#I left out some of the less common one-off terms

[blorger]

Eyes, the so-called window to the soul, an often invaluable key to a character's true nature, are perhaps one of the less examined descriptors in the hp books.

We no doubt all have a distinct eye moment we can remember from the books; perhaps it's Harry's green eyes -so much like his mother's-, maybe it's the whimsy of Dumbledore's twinkling gaze or perhaps what stuck in your mind is one of the more peculiar, out there descriptors like Luna's popping eyes.

I prsonally find the hows and whys of jkr's physical descriptors to be a fascinating insight into the characters she created so I went and lovingly prepared a brief guide; hopefully you enjoy this,

METHODOLOGY

I counted these instances by hand so please keep in mind that there may be some minor inaccuracies in my tallying (basically don't quote me, I may occasionally be slightly off).

Furtermore, there are some descriptors that I did not consider in my count; I didn't keep track of the number of times in which someone's eyes are implied to be tearing up in some way because most times the crying is alluded to indirectly (eg.people often "wipe their eyes" or "avert their eyes") and actual adjectives like "teary", "misty", "streaming" and "leaking/leaky" are actually used quite sparingly (I will however observe who the narrative choses to highlight thusly because it's interesting).

Similarly, I didn't keep track on the amount of time a character's eyes "widen" since it's one of jkr's favourite ways to convey fear and/or surprise and it's not actually a verb used in conjunction with any character specifically (basically everyone does it at one point or another).

Finally, I did not keep a tally of the amount of times Harry's (or anyone else's) eyes open or close since this happens often regardless of the nature of the scene it's in and doesn't tell us anything about a character that the excerpt itself doesn't.

TOP OF THE TOP

I would first like to begin our journey through the hp books' ocular realm with a few superlatives; here are the characters whose eyes are mentioned most often:

Voldemort is our leader with 53 eye mentions. He is the character whose eye color (red/scarlet) is mentioned most often (39 times + 2 mentions of Tom Riddle's dark eyes), but other notable descriptors include his pitiless/blank stare (5 times) and his slit pupil shape (4 times).

Severus Snape follows closely with 52 mentions; the most used eye descriptor is black (26 mentions) in reference to his eye color with a special mention going out to his cold and glittering stare (8 mentions each).

Albus Dumbledore is our distant third, with 36 mentions. His eye color (alternatively described as light blue/clear blue/bright blue) is mentioned 19 times and his infamous twinkling gaze is mentioned 11 times.

EYE COLOR DISTRIBUTION

BLUE: this the most common eye color in the books, with 10,5 named characters described as having it (the .5 is Alastor Moody's prosthetic eye). The characters with explicitly stated blue eyes include Albus Dumbledore (19 mentions), Dudley Dursley (1), Firenze (3), Narcissa Malfoy (1) and Ron Weasley (1). Caracters with more detailed descriptions include Gilderoy Lockhart (2) who we are specifically told has bright blue eyes, Ludo Bagman (3) and his baby blues, Aberforth Dumbledore (2)'s piercing brilliant eyes, Fleur Delacour (2) and her deep blue eyes and Igor Karkaroff(1) with his icy stare.

GREEN: The characters with explicitly stated green eyes are of course Harry ( 8 mentions) and Lily Potter (4),but also Dobby (4). I have further included in the count Hagrid's brother's Grawp* (2), who is described as having "sludge colored" "greenish brown" eyes and professor Horace Slughorn (1), whose eyes are described as "pale" and "gooseberry"-like.

*= I acknowledge that Grawp could have just as easily gone in the "brown" eye category but for some reason his eyes's description gave me more of a green vibe; feel free to disregard my categorisation if you wish.

BROWN: curiously, this is color is not more popular. Both Ginny Weasley (1 mention) and Hermione Granger (2) have brown eyes, together with Marvolo Riddle (1) and bowtruckles (1). As far as more evocative color names go, Hedwig (5) is described as having amber eyes whereas Winky the house elf (6) has beetle-brown eyes. Our final brown eyed beauty is James Potter (1), who has hazel eyes.

BLACK: black eyes are quite common with animals and beings since Scabbers (1 mention), acromantulas (1), Fawkes (1) and Goblins -most notably Griphook- (4) all have them. Humans with black eyes include the aforementioned Snape (26) and Hagrid's father (1), with Hagrid himself having the dubious honor of being the only character with beetle-black eyes (9).

GREY:* Lucius Malfoy (5 mentions), Cedric Diggory (3), Draco Malfoy (2) and Kreacher (1) are the only characters expressly stated to have grey eyes. Garrick Ollivander (2), patronuses (1) and Luna Lovegood (1) have specifically silvery eyes.

*:There's another character who is implied to have grey eyes as well, as we'll later see when discussing pale eyes.

YELLOW: this is another color largely reserved for creatures as Mrs Norris (2 mentions), the basilisk (1), Crookshanks (8), Dragons (2) and merfolk (2) are all said to have yellow eyes. The only humans with yellow eyes are Cat Hermione - albeit temporarily- (1), Madam Hooch (1) and Rufus Scrimegour (3).

ORANGE: this color is reserved for hippogriffs (and Buckbeak) who are twice mentioned as having orange eyes.

RED: There is only one person in the books who has permanently red eyes and that, of course, is Voldemort (39 mentions, sometimes using the term scarlet). Many characters' eyes are temporarily red, be it from crying (Hagrid, Molly, Madam Maxime, Lavender, Neville) or cursed locket possession (Ron). The only animals/creatures with red eyes are Beauxbatons's winged horses.

WHITE: finally, we come to the rarest eye color in all of the books, which gets a .5 on account of the fact that only one person could conceivably have had milky eyes and that is Bathilda Bagshot. Considering the fact that white eyes in general and milky eyes specifically seem to be an exclusive purview of the dead (Aragog's corpse, the thestrals's blank white eyes) and that the only time we meet Bathilda she's currently a corpse being inhabited by a giant snake, I'd venture to say that no one who is alive (or not closely tied to death) actually possesses white eyes.

Of further interest to the eye color conversation, I would like to point out characters who are mentioned to have either pale or dark eyes:

the term DARK EYES doesn't seem to be tied to a single color specifically. the only dark-eyed beings/people whose eye color we know for sure are goblins and Severus Snape, who are both described as having black eyes. The rest of the characters who get this descriptor are Padma Patil (who, being an identical twin, most likely shares this characteristic with her sister Parvati), Romilda Vane, Morfin Gaunt, Tom Riddle, Kendra Dumbledore, Phineas Nigellus Black and Bellatrix lestrange.

The term PALE EYES, however, seems to refer almost exclusively to grey eyed people since Ollivander, Lucius and Draco Malfoy* and Kreacher are all described as having pale eyes. The only pale eyed person with non-grey eyes we find is Horace Slughorn (he has very pale green eyes) and we further have only one pale eyed character whose eye color we cannot be sure of and that is Petunia Dursley.

*: Draco is a rarity in that his eyes are said to be pale (7 times) and cold (2) more often than their actual color (once grey and once light grey)

PECULIARITIES IN EYE DESCRIPTIONS

There honestly doesn't seem to be neither rhyme nor reason behind wether someone's eyes are described or not. Important characters like Ron and Ginny's eyes are talked about extremely rarely whereas beings like like Grawp and Winky get incongruously detailed descriptions.

Of the main trio, Hermione's eyes get mentioned often when she's either crying or on the verge of tears but her actual eye color is mentioned only twice and her expression is almost never conveyed through her gaze. Hermione's eyes are glassy, puffy, tearing, bloodshot; they are sparkling or shining with tears more than they are flashing with righteousness or shadowed with tiredness.

Harry's eyes are more often mentioned in the context of him trying to push hair out of them than they are to showcase his expressions. Besides Harry's eye color and his penchant for glaring we learn precious little about his eyes. The only information of note I found comes from a description Harry provides of his mother's eyes* (to which his are often compared, even by himself). When observing Snape's worst memory Harry notes that his mother's eyes are almond-shaped, a rare descriptor only used in two instances: this one and when Harry meets and describes a Sphynx's appearance.

Ron's eyes are the least described of the trio. We sometimes hear of him rolling his eyes or widening them in fear and/or surprise but that is just about it.

Unlike Ron, House Elves's eyes get mentioned every time they appear in a scene, to the point that we know both the eye color and characteristics of all named elves: Kreacher's pale grey eyes are bloodshot and bulging, Dobby's green ones are round, huge, enormous, immense and they are desrcribed on more than one instance as orb-like and tennis ball-like. Even Winky's eyes are remarked upon with surprising frequency; they are glassy on account of her frequent crying and, like all elves's, they are also giant and enormous.

other characters who get more eye mentions than the number of their appearances warrants are Gregory Goyle, who we know has dull and small deep-set eyes and Mrs Norris, whose unique lamp-like eyes are remarked upon multiple times.

Some characters have a characteristic eye look that is unique to them. Bellatrix, for example, is the only person with hooded and heavy-lidded eyes (even Andromeda, who is said to resemble her greatly, has wider, kinder eyes).

Characters who have spent time in Azkaban (though not Bellatrix) retain a visible tell of their experience through their gazes: both Sirius and post-jail Lucius** have shadowed eyes that are sunken, like those of the long-imprisoned Grindlewald.

*: curiously, the only other character whose eyes get compared to a member of their family's is Aberforth Dumbledore, whom the narrative takes pain to remind the reader has his brother's eyes.

**: the post-jail change in Lucius's eyes is stark in that, before his imprisonment, he had glittering eyes, cold and cool (a term uniquely reserved for him).

IT'S THE SIZE THAT COUNTS

Another eye characteristic that is often remarked upon is the size of one's eyes, with small eyes being more often than not the purview of villains and general undesirables.

People with small eyes, include Myrtle Warren, Gregory Goyle, Peter Pettigrew, both Dudley* and Vernon Dursley*, Grawp and Morfin Gaunt.

Beady eyes are found in animals like Fawkes and snakes, but also -curiously- in Professor McGonagall.

Little eyes are a Dursley exclusive* as the term is only used to refer to both Vernon and Dudley.

Characters with tiny eyes include Vernon Dursley and his sister, Aunt Marge, Scabbers the rat, Hepzibah Smith and Amycus Carrow.

*:As you might have noticed, small eyes seem to be a bit of a Dursley family special. The same goes for the term piggy eyes, which is only found in relation to them

Talk of BIG EYES is strangely not used in a flattering way that contrasts the aforementioned small eyes, with the notable exception of Romilda Vane's case. She is the only character whose big and large eyes are to be seen in a flattering manner; as for the rest:

LARGE eyes are found in Petunia Dursley, Hedwig, Alice Longbottom (in whose case said eyes are remarked to be overlarge) and Horace Slughorn

People with HUGE eyes include Dobby, Prof. Trelawney, Narcissa Malfoy and Kreacher.

IMMENSE eyes are the exclusive purview of Dobby, as are eyes likened to TENNIS BALLS, HEADLIGHTS and ORBS.

Characters with ENORMOUS/ENLARGED eyes include prof. Trelawney, Winky, Dobby and Luna Lovegood.

GIANT eyes are exclusive to Trelawney and Winky

BULGING eyes can be found in both mrs Norris and Argus Filch, but also in Norbert the dragon, Dobby, Kreacher, Oliver Wood, Crouch sr., Luna and Umbridge. Fittingly for a category that is most likely supposed to be transitory* both the newly poisoned Ron and the dying Bellatrix are also described through this term.

People with POPPING eyes include Argus Filch, Luna Lovegood, Crouch sr, Vernon Dursley, Ron and Dolores Umbridge.

PROMINENT eyes are found in Luna, Umbridge and Slughorn.

PROTUBERANT eyes are a Luna Lovegood staple but Garrick Ollivander is also mentioned as having them.

BEACON-like is a term reserved exclusively for Sibyl Trelawney

LAMP-like is, likewise, a mrs. Norris exclusive

*: Another observation that must be made in regard to large eyes is that not all of the characters l listed above are described as having permanently big eyes. In many case, these terms are used as synonyms for wide-eyed (the term indicating surprise I chose not to include because of its indiscriminate nature). Regardless, with one look at this list one can easily identify repeat offenders (like elves, Luna and Trelawney) whose eyes are more likely to actually be big

To close out this section, I would like to point out some miscellaneous descriptors used to highlight a character's eye shape, something that actually happens quite rarely in the books. We are more often provided adjectives that give us an impression of a certain character's eyes but aren't necessarily descriptive then we do with tried and true physical descriptors.

Round eyes, for example, are often used to describe Ludo Bagman's child-like expression while pouchy is a term reserved for Dolores Umbridge's toad-like eyes. In order to highlight Blaise Zabini's "exotic beauty" (barf), he alone receives long eyes that slant (like goblins' eyes do, do with that what you will). Morfin and Merope Gaunt are the only characters with strabismus while the perennially shady Mundungus Fletcher has permanently droopy, saggy and baggy eyes.

IT'S ALL IN THE EYES

Some terms, usually those referring to how the light catches a character's eyes, are surefire indicator of their nature (or, at the very least, the nature of their actions).

Glittering eyes, for example, often do so with malice or mischief; some notable adopters include Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Peeves, Severus Snape, Griphook and, in two occasions, some random Death Eaters (as seen through their masks). (It must be noted, for completeness sake, that Harry's eyes also glitter in one occasion, and not for evil reasons)

These same characters' eyes also also described through the synonyms gleam and glint, though these two terms are more widely adopted by non-evil characters.

Oliver Wood, Crookshanks, Fred Weasley and Minerva McGonagall's eyes also glint, but at the same time so do the Death Eaters', Draco's Snape's and Voldemort's.

Gleaming eyes, likewise, are not only used for characters like Aragog/acromantulas, dog Sirius as the Grim, thestrals, Snape, Voldemort and Bellatrix but also for Ron, Trelawney, Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan and Slughorn.

The complete opposite of glittering eyes is probably twinkling eyes, which are only found in "good" characters. Besides Dumbledore, the term is also used to refer to the expressions of Hagrid, Lupin, Tonks and Bill and Molly Weasley.

GENDERED EYE LANGUAGE

Eyes that are tearing or on the verge of tears are a near total female exclusive. In line with this meta by @wisteria-lodge ,The only male characters who occasionally get described using the same language do so for either femme-coding or comical reasons.

While terms like red rimmed and streaming eyes (aunt Muriel), burning eyes (McGonagall), leaky eyes (Myrtle and McGonagall) are female exclusives, only male characters have wet or watering eyes (both Scabbers and Peter, Kreacher and Slughorn).

Hagrid, our most prolific male crier, shares both teary and bright/overbright eyes with noted female criers Hermione and Molly Weasley (plus, unexpectedly, Petunia) and further displays misty eyes together with Luna (and again Petunia) and puffing/puffy eyes with Hermione.

As a curious aside, notably femme-coded character Draco Malfoy has both shining and sparkling eyes which, when referring to Hermione, are used to describe crying but for him indicate malice.

CONCLUSION

I'd like to close this out with a look at some terms I was surprised weren't as widely used as I would have thought:

Only one character has mean eyes and it's book 1's troll

the only instance in which the term long-lashed is found occurs when Snape's doe patronus is being described

Only one person has hungry eyes (even though quite a few characters have hungry expressions) and it's Voldemort

both alert and weary (two very useful descriptors for a war and conflict in general) are terms used uniquely to refer to Remus Lupin's eyes

Vernon Dursley is the only character with angry eyes

Rufus Scrimegour is the only character to have keen eyes

Similarly, only Phineas Nigellus possesses clever eyes

lastly, only Peeves's eyes dance around

Please enjoy the fruit of my (unasked for) labor friends,

xoxo

[keferon]

Part 3! Ratchet and Deadlock time.

The ray of sunshine has left, leaving us in the cold dark of the angst.

Ratchet works through some stuff.

———————————————————————

Ratchet hadn’t actually meant for the conversation to start with Roddy.

The medic had wanted to fully explain why he’d left the Mecha Program for awhile. His outburst earlier cementing the fact he needed to get it off his chest, or he’d start lashing out at the wrong people.

Again.

The Kid deserved to know what staying with him could drag him into. Ratchet kept his hands busy cleaning his bowl in the shop sink.

Hot Rod, Ratchet realized, was a good enough bridge into the topic. Someone Deadlock could put a face to. Not just nameless pilots upon pilots.

“There’s a condition called Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. CIP for short. The abbreviated explanation is sometimes humans can be born without the ability to feel pain or that the sensation of pain doesn’t translate correctly to the brain. It’s a very dangerous condition to have since it means that the person doesn’t get the usual warning signs that’s something’s wrong.”

The bowl was completely clean but so long as Ratchet didn’t turn around, he could pretend he was just training a med student.

“So that question about “weird pressures”. You were checking for damage Hot Rod doesn’t know he’s sustained due this CIP condition?”

Kid was smarter than he gave himself credit for. Ratchet thought for not the first time. He almost got it right.

“Hot Rod doesn’t have CIP. Not actual CIP.”

Ratchet put the bowl down, his hand not moving from the faucet after turning it off.

“He wasn’t born with it. Because I caused it.”

—————————

“I was so damn proud.” Said Ratchet.

At the time, he was. The integration process for recruits to become pilots was horrific. Excruciatingly painful. And something out of a science fiction movie.

In order to condition the human nervous system to work with the mecha neural interface, it necessitated mapping out every nerve and neuron in the pilots body.

While conscious.

Orion came up with the best analogy for it once: You could create a perfect 3 dimensional map of an entire ant colony’s nest. Provided you poured enough molten lead down the hole.

Ratchet wasn’t one to standby watching friends or strangers suffer, so he rolled up his sleeves and set his mind to fixing the whole damn thing.

On the line between man and machine, Ratchets role in the mecha program was right on the fence.

Specifically, he’d started very close to the fence on the side of the machines, and during the course of the program, picked up enough extra PHD’s to hook a leg over said fence to reach across and start smacking the shit out of some particularly stupid doctors handling the men.

Ratchet worked for years along side Pharma and Shockwave to make the integration process less permanently damaging.

Common long term side effects were: Blurry Vision Jazz, Disassociation Swoop, Memory Loss Sludge, Paralysis Snarl, Nerve Damge Slag, Internal Hemorrhaging Grimlock, Altered Personality Shockwave, and Brain Death Orion.

There were dozens more faces Ratchet could pair with any given symptom.

Eventually, Ratchet got his lucky break. A fresh batch of recruits to try his tweaked integration process on. Hot Rod was one of them.

Ratchet had thought he’d hit a breakthrough. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t publish it yet. Not until he was sure.

