#then immediately beat the shit out of her!!! why!!!
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god this shit took forever to sketch. another NofNA emulation comic. it reminds me of the midterms in secretary, for obvious reasons, but Legend is sort of an inverse secretary situation, where she is exceptional at fighting, but wants to write.
let me see what i can remember...
PS, the blue-eyed black lemur, has been friends with Legend since their mutual first season at college, as mentioned above her reference sketch... they probably became more friendly after being paired up to peer edit each others' work.
PS has since graduated from college and works as a markscraft. Legend frequently commissions PS to scribe for her, not only because they are friends, but because PS is one of the few markscrafts in the area who isn't a rodent. many primates go into law or medicine. mainly Legend commissions notetaking in classes -- she is too insecure to share her stories.
PS has a more relaxed, informal personality, and i tried to get that across -- i think it's relevant to why she decided to become a markscraft instead of pursuing more intense study. still, i also tried to get across that they are good friends, not just scribe and customer, particularly with the amount of touching that PS does. the impulse to touch and groom is probably innate for her as a primate. there isn't as much information about her species, but in ring-tailed lemurs, lemurs usually only groom based on the strongest bonds, rather than more communal aggregate grooming as a sort of social currency.
i honestly don't know what PS would need to note during finals, but i think Legend just Wanted her there anyway.
the bird, DL, fighting the squirrel, GG, is a grey shrike. i imagine him as an average student in the middle of his education, but i think he is in the class for combat purposes, because pressure point manipulation can be incredibly powerful, more so if from a less expected species like a bird.
mr. deciding is a much more serious, no-nonsense teacher, possibly due to his specialty. when you're teaching students how to explode a kidney with a handshake, you probably just play it safe and try to put the fear of god into them before any kidneys get exploded.
i wanted this class to have a much heavier emphasis on safety of the participants than the class in secretary, with a more focused goal than "who can beat the shit out of each other better."
i think the goal of fighting to show off knowledge here is still Fucking Insane, but it's just. their culture, i guess. you can technically "move" your pressure points, so being able to defend yourself by utilizing this knowledge can also show off what you've retained.
the mouse next to him is a proctor, who is an extra teacher brought in to judge and often write for another teacher, but primarily as a peacekeeper and bouncer. in classes where a student can theoretically totally disable a teacher by just touching them once, the precaution is seen as necessary. the mouse is probably a combat-oriented point invocation instructor.
the mandrill, MK, is a first-season or first-year student -- i assume that one class, from midterms to finals, is a season, as secretary seems to start near autumn. midterms have snow, and finals are during early spring.
anyway, that's tangential. i think he's very new to the educational system. i pictured him as a medical student. in his fighting style, i made him more defensive; he doesn't really know nearly as much about attacking an opponent in a fight. he does think at least about his opponent's most immediate reactions, but doesn't have enough experience with fighting to think ahead to the degree that Legend does. you can see him make the same mistake that Legend did against Machinations, which disables his non-dominant hand. needless to say, he will probably always be aware of headbutt proximity now.
he attempts to use two factures in the fight within a style meant to evoke debilitating vertigo by manipulating the connection between the occular, vestibular, and proprioceptive systems. it's obvious that he created the style from his medical classes. it is fairly empty as far as styles go.
interrupted facture: nystagmus, which causes the world to spin around the opponent by involuntarily twitching the eyes back and forth.
second facture: strabismus, which misaligns the pupils, primarily impeding aim. denied by Legend because a honey badger does not rely on vision or a vestibular system as much as a primate does -- not something he really considered when making the style.
factures that never ended up being used: pursuit, which forces the target to follow a spinning image of themselves instead of looking where they should; and mask's lasting, which forcibly initiates saccadic masking, suppressing the intake of new visual information altogether.
the large bird is a bateleur. the mouse is just a regular house mouse. the lizard is an ornate sandveld lizard. the opponent of the lizard is a common mole-rat, also called an african mole-rat (even though most species of mole-rats live in africa). the monkey god i'm not super sure but i believe it's just a vervet monkey. the other mouse is also a common house mouse.
GG is a second-year student, which is the last year for a rodent. i think she's been kind of aimless -- she thinks incredibly fast as a squirrel, and finds solving problems in the moment to be a much more successful endeavor than trying to plan ahead. she doesn't worry about the future and doesn't ruminate on the past much. she's aware that she isn't the best ever and doesn't apply herself as much as others, but it also doesn't particularly bother her. kind of ironic, given the aesop she slops onto Legend after the fight. i imagine that she will eventually choose the name Serendipity.
i tried to write her lack of foresight, but compensatory quick thinking in both fights.
like the shrike, GG is a combat-oriented student. the style she briefly introduces at the beginning is called fanciful flower's delightful blight. it is based on the deadly nightshade flower and its berries -- which are toxic, obviously, and a hallucinogenic.
squirrels flick their tails for many reasons, and the most common reason is simply a default flicking to attract predators. their tails are designed to "deglove" easily; if a predator lunges for their tail, which is the moving part of them, the skin and fur will tear off, and the squirrel can escape.
delightful blight utilizes the attention-grabbing flicking of the squirrel's tail as a nightshade plant to induce a trance-like state. the berries represent temptations so much more pleasing than what you ought to focus on. a nice berry and a flower to smell are so much nicer than struggling in a fight. even when you resist them, they linger in your mind, and "plant seeds" when the berry falls as self-restraint is worn down over repeated abstinence from the temptation. factures induce hallucinations and nausea.
she primarily uses the base rodent style to fight Legend here, but also uses base squirrel style twists, which include more acrobatics, backflipping, and contortions.
the two things that really catch Legend off-guard use limbs that she doesn't have, and most opponents don't have -- elbows long enough to use defensively, and a long, rope-like tail. she is otherwise supposed to be fairly adept at analyzing what an opponent will do, usually a few steps ahead, related to her ability to fabricate narratives quickly. you can see her also come up with a lie for kicking GG fairly quickly... she was going to say the impulse was in her legs because she was trying to move away from GG's strike.
anyway if any part of this fight is like... unfathomable i can probably explain. i've already been typing for way too long, lmfao
#nofna shitposting#partaking in the act#basically legend left her chest open because she expected GG to attempt to block#instead of considering that GG could take an offensive action instead
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Wish You Were Here | Part 2
The aftermath of the previous evening.
Series masterlist
Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader
Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence
WC for part 2 : 5.9 k
Warnings for part 2 : swearing, implied sexual content
(I had this one already written, currently working on part 3 so it'll take me a bit of time before uploading again)
You’re jolted awake, face contorted in a silent scream, dry tears stinging your cheeks, fists clenching the sheets, heart beating at a wild pace. The last remnants of a nightmare fade away, leaving a shot ringing in your ears, as you try to focus on your surroundings. You’re here, in your bedroom, in your house, in Jackson. You’re safe. You breathe, slowly, in and out. Everything is fine. Everything is-
Images from last night flash before your eyes. Joel, laughing with you. His hands on your waist. His lips on yours. The desire. His rage. And the abandon.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
A wave of shame, along with nausea, hits you like a freight train. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry, an awful taste lingering in it. You gag, leap out of bed and run to the bathroom just in time.
When you’re done, you rinse your mouth and meet your reflection. Bloodshot eyes, heavy bags underneath them, knotted hair sticking out around a sickly pale face. You left the tavern without telling anyone and immediately collapsed into bed. Yesterday’s clothes, that you’re still wearing, smell like booze and sweat and something else too- or rather someone else. You shut your eyes and rub them with closed fists, applying so much pressure it hurts. You want to bash your face in the mirror.
God you’re a wreck.
You decide brushing your teeth and taking a shower is the best course of action right now. Your watch indicates it’s well past noon and there’s no way you can get back to sleep. Not with those thoughts swimming around your head. The scalding water does little to distract you from them. You scrub your skin raw, as if you can wash away Joel’s touch; it doesn’t work. You still feel him against you when you step out of the bathtub. You’re thinking about the kiss as you get dressed, as you run a comb through your wet hair, as you walk down to your kitchen, and as you put on the kettle for tea. Why can’t you stop thinking about it? And why the hell is part of you wishing that it went further? The kettle whistling shakes you out of the spiral. You wish you had a stronger beverage, that and a painkiller, but they’re rare supplies these days. You fill a mug with the tea and try sitting at your small kitchen island, but it quickly becomes claustrophobic, as though the walls are closing in on you. So you get up and grab a rainbow wool blanket, knitted by Astrid as a Christmas present, from the couch. Wrapping yourself in it, you go out to your back porch and sprawl on one of the lawn chairs, the bitter January air stinging your lungs, shocking you into alertness. The pain is refreshing.
What a fucking way to start the year.
You look out at the frosted mountains in the distance, peaceful giants protecting the town. They’re strong, grounded, indomitable. You think it’d be nice to float up to the top and lay there above the clouds, where what is happening down below wouldn’t matter at all. You take a sip of tea, which burns your tongue, and you curse under your breath. It brings you right back to reality. On the yard right of yours, the neighbour’s kids are playing in the snow, their high-pitched giggles filling the air. The girl, about seven years old, notices you and stops to call out your name. You give her a small wave back.
“Happy new year!” She yells enthusiastically, flashing the gap of fallen front teeth. Her younger brother imitates her but stumbles on half of the words. Their little faces are flushed, snowsuits soaking wet. You can’t help but find it adorable, even in your condition. It never ceases to impress you how resilient children can be, how they can keep their wonder, their innocence when the world has crumbled around them.
“Happy new year. Don’t get frostbite,” you reply.
“Look at our snowman!” the boy chips in, his lisp evident, pointing at a shapeless mount of snow.
You chuckle. “He’s cool. You should add a carrot.”
The kids beam, and run off inside to act upon your suggestion. And then a snowball flies out of nowhere and hits you on the shoulder, almost causing you to drop your tea. You shriek, jumping to your feet and putting the mug down on the railing as another snowball misses your head by a hair’s breadth. Max’s figure appears from behind a thick pine tree growing right outside your fence.
“HEY! WHAT THE F-” you catch yourself, remembering there are children closeby. Max steps fully into view, guffawing, their bright red beanie clashing with the ginger locks peaking out. They walk to the side and push the fence door open, entering your backyard.
“Moron.” There is no humour in your voice. You brush the snow off your clothes, muttering to yourself. Max walks up the old wooden stairs and joins you on the porch.
“Really? Not even a hi, how are you, happy new year?” They raise a hand to their chest in mock offence.
“You didn’t give me time for that did you? Nearly took my fucking head off.” You cross your arms tightly. You’re really not in the mood for Max’s antics. Not today.
“Jesus, so dramatic,” they sit down on the other lawn chair, while you remain standing. “Woke up on the wrong foot?”
Anger bubbles up inside, as does the urge to punch that smug little grin off Max’s face. “What are you doing here?” You ask, bluntly.
“Hm. Not much. Just, uh, checking in on you,” Max replies, purposefully evasive. The anger rises.
“Why?” You bark, already knowing the answer to that question.
“Well…Just heard you got into, uh, an interesting situation last night.” They look up at you with that smirk again. You glare back, fuming, and grunt in response.
God they can be such a fucking pain in the ass.
“So I’m just wondering what it is exactly that made you think oh, yeah,” they suspend their voice for a few seconds “Joel Miller?” They accentuate his name as if it were an insult, full of implication.
You’re trying to keep calm, but it’s getting very difficult. You choose your words carefully. “I was drunk. We were just talking. And it’s none of your business” Your voice trembles with the emotion.
