far corner. ‘I’ll be at the back if you need any help -’

You turn on your heels, in a hurry to get back to your workshop, but you only get halfway through the spin. It takes you three seconds to realise why - his calloused palm is on your wrist, holding you in place.

‘Actually, I do need help - I broke the zipper, and I’m stuck in these damn jeans.’

You ignore the clench of your stomach at the way he spits out the word damn. You’re not big on swearing, but the cuss word sounds good rolling off his tongue in his Southern twang.

To your horror, a giggle bubbles up your throat before you can slap a palm over your mouth.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you apologise profusely, heat flooding your cheeks. 

You stare in consternation when those broad shoulders of his quake, a half-smile on his lips as they part in a scratchy chuckle. ‘Trust me, I’m glad I found you first. My brother or my kid would have given me a much harder time. Probably would’ve pissed their pants laughin’.’

Despite yourself, you smile back with a weak attempt at a joke. ‘I mean, I’ll try not to -’

He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘That’s all I can ask for.’

You lead the way to the back of the shop and Joel follows three polite steps behind, pausing by the doorway. Running practised eyes over the space, the contractor in him appreciates the well-built skylight and the sturdy furniture in the room, pieces that were clearly built to last. He places the jeans you picked out for him on the big work table, made of strong timber and aged with time. 

He picked up a change in your demeanour the moment you crossed the threshold into the workshop. There’s a quiet confidence in your measured steps, the way you move speaking volumes - this is clearly your place, and you’re so much more comfortable in your skin here.

You point at the spot marked by a round, cosy rug directly beneath the skylight. ‘Could you stand there for me?’

Doing as he’s told, he startles when you march straight up to him, sliding your palms under the shoulders of his jacket to push it off. Your front brushes his chest briefly when you reach around to catch it, but not brief enough for him to ignore the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against him.

Joel is all too aware of his pulse going from zero to a hundred at the fleeting touch, the collar of his shirt suddenly a bit too tight. For fuck’s sake, Miller. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since his head has gone anywhere near there, but of course it has to happen at the most inconvenient moment.

At least you don’t seem to notice, draping his jacket over the back of a chair before retrieving a pair of tailor’s scissors from one meticulously organised drawer.

Just when he thinks he’s gotten a handle on himself, you hit him with a non-sequitur. ‘Are you wearing underwear?’

Only when Joel splutters wordlessly does the full weight of the question seem to hit you. You stutter, ‘Oh god, I didn’t - I mean - I only asked because if push comes to shove, and I have to cut through the jeans, I don’t want to ruin any underwear you’re wearing -’

You trail off, and it’s his turn to stammer, scratching an invisible itch on his elbow as he struggles to remember what he usually does with his hands.

‘No, no, I get it. I’m ahem -,’ he pauses with a cough. ‘I’m not actually wearin’ any underwear right now. Not out of habit, it’s just that I’ve been barely squeezin’ into the stupid jeans even without it.’

His honest answer seems to put you at ease, and you purse your lips. ‘Sounds uncomfortable.’

He shrugs. ‘Have been for months.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He arches an eyebrow. ‘What for?’

‘That you’ve been uncomfortable. That’s one thing clothes shouldn’t be.’

Not quite knowing how to answer you, he watches you grab a velvet cushioned footstool from under the work table and place it squarely at his feet. Then, without further preamble, you sink onto your knees in front of him, knocking the air clean out of his lungs.

As he stares down at the crown of your head, your nose at the level of his waistband, he muses that he hasn’t seen this view for a long time, a very long time. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he closes his eyes, fighting the base instinct to cup the back of your head in his palm and to pull you close -

He breathes out hard through his nostrils and clenches his jaw, casting his gaze heavenwards through the skylight as he actually prays for the first time in years.

Don’t you fucking dare get hard, Miller.

You chew on the inside of your mouth as you consider what’s before you. It’s tricky. The jeans are unbuttoned and zipped up most of the way, but the denim has been caught tight in the metallic teeth, and the handle of the zipper yanked clean off.

Cocking your head to one side, you think out loud. ‘I think we should at least try and unsnag the zipper before cutting. But we’re going to need some lubrication, and we’ll need to give it a really good, firm tug -’

The man chokes on nothing above you, and you frown up at him in a question.

Clearing his throat loudly, he asks through gritted teeth, ‘Do we have to?’

‘I mean, I can just cut open the jeans, but then you’ll definitely have to trade in something extra to cover the costs of the repairs -’

He interrupts, ‘That. Let’s do that.’

‘Alright, your call,’ you say with a nod. ‘Can you hold up your shirt?’

You try not to gawk when he draws up the tails of his flannel, revealing his soft stomach underneath. The mid-rise jeans cut off beneath his belly button, and you eye the trail that sneaks full and dark under the waistband. He’s obviously sucking his tummy in, and you catch yourself wishing he doesn’t feel like he has to.

You bite your bottom lip. ‘Do you think you can fit a couple of fingers into the waistband so I can slide the scissors in? They’re sharp, I don’t want to cut you.’

You watch as he tries, first his index finger, then his middle, but he can barely squeeze in beyond the nail, which turns completely colourless from the pressure. He sighs in surrender. ‘Mfraid you’ll have to, sweetheart.’

You have to close your eyes for a moment, your head swimming. You’re not sure whether it’s from the sweetheart, or the fact that he wants you to stick your hand down the front of his pants. 

Well, not exactly that he wants you to. And not your hand. But still.

You squeak. ‘Do I have to?’

He pins you a sarcastic arch of his eyebrows. ‘Well, if you’re sure that you won’t cut my dick off -’

Your face heats up at his blunt words, falling back onto your haunches. ‘Great, now you’ve got me worried -’

Palms up in apology, he shrugs. ‘Sorry -’

‘No, no, you’re right. I don’t want to accidentally castrate you,’ you sigh. ‘Are you - um - well adjusted in there?’

‘I’d go down the right side of the zipper,’ he answers diplomatically.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, ‘Ready?’

‘Whenever you are, sweetheart.’

The first contact is the brush of your knuckles against his stomach, the skin warm and soft on the back of your fingers. You don’t dare look up, but you can feel his eyes on you as you burrow your index finger under the waistband. Though it’s a squeeze, you manage to wriggle in nail side down, creating a small gap - still not quite enough to get the scissors in without nicking him.

Talking more to yourself, you mumble, ‘Better safe than sorry. Let me just get one more finger in -’

Joel chokes so hard that you almost jump back in fright, frowning at him as he catches his breath. ‘Are you okay? Do you need some water?’

His voice tight, he shakes his head. ‘No, I’m fine.’

You wait a beat to make sure he doesn’t go into another coughing fit. When the coast is clear, you gesture at his jeans. ‘Can I just -’ 

‘Get one more finger in?’ he finishes your sentence in his raspy baritone. 

You finally hear it when he says it like that. And oh god, your ears burn as you stare up at him, lips parted, torn between outrage and a very disorienting arousal. ‘You - you -’

A wicked smirk tugs unexpectedly at the corner of his mouth. ‘I already tried, sweetheart. My fingers are too big to fit inside.’

The touch of playful condescension in his tone has your jaw going slack, and your brain practically short-circuits at the thoughts of where else they are too big to fit inside of -

So as it turns out, you’re brave, or just downright stupid, when you’re turned on. Next thing you know, you hear yourself telling him off. ‘I could just leave you in those jeans you know.’

Joel smiles wider, and retorts, ‘I don’t think you would.’

‘Just because I’m shy doesn’t mean I don’t have a mean streak,’ you shoot back.

He seems pleased to have lured you out of your shell, grinning down at you. ‘Believe me, I’m shakin’ in my boots, sweetheart.’

It’s really unfair that he looks this good from where you are on your knees. His eyes are hooded, curls flecked with grays sweeping his forehead. Even though the apocalypse has left its marks on him in wrinkles, frown lines, and smudged bags under his eyes, it has clearly not taken away from that proud nose or plush lips -

Steadying yourself with a deep inhale, you shake yourself out of it. With an in, it’s slightly easier to push in your middle finger into the waistband to widen the gap. Happy with the quarter inch of space, you hold up the scissors. ‘I’m ready to cut if you are.’

He nods his acquiesce. ‘Do your worst.’

Opening up the scissors and carefully fitting the blade beneath the denim, you carefully begin snipping away. They are sharp, but the fabric is tough and you’re conscious of the very tight fit, so you take it slow.

You pause when you’re a couple of inches in, when Joel lets out a groan of relief. Absent-mindedly, you run a soothing thumb over the angry, red indents the waistband dug into the soft pouch of his tummy, sending a shudder through him. 

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, snatching back your hand as if he burns you. 

Too preoccupied with the relief of being able to breathe, Joel shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. Just keep going. Please.’ 

Why is that one word - six letters - making your breath hitch?

Gripping the top of the now open fly and pinning it against his body so you don’t accidentally see anything you’re not meant to see - whether you want to deliberately is a completely different matter - you hunker down and keep cutting along the zipper. 

Each snip gets easier as the jeans release their death grip on him. The right side of the fly falls away as you cut, the denim peeling back slowly to expose the skin underneath. Your eyes drift to the curve of the pubic bone that’s now completely in view, and it’s taking everything you have to not lean over and run the broad of your tongue along it -

How long has it been since you’ve been with a man? When was the last time you had someone stand before you, pants unzipped and hanging open -

With tremendous fortitude, you tear your eyes away to check on him, ‘All good?’

The grunt of respite that he lets out is almost guttural, going straight between your legs. ‘Feels so fuckin’ good to breathe.’

‘Before I keep going, do you want to - uh - rearrange yourself?’

You expect him to turn around, or at least give you a second to turn around to give him some privacy, but he’s obviously been too deprived of oxygen to think straight. One big palm snakes down his front, right in your face, and he cups himself through the denim.

You stop breathing, eyes wide as he adjusts himself. 

Holy fuck.

When he’s done, he gives you a thumbs up. ‘All good.’

This is it. You’re not making it out of this alive.

You can barely get the words out, your throat suddenly drier than sandpaper. ‘Can you, um, hold up the other side of the fly?’

When he does, you stare at his hand next to yours. How is it so big? The veins are prominent on the back, leading down to thick fingers, the nails neatly trimmed and clean - but you bet there’s residue gunpowder underneath.

There’s still a slither of skin peeking through the V of the fly as the scissors slice through the denim, following his happy trail. The lower you go, the thicker and darker the curls, and goddamnit - what is wrong with you - all you can think about is burying your nose right in there, nudging through the hair, lower and lower and lower still -

A sharp pain on your left finger makes you yelp, the scissors falling from your other hand to the floor with a loud clang. A small bead of blood wells up on the tip where the sharp blade nicked it, and in a panic, you let go of his jeans.

‘Shit,’ Joel curses and covers himself up quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘You okay?’

You nod in embarrassment while you get on your feet. ‘I - my hand just slipped. It’s nothing, the smallest cut, I’m fine -’

Well, to be fair, you were fine - until he grabs your left wrist, brings your hand up to his face and sucks your bleeding fingertip into his mouth. 

As if it’s the logical thing to do.

Your knees buckle, and you collapse into his front, but he doesn’t even budge, as if you weigh nothing. Taking a deep breath - wood smoke, simple soap and man fill your lungs. Peering up at him through your lashes, you spot the silver flanking the hinge of his jaw, leading down to a peculiar bare patch on the left side of his beard.

He watches you back as he releases your finger with a wet pop. Tracing his bottom lip with his tongue, he pronounces, ‘Just a small cut. You’ll live.’

Will you though? Because it feels like you’re on the verge of expiring from breathlessness. 

He glances down at his front, which he’s still holding up. ‘I guess I can get out of these now.’

It takes you three seconds to catch up before you stumble backwards. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

‘Thank you for freeing me,’ he says with a lopsided smile.

You duck your head, unable to meet his gaze all of a sudden - hypocrite, you had no problem perving on him a minute ago - and nod at the jeans on the table. ‘Why don’t you try those on?’

He clears his throat. ‘I, uh, should probably put on some underwear first.’

You barely manage to hold back from smacking yourself on the forehead. ‘Of course. We do have some in stock. Boxers or briefs?’

He looks amused. ‘What do you think, sweetheart?’

You hesitate, but you force yourself to be brave and venture a guess. ‘Boxers.’

He winks, and you grin back.

Joel hovers uncertainly in front of the mirror in the fitting room, having exhausted all the angles he can see twice, and wonders if he’s been dithering for too long. He’s not even sure what he’s looking at anymore, so he bites the bullet and draws back the curtain.

‘How do they feel?’ you ask.

He was counting on some hint from you, but you give nothing away. So he shrugs, hands on hips. ‘I honestly can’t tell you.’

‘May I?’

At his nod, you step into his space, and he watches as you hook your fingers into the belt loops on either side of the jeans and pull them up, as if gauging the size. He holds his breath as your hair grazes the front of his chest.

‘They’re a bit loose, to be honest,’ you tell him.

He scoffs self-decrepatingly. ‘Probably not for long at the rate I’m going.’

You take a step back and level him with a glare. ‘Stop it.’

He frowns, hackles rising. ‘What?’

‘Stop putting yourself down.’

That he didn’t expect. He protests, ‘I’m not putting myself down -’

‘Yes, yes, you are,’ you interrupt him with a boldness that has his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. With fire in your eyes, you go toe to toe with him, poking him in the chest with a firm finger. ‘You’re alive, you’re safe here, and you’re fit as hell. If you’re going to make fun of yourself for putting on a bit of healthy weight, you can go ahead and get out of my shop.’

Warmth blooms in his chest as Joel stares down at you, breathing heavily after your little speech but showing no intention of backing down. You don’t know him, but for some reason, you’re fighting his corner.

That shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Pursing his lips, he towers over you as he teases, ‘You think I’m fit as hell, sweetheart?’

With a roll of your eyes, you walk backwards to the shelves, rummaging through the sizes before returning with a pair of dark wash jeans. You quip, ‘Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.’

You snap the curtain shut in his face with a flick of your wrist before he can answer, and he chuckles to himself as pulls on the jeans you picked out for him.

When he pushes open the curtain again, Joel doesn’t miss the way you pause as you stare.

The waistband sits on his hips without cutting into his stomach, and he’s pleased that he can comfortably slide his hands into the pockets. The denim wraps firmly, but not tightly, against his backside, holding his thighs comfortably and falling straight down to the ankles. The wash is dark and flattering, smarter than his old ones.

When the silence has stretched on long enough, Joel shifts on his feet and asks, ‘Well?’

You turn the question back at him. ‘What do you think?’

He shrugs. ‘They’re alright, I guess.’

With a tilt of your head, you prompt, ‘You can say it, you know.’

‘Say what?’

‘You can say that you look good.’

Joel huffs, shaking his head and catching his reflection in the mirror as he does. At your look of insistence, he reluctantly parrots back, ‘Alright. I look good. Happy, sweetheart?’

Then you smile, really smile, and he feels himself soften - his eyes, his face, his mouth, his fucking old, rickety knees -

Suddenly, the bell over the door rings and a woman bustles in. ‘I’m so sorry, Pin! I know I’ve been gone a long time, but I got your favourite tea to make it up to you -’

She stops abruptly when she spots him. ‘Hey! You’re Joel Miller, aren’t you?’

Before he can answer, she crosses the shop in a bundle of energy, sticking her hand out. ‘I’m Lucy, I’m a friend of Tommy and Maria’s. It’s so nice to finally meet you.’

He lets her shake his hand, then she continues without skipping a beat. ‘How are you settling in? You got that house in the street near the stables right? It’s great, it’s quiet but not too far from everything -’

Since she doesn’t seem interested in his participation in this conversation, he doesn’t. But he notices, with regret, the way you start to retreat, the shyness making a return in the shadow of her clearly more outgoing friend - like a bad habit.

He’s suddenly aware of a lull, and that Lucy is looking at him expectantly, like she’s just asked a question that he didn’t hear.

‘Yeah sure,’ he replies dismissively, stopping you with a hand on your wrist just as you try to slink away unnoticed. ‘Hey, wait a second -’

To Lucy’s credit, she picks up on the snub and the energy between the two of you at the same time. Instead of taking offence, she gives you a knowing look and points towards the back diplomatically. ‘You know what Pin, I just bumped into Maria and she asked me something about our fabric inventory, so I better go check it out. I’ll see you around, Joel.’

With a wink in your direction, Lucy makes herself scarce, leaving the tea on the counter for you.

Joel’s quiet for a beat when you’re left alone again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to run off your friend, but I just wanted to uh - thank you. For all this.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘Like she said, I’m Joel. Probably should’ve introduced myself before I asked you to cut me out of my jeans.’

You quip, ‘There’s always next time.’

He chuckles, and asks, ‘Did your friend just call you - Pin?’

‘It’s just a silly nickname,’ you explain. ‘As in pins and needles, for obvious reasons.’

Then you give him your real name and your hand, his palm warm and calloused against yours as he shakes it firmly. When he lets you go, you notice the watch on his wrist, the veins of broken glass on the face catching the light. 

Nodding at it, you ask, ‘Do you need that fixed? There’s a repair guy down the road who can fix anything.’

Confused for a moment about what you’re referring to, Joel pauses before realisation dawns on him. His answer is suddenly polite, a stark contrast to the light-hearted conversation just now. ‘No, I - I like it this way. But thanks.’

You don’t miss the emotional weight behind his words, and the air thickens with unspoken meaning, but you know better than to ask. 

‘I understand,’ you say simply.

Everyone has something like the watch is to him. God knows you do. A moment of quiet understanding passes between you, one that needs no words.

Breaking the silence, he says, ‘So, you mentioned I’ll need to trade in something else for these jeans -’

You dismiss that notion with a wave of your hand. ‘Oh no, it’s ok. I got it.’

‘You don’t have to -’

You shut him down. ‘It’s not a big deal, it will take me two minutes to replace the zipper.’

He hesitates. ‘And the boxers -’

Passing him his jacket, you insist, ‘Seriously, Joel, don’t worry about it.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes it from you and shrugs it on. You try not to look too conspicuously when the bottom of his shirt draws up, flashing a bit of tummy, but it’s gone too quickly. With a nod, he concedes reluctantly, ‘You really shouldn’t, but thank you. I owe you one.’

You roll your eyes with no real exasperation as you walk him towards the exit. ‘I know you haven’t been here for long - that’s just how things work around these parts. We do things for each other, you don’t owe me anything.’ Pulling the door open, you give him one last grin. ‘Welcome to Jackson, Joel.’

‘Thanks, Pin,’ he says as he crosses the threshold. He pauses on the porch and looks around the high street slowly, as if he’s taking it in for the first time. He then turns to you with a parting wink that is charged with easy confidence. ‘I think I’ll like it here.’

You linger by the door, leaning against the frame as he jogs down the front steps with a swagger, watching in appreciation at the way his new jeans frame his backside. You smile when he slides his hands into his pockets as he walks away, the afternoon breeze ruffling his curls and the sun warming his broad shoulders.

You think you’ll like him here as well.

Notes: As I was writing this, I couldn't help thinking that it reminded me of Grays 🙈 What can I say? I want to give middle-aged men in need of self-love all the reassurance that they need. I hope you enjoyed Pin and Joel's meet-cute, I'm honestly so nervous about this fic I had to stop myself from compulsively over-editing.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated as always 🥰

P.S. Apparently, there is a Main Street Outfitter in the game, so I ran with it.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

#tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller oneshot

[carnivalteller]

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘

billy loomis/reader/stu macher

summary: you’re exploring new relationships after a rough breakup with one of the more ‘popular’ boys.

tags: poly! ghostface, slightly established relationship, cuddling, kissing, stu has a habit of licking people, billy/sidney are kind of talking again but not together, sharing clothes/a bed, ghostface exists but reader doesn’t know

🎪 please do not repost, plagiarise or translate my work, even with ‘credit’. reblogs and feedback are okay/appreciated! recommendations to other people on other platforms is okay/incredibly sweet :) ty!

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

── ⋆⋅ ▬ι═ﺤ ⋅⋆ ──

Your math work is taking a long time to complete. You’re thinking again, it’s awful, yet you can’t help it. Stu’s on your bed, flicking through some magazine he stole from your mother’s collection downstairs. You weren’t that interested in them, so they just stayed downstairs despite your mother’s suggestions that you should take the collection upstairs. “This is boring, y/n.” He complains, tossing the magazine aside. You hum softly, not entirely listening as Stu sits up. “Can we watch a movie?” He asks, looking at you. “Mhm.” You hum again, tapping your pencil against your page. In reality you had no idea what he just asked, you just blindly agreed.

Stu frowns, getting up. “What’s wrong?” He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “Nothin’…” you sigh, going back to your calculus. “Buuuuullll!” Stu drawls out, slender and lithe hands wrapping around yours shoulders in a gentle yet firm grasp. “What’s wrong, be honest!” He mainly demands, and you sigh again, slumping back against him. “Just thinking.” You respond, and Stu furrows his brows. “About math? Are you sure, because you’re the only one who’s great at calc-“ you cut Stu off, resting your hand over his. “No, not about math, hun.” You mumble, head resting over your hand. “Come sit,” Stu tugs you slowly from your chair, and you follow him, tired of your work. “talk to me.” Stu sits down, letting you rest your head in his lap. “Do you think Billy loves us?” You ask, and your boyfriend sighs.