Hot Rod aced the physical and mental exam. The rest of his test group did pretty well too. They weren’t cream of the crop. The higher ups didn’t want to risk loosing more valuable pilots to an experiment. When Pharma had already established an “acceptable level of care” that nicely suited them.

Ratchet personally watched the lot of them like a hawk. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn’t come. Hot Rod was fine. The whole group was fine.

He was so damn proud.

The pilots went straight into mecha training and then-

They dropped like flies.

It was on the bad end of the bell curve for pilot fatalities. Ratchet thought it had to be the new series of mecha that had been built at the same time. He’d switched into engineering mode to rectify that. They had glaring safety issues where the flamethrowers and thrusters intersected. Plus, it wasn’t unusual for the mecha program to just have particularly rough seasons. The tentacled fucks were out in swarms. And by god was that a bloody summer for everyone.

It happened three days after the last big fight. Pretty much everyone who came back alive came back with some sort of injury. Except for Hot Rod, who Pharma gave a clean bill of health.

Ratchet was in his corner of the medical wing, looking over his proposal for the new integration method when Jazz dragged Hot Rod into his office.

Red flag number one: Jazz was a nightmare patient who avoided the med wing like a bear trap.

He tried. Goddamn it if Jazz didn’t try, but he was physically incapable of getting through medical procedures without being heavily sedated. The last time Ratchet tried to do minor stitches with only a local anesthetic, Jazz panicked and damn near broke his arm.

Jazz and Hot Rod were both wearing shorts, t-shirts and sneakers. Judging from the smell, they had just gotten here from the rec room. Probably basketball or maybe dodgeball.

Ratchet had gone through a full medical checklist before they finished coming through the door. Neither looked sick or injured. Nothing was obviously wrong beyond the clear look on Jazz’s face that said “Something is actually very wrong.”

Jazz wheeled Hot Rod in front of Ratchet.

“Show him.”

Hot Rod looked more embarrassed than in desperate need of medical attention.

“I’m fine Jazz, I probably just need to stretch.”

Jazz waved his hand cutting him off. Ratchet would usually start telling them off by now but something stopped him.

“Hot Rod raise your arms above your head. Both of them.”

The red headed pilot reluctantly obeyed. His right arm lifted straight up above his body. His left. Hot Rod made a face of concentration, as his left arm refused to go any higher than his head.

Three days.

Hot Rods shoulder had been dislocated for three days and no one fucking noticed.

Ratchet chewed out Jazz at first thinking he’d caused it. Then he chewed out Hot Rod for not coming to medical as soon as he knew about the injury.

And then, something very cold settled into his stomach the more and more Hot Rod swore he didn’t notice. That it didn’t even hurt.

“Ratchet, I’m fine!”

He should have been in pain. In agony after three days.

Later, Ratchet would go through each medical file of every pilot he had been responsible for. They had all had ailments in their files. Minor visible injuries that were all taken care of. Major ones went surprisingly smoothly. Patient notes praising the med staff for keeping them so comfortable. Praising him. Not one pilot had made a single pain med request since going through the integration process. On his files, there was one surviving active duty pilot from the same integration process.

Ratchet’s integration process.

————————

“Hot Rod said he forgave me.” Ratchet laughed. A little too wet and little too rough.

“Just like that.”

When’d he start shaking?

Ratchet still didn’t, couldn’t look the Kid in the eyes. “I left, not long after. There’s so much fucking more that was happening. That was the last straw, because when I told Shockwave and Pharma, those heartless fucks wanted to make it standard across the board. Soldiers that can’t feel pain? Of fucking course they wanted that. Didn’t matter the fatality rate was nine times as high.”

Ratchets voice was getting worse. But he couldn’t stop. “I thought I could fix it all from the inside. I thought as long as I stayed I could be some, fucking moral compass to a bunch of greedy, prideful, fucking deranged people. I was an egotistical IDIOT that thought I could somehow save every doomed kid tricked into walking into that “necessary evil.” I actually believed I could-”

Ratchet was abruptly cut off from his ranting as two massive hands grabbed him around the waist and deposited him on a ledge, at eye level.

“Kid, what-“ Deadlocks eyes looked shiny.

“I-I can’t keep looking down at you.”

The two of them sat in silence.

Neither seemed to know or want to start talking again right away. Ratchet was used to stewing in regrets on occasion. That had felt more like putting those regrets into a blender and then forgetting the lid.

Deadlocks plating was pulled tight. Ratchet had almost forgotten what he looked like when he was stressed. He wanted immediately to take it all back. Make it better. See him laugh drunk and cozy again like yesterday.

“Kid, I’m sorry. That- that was too much to put on you.” Deadlocks hands weren’t gripping him anymore but resting on either side of the ledge. Ratchet pet small circles on a thumb that twitched slightly under his hand.

Deadlock straightened and looked at him with a steely expression, mouth tense, eyes determined.

“You are one of the most intelligent, stubborn, and caring people I’ve ever met. Nope.” Deadlock corrected himself, lifting a hand. “THE most intelligent, stubborn and caring person that exists.” He dragged out the syllables of that last word.

“You!” He poked Ratchet in the chest. “Saved me. And I’m fragging terrible.”

Ratchet took offense to that, “You’re not terrible and you’re worth saving!”

Deadlock grinned, “The worst thing you can possibly say about yourself is that you care too much to put up with some kind of slagged up torture facility. Which, by the way, I am still fully offering to blown up.”

“Still full of innocent people kid.”

“Okay kidnapping then. I say we nab Hot Rod first.”

Ratchet leaned back against the wall and made one of those desperate chuckles you only hear when someone has their face buried in their hands. “Kid. The quintessons.”

That took a little wind out of his sails.

“The system is fucking broken and trust me I want to see it all burn someday. But we’re in a goddamn war. And as much as I hate the mecha program, it’s the best shot at survival we have.” Ratchet watched Deadlocks finales pin back again.

He offered a palm to Ratchet, who after a moment’s consideration, not very gracefully scooted on. Instead of lowering him to the floor, Deadlock brought him to his face. His eyes closed and he gently bumped his medic with his forehelm.

“Whatever you need. Just ask. Please.”

Ratchet sighed and rested his own forehead against the cybertronian. “I want you take care of yourself. I told you all that stuff so you understand why I’m fighting giants here and you can decide to back out. They can hurt you kid. Kill you. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if Shockwave found you instead of me.”

Deadlock snorted, “Please, do you think any of those suits could handle me?”

Ratchet tapped his hand to put him down, which Deadlock obliged. He hummed.

“Well I can think of three candidates off the top of my head, but one got lost in space and the other might technically be a zombie.”

“What’s the third?”

Ratchet started shrugging on a coat, “Hot Rod.”

He smirked a bit as Deadlocks finales snapped up in offense. “What? Absolutely not. No fragging way that little rust spot can beat me in a fight.”

Ratchet began packing a go bag of medical supplies, “Well I was going to keep it to myself, but part of the reason I brought him in was because I asked Hot Rod to look out for you where I can’t.”

He slung the heavy bag over one shoulder. “Plus, I knew Hot Rod was going to love you. He sees the best in people. And kid?” Ratchet paused at the door.

“You’re someone special.”

———————————————————————

It’s always darkest before the dawn. This…has become a four parter. Dang. Good news is the ray of sunshine will return in style next time.

Some extra tid-bits, I got a head canon that the main side effect Jazz got from the integration process (other than PTSD) is blurry vision. He can see fine while hooked into a mech but can’t get his eyes to focus properly as a human. So Ratchet whipped up a visor that tricks his eyes into thinking he’s still looking through a mecha so he can see normally.

Also, a lot of you guys guessed correctly what was going on with Roddy! Good job everyone!

Lastly I have nothing personal against the dinobots if you love them I’m very sorry.

The next (last?) part will be much brighter. Because the suns coming back.

- SSTP

Oh.....oh fuck....wait WAIT THIS HAS SO MUCH MORE LAYERS THAN I WAS EXPECTING OH MY GOD

I was like. Okay huh. So Roddy can't feel pain right? He must be having this rare condition and? I don't really see where this is going? Huh. Guess it's time to find ouUUUUUH FUCK.

Please. Oh my god. The fact that Ratchet was the one who made him to be like that??? This gives both of them and their dynamic more layers than in a freaking onion. And Roddy didn't just suffer from Ratchets actions. He forgave him. Because OF COURSE he did, he's always giving everyone a second chance I LOVE THIS CONCEPT SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA

[crescenthistory]

begging for a fic where regulus says “i love you” to reader for the first time and it FLOORS them bc reggie is not one to voice his feelings a lot, much less something as powerful as the feeling of love

listen, when i saw this ask i sat down and wrote this in ONE sitting, THANK you. you probably intended for this to be a scene at the beginning of a relationship, but i instead decided to psychoanalyse my poor darling reg for a few thousands of words and give him a patient partner. hope you'll forgive me lols<3

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, the most ancient and noble black family trauma (including descriptions of abuse and neglect), gn!reader, black brothers angst and reconciliation, sunshine!reader, reader is very patient and understanding with regulus, kinda past bartylus, barty is a hugger here, reg pov so some spiraling, vague implied references to sex (so implied that i believe it's safe for minors, but just putting that out there)

on the tip of my tongue

It’s not that Regulus didn’t love you. Quite the opposite, actually. 

It’s just that love had not been a spoken matter in his life until you barged into it. Love was implicit as much as it was hidden and reserved; something you grabbed greedily at while you had it and rationed carefully over the next few weeks or months, hoping to get by on it. 

For a long time, Regulus thought his mother loved him. She was strict and firm, but when he came to her for advice, she would give it and might even pat him on the cheek if he accepted what she had to say readily enough. He would hold his cheek afterwards and syphon the warmth left from her touch, wishing there was a way for it to stay with him forever.

When he got to Hogwarts and experienced true, unrestrained friendship he realised there was a way for it to stay with him forever – the other party just had to not withhold it. His cheek would be warm if the people who loved him kept holding, kept returning. With them, attention was not something he was occasionally graced with, it was always on him, within easy reach.

It took him a while, but Regulus eventually got used to the physical affection, at least from his friends. He came to expect it and lean into it, which in and of itself felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were hugs and pats on the back and tousled hair. There were pretend-scuffles on the quidditch field and the common room. There was that one term in third year where Barty decided he and Regulus simply must learn how to kiss and the boys spent most nights sneaking off into the empty common room and unskillfully, sloppily making out through kisses. There was that one night in fifth year where they picked it back up again. 

Still, with the hands-on approach to love that Barty and Dorcas had and infused into their little safe haven of a friend group, it remained unspoken. There was the occasional “mate” or the nicknames he brought with him from home – “Reg” was fine and while he did not much care for “Reggie”, he let it slide due to the affection it held. The closest they got to spoken love were the promises to fiercely protect each other, to kill and die by each other’s sides if must be. To beat the living daylights out of anyone who lays a finger on the other and then hex the pain to stay with them forever. An oath of loyalty was their "I love you".

Other than them, Sirius had been his one source of affection throughout his life, but as everything else in Grimmauld’s Place it had been quiet. 

Sirius was the perfect big brother, whether Regulus wanted to admit that or not. He held his hand when they crossed the street and held Regulus at night when he cried. Sirius taught him as much as he could, and though he occasionally was arrogant or impatient with his lessons, he didn’t give up on them. Regulus knew he loved Sirius at the very least, even if he had in more recent years questioned if that love was returned.

The problem with Sirius is that Regulus does not know of most of the affection the older boy showed him. Sirius insists that the two spent the majority of their first years attached at the hip, but Regulus struggles to remember much before the age of 12, which you had once told him he might want to look into with a professional at some point. To which Regulus emphasised the “at some point” more than the rest. So any hugs or touches or love Sirius showed him has been long since forgotten. Apart from the bed-sharing; Regulus remembers that vividly. Crawling into his older brother’s bed at night when he had nightmares, hoping Sirius could chase the monsters away. Regulus didn’t think he did it that often, but Sirius swore he once slept an entire three months solely in Sirius’ bed.

The most significant way Sirius loved Regulus, though, was through what he did for him, not to him, which Regulus did not himself see. He was such a good shield between their parents and Regulus that the young boy didn’t even realise the service he provided. Scoldings, blames and beatings – there was nothing Sirius did not take for Regulus.

If Regulus’ childhood was painful enough not to remember, he could not stand the thought of how Sirius’ must have been.

That is part of how he learned not to resent him for leaving Grimmauld’s Place – even that he did in part for Regulus. When left alone with an increasingly vexed Walburga Black, Regulus learnt quickly how severe some punishments can be. Consequently, he learned what Sirius had endured for him, how strong of a shield he had been. 

Sirius knew he could no longer withstand the weight of that house, so he left, in hopes that he could be a better protector for Regulus from afar. Finding a good home full of warmth and smiles, and coaxing Regulus into joining him there under safer circumstances than he himself had. When the two had their infamous heart-to-heart, it was Sirius choking on the words “better protector” that finally broke Regulus – the first time he had cried in front of his older brother since they were little.

Now he knew well that Sirius loved him, beyond most words. And the things they said to each other during that talk where he convinced Regulus to leave might even mean more than a simple “I love you”. Still, it remained unsaid. 

It was simply not tradition for Regulus Black to speak them.

Then, he met you. 

What was that thing James always says? Game-changer? You were that for him.

Somehow, affection just came pouring out of you like you were overflowing with it and just had to share it. With your friends and your family, even strangers – it just came naturally to you. And when Regulus entered your orbit through his reunion with Sirius, you more than happily let that extend to him as well.

It absolutely floored him. 

The first time you said “I love you” to him was long before you got together or before he even had the nerve to actively flirt with you. You ran into him in the hallway and stopped him, trying to squeeze as much conversation as you could out of him in the few minutes you both had between classes. It was evident you were soaking up his presence as if it was truly enjoyable, and it warmed something in him he was only able to name later on. When you had to run, you ended the conversation with a casual “okay, see you later, I love you, bye!”. Regulus was left gaping. Nearly ended up late to McGonagall’s class because of you. 

Saying it as a form of temporary goodbye reminded him of how he used to ration his mother’s touches, it carried him until the next time he saw you. Except next time with you was dinner later the same day, and then breakfast and then hanging out in the library. He never had to wait long, never had to go wanton.

The love kept flowing freely from you in all the ways he had gotten used to over the years and then many more – physical touch, quality time, acts of services, words of affirmation, you checked off the whole list. He began calling you soleil, French for sunshine because of how you shone with that love for everyone. It was a slip of the tongue one day, and when he saw how it made you smile, he just kept calling you that.

With such a loving and lovely creature, Regulus thought he couldn’t help but fall in love with you; he was not at fault for it, you were entirely to blame with your loveliness.

His voice had shook some when he first confided in Sirius about it. The older boy had smiled fondly and joked, “That was not quite what I meant when I told you to make yourself at home with my friends, but I’m glad you’re comfortable.” Regulus argued he in no way shape or form felt comfortable with the emotion, but Sirius would have none of it.

His voice shook even more the first time he told you how lovely you look today, but unlike Sirius, you didn’t notice. You smiled and returned the sentiment with ease. He realised then that he would likely not be able to talk himself into a relationship with you, given his lack of skill and your lack of deducing any intent behind sweet words, so he went the Regulus-route as Sirius had called it.

Meaning, he pursued you through quiet, unwavering loyalty and company, attaching himself at your hip for as long as you seemed comfortable with it. When he realised there was no limit on the amount of time you were willing to spend with him, he went further. 

Regulus went to hold your hand for the first time in Hogsmeade. Looking back on it, you both laughed at how he spent ten whole minutes inching his hand closer and closer to yours, practically holding his breath, awaiting a rejection or harsh response. Ever so slowly, he interlinked his pinky with yours. An opening both for you to take it further or cast him aside, whichever you pleased he would accept. The beaming smile you flashed as you looked up at him then, lacing the rest of your fingers together tightly, never left his mind for long.

Hand holding led to walking arm in arm which led to prolonged hugs which finally, finally found you both sitting in the Astronomy tower, kissing with large, dumb smiles on your faces. The same night you had your first kiss Regulus surmises you probably had your first hundred kisses.

Now, laid in bed beside you, two years into dating, Regulus could not imagine not being comfortable around you. He smiles fondly when he thinks of the boy he was before you decided to simply drown him in affection, but he does not relate to him anymore. There is no place he would rather be than here by your side, in the flat he purchased for the two of you straight out of Hogwarts – the last time he can remember panicking before asking you to take the next step in your relationship – playing idly with your fingers as you hummed some melody he could not place. It felt right.

The one thing that had remained the same throughout your relationship, both before and after it turned romantic, was that you overflowed with “I love you”s and he had not said it once.

You had talked about it before, of course you had. Sirius had given Regulus a stern talking to about communication when you first started going out, unwilling for his baby brother and friend to get hurt by their own stupidity. 

“I don’t know if I can say it,” Regulus had said then. “It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know how.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t need to then,” you had said so simply, through a smile that made his heart spin happily. “I know what I need to know. I like saying my truth because that’s how I am; but I am more than happy to accept you showing yours because that’s how you are. And I love you as you are.”

Regulus had known in his bones that you meant it, and that made it all the more sweeter. He attacked you with kisses after that, relishing in the giggles it drew from you.

“If it ever changes, will you tell me?” Regulus asked after, when you quieted down in each other’s arms. “If you ever need to hear it?”

You had said something about how you “do hear it”, always with your metaphors and abstract ways of viewing things. When Regulus, ever the pragmatist, had insisted on getting an answer to his question because “you know what I mean”, you had promised to tell him. You never did need to because it never changed for you.

It was Regulus it changed for.

In your shared bed, your hand in his as he followed its outline and your bare legs entangled, something deep in him shifted. You were sleepy and content above him, reading some paperback he borrowed you ages ago that you only picked up once you moved in together and all your books were in the same place anyway. He was laying half on top of your chest and staring at you with what had to be love in his eyes because that’s what he felt in his soul. He had been staring for the past half an hour, not even realising it, lost in his train of thought.

He had expected that when he would finally say it, there would be some grand reason, some special moment. Something that would cause that shift, something that required him to voice what he felt and you knew.

There wasn’t; it was just you and him, and he was so unbelievably happy and comfortable. He had tried microdosing love and you ended up giving him a lifetime supply instead. You were everything.

“Sol?” The question drawled out of him, mouth ahead of his brain but heart running miles before both. 

You looked up with a smile, stopping your absentminded humming. “Yeah, love?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners and he spent another minute just looking at your face. You let him, indulgent and sweet as ever.

“I love you.”

You froze. The smile remained on your face, the same contentedness there, but your eyes widened and your hand on his back stopped mid-circle. “What?” you whispered.