“Just talking, uh?” Max is clinging on to this stronger than a dying man to his last breath.
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but nothing happened,” you lie, through gritted teeth. You’re dangerously close to your tipping point.
“Hm. That’s weird, `cause Astrid told us she saw a lot more than-”
“Can you fucking drop it?” you shout. Max has done it.
They're taken aback by your outburst, pausing for a beat, before their expression hardens. They inhale sharply and speak up again, brows furrowed in frustration.
“You know, I’m getting sick of this closed up bullshit. We’ve been friends for what, 5 years, and you never tell me a single thing about how you’re feeling, or your past, or-“
“We’re not friends,” you interrupt them, harshly.
“Oh, okay, yeah, sure!” Their tone drips with sarcasm. “Then what are we?”
The question makes you hesitate. “I don’t know. Coworkers,” you say, your tone losing conviction.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Max exclaims. “Are you serious? So you’re telling me you- you came to your coworker’s house in the middle of the night after having a breakdown?
Your chest tightens at the memory. It’s a moment of weakness you really hate to be reminded of. “That’s not fair. It was a long time ago,” you grumble, looking down.
“Uh-huh,” Max continues, raising their voice. “You supported your coworker when they came out to you?” They wait, expecting you to interject, but you keep quiet, so they take it up a notch. “You helped your coworker when they were starving, bleeding out, half-frozen to death? That’s what you’re telling me?”
You still don’t respond, but the anger is starting to melt; Max’s words are stabbing at a sensitive spot. You’re brought back in time, to one of your first ever patrols, in the dead of winter, when you were still training. You had gone off the trail because you thought you heard a faint plea for help. That’s when you had found Max, curled up in the hollow of a tree, skeletally thin, shivering, the snow stained red from a fresh wound on their leg. You had brought them back to Jackson, had strongly insisted to Maria that they stay in town, took Max’s defence when other survivors argued they were a lost cause. You’d checked in on them nearly every day, and you were right; Max had made a complete recovery, eventually growing into an active, important member of the community. At the time, you didn’t know why you were doing all of this for a stranger. Maybe you just couldn’t bear losing anyone else, couldn’t take being powerless, unable to save them.
Max lets a few seconds pass by in silence. “Look, all I’m saying is I care about you. And I got worried when you left last night. It wasn’t like you” they explain, softer now, the concern honest. You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at them as the anger vanishes completely. Truth is, you care about them too. A lot. Of course you do. And you’re mainly upset at yourself for acting in such a senseless way last night. But admitting all of that out loud, it’d be too much. Instead, you give Max a meaningful nod, and squeeze their arm.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just- I- I’m hungover.” There’s way more than that, and Max is well aware. But they don’t push further.
“Lightweight,” they tease, lightening the tension. You’re grateful for the change in mood.
“And you’re not? I think you burst the entire town’s eardrums last night,” you respond, relieved to fall back into the usual back-and-forth.
“Uh, I’ll have you know I’m proud of that performance,” they argue.
“I’ll give it to you. Wasn’t your worst,” you reply, feeling a smile pulling at your lips. Max gives you one back.
“Alright, can we go inside now? Fucking freezing” Max asks, rubbing their arms up and down.
“Yeah,” you answer, “want some breakfast?” It’s really the least you could do. Actions are much easier than words to show that you care.
“Would love some lunch.” They correct, as you slide open the glass door and let them pass first, following them in.
“Seriously though, Joel Miller?” they add, peering at you over their shoulder. You push them into the dining room.
“Mention it again and I’m hitting you,” you threaten, half-serious.
“Alright, alright,” Max concedes. “I just didn’t know you were into old men.” They snicker. You keep to your word and kick their ankle.
They squeal out in pain and you strike a second time. “I’m. Not.”
Max sits at the dining room table, massaging their hurt leg, while you scramble some eggs for the both of you. Along with some sourdough from Leanne at the bakery, it makes a decent meal. And, as you eat, you come to a conclusion. That thing with Joel, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It can’t mean anything. Because you’re not ready to accept the possibility that there might be something more. Something like feelings that you’d need to process. You’ve taken too long to build a thick, impenetrable shield around your heart. You can’t just drop it so quickly. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgement caused by the alcohol. You’re going to lock it away in a forgotten corner of your mind, like you usually do when emotions are involved. Just pretend it never happened, stay cordial with the man if ever have to interact again. It should be easy enough.
Right?
——————————
Joel is cruelly pulled out of sleep by a series of booming knocks. He sits up abruptly, in a panic, instinctively reaching at his side for a weapon but his fingers grasp only the pilled fabric of bed sheets. It takes a moment to situate himself, to remember he is out of danger. Whoever’s behind the noise doesn’t give him reprieve to slow down his pulse, however. Another round of knocks erupts as a muffled, irritated voice travels up to his bedroom.
“JOEL! HELLO? JOEELLLLL! WAKE UP!” It’s unmistakably Ellie.
The kid can be so damn loud for her size. Joel grumbles a string of curses, hurries out of bed and down the stairs despite strained muscles and the beginning of a migraine he’s certain will be terrible. He’s too old for hangovers like this. He jogs through the hallway, gets to the back door and flings it open before Ellie pipes up again. She’s standing on the porch, bundled up in her purple puffer jacket. Her balled fists are suspended in the air, mid-movement.
“WHAT?” He yells, making Ellie flinch. He immediately regrets his tone.
“Shit, no need to be rude,” the girl replies, arms dropping to her sides.
“Sorry, kid. You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s up?”
She gets straight to the point. “My heating’s busted. Can you fix it?”
Joel scoffs. “Good morning, Ellie! Happy new year to you too.”
“Uh, it’s almost 1 PM. And I didn’t think you celebrated,” Ellie answers matter-of-factly.
Little smartass.
Joel makes the motion to close the door in her face, but she’s faster and grabs the outer handle.
“Hey come on! It’s like 2 degrees in there!” She shouts.
Ellie stares up at him, impatient. Joel doesn’t budge. She sighs. “Please,” she mumbles, breaking eye contact.
Joel smirks. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear. He keeps her hanging for another few seconds before answering : “Okay.”
Ellie rolls her eyes.
“I still got Tommy’s tools. Can you wait 10 minutes?” He’s just giving Ellie a hard time, and she knows it. He’d do anything to help her, no matter what it entailed; he’s done a hell of a lot more than repair a broken heater.
“Yeah, sure, just drill me out of the block of ice,” Ellie says, spinning on her heels and walking off towards the garage that's been converted into her living quarters.
Joel smiles, watching her go. He gets back into the house and does his best to clean up in the bathroom while avoiding looking in the mirror. He still feels like he’s been run over by a truck, and sleeping the day off is very inviting, but he can’t just let the girl freeze. And the work will keep him busy, distract him from the pain. He puts on a coat over the clothes that he slept in, the same ones he was wearing at the tavern; he hadn’t bothered changing out of them after coming home. He ties his boots with difficulty and grabs the toolbox from a storage shelf in the utility room. He borrowed it from Tommy a few weeks ago when the upstairs bathroom nearly flooded, and hasn’t returned it yet. He makes a mental note of it. Joel’s house is a fixer upper for sure, but he’s done his best over the last six months, and it’s starting to become less of a temporary shelter and more of a home, something he never would have thought possible. Ellie’s presence at such a short distance definitely plays a role. He’s not hurt by the fact she insisted on having her separate space; he doesn’t think they’d have done well trying to fit into a normal family dynamic. That’s not what they are. And besides, he’s just happy she’s still talking to him, after what happened at the hospital. Joel brushes off the thought as he crosses the back garden, counting the steps it takes to reach the garage. There’s exactly thirteen. As always.
He lets himself in. Ellie’s waiting, laying on the loveseat wrapped in her duvet. She wasn’t lying; it’s glacial inside and Joel can see his breath. Ellie’s lit a fire in the wood stove, resourceful as she is, but it’s not doing much.
“Took you long enough,” she says, barely audible as half her face is covered by the blanket.
“Hey. Drop the attitude.” Joel orders, but a little smile curves up his lips. Ellie returns it. He can’t stay mad at her and she’s proud of it.
Joel looks around the room. Ellie’s bed is unmade, stripped of its cover; clothes are piling on a chair, random objects scattered around her desk, from coloured pencils to a used plate and utensils. Her guitar is held up by a sturdy stand in a corner, pristine; it’s apparent Ellie takes good care of it. And there, on the coffee table, a good amount of crumbs, and four empty bottles of beer. His gaze lingers on them long enough for Ellie to notice.
“Um, Cat came over last night she brought those, her mom was totally okay with it-” Ellie overexplains, the words coming out quickly.
Joel raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anythin’.” He likes that she gets anxious, it shows that she cares about his opinion, and doesn't want him to be disappointed. But how could he be? He’d do much worse than drinking a beer or two if he’d gone through as much as Ellie has at her age. “What’d you guys get up to?” Joel asks as he moves towards the space heater, plugged in a wall outlet not far from the loveseat. Ellie relaxes.
“Uh, we just watched a movie. Back to the Future,” she replies. Joel smiles. He’d found it out on a run and gave it to Ellie as a Christmas present. “Cat had such a crush on Marty. It was pretty funny,” the girl adds.
“And you didn’t?” He teases as he kneels in front of the heater, his back screaming in agony, and sets the toolbox down on the cold cement floor.
“Nah. Not my type.” Ellie shifts in her seat to get a good view of Joel. He starts by trying the power switch, to no avail. “I already did that,” she tells him in a condescending tone.
“Yeah, no shit,” Joel mutters. He takes out a screwdriver and finds the appropriate bit before starting to work on taking the heater apart. He opens up the electrical box and begins testing out the various components, face drawn out in concentration. Ellie observes him quietly for a few minutes, chewing on a nail. Joel’s completely focused on the pieces he’s turning over in his hands.
And then, he hears Ellie’s voice behind him again. “So. You were out pretty late last night,” she points out.
Joel freezes up, caught off guard. The tool he’s holding drops to the ground, clattering.
Last night. Fucking Hell.
Glimpses of the drunken evening assault his brain. Bribes of your conversation, how natural it felt talking to you. The sound of your laughter. How your eyes lit up when you smiled. The blushes you tried to hide. Your hands on his shoulders.
How smooth your lips were.
Wait.
The way the night ended suddenly comes back. A rush of anger, shame, and guilt engulfs him, the same one that pushed him to abandon you about ten hours ago. He has to stop himself from screaming, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. Why the fuck did he do that? How could he let you get so close? When did he get so weak as to let his walls down that much the second a pretty woman talks to him? And why did it feel so damn good?
Joel fights to somewhat regain his composure, to act casual as he replies to Ellie. He clears his throat and picks the tool back up. “Uh, yeah. Just out at the tavern with Tommy,” he deflects.
“Hm.” Ellie pauses, letting Joel think she’s off the scent. But then, she questions : “Just Tommy?”
Nervosity is added to the boiling pot of emotions, lighting up the wick of a bomb Joel’s trying his hardest not to let explode.
What does the kid know?
He struggles to recall another memory. Your friend, the tall blonde one who’s another patroller, she saw you too together. Not what happened outside, but enough to raise suspicion, Joel’s ninety-nine percent certain of it.
He breathes slowly before answering. “Yup.” He attempts to be firm, but he can hear the hesitation in his own voice. So he busies himself with the heater again.
“Well,” Ellie starts, but Joel cuts her off, not taking any chances.
“Didn’t you have farm duty today?” He changes the subject abruptly, pulling at a wire.