This was a topic lingering on both your minds. To elaborate, Stu broke up with Tatum, your boyfriend Chandler broke up with you; yet even after splitting up, Sidney and Billy were still on talking terms. It made you and Stu anxious, because after all this time of them talking Billy would go back to you two as if nothing was happening. “I’m sure he does in his own way?” Stu responds, shrugging a little. You hum, exhaling slowly as you close your eyes. “Try not to think about it too much, okay? The last thing we need is an argument.” Arguing and yelling stressed Stu out to no-end, he would lock up and completely leave the room when people argued, he just couldn’t handle it and so you tried to keep things mellow. It was hard to do that all the time though, as Billy- as much as you loved him- was quite the hothead.

As if on cue, your bedroom door opens. Stu looks up, yet you don’t open your eyes as Billy shuts the door behind himself rather roughly. Thank God your mother was out working overtime at the hospital right about now. “Hey, Billy.” Stu smiles, already picking up on his best friend’s tense aura. Billy paces a few steps, taking a sharp inhale. You open your eyes, meeting Billy’s deep brown ones as he takes another deep breath. “Move over, both of you.” He mumbles, walking over. Stu shuffles as you get up, lying down next to him. Billy takes off his shoes, joining the two of you. You rest your head upon Billy’s chest, it’s quite snug and you have to admit you missed the feeling. Stu, using his gangly arm, embraced the two of you as if it was natural instinct to cradle the two of you when you both were upset.

You can hear Billy’s heartbeat hammering angrily in his chest, and so you gently rest a hand upon his chest next to your head, gently stroking circles with your fingers. “What’s wrong?” You ask softly, and Billy huffs out a sour laugh. “Fucking Sidney… that’s what’s wrong. She’s such a bitch!” He complains, squeezing you tight, as if you were an oversized stress ball. You let out a soft noise and Billy loosens his grasp, Stu pipes up. “What happened?” He questions, furrowing his brows. “She’s just so- argh! I don’t know how to put it.” The shorter teen frowns. “I want to fucking kill her-“ you perk up, frowning deeply. “Don’t say things like that!” You scold, and Billy melts a little. “Sorry…” he mumbles, sharing a glance with Stu over your head. Slowly, you settle again, sighing softly. Deep down you truly believed Billy was all bark and no bite, his threats were empty yet the way he said it unnerved you a little.

The three of you take time to de-stress, and before they know it you’ve dozed off whilst squished between their bodies, all thoughts and math work pushed to the back of your mind. Stu’s eyes are closed yet Billy knows he’s awake as Stu wasn’t exactly a still sleeper- he’d toss and turn and sometimes kick when he got too excited in whatever dream he was having. Billy exhales slowly, looking from Stu and down at you. Your brows aren’t furrowed, your lashes resting upon the apple of your cheeks, mouth slightly askew as your cheek presses against his chest. With utmost care, Billy’s fingers brush over your cheek with a feathery touch. You hum softly, shuffling between the two as you press your face further into his chest. Billy backs off, taking to admiring you instead.

You sigh softly in your sleep, rolling onto your back, your arm moving to rest upon Billy’s chest as your leg hooks through Stu’s. You had a tendency to try and cling to both of them, they both love it. “Hey,” Stu starts, drawing Billy’s attention over to him. “Yeah?” The other asks, watching Stu’s gaze flicker away for a moment. “Don’t be mad…” he trails off, and Billy raises his brows. “What did you do?” He asks, tone suspicious. “Nothin’..! It’s just that uh… y/n and I were talking.” Stu runs a hand over your stomach just under Billy’s arm, watching you shuffle as you get more comfortable. “Okay..?” Billy trails off.

“She’s anxious, dude. She’s so worried she’s not even doing calculus!” Stu sighs, and Billy raises his brows. “‘Kay? Tell her to drop calculus then.” He suggests, and Stu sighs. “This isn’t about calculus, Billy.” Stu replies. The two of them stay silent for a moment. “Does she know?” Billy asks, voice a hushed whisper. “No, no she doesn’t.” He responds, chin resting upon your head as you shuffle into his chest, limbs subconsciously wrapping around him. “Then what’s the problem?” Billy sighs, frowning a little. “It’s you, dude… she thinks you don’t wanna be with us, because of you and Sidney.” Stu mutters, dreading his best friend’s potential explosive meltdown. Billy stays silent, brown eyes boring into blue. “C’mon man, say something- I’m dying here..!” Stu whines eventually, and Billy sighs through his nose, sitting up. You whine softly at the loss of warmth, snuggling closer to Stu. “I do wanna be here… it’s just- I like Sidney.” Billy mumbles, and Stu nods. “I get it, man. Leaving Tate was hard… but you’re kinda with us now? Doesn’t that mean no Sidney?” He asks, and Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know… I like you guys, sure but… it’s Sidney. We’ve been together for ages.” He frowns. With a small bounty of confidence, Stu decides on an ultimatum. “Look man, whatever’s going on- whether you’re getting back with her or not- it’s her or us. You can’t do this to y/n, she’s anxious.” The room falls silent.

Billy digests his best friend’s words. Sidney, or the two people that provide him with shelter when his asswipe dad and deadbeat mom throw him out, the people who hold him and laugh with him… the people he’s grown to care for. “Whatever man.” Billy grumbles, getting up. “Don’t go, dude…” Stu sighs, yet Billy leaves, shutting your door behind him. He wouldn’t go far, Stu knew that. He’d probably go for a walk and clear his head then come back. Melting into your hold, Stu decides on taking a quick nap, tired after the confrontation. He can only hope that things smooth over.

#poly ghostface #stu macher #stu macher x y/n #stu macher x reader #stu macher x you #stu macher x billy loomis #billy loomis #billy loomis x stu macher x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x reader #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x stu matcher #scream #scream 1996 #// 🎡 carnivalteller

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

I can't believe there is a "Cursed Cat Alastor Controversy" and that once again I had to have the evil lepreconartist who lords over the fandom making his gold off of Medrano's despair explain to me in order to understand what the fuck is going in on the fandom, yet again ... But I kind of hate you all so here's my hot take...

It's actual petty bullshit.

It's the equivalent of a fanartist calling out an AMV maker for "art theft" and demanding that a video they worked hard on be taken down because they used a piece of fanart for a character in an AMV tribute to the character that both the fanartist and the AMV maker (who is already an artist in their own right) already do not actually fucking own. Like, regardless if the AMV maker gives the fanartist credit. Instead of being honored by it, when they should know better that neither of them ever actually even own the shit to begin with, yet they still demand "credit" for fanwork.

I once saw a popular Asian artist in the svtfoe fandom demanding a boycott of the popular fan run merch store TheMysteryShack just as the beautiful fan made artbook Tales of Rebel Princess was about to launch exclusively through there because she alleged that the shop owner had stolen one of her friends fanart designs on a goddamn fucking Steven Universe tarot card pack of all things but I still really liked her Star fanart, so when I tried to respectfully explain to her that I wouldn't be boycotting the shop because of Tales of Rebel Princes launching and how I thought it was personally in very poor taste to not just contact the shop owner privately about the matter and instead making a big stink in public about boycotting his shop when she knew that one of her other artist friends that we knew she had also collaborated with in the past was just about to debut another big collaborative art tribute book dedicated to Daron and Star vs. there through this guys shop! And essentially it would be sad to see her knowingly taking business away from her other friend like that and demanding others in her following do the same and over something as small as a deck of Steven Universe cards, especially in understanding how little love svtfoe gets, since she was also a well known svtfoe fanartist ... All I got in response was "Well I'm happy for my friend but I'm Korean and you're just a Filthy American who couldn't possibly understand how disrespectful something like this is in my culture and blah blah blah if you instant on further harassing me about this I'll block you!"

And I was basically like "suit yourself being fake and having a stick up your butt honey I'm still getting my Star vs. artbook!"

And then she blocked me.

Good riddance. As if Miss Heinous would honestly ever head bang to Ruberiot...

But I guess what I'm trying to get here is that like...Oh, I'm sorry? You wanna make fanart for western cartoons? You gotta play by western rules then. Like it's late night here and I'm sorry if that sounds harsh. But it's true.

If Aurelio Voltaire honestly deserves to have a deal be cut in my opinion so he can finally officially own his share of the "Vampair" series after Daria Cohen stole his voice to make it (half dry humor, half serious here, to be quite frank about this) then coma0423 deserves to cut a deal so that Amir Talai can have a bit of financial comprehension and his percentage of whatever kind of (I'm guessing financial) ~"credit'~ that Coma is now demanding from other fanartists who make Cursed Cat Alastor fan merch since Talai , after all, did design the original concept sketch that would become Cursed Cat Alastor that Coma saw and then decided to just runaway with when they made the meme ...

Listen to me... Fanart belongs to everyone and no one by nature of it being made by fans and no one can truly own a "fan concept" expect for the true creator of the thing that it's based on. Unless that thing is already in the public domain. And if it is it becomes Schrodinger's Cheshire Cat.

Schrodinger's Cursed Cat Alastor belongs to everyone and no one, babe. He belongs to The Hazbin Hotel Fandom and The Hazbin Hotel. If he actually becomes canon in the show somehow, then he'll belong to Amir and Viv, actually, maybe Coma will get proper credit then, but the concept won't even really be theirs anymore, just as it even isn't really officially theirs now, even if they officially do get hired.

First you're telling me that I'm not allowed to fuck the radio demon ... Now you're telling me that I'm apparently not even allowed to kiss a cute wittle kitty cat plushie of him between the space on his head between his ears if said plush wasn't crafted by or sold explicitly by the fanartist who again, stole the concept sketch of him from Amir Talai in the first place?

No. This is nonsense.

Stop making all these petty dramas off someone else's work that only feed the evil leprechaun more gold off of someone else's work or start making you're own original work from your own original concept that you can actually claim your own copyright to I'm exhausted.

Ever hear the phrase once something leaves your brain it belongs to everyone, not just you anymore?

This goes triple for anyone making fanart of someone else's work and that's a fact. Especially if it's only ever an extremely memed up version of an already canonically existing character that you were only so lucky went viral.

Stop the bullying. No one fanwork is that special. Just do your best to honor the source material and be flattered by other fanartists imitations of your fanartist imitation... It's the circle of cursed kitties and it feeds us all. *smacks paw down*

#Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hypocritical #Cursed Cat Alastor #Alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #alastor hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel cast #amir talai #fanart #fanwork #fandom fuckery #big name fan bullshit #It's getting late and I don't know what else to tag this as honestly... #Just accept that not everything is yours to start out with in fandom spaces and learn to let your little darlings go ... #Best advice I can come up with before bed ... #bnf bullshit

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Gunslinger and Past

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 5.3K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, massive angst, childhood memories, death, just a really sad chapter

------

Leaving Sorgan was a hard moment you felt actually happy there. You weren’t running from the Guild or the Empire able to live on some planet without fear but that soon quickly came to an end. The Razor Crest zooms through space barely avoiding blaster fire from a guild ship that had found you.

“Hand over the kids, Mando. I might let you live.” The bounty hunter says over the comlink as Mando dodges another bullet the ship spinning around making you dizzy. A blast hits the ship shaking it and loud alarms sound in the cockpit. “I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.” The hunter says as Mando flies dangerously in your eyes to avoid more attacks and when they try ramming into you Mando drops the ship making the starship get into his view with a single shot and the ship explodes.

He huffs looking at the damage that he received, “That’s my line. Losing fuel…” The left engine was damaged and the right wouldn’t be enough to get them out of the system in case more bounty hunters arrived. He flips a switch the power shutting off the entire ship going dark your only light being the galaxy surrounding. Flipping the emergency power and looking over the holomap you see him punch in coordinates manually flying the ship until you appear to arrive at a desert planet.

“Where are we?” You ask Mando as you begin to enter the atmosphere the large plains of sands familiar to you, he doesn’t answer as a voice from the comlink cut through.

“This is Mos Eisley Tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.” You feel your blood chill but your heart soars at the same time. Mos Eisley…that was a name you were familiar with, looking out of the window and seeing familiar structures of the planet you were born on. The dual suns shine through the windows…you must have been dreaming. You were home..you were on Tatooine. The ship lands and you’re already down the ladder ignoring Mando’s calls out for you. Your fist slams on the button on the ramp not even waiting for it to come all the way down jumping off your skin instantly warm from the dual sun something you were used to.

You walk out of the starport the loudness of the crowd fills you with nostalgia. Memories of walking through the streets looking for your next meal or a place to stay at to avoid the cold and any creature stalking at night. It was almost instinct to see a Rodian distracted at a stand selling goods, you flick your wrist and a basket holding items hit the ground spilling everyone. The owner begins to shout at the Rodian assuming he knocked it over who tries to explain distracted as you slip by your hands slick grabbing the pouch full of credits and disappear into the crowd. You smile holding the hefty bag of credits and attaching it to your belt, this felt normal..you were home. You see the cantina ahead entering the doors the place is pretty filled with aliens and some droids. Coming up to the bar sitting towards the side a droid who appears to be the bartender comes over.

“Um…some spotchka,” You say pulling out a credit from the bag you stole and sliding it across the table. Maker were you going to get kicked out cause you were underage that would be embarrassing. The droid just nods takes the money and produces a glass holding an arm out as spotchka pours from a nozzle, filling the glass nicely, and pulls away to tend to another customer. Nodding you hold the glass between your hands taking a small sip wincing slightly from the burn. You were never going to get used to that.

“Hey, droid, I'm a hunter. I'm lookin' for some work.” A familiar voice says and you freeze instantly putting your arm up so it blocks most of your face glancing over and seeing Mando standing on the other end of the bar speaking to the droid. You had to be kriffing kidding me.

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine.” The droid responds and you can hear Mando sigh his dislike of droids clear.

“I'm not looking for Guild work.” He says and the droid shakes its head,

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation.”

“Think again, tin can,” A voice behind you at the booths calls out and you see Mando look over as you busy yourself taking a sip of the drink. Your nerves make you take too big of a sip and you force yourself to swallow, the burn fills your throat not settling well with your stomach. Don’t you dare puke it up. “If you're looking for work, have a seat, my friend.” The man says and you hold a fist to your mouth trying to keep your face calm and hidden as you feel the Mandalorian you were quite familiar with walks past you.

“Name's Toro, Toro Calican. Come on, relax,” He introduces himself and you hear Mando sit down, “Picked up this Bounty Puck before I left the Mid Rim. Fennec Shand, an Assassin. Heard she's been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

“I know the name,” Mando says as you listen in on the conversation your drink long forgotten as you were able to settle the churning in your gut.

“I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she's headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job.” Toro says and you hear Mando stand going to leave.

“Well, good luck with that.” “Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?” Toro tries getting Mando to stay.

“How long you been with the Guild?” Mando asks and Toro responds long enough, “Clearly not. Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates, including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won't make it past sunrise.” He warns him before you hear him turn to leave again.

“This is my first job. You can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild,” He begs Mando, “I can't do it alone.” Silence comes from the two men.

“Meet me at Hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring two speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob.” Mando agrees and you hear something hit the wall fizzing.

“Don't worry, got it all memorized,” Toro nods and Mando keeps walking to the door and you glance at him before looking away. “Half an hour.” He says before leaving.

“Looks like you're stuck with me now, partner.” Toro cockily replies as the door to the cantina shuts behind Mando. You sigh wiping the sweat that was on your face from your nerves. You wait a few minutes sure he had already left before standing up. You have no idea how he didn’t notice it was you but you weren’t going to push further. Just head out of the cantina and figure out what you were going to do next, you went out the second door that was there. The sound of people on the streets is loud as you slip out now on a side street leading to the main one. Walking out right about to reach the main road when a hand grabs you by the collar pulling you into a small dead end. You reach for the knife in your belt swiping your arm out to strike your assailant in the chest when it comes in contact with a loud clang of metal. As one hand grabs your wrist twisting the knife out of your hand the other slams against your shoulder pushing you against the wall pining both of your arms as you get ready to scream and fight freezing seeing Mando glaring down at you.

“Get off me.” You struggle in his grip but his hands are heavy, not budging.

“You think it was smart running off? What if that Rodian noticed you stealing from him, or the man looking for a way into the guild finding out you are a highly valued bounty?” He says scolding you as you glare at him still trying to get him off you.

“That’s none of your concern…I’m home you don’t have to worry about me.” You spit back kicking him in the knee making him back off as you move to grab the knife that he gave you lying in the sand.

“Home? You were fighting to survive here to see the next day. What about your parents…do you have anyone you have here to call home?!” He says blocking your path from leaving the small dead end.

“This planet is all I have! I did it before and I can do it again!” You yell pointing your hand down to the ground beneath you…you had nothing…parents dead..the one man who actually looked after you somewhere on this planet that you had no idea how to get there. “Just leave. Take the child back to its home but this is mine…you’ve done your job Mando.” You say pulling the bag of credits from your belt and tossing it at him but he doesn’t catch it letting it hit his chest and falling to the ground, “Your payment for your service.”

“I don’t want your money.” He says and you scoff stepping towards him grabbing the bag, 

“Not my money remember.” You try walking past him when his hand latches to your arm. “Let go of me Mando.” You say not looking at him as his hand tightens on your arm.

“Kid… let's just go back to the Crest.” He says and you try pulling your arm free but he holds strong.

“Mando let me go…” You could feel a fire bubbling in your stomach beginning to rise, “I don’t need you to look after me like some child. I don’t need you or anyone.” You spat pulling your arm again but it won’t break free.

“You deserve a better life than this,” He says trying to reason with you, “You and the kid are special something I’ve never seen bef-” “Get the hell off me Mando I swear to the maker!” Your voice is cold and he can feel the anger reaching its peak.

“Kid just listen-” “I said let go!” You shout ripping your arm free of his grasp with a strength he hadn’t expected you push your hand out and he’s sent flying back slamming into the wall a crack forming pinned there. He’s lucky he wasn’t badly hurt, the beskar protecting him. He looks at you shock hidden by his helmet but you could sense in, the feeling that covered you lightly like a gentle touch was weighing down on you. You drop your hand and he slumps free from the weight holding him down. He didn’t know what to say, it was the same thing he saw in the child with the mudhorn…and you during the escape of Nevarro and the battle on Sargon. He thought he had hit his head or the adrenaline of the fight had gotten to him but nothing was clouding his mind now. You slammed him into the wall without even touching him.

You step back feeling the weight on your chest making your breathing labored this feeling covered you almost painfully. You’re gone having darted out of the alley disappearing into the crowd of Mos Eisley before the Mandalorian could even get up. The day quickly passed as you traveled through Mos Eisley the familiar routes you used to take as a child before you found yourself outside an old building, the sunset of the dual suns a usually beautiful sight made your heartache. Boarded doors a building long out of use as your hand brushes away the dirt and grime covering the small plaque highlighting the door. Pulling the blade from your belt tracing the metal that was given to you. The pride you felt receiving it the trust you grew with him, how quickly it crumbled in days.

Slicing through the wood easily you move the boards aside using two hands to pry the door open squeezing in. Entering the dark home you spot a small lantern grabbing it seeing a bit more fuel as it turns on the light filling the home, a place you haven’t seen in years an empty home of memories. It was a small home, the living area and kitchen combined so most dinners were on the seats surrounding the small table in the living room. Entering further in the sounds of a child’s laughter and that of a mother and father’s rings clear in your head.

“Mama come on, Papa will be here soon!” A small child’s voice calls out rushing past you waiting by the door excitement in her eyes as a woman with similar features walks over.

“Patience Y/n…remember don’t jump him when he gets here..work was lon-” Your mother’s words fall on deaf ears the second the door opens revealing a man tired from a lengthy day of work is jumped by a small child.

“Papa!” You giggle wrapping your arms around his neck as he catches you pulling you up into the air your laughter growing louder as he spins you around.

“My daughter oh I missed you.” He grins hugging you back as your mother watches on lovingly before he walks over hugging her pressing a sweet kiss on her lips, “And I have missed you.” Your mother pulls you out of his arms putting you on the ground as you run off as he wraps his arms around her.

“A long day?” She asks and he sighs sagging slightly the smile he put on his face fading, “Not many ships came by…this blockade on the Outer Rim, it's stopping anyone coming in or out. People are getting desperate here.” He says. The empire’s blockade affected Tatooine deeply, with no open water and places to grow, most items like food came from trade. With this shortage, it was only time until grew rowdy and with a place filled with Tuskan raiders, bounty hunters, and anyone desperate for food. It was dangerous.

“Maybe you should ask to leave work early tomorrow, I grow worried each day when you come home late.” Your mother says stroking your father’s face as he nods silently. It was hard enough for two people to have enough food on the table but with a growing child, it was stretched thin. Your parents had sometime gone days without eating just to make sure you had food in your belly.