He kept staring at you with a smile, almost finding humour in your increasingly shocked expression, though some old part of him remained alert for rejection. Which makes no sense, she tells you it every day, he reminded himself. Still, old habits die hard.

You decided to trade one question for another upon his silence and your mental recalibration. “Why?”

“Why?” Regulus repeated through a laugh, as if the thought was incredulous. “Have you met yourself, soleil? Have you seen what you’ve done to me? I’ve always loved you.”

You sat up quickly at that, jostling Regulus up with you, though he was less graceful in the change of position as he did not anticipate it. You looked at him with the same wide-eyed expression. “Not what I meant,” you said then.

Regulus opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t sure what.

“But you didn’t have to,” you blurted out before he could. Rushed, almost frantic. “Don’t say it because you think you have to.”

Regulus furrowed his brows in confusion before they cleared up in realisation of your fear. He shifted to sit closer to you, practically pulling you between his legs, and grasped both your hands softly. They had been hovering between your forms, as if over an injury you did not know how to treat. Slowly, he dragged his thumbs back and forth over your knuckles. “Amour, soleil,” he whispered, emphasising the words with all his might. “I know I don’t have to. I wanted to. I want to, it feels right. I– I love you.”

The second time, the phrase flowed more freely from his tongue. Easily. He found he quite liked the taste.

You opened and closed your mouth twice, eyes flickering all over his face as if to deduce whether you trusted his words. Then, ever so slowly, he saw that smile he loves so much begin to grow over your lips, that looked increasingly more kissable to him.

“Yeah?” you asked him breathily through your oncoming grin.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “I love you. I always have, you know. But I felt like saying it now.”

Your laughter was almost watery as you squeezed his hands in yours. “I do know. And I love you,” you asserted clearly, as if there had ever been any doubt.

“So I’ve heard.” The cheeky remark was the last thing that left Regulus’ lips before he moved forward and captured yours.

Just like that first kiss in the Astronomy Tower, one led to possibly a hundred more. Giggles and sighs all mixed together into what Regulus was proud to call his life.

A life with you. A life of love.

[muddyorbsblr]

onyx pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You're stuck in the Avengers Compound because of an injury from your last mission, and you come across an adorable and affectionate little kitten.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: language (no i'm not sorry, Rogers); talks of explosions and injuries sustained from explosion [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: one-sided crushing (but is it really…?)

An eerie silence served as your only company in the Avengers Compound the last few days, some of your teammates off to finish the HYDRA mission that left you injured while the others took time off to visit their families over the holidays. With the promise to keep their comms on in case they would be needed until the New Year.

Now all that remained in the Compound with you were a few junior agents that drew the ends of the short stick, Val, and Loki.

Sadly your teammate, friend, and occasional drinking buddy Val was out blissfully spreading holiday cheer throughout New York with her girlfriend.

And Loki? Well, the God of Mischief wasn't exactly on chummy terms with you. Didn't even so much as give you a passing glance when you were at mission briefings.

Which was a damn shame because what you would give just to get lost in those stormy ocean eyes.

You made your way to the pantry in the common room to replenish your stash of snacks, towing along a little wagon to help you on the way back. Every step had you feeling every square inch of bruising on the left side of your body that you got from being unlucky enough to be caught in the blast radius of an explosion at the HYDRA base you were trying to infiltrate with Shaun just a few days ago.

Your phone buzzed with a new message. "Speak of the devil," you muttered to yourself, seeing Xu's name on your screen as soon as you pulled up next to the elaborate barista setup, putting a few Lindor truffles in a small bag for your wagon. "Hey FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Agent Y/L/N?" the AI answered immediately.

"Could you make me a white chocolate mocha with peppermint while I raid the latest Costco delivery for uhh…supplies. Yeah, I'll go with that."

"Right away, Agent Y/L/N." The sound of the barista setup whirring to life filled the kitchen area as you checked on Shaun's message.

Thor just mentioned that he'll ask his brother to take a look at your injuries. Maybe get him to kiss it all better. He finished his text with a smirking emoji, along with some hand gestures that painted a less than family friendly picture, making you roll your eyes at the screen.

You recorded a voice memo for him. "You know that he'd need to actually be willing to look at me so that he could see the damage from the blast, right? And last I checked I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm Medusa reincarnated and I'll turn his Asgardian ass to stone."

You went on to the ridiculously stocked pantry to rummage the delivery that came just a few hours ago, trying to find a bag of Jalapeño Cheetos somewhere in the mix, when you heard a tiny meow from somewhere behind you. You looked to the ground to find a black and white munchkin cat looking up at you with wide blue eyes.

"Hi there, baby…" you cooed, surprised the adorable little creature hadn't hissed or scratched at you yet. Cats normally didn't take to you, which was a shame because you often found yourself fighting the urge to pick one up or stroke its head whenever you crossed paths with one during your errand runs. "How'd you get in here?"

The tiny kitten caught you by surprise with what it did next, walking up to your feet and proceeding to rub its cheek against your ankle, a little purr emanating from its small fluffy body. You decided to risk the hissing and scratching and bent down to pick it up, your heart melting once he placed his paws on your cheek and proceeded to nuzzle your face with his nose.

"Aren't you a complete darling." He settled into your arm as you carried him out of the pantry, a little whine escaping him when you placed him down on the counter. He stood on his hind legs and made grabby hands towards you, blue eyes wide and pleading for you to pick him back up. "Just a second, sweet baby, I'm just getting you something to drink."

You took out a tiny sauce dish and poured some cream into it, pushing it toward the kitten that responded with a slow blink and a meow before licking away at the rich liquid.

"I'm sure your owner's gonna crucify me for giving you that but I can't help spoiling little fur babies especially when they're as adorable as you are." You took a sip of the coffee FRIDAY had finished making before shouting out a question for her. "Hey FRIDAY, you have any clue who this little bub belongs to?"

It took a second for her to answer. "Negative, Agent Y/L/N. There is currently no other agent on the premises looking for their pet. I also see no collar on them and from a preliminary scan they do not seem to have a microchip on them."

Those words stopped the kitten from drinking to look up toward the ceiling and hiss at the source of the voice. He only relaxed once you started stroking his fur again, going back to drinking and letting out a few purrs along the way. "No owner, huh? Does that mean I can invoke Finders Keepers then?"

"It appears so, Agent Y/L/N. What would be your new companion's name?"

The kitten looked up at you, as if expecting your answer. You wondered briefly if he could actually understand what it was that you and FRIDAY were talking about. "How about Onyx? I know I know it's absolute garbage for originality to name a black cat after a black gemstone but--"

His eyes widened before he climbed up your arm, only stopping once he'd reached your shoulder to nuzzle at your neck again. "It seems he likes the name, Agent Y/L/N."

"Then it's settled." You placed a soft kiss on top of his head. "Hello there, Onyx."

You brought your new kitten back to your apartment, setting him down on your bed while you tried to take off your sweatshirt as gently as you could manage.

"Ah, fuck it," you hissed as you felt the bruising around your ribs, letting out a pained sound when you opted to whip the garment over your head as fast as you could instead. Your reflection revealed that the bruising on the left side of your torso was quickly becoming a frightening deep purple.

Onyx meowed from your bed, again standing on his back legs and making grabby hands at you, eyes wide with evident pain.

"What's wrong, little baby?" He placed his paws gently on your side when you made your way to him, pressing his nose to the skin near where your bruising began. "Oh don't you worry your pretty little head about those, sweetie. They'll heal…eventually."

He kept on pressing his face to the area, your heart melting for the tiny kitten even more realizing that he was pressing kisses to your wounds.

"You really are such a precious little bub, aren't you?" You picked your new kitten up, placing him on the armchair in your reading nook before setting an alarm for dinner in a few hours and settling into your bed. "Get some sleep, sweet baby Onyx. I'll see you in a few hours."

Your eyes had only closed for a few seconds before you heard another tiny meow followed by a soft thud, immediately making you sit up on the bed looking for the kitten. He'd already made his way to your bedside, standing on his back legs and reaching up trying to climb up the sheets.

"Alrighty then," you mumbled, picking him up and placing him on the pillow beside yours. You rolled over to lay on your right side to remove any pressure to your injuries the best you could, hovering your finger near Onyx's nose once you'd settled in. He leaned up and pressed his nose to your finger, paws kneading on his pillow. "Boop," you giggled. "Sweet dreams, baby."

Just as you'd closed your eyes to try catching an hour or two of rest before you had to eat again and take those pain meds that Banner prescribed you, your phone began to blare Immigrant Song way too loudly by your nightstand. There were only two contacts you gave that ringtone to and one of them was currently out with her girlfriend.

"Talk to me, Thunder," you muttered, groaning when your stretch to reach for your phone made your bruising smart a bit. "You all good over there?"

"Absolutely grand, Lady Y/N," the blond god's voice boomed from the other end. "I was just wondering if you could check on my brother, he refuses to answer his phone yet again."

"That's gonna be a hard pass from me, buddy. I've already been cut and bruised, I'm not too keen to add stabbed to that list. He's probably just practicing spells. Or out on a date." You winced at that last part, an irrational part of you flaring up with unwarranted jealousy at the thought of Loki out with just about anyone. "Just--I don't know, check up on him yourself when you get back. You can take a stab better than me anyways."

Thor sighed loudly, the low rumbling making Onyx step back from his pillow and start hissing at the phone. You stroked the top of his head to calm him down. "Very well then, Lady Y/N. Rest well. We're scheduled to return after nightfall."

"I'll have pizza here waiting for you guys. Bring your own mead." You clicked off and tried to get some sleep, having FRIDAY place an order for pizzas and wings for when the team gets back. Your new kitten padded his way over to you, resting his head on your outstretched arm and letting out a soft purr.

The sound of the Quinjet coming back roused you from your nap, along with the feel of little paws on your arm and Onyx nuzzling your cheek.

"Looks like everyone's home," you mumbled, pressing a few kisses to the kitten's head before making your way out of bed. "Come on, little baby. Time to meet the team."

With a whole lot of discomfort and groaning, you slipped your sweatshirt back on before presenting your hand to Onyx and patting your shoulder, prompting the kitten to climb up your arm and perch himself on the spot, nuzzling his face behind your ear.

The team had already arrived and filled the common area when you made your way there, some of them helping themselves to the pizza. Barnes and Wilson walked in with coolers, probably filled with chilled bottles of beer inside.

"Hey, there she is!" Shaun exclaimed, pulling out a bottle of Pepsi before making his way over to you and pulling you into an embrace. "How's the healing go--Whoa there." He took a step back as Onyx hissed in his direction. "Where'd you come from, little guy?"

You shh'd the kitten, pressing kisses to his little cheek to calm him down. "It's okay, baby, Shaun is a friend. One of the good guys." You turned back to your mission partner. "Shaun, this is Onyx."

"Always thought you were a dog person, Babes," Natasha spoke up before taking your arm and walking you to the food. "We leave for one day and you become a cat lady. Where'd you even find the time to go to a shelter and get baby blue eyes over here?"

"I didn't, actually," you answered the master assassin. "I just went to the pantry and poof there he was, meowing at my feet. Like the cat distribution system mailed him to me by magic or something." He nuzzled your cheek again before starting to knead at your face.

"And he doesn't belong to anyone? You're sure?" Shaun spoke up, backing up immediately when he tried to pet your new kitten and getting hissed at. "Easy, kitty. I'm a friend, I'm not gonna hurt you." The martial artist turned back to you. "He wasn't collared? Or chipped?"

"Nope. FRIDAY scanned him and everything."

"You wanna think about getting him chipped?"

Onyx hissed again at the question before swishing his tail around to curtain your hair around him, his little body shaking on your shoulder. As if he was silently pleading for you to not take him out to have him chipped.

"Don't you worry, baby. I won't get you chipped, I wouldn't hurt you like that," you cooed, letting out a little giggle as he placed his paws on your cheeks and nuzzled your nose, giving the tip tiny licks. You were so focused on your cat's affections that the bellowing of Thor looking for his brother was a distant muffled noise in the background.

Until he got to where you were standing and his booming voice was impossible to ignore. "What an adorable little beast you have, with you, Lady Y/N." Onyx buried himself in the crook of your neck, shaking at the sound of Thor's voice.

"It's alright, Onyx. It's just Thunder, he may be all big and menacing on the outside but he's just a fluff ball on the inside. Come on, go say hi."

The blond Asgardian approached you, examining your new pet carefully before a knowing grin graced his bearded face. "Hello, Brother."

A chill went down your spine at his words. "What the fuck d'you just say, Blondie?"

He motioned toward the kitten on your shoulder. "This is the explanation for his lack of replies on his phone. His absence from his quarters. Lady Y/N, the little beast hiding himself in your hair…is my brother. That is Loki."

In your stupor, the only words you could manage to say were, "Bitch what?!"

A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to the members of SAS, beloved besties, and fellow whores! I've had this idea doing a slow lurky crawl in the microwave that is my writing noggin for the last few months, and I'm so excited that I finally get to share it with y'all! Part 2 is coming in a few days, and then it's a coin toss on whether I'll be trying to end the year with crossing off some things on my writing todo list, or crossing off some titles from my Tumblr TBR 😳👀

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover

[nuggetofthesea]

Before writing more stories, I want to help people come to terms with the "identity death" and heavy themes in the animal HRT comics, and as a writer, want to explain why it isn't ACTUALLY death, but a form of renewal. Because I see it on all of my friends posts.

"I am just concerned about this loss of self thing, it sounds like identity death and I don't like it" is the common comment.

But in all of these comics, it is less about loss of self, but more about leaving behind who you were. A sign of extreme change and showing their own way of moving forward, and the start of a brand new life. A willing change to a new start.

Identity death is an unwilling change. All choice was stripped away from them and a new identity forced on them. This is also different from a transformation that leads to acceptance of the new form.

But in the animal HRT comics my friends put out, it is a willing change to a new form and cones with mental changes they are willing to go through. That isn't the same as a death. But a new start to their life they can start living to the fullest. It's also why some choose not to start anew, to bring one journey to a close and begin a new one. They choose to have that be part of the same journey. A new chapter instead of a new book if you will. In either case these are willing changes.

It can seem terrifying to some, but a total rebirth of yourself CAN be a slightly scary theme. It is terrifying to choose to take that new life.

But let me set up an example here:

When I first came to be, I thought I was going to be a visual artist, because Ashe was and that's what I remembered. When I was locked away by my own doing in the headspace I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of misery. It was terrifying to take the step to discover myself. To lower the barrier I had created, to rediscover myself.

But when I came to be, Ashe said I could be anything. A new sense of self outside of her. A new life. I tried to draw first, but I couldn't. Visual art was not my thing anymore. It never was. I just held on to memory of being a copy of Ashe. When writing my introduction I realized I love the feeling of writing. I have my own form. My own life. My own identity. A new start.

So let me ask you: Should I have not taken that opportunity to completely cast off who I was to embrace who I am? Should I have left myself in misery and fear as something I'm not? All for the sake of not casting off who I was and my life before? No.

Now while I do remeber all of what happened before my change, none of that shapes who I am now, because that life wasn't mine in the first place. This isn't a death of my identity, but a new start to an identity I chose. And I am happy to be able to live it with my new sense of self and build NEW memories. A new life.

Which also leads to the second heavy theme in those comics. Shortened lifespans. Outside of the fact that we are told time and time again HRT can lead to a shorter lifespan (which is a false average) starting a new life also means you are probably starting in the middle.

Our body is almost 30. That is 30 years of my lifespan gone. Yeah, I was around for 15 (almost 16) years of that, but my new life began a week ago. Who I am began just last week. And even though in the headspace I am early to mid 20s at best, that is still a cutdown lifespan.

So should I just have not bothered with the new start?

Absolutely not. The gift of life, new or old, isn't about how long it lasts. But how you live it. It is hard, it comes with problems, but for as long as I have of it, I will cherish the new memories I build, the new start I have, the ability to just... exist. For as long or short as that may be. And through this new start to my life, the people who love and care for me are still here. Still stand by me. And that is a great thing.

So please, don't be too offput by heavy themes in our stories. Even my stories will have some rough parts. (They'll always be tagged)

Hope this at least helped ease why those themes are there, and why some people choose to have them.

Also, don't worry about "adding to the fuel used against us" because we could sneeze and they'll find a way to use that against us. The fact is, with the Animal HRT series, actual HRT does come with some discomfort, pain, downsides, and problems. And like the heavy themes in the comics, we determined it is worth it for us to keep going despite them. We knew the risks.

"Everything is a risk. Life's boring as hell if you don't take them JUST because there is potential problems. Just make sure you understand them." - a line chaos told me the day I formed

It does less good to show everything as risk free and painless, because then nobody is prepared for the risks they are actually taking. Or the comic is based off the creator's life to that point, and they DID experience a lot of pain. So retelling their story (like mine) might be painful at spots.

My point of all of this is, the heavy themes are required to tell these particular stories. And while not every story requires dark spots, the dark spots help to accentuate the brighter picture. Otherwise it can just be blinding. So please go easy on the artists/writers behind them. As it is usually something personal for them.

(This also might not apply to all of them, some people just like writing horror, and we should respect that too.)

Next story should be sometime within the next couple weeks. Just needed to get this out there. It's been on my mind since releasing the short story with Iris.

-Aqua

[juliet-017]

"Pretty Girl" - L. B.

Lorenzo Berkshire x fem!reader

Minors dni!

Warnings: Choking/breathplay, dubcon, slight edging?, nipple play (like one line), unprotected p n v, fingering, infront of a mirror, first smut so hopefully this hits, lmk if I missed anything

Synopsis: When all of Hogwarts gets together for a end of term celebration it can get loud, chaotic even, causing y/n (no use of y/n besides this) to step out and take a breather. Little did she know she was in for a night she wouldn't be fore getting anytime soon.

a/n: uhm this is my first smut ever.. also ignore the cheesy title im so bad at making titles

Word count: ~1.5k

The room of requirement was filled with smoke and heat, members of every house having got together to celebrate the end of the term, a rare occurrence of differences being set aside. It felt easier to take it in from the sidelines, not used to throwing yourself into large groups and making a scene. You nursed a drink while your friends gathered around you.

Astoria and Daphne having been eyeing different boys from the start, holding slightly arguments, left you to converse with Pansy as you shifted your weight some. “Stop being a spoilsport and come dance,” She practically shouted in your ear for the tenth time in under an hour.

You shook your head, downing the cup quickly. “ ‘m not drunk enough to embarrass myself infront of the whole school.” You reply, not even having enough time to slip away to get a new drink before Pansy has you by the wrist, forcing you out towards the large crowd and closer to the center of it.