“Uh, yeah, I went already. They let me off early,” Ellie says, “I heard something interesting though.” Joel can practically see the smirk on her face from where he is crouched, but he refuses to look her in the eyes.
Damn it.
He stays silent. Ellie continues. “You were…dancing? With someone?” She adds your name, inquiring.
Joel tightens his grip on the tool handle, knuckles turning white. “You don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he utters. “We weren’t dancing.” He keeps his gaze stubbornly stuck to the heater.
Ellie holds back a laugh. “But you were with her?” She keeps up the interrogation.
The wick of the bomb burns more. “Just havin’ a conversation. With a coworker. I don’t know who told you that, but it ain’t true,” he replies harshly.
Ellie snorts. “Uh-huh. Okay. That’s-”
“Ellie. Stop.” Joel threatens, finally snapping his head up to glare at the girl. And the expression is enough to make her understand he isn’t joking. She listens to the command and shuts right up, however, she doesn’t lose the mocking grin.
He huffs, returning to the task. He’s mulling over everything in his head, beating himself up to a pulp, when Ellie decides to pick up her guitar. She begins practising Future Days, the song Joel has been teaching her. The notes are unsteady, the rhythm choppy, but the music is like a balm over Joel’s mind, soothing it. It helps him calm down, and soon enough, he finds the source of the heater’s malfunction : the fan is clogged with dust and debris. He dislodges it from the mechanism and cleans it out with a rag, whistling along to Ellie’s playing. He puts the pieces back together and wipes his hands on his jeans, before trying the power switch once more. The heater hums into life.
Ellie breathes a sigh of relief and puts down the guitar. “Oh fuck yeah.”
“Language,” Joel reprimands her. Ellie sticks out her tongue at him. He puts away the tools he’s used and stands up with the toolbox, knees creaking.
“Hey, thanks, Joel,” the girl says timidly, taking off the layers she’d put on, “and, uh, sorry I woke you up.” She’s genuine.
“It’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.” He awkwardly claps his free hand on his thigh, unsure if he should stay longer. He’d like to, but he doesn’t want to impose, or make it weird.
“You should go shower. You look like shit,” Ellie quips. “And we got dinner with Maria and Tommy later,” she adds.
“Hmm. Right,” he groans; he’d completely forgotten. He’s never wanted to do anything less in his life. The day just keeps getting better.
He follows Ellie’s advice once he’s back inside his house. As the hot water runs over his tired skin, he takes time to reflect, and he makes a decision. The encounter with you was simply a product of intoxication. The old, rusted feelings it stirred up within him were, too. It’s just been very long since he’s done anything…intimate. With anyone. That must explain it. He’s got to convince himself of that. Because the other alternative terrifies him, fills him with dread, and he can’t afford that. Not again. Not after Tess. So, he’s going to ignore it, push it away, bury it deep at the back of his mind, enough that it can’t affect him anymore. Just pretend it never happened, go back to the way he treated you before. Cold. Indifferent. He’s done that countless times.
Right.
It should be easy enough.
——————————
It has been two weeks. Two weeks that you’ve succeeded in avoiding Joel at all costs, and the weather has definitely helped. Winter has been ruthless, the temperature dropping below zero most mornings, the snowfall almost incessant, isolating the town. It’s mostly a positive; it prevents infected, or hunters, or worse, from discovering it. Survivors have been staying in as much as possible, going out only when absolutely necessary. You did your part with helping plough the snow on your horse, a dapple grey mare named Willow; Maria had assigned time slots to the capable survivors. Thankfully, you and Joel weren’t scheduled on the same one. You haven’t crossed paths with the man since New Year’s Eve, and you’re perfectly content with that.
Well, that isn’t the full truth. There’s a part of you that incomprehensibly wishes you could see him again. You absolutely despise it, and you’ve made an immense effort to silence those thoughts when they seize you. But they come often. Too often. You’ve thrown yourself into tasks, hobbies, anything to occupy your mind. Needless to say, your house has been extremely tidy lately, you’ve listened through your record collection multiple times, finished the novel you were reading (The Count of Monte Cristo which you had previously barely made a dent it), and started on at least three paintings which you hated and scrapped, and you’re not one to waste supplies. If the thoughts are hard to control during the day, it becomes impossible at night.
You’ve…dreamed about Joel. Doing things to you that you wouldn’t dare say out loud, to anyone, your inner thighs moist upon waking up. You think you might be going completely insane. So, you’re almost excited for your upcoming patrol, and the extended distraction it’ll provide.
It’s the evening of Sunday, January 14th, 2035. The sky is clear for once, the sun has started setting behind the mountains, casting Jackson in frigid twilight. You’re speed walking towards town hall, the icy wind piercing right through your coat, chilling you to the bone. Your scarf is pulled up to your nose, the flaps of your trapper hat down and tied, thick mittens protecting your hands. You reach the building in record time, its short clock tower illuminated. You pull the heavy door and get in, a gust of warmth from the heating blasted at maximum immediately relieving. The room is spacious, cosy, with a stone hearth at the back where a fire is crackling, chairs stacked in a corner, and a long table with a tall thermos of chicory coffee and some cups strewn about. You go up to the large rolling bulletin board standing in the middle of the room, where various organisational documents for the community are pinned. A handful of survivors are already gathered around it. One of them, a teenager with a long black braid, olive skin and sharp features (Tina? Or something similar), is adding a flyer to it, advertising her services to shovel pathways for trade. Brave move. You greet the group and look over to the patroller’s duty roster for the week. You’ve set for Hoback Pass, tomorrow, with Astrid. You spot Joel’s name on the list; he’s with Tommy, as usual, for Teton Village, at the end of the week. No chance of overlap.
Good. Great. Wonderful.
You don’t stay around much longer; you need to prepare for the next day’s run. Astrid likes to get an early start, and she’ll want to plan strict routes before leaving. You’ve forgiven her for snitching on what she saw you do at New Year’s Eve; she was drunk too, and she hasn’t mentioned it since. Max must have convinced her she hallucinated it, for your sake. So you go back out into the cold, empty streets, now plunged in darkness.
You met Astrid when she arrived in Jackson around three years ago, along with Fred. The two are like siblings; after the outbreak, they were raised in a small settlement in the Eastern Idaho forest. The group had left camp when resources were becoming scarce, travelling south in hopes of finding a new safe haven. Upon reaching Jackson, the two women were the only ones left alive. You don’t know the exact circumstances in which they lost their loved ones, but the reality is all too familiar to most people in this world. At least these two still have each other. You weren’t so lucky with that. Sometimes, when you look at them, you can’t help but get a glimpse of a future you were cruelly robbed of. In these instances, you’re hit with a burning, gut-wrenching pang of jealousy. You try not to dwell on it; it’s a useless sentiment and it’s impossible to get her back.
You jog up to your house a few minutes later. After a quick dinner, you put together your pack, checking items off a mental list: canteen, munitions, a few rations, first aid kit, flint rod, rope, hand-crank radio… You’re sharpening your knife, sitting at the dining room table, when you’re interrupted by a knock. You cross the hallway, puzzled, and undo the chain to crack open the front door. Tommy’s standing on the other side, bouncing on the spot, rapid breaths coming out in white volutes.
“Uh, hey,” you say, surprised to see him there.
“Hey,” he replies, “sorry to bother you this late.”
“Oh, it’s fine. What’s up?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile. You’ve known Tommy ever since you first came to Jackson. He’s the patrol chief; the one who teached you at your beginnings on the job. You like him as a leader; he’s fair, direct, dependable, and he’s got a sense of humour. He’s a good balance to Maria, who can be a bit too stern at times.
“Uh, well, it’s about your patrol tomorrow. I know you’re supposed to go with Astrid, but I’m gonna have to send her to train Jesse instead,” he explains, talking fast.
Jesse is the newest recruit. He’s a determined, strong young man who joined in late November, just as he turned eighteen, the required age for patrolling. He’s gone out with Astrid on practice runs a couple times before; she had volunteered to mentor him.
You furrow your brows. “Oh. Alright, sure, that’s okay. Uh, you want me to go by myself?”
“Uh, no” Tommy answers,“too risky with all the snow. I was gonna send Joel. You guys work well together and he knows Hoback.”
Your stomach drops.
Fuck.
Your expression must have changed noticeably, because Tommy tilts his head, perplexed.
“Somethin’ the matter?” He inquires.
You blink a few times, recovering from the blow. “Uh, yeah. I- I mean no. Just-” you search for the right words, “can’t Astrid do it another day?”
“Not really. We need Jesse ready ASAP. Why? Problem with Joel?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice.
You pause, wondering whether to tell him the truth. Ultimately, you decide it would just create a bigger problem. “No, no, nevermind. All good,” you lie, averting Tommy’s eyes.
The man doesn’t seem convinced. “Alright… You know, it’s funny. Joel didn’t seem too happy either when I told ´im.”
So he’s been thinking about you too. He remembers. This makes it so much worse. You give a nervous chuckle in response, and attempt a joke. “Is he ever?”
Tommy snorts. “Yeah, you ain’t wrong.” He claps his gloved hands together. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning for briefing then.”
You give him a nod and he imitates you before walking off. You close the door behind him and rest your forehead against the hard surface, banging it a few times. You yell out in frustration. What did you just get yourself into?
That night, you restlessly lay in bed, tossing and turning, your mind racing, agitated, unable to shut itself off. You don’t get any sleep.
Joel doesn’t either.
You’re already exhausted by the time you’re out of the door the next morning, right at sunrise, which just intensifies your terrible mood. You stride down the street towards Jackson’s main gate, in full winter gear, pack hanging off a shoulder. The town is a muted grey, misty; a few snowflakes are slowly falling from heavy clouds. It matches your emotional state. You’re hoping to be the first one at the stables, giving you time to blow off some steam. But, upon arrival, you discover that the object of your torment has had the same idea. Joel’s saddling his horse, Old Beardy, an imposing black-coated male.
The bastard.
You curse him out in your head, your heartbeat quickening as you approach. You walk past him, heading towards Willow’s enclosure. Neither you nor Joel acknowledges the other. Willow neighs softly when she sees you, and you go to pet her on the nose, hyper aware of the man standing about twenty feet away from you. You quietly tend to your horse for a few minutes, every sound coming from Joel irritating you, before you finally dare steal a glance over at him. Right as you do so, he turns his head back quickly, caught in the act.
So that’s how it’s gonna go, huh?
You tie your pack to a hook on Willow’s saddle, your movements sharp, heated. Once you’re done, you take the horse’s reins and guide her out of the stable, passing by Joel once again; his back tenses as you do so, and you hear him sigh loudly. The feeling’s mutual.
You decide to take Willow for a trot around town while you wait for the other patrollers to show up. You don’t think you could stay there with Joel, in thick silence, pointlessly wondering what it is he’s thinking; it would drive you mad. You come back half an hour later, not an ounce more calm, as Tommy is about to start his report. You make sure to stand as far away from Joel as you can while you listen. The words enter one ear and come out the other; you’re too preoccupied with someone else. You’ve heard the speech a hundred times anyway: stay within sight of your partner, follow the routes, mark the logbooks, come back if you run into something you can’t handle. Once Tommy’s done, he gives the signal for the two townsfolk on guard duty to crank open the gate. You stick your right foot in the stirrup and hoist yourself up on Willow’s back, positioning yourself on the saddle. You let the other patrol team go first, staying behind, immobile, side by side with Joel. You’re not going to make the first move. And he doesn’t either. So you look over at him, and this time, he holds your gaze, fire ablaze in his deep brown eyes. Glowering. Taunting. Scornful. After thirty seconds, Tommy, posted at the wall, yells out to you.