“Papa! Mama! Look at this trick I learned.” Your voice comes rushing out of the shared bedroom the three of you had holding a doll your mother made for you. The two watched you place the doll down in front of all of them stepping back. You hold your hand out your face scrunching up in concentration. They watch as the doll twitches before standing up on its legs, you move your hand slightly and the doll’s hand raises waving at them. You drop your hand and the doll falls back to being inanimate. You look at them with a wide smile ready for their response. Both of them look at each other silently communicating their fear...not of you but for you. They had found out you were force sensitive when you caused a ball to come towards you when you were only four. They had never seen anything like it but when they heard around in Tatooine rumors of a Jedi and learned of who they were and how similar it was describing the things you could do they quickly became fearful.

Your father kneels down in front of you a small smile on his face, “That’s very interesting Y/n but remember what we said,”

“Don’t use my powers I know, but I thought you would like it?” You say a sad tone in your voice that broke your parent’s hearts.

“Of course we do sweetie, your power is beautiful. We just need to be careful…people can’t know about this alright.” Your mother says coming towards you wiping the stray tears that weld up in your eyes. You nod sniffling to stop the tears, reaching down and grabbing your doll.

“Now let’s eat and you can tell me everything about your day my little womp rat!” Your father scoops you up in his arms tickling your sides as your squeals fill the room your father’s own bellowing laugh filling it.

A large bolt cuts through the air pausing what was meant to be a touching moment. Your father holds you in his arms as silence fills your home. Another loud pop fills the air again until it grows louder and multiple ones until a shout rips through the air outside that has you all freezing.

“Darling?” Your mother calls out stepping closer to you two as the loud pops in the air grow louder and louder until screams are filling the air.

“Mama…Papa? What’s happening?” You ask,

“Take Y/n into the room now lock the door behind you,” Your father passes you off to your mother’s arm and you see your father move to a drawer and he pulls out something cocking the item back.

“What about you-” “Just do it!” Your father yells back making you jump slightly in her arms. The shouting outside as loud booms filled the air only make you clutch your mother tighter.

“Papa?!” You cry out reaching your hand out as your mother turns rushing toward your room the door closing behind it, she puts you down as you look around in confusion. You see outside the window bright flashes of light. But it was night what was doing this?

“Quickly under the bed, and do not make a sound no matter what you hear.” She says holding your arms as you look around in fear tears filling your eyes, “No tears you must be strong and brave you understand.” She wipes the tears from your eyes as you nod clutching the doll between your hands. Your mother gives a smile trying to hide her sadness and fear. You crawl under the bed the gap small enough for you to fit that you didn’t even know to exist. You clutch your doll between your hands when you hear a loud noise coming from outside the room. You hear your father shouting before another large bang fills the air and it’s quiet. The sound of multiple footsteps grows close before the door is burst open and you hear your mother screaming out as other voices are yelling out hear. The sound of a fight makes you cover your ears before a loud bang makes you jump squeezing your eyes shut. It was a dream you were going to wake up and this would be over. Whoever was in your home tore apart the room and outside.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed under that bed your small hands clutching the doll until the night was surely over and the fighting that raged through the night had ended. An odd silence filled your home as you slowly shuffle under the bed when your witness your life crumble in front of you. You should have just stayed under that bed.

Your footsteps are slow, both your father's and your mother’s bodies were long removed only leaving the damaged home and a frightened child behind. The stains of their blood couldn’t seem to get out of the hardened sandstone. The home you had many happy memories had been stripped away from you in one night, entering your old room everything was the same nothing moved. It was as if the room…this whole house was frozen in memory, your foot makes contact with something, and looking down you see the small doll. Time and the weather had gotten to it practically a ball of rags. Bringing it up to your face it was withering away in your hand the smell stale but the only lasting memory of your childhood. When you were happy and what were you now?

A child alone once again.

Mando’s mind hadn’t been as focused as he would like working on this mission. He could’ve tracked you down easily but with his needing to leave for Fennec and what you said to him. He would give you space but what if space isn’t what you need? Did you really think you were happy here? He and Toro had captured the high-ranking assassin but since one of the speeder bikes had been damaged he was sent out to retrieve the ride Fennec used to travel. He returned to the spot to find Toro gone with a dead bounty hunter, her blood staining the sands. He had no choice but to return to Mos Eisley, he may have lost the credits but his mind was more focused on trying to get you back. 

You were haunted by memories as you stayed in that abandoned home. The night had fallen long now hidden in your childhood home, the small lantern running on its last fuel. Seated at the small table in the space you would occupy as your seat with stolen food from your run-in at the cantina. A lonely dinner with empty chairs a home without love and laughter. The cold whispers of ghosts and lost memories drown you. What this meant to be your life, fighting to stay alive from bounty hunters and the empire that won’t stop coming after you. This was your decision you left them…you wanted to be alone.

A crackle fills the room and your hand instinctively reaches for your knife looking around for where the noise had come from when it came through again and you heard a voice.

“Took you long enough, Mando,” Toro’s voice rings out static and broken up, you look down hearing the voice coming from you. Your eyes widen seeing the comlink attached to the back of your belt. Grabbing it you listen in, “Looks like I'm calling the shots now. Huh, partner? Drop your blaster and raise 'em.” His voice sounds further away from Mando and you hear Mando sigh the sound of his blaster dropping on the ground.

“Cuff him. You’re a guild traitor, Mando. And I'm willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.” You hear a noise coming from the child making you freeze. This wasn’t your problem Mando was going to win as he always does. “Where’s the other one huh Mando, got her hiding somewhere,” Toro says.

“Just leave the kids alone you’re already going to get enough to bring me in,” Mando says, you hear Toro laugh and you hear another cry come from the child chilling your blood.

“Bringing you it won't just make me a member of the Guild, it'll make me legendary. Besides the bounty on those kids never said they had to be brought in alive.” The click of a blaster has you shouting out instantly unaware they could hear you on the other end.

“No!” Silence fills the air before you hear footsteps and something being grabbed,

“Now it’s not nice to listen in. Wherever you’re hiding give yourself up…or they all die starting with the kid.” His voice is rough before you hear the commlink fall to the ground and a loud crush and it’s silent. Your hand clutches the commlink…this wasn’t your business. You were alone now. Just walk away…do it.

“You must be strong and brave you understand.” Your mother’s voice rings clear in your head and you attach the link to your belt heading toward the door. You turn to look back at what you had called your home. Flashes of memories before fading away as you turn and leave.

You blend into the crowd a ghost passing by strangers. A brush of the wind as your feet carry you to the starport, the same port your father worked at. You slow down seeing a speeder bike outside recognizing the rifle of Mando’s attached to the back. Your hands move to the bike slowing down seeing a single blaster resting on the seat. Your hands grab the rifle pulling it over your back your hands tucking the blaster in your pants. There was only one way to come through the hangar and he would be waiting right there for you to arrive there. So you weren’t going to be coming through the front door. The wind blows through your hair, the hair on your skin raising as you stand multiple feet up in the air walking along the large roof of the port. Holding your hand out you close your eyes reaching out, the weight returns painful at first before becoming light to the touch gracing your skin. It stretches across everything around you before you sense the connection you gain so many weeks ago.

The child.

Footsteps light on the wind that no one, not even your Mandalorian notice your arrival from the roof, peering over you can see the Crest there, and in front of it is Toro holding the child as he looks around his gun trained to Mando and another woman. Sliding the rifle off your back aiming Toro, hit his hand or leg anything on the side not holding the child. Your finger presses on the trigger the bolt ringing through the air, the kickback sending you back and you fall through one of the holes in the roof. The bolt strikes right beside his foot and he whips around firing at the roof where you were as you are hidden behind a large crate. Your back pressed against the wall of the crate you trying to catch your breath, from the fall and the recoil of the strong weapon knocking the air from you. The rifle is still up on the roof your hands grab the blaster holding it between two hands.

“I know you’re here! Just come out and I won’t kill the kid or Mando.” Toro calls out and you peek from the crate seeing him facing away from you and looking around. Where you were at didn’t give you a good shot that didn’t hit that child. You turn back take a deep breath and look over at another crate you raise your hand flicking out and the other crate shifts slightly. Toro shoots at that as you rush but he had caught the glimpse of the blur of clothing in the darkness shooting at the ground in front of you making you stop in your place. Blasters pointed at each other and you see Mando with this other woman to the side.

“Drop the blaster.” He says and you keep your hands steady on the weapon.

“Let go of the child.” You say slowly taking a step forward when the gun pointed at you turns to press against the child making you freeze.

“I said drop it!” He yells and you nod holding a hand out while slowly kneeling to place the weapon on the sand.

“Your eyes kid!” Mando yells out and you instantly cover your eyes with an arm as a loud bang fills the port catching a bit of a flash of white light. Quickly adjust to the flash charger firing your gun as Toro’s arm makes him drop the child. He blindly shoots out and you dodge out of the way before firing another bolt striking him in the chest.

Standing up letting out the air held in your lungs as Mando freed from his binds and steps toward Toro.

“Where is it?” The woman asks and looks around before finding the child hidden behind a basket, picking him up, “There you are. Are you hiding from us? Huh? Look at you. That's all right. I know. That was really loud for your big old ears, wasn't it?” She coos over the child as Mando stands beside you. Your finger twitches and the rifle from the roof falls off it landing in your hands. Holding out the rifle and the blaster,

“I’m assuming you knew I was coming.” You say and he looks down at you the damn helmet hiding his emotions.

“No, not really, just a shot in the dark.” He says taking the rifle and slinging it across his back but not taking the blaster, “Keep it…it will keep you safe.” He says pushing the blaster back into your hands and you look down at the item gifted to you, just like the knife. The trust he had in you even though you rejected him. You left him.

Mando had accepted at that moment that you were going to leave. You proved to him you could protect yourself. He couldn’t ignore the small piece in his chest that primal urge to see a defenseless child wanting to protect. But he didn’t even know anything about you only that you’re a seventeen-year orphan from Tatooine who fought their entire life to only be chased by the empire and bounty hunters for things he wasn’t sure how to explain.

“So, I take it you didn't get paid?” Peli sighs him handing the child off to him, a hand holds out two bags of credits. Mando looks over seeing you holding Toro’s pouch and the one you had stolen earlier is still full of credits.

“Does that cover it?” You ask and Peli quickly takes the bags feeling the weight and nodding.

“Yeah. Yes, this is gonna cover you. All right, Pit Droids! Let's drag this outta here!” Peli shouts out clapping her hands and the small droids scurry out grabbing the body being to drag it away. Mando is still frozen why had you given away your credits if you were?

“Mando!” You call out to him and he turns seeing you standing on the ramp of the Crest holding onto the side looking at him, “What are you waiting for?” You give him a look and that springs the bounty hunter into motion as he follows after you closing the ramp of the Crest behind him. Entering the cockpit placing the child in his cradle seeing you strapped in your seat looking like you belong here and not staying on the planet. He settles in as well turning on the fixed ship the engines roaring as he begins to leave the spaceport of Mos Eisley.

“Thought this was your home?” It felt like a sensitive subject to bring up but you didn’t seem affected by it as you look out the window the dual suns you grew up to seeing rise and fall in the sky entering right over the horizon.

“I lost my home long ago…” You say your past is buried behind you. The childhood you desired to have old memories now and unrealistic dreams, “It’s time to let memories die.” The ship exits the atmosphere and you said goodbye to that chapter of your life. The home you grew up in, the planet you learned to survive in, the life you lost. All those memories are buried deep in the sands where your parents rot.

The only sign that you existed there before would be the small memorial for graves that were to never be filled. Three, a father, a mother, and their daughter. A small doll left as a childhood dies.

Goodbye, mama…papa.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #clan of three series #the mandalorian #din djarin x jedi!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x teen!reader #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction

[wordtotherose]

Braiding her hair becomes a habit. 

Astarion judges his own handiwork harshly, never satisfied and it can take well over twice as much time as it would have done had she just done it herself as he takes it apart over and over, combing his fingers through the strands to begin again. He openly laments when she gets blood stuck in it after a battle because he cannot sit and watch her struggle to do it on her own now he has permission and a strange…want to do it. It's odd to want to do something for someone else just because he enjoys it for himself. Others have never brought him so much as an ounce of joy before. Doing things to them has, in his long experience, inspired the opposite in fact. Yet he desires nothing in return and he stumbles over the odd possessive streak he's developing over his chosen duty. He is the one to keep her hair out of her eyes, to keep her locks looking presentable out and about. It's all the stranger that she lets him, encourages him. 

Realistically, she encourages him to a point. When he'd stopped her mid-battle to inspect her singed fringe in Sorcerous Sundries he had been sure he'd be getting a long, loud lecture before they got home. 

And he did. Just when they got back to the Elfsong instead of on the way. Always full of surprises, she is.

Tonight he lounges near the fire, doing his best to ignore the prattling child next to him telling him about her next recipe she wants to try. The same three sentences have been read repeatedly now and he still cannot remember them enough to move past them. How in the hells they'd acquired a child in their camp he does not know. He hadn't been with Elizia when the two had met, having been left to help set up camp in the abandoned barn and stables that they had found overlooking Rivington. She'd come back, child and cat in tow, and she had made it very clear that they were all to behave around the kid who would be staying with them for a while. There had been something about a lost parent and Astarion hadn't put up more than a cursory argument against it, snarking about starting a traveling orphanage.

Continue Reading on AO3 or under the cut!

Elizia's roll of the eyes had been long-suffering for all that it was fond. It had made him smile more than anything all day. Fond of him of all people. A charmed life he'd been abducted into. 

The bathroom door clicks softly shut behind Elizia as she emerges from her late night bath. He lets the book close as he tips his head back, straining his neck a little to catch sight of her. She always comes out of a wash flushed from the heat, freckled skin awash with pink. The draping of her white dress exposes swathes of skin that he can practically feel under his hands just from looking; he's never known a body besides his own so well as hers. The gold coiling belt is fastened around her waist to cinch the fabric but she's left the armbands off. It won't be long before she changes into the spare shirt of his she stole quite literally off of his body after the House of Hope to go to sleep. 

The kid is still waffling on so he sends Elizia a pleading look when her search finds him in the room, always the first she seeks out. It's like she orients her world around him. Everything comes secondary or further to him. The centre of gravity for her. It's a lot of responsibility, he thinks, but he's working to be there for her to find like this. She hasn't asked him to, he doesn't really think she knows she does it, but he has scarce little to give her whilst it feels like she's giving him everything she can get those kleptomaniac hands on. She's given him his own self back. His body. His freedom. Well. He did a lot of the work himself, he's not selfless enough to give her all the credit. Not really selfless at all. And she seeks him out anyway. 

Her top braided buns are done already and her comb is being ran through the lower half of her hair as she pads barefoot over to the railing above Astarion. "Isn't it past your bedtime, Yenna?" 

The kid pouts but bids them goodnight without argument, her little bodyguard of a cat winding its way through her legs as she goes. He's almost impressed that she doesn't trip or kick it, clearly practiced. 

Elizia folds in half over the railing to press an upside down kiss hello to his lips, leaving him smiling. She tucks her combed hair over her shoulder and vaults over to join him on the sofa. He holds a hand out and the comb is dropped into his grasp before she slips with grace to the floor, crossing her legs neatly. He shuffles to the side so she's sitting inbetween his legs.

"Night braids?" He asks, already splitting her hair into even halves. 

"Day braids. Do you still have the clasps?"

He does, they're in his trouser pocket where she'd deposited them before going to bathe.

"Of course I do, darling."

He gets to work quietly, untangling the knots she missed and layering strand over strand over strand until he has two identical braids. The clasps are her only childhood possession and he is washed over by the trust she shows in letting him handle and look after them every time they do this. 

"Hungry?" She asks when he's done, spinning herself around to look up at him. 

He traces a finger over her brow, down to brush the soft skin under her eye, the ragged scar that crosses her left cheek and onto her nose. She doesn't smile but there's an ease and peace in her posture, in her eyes. 

"A little, not enough," he answers, following the curve of her jaw before pulling away.

"Wake me up if you want to before we start the day tomorrow," she offers. 

"As you wish."

"Can I kiss you?" She asks, blunt and without pressure for him to answer any particular way. 

"I'd like nothing more, my love."

She unwinds from the floor, climbing into his lap with ease and familiarity, knees bracketing his hips. He smooths his hands over her sides, fingers catching on the belt. He'd be willing to swear that this is at least in part what draws her to wearing the dress so often; the ease of movement it allows her as it falls open up to the belt making for an easier time clambering over him or, as before, over furniture. 

It's he who has to tip his head up like this to draw her in. His strong protector, looming over him. He likes it more than he should. 

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #my writing #fanfic #baldurs gate #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #tav #bg3

[brandyllyn]

Lucky Stars

Ezra x GN!Reader 

Summary: “And are you a good man?” “I like to believe myself a man of good intentions.” Words: 3.3k.

My Masterlist

Rating: Teen. Warnings: None? Canon injuries.

I asked for some inspiration and Jen came through with “A kiss for luck” with Ezra. Also, I’m like 80% sure I stole an Oscar Wilde joke in here somewhere.

The first time you met Ezra was coincidentally your first time out on the sling. As the drop engineer, your job was to oversee the operations of each drop ship. To ensure ships weren’t dropped into the same flightpath and to time out the release to be sure that all ships could make it safely to their destination at whatever planet was below.

You’d worked a few of the inner rim planets already - mostly dropping pleasure cruisers onto sunny tropical paradises you could never afford to visit. But the money was crap and the competition was almost always the nephew of some contractor who needed a place to stash their busted ass relative.

The long-haul flights paid bank. Mainly because no one wanted to spend spans at a time out on the circuit. The time, however, suited you just fine.

Your work station was central to the shipyards, a view of all forty-eight pods docked for this trip available between sightlines and video feeds. It sat a few feet above where the corridors came together. Visitors weren’t uncommon, a few credits slipped into your hands to get a better place in the drop zone or to get picked up first on the trip back.

You didn’t handle pickups but their chits spent all the same.

All that is to say that when a shaggy mop of brown hair with a blonde tuft popped into view just below your desk you weren’t surprised. The Green was coming up - a mining planet that had been attracting people from across the eight reaches for some time now - and you’d already had three people asking for advice or information on where to land, where lodes might be and whatnot.

“Well I’ll be,” his soft drawl crawled up to you. “You’re a damn sight better looking than Old Rodge was.”

Checking your monitors once more you leaned forward, giving a smile to the man standing on the platform below your workstation. Handsome, recently groomed - probably his last haircut for a while - and wearing a faded set of work overalls.

Definitely not his first sling.

“What can I help you with, sir?”

“No need to stand on formalities, starshine, we’re all friends here.”

Cocking an eyebrow you gave him an appraising look. “Friends huh?”

He nodded solemnly, taking a step up onto a cable buttress and settling his forearms on your desk. He wasn’t quite eye to eye but it allowed you to lean back in your chair a bit. “I think it would be a singular pleasure to be counted as your friend.”

“The first three drops are locked in.”

His eyes narrowed and he cursed. “Do you think my attentions are so mercenary?”

“Oh, were you just saying hi?”

“Hello. Bonjour. Nǐ hǎo.”

“Ezra.”

Both of you looked at the man coming down the corridor, although your companion’s face was far more disgruntled.

“What?”

“Did you get us a new drop slot?”

Your lips twitched and the man who could only be Ezra turned back to you with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders.

“It is possible that I arrived with an ulterior motive, starshine, but it is only secondary to meeting you at this point.”

“Prophet’s nutsack,” his companion grumbled, shoving at Ezra and forcing him to step down from his perch. A hand appeared, dropping a small array of chits in front of you. “What’ll this get us?”

You glanced over the pile quickly. “Fifth.”

“I thought you said the first three spots were spoken for?” Ezra cut in.

“I did.” With a sweep of your hand you palmed the chits, tucking them into your own work overalls. “If you want better than fifth it’ll cost more. I already moved you up a spot for being cute.”

Ezra preened, mouth opening on what you were sure would be a lovely soliloquy about your charms but you cut him off with a quick jerk of your head to his partner - who was paying no attention to you at all.

Giving a mock huff of indignation Ezra bowed, sweeping his arms out and adding a roguish wink.

“Until we meet again, starshine.”

The second time you met Ezra was another drop-off, four sling rotations later. Yours wasn’t the only sling working the route, each pass taking months to complete.

“Missed you on the pickup, starshine.”

Frowning you pushed your chair back, leaning around the edge of your pod to see who was standing at the step up. When it didn’t spark any recognition for you he pouted.

“Do not tell me you have forgotten me so quickly - such disregard is likely to drive a man to commit acts of singular madness.”

You may not have remembered his face but the voice was impossible to forget. That particular cadence and slow drawl. Giving him a grin you motioned him to step up and he did, finding a place he could perch and nearly look you in the eye.

“An invite into the inner sanctum? I am honored.”

Snorting you flipped a toggle to realign a drop pod. “That is my outer sanctum at best, cowboy.”

He grinned in return. “And yet sacred nevertheless.”

“What can I help you with?”

Another pout. “I seem to remember you doubting my motives on our last meeting as well, starshine. Have I really made such a poor impression on you?”

“Miners only ever want three things. Stone, stim, or-” you cut yourself off, shifting your eyes away and pretending to be busy with a screen he couldn’t see.