And as if fate allowed it, the alcohol hit at the perfect time, feeling yourself let loose slightly, moving to the music at a slow and sensual pace.

“See it's not all bad, is it?” Pansy teased, more so looking around the crowd as if trying to spot someone more than enjoying the moment.

You tried to make any glances less obvious, still aware of your surroundings and glances but a little more carefree than your typical rigid demeanor.

“Finally, there you are!” Pansy shouted exasperated, throwing her arms over Draco's shoulders and snogging him without a second thought.

You halted, giving a flushed wave to the other boys - Theodore and Mattheo - having only had brief conversations with them before, but knowing enough that there's normally a few more in their possy.

“I'm just going to get another drink.” You excuse yourself, using the distraction to hopefully get some air.

All of the common room parties you've gone to have been nowhere near as busy as this, so you thankfully slip out into the corridor to catch your breath and relax.

“And what's a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?” A voice hums, causing you to quickly jolt your gaze towards it, finding Lorenzo Berkshire right next to you.

“Shit- sorry, I didn't see you.” You reply quickly, your reaction time slowed and wobbly as you take a step back to make some space, shrinking yourself down slightly as well.

“No need for apologies,” He purrs, eyes travel you. “Needed some air?” He questions next, cocking a brow.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. It's just a lot in there.” You stammer, giggling the nerves off as you take to messing with your hair. “I wasn't sure if I'd go back in or-”

“If you need to freshen up I can get you into the prefects lavatory. I know the password.” He cuts you off, raising a brow.

You hesitate before conceding, it might do you some good to have some privacy. And maybe Pansy will give you a pat on the back for already going this far.

The walk is silent, awkward. you can feel Lorenzo’s hand on the small of your back as if to help you keep your balance.

“Why weren't you with your friends?” You ask eventually, looking up at him.

He always seems a bit thinner than the others, Theodore, Blaise, and Mattheo having him beat, meanwhile, Draco held a more lean build.

“I was on my way in, I just needed an extra minute.” He shrugs. “Why weren't you with yours?” He asks back, causing you to curse yourself.

“I was. I just.. snum away.” You argue, crossing your arms in defiance.

Eventually you both make it to the bathroom, you take the opportunity to relieve yourself, unsure of why Lorenzo deemed it necessary to enter the large bathroom with you but you brush it off.

It's easy till you're examining your self shamelessly in the mirror, trying to pick apart what you could do for a quick fix or what you'll just has to hope goes unnoticed.

What you didn't pick up on way Lorenzo approaching, that is until you feel his chest bump against your back, iliicting a gasp from you. “What are you even looking at?” He grumbles, staring into the mirror himself with a squint.

“Myself? What else would I be looking at.” You reply, shrugging at the obvious, trying to ignore the proximity.

“I dunno,” He shrugs, subtly caging you in, a mischievous grin forming on his face. “you just look a bit lost in thought, that's all.”

You shrug, mind lost in a drunken gaze as you look in the mirror for a moment longer. With a huff you make a move to turn around to head back to the party, finally realizing how trapped you are, feeling his length brush up against your ass.

Clearing your throat, you come back to your senses slightly. “W-we should get back to the party, our friends are probably looking for us.” You slur out.

Enzo hums, running a hand through your hair and ignoring your statement, one arm snaking around your waist while the other hand makes its way to your throat, squeezing slightly. “They won't miss us for a few more minutes.” He murmurs, burying his nose in your hair. “Smells delicious,”

A small whine escapes you, observing the scene in the mirror, feeling him grind against you.

“Always so quiet, off by yourself.. driving me crazy.” He mutters, the hand previously on your waist pushing your dress up before resting atop your panties, his thumb pressing down on your clit. “Every single party I see you at you're all dressed up,”

A soft moan escapes you, already trying to move your hips for more pleasure while your eyes get lost in the mirror, feeling your panties be pushed to the side as his fingers run through your slick. “Already so wet,” He purrs, leaving open mouth kisses on the side of your neck. “Are you okay with this?” He breaths the question into your ear, prompting a nod from you.

Teasing your entrance he slips a finger in, continuing with the smooth movements before noticing where your gaze is set. “Watching yourself are you? Filthy girl.” He taunts, clicking his tongue and adding a second finger, drawling out another sound of pleasure from your lips.

“Where else am I supposed to look?” You ask between moans, sarcastic.

“Excuses, excuses,” He chastises, making circles on on your clit as he squeezes your throat slightly.

You begin to feel heat growing in your stomach, writhing some in an attempt to fix it, screwing your eyes shut slightly. The tightening grip of your neck causes you to open them, trying to catch Lorenzo’s eye, he lets go slightly.

When you feel yourself getting close, he pulls his fingers out, prompting you to buck your hips back to chase the lost pleasure. “Please,”

“Patience, pretty girl.” He hums, squeezing your neck again, tighter this time. You listen to him undoing his buckle and pants with one hand, hearing his pants and boxers fall to his ankles.

Taking his length in one hand, Lorenzo pumps his already hard self, running himself between your folds before slowly pushing himself into you. He was much bigger than you expected.

A loud moan escapes you, strangled by the tight grip on your throat. Easing into you he groans, bottoming out. “So fuckin’ tight, so perfect.”

You feel him starting to move his hips, slowly thrusting, his free hand moving up to free one of your tits, palming it. He pinches one of your nipples, a whine slipping past your lips.

Your lips and fingers feel fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, reveling in the feeling of it while being fucked, eyes rolling back.

He lightens his grip slightly, allowing you just enough air to rid yourself of any lightheadedness, feeling your orgasm reapproaching as you clench around him. His hand that was formally fondling your tits moves back down to your clit, making figure eights on it.

“ ‘m so close.” You whine, hands tightly grappling the sink, watching yourself in the mirror with teary eyes from the pleasure. Your mascara messed up as your moans grow louder and more needy, fueled by Lorenzo’s own groans in your ear.

You start to meet his thrusts with your own, gaining more pleasure as your face screws up in ecstasy. You practically scream once you finish, going slack in Lorenzo's hold. He keeps thrusting, chasing his own pleasure, the overstimulation causing you to squirm.

After a few more thrusts he pulls out, covering your back in white, slumping against you.

“You did amazing princess,” He praises, kissing your jaw, both your breaths evening out. “now let's get you cleaned up, yeah?”

[helslastangel]

Mini Observations #5

based on my synastry with a friend/unrequited love interest

Sun Sextile Pluto

Powerful chemistry. Both parties are left changed by the connection. Can become completely obsessed with each other if not controlled. Both Sun and Pluto feel a bit lost or displaced without each other from the first time they meet. Especially Sun, as Pluto is less averse to isolation. This is generally positive bit can take a very dark turn if Pluto has bad intentions. The Sun person loves the Pluto person "first" if you will, or at least expresses it faster and more confidently than Pluto, who will either lower their inhibitions and reciprocate the sentiment or give and withdraw their attention at will to break the Sun person's confidence and keep them under control. This is one of those aspects where when it's good, it's truly amazing, but when it's bad, it's downright horrible for both parties.

Sun Sextile Venus

A soft, supportive aspect. Love at first sight vibes, even if not acted on. Not the strongest connection indicator out there but the emotional connection is real between them. The Sun person feels happier and more radiant when around the Venus person. Very much "life is worth living when you're here with me" vibes. Venus thrives on the Sun's energy and is attracted to their charm. Venus feels the urge to do anything to make Sun happy ("Oh hey, I notice you really like x, so I got 3 of them for you"). Sun adores Venus and will protect them at all costs ("They said WHAT to you at work? Oh no they don't! Drop the name and address, who do I need to beat up?").

☆●☆○☆●☆

Pluto Conjunct Venus

Strong sexual attraction. Moderate emotional attraction. Can be one-sided or more commonly lop-sided in terms of willingness to emotionally invest. Karmic. Love-hate dynamic possible. Pluto person can easily read the Venus person. Pluto person can become extremely attached to the Venus person, who is aware of this but may or may not be able to reciprocate.

☆●☆○☆●☆

Mars Trine Venus

Again, mutual sexual attraction. The Venus person admires the Mars person's physique, energy and confidence in themselves and their appearance. The Mars person admires the Venus person's spirit, aura, general behavior and way of being. This is a comfortable connection. Warm. Both romantic and lustful. Likely to keep the "spark" alive for s long time.

Mars Trine Pluto

Possessive. Intense. Soul ties are very strong here. Can be explosive or have many power struggles if not careful. Mars person is the muscle, Pluto person is the mind of the relationship. Mars person gets things going after Pluto person has given it thought and come to a conclusion. Can have an on-and-off friendship or relationship. Or tend to drift apart and back again regularly, even if in very small ways.

☆●☆○☆●☆

Venus Square Saturn

Could go either way. Other aspects and placements can heavily influence this one. Venus views Saturn as wise and an authority figure in a sense, but Venus might feel restricted from expressing themselves freely and creatively. May feel a sense of always being in trouble, annoying or disappointing the Saturn person in some way. Saturn views Venus as a ray of sunshine-that never sets. They enjoy the exuberance and freespirited nature of the Venus person whether they admit it or not, but feel irritated by it at the same time. Saturn may be overcritical of the Venus person, leading the Venus person to leave in frustration or stay but become depressed, if other placements do not balance this out. This aspect can also indicate 'right person, wrong time' relationships, or one-sided, unrequited love between friends. Delays of one kind ot another are common with this aspect.

☆●☆○☆●☆

Mars Opposite Neptune

Difficult aspect to balance. Mars wants to do everything now. If it's an argument, they want to finish it then and there. If it's a task, they want to get it out of the way. If it's a fun activity, they want to jump in and immerse themselves in it. Neptune is easily fatigued, easily overwhelmed and finds it difficult to keep up with Mars-and probably does not even want to. Mars is also blunt which Neptune can only handle in tiny doses, if at all, leading them to need space often, which hurts Mars' ego and leads them to push even harder, which in turn leads Neptune to resort to white lies to get the recovery time they need to remain in the connection. This is a difficult aspect that is only sustainable if Mars learns to be quiet and slow down and Neptune learns to speak up and pick up the pace. They can meet in the middle, but both have to be willing.

��� go back to the masterlist

[cyberexo]

Laundry Night | Byun Baekhyun x Fem Reader

“Could you pass me the detergent?”

warning: a lot of sexual tension, masterbating (f), cussing, full display of nudity, and more. This is not suitable for pupils under the age of 18 so minors dni.

wc: 3k+

an: I haven’t proof read yet 💔 just wanted to finish this quickly and put it out there before I lose all hope in it- hope you guys enjoy it and if you don’t then.. idk what to tell you but thank you for taking the time to read 😛

≪•◦0 🧺 0◦•≫

You swear you didn’t do it on purpose- accidents happen right? Maybe this one is a little less common than most accidents but nevertheless still an accident right? Right??

You weren’t trying to flash anybody, it’s just been a really long week- laundry wasn’t done, you were tired- and how were you supposed to know that your nightgown was apparently see through. The label said sheer when you bought it so was it really your fault? You had night shifts that took a toll on your day life that had left you with basically zero time to get anything done. Tired all the time and unaware of your surroundings.

And now it was finally the weekend, the first sliver of free time you’ve had in a while so you took the opportunity to take your long awaited ‘everything shower’, shaved every inch of your body, mastered your post shower hair routine, oiled and lotioned yourself with twinning rose scented products. And like any other woman on the planet- the process made you lethargic, too lazy to do anything else with your Friday night other than pouring yourself a glass of wine. Not bothering with a bra or a pair of panties, just your favourite nightgown, it was apparently a vintage piece; silky, ivory, floaty- paired with lace trim on the edges and an inviting slit up the thigh.

In layman’s terms: slutty. But so comfortable and freeing to lounge around in.

Spending the rest of evening sipping and doom scrolling was the plan, till you momentarily looked up from your phone and noticed the long overdue laundry basket waiting by your front door to be taken care of.

Fucking laundry, the last thing you wanted to come home to after five days of night shifts that made you teeter at the edges of complete insanity.

You lived in an apartment block where the laundry room was communal, in the basement, it would be better if you had your own but there’s been a lot of noise complaints from other tenants about not wanting a machine causing an earthquake above their heads. Even though it was tiresome to keep going up and down many flights of stairs to get your laundry done- it saves you from the noise pollution and annoyance it’ll cause you if everyone had their own. Plus you saved money this way.

Normally you’d wait till morning to get your clothes nice and clean again but you were down to your last undergarment, so it was either you do it now or go commando for the next 48 hours.

Without giving it more thought you got up, glass of wine in one hand and laundry basket in the other- slipped on some fluffy sliders and headed downstairs to the laundry room.

The stairs were concrete, the type that echo out every step you made which was great, now all your neighbours could hear you do the walk of shame for uncleanliness.

Yawning, you used your hip to press the buzzer to the laundry room, using your back to push the door open before turning around to get this shit over and done with-

And that’s when you saw him.

The new guy that had just moved into the apartment above you. You’d put him at around late twenties to early thirties- perfect features, beautiful hair it almost made you jealous. Pulling his headphones off his head he looked up at you for polite acknowledgement which quickly turned into stunned silence.

The look on his face confused you, looking down to see what he was gawking at.

Fuck.

The harsh overhead lights of the laundry room had your nightgown almost transparent, you could see almost every inch of your business. Your breasts teasing the fabrics- one bad move away from being on complete display, your torso, the lining of your pussy peaking through, even your thighs were obscene. The lace trim dangerously flirting with your behind.

“Shit-“ you muttered, lifting your laundry basket to try and cover up as much as you can. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was down here.”

He blinked, quickly looking away as if he’s been caught, clearing his throat and laughing it off, “No worries! It’s a communal area, right?”

Right.

You could see it on his face he was trying not to look, really trying but you noticed his eyes flicking down before darting back to a spot on the wall behind you which didn’t work out for you because nervous guys were a turn on for you; which was your queue to get the hell out of there.

“I’ll come back later-“

“No!” His voice cracked a little. “It’s fine, really! I mean- I’ve only got a few minutes left..”

You scanned the screen of the washing machine and he was right, he had seven minutes left of his cycle.

Seven minutes, that’s all I have to get through.

“Okay.. thanks.”

You walked past him, holding your basket closer to your body, your legs were bare, thighs rubbing together in a desperate attempt to soothe the wanting ache in between your legs, and the lace trim barely covering your ass. You could feel his eyes on you, and without any complete self restraint on your part your nipples hardened with excitement, making them even more obvious and pronounced through the basically nonexistent fabric.

It was happening already.

“I’m really sorry,” you began, placing your wine glass on the dryer, and then proceeding to bend over a little to place your basket on the floor, making the slit of your nightgown ride up, revealing the curve of your ass. If he was sat down he would have gotten to see your slick folds too. “I thought this place would be empty at this time.”

He cleared his throat again before answering, “yeah I’m just a bit of a night owl I suppose,” to which you hummed in agreement as if you weren’t obviously and completely naked, breasts stretching against the fabric with your freshly moisturised slit just inches away from his eyesight.

“What’s your name?”

“Baekhyun,” he introduced himself, his voice was soft, inviting, the kind you could listen to forever. “You’re from.. downstairs?” He enquired.

“Yeah, 3C. I’ve been living here for a few years now,”

He nodded in response, “I’ve seen you around, it’s nice to meet you.” He said, offering a soft smile paired with the obvious light blush of his cheeks.

“You too,” you smiled.

You stood there for a few more seconds in complete silence, listening to the washing machine hum alongside the distant tick of pipes.

You knelt by the basket and started to sort through the various garments, sorting them into different piles of colours and types of fabric, knees touching the cold ground and your head on the same level as the slightly evident bulge in his sweatpants, you tried to not notice it, tried to not think about what it would be like to just let him take you right there on the washing machine like you’ve seen countless of times in movies. The scenario painting in your mind was titillating.

You tried to refocus your mind back onto your clothes- pulling them out one by one. Shorts, skirts, tights, and your prized collection of bikini tops that came all in different styles. Then came the underwear- you always picked your undergarments carefully, small, thin- slutty. One of the pairs was still evidently slick with cum, you made sure it went to the top of your pile. You couldn’t help it, you’ve been so busy and alone for a while your body was pleading for male attention in anyway you could get it.

You could feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second.

Why am I like this?

You allowed your movements to dislodge one of the straps of your nightgown off your shoulder, pushing your breasts together as you worked through the rest of the pile knowing Baekhyun had the perfect down blouse view of you, probably wondering what it would be like to have his hands cupping the soft flesh.

You didn’t dare look at him.

Keeping your eyes on your clothes that seemed to never end, reaching back into the basket making your gown shift further down, the tops of your nipples becoming visible. You could feel the soft fabric getting caught in between your thighs- the friction was nearly unbearable, every movement, the unspoken tension did anything but keep your arousal at bay.

He still stood there, not making a move or sound.

You shifted on your knees ever so slightly, trying to relieve the pressure building up in between, but the gown moved with you, it clung, tightly wrapped around the tops of your thighs and lower back. You picked up a lace bra, one of your favourites, the type you would wear on a balcony somewhere in Paris, adorned with delicate embroidery, you laid it softly on top of the pile.

Glancing sideways, just for a second, and the fabric of his sweatpants was fully tented now, an unmistakable raging boner, you wanted nothing more than to pull his sweatpants down take him into your mouth immediately but you diverted your attention back to your laundry instead. You were completely soaked at this point, afraid to stand back up just to see a puddle under yourself.

You digressed and stood up, a little too quickly, your chest jumping up with you, the remaining strap falling off your shoulder and you just stood there for a moment, gown almost off, the edge of one nipple teasing the trimming of the lace, imagining the state you were in made your thighs tremble with excitement.

You wanted to get fucked, needed to.

Your eyes met his, this poor unsuspecting, incredibly attractive man was now confronting a whole lot of ass, and breasts that threatened to spill over your gown at any given moment paired with a dripping pussy that was begging to have his dick stuffed inside.

You looked at the washing machine, three minutes left.

“Could you pass me the detergent?”

≪•◦0 🧺 0◦•≫

So there you were pressed up against this semi stranger in your shared laundry room, reaching across from him for the washing powder, ass almost completely exposed, your gown constantly riding up with every move- you wanted nothing more but for him to reach his hands underneath and start working you over the washing machine.

Instead he handed you the detergent, eyes trying to look anywhere else other than your breasts which were an inch away from spilling out of your gown. His eyes found yours for a split second before they darted back to his laundry.

“I..uhhh- I- I think my load is nearly ready..”

God I hope so.