“Guys! What are you waitin’ for? Get goin’!”
Joel capitulates first. He urges Old Beardy forward, not giving you another sight, as you internally scream in victory. You follow behind.
“Have a good one! Stay safe!” One of the guards says, as you pass the threshold. You have to hold yourself back from replying “We won’t.” Joel and you ride out of Jackson.
This day is about to be really fucking unpleasant.
To read on AO3
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'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART EIGHT]
-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Reader wakes up in the hospital with one thing on her mind.
⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) Reader should probably slow her roll, but refuses too. Selina being my fav girl per usual. The slow burn is slow burning. She fell first, he fell harder. Not a lot of Tetch in this chapter, but the next few will be all about him and reader. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. The beginning of an enemies to lovers. Stick with me. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching.
⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx @all-things-fandomstuck @killingboredom @sweetlimeharvest @frenchfryqueen69
⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - 'PART THREE, - 'PART FOUR, - 'PART FIVE, - 'PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN' - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, -'PART TEN,
♫ “Lord, save me, my drug is my baby.” Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift
The first thing to hit you is the smell of antiseptics and soap. Clean.
You can't see anything other than a heart monitor and the lights of the city that leak through the small window to your right. It beeps with every passing second, and your reminded of the ticking of Mr. Tetch's pocket watch.
Mr. Tetch. That name plays in your head. Everything's blurry.
Memories are coming back to you. Holy shit. You got shot. Mr. Tetch shot you.
Still trying to organize your thoughts, you heave a sigh, attempting to sit up. A foreign arm pushes you back down, and it startles you. You hear the monitor beat faster.
"What the hell are you doing?" A high-pitch voice whisper-yells on your left. You whip your head around to find Selina, standing above you. You let your breathing come down. You can't focus. It's too much. You got shot. The words are like a mantra in your head. It's the only thing you can pay attention too.
"Selina?" You ask, small. You can hardly make out her figure through the dim city lights in the window. She roughly hushes you, making a motion to the door. She's definitely not supposed to be here at this hour. "Did you sneak in..?"
"Yeah. Hospital guards don't know jack. So keep your voice down." She huffs, smoothing down her leather jacket. You look at her, incredulously.
You give her a once over. She's fidgeting. She's nervous. Has she been worried for you?
"When did you get here?"
"Like a few hours ago."
"And you've just been watching me?"
She rolls her eyes. "Nothing better to do." It's a lie. There are probably a million other things she could be doing right now. It makes you smile.
She watches you sigh a chuckle, and her eyes narrow.
"Shut up. What was I supposed to do? Find out that freak shot you and do nothing about it?"
Her words wipe the smile off your face. She's right. Mr. Tetch, that freak, did shoot you.
"How long was I out?" You ask, tentatively. She shrugs.
"Since this morning. Docs put you on morphine."
Ah, so that's why it doesn't hurt too bad.
"You got lucky, apparently. Overheard your dad talking about it when I first tried to sneak in earlier. Wherever that guy shot you, it was survivable."
You digest her words with disbelief. He was trying to kill you. Why didn't he just shoot you in the head?
You offer her a hum.
"Did my dad say anything else?"
"Not much. He was just freaking out." She seems more fed up about this then you are.
You nod, twisting your body to get a better look at her. The pain immediately spikes, and you double over. She cringes, and a hint of worry flashes in her eyes.
You have so many questions. It's funny. You thought they would've all been answered. This whole situation got fucked too fast for you to comprehend. Is Lee okay? Is your dad? Where is Mr. Tetch? God, why aren't you dead?
The question that plagues you the most seems to hurt more than the bullet wound.
Did he know?
Did your dad know? That Mr. Tetch would've shot you instead? Did he pick Lee over you? His daughter, his blood?
You wince at the thought. Selina looks at you with a frown.
"Are you okay?" She asks. There's a foreign, genuine concern in her voice. It's unusual, to see her hard exterior soften like this. It makes you wonder how much she actually cares about you.
"I'm okay." You affirm. You are most definitely not.
You and Selina sit in silence for a moment.
"Do you remember when Nicki Slater called us orphan bastards and we tried to throw him off a roof?" She asks, reminiscing. You remember. Some random rival street kid who you used to bum cigarettes off of.
"I'm not even an orphan." You chuckle. She smiles at that. Success.
Your taste of laughter dies when you think about it. You're not an orphan. But you might as well be. Your parents are gone. If Jim really chose that woman over you. Barbara hasn't been much of a mom for years now, either.
Speaking of Barbara...
"Did you stop by the Sirens? My mom say anything?"
"Yeah. She's pissed. So is Tabs. She tried to throw a knife at some guys head. Pretty sure there's a citywide search for Tetch, or whatever his name is."
At that, something in you snaps. No. No one can find him before you do. You still have so many questions. You need answers. You need to see him again. Him and his smile and his eyes and his damned top hat.
"He got away?"
"Yeah. Your dad is kind of a shitty cop."
At that you snort.
"Tell me about it," You pause, mouth open, looking for the right words. "Any word on the street about where Tetch could be?" It feels weird to say his name without "Mr." in front of it.
Selina narrows her eyes at you.
"...Why?"
You shuffle around in the hospital bed, eyes looking anywhere but her face.
"I need to see him, Selina."
The moment you say the words, she scoffs and stands up. She throws her hands up in agitation.
"Are you insane?" Yes. "He tried to kill you. You're lucky you got out alive the first time. And you're hurt. Did the morphine go to your head?" She flicks your forehead, clearly baffled.
"Selina. If you have any idea where he could be, you need to tell me."
Her voice turns bitter.
"Why? So you can get yourself killed? Why shouldn't I tip off the GCPD, tell them what I've heard, and get myself a niiiiiiice reward?"
"If you wanted to do that, you would've done it already." You look at her, and a look of pure determination makes its way onto your face.
"You're an idiot. I'm trying to help you." She urges. It's clearly a dumb decision, to go see the guy who tried to kill you. But in the moment you don't care.
Between your father and your mother and the man himself, you can't live the rest of your life not knowing everything there is to know about him. Maybe it's naivety. Maybe it's childish fascination. But the man has a grip on your psyche, and he will not let up.
"Please, Selina." You beg, thinking about your father. Thinking that he may have purposefully left you to die. "I need this."
She looks at you with exasperation.
"You know better than anyone, Selina." You grab her hand, and she exhales. "You know better than anyone why I need this."
She quirks an eyebrow. She's trapped between a rock and a hard place. She does know better than anyone why you need this.
Revenge.
The only difference is she thinks it's revenge on Mr. Tetch.
But you know better.
Your father isn't going to know what hit him.
Selina managed to steal a few morphine shots and painkillers from a patients refrigerator.
You're thankful. You practically ripped yourself out that hospital bed the minute she begrudgingly told you where Mr. Tetch could be.
"Look. I don't know for sure, okay? But word on the street is he's holed himself up in some mansion on the East side. There is a bounty on his head. You need to be careful."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me," She jabs. "Not when your taking another bullet. This time to the head."
You don't blame her for her concern. Mr. Tetch could easily kill you or hypnotize you the moment you walk in that door. Then it's bye bye Y/N.
"What's the plan?" She asks. You two have been sneaking on the rooftops, like you normally do. Except this time you're in a hospital gown and some bandages. You feel your side clench every time you jump to the ground. You're not sure how many pain killers you've taken. Maybe Selina was right, and you're just high out of your mind, and stupidly doing this.
Oh well. You never had any inhibitions anyways.
"I'm going in alone." You wince, hitting the ground on a particularly steep jump. You can see all the mansions of Gotham City lit up in gold. Selina scoffs.
"Of course you are. Whatever. It's your funeral."
You two finally approach the yard of the only mansion whose windows are all shut. You sigh in anticipation.
"This has gotta be it." You mutter under your breath. Anxiety floods you. Maybe you do have inhibitions.
Selina pats your shoulder. You look back at her.
"Don't die." She says, bluntly. You give a thumbs up.
"I'll check in with you if I'm not dead tomorrow. I promise." She nods at your words. Before you know it she vanishes into the night, climbing up a wall and into the trees.
You look at the door in front of you. Your breath catches in your throat.
Okay. Okay. Okay. You can do this.
You ring the doorbell. Better idea then breaking in, probably. You think Mr. Tetch would appreciate the sentiment. It's polite.
Shooting someone isn't polite, that voice in your head refutes. You're going to die. Don't you know? Curiosity killed the cat.
The door opens before your eyes.
"Hi." You reply, echoing the words you said to him when you two met for the second time. Your reminded of how much he seemed to enjoy the small gesture.
His expression now is a far cry from enjoyment.
Mr. Tetch is frozen in place. He says absolutely nothing. That stupidly handsome face is twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated disbelief. Lips parted, eyes narrowed, he looks aghast. The sight is oddly satisfying.
"Can I come in?" You purse your lips and feel the wound on your waist tighten. He casts his eyes downwards, in either irritation or vexation. His jaw clenches, and he then manages to push the rest of the door open.
He doesn't say a single thing while you push past him and into the house.
#gotham#x reader#gotham x reader#batman#batman rogues#batman rouges gallery#batman x reader#gotham villains x reader#dc comics#jervis tetch gotham#jervis tetch x reader#jervis tetch#gotham jervis#jervis tetch imagine#dc mad hatter#the mad hatter x reader#the mad hatter#the mad hatter dc#fic series
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i have so so many feelings about pryce and eiffel post finale
one was adored by everyone, one was hated, and they’re both completely new people having to deal with how they’re treated based on who they used to be
new pryce basically just starts existing. she's lost, she's confused, she's looking around at a room full of people she doesn't know pleading for answers. and what does she get? the first memory of her existence is getting her fuckin lights knocked out.
imagine that, being so lost and new to the world, and not having anyone who can help you? you're stuck with this group of people who despise you. they don't say it out loud, but you can feel that repressed anger, that hatred in every interaction with them you have. and you don't have a single clue why.
and you gradually find out. you learn about every horrible, awful thing the woman who you were, the woman who's body you now inhabit did. the person who is now dead, but who everyone can't help but see every time they look at you. how you had a part in ruining all of these people's lives, in ending lives, in killing friends and family. how guilty would you feel?
for god’s sake, the thing that got lovelace out of bed every day for two years was the thought of hunting down and killing pryce and cutter, and now what? does she try to help?
don't get me wrong, i don’t think any of them would go out of their way to be cruel. they'd probably even try to help her adjust, but would any of them like her? genuinely try to build a connection with the new person that she is? i don't think they'd be able to.
i think eiffel and pryce are two sides of the same coin. pryce never had the connection, but i think eiffel actively distances himself from the crew.
he has so, so much to live up to. so many expectations on him. seeing the grief in everyone else's eyes every time they talk to him, the way they introduce him to pop culture and all of these things he barely understands or cares for, desperate to try to revive a man who's dead and gone. how would that make you feel?
having this support system, knowing you were so loved, and that all of these people care for you so deeply... except they don't. it isn't real. the one they love is not you, it's the man you used to be, the one you never knew? they aren't here because they care about you, they're here in that desperate hope that if they stick around, who you used to be will somehow resurface? what would that do to you?
i think they’d stick with each other. like i said they’re two sides of the same coin, they’re the only two people who really understand each other
#miranda pryce#doug eiffel#w359#wolf 359#the way they treated pryce in the finale has never sat right with me#i know they hated pryce but this is a new person! you did it! you killed pryce!#also i think that they swap and pryce is good now and eiffel goes more evil/morally corrupt#anyway they essentially killed pryce and spawned a new person#then immediately beat the shit out of her!!! why!!!#if i was better at writing fics id write one with minkovski and hera trying to reintroduce eiffel to pop culture stuff#and him just snapping and having to tell them#that doug is dead and trying to shove his interests onto new doug isn't going to bring him back
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man the way six's head WHIPS 2 glare at mono after he breaks the music box
#i forgot she did that and it caught me off guard LMAO . silly but also Fuckkkk my heart#these poor kiddos never had a chance#and her posture is noticeably changed :( she's hunched over starin at the ground#immediate sign that Something Isnt Right#thats part of what i adore sm about little nightmares It's never ever stated what's going on b/c no dialogue#you need to Pay attention to their body language and their actions and shit#it's why i side eye people who r like ... ooh six.... shes Evil omg..... ucan see from the start of the game...#or she saw mono's face n recognized him as the thin man#the first 1. u dont know what tha hell u r talking abotu Im sorry but did u even PLAY tha game. or you're like 8 years old LMAO#and the second one HOW!!! mono's baby ass face looks Nothin like the thin man#and did u forget he spent the last 10 minutes basically beating the shit out of her . like we know why he did it but six#she was in another state of mind bruh#put urself in her shoes . Or her jacket since she doesnt wear shoes heehee#my rambles#little nightmares
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I see people bringing up Nishiki slapping Reina so fucking often and I'm so fucking tired of it.