“I beg of you to finish that sentence, starshine.” His eyes were glittering with mischief, the corner of his lips twitching up. You shook your head and he laughed. “Well seeing as I am on my way to find stone, and I do not partake of the stim, I suppose all that is left is the…. presence of a lovely companion.”

“I bet you say that to all the crew.”

“A blow!” A hand flew to cover his heart. “You are whatever a moon has always meant - and whatever a sun will always sing is you.” At your confused frown he sighed, “You are not a connoisseur of poetry I suppose?”

“There once was a man from the rim…” you started and he laughed.

“A person of refined taste,” his brown eyes twinkled at you. “A connoisseur of a much maligned art form.”

You couldn’t help your answering smile. “You have any luck?” He raised an eyebrow and you clarified, “On your last run, to the Green. Any luck?”

A heavy sigh. “A few small stones, barely enough to make the run worth it.”

“And yet you’re going back,” you pointed out.

“Ah, but I have a new crew. And a special charm for luck.”

“Oh?” Your eyes caught on an alert and you cleared it absentmindedly. “What kind?”

“Why, an utterly captivating dropship engineer.”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. “I seem to recall seeing you off to your last drop as well.”

“Ah, but I came to you then with questionable motives.” He spread his hands wide, showing you open palms, “Now I am but a supplicant, worshiping at your altar and hoping for your favor.”

“Do those lines really work on people?”

A casual shrug, “They don’t not work.”

Your console gave a beep and you nodded at it. “Gotta take that.”

He nodded in return. “Until next time, starshine.” He hopped down and started away as you reached for the button and then paused.

“Wait.”

He turned back, a bemused look on his face. “Yes?”

“What was your name again?”

He made a small bow. “You, my dear, may call me whatever you’d like.” You rolled your eyes and he grinned. “Ezra, starshine, my name is Ezra.”

“Ezra,” you tried the name out and his grin deepened. “Interesting name.”

“Well I like to think I’m an interesting man.”

The third time you met Ezra you could not really be said to be meeting him per se. You recognized him and remembered his name so it was really more of an acquaintanceship renewal than anything.

“Ah for you are yet the symphony of the stars.”

You couldn’t help the smile at the sound of his voice, turning to see him waiting patiently at the edge of your work pod. You motioned him and he bounded up like a man half his age, finding a place to stand where he could perch a hip on the edge of your desk. He looked positively smug and you couldn’t help a laugh.

“Hello Ezra.”

His grin was wide, a new scar cutting across one eye. “starshine you are as captivating as always.”

“I take it you had a good trip?”

The Green was a few spins behind you, the last pickup locked in as the sling made its way to its next destination. You didn’t really need to be at your station, but you liked getting a head start on the landing patterns.

“A fruitful conquest,” Ezra was saying, his fingers tapping on one thigh. “Enough to whet a man’s appetite for more.”

“That good, huh?”

“I could certainly treat you in the style to which you are accustomed.”

You glanced around at the dirty workbench, the ancient equipment, your ragged overalls. “Low bar.”

“And one I am happy to clear.” His cheerfulness was contagious, eyes bright even with the sharp red scar cutting through one. You wondered if he expected you to ask about it.

“You sticking to the Green then?”

He shrugged, picking at one nail. “I have a new crew and some ideas as to a new excavation, although I suppose you’d have more information than me about that.”

Nodding you reset a fuel calculation. “Someone found a motherlode, went back to the Ephrate for supplies last I checked.”

His attention was suddenly fully on you. “Is that so, starshine?”

“Mmhmm,” you pretended to ignore his intense scrutiny.

“And is the location of the lode information you might be willing to share?”

“Well,” you tapped a button and glanced sideways at him from under your eyelashes, “that would depend.”

“A share I take it?”

You snorted. “Like I could ever hold you to it.”

“Ah,” he demurred, “you have not had much experience with good men I take it?”

“Out here,” you gestured at the ship, “I’m lucky to find mediocre ones.”

The tips of his fingers briefly touched the back of your hand before he pulled away. “The good man watches our bogus roses, our rank wreath.”

Another quote from someone you didn’t recognize. “And are you a good man?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I like to believe myself a man of good intentions.”

“Yet you’d rob some unsuspecting miner?”

“That my dear starshine is just good business.” He looked so affronted you had to laugh. “And a business opportunity for us both.”

“Aurelac.”

He paused, head cocking, considering you. “How much?”

You cupped your hand a little. “Just one, yay big. And I’ll drop you dead center of the guy’s camp.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, starshine?”

You gave him your most innocent expression, fluttering your lashes for good measure. “Who, me?”

The gem was plopped onto your desk without ceremony, the messy head of distinctive hair soon following.

“I likely would have gifted you this for a chance for your company, starshine.”

It was a little bigger than you’d asked for, the center a beautiful gold that caught even the dim lights of the ship. With barely concealed awe you cupped the aurelac in your palms, feeling the warmth that naturally emanated from it.

“Are you serious?”

He’d stepped up, leaning on your desk. “Were you?”

You pointed at the holo of the planet, “Just north of there, about five clicks. Like I said, I can set you down dead center.”

“And you say there is a bounty of gems there? Just how much is a bounty?”

Carefully wrapping the aurelac into a kerchief you tucked it safely inside your shirt. “The guy was going back for a crew of six, so enough he didn’t mind sharing.”

Ezra nodded thoughtfully. “A worthwhile venture then. And you are sure you do not require a cut?”

“I got mine.” You patted your chest, noticing how his eyes lingered on your chest for a moment - as though imagining what was beneath. “‘Sides, I might never see you again.”

“Surely the universe would not be so cruel.” He clutched a hand over his heart, giving you a pleading look.

“Do you annoy Laquon with your attentions when it’s not me here?” you asked, mentioning the drop engineer working one of the other slings.

“Laquon will not speak to me,” Ezra replied. “Not since the night I took half his wages in a sharps game.”

“Did you cheat?”

“You wound me!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t.”

The console beeped, announcing you were moving into orbit around the Green. “You should go get your crew ready.”

“Ah, a too quick end to our lovely repast.” He leaned towards you, eyes bright. “A kiss for luck, starshine?”

Giving him a nudge with your foot you shooed him away. “You make your own luck Ezra.”

His amused chuckle stuck with you for some time to come.

It was the last of the day’s pickups at the Green and you were absolutely not supposed to be working. Pickups weren’t your job, drop offs were. You’d already let a dad and his kid down yesterday - two people you were sure you’d never see again - and they were the only people dumb enough or desperate enough to take the trip down to the Green on the last sling.

The last sling ever.

It felt odd, the end of an era. You’d spent the better part of five orbits on this route. The Green, Delphi VI, an asteroid that had a long string of letters and numbers but the miners just called Dave… pit stops and drop ships. The sling’s crew of nine would be dispatched to new routes. You were planning to take some time off - maybe back to one of those paradise planets for a bit.

Yesterday’s drops should have been it. No more work. Just hanging out in your too small bunk while you dreamt of how to spend the credits you’d been saving up.

But that was without the alarm. Or the Captain’s voice on comms.

“Bay 26 has an emergency beacon on.”

Groaning, you punched the intercom. “How is that my problem?”

“Janus is down with whatever flu he caught from the last scrapyard we were at. I need you to check on it.”

With a grumble you knew the mic would pick up you grabbed your pants. “Fine, but I wanna be paid.”

“Yeah yeah,” the intercom cut out and you squeezed out of your bunk to the hallway beyond. Bay 26 wasn’t too far, and there was a shortcut through the anterior cooling room. You moved a little faster than you might have let on to the Captain. It was an emergency beacon, although odds were it’d been hit by accident or was a malfunction.

“Occupants of pod 438-Alpha, are you in distress?”

You waited while the door to the ship sat silent.

“Occupants of pod-”

A face appeared in the window and you yelped. Young, blonde… the kid who’d dropped yesterday. She tried to get the door to open but the safety mechanism held it in place.

“You have to decontaminate,” you told her through the speaker. “Unless it’s a medical emergency you-”

“He’s dying!” she shouted back, hand scrambling at the controls on her side and suddenly her voice boomed through. “He’s sick and I think it’s infected. You’ve got to let me get him to medbay.”

“What kind of infection?” You tried to ignore her frantic movements. The safety of the crew came first. If they had picked up a virus or something you wanted nothing to do with it.

“His arm,” she was making an effort to sound calm. “He got hurt but it’s infected. He needs antibiotics.”

That didn’t sound too bad. Fairly normal - not like some alien chestburster. “Are you sick?”

“No, it’s just his arm.” Her eyes met yours through the tempered transparisteel. “Please, he needs help.”

You weighed your options. The Green was considered a toxic planet, requiring a decom before disembarking. But it was because of something in the air that could stick to clothes. People lived down there with minimal protections. Worst case you’d have to take some antihistamines.

That was assuming this infection was what she said it was.

“Into your suit,” you announced through the door. “And get him into his. Neither of you breathe our air until I can check you’re not contagious. Deal?”

The girl nodded emphatically and disappeared. A few moments later her head popped up again, covered by a helmet. You could see the edge of someone leaning heavily against her.

“Please.”

Regretting it already, you punched the override code for the door. Practicing an abundance of caution you stepped away quickly as they stumbled out. “Follow me to medbay. No sudden movements. Nothing comes off until I give it the all clear. Got it?”

The girl nodded and you led them down the narrow corridor as quick as they were able to pace you. Her dad was in bad shape, head hanging down as he seemed to concentrate on walking. He wasn’t as put together as the last time. Something must have happened to his suit on the Green and he’d scavenged a new one.

“C’mon, just a little further,” you heard the girl encouraging him.

The medbay was empty, no surprise, making it easy for you to find a spot for the girl to set him down. “I have to make sure you haven’t brought anything on board,” you told them, gesturing for her to join him near the scanner.

“I wouldn’t dream of bringing you anything but jewels, starshine.”

Your head jerked around, meeting his slightly hazy gaze. “Ezra?”

“In the flesh,” a sigh and a groan, “such that it is.”

You picked up speed. Not that you’d been dawdling, but your hands began to fly over the controls, waiting until you got the green light before rushing to his side and helping the girl remove his helmet. “What in the seven seals happened to you?”

“A small accident,” he sat up with your help and you pushed his suit down to his waist. A soft curse made you stop and re-evaluate.

“Ezra,” you asked as calmly as you could, “are you missing an arm?”

“A minor inconvenience.”

“Prophets balls,” you muttered, turning away to find the anesthetic. “How long ago?”

“A spin?” He cast a look at the girl and she seemed to be trying her best to not look guilty. “Maybe less.”

“Okay, well, this is going to hurt.” You didn’t wait for his reply, setting the hypospray to his shoulder and injecting it. He hissed through his teeth and then relaxed.

“Much better, I thank you starshine.”

“We’re not out of the asteroid belt yet, hand me the scricorder?” You gestured and the girl handed it to you. It made several alarming noises as you put in a small sample of Ezra’s blood.

“I believe I did warn you of this, starshine.”

Working on autopilot you gave him a quizzical look. “Warn me of what?”

“That something dreadful was going to befall me.”

You rolled your eyes, inputting the medications needed into the replicator so it could spin you up the cocktail you needed. “I seem to recall you being quite cheerful about your prospects last time I saw you, Ez.”

“I believe I did inquire as to some spare luck, however.” The man was an unrepentant scoundrel, twinkling at you even as he fought not to sway from the drugs in his system.

“Are you suggesting that if I’d kissed you you’d still have an arm?”

“I suppose we will never know,” he shrugged. “But I must insist before I go anywhere else that you indulge me in my superstition. Losing one arm can be chalked up to tragedy - two reeks of carelessness.”

A full laugh burst from you as you readied his meds, setting the hypospray to his neck and pulling the trigger. “I’ll tell you what. You come through this all right and we can have a whole conversation about luck. Over drinks. How does that sound?”

“Well that sounds mighty fine, starshine. Mighty fine indeed.”

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Tagging in Jen specifically though for coming through with the inspo:  @writeforfandoms​

#ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader

[sokkastyles]

ATLA LA Ep2 Let's go:

I love that they kept a lot of the original music, but one thing I could have done without is the generic three-note chord to signal a cut to a scene with a villainous character. Those specific notes have been parodied too often for me to take it seriously. It's one thing that always jarred me in the original and it is especially jarring in live action to hear music that signifies a cartoon villain is about to walk on screen.

Zuko throwing things and chewing the scenery my beloved

"He ran! He's a coward!" I do love the angle of Zuko being confronted with the reality of what he thought would be a glorious destiny. There are two reasons Zuko associates not fighting with cowardice. One is because of what he believes about the fire nation as a whole, but also because of what his father made him believe about himself.

I do like that Aang is identifying that controlling the Avatar State is a problem he needs to solve. It gives me hope that the writers are trying to actually flesh out that plot point where the original failed. I don't like that there's been no mention yet of him needing to learn waterbending. Which brings me to...

Yes, Katara, it IS unbelievable that you've learned waterbending in a day all because Aang said some mumbo to you about energy. That's why I don't believe it. Katara does grow fast in the original, too, but it still feels organic. Here it doesn't and once again, it feels like they are giving that credit all to Aang and I hate that. I also hate that this is Katara's motivation rather than the Katara who took it upon herself to make sure the Avatar learned waterbending whether he wanted to or not.

There is something missed by Kanna giving Katara the waterbending scroll. Idk, trying not to compare to the original because I did want Kanna to be more active in Katara's life. But I get the same feeling of loss here as Aang already having Appa's whistle. Those two things in the original were part of a point about the tragedy of cultural attrition, that Aang has to buy back a cultural artifact that the seller does not even know the true meaning of, that Katara has to steal hers from pirates who already stole from her culture. It also begs the question that if Kanna had that scroll the whole time, why didn't she show it to Katara before, who was so desperate to learn waterbending?

Zuko talking about being gone three years, clearly ecstatic at the thought that his banishment will come to an end, while Iroh looks like he's about to send his son to his death for the second time. Kudos to the actors' faces expressing so much in that one scene.

The actor for Sokka is very good-looking.

Aang and Katara playing in the water was cute, but they seem even farther apart in maturity here than in the original. Even that scene comes across as a much older sister honoring a young child. I don't get a sense of Katara as someone yearning to be a child.

She's not wrong about the Avatar bringing connections, but Aang showing off isn't really the best illustration of that concept.

Okay, so, I saw some people complaining about Suki wanting to leave home "because of a boy" and like, that also happened in the original. What feels kinda pat here is that we've also added overprotective mom to the mix, which I don't love. When I said I wanted Suki's mom I meant I wanted to know how Suki became a warrior, I wanted to see more women bonding with other women and women's autonomy being treated as normal. Not whatever this is.

So they don't already know Zhao here? That's less interesting. Also "actual royalty." Another log to keep the "Zhao is a royal bastard" theory burning. Heh, burning.

Sokka is still a prick about girls fighting, everyone can rest easy now. Also his reaction when Suki tries to flirt with him the same way he does with her is exactly how that would play out in real life.

Aang avoiding fighting out of fear of his own power adds an interesting dimension to his character which is only briefly touched on in the original.

Zuko and Katara 1v1 yes!!!

Katara flashbacking to her mom's death during her first real fight is a nice touch.

KYOSHI!!!

Zhao wasn't very impressive until Zuko accidentally gave him a foothold, then that shit-eating grin was great.

I'll hold off on really commenting on this because I haven't gotten that far yet, but I heard that Ozai is more willing to praise Zuko here and it just does not make a lot of sense to me, not only because that is not how that kind of parent works, but also because hearing the news from Zhao, who would 100% play up Zuko having discovered and then LOST the Avatar, would just make Ozai see Zuko as more of a failure for having come close. Unless Zuko does something spectacular in the next few episodes I don't see Ozai being impressed.

#atla live action

[hummingbirdspark]

Feel free to use these ideas if you want! You do not need to credit me, but just let me know you did so I can read it.

Details for the story ideas under the cut

Kidnapped and forced to do maths

Pretty self-explanatory, they get locked in cells equipped with digital blackboards and stuff and can’t leave until they answer enough questions right. Penalties for wrong answers is death. Perhaps opportunities for teamwork?

Kipo and the age of Wonderbeasts au

Might not make sense if you haven’t seen Kipo but Carmilla uses megamute dna to try and make humans able to live on the surface, but after getting kicked out of her burrow, she has to wander the surface, looking for humans desperate enough to accept her ‘help’. I already have a bulletfic for how each of them gets found and mutated

Steven Universe au

Mechanisms as the Off-Colors. Gems thst either rebelled against or were thrown out by the diamonds. They wander the galaxy, and sometimes assist gem rebellions. The moon war was fought over earth’s moon base, between the crystal gems and those loyal to the Diamonds.

Doctor who TMA au

Jon and Jonny were brothers on Gallifrey, and while Jon excelled in timelord school and became The Archivist, Jonny was distracted by paying off his father’s debts and failed, never to receive the title of “the Captain” or 12 regenerations. He didn’t stay mortal for long, as Carmilla found him like in cannon and mechanized both of his hearts. They stole a TARDIS called Aurora and fled to the stars. Many many years later, The Archivist finds his long lost brother when taking his companions, Martin, Tim, and Sasha to the Steamworld Intergalactic Music Festival

False domestic psychological prison

An enterprising young member of an intergalactic authority comes up with a new idea for these immortal criminals’ containment: the only prison the Mechanisms can’t escape is the one they don’t know they’re in. They capture the mechanisms and through a combination of the sedative effects of the Lotus, and some memory altering microchips, they get the Mechanisms to think they are just (mostly) normal people on a normal planet. To make them less likely to escape, they gave them something they never could have had before. Jonny gets respect as the owner of a tailor shop, with workers who call him sir, and trust and obey his judgement. Brian, as a priest is listened to in all his advice and praised for his wise moral decisions. Will they realize it’s a trick? Or stay living this lie forever?

Spaceteam fic

The Aurora gets stuck in a strange wormhole (bifrost?) and she can’t operate anything but basic piloting. Suddenly strange new controls are on the bridge, as well as whole other consoles of controls. Instructions for what to do are provided on screens, but they don’t match the control each mechanism sees on their console. Luckily they’re all within shouting distance, but they will have to learn to work together… as a spaceteam. Set Sigmaclapper to 5! Soak Ferrous Holospectrum! Baste the Emergency Whittler!

Summer Camp Councilors

Human au where the mechanisms are councilors at Camp Cosmo, with wacky hijinks, camp names, and songs. Several units of cabins inspired by the 4 story albums, a great spot on a canal with sea kayaking, regular kayaking, sailing, and canoeing. A high ropes and low ropes course, an archery range, and an arts and crafts area are also present for those who aren’t water crazy. Pack up your sense of adventure and extra flashlight batteries! Hopefully the campers won’t get into any drama…

Kofi rat from Small Saga meets Marius

This is for the KofiAssam fans out there! Our very own rat-tailed rover finds themself on a massive metal god dwelling and encounters The Metal Armed God!

Or

Marius Von Raum finds a rat wearing clothing that seems to be able to play the mandolin. Good thing he learned to speak rat when he and Toy Soldier went to that candy planet where Toy Soldier somehow became a prince…

Steam Powered Giraffe roleswap

What if Doctor Carmilla lived on earth and created nine singing automatons that could self repair?

What if Colonel P. A. Walter mechanized 6 humans with blue matter to create a force of galactic heroes, that then forgot their original names?

1920s American speakeasy

Probably heavily based on Lackadaisy. Carmilla’s Speakeasy is a great place to get illegal alcohol, and its secret entrance is inside the Cafe Aurora. The owner, Carmilla herself is illusive at best, and her seeming to only show her face at night has lead to rumors of her being a vampire or witch. Rumors that are only worsened when she gave each of her employees a strange new gift: pins, that she insists are a new part of their uniform to be worn at all times. The purpose of the pins is made clear when Jonny is shot by a rival rumrunner while on a job and comes back from the dead.

SCP contains Brian and Toy Soldier

Brian was on MJE and Toy Soldier was under direct orders from a researcher to not escape. The only question is would Doctor Bright be an expert on immortality, or would letting him know about The Mechanisms be a terrible idea?

Marius backstory oneshot based on the christmas armistice

There are many things Byron Marius expected to hear in the middle of a war. The pound of bullets, the screams of other soldiers, and crash of giant robot mechas overhead. What he didn’t expect to hear was singing.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht

That’s all, folks

I have way too many ideas.

#the mechanisms #poll #fandom polls #sparky’s polls #the mechanisms fanfic

[amyisherenowitsokay]

I was wondering if you've seen MatPats Film Theory on Invader Zim? And if you have, what your thoughts were on the conclusion?

Okay so since I'm sick I finally got around to watching this video to fulfill this ask.

TLDR for the people who don't want to watch the video below the cut.

TLDR: the theory is that Professor Membrane is an Irken, based off of his lack of ears, goggles that hide is eyes, complete lack of mention of who Dib and Gaz's mother is, his random advanced technology, etc. It would also be an interesting self-folly for Dib, who's made it his life mission to seek out the paranormal, never realizing he is in himself a paranormal entity. There's also some hints that while Dib is oblivious, Gaz might know ("I have a squeedily-spooch" quote), and her acceptance/knowledge is why she's Membrane's favorite kid.