You felt another rush of wetness in between your legs from his unintentional double entendre. The washing machine played a little tune. “Perfect timing,” you smiled at him, finally moving away and adjusting the strap that had fallen off your shoulder, pretending to not know you were exposed, that you still were, pretending that the glistening wetness you were trying to not reveal was in fact very obvious.

Baekhyun popped his washing machine door open and began to frantically pull his clothes out in handfuls, eyes locked on the basket in front of him. It was cute how restrained he was being, trying to give you all the space you needed, respectful of your accidental nudity.

But it only made you want to fuck him even more.

The fabric clung between your legs, you could feel how messy you were, how desperate your own body was revealing you to be. Simultaneously making you want to run back to your apartment but also push him up against the wall and grind on him till he finished in his own boxers. Instead, you began to load the washing machine.

Around five minutes later your clothes were loaded and on a hot cycle- he had his basket of clothes all neatly organised and ready to be dried. You were still aching with the thrill of being so exposed in front of man like himself- and that’s when you came up with an idea.

This is going to be fun.

“Walk me back to my room?” You innocently asked as he opened the door to leave. He stopped, head turning slowly with a questioning look on his dangerously good looking face, ‘Hm?’ His voice was low- questioning if you just asked him what he thought you asked him.

You just shrugged in response, “I would just feel a lot safer if I had a.. chaperone, you know? Considering my situation?” You asked, holding your arms out to highlight your nudity, displaying your body to him fully for the first time; your nightgown didn’t even try to save your dignity- breasts full and heavy from arousal, nipples visible through the tight fabric, begging to be touched. The hem of the gown fluttered against the tops of your thighs, the way the moisture from your pussy had darkened the front of the gown, legs unmistakably glistening from your fluids.

You didn’t bother to hide it. You wanted him to see.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I mean- what I meant was.. yeah, sure.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his obedient little yes, his body language, the relief that this wasn’t over yet.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you giggled, as he held the door for you. Stepping past him and into the stairwell, trying really hard to resist putting your hands down his sweatpants and help relieve the pressure. The air was cooler, which made you think of what even possessed you to come out with no extra cover.

But you were glad that you did.

As you began to ascend the stairs, you made sure to give him the best possible view you could- he stayed a few steps behind you, not too close but not too far, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t staring at your ass which was basically on the same level as his head. You wondered if he was thinking about just taking you right there in the stairwell, letting you moan out in echoing pleasure for everyone to hear.

“I swear these stairs just double up every week,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, pretending you weren’t teasing him with your seductive movements up the stairs.

“Yeah,” he laughed quietly, his voice breaking a little, “I know what you mean.” He finished, somewhat lamely (?) but it only endeared you to him. Allowing your gown to ride up with each step you took, knowing he was watching. Letting your hips swing with each step, by the fifth riser, the laced hem was past the bottom of your ass. By the tenth, it was practically at your waist.

You didn’t bother adjusting it.

As you reached the landing in between floors, your heart almost jumped out of your chest with excitement. There was a shirt on the landing floor.

This is all working out so well!

Looking down at it, you exaggerated your surprise.

“Oh no! Look at what someone dropped.”

Am I really about to do this? Yes, yes I am.

You bent over to pick up the shirt, slowly. Keeping your legs straight, pushing the back of you as far up as you could- making your nightie ride up without any resistance; bunching fully around your hips. You felt a cool rush of air engulf your legs and the slick mess in between- causing goosebumps on your skin.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, knowing he was watching- the silence in the stairway was deafening, you could hear a pin drop from the ground floor- silently hoping to god that he would just bury himself into you right there. The image in your head drove you crazy, you could feel your arousal slowly trickling down your inner thighs and he could definitely see it too. You heard him sharply inhale- and you stayed like that, letting him take in the erotic view that was in front of him.

Still reaching for the shirt with unnecessary slowness- finally picking it up and turning to him, the tent in his pants basically begging to be let out- you hoped he would just drop his basket and take you right there- knowing he would be able to slide right into you with zero resistance.

“Yours?” You asked softly, tossing it into his basket before he could confirm or deny- clumsily catching it before it got mixed in with his clean clothes, his flustered manor made you quietly laugh to yourself as you turned back around and continued walking up the stairs.

≪•◦0 🧺 0◦•≫

By the time you reached your door, you were due for another shower, your slickness coated most of your upper legs, and inner thighs- very evident to any onlookers.

Any thoughts of modesty has been locked away by your raging hormones- yearning for a mans touch- Baekhyuns specifically. Exposing yourself like that to him, you knew there was no turning back, there was nothing you could do now to save face. And whilst you knew your needs wouldn’t be satiated tonight, teasing him like that, a complete stranger, gave you a thrill you’ve never had before, you felt a little sad that it had come to an end.

Turning the handle slowly, you opened the door to your apartment, hearing the hinges quietly squeak.

Letting the warm air engulf you, the soft scents of rose scented lotion and other products you had used earlier still lingered in the air, welcoming you back in.

You turned to him, his basket was clutched tightly to his chest with both hands, knuckles white. His face was red, hair; messy. His eyes were full of hope and hunger and maybe a little hint of desperation, making you wonder what he was planning on doing to you in his head- which sent another throb in between your legs.

You smiled, “Thank you for walking me back,” you said softly.

Gulping, he answered back in a quiet voice, “Yeah, it’s a… no problem.”

You stepped into your apartment backwards, still facing him, letting the lights you left on cast you in full view. Body flushed, gleaming faintly, nipples still evidently hard through the flimsy fabric with of course one of the straps hanging off your shoulder.

“Oh, shoot!” You said, feigning surprise. “I forgot I wanted to wash this. Would you mind taking it back down for me?”

He looked around what he could see from your apartment, his eyes searching for any discarded laundry here and there- “Wash what?”

“This.”

You took your nightgown by the hem and lifted it up slowly, letting it rise inch by inch, exposing the wet raging heat that was in between your legs, and then the smooth dip of your waist alongside your torso. Your breasts shifted as the fabric dragged over them, fighting to suppress any lewd sound you wanted to let out from the feeling. One final tug and it was off your body, soft and warm with the hem slightly damp from your arousal.

Baekhyun stood there, frozen and wide-eyed in your doorway, laundry basket still in his hands.

You were completely naked now, you stepped towards him, body hot and buzzing from arousal, alight with the secret hope that he would just grab and fuck you right there- you’d let him too. But he stood transfixed and so you folded the gown gently and put it in his hands.

“You can leave your basket here,” you offered, taking it from him, bending over again to gently set it down by your door. “You can get it on the way back,”

He blinked, watching you bend, analysing your every move- “What- yeah. Ok. Yeah.”

You smiled at him innocently, “Such a good man. I’ll see you soon,”

You closed the door gently, the second the latch clicked into place, you exhaled. Your whole body throbbed. Your pussy was soaked, open, aching. You dropped to the floor, spread your legs, and let your fingers dive between them, wasting no time, unable to wait any longer.

The teasing was over.

You rubbed hard and fast, messy–slick sounds filling the quiet apartment. You imagined him, still stood outside the door, listening to the sounds as you spread your wetness all over yourself. Your hips bucked into your hand, eyes fluttering shut as gentle moans of his name escaped your lips, and you again imagined him hearing them, his cock straining, mouth dry, thoughts spinning.

He didn’t even get to touch you.

The thought brought you to the edge of orgasm almost instantly, and your legs trembled as you imagined him standing in the laundry room again, that poor innocent face trying so hard not to think about your bare ass or the patch of wetness you left on the gown. You imagined him holding the fabric to his dick, pressing into the damp part of it, soaking it with his cum. Whilst the wet scent of you intoxicated him- the scene playing over and over again in your head as you laid on the floor, secretly fucking yourself with your fingers.

You came, collapsing into a warm, wet heap on the floor.

When the knock came a few minutes later, it was timid. You walked slowly and casually toward the source of the sound, and opened the door, greeting him with a big, satisfied smile.

He blinked. His hair was tousled, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You could see the confusion in his face. You weren’t naked anymore. You weren’t flushed or exposed or biting your lip or begging to be watched. You were just… you. Relaxed. Sated. Like something had happened in his absence, something important, and he hadn’t been part of it.

He swallowed.

“I–uh, I put your…thing in the wash,” he said.

“Awww, thank you so much,” you said, lifting his basket and handing it to him. “I really appreciate it.”

He took the basket from you, his face a picture of confusion and disappointment. You knew how much he wanted to fuck you, how much he would be thinking about you when he made himself cum later, how much he would regret not sticking his face in your spread pussy in the stairway when he had the chance.

And you loved it.

You leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. You wondered how much it made his cock twitch. “We should do laundry again sometime,” you murmured. “Soon.”

Then you smiled, stepped back, and closed the door.

Leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

Hard.

Silent.

And alone.

That's when you decided to make yourself cum again.

≪•◦0 🧺 0◦•≫

Laundry night sequel “Second Load”

coming soon

[miajooz]

Hey pretty

How are you today ? Hope you are doing amazing! So I have a request that I don't know if it's your cup of tea so feel free to ignore this.❤

How would you feel on modern!AU ellie and reader who where eachothers first loves meeting again after many years both having a family and talk with so much love to each other and it's angsty and lalalandish if you know what I mean . Anyway thats it !

Because I loved you first

warnings 𖤓 - not many warnings, just angst and fluff! use of y/n a few times—topics of homophobia, alcohol, and drugs mentioned. - wc: 5.8k

extra 𖤓- thank you so much for the request, beautiful. IM SO GRATEFUL!! i also wrote this while waiting on the poll for gamer!ellie, so i promise ill start writing when i see the results! anyways, i hope this is to your liking!

you know what people say about your first love—well—they say a lot of things. many theories suggest that you never get over your first love, even if you have a knew lover. your first love is the birth of all your feelings, the place where all those ideas and expectations for what you want in a relationship really bloom. that’s because you see it first hand, you see your cards laid out and how each of you play them to form a functional relationship.

even the toxic relationships with no functionality are remembered. is it to say they’re remembered for the sole purpose that they were toxic and messy? or maybe it’s for the same reasons as how you remember any first love. sure, you remember the bad parts, that’s the most obvious part of a toxic relationship. but what about the similarities? every relationship with a first love is different, different people have different experiences—that’s common knowledge.

but what about the similarities? more specifically, heartbreak.

heartbreak is at the end of all these kinds of relationships, though some feel heartbreak throughout a relationship. at least one of you has to feel it, it also seems to be a common theme in lesbian couples. not to be stereotypical per se, but something about these relationships feels so forbidden; even in modern times. it all depends on your environment, it doesn’t matter that it’s more normalized now. maybe it’s because you’re still figuring out yourself when you’re with your first love, even more so if you’re trying to put a pin on what your sexuality is.

that’s why when things end, it feels like you’ve lost a piece of yourself. the piece of yourself and the front you made for this amazing person in your life, is gone. it’s irrelevant to hold onto such passions and ideals when the person they were intended for isn’t in your life anymore. so yeah, in simple terms: it’s as if you’ve lost a piece of yourself. but what are you to do when you’re left questioning who you are again?

break ups happen for many reasons, sometimes you get bored, some cheat, some abuse, the reasons are endless. but what about the people who don’t have a say in their own relationship? what about the people who have to sit back and watch everything they built with the love of their life be torn from their hands with no warning. even if there’s a warning, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

your first love embeds vivid memories into your brain, memories and feelings you can’t forget in situations like yours. your first love can become an extension of yourself, it’s such a profound experience you can’t help but feel as though it’ll never be replicated, as if you’ll never feel that way again. there’s a mold your first love makes, a mold that your relationships afterwards follow. maybe that’s why you can’t forget. the root, the heart, the soul, all of the foundation for your next relationships are built off your first one. it’s like an answer key, because you know what you want.

especially if nothing went wrong, then you really had everything you wanted.

that’s what happened to you and ellie. you both met in high school, she wanted to major in astronomy and you wanted to major in psychology. the two of you were good friends before, but the friendship faded after the two of you hung out alone so many times. the friendship developed into something much more, it was almost as if it was destined.

in your case, you had your future practically planned out for you. your parents had such old, traditional ideals; it was suffocating. everyday of your life felt like playing dolls, like you were a puppet in a big show for everybody to cast expectations and ideals on in the name of legacy. they wanted you to have a husband and kids, safe to say they didn’t want you to go to college—let alone have a girlfriend. but somewhere in your delusional mind, you thought maybe you’d have control over your life for once.

your life ended the day you had that sleepover with ellie. the sleepover you hosted at your house, it was new year’s eve . new year’s eve was a fun night, you could watch the fireworks with the love of your life on your balcony and talk about everything and anything. the fireworks were so beautiful that night, but not nearly as beautiful as ellie. the way her messy hair framed her face and blew in the slight, cold breeze. the way you’d occasionally feel her green eyes locked on you. what an entrancing woman, how’d you get so lucky?

your head was raised high, your eyes tracing all the beautiful bursts of color and life that people shot into the sky. the distant cheers of children cheering and screaming in excitement over a new year. a fresh start for some people, but not to you. to you, this was a start to taking control of your life. you’d work to grow more with ellie, get a house, live happily. that’s what you both wanted, you just wanted to be happy.

but hope was a curse, a curse that made you think things would be okay in situations that would never be okay.

ellie wasn’t watching the fireworks, well—maybe she was. but she was watching them through your eyes, the way your pupils expanded and reflected the rainbow colors shooting into the sky from all directions. you had such a calm, peaceful look on your face. her heart just swelled, you were so beautiful she wanted to cry.

she reached her hand towards you a bit until they connected, interlocking your fingers. that snapped you out of your mesmerized state, the colors fading from your pupils as you looked at her instead. her green eyes were reflecting yours, a beautiful mirror that told so many stories and so many feelings.

“you’re so beautiful.” she murmured, her body quite close to yours. her grip on your hand tightened a bit, those beautiful green eyes looking at you like you were a work of art. like she was at a museum looking at an ancient greek statute, like you were gifted by aphrodite herself.

all you could do was smile, your face was so soft and filled with genuine love. she was the love of your life, there was no doubt about that. you let out a short laugh, leaning in to kiss her. your lips connected softly, it was a gentle kiss that spoke so many unspoken words.

it looked like a scene from a romance movie, you never felt so much love for a person—not ever. your lips were soft against her chapped ones, almost symbolic in the way of healing. the kiss wasn’t very progressive, you kind of just sat there and kissed her over and over again.

that’s when the door to your bedroom creaked open, though you didn’t notice. you were too focused on ellie to care about anything else, plus, how could a door opening be heard over booming fireworks clouding your senses?

in the doorway was your mother, the look on her face could be described as horrified. ellie seemed to know something was up from the shift in energy, she opened her eyes slightly and broke the kiss, looking over her shoulder. there was your mother, standing in the doorway like she just saw somebody dead on the floor. as if ellie just murdered her daughter.

you immediately got curious when ellie broke the kiss, so you mirrored her actions.

your heart dropped to your chest, oh my god.

“shit..” you mumbled under your breath, looking at your mother with an equally horrified expression. this couldn’t be happening, why did things have to go so wrong? you tried to pull your hand away, but ellie didn’t let you. seriously, what was there to hide now?

“mom—“ you started, but you were quickly cut off by her angry voice. this was not good.

“what the hell is this, y/n?! did you just kiss that girl?!” she asked in utter shock and disappointment. that wasn’t the part that hurt you, the disgusted undertone is what hurt. as if you could describe something so blatantly obvious an undertone.

“mom, she’s my girlfriend. i didn’t think it would be a big deal.” you tried to reassure her, brushing it off as casual. why wouldn’t it be casual? was it a crime to love somebody? but you knew it was in her eyes, in the eyes of somebody like her.

your mother wasn’t having it, she looked between you and ellie with utter repulsion. ellie bit her cheek as to soothe her nerves, this was a very awkward situation for her. what made it harder was how upset you looked,

that alone hurt, it hurt a lot.

“oh, so sneaking around behind my back is okay?” she stared, her manufactured fingers pointing at your direction in a scrutinizing way. her eyes locked on ellie, narrowed in disdain and anger. “get out, get out of my house.”

you’re jaw dropped a bit, you were furious. she stared at your mother wide eyed, torn between letting go of your hand and leaving or staying to fight this. ellie couldn’t leave you behind, that wasn’t the type of person she was.

“what the hell is wrong with you, mom?! she’s my girlfriend!” you argued, stepping in front of ellie a bit. you never raised your voice at your mother before, but this situation seemed fit. as you saw it, respect was earned, not given.

your mother was livid, especially since your reaction was so raw and angry. over a girl? repulsive. “no, no she’s not. not anymore, you’re breaking up with her now.” she said firmly, not even hesitating when she saw your hurt expression. “you will have a husband, i won’t allow such sin and shamefulness in my household. do you want to be kicked out?!”

your face dropped, kicked out? you knew how your mother could be, she’d strip you of everything you knew and loved if it didn’t align with her. did she seriously want to kick you out over this? you’d be on the streets, you were still 17. ellie couldn’t take you in either, she was going off to college in three weeks.

before you could argue back, ellie did. “what the actual fuck is wrong with you?! did you have her just to control her life?!” she yelled, trying to charge towards your mother, but you held her back. you tried to intervene but it was no use.

your mother looked appalled, the shift in her expression made your blood run cold. “get the hell out of my house, you’ve corrupted my daughter.” she accused, her eyes falling on you next. “if you don’t break up with her i’m kicking you out.”

those words rung in your head over and over, it was as if time slowed. you almost thought it’d be worth it. you couldn’t lose ellie, she was absolutely everything to you. she was the only person in your life who genuinely made you feel like you mattered. but you couldn’t argue this, your mother was a stubborn as a rock.

ellie was shocked, this was absolutely unreal. she didn’t want to do all of this in front of your mother. she let out a shaky sigh before gripping your hand much tighter. “fine.” she said begrudgingly, immediately pulling you towards the door. she pushed your mother out of the way, looking over her shoulder as you walked through the house.

you were in your front yard now, since that’s where ellie dragged you. you were sobbing at this point, crouched down with her and clinging onto her like a lifeline. this was the hardest moment of your life. as much as you wanted to stay with ellie, that wasn’t realistic.

“please, please don’t leave me. i love you so much.” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. your mother was watching through some window, her expression cold and angry. but you didn’t care, and neither did ellie. all she could worry about was you and your well being—what would happen if you were actually kicked out. seeing you cry so hard and the idea of having to leave you had her sobbing as well.

ellie shushed you, running her hands up and down your arms comfortingly. but it didn’t do much, especially since she was crying herself. “shh, it’s okay, baby. i love you too, i love you so, so much.”

those words were so unbearably painful to hear, you couldn’t even breathe, let alone form a decent thought or sentence besides a plea. your heart felt like it was squeezing every ounce of joy in your life out and into a dumpster. it felt like everything you did was being destroyed in front of you helplessly.

