The Collector's Wares

The Jofoes Plight (jofoes x reader)

"Fuck yeah!" you mumble to yourself. Gyro Zeppeli made a small "Nyo ho ho" on screen as the finished battle fizzled out. You had just beat Pucci with his three whole stands so you were quite proud of yourself. The multitude of colors from the loading screen illuminated the slight bags under your eyes and the sheen of the soda can caught your eye. Nearly overlooking the time of night it must have been, you chugged down what was left in the can, now left flat, and stood up to go to bed. Of course, being semi-disciplined, you cleaned up the space around you-the bags of different chips that haven't been completed were rolled up haphazardly and stuffed into a cabinet. The trash and recycling on the floor was sorted and disposed of and you made a point to put your controllers back on the charger after you shot off the TV when finished with the light it emitted. It wasn't hard to find your room having the windows open in your 5th story apartment and being highly familiar with it already, but you did find it irking when you had to plow your brain to remember whether you had shut your door and hoping you didn't look like a fool stumbling in to the ghost hiding in the corner you always imagined was there. Did no one else do that? The light also wasn't too arduous to find either and when the bright, familiar light bounced off every surface available, you could conclude that whatever ghost or demon was there didn't want to be seen yet.

The entire apartment looked strikingly similar to the one in Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid, give or take a few personal touches. Your bedroom, however, was much more toned to your liking. There was a large loft bed with how you often wake up to find yourself spread out like a starfish. Below the mattress topped with a multitude of pastel blankets, some with cute designs like strawberries or iconic sailor moon emblems sprinkled into the design, was your workstation. A large digital tablet, lifted at a 35 degree angle for optimal efficiency was placed against the wall, a rolling chair parked before the desk with more traditional art supplies scattered messily over the surface seeming to reflect your mess of a life all on its own. Of course there was a small transportable art trolly squeezed between the desk and the drawing tablet, but naturally it was rather desolate with how you never bothered to put your art supplies back. Supporting the foot of the bed was a "wall" of books with the occasional succulent placed between. There was a small shoe rack next to the loft bed, but instead was occupied by a multitude of plants and any shoes you had were stashed half assed into the closet next to it along with your clothes. There was a large window behind it all but you almost always had the thin drapes closed. It was a pretty small room with many posters but no room for a TV, hence the reason you game in the living room.

The rent was relatively low, thankfully, but you were still constantly worried about money. Every other night, you had a surprisingly well paying shift as a local and rather popular bar as a simple bartender-no not some scandalous server. You also took commissions for art, were paid by patreon, and even filmed games on a few streaming servers-including youtube. And while you most definitely weren't verified, you couldn't say you were lacking all too much on followers. But, you couldn't game very much with the minimals time between classes, bartending, and artwork. So you often made due staying up dreadfully late-like now. Classes consisted of a few mandatory courses like english and math, but your longest and most interesting classes were the double majors you were pursuing-game design and interpretive services (which was just a fancy term for translation.) With your current career path you hoped to work for a big gaming industry so you could combine your love for art and gaming and actually be paid for it.

You slipped out of the black dress shirt and high waist black suit pants mandatory for your work, the belt probably already lost on the couch and apron hung over the back of a seat at the dining table. Your pajamas were a simple pair of booty shorts and a random emo T shirt that somehow still fit after a few years. The design was just barely starting to peel and crack but it was soft and served its purpose thoroughly so you never did get rid of it. Your calico, who was curled up on the desk in hopes of sunbathing a little bit in the cracks of the curtain, a few utensils knocked to the floor, only perked up when he noticed you passing by into your small closet and only actually got up when you started to ascend the ladder to curl into bed. You really couldn't be bothered with brushing your teeth right now-you always had highly resistant teeth, a trait you got from your mother. You stopped a few steps from the top and looked down. You missed her. And your father, of course. It seemed like it was all just a stroke of bad luck that your mother died of cancer about a few months after your father was pronounced dead on the side of the road-car crashing from shock in finding out your mother had cancer in the first place. But they're gone now and you have long come to terms with the fact that they're never coming back. Even so, sometimes you like to imagine your mother was some sort of fae... with how strong and peculiar she seemed, one could almost disregard the fact that fae aren't real. To continue, you imagine your father had found her and rescued her during a storm-basing this off how they really met. And so, with your mother's (imaginary) supernatural tendencies, you often liked to imagine she was laying right next to you, listening to every word you had to say and considering the wishes you would put in-a large mason jar on the coffee table already overflowing with folded stars.