Onto my answer:

I can definitely appreciate the thought that went into this video. I'm a big fan of fan interpretations and secret messages. The Invader Zim lore is so open-ended in a lot of areas, leaving hints about character personalities and motivations all over, it's real fun. That being said, I have to firmly disagree with MatPat's conclusion (with the disclaimer of: to each your own fanfictions).

I think the reason we just can't see Membrane's ears are because they're just under his goggles.

I think this is a pretty good angle to emphasize that the goggles don't go OVER his ears, but under. I actually have a facemask that does that, as it's more comfortable than something going over your ears for hours. The heavier duty safety goggles also have thick ass bands. I think Jhonen and the art team just took insp from that and upgraded it to look futuristic, to where they cover his ears.

Another reason I disagree:

Membrane had a childhood. (The comics also show him with his parents, but I'll stick to strictly show material, since a lot of the comics are not canon). Yes, it could be argued that this was just a younger Professor Membrane, when he was still short. However, I think the childhood wonder of still believing in Santa Clause, even as a super-genius, is more pro-human than pro-secret-Irken. Zim studied Christmas, whereas Professor Membrane experienced Christmas, if that makes sense.

To explain his kids, I do think Dib and Gaz were clones. I subscribe fully to the theory that the Membrane also told them already, way younger than was probably appropriate lol. I think if they didn't know for sure where they came from, they'd both have way more questions on the regular about their theoretical mom.

As funny and interesting as it'd be to have Dib be chasing proof of, well, the existence of himself, I think the reason Membrane tries to keep him away from the paranormal is as stated: Membrane believes, and has always believed, that science is the only career worth chasing. He doesn't believe in the paranormal, because the spookies are just things that science doesn't yet understand. I think if we're lending to the clone theory, it'd also trouble him that his clone-son doesn't like science, and therefore is not the perfect clone. Dib's disinterest is a sign of something going wrong in his experiment, which is simply unacceptable. Furthermore, I think we don't give Membrane enough credit for just being a sentimental guy sometimes. Like any other dad, he just wants his son to think what he does is cool, and join in on his favorite thing.

I think Gaz's comment about a squeedily-spooch was just her being a glib little sister. Also, Dib literally had his organs stolen in that episode. Zim stole his organs to replace organs that he don't exist in Irken physiology. Sure, Dib could be part-human-part-Irken DNA, but if that was the case, Zim still would've noticed by now. He literally steals Dib's DNA signature on multiple occasions. Zim turns him into bologna one episode, and the both of them take extensive cultures of their DNA to try and cure themselves from being turned to meat. If not one, the other certainly would've noticed some Irken in there and pointed it out.

I can't find the episode immediately, but there's also episodes where Zim gets electrocuted and we get the humorous x-ray shots. There's also an episode where Membrane gets an x-ray shot. In both, their bone structure is different.

As neat as the idea is, especially in terms of a 'wow Dib's his own worst enemy' idea, I can't say the video swayed me, or that I could be convinced towards adding it into my own personal fanon. Very neat video though. Thanks for the rec homie

#invader zim #zim #gaz #dib #professor membrane #amyisherenowansweringyou #iz #gaz membrane #dib membrane

[jiamour]

💿 now playing: pushin’ n pullin’

povs: 💗-yn, 🖤-js, 💛-rj, 💙-jn, 🧡-mk, 💜-dh, ❤️-jm, 💚-

track 31: jobless monday

guitarist!jisung x reader

a/n: a jeno psyche introspection update :]

a/n: everyone in this au dissociated when they’re overwhelmed in their own way bcs they’re all just like me

tw// dissociation, derealization, depression, anxiety, mentions of past suicidal ideations, arguments, mark doesn’t let go of jeno when he asks him to, not suggestive but jeno spends a considerable amount of time on his knees and has an oral fixation, this was written for me and me only

word count: 4.2k

album tracklist

soundtrack: jobless monday - mitski, the cut that always bleed - conan gray

jeno is tired. mondays are always like this, he has a lecture at 11am followed by a 4 hour lab at 5pm. these are both mandatory credits that gave no other scheduling options just to ensure that he, personally, wouldn’t be able to eat lunch or dinner at his usual times, he was sure of this.

jeno just wants to graduate. they curse their younger self sometimes for choosing a 5 year program, but other times they’re grateful. jeno’s scared of graduating, they’re scared of the real world, job searching, the fact that they’re directionless and that they can’t keep putting off answering questions about what they plans to do with their life, what they plan to do in the future, because now they’re in the future and they’ve still got nothing.

sometimes, they just want to turn their thoughts off. which is what they thought their zoloft prescription was for but apparently they only takes those to feel chronically fatigued and sweaty.

jeno often feels like he lives entirely inside his mind, which is a funny thing to say because of course he does, everyone does. but he swears it’s different, he feels like the truest form of himself is trapped in a mental cavern where he sits and observes the physical world. a world that he can never truly reach or interact with, it’s far away and blurry around the edges like a vignette.

at night, when he’s alone and it’s dark and quiet, it’s like he’s not even corporeal. he can be anywhere but usually he finds himself traveling back to his childhood bedroom and it’s like he’s really truly there in every sense but physical. he has to blink himself out of it after a few minutes to prevent the unreality from completely overtaking him. he turns on his phone flash light and takes in what’s real, the overpriced uni hoodie he stole from mark that hangs over his desk chair, the pile of textbooks he needs to resell, the dying plant he hasn’t watered in weeks. he wills himself to be there, be present.

jeno finds himself following a routine, which he likes most of the time, he thinks. or maybe he doesn’t. jeno’s not quite sure what he likes. he’s not quite sure who he is at all actually. but jeno thinks he likes routines because routines mean he’s going ‘home’, or atleast a home away from home, marks apartment.

they know when they get there it will be just like any other day. mark will acknowledge their entrance with a nod not even pointed in their direction, if they’re lucky maybe they’ll be granted a mumble of greeting or a fleeting glance. jeno will kiss his cheek, maybe play with his fingers for a while, but eventually they’ll always end up sat alone at the end of mark’s bed silently playing games on their phone or texting jaemin to ease their boredom.

mark will join them around 1am every night, when jeno has already made their way up the bed and under the blankets. jeno will be just barely awake, holding on just because they swore they wouldn’t fall asleep without mark there beside them.

this stubborn “rule” has been holding on strong for about a year now, having started when jeno found mark still awake after 2 and a half days, trying to finish a paper early. that evening they stand beside marks desk, arms crossed, until late hours into the night. they remember practically falling asleep on their feet but refusing to move without mark taking a break and joining them. eventually, when jeno practically flops on top of his keyboard and rubs at their sleep filled eyes with the sleeve of their hoodie, marks hoodie, mark caves.

right now, he’s on his way home, alone. his hand reaches out instinctively when he goes to cross the street but no one grabs on. he knows it’s dumb and maybe childish but mark always holds his hand out for him when they’re around busy intersections. the emptiness reminds him of everytime mark forgets. jeno would reach his hand out and no one would hold on, he’d look to the side and see mark smiling as he texts someone on his phone.

“hey!” a voice yells out from behind him when the cross walk signal blinked to a walk. he jumps back, head whipping back and forth checking for cars that may have ran the light, but none came.

“hey,” the voice says again, closer this time, jeno turns begging themself not the shake, so the stranger doesn’t know they’re panicking over crossing the fucking street, “you’re marks partner, right?”

“yeah,” they respond, willing their natural charisma to take hold and do the talking for them, “i’m jeno.”

“perfect! could you give this to him? i haven’t been able to catch him in forever,” the stranger hands jeno a file without waiting for an answer, “and tell him to text me back!”

“okay,” jeno smiles a fake smile, “i’ve got to get home but it was nice to meet you.”

“you too man,” the boys already turning around and jeno has to cross the street again, the file shaking in his hands.

jeno loves going home to mark, even if he doesn’t get any of the attention he craves, even if he doesn’t get a second of intamacy. jeno loves mark, he has to love mark, it makes him feel stable and grounded somewhere. he likes having that role assigned to him, he likes being “marks partner”, it makes him feel like he has purpose, he has direction. he finds it a bit nerve wrecking to think about losing that part of himself but it is a bit scary in general to have such an integral part of your identity be tied to another person who you feel is slowly falling more and more out of love with you.

but if mark needs them to be more loveable then they’ll become more loveable! just not tonight. tonight, jeno is tired. tonight, they’ll appreciate the fraction of mark that they get because that’s just how things are.

jeno enters marks room and quietly closes the door behind themself and place their backpack against the wall. mark doesn’t acknowledge them once, just chews on his nicotine gum in silence, it’s one of those nights.

he wants to make a scene. he wants to make a stance. he’s gonna march straight into bed and ignore mark as well! that’ll teach him! but when jeno thinks rationally he knows mark won’t even notice and he’ll just end up feeling more upset.

so jeno goes up to his partner, ready to give him an earful about lack of quality time and appreciation. but jeno is tired. so, instead he droops lazily to his knees, right beside marks gaming chair. without looking down, mark shifts the chair back slightly, ushering jeno between his legs, almost under his desk. jeno follows the silent instructions and rests his cheeks on marks thigh with a puffed out sigh.

mark reaches a hand down to play with jeno’s hair, and jeno can’t help the smile that envelops them knowing they finally got marks attention, at least partially.

“hey yed,” marks voice is soft and sweet and he cards his fingers through jeno’s bangs pushing them back and out of his face.

mark makes them feel like their in a jar of honey, their brain feels sickeningly sweet and works painfully, perfectly, slow. jeno manages to hum back a response. “hey,” they quietly greet and they nuzzle themself further against marks thigh.

“tired?” mark asks, brushing his thumb gently over jeno’s cheek and beneath his glasses along his closed eyelid before returning to softly scratching along his scalp.

“mhmmm” jeno hums, letting his head be moved along easily by marks fingers.

mark coos, “my poor baby,” and jeno’s smile turns positively dopey, he knows if mark ever looks down he’ll be met with a very obviously love sick idiot.

everything about jeno feels like jelly. he almost huffs at that realization, not because of the feeling but because he keeps comparing himself to food. jeno might just be hungry. this is what happens when his lunch and dinner scheduling is disturbed.

marks fingers move down the back of jeno’s neck and they shiver against his touch before relaxing fully back into his thigh, jeno hadn’t even noticed themself getting tense but somehow mark managed to picked up on it.

“do you want to tell me about your day, baby?” mark asks softly, massaging circles into the hair behind jeno’s ear.

“mmmm, there was a girl on the bus with a dog this morning, i didnt get to pet it though, wasn’t sure if it was working,” jeno pouts, his voice is barely above a whisper. his eyes squeeze shut as he tries to indulge completely in marks touch, “and i got lunch with renjun, we split a family size salad from the grocery store.”

“have you eaten dinner yet?” jeno shakes their head and in the process, leans back and rests their chin atop marks knee so they can look up at their partner.

mark looks down at them and then he’s fighting off a smile as he looks away. god, he loves mark.

jeno knows he’s in love. he has been for almost 4 years now and he doesn’t think it will ever go away. mark has always described being in love as some over powering force that disorients him, practically incapacitates him, but for jeno it’s different. for jeno, it’s relaxing, it’s comfortable, it’s like living in a cloud (if clouds weren’t just water droplets and were actually stretched out cotton balls). it was something so soft he let himself sink down into it, unsuspecting, and now he’s stuck, surface barely firm enough to move, let alone climb out of.

‘cotton candy!’ jeno marvels. falling in love was like getting tangled up in a wand of cotton candy, all sticky and pretty and a little bit messy. he imagines compressing it down between his fingers forming pink and blue sugar sheets that he longs to take a bite of. the more he lets his mind wander the more he wants to devour mark. jeno really wishes he grabbed food before he came, he can barely focus on the conversation at hand. this is getting embarrassing.

“there’s some left overs in the fridge if you want them,” mark is giving them his full attention now and jeno wonders what they did to earn the honour.

“maybe later,” jeno hums back because he’s a sap and no matter how much he wants food, he wants mark more. just like this.

“yed, you need to eat if you’re hungry,” he’s softly reprimanded, with absolutely no bite behind it. mark places his hand on jeno’s cheek, stroking under his eye with his thumb. jeno leans into his touch, as good as delirious.

there’s sparks flying inside of jeno’s head, mark being worried about him skipping a single meal shouldn’t make him feel as insane as it does. jeno can feel the oxytocin levels rising in his brain, in his mind it’s a soft lilac colour and it dances behind his eyes.

and then there’s a thumb against jeno’s bottom lip, their eyes practically go cross as they attempt to look down at it. mark laughs softly at their suprise and he presses down ever so slightly, it’s just enough to make jenos mouth drop open, a response that was practically automatic.

mark eases his thumb into jeno’s mouth and jeno nips at the tip of it. mark laughs. god they love making mark laugh, it’s not exactly a difficult feat but it feels blissful every time, nonetheless.

jeno presses his tongue against the pad of marks thumb, it’s salty. wow. jeno really could devour him. he can imagine how dumb he looks right now, on his knees, huge dark circles under his eyes, hair probably a mess, his tongue lapping up his boyfriends fucking finger, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. leave it to mark to enable his oral fixation when he least expected it.

“you’re so pretty,” mark hums, and jeno wants to melt. mark thinks he looks pretty. jeno wonders what he actually looks like from marks perspective, wonders how he would feel if mark was in his position. his partner looking up at him through his lashes with his pretty doe eyes that were almost glazed over with sleep. jeno is obsessed. but, he thinks, he might just be obsessed with everything mark does.

“stop looking at me like that,” mark mutters shyly, his tone laced in fondness. he removes his thumb from jeno’s mouth and looks away again, the tips of his ears tinted red, “at least not while i’m working.”

“sorry, just love you a lot,” jeno pushes himself off of his knees a little, so he can flop more of his body onto marks lap. his arms wrap around marks waist and his head rests on his abdomen, “can’t help it.”

“you-“ mark cuts himself off with a laugh, and starts to run his fingers through jeno’s hair again, “you make me feel crazy, did you know that?”

“mhmm” jeno hums back proudly. snuggling into his partner, who HE made feel crazy, “you love me.”

“i love you,” mark hums in agreement, “so much.”

they fall back into silence.

at least until jeno’s phone buzzes.

they slump down off of mark and sit on their calf’s in front of him. jeno’s eyes light up as soon as they see the message and mark sends them a curious glance as they begin to stand up.

“jaem texted,” jeno smiles with his eyes at his confused partner and kisses him on the cheek as a goodbye, “said he was making something to eat and needed my help.”

mark grabs their hand before they can go, and pulls them back into him, placing a firm kiss on jeno’s lips. jeno smiles brighter at the unexpected action but it falters slightly when mark doesn’t let him go.

“but you just got here,” mark pouts.

“i’ll be back, i promise,” jeno smiles sweetly and playfully tugs his hand away but mark only intertwine their fingers and pulls him closer, pecking his lips again, “i’m just going down the hall markie, you wanted me to eat right?”

“yes,” mark whines, “but i thought you’d just be heating up left overs and coming right back, if you help jaemin you could be gone all night.”

“you’re so dramatic,” jeno coos at his pouting partner, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the back of marks hand as marks shoulders sag, “i’ll be quick.”

“i haven’t seen you all day.”

“neither has jaemin,” jeno laughs like mark is only teasing.

“jaemins not your boyfriend.”

“‘mark that’s dumb, i’m just going to make dinner,” they hated the tension, every part of jeno wants to relieve the conflict they knew they were teetering on the edge of, “you could make dinner with us if you want.”

mark squeezes his hand with a frown, “i cant baby, i have to work.”

“yeah,” jeno looks away, “that’s what i thought you’d say.”

“baby,” mark was firm, his jaw clenched, “stay please.”

“jaemin wants my help and i need dinner.”

“i don’t get you,” marks eye contact burns into them.

“what?” jeno frowns back.

“i don’t get you,” mark repeats, “i don’t get why you’re choosing jaemin over me.”

“markie, you’re being ridiculous,” jeno whines, “i’m not choosing anyone. i’m making dinner.”

“not just now, in general,” he’s holding jeno’s hand so tightly now it starts to hurt, “after what he did to you. i don’t know how you forgave him.”

“you don’t know anything about jaemin,” they know their tone is cold but they can’t help it, anger starting to bubble up inside them.

“i know a fuck ton about jaemin,” mark fights back, “ i know he’s a coward, i know that he didn’t fight for you like you’d fight for him.”

“he didn’t know.”

“how could he not know? you were miserable,” jeno feels his throat start to close up as mark continues, “did he not care about you at all?”

“shut up,” jeno chokes out. he doesn’t need to hear this. he doesn’t need to relive any of this. not over some petty argument. he couldn’t cry. he wouldn’t. he’s made to much progress moving past this to let it hurt him again.

“i’m sorry baby, but i just don’t get why it took your dad dying and you getting fucking institutionalized for him to come back,” if he truly was sorry he would listen to jeno and shut up, jeno thinks, he wants to scream but he doesn’t, “he doesn’t deserve you.”

“we were teenagers mark and i’m not his responsibility.”

“jeno you almost died,” jeno startles at marks volume

“i know!” their voice raises against their will and cracks, “but i didnt! i’m here aren’t i? and without jaemin i probably wouldn’t be so can you fucking drop this?”

“sorry,” mark repeats, his face was contorted in a mix of pain and conflict.

“it’s fine,” they huff, “can you just let go of me.”

jeno pulls his hand back gently but mark doesn’t budge, “baby i don’t want you to go like this, not after a fight.”

jeno furrows his eyebrows “mark. let go.”

he has the strength to pull his hand away himself, but he didn’t see why he had to exert force when his partner should let his hand go when he states he wants to be let go.

mark grips his hand tighter and jeno’s heart rate picks up, he really doesn’t like this, he needs to go, “let go,” he whispers.

mark gives him a begging look, “…jeno.”

“let me go.”

“jeno. baby. come on.”

“LET GO OF ME,” he yanks his hand away as hard as he can since clearly mark didn’t want to respect his autonomy.

it happens so fast, they don’t have control of the swing of their arm as it hits marks desk sending a glass clattering against a wall and a pile of papers falling to the ground. the glass smashes, loud, but all jeno can hear is the sound of their own heart and the shriek of his voice.

mark startles, his eyes go wide, concern taking over every one of his senses. jeno feels sick to their stomach.

“i’m sorry,” he cries, “i’m didn’t mean to yell, i didnt, i didnt. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”

“shhhh,” mark hushes, not knowing if it was okay to reach out to comfort his panicking partner, “it’s okay baby, it’s my fault. everything’s okay. try to breath.”

they can’t process marks words, they feel dizzy, everything is blurring and fuzzy and bad. everything is bad and loud and painful. they squeeze their eyes shut, it’s disorienting, they see the blinding glow of headlight and glasses smash inside of their skull. right the glass. they broke a glass.

“i’m sorry,” jeno repeats, frantically wiping the tears away from his eyes before he drops to the ground, scrambling to pick up the broken shards of glass.

“hey, hey, baby, stop. please,” mark pulls at his shoulders trying to get him away from the glass, he easily tell how out of it his partner was, not wanting to take any risks to his well-being, “don’t worry about it baby. get away from the glass, it’s okay. i’ll clean it up. it’s okay baby.”

jeno doesn’t stop trying to collect the tiny shard that litter the ground, and marks concern only grows as they lets out a loud, painful, sob that makes their chest and throat ache.

“it’s okay, it’s okay,” mark coos softly, running his hand through jeno’s hair attempting to smooth him, “you’re safe, everything’s okay, i promise.”

jeno nods but marks not sure they’re processing a word he’s saying. he tries again to pull them away from the glass but jeno shakes him off with a shaky, heaved, breath.

“can you breath for me baby?” mark tries so hard to keep calm and steady, wanting to pull jeno back but not wanting to make any sudden or firm movements that would panic jeno further, “can you do that for me please?”

jeno tries to form a sentence but it comes out in a loud panic noise. he feels like he’s suffocating, his vision slowly boxing itself in.

“i’m so-“ jeno tries to repeat but he speaks like he’s out of breath. he’s falling, every sound is distant and fuzzy like a messed up radio signal.

he can barely hear it as marks bedroom door is slammed open but his skin burns as he’s pulled into a suffocating, protective hug. it’s not mark, mark is knocked onto his ass beside them and he could feel himself being pulled in the opposite direction.

“jeno, jen, are you okay?” it’s underwater and distorted but they can tell it’s jaemin. they couldn’t wrap their head around why jaemin was there, what he was asking, nothing felt right, “did you get cut by any glass, let me see you.”

glass. the glass. the glass he shattered, after he yelled. he felt sick to his stomach knowing he caused enough of a commotion for jaemin to hear from the kitchen.

“jen, i need you to answer me, are you okay?” jeno cant seem to keep his attention on anything, he feels trapped deep in his mind watching everything with a delay. he nods.

“what the fuck did you do?” jaemin sounds so harsh and it makes their heart clench but the comment isn’t directed towards them.

“nothing,” mark sounds just as cold, “get out, i’ll fix it.”