“please don’t leave me.” you repeated, unsure what else to say. “please don’t leave me.” you had mascara streaming down your face messily, it was a devastating sight to your girlfriend.

ellie’s heart was torn to shreds, watching her person in so much pain was too much. she wiped some of the mascara with her thumb, though it didn’t do much. maybe she just wanted to touch you.

“i know, baby. i’m so sorry.” she murmured, her hands lingering on your face. “please don’t cry, you look so pretty tonight.”

those words only made you sob harder, even more so when you saw her shift. why was she standing up, she couldn’t possibly be leaving, right? you let out some sort of strangled cry, desperately reaching for her. you didn’t allow her to stand up all the way.

“no, no! ellie, ellie—please!” you sobbed, desperately clinging onto her shirt. ellie’s face contorted into one of pure devastation, like she just lost everything she loved. she did, you were her whole world and more. she leaned down a bit, her eyes sympathetic and spilling out tears. then your lips connected, but it wasn’t as comforting as the one from earlier. she kissed you softly, and then she stood up.

you choked out another loud cry, reaching for her like she was about to run into a battlefield. “i love you, i love you so much, okay?“ she was wiping the tears from her eyes as they fell. watching your crumbled form on the floor, she couldn’t take it. she looked up at the sky, the fireworks booming now just felt like stabs to her heart.

before you could protest, she was walking towards her car. you reached out for her and weakly screamed, unable to form a coherent sentence—not even a plea. this was the hardest thing ellie had ever done in her life, but it had to be done. she couldn’t allow herself to be the reason your life went to shit, no, you deserved much better than that.

when she drove away, all you did was cry in your front lawn. hunched over, hands on your head, sobbing. it was the kind of sobbing that knew no bounds, the kind that poured out of you in a way you didn’t know was possible.

oh, ellie. the love of your life, your soulmate. yeah, you were lost again for sure.

so..how did you end up here? this was quite a few years later. ellie was gone, but she never left your mind. that night never left your mind, the night where you lost yourself again in a way you didn’t know was possible. but ellie wasn’t in a much better place, starting college after suffering such a heartbreak wasn’t easy.

every new years felt like a stab to the chest, the memory faded over time but of course it was never gone. that was the woman who shaped your identity, who taught you what loving somebody actually meant. forgetting was impossible—all because you loved her. all because she was your first, all because she was the reason you felt even a sliver of comfort in your fake, dollhouse of a life.

where was that same comfort when your mother arranged for you to marry a man? a wealthy man, sure, but it wasn’t ellie. ellie made you feel wealthy in a way that wasn’t financial, you felt rich because you had the best girlfriend in the history of the universe. this random man was nothing to you, the feeling was mutual. that nothingness for him continued even when you had your beautiful daughter. but you loved her, even if she was created from such a cold, heartless man.

in a picture, your life looked so perfect. you had a rich husband and a beautiful daughter, what more could you want? but it wasn’t perfect, not when you weren’t loved, not when your so called husband was running off with other women anyways—not that you cared, but it just highlighted how fucked up your life really was. you didn’t want much, it’s not like you wanted the world. you just wanted the love of your life back, the only person on this earth who actually cared about you wasn’t there. you didn’t even get to go to college, your life was a living hell. you didn’t get to pursue the one thing you wanted besides ellie, you had absolutely nothing besides your daughter.

ellie’s life wasn’t much better, even if she had the freedom you didn’t have. she was with a woman named dina, the two of them were raising a baby together. but when ellie lost her adoptive father, things went downhill fast. she wasn’t the same woman, she couldn’t sleep or eat or even function. she started partaking in self sabotaging habits like drinking and drugs. she never took any of her anger out on dina, but she still couldn’t take it anymore.

dina made the hard decision to break up with ellie, it wasn’t going well and she had to do what was best for her son, jj. ellie understood, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. she still visited dina and jj sometimes when she was well, but it didn’t make her feel any less lonely. she was all by herself, stuck in an empty house with empty bottles.

she knew she was hurting everyone around her, but she was so stuck in that hole. that hole of depression and loneliness that isolation caused. that hole was almost impossible to escape alone, that’s why isolation is such an issue when you’re depressed. usually when she was drunk and hazy, crying on the couch in an empty house, her thoughts would drift back to you. they’re drift to that night where she had to just walk away, regretting everything she did. even if it was for the best, it hurt. in her dark moments, you were always there. but where were you now?

so, again, how did you get here? how did you manage to find yourself standing face to face with your first love, how did you manage to look her in the eyes? it was some sort of new year’s eve party at a park, people were celebrating and partying. once again, it felt like a fresh start for everybody but you. your friends dragged you along so you wouldn’t be trapped in your house on new year’s eve. you left your bastard of a husband to babysit your daughter while you left to go have fun—or at least try to.

ellie was here on her own accord. new year’s eve was so hard now, she figured forming more positive memories around it would he beneficial. but when she saw you, everything changed. it was a like a switch in her mind just flipped, was she hallucinating? she didn’t recall taking any hallucinogens, did someone slip one in her drink? she wouldn’t put it past her if she was hallucinating you, considering you were always on her mind. perhaps the lack of sleep and stress was getting to her, because this couldn’t be real.

so she stood there, her slightly veiny hands gripping her drink tightly. she was wearing wearing a brown, leather jacket with slight fur or sherpa on the insides and collar. her jeans were a pale, washed out color—this was an outfit joel would usually wear, as if that was comforting her in any way. her expression was wide eyes, her jaw slightly agape. so many feelings rushed through her body at that moment, feelings she was trying so hard to forget.

you were just as shocked, your drink falling out of your hands and shattering on the concrete. was this seriously happening? you were in a tight, purple, silk dress. it wasn’t too short, but it rested on your thighs nicely. your outfit screamed class and wealth, which wasn’t exactly wrong. the pearls and endless jewelry adorning your body further pushed that idea.

for awhile you just stared, neither of you speaking first, what was there to say? this was the woman you were yearning for the past 7 years of your hellish life, the woman who started everything for you. this was the woman who showed you what it felt like to be loved, the woman you dreamed of finding again. how was this so..normal? in your mind, she was across the damn world—but she was just right here. you dreamed of finding her again, and now you did—in such a strange setting.

ellie stared back, the urge to go chug alcohol until she blacked out was overwhelming. that seemed to be a more prominent urge as of recently. she didn’t wanna feel those emotions again, but she couldn’t help but feel relief. you looked okay, you seemed to be in a good situation which was relieving to her worrying mind.

a good situation—in the sense you looked healthy.

“ellie?” you questioned, your voice soft as it cut through the deafening silence between you two. ellie didn’t respond at first, her mouth was open in preparation to say something—but it was hard.

“hey..” she managed, her tone soft and laced with nervousness. but somehow it didn’t feel awkward, simply speaking to her again just felt so natural.

“what are you doing here? i didn’t—“ you let out a. shaky breath to which she noticed, “i didn’t think i’d see you here.”

ellie let out a small scoff, her lips curled into a soft smile. it was barely visible, but she used to always smile around you. your heart sunk, some sort of noise lodged in your throat. “just..drinking, i guess. what’re you doing here?”

you let out a small laugh, your manufactured hands fidgeting in front of you. “we’re in the same boat.” you said smoothly—or at least you tried to say smoothly.

“how have you been?“ she asked, her head tilted to the side a bit. she held her drink in her hands, unable to even think about it. all she could think about was how pretty you looked in that dress. was it too soon to say she wanted you back? too soon was bullshit, shes wanted you back ever since that night.

there was silence on your end. you couldn’t lie to her, but how could you tell her how much of a mess your life was? yet you did it anyways, as if you believed she could save you. “i..uh, i have a daughter now..” you started, clearing your throat. “but i didn’t get to go to college.”

ellie’s eyes were widened, a daughter? that hurt, that hurt a lot. did that mean you were currently with somebody? in her mind she still had a chance to get you back, this was a very defeating loss. but she tried not to assume, she didn’t know your situation yet. she pushed that feeling away, especially when she saw how troubled you looked. hearing that you didn’t get to go to college upset her, mainly because she knew psychology was a huge passion of yours. she instantly knew it was your mother’s doing.

“a daughter, huh? congrats.” she praised, the smile on her lips was much bigger now. she let it fade a bit so she could address the college topic more seriously, “why didn’t you go to school?”

you swallowed thickly, clearing your throat to mask the nerves, “my mom arranged me to marry my current husband, so..” you mumbled, “so i wasn’t able to go to college.”

this seemed to piss ellie off a lot, you could tell by the ‘subtle’ way she tightened her grip on her drink. but it was understandable, this situation was absolutely ridiculous. maybe it was ellie’s natural hatred for your mother because of that one new year’s eve night, but she was livid.

“are you fucking kidding me?” she questioned in disbelief, her voice was laced with anger and maybe something like disappointment. she knew how smart you were, it was upsetting to see somebody with such big dreams and ambitions trapped in a life they never wanted. “wow, i’m so sorry.” she rubbed the back of her neck softly, unable to really emphasize her sympathy. but you understood, you understood the ways ellie expressed herself and emotions even after so long.

you offered her a small smile, trying to be reassuring—if possible. “it’s alright, i’m happy to have my daughter in my life.” you explained, which was definitely true, “how have you been?”

now it was ellie’s turn to be silent, and of course you noticed the mood shift immediately. she brought her glass up to her lips and took a sip, her eyes didn’t leave yours for a single second. she took two sips before sighing and holding the glass in front of her. she was acting like a husband who was sick of their wife and kids or something.

“ah, not great. joel actually passed away a few months ago.” she explained, trying to keep her whole demeanor and voice level. but it was hard, you could hear the way her voice cracked in vulnerability when she spoke his name.

you were genuinely shocked by this, upon doing the math in your head, you realized joel was probably around 55 years old. that was young, how utterly heartbreaking. you had a lot of good memories with joel, even if him and ellie didn’t get along all the time—he accepted you two. he was the biggest supporter when the two of you broke up, but you didn’t know that. you didn’t know that he also tried to contact you and check up on you. but your mother stopped that, evil witch.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry, ellie.” you offered, immediately stepping closer to her and rubbing her arm comfortingly—it was like how she comforted you on the night she left you. rubbing your shoulders like you were a fragile work of art. it seemed to work, because she perked up immediately. her eyes fell on the hand that was now caressing her arm, the feeling was so natural but so distant. she missed this, she missed how softly you touched things when you cared. especially when you used to touch her, you were so careful with her even if it was unnecessary

you didn’t even realize you were touching her until she perked up, touching her was like a reflex even after all these years. she was still your soulmate, even if you hardly knew each other—your souls were tied. they were tied in the way that couldn’t be separated, even if you were on different ends of the earth. even if you were trapped in shitty marriages or broken relationships. soul ties didn’t break that easily.

“thank you, i appreciate it.” she replied, her expression was soft. oh, you missed that expression so much. that was almost how she looked at you that night on your balcony. new year’s eve was a cursed day. “i uh..i had a girlfriend but we just broke up. grief changes people—me.” she added, though she didn’t talk about jj for some reason. that was too much to explain, so much to explain and so little time.

your expression was somber, you were really hoping ellie would be well off. maybe that was just the bad stuff, maybe she was well off besides these more recent events. “i get it, just let yourself heal, okay? what about college, did you still go?”

the change in topic seemed to lift her mood a bit, you always used to have that effect on her. “yeah, i’m actually trying to be an astrophysicist or a cosmologist.” she explained, a soft smile painted on her lips now. “it’s been hard with so much shit happening, but i’m managing.

this pleased you, that was actually really great to hear. ellie had always been passionate about space and the history of the universe, so the fact she was trying to pursue her passion made you really happy for her. “that’s amazing, ellie!” you congratulated her, you had a big smile on your face.

ellie laughed in response, your enthusiasm was infectious. she missed that about you, how you could light up anybody’s mood from simply existing. it was because you were genuinely a good person, because you cared for people in a way that was so deep and so true.

“thanks, maybe i should talk your ear off again like i used to. i’m learning a lot of new things, you know?” she joked, but there was a genuine undertone. she wanted nothing more than to talk to you, she wanted to build something with you again. she wanted to learn about your life and be in it again, her life was so dull and lonely without you.

your smile faded a bit, though it wasn’t because you reacted badly. you stared at her, stared at the woman who you had longed for every waking moment for the last 7 years. you longed for her in your dreaming hours too, but just the waking ones. you smiled again, though it was more genuine.

“i’d like that, i’d like that a lot.” you replied, it was affectionate in a way. you wanted nothing more than to chat with her, curse this life of yours. you didn’t want to be a stay at home wife, you didn’t want to be with that bastard you call a husband; you wanted ellie. that’s all you wanted, you felt like that would fix everything.

ellie’s smile widened at this, it was like when you first took your relationship further back then. only this was different, this felt so forbidden in a way and so familiar.

your hands slid down from her arm and you grabbed her hand, holding it between both of yours. it felt like that moment on that balcony 7 years ago, when you kissed and held hands and watched the fireworks. there were fireworks booming around the two of you, but you paid them no mind. the colors shot beautifully into the dark sky, but just like last time, ellie was far prettier.

ellie was watching you, she watched as if everything around her was a white void. she almost immediately gripped your hand, the look on her face was so sincere and genuine. it was so full of affection and love, the affection and love you didn’t dare forget. the love that was your first, the love that taught you what it meant to love. the love that made you feel like you were the only one in the room, in the world, in the universe.

“you look so pretty tonight.” she coaxed, you could tell she meant every word. it was like those words were pulled straight out of her heart and put on a platter just for you. all you could think about was that night again, when she called you pretty as she held your hand and kissed you.

you could feel your heart flutter, all those feelings from last time came back to life in that moment. all the wishing and dreaming and yearning, all of it seemed worth it now. ellie was worth anything and everything, the fact you were apart for so long only made you want her more. you would figure out a way to be with her again, you’d do absolutely anything. you’d take control of your life for once, you’d live your dreams with the girl you loved and go to fucking college. you’d get a house, let your daughter meet her, and just be happy. this moment was the boost you needed—if things went well, that is.

your eyes were slightly glazed over, fighting back tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. you squeezed her hands so tight it must’ve been painful, but it was as if you were let her go then you’d never find her again. as if she wouldn’t find her way back to you, as if you wouldn’t be so lucky next time. your expression was sincere as well, that loving look that spoke volumes of how you felt. it spoke the words your soul and heart couldn’t.

“ellie” you started, trying your best not to cry like you did that new year’s eve 7 years ago,

“let’s try again.”

tagsss! <3 @eriiwaii @valeisaslut @haithone @usuck

[heretical-cogitations]

Help! My serf smells like the armoury and it's making me have heretical thoughts. Part 2

Word count: ~870

Part 1 Part 3

A/N - I was really struggling trying to write this to work for any space marine but don't think I have the skill. Wanted to give writing in 2nd person a go as well. So it morphed into :

Titus x reader

Probs ooc but fuck it we ball.

Already have ideas for a final part....

As the door closed behind him you were left in shock, what just happened. 

Smoothing out your robe; you pick up the piece of armour you had neglected when you were distracted by your Lords ...presence.

Cleaning the filthy ceramite your mind is filled with thoughts of him; worried you had upset him but despite your concern you recall to how he looked in that tiny, flimsy loin cloth, you were certain you could easily rip it off with you tee— BY THE EMPEROR STOP.

Covering your face with your hands, guilt and shame set deep into every atom of your being.

How could you be so disrespectful, he had treated you so well, been so kind and in no uncertain terms made your life considerably better than it would've been otherwise.

You scold yourself again, annoyed at yourself for objectifying one of the emperor’s chosen, especially one so chivalrous and caring.

You looked at the spotless armour you had haphazardly lugged towards a corner of the room, proud of how the ceramite was now gleaming despite arguing with yourself the entire time, it now taking up as little of the communal space as it could.

The only piece missing is his helm currently placed near your feet, it had suffered quite a lot in this last deployment and needed more than a good scrub to get it back to its true glory. So, you have graciously taken it upon yourself to polish and repaint his helm.

You definitely weren’t going to use this as a peace offering to your lord or as a distraction from your inappropriate day dreaming.

Your gaze lands on the gauntlets, the sheer size making you blush, you need to get out of this room. Picking up his helm you scurry out, hoping the walk to his chamber would clear your mind or if that didn't the helm maintenance would. 

He couldn’t be in there any longer, it was too much, he needed to get to the bottom of this now. Titus, newly appointed captain of the 2nd company, was mortified at his lack of self-control; he is a mighty astartes and yet one smell has him splitting at the seams.

His mind wanders has he walks heavy footed through the ship’s corridors, before he finds himself at the armoury, making his way in, it’s quiet. The rooms usual smell almost completely absent, something usually so strong barely present now. He decides to search around to investigate what might produce such a smell, hoping to find why it made him react the way it did. His search is cut short as he hears the distinct armoured footfall of the chapter master.

“Titus.”  

Titus turns to face him saluting, “Chapter master.”  Calgar smiles and raises a brow “At ease lad, you look concerned is something bothering you?”  Titus breaks eye contact with his superior shifting on his feet appearing almost meek in front of him. “Well… I am concerned about my behaviour towards my serf earlier, it is hard to explain I apologise, but I felt overwhelming urges to touch them in less than appropriate ways.” He hangs his head low expecting to be reprimanded for acting in such a debased way, but such rebuke never comes instead Calgar stifles a laugh. His gauntlet clapped Titus on the shoulder knocking him forward with the force. “I'm sorry Titus, I shouldn't laugh, this issue is quite common amongst our battle brothers. As we astartes age we can rekindle some of our, let's say, baseline urges. Though you are on the younger side for this to occur.”  Calgar’s chuckle tapers out, smile still lingering on his face.

“I was looking for what I suspected to be the catalyst but have had no luck.” Huffing as he speaks, almost sulking. “What did you expect to find in the armoury, Titus?” Calgar said still smirking, almost as if he knew the answer. “The smell, that caused all of this” Titus admits.

“Ah, so you are unaware of the predicament here in the armoury…” Calgar leans closer to him, voice dropping to a whisper no baseline could hear. “What you smell when you don your battle plate is baseline arousal, Titus. Of those who know, we each have our own interpretation as to why armouring serfs react in the way they do when dressing us, but one thing we all agree is that this is kept close to our chest and only shared on a need-to-know basis.” Calgar leans back smiling again teasing Titus. “And this seems to be one of those situations”. Calgar turns towards the door “I hope will keep this secret as well as the rest of us.” He says chuckling as he walks out of the room. Titus is left blushed red and gaping at the grey-haired space marine as he takes his leave.