Let's get this out of the way first: was it good of Nishiki to hit Reina? Should he have done it? OF FUCKING COURSE NOT. While violence is the answer to a not negligible amount of problems, here, it WASN'T.
HOWEVER.
People tend to act as though Reina was a poor uwu victim who didn't do anything wrong. So lemme explain the situation here:
1) Nishiki just saw someone he cares about A LOT get sexually assaulted or even raped.
2) Nishiki just brutally killed his boss because of an emotional / trauma reaction to witnessing said assault and was very shaken up by it, having collapsed to his knees when Kiryu arrives.
3) His brother just took the fall for it and will have to go to prison for a very long time.
4) Sawamura disappears from the hospital, leaving Nishiki with most of his support network gone in the blink of a fucking eye.
5) He goes to update Reina on the situation and she starts screaming at him, accusing him of being weak and useless, of failing her by not being able to protect Sawamura and Kiryu.
Great fucking reaction on her part, isn't it? He's just lost two of his siblings at once and she is telling him that it's his fault. Yes, Reina probably didn't mean it like that, but she still says it. And when Nishiki interrogates her on it, she doesn't retract it.
It's not helping that Nishiki's mental stability is already shot to shit because of various pressures, such as an important surgery for Yuko coming up, Kazama's clear favouritism, Kashiwagi's distance.
I reiterate: NISHIKI GETTING VIOLENT WAS BAD. HE SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT.
And he apparently does slap her quite hard. But he also immediately regrets it, looking at his hand with shock. As someone who not only has a lot more physical strength than Reina and is in organised crime and is thus the stronger party in the power imbalance, it was his responsibility to try and counteract the power imbalance by restraining himself. And he failed at that.
My point is that Reina said what I consider to be unforgivable things, even if she didn't mean them. And she knows this because when Nishiki confronts her, she is scared. She knows she fucked up. Yet she doesn't try to retract her accusations or to reformulate what she feels.
They're both horrible in this interaction and this is why I don't like them as a pairing. Reina clearly is way over her head in the Yakuza world. Which is perfectly fine, not everyone can deal with it, in fact I'd wager that most people can't, yet she both involves herself in it and is involved in it by others. And then she deals with being exposed to the dark sides of the yakuza world by toxically unleashing it, here on Nishiki.
Another thing I don't like is the "he hit a woman because she hurt his feelings he isn't an uwu baby". Oh, so it would have been fine if Reina had been a man? No it wouldn't have. Why bring gender into this? Either say that no one deserves to be hurt or say that everyone deserves to get slapped every once in a while.
Let all genders be slapped and let all genders slap. All or nothing, cmon.
#I actually dont like reina as a person#I tried to keep it out of the post if it shines through though i apologise#Lemme know if you have a totally different view im open to discussion :)#Just reina saying all of that was uncalled for and incredibly cruel#You cant tell me that shes in love with him but doesnt know about his inferiority complex and fragile mental state#I get aiming to hurt people in an argument#It happens yknow but that was not an argument up until nishiki hitting her she was just beating down on him verbally#Like if it had been me in nishikis place i would have ended the friendship immediately#Like i wouldnt have hit her because ive been taught by society that if I have an emotional breakdown im being hysterical#But i would have given her a piece of my mind and then just straight up ended the relationship because its not okay to say things like that#nishikiyama akira#yakuza#rgg#akira nishikiyama#my rants#I still maintain that nishiki should not have hit her under any circumstances#I just dont like how people use that he hit her to argue that nishiki is evil and shit#Like is he a good person? No???? No fleshed out character in the Yakuza world is its organised crime ffs#But it doesnt fucking make him evil now does it#Why am i writing long posts about fictional characters when i should be studying for uni#Im so gonna fail at least one course this semester
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controversial take but I think jon would have gouged out his eyes if Martin had said yes.
#the magnus archives#Tma#jonathan sims#Tw: eye trauma#Like Jonathan doesn't give a single shit about his body#But he does care very much about his team and not letting everyone else die/beating elias#Jonathan Sims wouldn't have left Martin behind which is why he didn't try#Au where jon sits them all down and is like so here's the plan#Melanie immediately stabs her eyes out#Daisy decides last minute to not bc barisa wants to stay#Jon and Martin have a very sad romantic moment where they stab each other's eyes out#Not that it works#At that point I don't believe anything jon would have done could have stopped or devierted the course#But imagine if everybody else blinded themselves#Jon managed to gouge his eyes out but it didn't sever the link#So now it's just jon and basira stuck in the archives together#Basria is even more convinced than Canon that jon is a monster#And also resentful the dasia left her#Jon is even more heart stick bc it's not like he can contact Martin now#Not if he wants him safe#All the characters have the worst oppion of jon and I just don't see it#Like is he a jackass? Yes#Did he make the wrong decision nearly everything? Yes#But that was due to manipulation and lack of information more than anything else#Tim was the only one valid for hating jon#I will die on this hill
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i just gotta say peoples' obsessions with writing toxic relationships just concerns the shit outta me on this hellsite.
#ooc. your local bodega kat.#[everyone: i love complex relationships! what everyone means: couples fighting is normal! so if they're horrendous to each other#sometimes it's normal!!#couples fight like... of course. it's unhealthy NOT to fight. but there's a level where it's....uhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH and some of what's said#or done that people condone on here is wild. if i had a nickel for every time i saw someone say their character was a wonderful spouse and#then display like 10 reasons why they're covertly emotionally or verbally abusive. the rpc has such a tendency to refer to dv in one#specific term when it comes to ic ships and it's always physical but everything else is 'complex' and man that's worrying. see also: why#i was taught in grad school never to teach streetcar with marlon brando because students excuse him immediately due to his looks and his#bullshit angst. it's alarming as fuck. coming from parents who were sometimes physically abusive (to me and each other) like... this also#needs to be recognized in self-critical media. there's so much shit that needs evaluating. and it's not like i've never written a toxic#ship. i wrote the fucking WORST on at one point because i was too chickenshit to get alana out of it. and it ended in her being DESTROYED.#you know. like those kind of relationships tend to end in. like. my ex-father beat the fuck out of a dude in a bar who hit on my mom and#then when he found out the guy died a day later it was military or jail and he went military. and then my mom took him BACK. this is REAL#LIFE SHIT. writing it is virtually incredibly depressing and writing it without making clear it's fucked up is worse. whether you've been#through it or not. in that case: why even. shit hurts enough when you go through it. why would you want to vicariously go through it#being a fake person if there was no way to turn the outcome through healing and positive growth. sorry for being an optimist basically.]#domestic violence mention /#domestic abuse mention /#abuse mention /#murder mention /#[i'm just thinking back on the most toxic fucking verse i ever had and how glad i am said person and i no longer speak.]
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I want to remind people that Kanaya is basically a niceguy
#she’s a cute one tho that’s why rose fell for her#can’t resist the adorable maryam charms of just saying the most weirdest jokes and then friendzoning yourself#like why do u people think eridan and kanaya had the same pale problems LMAO#dave makes this correlation to rose and she immediately beats the shit out of him
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I'm not trying to be an asshole but I think the funniest thing about fandom discourse is that the same kinda people who will tell you to kys for "liking incest" all because you ship two characters with the same mentor are the SAME PEOPLE that will bend over backwards to defend the most uninspired, bland, and toxic ass ship you've ever seen just because it's canon and het.
#save gotham MY way#you beat the shit out of me to get back at bruce#no. I beat you down so you'd realize robin meant *pain*#and would quit#i- oh...#i have your back. i know no one else in this fucking 'family' does but- but i do#well. cass does too but-#yeah. yeah ive got yours too.#yes this is me being salty but. fucking listen. cassandra cain was not adopted by bruce untol she was something like 19 fucking years old.#she came into that family absolutely READY to really Be part of the family#because outside of bab's mentorship/mothering role she'd never HAD one before.#so she immediately took to dick as her older brkther and tim as her little brother; despite the fact that neither of them jad trusted her#at ALL when she'd first showed up. but you know what the fuck else is Just as likely? This grown ass woman seeing them#as her brothers in arms rather than her Brothers.#and that makes sense. right? a 20 y/o woman going jnto the marines doesnt suddenly view all of her basic training peers the same way as she#sees the two annoying kid brothers she left back home. and instead these guys are now her brothers in arms. the people who are going to#watch her back while she watches theirs.#so if thats easy to comprehend then why is it so hard for people to understand that jason and tim (at least in fucking preboot) Do Not See#Each Other As Brothers. hell! preboot jason is a straight up villain! and one that both hates what tim represents as robin but also#has a high level of respect for tims capability as a hero! preboot jason considered/worked with exactly Two People in his entire 6 years#and they were Scarlet and Tim.#he had trust issues put the fucking door and Didnt Like People and he *still* put her cards out there during bftc to ask tim to work#with him. and sure. bftc fucking sucks. cass should have been batman and just reverted him to urban legend status within the media. however#all of the character interactions (at least the ones where theyre helping each other) are Actually Pretty Well Done. this arc Does actually#help tim and dami reconcile a bit. dick finally steps into the shoes left for him. jason shows that -while off his fucking rocker'his goal#of hasnt changed- DESPITE the fact that hes an entire and highky influencial crime lord!#that emotional journey from to#it just has the potential to be so fucking GOOD and theres nothing wrong with seeing this possibility and runnjng with the ship you think#would come out kf that kinda arc. i mean. hell its Gorgeous.#then meanwhile youve got yja meg brain-nonconning connor while evryone excuses it and antis bend over BACKWARDS to defend it.