“nothing?” jaemin’s voice rises, but to jeno its moving further away from him. he gasps for air, or maybe he just breaths, he can’t tell, everything is heavy.

he pushes himself away from jaemin, who seems to be rather preoccupied with arguing with mark and shakes as he stands to his feet, “i’m going-“ he tries to speak, “i’m gonna lie down.”

he stumbles to the bed and lays there, staring up at the ceiling, letting one more tear fall before everything stops. he’s spaced out and the argument booming in the room is nothing but muffled white noise.

they don’t know how long the screaming match lasts. they’re not really here anyways. they’re back home in their childhood bedroom and everything’s okay.

-

marks sighs when jaemin leaves, wanting toss another round of papers off of his desk but he doesn’t. jaemins parting warning, “be a better boyfriend before you aren’t a boyfriend at all,” repeats itself in his head.

he sits at the end of the bed, easing into the comfort as it says below him. he places his hand on jeno’s ankle.

“jeno?” he says softly and gets no response.

he sighs again and let’s himself fall back into his back, “can you come back to me, baby?”

no response.

he reaches up and delicately holds jeno’s hand, they lay like this for a few seconds and mark takes everything in, “baby, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand, please.”

mark waits a couple seconds. then 5. then 10. after 14 he feels a squeeze. it was light but it was enough to send a spark of relief down marks spine.

“i’m sorry for raising my voice,” mark takes a shaky breath, “and for not letting you go… and for what i said about jaemin. i know you love him- and he loves you, he does, i know that. it’s just sometimes i get so mad at him and- and-“

mark tries to clear his throat to make his voice stay sturdy, “i’m sorry.”

jeno doesn’t respond, but mark doesn’t expect them to. he lets go of their hand and pushes himself back up. he looks back at jeno as he gets off the bed to grab a spare blanket from his closest, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get the blanket on his bed out from under jeno easily.

he sits at the top of the bed beside jeno and fluffs the blanket out so it’s covering the both of them. gently, he takes jeno’s glasses off, doling them closed and reaches over jeno to place them on the the nightstand on jeno’s side.

mark snuggles under the blanket and into jeno, kissing his forehead, “i love you.”

no response.

mark bites back tears, not liking when jeno’s upset with him or when he’s the cause of jeno panicking enough to retreat into the safety of his mind.

jeno rolls over to face him and ducks his head into his chest.

mark closes his eyes and a couple of tears make it free, he lets himself relax next to jeno.

“i’m sorry,” mark whispers again.

“it’s okay,” jeno whispers back.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

#park jisung au #nct jisung fic #nct dream series #nct fanfic #jisung smau #pnp series #jisung fic #nct au #nct fic #nct fanfiction #nct fan fiction #nct series #nct band au #nct texts #nct text au #nct fake texts #nct angst #nct fluff #markno #nct drabbles #nct drabble #nct imagines #nct scenarios #mark fic #jeno fic #nct reactions #nct social media au #nct socmed au #nct smau #nct social au

[scifrey]

Keepsakes:

A Hospital Bracelet: Hurt

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta’d

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature. There is medical violence, gun violence (including a gunshot), and some pretty gross wound descriptions in this chapter. Please curate your experience accordingly.

Warnings: Discussions of violence. Some whump and hurt/comfort.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Delirium of the Endless, Death of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Daniel Hall, Destruction of the Endless, Desire of the Endless, Despair of the Endless, Destiny of the Endless, Matthew the Raven

Set about five years after the end of Cling Fast.

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

A Hospital Bracelet: Hurt

Inspired by a prompt from @hummingbird231 on Tumblr.

As that bitchy little twink Shaxbeard once wrote, there are more things on Earth than can be dreamt of in men’s philosophies, and Hob should know because he is married to one of them. 

He’s also acquainted with several more–the Bookseller, the Snake, a young lady who once lived in a world where everyone’s eyes were buttons, and of course the actual Devil themself. Hob knows a handful of people who summon and exorcize demons, are creatures of the night themselves, were raised by ghosts, or live in the metaphysical gaps between tube stations.

But Hob is nothing particularly special. He’s just a bloke who chooses not to die.

Which is, you’ll agree with him, very different from someone who cannot die. There is a chasm of difference there. A whole grand canyon of difference.

And one that his kidnapper is not grasping.

“It’s… it’s not… it’s not in my blood,” Hob tries, using his most reasonable Professor voice, from where he’s strapped the lab table. Well, the massage table that’s been repurposed with camper tie-downs and BDSM gear. Poor quality BDSM gear, because the cuffs are cutting into his wrists unpleasantly. “You’re just gonna make yourself sick if you inject it into your own veins, mate. Who knows what’s still swimming around in there? Bubonic plague, Smallpox, Syphilis, Spanish Flu, all the ‘s’es really, AIDS for certain, and I definitely had Covid-19. I did the grocery run for all my elderly neighbors, so of course it got me.”

The mad scientist, who gave her name as Jill when she’d first started hanging around the New Inn a few months ago, sneers at Hob. 

“I’ve read Dracula,” she says, as she continues to fill the blood donation bags that she clearly stole from a clinic, if the labels on the equipment are correct.

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob protests. “Trust me. Besides, you’ve seen me in daylight–”

“Dracula could walk under the sun!”

“Dracula was fiction,” Hob points out, in what he feels is a very reasonable tone, all things considered.

He’s starting to get lightheaded from the blood loss, which is not a good sign.

He’d be alarmed, except this woman is one-thousand percent amateur, and while he’s absolutely mortified that he didn’t catch her dropping the roofie in his beer, he’s not at all concerned that he’ll be able to get himself out of this mess. He’s almost wriggled his way free of the cuffs–the only bonus of them being poor quality, otherwise they itch–and he feels pretty confident that he can get himself free and back home before Dee even realizes he’s not sleeping off a hangover upstairs, and starts investigating.

Of course the bitch waited for the weekend where Morph and Matthew are at a comics convention to play Frankenstien, or this stupid little garden shed would already be in cinders.

(Hob has to give her credit, she has soundproofed it very well, considering the amount of grey foam on the walls and the fact that no one came running when he began shouting his head off as soon as he woke up and realized where he was. There may have been some hysterical, terrified screaming before Hob registered that he wasn’t in some sort of government lab. But then he took a moment to breathe and think, and realized he could get out of here with enough time and focus.)

(Hob is totally changing the keypad on the door between the bar and his flat to a biometric thumbprint censor when he gets home.)

“The Bible was not fiction,” Jill insists, pulling out the blood draw needle and stopping the flow in Hob’s arm with a cotton ball and a bandaid with such expertise that Hob understands immediately that she must actually work at the clinic she’s stolen the supplies from.

Well, worked. She’s getting sacked the minute Hob can get to a phone.

He supposes he should be extending some of his usual charity and understanding to Jill, who just seems to have fallen into an unhealthy obsession, and definitely needs professional medical help. But she drugged him, broke into his flat, and kidnapped him, goddamn it. He’s allowed to be bitter and vengeful. At least for now.

“Parts of it are,” Hob says. “But that doesn’t mean every book is true.”

“Some fairytales are true. Some myths,” Jill presses, eyes glittering with manic delight.

“Well, yes,” Hob allows. “But–”

“I was there, the night the Devil gave you the Key to Hell,” Jill goes on, as if Hob hadn’t spoken. “I tried to get into the pub during the storm, but the door was locked, and when I looked in everyone was frozen, and there were angels bargaining with you, and you told them you were over six hundred years old–”

“That doesn’t make me a vampire!” Hob protests, furious with Lucifer for this oversight and honestly, already writing the scathing letter to his penpal in his head.

Dear Luci, did it not fucking occur to you to freeze the people who were outside in the parking lot too? Love Hob, 🖕

Jill looks down at him with pity, of all things. “It’s alright, Robert,” she says softly, as if he’s the one who’s confused. “I know it must be terrible, to be a monster who wants to do good things. I promise, you won’t be alone in that soon. We can be good monsters together.”

“I’m not a monster,” Hob gasps, horrified. “I don’t drink blood!”

Jill tilts her pitying look the other way. “You don’t have to lie to me, Robert, not me.” She crouches by the table, a comforting hand on his and a conspiratorial look in his eye. “Your thrall is always so pale and wan. There are marks on his throat.”

“My thra—do you mean my husband?” Hob says, incredulous.

Jill scowls. “He’s not your husband,” she insists. “You’re not gay. You were married to a woman. I watched Elizabethan Manor.”

“I’m bi!”

“That’s not a real thing,” Jill scoffs, and pats his hand as if he’s a silly child. “You don’t have to pretend with me. He’s your thrall, and that’s fine, that’s ethical, having an arrangement with one donor. I approve. I won’t mind that you keep him.”

Hob feels his face do something thunderous. “You won’t mind.”

“Of course,” Jill says, standing and turning away to do something with the bagged blood on the shed’s crumbling potting table. “When we’re married.”

“That is not happening,” Hob growls. “And if you even try it with Morph, I swear–”

“I just want you to know it’s fine,” Jill says consolingly. “I’m telling you right now, you can keep your pet. I’ve already come to terms with it. No need to quarrel about it.”

With her back turned, Hob can’t see what she’s doing, and he does not like that. However, it also means that she can’t see him, so he puts some real effort into getting the wrist furthest from her out of its cuff.

He stills when Jill turns back to him, a fat syringe filled with his blood in her hand and her sleeve already rolled up, a rubber band around her bicep.

“I don’t have to do it this way,” Jill says, reasonably. “It doesn’t have to be clinical.”

“Don’t do this–” Hob pleads.

“We could do it the fun way. I know you’re attracted to me.”

“I flirt with everyone while I’m tending bar, it’s my job, it doesn't mean–”

“And then, when eternity stretches out before us, you will share your secrets–”

“I have already!” Hob protests. “It’s not something that happened to me, it’s not, it’s not genetic, or, or… it’s not something that someone infected me with and it’s not something I can pass on. I know for a fact because I’ve had kids, and they died. I just… I made up my mind not to die, and so I don’t.”

He doesn’t mention Dream, or Death, or the Endless, because this bellend hasn’t brought them up at all, and he’s not about to give her more folks to go after. 

Jill laughs, as if he’s a toddler who thinks he’s told the world’s funniest joke. “I can’t wait for you to drop this charade. Oh, Robert, we’re going to be so good for each other…” She lines up the needle, and slides it under her skin.

“Seriously, Jill, you’re going to hurt yourself and I’d hate to be the reason for it–please, please don’t–”

Jill pushes down the plunger.

Fuck.

As Hob predicted, Jill starts to take a turn for the worse about an hour later.

Never mind that you can’t just Van Helsing your way through blood transfusions–even Hob knows that the body will reject a non-compatible blood type, and sometimes violently–Hob wasn’t joking when he said that he’s had every major disease ever. Antibodies are a thing of course, but there’s no guarantee that every fleck of illness in him has been subdued. 

“You’re not looking so good, Jill,” Hob says from the massage table. He’s got one arm free and has been trying to subtly work the other one. He doesn’t want to alert his captor that he’s loose until he can get his legs free first.

Part of the reason he says it is because he’s hoping she’ll leave to take care of herself, so he can get himself the rest of the way free and the fuck outta the shed before she comes back. The other part is because she genuinely does not look good.

Her skin is rapidly paling, leaving only feverish splotches of colour on her cheeks. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself where she hunches over the potting bench, shivering non-stop. The sweat is thick and clammy on her forehead.

“It’s just my mortal body dying,” Jill gasps around a wracking bout of chills.

“And that’s the problem,” Hob agrees. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“No,” Jill grunts.

“Jill, I’m not a vampire, but I didn’t lie when I said I was immortal. I’ve watched a lot of people die. Don’t make me watch you, too, not when there’s all this amazing modern medicine that can help you–”

“No,” Jill repeats.

Both wrists freed, Hob unclips the belt around his chest, and sits up. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then.” He reaches for the straps holding down his ankles.

“No!” Jill shouts, and shoots him.

Hob’s first thought, when he comes to, is that he hadn’t expected her to have a gun. 

He should have expected her to have a gun, because it was a safe assumption that anyone kidnapping and hoping to hold another human being against his will was likely to have a weapon of some kind. And Jill wasn’t exactly the type to be proficient in the art of the blade. A gun is the easiest weapon for an untrained civilian to use.

If one of the most painful to survive.

“Ow,” Hob says, unsure where exactly the pain was the most intense just yet, but deciding that it really does have to be said.

“Oh, you’re back to life,” Jill says from somewhere to his right. 

Hob rolls his head in her direction, at peers blearily at her. It’s too bright, whatever window is behind her blurred and glaring, making it hard to pin her in his sights.

“I’m not back to life, because I didn’t die,” Hob mutters.

“That was very rude of you,” Jill says, and then hunches over the steering wheel to cough hard for a few seconds.

Steering wheel?

Yes, steering wheel.

“That was rude of me?” Hob asks, struggling to sit up.

The side of his head screams in burning agony, and Hob bites down on a matching one that’s trying to crawl up his throat. Something hot and wet trickles over the shell of his ear and down his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut at the revolting sensation and realizes that most of the pain is coming from a spot just above his right ear.

Oh my god, she shot me in the head! 

Or, at least, the side of his head, he figures, seeing as he’s conscious right now. He wants to touch it, wants to see how much of his brains the bitch blew out, but his hands are bound behind his back with zip ties, and he’s strapped into the passenger seat of the junky old van they’re in.

Hob’s never been shot in the head before. He hopes he’s not losing any memories along with the grey matter.

“You’re not healing fast,” Jill says, ignoring his incredulity. “Are you hungry? Did I take too much blood? We can, uh, pick up a hitchhiker, I guess?”

“I’m not a vampire!” Hob snarls. “And I don’t have supernatural healing, either! I’m just a guy who cannot die! Ow!” he adds as his head throbs and another gush of what Hob assumes is blood and brains plops onto his shoulder. “This is seriously gross.”

Jill gags as a response, which turns into another series of coughs. She’s clutching so hard at the steering wheel that the van wobbles on the pavement in response. Agonizingly, Hob turns to look out the window and is relieved to see that they’re on a country road at least. Jill can’t accidentally drive into a crowd or oncoming traffic out here, thank god.

Jesu Maria, Hob’s head hurts. The pain and the whizzing landscape are combining to make him nauseous and he swallows his own spit and bites the inside of his cheek hard, because the last thing he wants to do is vomit when he’s strapped back like this, and his goddamned brains are leaking out of his goddamned skull.

“Where are we going?”

“My mum used to have a caravan in a park,” Jill slurs. “S’mine now. She died.”

Hob digests that. “Recently?”

Jill’s already blood-shot eyes well up with tears. “Last week.”

“Ah,” Hob says, but doesn’t add: So that’s why you decided to do this now. Her death scared the shit out of you. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Jill blinks hard, tears rolling down her cheeks, and then is taken by another coughing jag. The van skids off the asphalt dangerously, skidding in the gravel of the shoulder, bumping on to the grass for a heart-stopping few seconds before Jill jerks the wheel and rights it.

“WHeE! ThIs iS fUn,” says a voice from behind Hob. He doesn’t bother to turn to look, because he knows said voice well enough to place it immediately.

“Hey sis,” he greets Delirium. “You here for her or me?”

Del just reaches out to stroke Jill’s cheek kindly.

Jill, who can’t see the Endless in the van, nonetheless jerks at the touch, then turns to blink owlishly at Hob. “Who are you talking to?”

Hob shrugs. He sees no point obfuscating the truth. Not if Del’s presence means what he thinks it means. “My sister-in-law.”

Jill glances in the rearview mirror. “There’s no one here. Are you, like, communicating through telepathy?”

Hob groans and lets his head fall back against the seat instead of answering. “Ow.”

“Ew,” Del says, her face right up against his wound. “THaT iS sO cOOl.”

"Is it big?"

"MmmMmm, SiZe of A gOlF bAll?" 

He feels something, small and warm, touch the edge of the wound, just on the inside curve of his skull.

“Gross, don't stick your finger in it, Del.”

“Who are you talking to?” Jill demands again, twisting in her seat to check the back, eyes darting and rolling wildly. “Cut it out!”

“Pull over,” Hob says.

“No!”

“HoLd On,” Delirium says gently.

“How?” Hob chuckles.

All the same, Hob closes his eyes. He doesn’t like being in car crashes. He’s had enough nightmares about them to add fodder by witnessing what’s about to happen.

“Jill, please, for your sake, pull over.”

“No!”

“You’re not well, you need help. Please let me help you.”

“You are helping me,” Jill says, a stubborn set to her voice.

“Then, I’m sorry,” Hob says.

“Sorry for what? Hey, why are your eyes closed, are you–”

Hob wakes in the grass. His body must have been flung from the wreck, because when he shifts, he can’t see the van anywhere around. He feels like one giant bruise, and wriggling around to get his arms under his feet and in front of him is made easier (more painful! But easier!) by a dislocated shoulder. 

Once his hands are at his front, Hob decides to pass out again.

“Uncle Hob,” Dream of the Endless says, when Hob collapses at the foot of his throne. “You can’t stay.”

“I’m exhausted,” Hob complains. “And I don’t hurt here. Can I rest just a little?”

“No,” Dream says, emerald eyes glittering, and blows sand in his face. “It's not safe for you to be unconscious right now. This dream is–”

Hob gasps back to reality, screaming as his consciousness slams back into his body. His voice echoes across the night sky, scaring some birds from the nearby hedgerows. Hob pants and whines as he takes stock of the extent of the damage–the side of his head, his dislocated shoulder, scrapes like fire on the exposed skin of his cheek and arms, and, yeah, that’s a broken ankle.

Fuck.

He lays still for a very long time, watching the stars wheel overhead, and after a while he realizes that nobody is coming. The road is deserted, there are no sirens in the distance, and Hob has no idea where his phone is. 

Del is gone.

He would have liked the company, but he's feeling tortuously clear-headed from the pain right now, so he understands why she couldn't stick around.

Hob rolls and jerks around on the ground until he gets his shoulder popped back into its socket, grunting and sobbing with the relief of it. Then he slides his zip-tied wrists between one knee and jerks hard until the plastic snaps. Not before it gouges deep into the flesh on the backs of his hands, though, leaving thin, weeping cuts behind. 

Hob manages to get himself upright, and take stock of his surroundings. Several car-lengths behind him on the road, the balustrade of a small one-lane stone bridge is smashed outward, a piece of the van swinging from one of the poles.

Fuck, again.

Hob limps over to the side and peers down at the wreckage of twisted metal resting against the stone pier cap. He watches for a few minutes. He's just about to give up when he thinks he sees something moving inside.

Triple fuck.

The water rushing under the bridge is deep and likely to be cold, this late in the autumn. Bracing himself for the shock of it, and the pain swimming will cause his ankle, Hob throws himself over the side. He surfaces a few meters away from the van, and struggles against the current until he can get his hand on the dented fender and haul himself close enough to heave his torso over the side and get a good perch on the crushed remains of the passenger door.

By the time Hob has caught his breath enough to try peering through the window, Death is already perched beside him on one of the wheels.

“Oh,” Hob says. Sinking realization makes him slip a little.

“I’m sorry,” Death says, reaching out to offer Hob both a hug and a more stable perch against the crumpled metal.

“Me too,” Hob agrees, burying his face against his sister-in-law’s shoulder and letting her hold him up. “Damn shitty way to die.”

Death holds him until Destruction rescues him from the river, a few hours later, with an ambulance and half a fire brigade following in his wake.

PART TWO "A HOSPITAL BRACELET: COMFORT"

#losyark #the hob adherent series #hob adherent #hob x dream #dream x hob #hob gadling #hob whump #hurt/comfort #dreamling fic #dreamling #dream of the endless #matthew the raven #netflix the sandman #the sandman #the sandman fic #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman fanfic #fanfiction #dreamling fanfic #centennial husbands #centennial boyfriends

[thegrimalldis]

This is for the very special nonnie who sent me their headcanon/au story for Chriszola. If you would like to read it, I put it under the cut!

My very very very long AU Chriszola headcanon goes like this. From where you currently left them off in the story they continue to grow closer as friends now that Zola’s told him the truth about Green Eyes and they made up over what Chris said to Max. Zola keeps working on writing and recording Circus Attraction and is thriving in the creative process. She’s doing so well in fact that Eric(?) the CEO for Rift Records is NOT happy to see that Zola is on her way to producing another hit album. So Eric has one of the producers working on Zola’s album send over one of the tracks to Mikael for Hailee to secretly record. Rift Records pull the ultimate snake move and release an EP from Hailee that was completely stolen from the album Zola was working on. Hailee goes viral on TikTok with the song breaking Spotify streaming records. Zola is absolutely devastated to the point where she doesn’t leave her house for two weeks and cancels several appearances she has and Chris is so concerned he goes and stays with her to make sure she’s eating and taking care of herself. The sleuth Zolanators end putting together that Hailee’s new hit song must have been written by Zola based on lyrics and stylistic similarities between the song and the music off of the Green Eyes album. But Zola isn’t credited as a writer on the song! Based on Zola’s cancelled appearances, social media silence, and leaks within the music industry it goes public that Zolanation’s theory about her song being stolen was right! Zola leaves her house for the first time in weeks to pick up some groceries and is hounded by the press to the point where she gets caught on camera having a panic attack while trying to safely exit the store. The store owner ends up having to call an ambulance/the police and Zola ends up checking herself into a facility so that she can receive treatment for her mental health and the stress she’s been under. Chris goes with Zola’s mom Lorelai to drop her off at the treatment center. Rift Records and Hailee receive a TON of backlash. It’s so bad that both are also blamed for Zola’s panic attack and stay at the treatment center.