Once the shock of the revelation settled, he couldn't contain the smile that split his features, his little serf finds him attractive.

His little serf returns his feelings.

No matter how much he tries to temper it he cannot control his giddiness. The other implications of the situation flying far above his head in this moment.

He must return to them now.

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

How the Sooseeji is Made: What's it Like to Work as a Japanese-to-English Media Translator?

I'm a bit under the weather today, so in lieu of working, I thought it'd be fun to write about the practical aspects of working in localization. What's a day in the life like? How does this affect the translation itself? Why do translators conduct themselves in public the way they do? How does all this differ from fan translation?

This was something I wish I'd known more about before I started working, and I think a lot of it is quite interesting even if you're not planning on working in this field. Let's dive in!

(Note: This is part 1 of 3! Later parts will be reblogged onto this post.)

How does your manga get made?

The overwhelming bulk of manga translation is contract work. Tiny publishers may have one or two dedicated translators as salaried staff, but virtually every other publisher will assign a given manga series to one of many translators within a large freelance pool. Generally speaking, a manga series will only have one translator at a time, although there are a handful of siblings and spouses who translate in pairs. Very famous series will sometimes scout a particular translator for related materials--for instance, a new Sailor Moon spinoff manga might warrant seeking out main series translators Alethea and Athena Nibley--but high demand for certain translators, cramped production schedules, and (to be frank) universal internal disorganization means this isn't always the case. It's not uncommon for a translator to translate one part of a franchise but not another--even if they're available and interested!

This can lead to term mismatches or slightly different writing styles. In public, this is often chalked up to gross negligence on the part of the translator, but the truth is often not quite so black-and-white. In some cases, publishing staff may assign a weaker or less well-equipped for the series translator. This could be caused by a lack of familiarity with the translator--perhaps this translator is a new addition to the freelancer pool or has never been tested on this kind of material--or, more frequently, too much work on the publisher's end to devote a significant amount of time to a single series. Publication staff are grossly overworked and (frequently) underpaid as a rule.

Other common errors stem from a poorly curated or else totally missing glossary. Every manga series has a glossary/term bible that contains common series-specific Japanese terms, their set English translation, and other information that could be useful for the translator. A typical glossary looks something like this:

(Please note that all images of example resources in this post are made by me for the express purpose of this post and are not indications that Hypmic is or will be licensed in English.)

A good glossary is super handy! Let's imagine a parallel universe where Hypmic is licensed and I'm the translator. Presumably, I have a lot of other projects and may go months between translating each volume. I may forget how I translated a term or some rule I decided for character voice. If it's all written down, I can always go back and refer to it! Now let's suppose I have to leave the series for whatever reason, and a new translator is assigned to the project. If they have these notes, they can pick up right where I left off and continue using the same spellings, terms, and style rules. Score!

However, that "if" is carrying a lot of weight. Glossaries don't always make it to the next translator in line for one of three reasons:

As glossary maintenance is unpaid labor, the previous translator may have neglected to keep their glossary up to date.

The overworked publication staff have lost the glossary file or neglected to share it with the new translator.

(As is often the case with spinoffs or franchises like Hypmic with multiple subseries) The glossary belongs to another company, and requesting a copy of the glossary--or a living document between companies--requires approval from the Japanese publisher or too much red tape to be worth anyone's time.

If any aspiring translators reading this take away only one thing from this post, then have it be this reminder to keep your glossary updated. I know it sucks. I know you're not paid to do it. I know it's only slightly less painful than having your fingernails torn off with rusty pliers. But you will forget details, even if you think you won't, and if you have to leave a series and give the next translator 30+ hours of labor fixing your glossary before they can begin, the next translator will hate your guts. ("Slug, are you subtweeting someone in particular?" If only! If I never fix another glossary in my life, I will die happy.) Update. Your. Glossary.

As alluded to above, manga translators may have large gaps in their schedule between books and grow fuzzy on details. (This is less of an issue for simulpub translators, who work on a new chapter every month or week. We'll talk about simulpubbing more below.) This could happen naturally, ie whenever the English release is caught up to Japan and the translator is simply waiting for the next volume, or the translator's schedule is too packed.

Wait...packed with what? What else does a translator have on their plate but the one series?

Usually, a separate job or a whole heap of other series! Manga pay fluctuates depending on a variety of factors but is generally in the ballpark of $1000 USD for volume. Translators are expected to complete a single volume every month-ish, although this is "ish" is again doing a lot of heavy lifting as publisher timelines have a lot of variation. (Some pubs will ask for a full volume within a week, which is actually not unreasonable--I don't think it's difficult to knock out a volume for most series within a single day, provided you have nothing else to do--but the assumption is that you're busy and really only squeezing in two or three work sessions in across the course of your assignment period. This can be challenging to do in a week if you're really and truly booked up.) For most people in the US or other high CoL parts of the world, $1200 a year is nowhere near enough to live comfortably on--and that's assuming there's enough books in the series to give the translator an assignment every month. It's not like translators are being unfairly shafted, either. While there is some amount of corporate greed at play, the fact of the matter is that quite a lot of manga is produced at a loss, and even the profitable ones don't make huge sums of money. Many publishers are sustained on cash cow series like One Piece or Naruto, which subsidize the rest of the publication's lineup. There just isn't enough money in manga to sustain a translator--to say nothing of the editor, letterer, and all sorts of support staff--on a single series.

Therefore, the vast majority of freelancer translators juggle numerous other translation/editing/writing projects, work a whole other full-time job and only translate for the love of it, or are subsidized by their spouse or parents. This is why superfans will often end up more knowledgeable than translators about their favorite series and may be upset when the translator makes a goof. Should the translator take steps to avoid errors? Yes, absolutely. At the same time, it's important to remember that some amount of human error is inevitable in any work, and in the media translation industry, overwork is the rule, not the exception.

Simulpubbing can help to mitigate this, as the relatively predictable publishing schedule gives a translator a guaranteed source of income. Having one or two simulpub series to fall back on eliminates some of the scramble to cram in as many books as possible to avoid the famine end of the feast-or-famine freelance cycle. But simulpubbing isn't without its own challenges, the most annoying of which being the overwork on both Japanese and English publisher ends leading to files coming in incomplete, late, or both with astonishing frequency. Turnaround times can be very, very tight--sometimes a matter of hours--and a non-Japan-based translator may be required to stay up into the middle of the night to receive files and turn in the translation before US/EU morning.

Simulpubbing, or any manga translation where the work is caught up to Japan, also has the thorny issue of a lack of context. It may come as a surprise to learn that manga translators typically have no contact with the author--and may be forbidden from speaking to the author at all! (This latter issue stems from issues of harassment. Some publishers, as a blanket rule, forbid any contact so that any negative interactions between authors and English-speaking fans can in no way be traced back to the publisher. This enables them to maintain working relationships with the Japanese publishers.) This frequently causes issues for mystery manga or manga with nebulous text like Jujutsu Kaisen. The translator doesn't have any more idea what's going to happen next than the reader! How do you lay foreshadowing when you don't know whodunnit? How do you futureproof upcoming reveals when the source text doesn't give you essential information like gender or singular/plural? A translator has to develop workarounds, but even the best translators will inevitably slip up and occasionally make the wrong assumption. Oops!

Now, with all that complaining out of the way, how does a manga actually get made?

In virtually all cases, a manga translator creates a script formatted in such a way that it's clear to the letterer and editor precisely what needs to be done. The average script looks something like this:

It should be noted that the above format does not match any one particular publisher's, but the vast majority of them look similar to this.

As you can probably imagine, the formatting can be just as time-consuming as the translation itself. Many manga translators use macros or scripts to speed up the process, but it can still be annoyingly tedious.

But clear directions for letterers--many of whom are using scripts themselves and not reading the text in full--are absolutely vital. Translators and letterers rarely have direct communication with each other, so clear direction is crucial.

In fan translation, this may not be necessary, and as such scripts are often much more relaxed. Here's the same text in the style I used in my scanlation days:

Once a script is complete, the editor gets to work on it. Many editors in the publishing side of the industry are (overworked) salaried employees and generally are not as fluent in Japanese as in game editing, where editors are often strong enough in Japanese to translate themselves. As a result, it's vital that translators check their own scripts for accuracy and provide explanation for liberties taken or potential points of confusion. Editors may have the ability to query translators, and some editor/translator pairs may corroborate directly (sometimes without publisher approval), but there generally isn't the time for the translator and editor to confer over every line. (Additionally, sending and addressing queries is unpaid labor.) Many famous mistranslations were introduced in the editing stage--where a translator, having written confusing text, is often just as much to blame as an editor.

How does this happen? Say I had been awkwardly literal with Jakurai's final line on page 1 and written "Yes. No doubt both teams have gone up in skill." (There's a katakana "sukiru appu" I rephrased.) The editor would have--correctly--flagged this as strange and set about trying to fix it. But what does "skill" mean here? Is it referring to their talent or the Rap Abilities which, annoyingly, the Japanese manga occasionally mislabels as "skills"? If it's the latter, what does it mean for an Ability to "go up"? Hypmic doesn't have a leveling system, but maybe Abilities can get stronger over time? Assuming as much, the editor might rewrite this as "Yes. No doubt their Abilities have grown stronger, too." Uh-oh. Now we have an error that, while technically not being something I wrote, still resulted from me doing my job improperly.

Outside of the primary editor, there may be others who attend to the script at this stage, like adapters or copyeditors. Adapters are line editors skilled in reworking overly literal translations into natural-sounding English--thus facing similar challenges as in the above paragraph--while copyeditors ensure adherence to grammatical rules and style guides.

When a script has been edited, it passes to the letterer. Letterers typically start their work in InDesign, a program used for adjusting book layouts, and replace all Japanese dialogue with dialogue from the script. Many letterers have automated programs that assist with the tedious copy/pasting aspect. Next, letterers recenter and style the text as necessary before addressing the SFX, signs, and any other bits of text that require extra TLC. A lot of SFX work is done in Illustrator or Photoshop and later linked into the InDesign file. Unfortunately, while the Japanese dialogue is layered in InDesign, there's no guarantee SFX will be layered in the (often flat) source psds or tifs. Many source files look something like this:

^ From a volume bonus in the FP/M+ manga

While some of the text has been removed, the letterer still has to contend with the ポs and the 飴 surrounding Matenrou. Some publishers require these to be retouched, meaning the letterer places the English SFX on top and then redraws the surrounding image until all trace of the Japanese SFX is gone. However, this is a lot of work, and as such it demands an extra fee that many other publishers can't or won't allocate funds to. In such cases, the letterer places their SFX near the Japanese SFX and styles it in a similar fashion. For SFX-heavy series, this can easily look busy or overwhelming. Both options could be nightmarish in a series like Hypmic. The volume of retouch work would be atrocious, and assuming most rap pages would be delivered as flat files, it would be difficult to squish all the text into the few blank spaces on the page. The Korean localization of the manga tries this latter approach, and it's a little visually underwhelming.

(Image from this blog post)

Other publishers opt for unstyled SFX or simply including a chart in the back of the book. I feel like this is a shame, as well-done SFX are such excellent storytelling tools.

At this stage of the process, the book enters some form of QA and layout/production. The exact workflow will vary depending on its publisher and whether the book is slated for digital, print, or webtoon-style release. However, the overall process follows a few basic steps. A uneditable copy (like a pdf) of the lettered book is sent to a proofreader, typically another freelancer. The proofreader's comments return to the editor, and the editor--who has some lettering ability--makes the necessary changes to the book's files. (Some publishers may choose to send the proofreader's comments to the letterer and have them make these changes themselves.) Then, once the book is in good shape, a layout and production team add in the cover, colophon, and all the other bits that make up a book. Finally, the volume is sent to the printers or digital distributors. That's it! Not long after, the book reaches stores and is in your hands!

In the interest of time, I'd like to wrap up here and continue at a later date. This will probably be a three-parter, with part 2 focusing on game localization (ideally, also touching lightly on anime and prose books) and part 3 talking about self-marketing and expected conduct in fan spaces.

Thanks for reading!

[sambhavami]

Hello! 💕

I wanna say, your mahabharata posts are amazing and very informative!

If you don't mind, can you tell me about how krishna in mb is different from how he is generally perceived by people? (Yk like in a fanon vs canon way)

or any interesting points or facts you noted about him!

No pressure tho!

Thank you<3

Hi Anon, thank you soo much! <3

Okay, this is an expansive question. Researchers have dedicated their entire lives to this! xD

But I will try to note the points I remember off the top of my head, that I have read in one book or the other. :) If you want more, do let me know, I'll do some research and get back to you! <3

Please note, however, again, these are the most dramatic stuff I have read in multiple places, I agree with most of it, but not all, please feel free to check with me on that if you'd like any clarification on any part <3

Krishna’s peacock feather is not usually tucked in upright like it is shown in usual depictions. It is rather braided into his hair. This is a common practice with the gopa kids, who are not permitted to own any metal (hence, no real jewellery). They also make other jewellery out of flowers and anklets out of Kadamba seeds etc.

Flute is a common instrument of the gopas, along with siren-type calling instruments and large drums. Krishna and Balarama were equally good flautists. Once they left Vrindavana, Balarama actually keeps up with the flute, while Krishna more or less gives it up.

Human-Krishna is mostly given preference over God-Krishna in most parts of Mahabharata, making the God-parts kinda awkward in terms of flow and placement.

Krishna is classified by Western researchers as a ‘solar hero’ who, as a group, are usually half- or fully- divine and are characterized by a life-altering threat near the time of their birth and are beloved by many women over their lifetime.

Now, on to Krishna’s childhood. Here, I am mostly quoting what Dr. N P Bhaduri quotes and infers from Harivamsha, Bala-charita, and Gaha-sattasai etc:

The aahira/gopa communities in Mathura’s herding regions were considered ‘slaves’ of Mathura-city. They were tasked with livestock management and agriculture and were usually punished if there was any lapse (hence, the seemingly disproportionate reactions from the gopis when Krishna stole butter; they’d have to pay for it, often through physical punishments because they weren’t permitted to own any currency).

They were usually not permitted to enter or leave the vraja area unless given special leave from the government.

During the Gupta era too (and we are extrapolating this to the MB times), these communities were mandated to wear an identifying ‘uniform’ which consisted of clothes only in the colours yellow/blue (remember Krishna and Balarama/Radha’s defaults…there’s a reason it worked out like that).

This is the reason why Krishna is anxious enough to k*ll Kamsa’s washerman to get ‘other’ clothes, because no one would take him seriously while he wore ‘gopa-coloured-clothing’, and find flowers to put on his wrist and as garlands...to blend in with the city's young, nalayak men essentially. After this we see that for a long time Krishna actually stops wearing yellow clothes even though that’s his favourite colour, preferring white/beige tones. He only resumes wearing yellow some time around his marriage to Rukmini, when he literally no longer cares what people think about him (i.e. he is powerful enough to afford that luxury).

So, half of the reason why Krishna is so revolutionary and frankly anti-veda in his personal philosophy is that he lived through the worst discrimination that his Yadava society had to offer. Also, this forms the reason why he loses faith in the democracy-oligarchy system and chooses to back a ‘benevolent-dictator’ in the form of Yudhishthira instead.

Kubja runs a lady-of-the-night-adjacent thing, is pretty close to Kamsa, and Krishna uses her (with consent) as a rebound to get over [not really, but kind of] Radha before pursuing more political issues. To do this he takes Uddhava with his (no one would believe Udhhava would go to a lady-of-the-night place, and therefore no one would suspect Krishna of that either). Udhhava has one of the worst nights of his life when Krishna disappears with Kubja, and the rest of the women focus their full attention on the sada-single poor Udhhava.

The houses they lived in were also considered government property. Apparently, there’s one scene in some Sanskrit drama which is similar to that movie RRR (note, I have not watched it): where the one officer-type hero is whipping the rebel-type hero…only in this play that scene plays out with Vasudeva and Nanda. Later, when Nanda is trying to say goodbye to his stillborn daughter (not Yogamaya in this version), and Vasudeva is saying sorry for the whipping incident and trying to convince him to take Krishna home instead we have this dialogue from Nanda: “I do not even own the utensils in my so-called house, and you ask this big a favour of me!”

Some versions hint that ‘marriage’ was also not allowed/recognized by the government within this community, so people mostly didn’t bother with mono -gamous/-androus ‘loyalty’ (seems to have become a positive continuation for Krishna with his many wives, and a negative continuation with Balarama who marries Revati and then says no thanks). However, many couples like Nanda-Yashoda still stayed together out of their personal levels of love.

Every full-moon night, the villagers gathered to drink madhhvi, sidhhi and kadambari variants of liquor, and dance away the night around a bonfire (the sanitised version of this becomes the rasa-leela). This used to be called a hallisaka (from where comes the hindi word ‘halla’). Krishna and Balarama, and their parents, girlfriends etc. are all part of these merrymaking sessions.

Krishna, while chased by many women, still chooses to stay somewhat unattached, being goofy, and dancing in the women’s line just to entertain older men who have lost their partners. There are hints of a ‘special woman’, although Radha is never mentioned by name (imagine being a character so strong that you haunt the narrative created before you were introduced).

Balarama in this version is the first and not the seventh child, and he is born almost 7-8 years before Krishna. Rohini had been pregnant when she had fled to Gokula.

Kaliya naga is a man, just a guy from one of the Naga tribes, who Krishna k*lls in a wrestling match, very much on land. After this incident, Krishna and Balarama actually obtain special permission to travel all around the Mathura kingdom, and ensure no one else is defying Yadava authority like Kaliya, and they return home only after several months, right before the Govardhana incident.

After the Govardhana thing, the villagers corner him and pretty much make him confess that he is Vasudeva's kid (despite Krishna begging them not to, since he hadn't yet tied up all the strings to his liking), unfortunately within the earshot of some soldiers of Kamsa who immediately go and report, leading to Kamsa sending Akroora to arrest the boys, one day after the sharad-poornima hallisaka (one night after rasa-leela basically).

Vasudeva and Devaki are not imprisoned but merely under house-arrest, and Kamsa even invites Vasudeva to the first and last parliamentary sabha that he bothers to call.

When he is networking to kill Kamsa, Krishna somehow arranges for Kamsa’s daughter Sutanu to be married to Akroora. This, imo, was a necessary and yet terrible move since Akroora is known to like young (and I mean, really young) girls. We see this in his obsession with Satyabhama later as well. This Sutanu-Ugraseni lady is practically sacrificed at the altar of this coup.