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ok i just beat lucia's campaign. it's like 5 missions shorter has an actual story and is like. wayyyy less painful
#'has an actual story' - to clarify i mean that the emotional beats of the plot even in dante's campaign#all have to do with lucia saying she has a conflict and being upset and stuff#and dante has nothing but i guess like. the story matier wants to tell him about sparda?#anyway there's almost no aerial bosses and the unique levels/areas were alright#lucia was fine to fight as and i kinda like her. her story's not that unique or interesting but i think she's the best part of this game#maybe her campaign was easier/less painful for me bc i largely knew what i was doing at that point?#and also my expectations were pretty low from dante's campaign so like. pleasant surprise#if i felt like replaying it i'd probably just stick to lucia's campaign#oh also a correction: it appears as though the timing-based sword combos ARE a thing in this one#at the very least they are with lucia. i'd assume with dante as well but whatever#i think when i was trying to find out if there was one i was going for similar cadences to dmc1#which meant i didn't find any and assumed they weren't there. i really did try yk but i missed smth#anyway yea. dmc3 time babeyy#dmc#update my game crashed immediately after credits so i had to do the final fight again lol#nbd but yeah task manager has been saving me from dmc2 a lot.. maybe it's just a shit port who knows#ALSO dante's DOES have the timing combo thing. once again i don my dunce cap#also why is hers so much shorter?? is it like. misogyny or what#i get that she's not the mc but you gave her a disc you might as well go all in i figure#anyway. silly. time for dmc3 hooray
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REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPT BY @out-of-jams
ACCIDENTALLY KIDNAPPING A MAFIA BOSS
In Tucker's defense, he thought he was doing someone a favor. A life saving favor, in fact.
"What the fuck-!” The red helmeted guy yelped as a deceptively strong Tucker yanked him onto the bike and sped away. Before Tucker could explain, the GIW agents behind them got in a lucky shot and hit the helmeted liminal with a strong blast to the head.
Clearly, his gear wasn’t equipped with anti-ecto protections, because the guy slumped over on Tucker’s arms. This was bad, because Tucker now had to maneuver about 230 pounds of Gotham muscle while speeding away from government agents. He flicked on the jammer so they couldn’t track his and red helmets’s ecto signature.
“STOP!”
“Ah, shit.” Tucker cursed as he somehow managed to gather up red-helmet’s body and stabilize the bike. “C’mon, Tuck, you can do this.”
Blasts of anti-ecto tech slammed into buildings around him. Luckily, Gotham was used to this kind of shit so people just moved out of the way before going back to their day. Tucker wove around traffic, trying to lure the agents into slamming face first into some signposts.
“Stop damaging the local infrastructure!” Tucker yelled back at them, speeding up.
“WELL REIMBURSE THE PEOPLE AND THE CITY LATER! TELL US WHERE PHANTOM IS!!”
“Over my dead body, you jerks!” Tucker took a sharp right, catching red helmet before the man could slip off. He sped up and took the ramp downwards, heart beating loudly in his ears as he strained his senses to figure out- ah, they took the ramp upwards. Good. Now, all he has to do is bring red helmet back to home base.
“Oh my god. I kidnapped him,” Tucker groaned, slapping at his face before quickly placing his hands back on the handle bar once the bike teetered over with red helmet’s weight. “I’m a criminal. Oh my god.”
Then, as he found his way back, “…Well, it’s not like I wasn’t a criminal before, with the whole resisting arrest thing.”
——
Tucker dumped the red helmet liminal onto the couch of their shared apartment and went to take a shower. When he got out ten minutes later, he found Danny and Sam staring at the helmet guy. Tucker pushed up his glasses (after letting them defog from the shower) and greeted them.
“Hey, guys! I found him while I was running away from Agent L and J.”
“You okay?” Danny asked, eyes immediately flicking over Tucker for injuries.
“Yeah, I’m good. They’re horrible shots.”
“I thought Danny was the one who brought home strays but you…?” Sam commented, arms crossed and a purple painted nail tapping at her arm. “Wait. Isn’t this… that crime lord? What was his name?”
“Red Hood?” Danny offered, turning back to look at the guy on their couch.
Tucker paled. “Oh, no.”
Guns? Check.
Red Helmet? Check.
Bat-Symbol? Check.
Shit.
They collectively stared at the guy in silence.
“…Tucker,” Sam slowly said. “Did you accidentally kidnap a crime lord?”
“Hey, I didn’t want him to get killed! He’s liminal! Even more than us, except for Danny.” Tucker grumbled. “Man, this is why I leave the hero-ing to Danny. I do one good thing and suddenly I have a crime lord on my couch.”
“My couch,” Sam corrected, as she was the one that furnished their apartment.
“What do we do now?”
“Eat dinner,” Tucker said. “I’m famished.”
Sam nodded. “Wait for him to wake up and hope he doesn’t shoot us the moment he wakes up. Then, we explain.”
Danny grabbed all the visible guns he could see. Tucker went to start dinner. Sam supervised, because her boys were idiots and now she had a crime lord in her apartment.
——
Jason groaned, head swimming in a sea of dull throbbing pain as his eyes fluttered open.
Then he remembered he was abducted, and bolted up right. He paused as a series of quick observations made its way to his consciousness.
One. He’s not tied up. Weird, because everyone knows that he’s a weapon even without his weapons.
Two. His weapons were right there, just in reach.
Three. He was surrounded by teenagers and/or young adults who were all scrolling along on their phones.
“Oh, hey, he’s awake! Hi!” The Wayne bait said, electric blue eyes fixing itself on Jason. “Were you aware you died?”
Jason went rigid, hundreds of way to-
“Danny!” A scolding tone cut of Jason’s immediate panic. Two couch pillows slammed into Danny’s face, courtesy of goth girl and nerdy but strong.
“Dude, why do you start with that? Why are you like this?” His… possible kidnapper? asked, exasperatedly flinging his hands into the air as he rolled his eyes.
Goth girl scowled. “Boys. Crime lord, couch, remember?”
“Hey, in my defense, I died too!”
And that- as Jason remained dumbfounded in this circle of tomfoolery- was what snapped Jason out of his daze.
“You what?” He rasped out.
And when he saw them open their mouths at the same time, Jason just knew his headache was going worse.
——
Tucker, effortlessly plucking the actual red hood from the streets: and I whoop-
Jason, whose type is strong, nerdy, and tall: *heart eyes* *but not really because he’s unconscious*
——
Sam: “this is my boyfriend Danny and our other boyfriend Tucker.”
Jason enters chat:
Sam: “this is my boyfriend Danny and our other boyfriend Tucker and his boyfriend, the Red Hood.”
——
#writing prompt#DCxDP#Sam Mason#dpxdc#Danny Phantom#Tucker Foley#they share an apartment#so basically they’ve got the swankiest living space ever#bc Gotham rent is cheap#are they platonically or romantically living together?#no one knows#I sure as hell don’t either
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voice | m. sturniolo
i had this idea a million years ago, please enjoy!!
summary: chris wonders if you can tell his and matt’s voice apart
warnings: super fluffy!! a bit suggestive at the very end, i’m questioning if it’s good or not
wc: 1.6k
gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !
“i call shower first!” you exclaim the second the garage door is open, sprinting past matt up the stairs to his bathroom.
“there’s three showers,” chris says matter-of-factly as you blow past him on the steps, holding a hand out in confusion.
matt sighs and follows behind you, passing chris as well, “yeah, but you don’t have to share,”
you’re already on the mainfloor, running into matt’s bedroom to grab the change of clothes you’d left earlier.
“i’m so glad i don’t have a girlfriend,” chris mutters, earning a smack upside the head from nick, “jesus, fuck, what,”
“you’re just annoying,” nick says, deciding it’s a good enough explanation and getting a laugh out of matt.
“agreed,” matt’s still chuckling when they reach the kitchen table, setting down the take out the four of you had gotten on your way back to the house. he hears the water turn on in his bathroom, accompanied by the soft sound of your voice as you sing along to your music.
“oh she’s a nicki fan,” nick says to no one in particular, referencing the tik tok sound when he notices you’re listening to a nicki minaj song.
matt looks up from the bag of food and laughs.
chris sinks into the couch but looks over at matt, arm slung over the cushions, “i wonder if she could tell our voices apart,” he says after a second.
“what?” matt asks, thinking the question is mildy rediculous.
“like do you think she could recognize your voice?” chris explains, wandering into the kitchen now. opening a pepsi and leaning up against the counter.
nick chimes in now, having been fiddling with the vlog camera and battery, “like compared to you and me?” he asks chris, glancing back at matt as if to say ‘is this guy for real?’
“yeah,” chris nods.
“yeah, obviously she’d be able to tell my voice apart from yours,” matt is looking back at the food again, tone matter-of-fact, as if what he’d said was absolute common sense.
chris is quiet for about half a second and matt thinks that’s the end of that absurd conversation. it isn’t, of course.
“should we test it out?” chris asks through a sip of soda.
matt officially gives up on trying to set the food up, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before turning to chris, “and how are we gonna do that?”
chris shrugs, but nick has an idea, “chris, you could like, just go ask her for something, if you left something in the bathroom—“
“absolutely not,” matt shuts it down immediately with a shake of his head, “you're not going in the bathroom when my girlfriend is showering,”
“i won’t even go all the way in!! i’ll cover my eyes,” chris promises, but matt is still skeptical. “i’ll just like poke my head in the door and ask if i left like..a belt or some shit in there,” is chris’ next offer.
matt sighs and thinks about it, weighing the pros and cons. of course you can tell his voice apart from his brothers…right? he’s making himself nervous, pysching himself out and worrying they all sound the same to you. it upsets him for some reason, he can’t quite decide why.
“fine,” he agrees after a beat of silence, convincing himself you know whis voice well enough to separate it from chris’, and if you can’t, he thinks he might actually feel a sick twinge of unjustified jealousy.
“yes,” chris mutters under his breath, always excited to pull a prank on anyone.
“this is definitely going in the vlog,” nick says, still messing with the camera and coming to sit at the kitchen table where matt is now.
“i can’t believe i agreed to this,” matt mumbles, rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath. he stands from his seat and walks over to the wall where he can see the bathroom door, feeling some what protective, like he needs to supervise chris to make sure he doesn’t wander too far into the bathroom.
“what should i say?” chris turns back arms pulled in close to his body as if he’s nervous. he’s already grinning and trying to keep from laughing.
“ooh, call her sweetheart, matt always does that,” nick suggests, wiggling his brows in matt’s direction to tease him.
“oh my god,” matt groans softly, rubbing at his eyes, “i fucking hate you guys,”
“okay, i’m going in,” matt drops his hands at that, eyes on his brother immediately. chris puts a hand over his eyes, just as he said he said he would before knocking on the door. nick has the camera out to record and is trying to stifle his laugh in the collar of his hoodie.
at the sound of the knock matt hears your voice, calling out for him, no doubt thinking it’s him at the door. he has to cover his mouth, partly out of nerves but also to keep himself from saying anything.
“yeah,” chris starts, needing to take a second before continuing because he’s already making himself laugh. “yeah, sweetheart, did i leave my belt in here?” he asks, barely stood in the doorway of the bathroom.
“uhh, i think it’s in your bedroom?” you say after a slight pause, about to poke your head out from behind the shower curtain, but chris has already mumbled a ‘thanks’ and essentially sprinted out of the bathroom, closing the door and crumbling to the floor in giggles.
“you’re not fucking real,” matt shakes his head, laughing softly himself and pushing off the wall to go back to the kitchen table. he’s a bit bummed that you didn’t realize it wasn’t his voice, but he keeps that to himself.
nick pans the camera over to matt’s face, which seems expressionless, even with both his brothers cackling outside of the frame.
you come out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, heading into matt’s bedroom to drop the clothes you’d changed out of. matt is instantly sitting back up, the legs of his chair scraping along the hardwood floors.