While Zola is at the treatment center for two months, Chris runs into Hailee at one of Nate’s parties. She tries to approach Chris but he gives her the cold shoulder as he thinks that she was aware that she was singing Zola’s music. Hailee tells him that she had no idea the single had been written by Zola, as Mikael (her producer) came to her one day and said that Eric had a great new single in mind that he thought would be perfect for her. Hailee recorded the song trusting the more experienced producers around her. Had she known the song had been stolen from Zola’s upcoming album she would have said no to recording it. Hailee feels awful about what went down with Zola because she herself was a huge Zola fan as a teen and has always admired her for paving the way for other female musicians like herself. Chris believes her. During this same time, the Grimalldis are not the kindest when it comes to Zola. They don’t know anything about the true rumors going around about Rift Records stealing her song to give it too Hailee. They just know she had a public meltdown of some sort and is off in “rehab.” Lottie makes an offhand comment one night during a family dinner about how this is Zola’s karma coming to get her and in a very rare moment for Chris he goes off on her at the dinner table. Telling her and his family how disappointed he is to hear them judging Zola, a woman they don’t know, when they have no clue what’s really been going on with her. He tells them about her mental health struggles, and how Rift Records had already been trying to phase her out before this incident, and how the label stole her song to give to Hailee. Chris also reveals that Zola never meant to publish Green Eyes, that it was leaked by someone else to get her a breakthrough hit and that she and him have made up over it. But mostly he tells his family he’s disappointed to hear them belittling someone who is so clearly suffering at the moment, especially because of their own family’s history with public breakdowns (cc: Cora attacking Josh’s car/Eleanor’s failed wedding). Chris believes he was raised better than this and that his family is capable of more empathy and compassion than is being displayed. Even if they don’t believe Zola about Green Eyes he tells them that they should be embarrassed of themselves for not trusting Chris’ own judgment and respecting his friendship with Zola, because if he was able to forgive her and move on from what happened then as his family they should respect that. He coldly gets up and leaves the table leaving behind a crying Lottie who feels terrible and a stunned rest of the table.

During her stay at the treatment facility, Zola connects well with one of the counselors there who is able to get her to delve into the sources of much of her anxiety and depression (her relationship with her dad, lack of friends besides Chris, trust issues, an unhealthy relationship with food etc). She makes good progress while in treatment and when she leaves she actually sends her dad a handwritten note she wrote him while in treatment opening up about how their poor relationship has impacted her, telling him she’s not ready to see him right now but one day hopes they can sit down and repair their relationship. Lorelai (her mom) picks her up from the treatment center, and brings Zola back home where she is shocked to find that Chris has delivered a huge assortment of sunflowers (Zola’s favorite) with a note about how he wanted to bring some sunshine to her and that he can’t wait to see her once she’s settled back in. Lorelai sees the smile on Zola’s face reading the card and tells her “I think that I may have been wrong about that Grimalldi boy. He checked in with me everyday while you were away to make sure that you were okay.” While away Zola wasn’t getting her hair dyed, and she decides now that she’s back home that she’s done with the look that Rift Records designed for her. She goes to see her hair stylist and has them color her hair back to her natural brunette color. When Chris sees her for the first time since she got back home it brings a huge smile to his face to see Zola back to her natural roots. He offers to refer her to his lawyers if she wants to sue Rift Records and Eric, Zola thanks him and tells him that she and her lawyers are working on their solution. Zola ends up having a meeting with her team of lawyers and Eric’s. Her terms are simple: a writing credit on the song they stole from her and gave to Hailee; to be let out of her contract early with no money owed to the label , and to allow her to leave with al of the unfinished circus attraction tracks that she and her producers had been working on. Eric laughs at her and tells her that Rift Records own all of the music that she’s written in the past as well as her upcoming album and that if she wants out the label won’t allow her to take the new music she was working on elsewhere. Zola calls his bluff and tells Eric that if he doesn’t acquiesce to her more than fair terms she will go the press and agree to a sit down interview where she spills all to the world about the toxic nature of the label, how Eric stole her music to try and prop up Haille and pit them against each other, and how the pressures and stress she faced over years of mistreatment culminated in her public breakdown. Her lawyers are prepared to sue Rift Records for intentional infliction of emotional distress and copyright infringement based on an obscure clause in Zola’s contract that gave her songwriting credits on released Rift Records musical property. Zola makes it clear to Eric that holding her and her music hostage will simply be a PR nightmare and that her fans have already publicized what he did to her and Hailee. The legal team for Rift Records advises Eric to agree to Zola’s terms and in exchange she gets no money that was still owed to her under her contract and the label still owns the rights to all her previous music. Zola agrees so that she can finally be free to move on and make new music the way she wants.

With her newfound freedom, Zola signs with a smaller label that is more client based and actually has female producers (a rarity in the music industry). Zola and her new producer Maya get along very well and together they finish writing and producing the Circus Attraction Album. Hailee reaches out to Zola after it’s announced that she’s left Rift Records and the two privately meet up to discuss what went down with the song. They talk everything out and even manage to post a photo together on their insta grids showing them meeting up together with the caption “#womensupportingwomen” which sends both their fanbases into a tizzy and has Eric and Rift Records trending for hours on twitter being dragged as a misogynist who tried to make these two girls enemies of each other. While Zola is getting her career back on track, Margot has a talk with Max and tells him that Chris was right, the family behaved very poorly in their reactions to Zola’s struggles and they had no right to judge her so harshly when they themselves are far from perfect. Max says that even though Chris says he and Zola have made up he still is weary about Chris being friends with her because he viewed her notoriety and fans as being a liability to the family’s public image. Margot says that they have to trust Chris in whom he is friends with. Max says he’s worried that they may become more than just friends to which Margot reminds him that if that day comes they will cross that bridge then. Chris ignored Lottie’s many phone calls for a week until she sent him a photo of Clarice saying that his niece missed her Uncle Chris. Chris agreed to meet up with Lottie and she apologized for how insensitive her comments were, telling him that her anger over the years came from how hurt she knew Chris had been back then. She realizes that he was right in not knowing who Zola as an adult was and that kicking her while she was down was not cool as Lottie is a better person than that. She tells Chris she’s still uncomfortable with him being so close with Zola now because she thinks her world is not right for Chris. Chris assures her for the umpteenth time that they are just friends and he needs to respect that. Lottie agrees to back off. Zola and Chris continue being best friends and she eventually debuts Circus Attraction to record breaking success.

Circus Attraction is the biggest success of Zola’s career and over the next two years she debuts the album and embarks on a world-wide stadium tour, selling out every venue and rebranding her image as the Queen of Pop.  Chris and Zola continue their friendship and meet up when they can in-between her tour stops. Chris makes sure to have food delivered to Zola’s hotel/tour bus at least once a week while she’s on tour to continue their tradition of him making sure she eats a real meal. During those two years Chris continues his royal work as the Duke of Wells and has two non-serious relationships. He dates a Windasian model for 4 months and then a few months later dates a marketing executive for six months that he met through mutual friends at a dinner party. Zola meets both of them, and neither takes a liking to the “best friend” that Chris is always delivering food too and texting 24/7. Lottie is still dropping hints to Chris that he and a single Emi should get back together, as she wasn’t a fan of the model (who she met once briefly ) and is mad she never even got to meet the marketing executive. Zola on the other hand stays single (aside from some much needed one night stands cause a girl has needs) and focuses on herself and planning her next album.

Once her Circus Attraction Tour is over and she’s back in Monaca she tells Chris about how even when she was on tour she felt like she still didn’t really get to enjoy any of the places she went too b/c she was on such a busy schedule and how she wishes she’d had more downtime. Chris tells her that she still can and tells her to be spontaneous with him and catch a flight to Paris that night. Zola is obviously confused and tells him they can’t just jump on a plane! Chris is like “why not? It’s Saturday and I don’t have any engagements until Monday.” Tempted by Chris’ offer of a full day of sightseeing with her best friend and the use of the Grimalldi private jet she agrees. They fly to Paris and spend the day lazily wandering down the city streets, stopping for lunch inside street side cafes indulging in French bread with homemade butter, croissants, and all the delicacies Parisian bakeries have to offer. To keep themselves under the radar they don’t go to any fancy restaurants for dinner instead buying cheap wine and delicious food from street vendors. As the night wears on they end up at one of the parks that has a picturesque view of the Eiffel Tower, sitting there under the stars, full moon shining down at them, Zola thanks Chris for being there for her and tells him that she truly doesn’t believe she would have survived the last three years without him. Chris echoes her sentiments. Zola then laughs telling him that since she was a kid she’d always dreamed of spending a night underneath the Paris skyline with a mysterious Frenchman who swept her off her feet. She never imagined she’d actually to do it with her ex-boyfriend/best friend who just soo happens to be a prince. As they’re both laying in the grass Chris tickles her at that remark and they both start to laugh as Chris hits all of Zola’s ticklish spots. Sparks fly as he ends up hovered right above her and for a brief moment their lips almost touch. They start intensely at one another before Zola breaks away laughing a bit to lighten up the mood. But despite their attempts to laugh off their almost kiss, both are now aware that something has shifted for each of them. Zola tells Chis that she knows he’s lonely and that he thinks he’ll never fall in love again after Emi, but she tells him that she thinks that he’s wrong and that hell fall in love again one day without even realizing it. During their red-eye flight home early that next morning both are consumed with thoughts about what happened. And while Chris is asleep on the plane, the sunlight pouring through the window and falling on his face, Zola starts  humming along a melody that coms to mind, eventually writing down on her napkin the following lyrics: “I want to brainwash you into loving me forever. Confess my truth in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.” These lyrics spark her creativity for her next album and end up being the first track she writes, with the song aptly titled “Paris” (cc; Taylor’s Swift’s song Paris off the Midnight Albums to hear what it sounds like).

Back in Monaca, Zola is eager to get back into the studio and start working on her next album feeling inspired by the initial lyrics she’s written down so far for “Paris” Meanwhile Chris gets back into work and trying to convince himself that what he felt in Paris for Zola was just a momentary lapse of tension fueled by being in Paris. They are just friends. Zola on the other hand has long realized that she’s had feelings for Chris. Before her public breakdown she knew she had a crush on him, and once she got out of treatment and was regularly seeing a therapist she accepted that those feelings were more than a crush, especially as she and Chris grew closer over the next several years. But because she knew Chris only saw her as a friend she never said anything, and has just been focused on taking care of herself. Over the next few months Chris keeps having to stop himself from thinking of Zola in a romantic way as his attraction to her grows. Things hit a huge roof spot though when Zola finds out that her dad has been diagnosed with terminal prostate cancer. She hasn’t spoken to her dad in three years since their argument that sparked the idea for Circus Attraction. Despite her reaching out to him after she got out of treatment he never responded to her letter and Zola had decided to just move on. Her dad’s diagnosis hits Zola very hard as Thaddeus is only 60 years old. Zola goes through the full range of emotions, anger at her dad for not ever reaching out to her when she was in crisis and at her worst physically and mentally, sadness that they don’t have the time together she thought they would to repair things, regret at all the time they lost out on together. Thad’s prognosis is not good and the doctors only give him a few months to live, not wanting to die in the hospital he elects to forgo treatment and spend his final days at home with Sharon. Sharon and Greg reach out to Zola and beg her to come see Thad as they don’t want him to die with the two of them estranged. Zola declines to go see him the first two months after he’s diagnosed as she’s still processing her feelings over the situation. Finally she gets a call from Sharon telling her it’s now or never. Chris volunteers to go with Zola to say goodbye to her dad as he knows that she doesn’t want to go alone, and Lorelai doesn’t want to see him. Zola arrives to see her dad and it’s clear that Thaddeus is in his last days and won’t be conscious for much longer. Zola sits down with him and tells him it’s her, as at this point he’s having a hard time deciphering who he’s talking too. In his disoriented state Thaddeus doesn’t recognize her, and keeps asking for his “little girl” making Zola realize that he’s referring to her. Knowing she’ll never be able to have the conversation with him she’s so desperately wanted, she instead takes his hand and starts singing Jeff Buckley’s version of Hallelujah, tears streaming down her face. Thaddeus calms down and drifts off into sleep, never fully regaining consciousness before he passes away three days laters. Unbeknownst to Zola, Chris and Sharon are watching Zola and Thaddeus' goodbye from the hallway. Both in tears it’s at this moment that Chris realizes that he thinks he’s falling in love with his best friend.

After Zola’s dad dies, Chris is more confused than ever. He goes to Edmund’s house because he needs someone to talk things over with. He tells Edmund how he always knew that Emi was the love of his life and that he could never imagine himself loving anyone else the way that he loved her. But that now he has feelings for Zola and he’s not sure what to do. Edmund tells Chris that two things can be true at once. Emi was a great love of Chris’ life, and what he had with her was special and one of a kind and isn’t something that he’ll share with anyone else again in the same way. But that doesn’t mean that he can’t fall in love with someone else and experience a great love story with them that is just theirs and just as worth having. Like Edmund says  if Chris thinks that he and Zola are worth taking that risk together, then he needs to stop wasting his time talking to Edmund and go tell Zola that 😂 Shortly after this Chris and Zola both end up attending another party of Nate’s. At this party Maya, Zola’s producer introduces her to an artist named Matt that she’s friends with and who she has been wanting to get Zola on a date with forever. Zola and Matt hit off and are just engaging in interesting small talk when Chris arrives at the party. He sees Zola with Matt and can tell that Matt’s interested in her. Although he knows it’s not fair for him to feel this way, he’s jealous plain and simple. In typical Chris fashion when he’s uncomfortable he retreats inwardly, and spends the rest of the party ignoring Zola and Matt. Zola on the other hand notices that Chris is there and when she tries to say hi to him is hurt when he quickly blows her off, briefly introducing himself to Matt before walking away to chat with Nate for the rest of the night. Pissed off Zola shows up at Chris’ house after the party and demands to know why he was ignoring her all night. Chris denies he was ignoring her to which Zola calls bullshit. “I’ve been your best friend for four years now Chris. I know when you’re lying. Just be honest with me” Chris insists that he just was in a bad mood and didn’t want to disturb her and Matt. This really upsets Zola as she realizes now that he was jealous. She tells Chris that this isn’t fair, that he doesn’t get to have her as his best friend, but then ignore her when she’s just talking to another guy. Especially when it’s been obvious since she got out of the treatment center that she’s been in love with him. Chris is shocked to hear Zola say it out loud and she repeats herself: “There I said it. I’m in love with you Chris. I’ve been in love with you all this time and I think deep down part of you has always known that.” Zola breaks down and with tears starting to trickle down her eye tells Chris that she thought she could keep her feelings to herself, just accept only having Chris as her friend, but that she realizes now it’s not fair to either of them to do that. She deserves to be with someone who loves her and that if Chris doesn’t feel the same way he needs to tell her so that she can finally let go of the possibility of Chris and move on with her life. Chris is genuinely stunned and doesn’t know what to say. He tells Zola that over the last year since their Paris trip he has thought of her as more than a friend but that he didn’t know how to handle it and doesn’t know what to do. Zola is heartbroken and tells him that she thinks they both need some space away from each other. As she’s leaving his house she drops off an envelope for him and tells him it’s an early birthday present.

A week goes by and Chris and Zola still haven’t spoken. Chris is informed at the last minute that he needs to take Eleanor’s place on an upcoming engagement in Gardania (much to Lottie’s delight) because Eleanor’s doctor has advised her not to travel due to her pregnancy complications (she’s pregnant with Ingrid at this point). Chris travels to Gardania where he undertakes an engagement with none other than Miss Emilia DeVilliers herself. Chrisemi undertake their engagement together, astutely handling the press’ invasive questions about whether they’re going to get back together. After the engagement is over Emi asks Chris if he’d like to have dinner with her that night as friends to catch up. Chris agrees. They have dinner and easily fall back into their old banter and routine with one another. An hour and 2 glasses of wine into dinner Emi mentions the elephant in the room and asks Chris if he ever imagines what their lives together would have been like had they not broken up. Chris tells her of course he has, that everyday for the first few years after their break up he thought about her and wished that he had been more mature so that he could have handled his military deployment better. He apologizes to Emi for not communicating with her properly and tells her that she deserved more than to be blindsided like that. Emi accepts his apology and apologizes for not having recognized sooner that Chris was struggling at the time and that trying to fix things for him wasn’t what he needed. She also says she’s sorry if she hurt him once she started dating Bart. Chris admits he was upset about it because he knew that Bart had feelings for Emi while they were together and it made him second guess whether she did too. Emi says she didn’t and that after the break up she was so heart broken that it was just easy and comfortable to fall back into a relationship with Bart since they knew each other so well and trusted each other. She was lonely and he was the right person who was there for her when she needed it. This then leads Emi to ask Chris about Zola. Seeing them rekindle their friendship really surprised Emi and she had her own thoughts about whether Chris had thought about her during their relationship. Chris doesn’t hesitate to say no, absolutely not. He never thought about Zola while he was with Emi and probably never would have spoken to her again had they not both ended up together at Nate’s beach party that day. But even then Chris tells Emi he’s glad that he and Zola came back into each other’s lives when they did because they were both there for one another when they really needed it. Staring at him Emi can tell that Chris cares about Zola quite deeply, and she tells him quietly that she thinks he should tell Zola that he’s in love with her. A surprised Chris aks Emi how she can tell and she said its obvious from the way that his face lights up when he talks about as it her reminds Emi of how he used to look at her when they were together. Chris tells Emi he thinks he’s already blown his chance, but she tells him to learn from their mistakes and go after her. As they end their evening giving each other a warm hug goodbye, neither notices that they’ve been photographed by an annoying paparazzo with a long-lease camera from across the street.

The next morning Chris awakens to a flurry of text messages and missed calls from his press secretary, Helena, Max, and most importantly Lottie as photos of him and Emi from the night before have been posted all over the internet proclaiming them back together. Chris freaks out because he realizes how this is going to look to Zola and he doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea about him and Emi. He tries calling and texting her but doesn’t get a response. On his flight back home to Monaca as he’s stressing he remembers the envelope Zola had left him. He’d packed it inside his briefcase but had forgotten to open it. Inside it the envelope is a flash drive and a note that simply reads: “to the only person I’d want to explore Paris with” Intrigued Chris plugged the flash drive into his laptop and clicked play on the single track labeled “Paris” as he did he was taken aback hearing the song that Zola had written about their night together. Hearing Zola belt out:

I wanna brainwash you into loving me forever. I wanna transport you. To somewhere the culture’s clever. Confess my truth in swooping, sloping, cursive letters. Let the only flashing lights be the tower at midnight….in an alleyway, drinking champagne. Cause we were in Paris. Yes we were somewhere else. My love, we were in Paris, Yes we were somewhere else.”

Chris realized not only how much Zola loved him but how much he loved her too. When his plane landed he called his press secretary and told him to put out a statement denying the reports about him an Emi and to clear his schedule for the rest of the day because he had an important stop he had to make. Racing over to Zola’s house Chris banged on the door hoping she was home. When Zola answered Chris told her to not say anything and to just hear him out: He didn’t know what she’d heard or seen online about him and Emi but none of it was true. It was just two friends saying goodbye after a great dinner together. And the reason he needed her to know is because she’s his best friend, and being honest with each other is what they do. Which is why he was sorry for not being honest with her about his feelings for her sooner. Because the truth is that he’s in love with her and he has been ever since their night together in Paris. He was just too scared to admit it because after Emi he was so heartbroken he thought he would never fall in love again and he didn’t want to get hurt. That night in Paris Zola had told Chris that one day he would fall in love again without even realizing it, and she was right, he had…with her. Slowly and then all at once. He’d listened to “Paris” and although he wasn’t the mysterious frenchman of her dreams, if she’d have him he would love to be the guy she always wants to roam the streets of Paris with. Queue Zola jumping into Chris’ arms and telling him “it took you long enough” as they both laugh and share a movie-worthy kiss.