“ooh, someone’s pissed,” nick turns the camera to himself, eyeing the now closed door.
“that was too fucking good,” chris says after a deep breath, still recovering from laughing so hard. he pulls a chair out next to nick and the two start to explain what had happened to the camera, eyes flicking up to matt’s door every few seconds.
in the bedroom you’re putting your dirty clothes back into your bag when matt comes in, looking a little bit pouty, “hey baby,” you turn towards him, laughing at the slightly pathetic look he gives you, “what’s up?” you wonder.
“m’ tired,” he tells you, slumping up against you for a hug. you wrap your arms around him and rub his back, letting him lay his weight into you.
“we’ll eat and go to bed, yeah?” you give his back another little pat when he nods against you, “mkay, let’s go,” you kiss his cheek quickly, only to have him turn his head in search of a real kiss. you oblige of course.
nick and chris have already started eating and updating the vlog on their day when you and matt come out of the bedroom. matt joins them at the table but you head for the fridge to grab a drink. “oh, did you find your belt?” you ask matt, still digging around.
“what?— oh yeah” he mumbles, gaze turned down to his fries.
“okay good. by the way you sounded so much like chris when you came in— it freaked me the fuck out” you say with your head in the fridge, still searching for the diet coke you know you left inside the door, “did one of you drink my coke–”
“wait what?” matt’s head snaps up, food forgotten.
“hmm?” you turn around to find all three boys looking at you. nick’s mouth open in a half smile and chris clearly trying not to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. matt’s just staring at you with eyes a little bit too wide before he speaks up.
“what do you mean i sounded weird?” he asks, leaning forward. you notice nick’s shut up about whatever he was saying to the camera earlier, pointing the lens at you now.
“i dunno, when you said sweetheart it just sounded super fucking weird— why are you guys looking at me like that–” you have to ask, feeling slightly weirded out by the intensity of their gazes
“i knew it!!” matt cheers, punching the air and doing a silly little dance as nick doubles over and starts hitting the table.
chris’ jaw drops and he presses his fingers into his eyes as he laughs next to his brother, leaning on him.
matt bounds over to you with a grin, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground slightly.
“whaaaat,” you giggle, clearly confused by their reaction.
“it was me,” chris manages to say between bouts of laughter, “we– we were trying to see if you could tell our voices apart.”
“of course i can tell your voices apart, especially your voice,” you turn towards matt, saying it like it should be obvious, like it’s silly they doubted you for even a second.
matt’s just grinning at you, feeling a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest, “i knew you could,”
“bullshit!” chris exclaims, both him and nick still leaning against each other as they laugh.
“he’s right, you were freaked the fuck out,” nick manages to say between giggles, “you watched chris like a fucking hawk when he opened the bathroom door,” he looks over at you, his smile contagious, “he was definitely freaked the fuck out,”
matt groans and drops his head against your shoulder. you brush your fingers through his hair and chuckle to yourself, “awe matt,” you coo, “i definitely know your voice, i’ll probably be hearing lots of it later anyways.”
tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose
#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt struniolo x you#matt sturniolo blurb#matt sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo
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Portgas D. Ace Headcanons 01
Excuse me Oda-sensei, but that 40 year old Ace is simply criminal.
Thank you so much for blessing us with him
Anyway! Have some Husband!Ace headcanons
For more Ace content please head to my Tumblr MasterList
Ace is, respectfully, a huge simp for his wife
To the extent that the Whitebeard crew straight up jokingly awarded him with a “Biggest Wife Simp” Award
They made it look official and had Whitebeard sign it and everything. There's even a stamp.
Ace has it framed and hung proudly on the wall next to your bachelor’s degree / college diploma / degree in general.
I feel like despite his own personal insecurities, Ace still manages to be an amazing father
I imagine Ace originally setting out for like one or two kiddos at most (because y'know...what if he's not good enough) and ending up with 3 or 4 kids
Thing is, that’s both your faults.
Ace is tender and goofy with his kids, and he’s so friggin caring: to the extent that…well wouldn’t it be neat to see him with maybe another 2 or 3 kiddos of his own?
(Your husband is hot okay?)
In his case, he swears you have a unique glow about you when you’re pregnant. But more than that when he sees you with your first born, he suddenly wants a big family with you.
I imagine his kids are an eldest son, then his princess, then the youngest boy who takes after his uncle Luffy.
His kids aren’t parentified. He keeps his issues far, far, away from them. Besides, he’s got you by his side.
He was dedicated to making sure they got as much playtime as possible.
He heard about learning through play, and he is DEDICATED to doing that as much as possible
Ace’s kids are spoiled with affection, but not spoiled brats.
While it’s true he’d give them the world, he’d rather let them go get it themselves.
For example: when they asked for a tree house, he gave them the greenlight immediately.
But they had to build it themselves.
It was a super fun project lasting a little over two months with the whole family involved.
Oh and the Whitebeard crew helped too.
It took a while to get the design down initially, then the shopping logistics and whatnot (they used a lot of math here - see education via play)
Building the thing took maybe a weekend or two because the Whitebeard Crew and even the Strawhats came over to help
(It was mostly Franky and Usopp doing work, Sanji was cooking with Thatch)
Uncle Luffy was not allowed near the construction zone after an accident.
They almost destroyed the tree house with their partying once
Ace’s kids were not happy and no one was allowed in the backyard for the rest of the night
He makes sure they have proper manners and self-defense skills
You had to help out here, no lie.
He admitted he needed your help, especially after a dinner with Garp where Makino tagged along to see Ace again
He puts all of his kids into martial arts classes
especially his princess - he’s so proud of her when she beats up bullies
He’s not great at discipline though to be honest. He probably goes about it similarly to Garp.
Ace will not tolerate any of his kids being nasty to their mother. No matter the phase.
You will have to hold him back if you want to let them get their frustration off their chest.
He’ll let them talk, but you’ll have to keep a hand on him somewhere, his arm, his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his back and rub soothing circles
Let’s just say, “talk shit, get hit,” is Ace’s attitude towards anyone being demeaning towards you (more so with adults, not his kids, but that's why they get a scolding)
"Ace my love" (he melts every time you call him that) "the kids’ll start thinking you love me more than them if you do that"
"My kids won’t disrespect their mother though!"
"They’re just venting darling, and when they say or do something that violates my boundaries, I'll be sure to reinforce it. Lead by example right?"
If they ever feel like pissing Ace off for fun they can just say something kinda not nice about you and he'll get mad and they'll flee from him giggling like the little gremlins they are
Ace is veeeeeeeeerry physically affectionate and he isn’t shy about it at all.
At gatherings with the Whitebeard family, he will gladly seat you in his lap, he will happily hug you as you are seated.
His arm is on your waist most of the time.
They tease him to make him tone it down, he does not.
He, in fact, dials it up. Turns up the heat lol.
You have kids? Not in front of them? What do you mean, not in front of the kids? It’s important they know just how much he loves their mama!
So he will continue to be playful with his hugs and kisses and other displays of affection.
It’s nothing too over the top. Just hugs and quick pecks wherever.
Your entire head is fair game for his smooches, your arms (he loves kissing your pulse and then making eye contact, sneaky guy that he is), your shoulders.
Maybe lifting you and spinning you around. Cuddles. Little bites.
He will play-wrestle his kids to “fight” them over getting to cuddle you, and then he’ll just put all his weight on all of you in a group cuddle
Just to let you know, your kids also receive all the warmth and love of his affections.
When his sons are still tiny and adorable, he smooches them all over. The kisses grow less frequent as they grow older, but the hugs do not stop.
Oh no, hugs galore.
Ace still pecks his little princess on her forehead though
When they’re all under ten he’ll wrap them in a hug (after he chased them down and caught them so they’re laughing and screaming) and start smooching their cheeks while they laugh and try to get out of his grasp
Also yes she’s his princess, but that girl has no problem throwing a fully grown man twice her size around, he made sure of it.
I reiterate: Ace is not remotely shy about displays of affection
Like his eldest could have a friend over, and Ace would still launch a full scale hug attack using the rest of his troops (daughter/youngest)
It's complete with screeching, screaming, and a lot of laughter
His kids used to get teased for it, but it didn’t take more than a few conversations for them to instead jeer at the kids that teased them.
"You’re all jealous your parents don’t love you like ours do"
"How sad, your parents don't hug and kiss you"
Their dad, grandpa, uncle - uncles really, are all gremlins - it's in their DNA
The kids are really physically affectionate with each other as a result
Deadass they’ll be kicking the shit out of each other one second and the next they’ll be all cuddled and huddled up playing Mario Kart or something
Ace is his kids’ hero.
His sons aspire to have his level of fitness.
His daughter, when she’s older, uses him as a standard for dating
You're relieved
Ace is touched and a touch nervous, because he is aware of his shortcomings, though he works hard to keep improving
Of course when you look at him, a twinkle in your eyes, and tell him, “I’m so proud of her, I’m so proud of you!” He feels better
When you continue: “if she can find a guy like you, who cherishes her as much as you cherish me, I’d be so happy.”
Ace loves you so much he swears
#portgas d ace x reader#portgas ace x reader#portgas ace x you#one piece x reader#one piece x you#portgas d ace x you#portgas d ace fluff#portgas d ace#portgas d ace fanfic#one piece fanfiction#one piece#ace one piece
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It's a reoccurring pattern with Steve, getting come out to and then instantly shitting on the person's taste in people.
Robin comes out to him and tells him she liked Tammy 'The Muppet' Thompson and Steve immediately jumps onto making fun of her because obviously, he will. She sounds like a goddamn muppet! Robin may deny it, but he knows she knows he's right. And he never lets her forget it.
After the Byers family moves back to Hawkins, Steve gets closer to the Byer-Hopper twins (Not blood related twins, but with how similar they are they might as well be). He takes note of the way Will carries himself, the way he stares at Micheal Asshole Wheeler of all people when he thinks no one is looking.
The kid doesn't come out that quickly, so with Robin's advice, Steve takes his time, making it known how okay he was with Will's sexuality, even if he did have standards low enough to beat Robin's terrible Tammy Thompson taste (He says this to her and she reacts as predictably as ever- by throwing something at him).
When Will does come out to him, Steve makes sure he only freezes for a literal second, not wanting the kid to panic like he'd seen Robin do back then. Of course, as soon as he's done comforting and reassuring the kid that he's completely fine with him being gay, he immediately jumps onto making fun of his terrible crush on Mike, finding great joy in the bright blush burning the teen's face.
The next time someone comes out to him, he's more caught off guard than he was with Robin.
Not because he was shocked that Eddie liked guys, no. He might be stereotyping a little, but no straight guy goes that close to another man and calls him Big Boy all low and seductively, a teasing grin curling his lips, a glint in his eyes-
You get the point.
The reason why he's shocked is because Eddie comes out to him, and when Steve asks about crushes, Eddie says,
"Oh, I had the worst crush on you in high school."
Steve sits there, his jaw practically on the ground. The way Eddie says it, all casual, not caring about the consequences or the effect it has on Steve.
"Wh- I- Me?" He stammered out, incredulous. "Dude, I was the biggest asshole back then!"
Eddie chuckles at that, a low sound that sends further heat into Steve's already flushed body. "The me back then did not give a shit, let me tell you that man." He turns to Steve then, giving him a slow look, a gaze more like, and smirks. "I certainly understood why the ladies were so desperate for you and your gorgeous locks."
His heart is pounding like crazy, an audible thump in his ears. Thoughts race in his head, one after the other, all jumbled up until what comes out of Steve's mouth next is,
"So what, you've got a thing for douchebags? Seriously?"