Chris and Zola start dating and four months later the Grimalldi’s press office announces their relationship after being tipped off that the press was about to publish a story on them dating.  Their relationship announcement sends Zolanation into such a freak out that they break twitter and cause the app to go down from all the freak outs over their reunion. Zola’s next album comes out two months later with Paris as the debut track (released with Chris’ permission). And after realizing that Paris is about Chris, most of Zolanation become ardent supporters of their rekindled romance. At Margot’s behest the rest of the family is respectful and supportive of Chris dating Zola. Even Lottie comes to like Zola the more time she actually starts to spend with her. A year and half into their relationship Chris tells Helena + Marmax that he wants to propose to Zola and that once they’re married he’s stepping down from being a working royal. Chris lets them know that he’ll continue to serve the family with dignity in the future work he wants to pursue but that he wants to build a life with Zola and he knows that being a working royal isn’t for her. Helena and Max are NOT happy about this but Margot makes it clear to them that they need to respect Chris’ choices or risk losing him. With Margot ever the voice of reason, Helena and Max give Chris their blessing to propose to Zola. Chris proposes to Zola in Paris (of course) at midnight on the anniversary of the night of their infamous trip. They get married in a private ceremony on the beach where they first reconnected at Nate’s party 6 years ago. True to his word Chris renounces his duchy title and decides to start his own non-profit organization aimed at helping military veterans re-adjusting to civilian life. The inspiration was the series of journals his Uncle Nicholas had written during his military tenure and in his first year back at home after the Nihon War. Eliza had given the journals to Chris before he left for his initial deployment and they provided him with a lot of guidance during his first few years of service. Zola retired from singing and touring after her she and Chris got married as she wanted to settle down and have a family. Two years after their wedding they had twins Julian (boy) and Lydia (a girl) (aka the fake Chriszola babies you previously made). When the twins are three Zola eventually writes and produces an album of children’s lullabies inspired by her twins, the album is a success and she ends up winning another grammy for it. When the twins are four oopsie baby number three happens Evelyn (girl) aka Evie. She has Zola’s brown hair and the Grimalldi green eyes. Chris and Zola raise their kids out of the spotlight (as much as they can) but luckily for Zola’s fans after her children’s album she makes guest appearances over the years singing at some of the events put on by Chris’s non-profit. Although Zola was never able to really heal her relationship with her dad before he died, she remains close to her stepmom Sharon and her brother Greg. Chriszola happily grow old together watching their kids grow up. Julian ends up following in his dad’s footsteps and takes over running the non-profit once Chris retires. Lydia ends up becoming a famous fashion model and Evie becomes an archaeologist specializing in Ancient Egyptian history (yes this is 100% a nod to the badass that is Miss Evelyn O’Connor of The Mummy Series).

The End. 

#ts4 story #ts4 screenshots #ts4 bts #ts4 legacy #ts4 storytelling #the sims 4 story #the sims 4 screenshots #the sims 4 bts #the sims 4 legacy #the sims 4 storytelling #ts4 roleplay #ts4 edit #ts4 simblr #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 screenies #sims 4 screenies #ts4 family #extras

[hearteyeshayley]

Ao3 is down so I decided to post a cut scene from an early draft of my latest Timkon 50k friends with benefits fic! In this version of the story, Tim thinks they’re fuck buddies and Kon thinks they’re already dating lmaooo enjoy! 

“Are you scared to tell your family?” Kon asked, lying on his stomach across the picnic blanket on the grass. He’d planned a late lunch for them on a secluded New York beach. It was a crappy beach, with a polluted ocean and grassy hills pressed right up against the sand which was mostly sharp pebbles. It had an endless blue sky and guaranteed privacy though, which was what Kon had been looking for. 

Tim poured himself a glass of wine. 

“I’m not scared. I’m preemptively annoyed, because none of them have any sense of boundaries.” 

Kon gave him a look.

“I can be annoyed and a hypocrite. My private life is none of their business. And my sexuality shouldn’t change anything, so why do I need to shout it from the rooftops?” 

Kon held out his empty glass and when Tim didn’t refill it, used his TTK to tilt the bottle. 

“I would’ve made a move way sooner if I knew you were gay.” 

Tim was too flattered to give him a proper eye roll.

“How much sooner?” 

Kon swirled the wine in his glass and pretended to think about it. 

“3, 4 years.” 

This time, Tim rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, right.” 

“I’m so serious,” he said, forcing a light-hearted tone that betrayed a touch of insecurity. That made Tim pause. Maybe he was serious. 

“What about you?” Kon asked, sitting up, “I mean— when was it, for you?” 

“Well, when you kissed me, I figured, what the hell?” 

Kon crawled on top of him and Tim let him, setting his wine glass on the charcuterie board with a smirk. 

“Yeah, right,” Kon parroted back to him, pinning him to the blanket. “I bet it was the Costa Rica mission. I looked really sexy in that wet suit.” 

“I was pretty distracted by the robot sharks.” 

“No, I know what it was,” his eyes lit up, “After we fought Luthor and the drones, back when I still wore my leather jacket. I got pissed off at everybody, stole a motorcycle, and just drove off like a badass.”  

“I think I was probably upset. And worried about you.” 

“But you were a little into it,” he gave him sly look, “Because you have a thing for bad boys. Obviously.” 

“Oh, right. Because of my crush on Jaime.” 

Kon scooped him up and rolled to flip their positions, but kept him wrapped in his arms. Tim smiled down on him. 

“You’re full of shit. I’m the baddest boy you know.”   

“Remember when you baked a second batch of cookies because you felt bad you didn’t save one for Bart.” 

“Totally irrelevant.” 

“Remember when you— what are you doing?” 

Kon grinned. He floated three feet into the air, Tim lying on top of him. 

“Remember that time we had sky sex?” 

Tim raised his eyebrows, but he was smiling too. 

“No way. You’ll lose concentration and drop.” 

“You don’t think I can keep it up?” 

Tim reached down and unzipped Kon’s pants. He didn’t ask if Kon had done this before, because if he had, they all would’ve heard about it for weeks. It was exciting, getting to do something together for the first time. Even if it was something stupid that was probably going to end with something sprained. He sat up, balancing with his knees on Kon’s legs until he felt his TTK wrap him up securely in position. 

“I’ll do it as an exercise to improve your concentration.” 

“Ooh, yeah, baby. Tell me my mission objective.” 

Tim couldn’t tell him anything because he swallowed his dick into his mouth. To his credit, he managed to stay in the air until he came, and Tim didn’t sprain anything because Kon broke his fall. The wine glasses were collateral damage, but they still had half a bottle protected carefully in the picnic basket. 

They laid on the blanket face to face, with the smell of salt in the air and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. 

“Happy one month,” Kon joked. “You’re— I’ve been… um. It’s been cool.” 

Tim knew it’d been a month since this whole friends with benefits thing started, but he didn’t expect Kon to remember something like that. It was probably because they got together on the night of the Wendy premiere, a date he’d never forget. A part of Tim wondered if this spontaneous picnic was supposed to be a joke, or maybe just an excuse to hook up on the beach. Kon was really into beach sex. 

“You didn’t get me flowers?” Tim pretended to be disappointed. Kon went from zero to hundred, looking so panic stricken that Tim had to give up the joke of a real anniversary and laugh. 

Kon started laughing, too. 

“Just you wait. I’m gonna give you the most obnoxious, cheesy flowers ever.” 

Tim kept laughing, but suddenly the joke wasn’t funny. 

The problem was Kon didn’t do serious relationships. He hadn’t since Cassie. And he’d defended his casual sex lifestyle a million times, outlining the ways it was more fun, more convenient, and more practical in their line of work. 

He might’ve thought Tim was hot, but he thought a lot of people were hot. 

Tim had to ask him to be his boyfriend at just the right moment. Once he made himself an integral part of Kon’s schedule. After he’d convinced him that monogamy could be convenient, too. Once he was confident that he was the best sex of his life, and proved to him that he could be whatever he needed. And of course he’d need to do more research, figure out if Kon was seeing other people, or if Kon saw him as more than a friend who would fuck him. 

He couldn’t rush this. It was a mission that deserved his time and 100 percent effort, maybe the most important mission of his life. Maybe they could get married one day.  

Tim felt sick. They’d been fucking around for a month and he was thinking about marriage. It was so easy to delude himself, like now, watching Kon pack up the picnic he’d prepared for them. His hair, blowing in the wind, his ass in the air as he put the food back in the basket. It was so ordinary that it wrapped back around to being a scene from his wildest dreams. A paper napkin got caught in the wind and Kon flew after it. It was a tiny piece of litter, but that’s the kind of person he was. Of course he’d plan a perfect lunch like this for a friend. It was like the cookies for Bart. He went above and beyond for the people he loved. 

Tim clung to the scrap of hope that one day, Kon would love him in a different way. 

#timkon #timkon fic #batman #ao3

[lackablazeical]

Addams! Au snippet 1: 'Alley'

FULL CREDIT TO WRITER NewFallenLeaves ON A03! SHE HELPED KEEP THIS AU GOING TO AND GET WHERE IT IS TODAY, AND MAKES WONDERFUL CONTENT FOR THIS FANDOM. GIVE HER LOVE, A KUDO AND COMMENT, ETC ETC. DO YOUR THING TO MAKE HER FEEL GOOD FEELS :]

These snippets are probs gonna be posted once a week, Tuesdays, early morning (for me) so look out for that!!! :]

And some human Leosagi doodle as a celebration, too :]]

Full snippet below the cut! ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Leo held back as the two thugs moved into the alley after the rabbit yokai. Their posture, the way they checked quickly behind them to see if they were being observed, their attempts to keep their footfalls discreet – all of it was so obvious.

“Stealing my idea, assholes,” Leo muttered.

He waited until they were several feet past the entrance of the alley before darting over the gap to land on the opposite roof. From there, he swung down onto a fire escape platform, landing soundlessly. He crouched and peered through the iron slats of the railing, watching the little drama unfold below.

“Hey! Usagi.” The first thug spoke.

The rabbit yokai stiffened.

“What’d we tell you about comin’ this way, eh?”

Usagi didn’t even bother to turn. He bolted.

The two yokai burst into a sprint after him.

The alley only continued for another few yards before taking a ninety-degree turn. Leo scurried along the fire escape railing, then leaped for an iron pipe that ran vertically at the corner of the building. He caught it with one hand, let his momentum carry him around the corner, and then dropped, snagging a windowledge and clinging like a spider.

Below him, Usagi had come to a dead stop. The remainder of the alley was a jammed mess of twisted metal. The cab of a truck had somehow smashed in at a nearly-sideways angle, its hood crumpled and glass shattered. Its trailer was wedged, jutting partway out of the alley and into the street beyond.

One of the yokai cackled. “Didn’t expect us to block that, didja?”

“You stole and crashed an eighteen-wheeler in an alleyway, just to screw with me?” said Usagi.

“Sick and tired of you ducking us,” said the first yokai. He pulled a switchblade from his belt and flicked it open.

It was a little blade, barely a few inches. Hardly deadly. He lunged forward and swiped at Usagi, probably more to intimidate than to actually harm. But for whatever reason, Usagi seemed to have not been prepared for the sudden move, and the blade caught his forearm before he could back out of range.

Drips of blood hit the pavement.

The scent of it wafted, and Leo couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward.

Usagi backed into a corner near the truck’s front tires. He clutched at the wound, clearly trying to staunch the flow, but only succeeded in squeezing more rivulets from the open flesh. It dripped down his hand, tracing red clots through his pale fur. The thug stalked forward, blade out, grin widening.

“Back off, before you regret it,” said Usagi.

“Big talk,” said the thug. “But you’re just a scared little rabbit, you can’t do nothin’ about it–”

Leo dropped in front of him, sword already in motion.

It took the yokai’s arm off just below the elbow. For what felt like several seconds, the thug stared stupidly at the stump and his hand, which was now on the ground, fingers still clenched around the handle of the switchblade. “What the f–”

Leo flipped his grip on the sword and snapped the hilt into the yokai’s face. Cartilage cracked, and the yokai staggered backwards, clutching his nose with his remaining hand. Blood poured freely down over his mouth and chin. He glared at Leo through watery eyes, incredulous.

Leo blew him a kiss.

The yokai gurgled, looking unsteady on his feet. His friend gripped his shoulder, pulling him back the way they’d come. “Screw this!”

They fled.

Leo slung the sword over his shoulder, reveling in the pitter-patter of blood drips as they fell from the blade across his carapace. He turned to face Usagi, grinning–

–except he was gone.

Leo’s grin dropped a little. He spun in a circle, and just caught sight of a blue tunic disappearing into a gap under the truck’s bumper. Leo knelt, tipping his head to peer underneath the rig.

Usagi scrabbled on his belly, squirming through the tangle of wreckage and out the other side. Then he was back on his feet and dashing away.

Leo sighed, stood back up, and swung his blade in a circle. The portal crackled to life, and he stepped through.

Directly into Usagi’s path of escape.

Usagi skidded to a halt, eyes wide. Leo guessed he wasn’t used to getting his escape routes cut off very often. And to have it happen twice in a row was probably very disconcerting.

To his credit, Usagi seemed to handle it well. His eyes narrowed. “I suppose you want something.”

The corner of Leo’s mouth twitched.

“I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after.”

Leo debated. Did he want something? The original plan had been to stalk the guy and mug him, sure. But then those other two goons had meddled, Leo had swept in to intervene, and now there was something different about the whole dynamic. Besides, it was rather enticing watching the expressions on Usagi’s face morph through trepidation, uncertainty, even wary curiosity.

Leo leaned close. Usagi took an involuntary step back, his hands coming up defensively.

In one quick motion, Leo snapped his hand out, grabbed Sagi’s wrist, and ran his tongue over the open wound. For a moment, he lingered, reveling in the mingling taste of blood and sweat.

The look of complete shock and abject horror on Usagi’s face might have been even more delicious.

Leo licked his lips, released his hold, and with a flourish, opened a portal behind him. He stepped backwards through it, holding Usagi’s gaze until the blue light overtook him.

He giggled all the way home.

#addams! tmnt au #rottmnt au #rottmnt #leo rottmnt #addams! usagi #rottmnt fanfiction #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt au #miyamoto usagi #tmnt usagi #cw blood #cw stalking #addams! leosagi #NewFallenLeaves #rottmnt human designs #rottmnt fanart

[universalzones]

Whisper is walking through the halls of the Restoration, carrying a fold with a rather thick stack of papers. It'd only been a day since the incident at the newly establish powerplant, though the wolf didn't want to waste much time in finding out what Wave did with the Chaos Emerald as so far neither Storm nor Jet have talked.

Soon enough Whisper made it to the interrogation where Jet was being held, walking in, closing and locking the door behind her. It wasn't fully needed as the hawk's was cuffed to the table, though better safe that sorry. The wolf would walk table, pulling out the chair and taking a seat across from the Rogue leader. She'd set down the folder and opened it up.

"Jet the Hawk, leader of the Babylon Rogues, and one of the most wanted thief's on Mobius. You've got a long record of crimes and thefts on your record. More recently a powerplant housing a Chaos Emerald which was intended to produce clean, safe, and free energy to people who are already struggling to get by." Was Whisper attempting to guilt trip Jet? Maybe a little, though doubts it'd move the hawk too much. The wolf would also flip though the various pages as she spoke.

"With that said, the Restoration is taking into account your efforts in assisting with the Zeti and helping stop the Metal Virus. Now, if you'd be willing to listen, I can cut you a deal." Whisper was sure Jet knew what she wanted from him, though thought it best to make sure he was willing to play balls.

Meanwhile

"Jeez, this guy has done a lot of bad stuff. How does the Restoration manage to keep track of it all?" Tangle spoke aloud, mainly to herself as she too had a was carrying a file with a thick stack of papers. "Why do I gotta do this interrogation stuff anyway? Everyone knows I'm better at fighting and smashing bots." Then again the lemur did get in a bit of trouble after Lanolin found out about her plan to trip the fire alarm to get everyone to leave.

Soon Tangle was at the door, though would take a moment to amp herself up. "Alright, you got this Tangle. You beat him in a fight, just gotta beat him with your brain power." With that pep-talk to herself the lemur entered the room Storm was in. The albatross was cuffed to the table as well, though also had cuffs connect to the ground and his were way more heave duty give his size. She'd take a seat at the table, setting the folder down, though didn't open it up.

"So, Storm. You've done a lot of bad stuff, and I mean a LOT. You got this folder here with a bunch of your crimes on it, and there is a lot on it. Though honestly, all that legal stuff isn't my strong suit," Tangle said, pushing the folder to the side. "Your pal Wave stole the emerald and we wanna know who she gave it to. So just spill the beans and we can wrap this up fast." The lemur felt like she was forgetting something, though thankfully after a moment of thinking she remembered.

"Oh, and the Restoration is willing to shave off some of your jail time if ya talk seeing as you and the other's helped with the whole Zeti issue during the Metal Virus stuff. Thanks for that by the way. I heard you guys were real team players." Tangle was willing to give credit where credit was do.

@hoverboardhoodlums

#hoverboardhoodlums #Whisper the Wolf #Tangle the Lemur #silently sweet wolf #dangerous adventurous lemur #rp #ic #Sonic #IDW Sonic #Interrogation Start

[dbphantom]

Watched the first 2 episodes of the Fallout show and was pleasantly surprised. I have a few complaints but I actually did enjoy the first episode a lot and the 2nd was pretty decent too

I really really enjoyed the sets, especially the Vault. Really well done and the vibes are perfect. The scene in the farm where the film of the projector burns and looks like bombs going off around them during the raid was great. A touch cheesy but I appreciated it bc I am a cheesy media connoisseur

I really like Lucy and the ghoul (don't remember his name). Maximus is on thin ice cuz dude is... a bit unhinged in the first 2 episodes. But he was raised by the brotherhood so I'm wishing him the best character arc. I am hoping he realizes how shitty the brotherhood is and defects by the end of the season... I'm convinced that's what's going to happen, but we will see what they do.

One scene that made me roll my eyes was the raider husband coming back to life after Lucy cut his jugular so that the dad could get the kill on him. Like why not let that moment impact her more?? Why did the dad have to be the one to kill him? Was it supposed to foreshadow that the dad was a raider or something? Cuz honestly I'm mostly suspect due to the raiders taking him with them, it's classic to have the father be a criminal but he's reformed because of his dead wife and kid... Would be awesome if they twisted it so it's the mother who was the raider, but didn't they already say she was from this Vault and the dad was the one transferred over? Regardless, that totally ripped away a character moment for Lucy. That man stole her kill...

Another thing I didn't like was the appearance of the Brotherhood so soon in episode 1. They appear before the viewer even knows what the wasteland looks like for everyone else. You see the Prydwen before you see your first established settlement and that kind of ruins the idea imo. People are struggling to live, but the brotherhood is hoarding tech. Show the people struggling first, THEN have the Brotherhood appear.

Maybe they're doing it this way because you're supposed to be viewing things like Maximus (loosing his faith in the brotherhood as the season goes on because he was raised by them and was indoctrinated, please, it would be a nice parallel to Lucy), but it still makes the pacing feel off. The friend I watched it with (hi @bautistawithadrive) agreed w/ that and he isn't even a Fallout fanatic. It just feels weird. I get that pacing is gonna be wack cuz it's an 8 (?) episode season, but it just isn't working for me.

The ghoul is fine. His intro scene at the start was cute. I found it interesting the shot of the bombs going off around them, but I'm 90% sure it's canon in lore that the Fallout nukes are less powerful than ours so I have no real complaints. If it's not canon, then it's a widely accepted fanon. I was just confused why the little girl wasn't blinded by the flash because I'm pretty sure there are logs in the games of people who were blinded when they saw the flashes? I could be misremembering tho I don't have enough room for all the Fallout lore in my brain. Anyway it's an insignificant detail overall afaik, so I'm being fussy, I think.

I am kinda bummed the ghoul doesn't look worse tho. Weird complaint probably but I was hoping he'd be a bit more idk... Ragged? Given all the other gore in the show, I was interested to see how they'd do the makeup for the ghouls, but just like nexus modders, they took the cowards way out. He looks (and sounds, oof) like a generic bald dude with some liquid latex on his cheeks and a missing nose.

The best friend of Lucy is another fave, I really.enjoyed every time she was on screen. Good actress, I hope she either becomes a villain (that eyepatch in the end credits bit of ep 2 is throwing me haha) or follows Lucy out of the Vault (or both).

I'm also curious to see where the brother's character is going to go because they could do a lot with him since he was pretty bland at the start. He could follow Lucy out (maybe with the best friend) or start some kind of political change in the people of the Vault so it will cause conflict when (if) Lucy returns, or he could convince them all to leave the Vault. It'd be cool if he found what their specific Vault experiment was meant to be, then either put it in action or made sure no other Overseer would be able to continue it. Maybe I have too much hope for such a short season... But it would be a fun way to introduce Vault experiments to the audience.

One thing I am VERY nervous about is if they're going to make Lucy pregnannte. I could see them doing it bc that sex scene with the raider felt like a Chekov's gun situation (plus the BFF being like "I can't wait to raise our kids together!" which initially had me like 'wait what are they a lesbian couple forced to get with dudes to make babies? That'd be an awesome storyline!' but thinking abt it I'm wondering if it is foreshadowing for the bestie to also leave the Vault and track her down. Which I want to happen, I loved her character). Idk they could have just included a sex scene for the sake of having one... But I'm also thinking about all the morning sickness vs radiation sickness jokes they could be making, so if there is a scene of her puking in the next few episodes (beyond the gore-fest), I am SO calling it

But like to be clear I don't WANT it to happen, usually that kind of thing in shows makes me turn it off immediately because I'm so not interested in watching a character slowly become 2D for a wailing potato we're just supposed to like because it's a kid, so I hope they surprise me, but I also wouldn't be shocked if it did because all the set-up is there 😬

#Cruddy rambles