Eddie shoots him another look, more confused than ever. "What?"
"You heard me," Steve says, feeling the next words come out of his mouth like a waterfall. "I was a huge asshole in high school dude. How the hell did you have a crush on me back then? Did you seriously have no standards? You'd really stoop that low just because I had nice hair? I have good hair, and I'm nice now! What's stopping you from-"
Steve cuts himself off with an audible clack of his teeth, a sound that most often comes from Robin when she shuts herself up.
Goddamnit Robin.
Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, the cigarette between his fingers burning away. Steve wants to watch the smoke curl away, but he's too transfixed on Eddie's doe-like gaze.
Then Eddie's features smooth over, a terrible, terrible grin curling its way onto his lips, deepening that dimple on his cheeks. He leans forward eyes lidded just slightly, and says,
"What's stopping me from what, sweetheart?"
#woo#that was impulsive#im practicing with my characterisation and im not sure if i wrote these two well enough#pls be honest i wanna write fics on these guys#steddie#stranger things 4#st4#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#robin buckley#will byers
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Daddy issues
After your dad is arrested, you try and beg for his job back. But Rafe Cameron decides another way for you to help your father. And his arrangement is different than you imagine.
Warnings! Daddy kink! Talks of violence! Slight reference to abuse! Choking! Blow job! Rough unprotected sex! Breeding kink! Virginity loss! Dirty talk!
You didnt know if you were more angry or surprised when you got the call from the officer that your dad was arrested and currently in jail for assault. You were finished working your late shift at the restaurant when your phone rang.
You screamed in your car on the way to the station. Your dad was a dead beat. An asshole who didn’t know how to fucking control his temper. Daddy dearest also liked to get loud with you, throw things when he didn’t get his way and one time he slapped you in the face.
You slapped him back and threatened to slash his tires. But the threat was empty considering he needed to work, which you had no idea how he kept his job at the docks while working for Rafe Cameron. It used to be his father Ward until his suicide. You’d met him often while picking your dad up, given you had to share a car.
He was…polite you could say. But he was also scary. He glared at everyone and he was short tempered. You usually heard him snapping or yelling if something wasn’t done right. Your dad complained about how strict he was.
But his status and wealth made everyone obey him and intimidated you. His attractiveness however was on another level. His height made you feel small and his blue eyes cut through people.
You slammed the door at the station and went to the desk. After signing in, you tapped your foot impatiently as an officer came up to you.
“Are you…?”
“My dad is here. He just got arrested.” You ground out. You hated being here. She nodded and looked at paperwork in front of her.
“Are you here to post bail?”
“I’m here to see if there’s any way we can clear this up as a misunderstanding.” You tried to plead but she shook her head.
“Ma’am, he attacked a man at a stoplight. He beat him up to the point he lost one of his teeth.”
You pressed your head against your hand. Jesus Christ it was worse than you thought. “How much is bail?”
She looked again at the paperwork. “Looks like we’re at 6,000 dollars.”
“What? I thought the bail was lower than that!” You shrieked.
“Ma’am. He also had multiple charges. Public intoxication, disturbance and assault. He caused a lot of trouble. I suggest you alert his job tomorrow. But until then, he’s going to spend at least 60 days in jail.”
You started crying. You couldn’t help it. It hurt so much. You couldn’t get a break. And now you’d have to face Rafe Cameron and face the humiliation of your dad being in jail.
You cried on and off the next day as you had to switch your schedule to the evening and make the phone call to your dads manager about his current situation. It was immediate termination and you broke down even harder in your bedroom. You refused to take his phone call, afraid you’d explode on him.
As you got ready for another dreaded work shift, your phone started ringing to a number you didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, you answered.
“Hello?”
“Your dads in jail, huh?” You immediately froze. It was Rafe’s voice. How did he-well he was capable of finding anything out.
“I-um. Yes. And he can’t work for you anymore. But if you’ll please reconsider. I know he’s a piece of shit but this is the only job he’s lasted out and we desperately need the money. I’m trying to get a car and we have to share one. I know this is probably pointless but I can’t help but try. So please, please take him back.” More tears came and you felt like a total cry baby but you pushed through.
You expected him to laugh but instead silence met you.
You bit your lip hard enough it bled.
“Meet me at my house. I’ll text you the address. I have a proposition for you.”
“Why can’t you tell me over the phone?” Your stomach tightened.
“Do you want me to help you or not?”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”
“Good girl.”
You set the phone down but seconds later his address came through in a text and your breath stopped short. He wanted to see you after work.
Five minutes before closing and after you finished cleaning, the drive to Rafe’s house wasn’t that far and now you knocked on his door. When he answered, you tried not to reveal how much you found him attractive. His hair was in his face and his eyes were glazed as he looked down at you. His fingers twitched and you imagined what he was doing with that hand…
Rafe gestured with his head for you to come in and you followed him inside the massive penthouse. He had everything you imagined. Expensive furniture, floors and lights.
You followed him to the kitchen where he pointed to the bar stool. “Have a seat.” He muttered.
You obeyed and watched as he circled the island in the center of the room. “So. You wanna save your dads job?”
“Yes. I’m willing to do anything-“ You stopped short when a smirk fell on his face.
“Anything?” Rafe challenged. “It looked like you hated him whenever I saw you talk to him.”
“It’s complicated.” You replied and his smirk grew into a cruel smile.
“Looks like someone has daddy issues.” Rafe countered and you crossed your arms.
“I-well when you put it that way-“
“I’m just bringing up what you’re telling me. Your dad beats the shit out of someone. He went to jail-and now you’re doing anything you can to fix it. Tell me if I missed anything.” Rafe’s voice was low and you hated that he was right.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound pushy. I’m just in a tight spot.”
“Oh I’m sure you’re in a…tight spot.” His meaning was clear and you swallowed.
That was the exchange.
“Look at you. Being a little smart girl and figuring it out. I’m gonna get to the point. You want me to take him back? Bail him out? I get to fuck you. Anywhere. Anytime. And anyplace I want. No condoms. No hidden birth control. No. I wanna see my cum leak out of that desperate pussy.”
Your mouth opened and closed. “I can’t just fuck a stranger. And no birth control? I can’t fucking get pregnant.”
“I’m a selfish whore, baby. And I can afford one. And those are my terms. Either that. Or your dad rots.”
You bit your lip. You weren’t in a position to say no. You needed the money. And Rafe was hot. There were worse guys. Rafe got closer, his big hands reaching to cup the side of your neck.
“Yeah? You want it?”
Slowly, you nodded.
Rafe crooked a finger, signaling you to come closer. You stepped down and approached him gingerly and looked into his gaze. Rafe then latched his hand around your throat. His grip was so strong your feet almost lifted in the air and your eyes widened as he crushed his lips to yours.
His lips devoured you as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. You weren’t experienced. Sure, you’d touched yourself and made out with people.
But actual fucking? You’d never done that. And you knew that was about to change.
“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” Rafe loosened his hold on your neck and pressed you against the island counter, “need someone to be your daddy?”
Your hands flew to his chest as you brought him impossibly closer, his lips sucked your skin with bruising force. You opened your mouth as he slipped his fingers inside.
“Suck.” He commanded and you listened. Spit gathering on your lips as he kneed your legs apart and lifted you up on the counter.
“Need daddy to help you? Fill you up with my cum?” His dirty words made your cunt twitch as he started toying the end of your skirt. Your thighs dampened as he trailed his thick fingers along your flesh, his fingers grazing the wet patch of your underwear.
You started grinding to give any friction against your arousal as he apparently changed his mind and threw you to the ground by underneath your arms. Rafe gestured to the crotch of his pants. “Consider this your first payment, baby. You ever done this before?”
You shakily remained silent as he huffed an amused laugh.
“Really? A girl who’s such a perv that she’s willing to fuck someone giving her money? Never would have guessed. I guess I’ll be nice and help you.”
Rafe undressed his lower half, his cock leaked with precum and he took your hand. “Swipe it with your thumb, get it all wet.” His massive hand compared to yours was almost comical as he grabbed the back of your head.
“Open your mouth, princess. And remember to breathe through your nose.”
After that, he silenced whatever worries you had by shoving his dick forward. You run your tongue along the thick underside, lessening some of the heavy weight by massaging with your hand. You took the tip through your mouth, shoving down any nerves as you sucked. Rafe bobbed your head up and down as he pushed you further, your head bouncing as your eyes squeezed shut.
“No, no, open your slutty eyes and look at me.” He growled. He leaned over the arch of the space between the counter and where you sank on your knees. The skin of his cock was supple as you continued aiding with your hand. It was hot to the touch.
“Good fucking girl. Maybe I’ll reward you by fucking your pussy.” He started thrusting and hitting the back of your throat. “Breathe. Breathe through your nose.” He wiped a few tears away with his thumb as you listened to him.
You knew he was getting closer as he stopped talking, his breathing heavier as he moved your head. His cum spilled inside your mouth, as he released you and you coughed.
“Not bad for your first time. We’re gonna practice some more.” Rafe smirked as his face was flushed and his fist flexed.
He moved on top of you on the floor, hiking up your skirt and ripping off your panties. He spread apart your wet cunt and dipped his middle finger inside your clenching entrance. “You’re such a whore. Never done any of this and you’re already gonna cum. Should have known you’d be daddy’s cum slut.”
Rafe yanked your legs apart, and spit on your pussy. “Not that it needed it, but I’m gonna be a little more kind to you.” You shrieked as he grabbed your jaw.
“Are you on birth control?”
“No.” You quickly answered. “Never-never needed-“
“Good. And you’re not going to. Got it?” Rafe moaned as he pushed his tip in your pussy, “fuck you’re so tight.”
You winced from discomfort but then his knuckles hit your clit, aiding to relieve your tension as he circled them. “Gonna make you mine. Take you away from all that shit.” He grunted as he pushed further.
Rafe let you wrap your arms around his neck as he thrusted.
“Tell daddy you like it.”
“I like it.” You sobbed as he moved harder. “I like it, daddy.”
It was slightly shameful how quickly you came all over him and spilled onto your legs. Rafe also came again and you felt it inside you. He was serious about no protection.
He stayed for a few seconds before getting up. And pulling his pants back on. He extended his hand and pulled you up. You knew you were a sight to be seen, fucked out eyes and messy hair. You just lost your virginity to Rafe Cameron.
You cleared your throat and watched him sweep his eyes over your face. “So. My dad?”
He shrugged. “He’s already out.”
You paled. “What?”
“I posted bail a few minutes before you got here. But as for his job, you’re gonna have to work harder than that. I have conditions.”
“But I already said-“
“More than just fucking you, baby girl. I own you now. You are mine and no one gets to even think about fucking you. I will cross any line you make to keep me away. And if you try, I will punish you.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” You whimpered as he loomed over you.
“And?” He mocked. “You already agreed. You need me. Don’t you?” He cupped your jaw. Tightly but not as harsh.
“Yeah.” You leaned in to his touch. Your defenses are completely down. You needed care. You were always working. Always cleaning up after someone’s mess. And now…he was going to take care of you.
And either make your daddy issues better.
Or worse.
@xxhellfirebunnyxx @imyourdaninow @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @slvt4jamesmarch @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @scene-and-dandylover @emsgoodthinkin
#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe imagine#rafe smut#rafe fanfiction#rafe x you#rafe obx#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x female reader#Rafe Cameron imagine#Rafe Cameron series#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe fic
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