Jarasandha, with whose help Kamsa (who arguably has his own tragic backstory) is able to ascend to the throne, becomes horrified with Kamsa’s baby-k*lling ways and withdraws his army from Mathura at the last moment to give Krishna a wide berth and an easy access to him.

Krishna and Balarama have to run around South India for many years after k*lling Kamsa and before Dwarika is rendered habitable because they do not wish to confront Jarasandha in battle (since most of the parliament of Mathura was against the war and would not cooperate with the brothers, making this a s*icide mission).

During this time, Balarama develops an alcohol problem, which to our knowledge he is not able to shake off for the rest of his life. Somewhere in the Gomantaka hill range, he also meets a local woman, described as the personification of the wine Kadambari (maybe the lady who got him hooked on the stuff for good, not that I am letting him off the hook for not seeking proper help). She gifted him a pair of diamond-stud earrings, one piece of which he lost in a drunken stupor, post which he was never able to find the lady, who seemingly ran away. As a mark of remembrance Balarama wears only that one earring, in his right ear for the rest of his life.

One of the rare times that Krishna loses patience and makes arguably a wrong decision is when he murders Shatadhanva over the syamantaka mess before interrogating him.

This incident leads to a falling out b/w Krishna and Balarama, a rift that never really heals after that since Balarama pretty much moves back to Vrindavana and refuses to talk to Krishna unless scolding him for something. He does visit on and off during festivals and family functions.

Paundraka Vaasudeva had a genuine claim to the title of Vaasudeva, and was willing to work with Krishna for a roughly passing-the-baton kind of ceremony but Krishna gets tired of waiting and k*lls him just to make things easier on himself.

Krishna burnt down the city of Kashi, with all citizens and temples, just to send a message, after getting Jarasandha k*lled.

Krishna is a shishya of Ghora-Angirasa, but that’s more important in a Jain-side story, but he does repeat some philosophical points attributed to that guy.

When Arjuna was around Krishna would literally lose all sense of propriety and personal space. From being overtly touchy-feely, to making Arjuna sit on his lap in public and making off-colour jokes in front of friends and family…we see a glimpse of what Krishna’s true personality is when he lets his guard down. Now, as to Krishna-Arjuna romantic pairing, I personally believe it, but Dr. Bhaduri doesn’t, so please don’t quote him on it.

The touchy-feely thing however, is partially also due to the fact that such kinds of physical contact were normal among the aahir-gopa community, so half the time Krishna genuinely doesn’t realize that he’s doing something that could be interpreted in some other way and Arjuna’s usually off blushing.

Krishna did not curse Samba, he merely pointed out early signs of HIV, which Samba took as a curse and ran with it.

Gandhari never cursed Krishna after Kurukshetra. She tried to. She started with, “Your friends and family will kill one another.” And Krishna just went, “Yeah, I know, they’re embarrassing.” And they moved on.

[itsnothingofinterest]

So here's a post I'd been meaning to make for a good long while. Get out there with my interest in Deltarune. And with chapter 3 & 4 coming out in just one more tomorrow; it's now or never to talk about something I'd been meaning to for a while:

Kris Could be the Knight and that’s okay

A very "popular" take I'm sure we're all aware (although it actually has been having a resurgence); but this might be my favourite Deltarune theory since chapter 2 came out. So I wanted to go over not only the evidence I see supporting it & why I don't believe the evidence against it; but also touch on why I like it and maybe why others have a problem with it on a more emotional level. With that established: let's get started: (Be warned though, this is a very long post.)

Basic run-down & evidence

So, let's go over the basics to start with.

Deltarune's 1st Chapter established an entity known as "the Knight"; the person who set up King as the sole ruler of Card Castle by locking up the other kings & created the Dark Fountains the protagonists have to handle. We don't really here learn much more, there's no evidence pointing to anyone; we just know of a future antagonist.

We also get a closing scene of Kris late at night pulling out their soul, followed by a knife, and then a creepy grin as they took control away from the player.

Years later, we'd learn they ate a whole pie that night and Torial was rather upset about it. Guess that was...just a misdirect?

'Unrelated'; Chapter 2 would also have Kris & Susie find a new Dark Fountain in the computer lab of their local library, which was not there the day before. We're once again told the Knight made the Fountain for this Cyber World, although this time they seemed much less involved in otherwise setting up the plot; Queen's gone crazy on her own due to the internet being down and her wanting to make Dark Fountains herself after seeing one get made. Despite this, we get way more hints towards the knight's identity (which isn't saying much but still); Queen tells us it's a Lightner & apparently got a video of the Knight making a fountain in the lab by stabbing the ground with a blade, and while the light & smoke obscured their appearance, she did inform us the Knight did the job using a knife...huh.

Later that night, after Susie stops over at Kris' house; Kris once again rips out their soul to do...well all sorts of stuff to a) get Susie to stay over, b) set up the house in weird ways, and c) ...create Chapter 3's Dark Fountain by stabbing the ground with their knife.

The basic conclusion people drew was this: Chapter 1's end was not a red herring, Kris snuck off that night to open the Library Fountain, and they're the Knight.

"Wow" some thought, "how interesting, to have our player character be our own main antagonist. Now that's a cool twist."

But others said "Wait hold on, that doesn't make sense!"

Evidence against (and evidence against that evidence against)

Now there's a few things people like to throw against Kris Knight; but by far the most common reasoning why they believe Cyber World couldn't have been made the night prior is that Berdly and Noelle awoke at the desk with their books out when the Fountain was closed.

Thus, it is argue that they must have been in the room and already studying by the time the dark fountain was opened. The nearly closet is described as being able to fit a large person; so perhaps the knight made the fountain in there, or maybe waited for Berdly and Noelle to fall asleep to sneak out and make the fountain where Queen could see, and then left the room. Histories and timelines of Darkwords can be warped & exaggerated, so perhaps the entire short term set up of Cyber World from it's citizens perspectives happened in a real time second; and surely it's possible all the chaos that happened to Noelle & Berdly before the cast arrived could be squeezed in between, right? And if so; well then the Knight couldn't be Kris, we were playing as them and getting a tour of Castle town at the time.

Eh, personally I'm not so sure; for a number of reasons. The timeline is off for one; Kris & Susie see Neolle right before their tour of Castle Town and head to Cyber World right after. Plenty of time for her & Berdly to just get harassed by Queen, but a bit hard to fit all the rest of the set-up in. There' no sign of magic being a thing in the overworld so how did these two A++ nerds fall asleep studying in a half hour tops? Like, that'd be believable for Susie, but Berdly and Noelle? But the Knight couldn't have made the Fountain the closet, or else it'd be based on the closet like Castle Town is; so the Knight had to have been in the room. But there's not a lot of places to hide from the kid's supposed position, and even if you did, a Dark Fountain's creation is a bright, loud, and attention grabbing event. They'd be spotted, especially if they left the pillar of smoke to leave the room before Cyber world formed and trapped them. Plus; while Noelle & Berdly's books were on the desk, it's not as if they were open. If they just carried their books in; it'd make sense they ended up just scattered around close to the kids.

So already, it's not looking like those two could've been in the room; not without making some magic-based assumptions.

Also at risk of meta-gaming the mystery: if the Knight's identity is supposed to be a long term mystery plot; the above theory presumes a crime was committed with the culprit having left minutes before the player arrives. You'd expect there to be at least one(1) clue pointing to the real culprit if that was the case, especially since there's a big traffic jam outside blocking escape routes. But the only one besides Kris with evidence pointing towards them is the one person you can find outside the library...Undyne.

Who is not exactly a prime suspect otherwise. (And that's saying something when a semi-plausible motive is enough to make a character a suspect. Papyrus is a prime suspect because "maybe he wants friends.")

But so far we've just gone over why the Knight might not have made Cyber World within an hour of the gang's arrival. If possible; I'd like to avoid the common fallacy that if the above weren't true; the Knight must be Kris. Is there any evidence they were active while Kris was doing stuff at night though? Surprisingly there kind of is.

Internet evidence

So a recurring plot point in chapter 2 is that the internet is down throughout the town. Now we don't know when it went down; it's not mentioned at all in chapter 1 but we don't see anything using the internet that day & it's talked about mater-of-factly in chapter 2 by the time school is over, and while it's implied to be a recent inconvenience, we don't know how recent.

However, there is one sign that it went down that very day; and it's why the internet being down matters to the plot. It's cited as a reason for Queen's personality change for the worst, as she lost access to her source of information. However, the reason this is important to the Kris Knight theory is that it's not the only reason cited for Queen's personality change; it's said she also changed when the Fountain was made and she became obsessed with it.

There's no evidence Queen got worse twice; so these events probably happened pretty closely together, enough so that both are attributed Queen's madness. The Dark Fountain wasn't up by yesterday afternoon, but Alphys talking about the internet status so matter-of-factly to someone who slept through class implies it was probably down before school started that day. Oh hey, a lot of that time was when Kris was up. (And bonus points but them being very active and going around town that night would explain why they slept through twice as much of class as usual.)

Additionally; this brings the implication that the Knight is why the internet is down, and they did it to aggravate Queen. If this is the case; not only would it line up with how Kris manipulated the TV to set up chapter 3; but it's a plausible way the Knight set up chapter 1 by picking out & imprisoning 3 king cards from a deck. It also explains why the Knight was less involved in ch.2 than in 1; they were involved, just not in ways the Darkners knew about.

So yeah, I think Kris Knight is looking plausible. But even so, one has to ask:

Why do people dislike Kris as the Knight?

I think the reason comes down to two pieces of fandom history.

So when Undertale first got big and people started playing through the no mercy route; the impression some got of the final character you meat, Chara Dreemurr, was less than nuanced. They were seen as the main culprit of the route and the "true villain" who made Frisk kill everyone. A pure evil Demon who orchestrated everything.

This was annoying to fans with actual media literacy who found Chara to be one of the most interesting characters in Undertale (which is some high praise). Add in the implications that Chara was also the funny narrator and provider of flavour text and they hardly seemed evil; rather, it seemed some fans just wanted to scapegoat their own actions in the no mercy route onto someone who didn't let them wash away the consequences of their actions in the "your actions have consequences" game. You only get that route if you, the player, decide to kill everyone after all; the player is the only responsible party.

Years later, we'd got some distinct but familiar reactions to the chapter 1 ending where Kris pulls out that knife. They aren't exactly blaming Kris for any evil already done; but there were, if you can believe it, a lot of assumptions that the next chapter would open with them having gone all knife murderer on the town. Wild, right?

So there's this pattern, you see, of people taking these two really interesting green & yellow striped shirt wearing kids who are some of the most interesting characters in these games brimming with super interesting characters; and boiling them down to bog standard pure evil knife-wielding villains. No wonder fans were already sick & tired of it. Probably just see Kris!Knight as the 3rd such verse as we yet again see Kris framed as a villain, just of a different kind; many such fans going so far as to dislike it because Kris isn't supposed to be the villain, you are. Just like Chara, the true villain to them is the player, puppeting Kris' body against their will and potentially making them do evil things, it's no wonder they'd fight against you by ripping you the red heart to exert some autonomy, but that doesn't make them the evil Knight. That's someone else (Papyrus or Alvin maybe); and the real villain in Kris's life is the player, just like always.

Why do I like Kris as the Knight?

Ironically enough? Because I think it makes them a lot more interesting and makes a prsence seen as a villain a lot more nuanced.

First off: far from being made boring, Kris comes off as far more interesting than the child of divorce now helplessly puppeted by an unseen force until the game ends if they're the Knight, actively setting events in motion that you have to undo in their body. They become an active member of the actual overarching plot; seemingly active far before the game started. At minimum; Kris!Knight would've had to have learned about the nature of Dark Worlds and made one or two themself before you got involved. They probably even know Gaster and, heck, it becomes far more likely that not only did they call the player to them, but they're outright in control of our dynamic.

But at the same time; this wouldn't make them the outright knife murdering villain people say Chara or post Ch.1 Kris as. What we know of the Knight is that they're calculating, they want something, and if that something isn't the end of the world, then that's at least something they're willing to risk. We already know that's something Kris is willing to risk for whatever reason too, by opening the Ch.3 fountain. Already; we know this is something Kris isn't an unforgivable villain for; and this'd be true if it were done for another fun adventure with Susie, informing Undyne about Dark Worlds, or a long-running quest to find Dess or whatever the Knight wants. Even if Kris is the Knight, they'd obviously not be that pitch black evil.

Also, I just don't like the above framing of Kris as simple victim of the player from crimes committed by...playing Deltarune. Taking some measure of agency away from the main character of your video game is unavoidable; and the idea might be interesting to explore as an outside observer, but it's pretty weak to be called out on something you have to do to play the game. (Spec Ops the Line managed it I'll admit; but that game involved a lot more violence and militarism it was calling out. The above idea doesn't feel as strong, and doesn't even call out the military.) Especially as a follow up to Undertale's No Mercy route; which I found much more effective for calling you out for atrocities that were very much optional, and for motives it was very good at feeling out. Saying the player is bad for puppeting Kris no matter what just feels too much like Spec Ops and not enough like Undertale. "You're bad for playing Deltarune" just seems silly. What are we; catholic?

Looking at Kris as the Knight and acknowledging that they have far more agency in their dynamic with the player seems far more interesting to me. There's a relationship to be identified there, one with ups and down and a lot of ways it could develop, motivations to discover that might align our motives with Kris, and plenty of dramatic irony in the meantime.

It's what I said at the start, right? Our player character is, for at least a time, our effective main antagonist. How cool and interesting a twist to explore is that?

[vintage-fuzz]

Some McGucket Family/Emma-May & Fiddleford Headcanons!

- I do personally believe that Emma-May is also from Tennessee & that she probably grew up near Fiddleford & his family’s farm. This is primarily based on her name (with Dixon being a common surname throughout the US & Emma-May being an incredibly folksy sounding name) & the fact that she & Fiddleford seem to have gotten married very soon after Fidds graduated/left BMU, implying a preexisting relationship between them.

- I also like to think that perhaps she & Fiddleford attended school together, not university but grade/high school (if Fiddleford had an actual education prior to attending college) & that part of the reason she & Fidds are (presumably) so quick to marry is because he made a promise to marry her/got engaged to her before he left the state for BMU.

- This is more of a Fiddleford specific headcanon/thought but I think that he may have decided to attend BMU specifically because of a few factors. One of which being its affordability, possibly offering him a full-ride scholarship based on his grades/academic intelligence & another being its location. If Ford & Fidds are attending their first year of uni in the late 60s to early 70s & if BMU is located in the northeastern US, then it’s entirely possible that Fidds wanted to spend his young adulthood in a more socially/politically liberal area, especially if he’s a queer man, in order to explore his identity/not live in fear of being outed (this also works if you hc him as being a bit of a hippie too, finding himself through his newfound freedom away from home basically).

- As for the actual relationship & marriage between Emma-May & Fidds, I think it started off somewhat decently, at the very least, there was the impression of mutual love & attraction between them initially. I do think that, ultimately, Fiddleford saw her more as a friend at best, or, at worst, a means to an end (his beard). I think that Emma-May might have gradually realized that he wasn’t actually interested in her in the way that she had thought he was, potentially having to come to terms with her husband being a queer man. I do think that Fiddleford’s sexuality/ lack of attraction to her was one of the defining factors in their marriage souring prior to him losing his sanity (possibly coinciding with his general absence & his failure to provide a reliable source of income through his freelance computer business). (It is also entirely possible that there was a kind of lavender-marriage arrangement going on but there’s really no definite answer.)

- Regarding Tate, I personally believe that he was either an unintentional pregnancy or the result of Fiddleford & Emma-May feeling pressured into adhering to social conventions surrounding marriage, especially during the 70s with both of their families likely encouraging them to have children. I also like to think that Tate was conceived out of wedlock, forcing Fidds & Emma-May into holding a shotgun wedding.

- Adding to their actual wedding, I like the idea of Ford having been present in some capacity & Emma-May having met him to some extent. Also, Fiddleford probably wanted for Ford to be his best man, to which, Ford likely would’ve accepted (unless his academics/research intervened).

- I do think that despite his less-than-ideal circumstances, Fiddleford genuinely wanted to be a good father to Tate. I also think that he never intended to hurt Emma-May the way he did, with him at least trying to make their relationship work while compromising his actual feelings. I feel like Fiddleford took to fatherhood well & was very supportive & affectionate towards Tate, hence why Tate stays with & cares for his father despite his extended absence throughout most of his life.

- When Fiddleford leaves for Gravity Falls, I think that he probably tries to call/keep in contact with his family, especially Tate, semi-regularly. After he creates the memory gun, however, his calls become less frequent & more brief until he simply stops calling completely once he abandons the project & dedicates himself to his cult. This extended absence culminates in Emma-May setting out to Gravity Falls in order to find him after potential months to years of silence.

- Also, when Fiddleford is away in Gravity Falls with Ford, I don’t think that he ever actually cheats on Emma-May. If Ford & Fidds ever did have anything, it was most likely during their time at BMU together. At this point, they’re at different places in their lives & have a professional relationship & friendship (although they may both harbor some lingering feelings, which they do not act upon). Also, I feel like Ford would be extremely hesitant to pursue such a relationship w/ Fidds knowing that he’s married & a father & because Ford is primarily focused on completing his portal project & continuing his research. Fidds also doesn’t strike me as someone who would go out of his way to commit infidelity, he may be willing to be near Ford but he wouldn’t go as far as to betray his wife’s trust like that.

- When or if Emma-May heads to Gravity Falls in search of her husband, I’d like to think that she encountered Stanley, who, at this point has assumed Ford’s identity. She would most likely approach him first, at the shack, knowing that Fiddleford was working with Ford & that Ford was likely the last person to see him. Stan somehow has to diffuse this situation while pretending to be Ford & facing the brunt of her ire. (Not entirely sure how he’d pull that off…)

- Eventually, Emma-May does find Fiddleford (whether Tate is present is unclear) & it’s when he’s at his absolute worst. I imagine that he’s either well within the throes of his role as a cult leader & has visibly changed, becoming seriously unstable, possibly lashing out at her, & even going as far as attempting to erase her memory. The alternative is that he’s just left/been ousted from the cult & is mentally beyond repair & either living at a cheap motel or at the dump. Whichever the case, Emma-May seeing him so unwell ultimately culminates in her decision to file for divorce.

- After the divorce, which escalates to Fiddleford’s attempt to enact vengeance on his ex-wife through building a giant, homicidal robot to harass her, I think that she returns to Palo Alto & tries to move on in her life, resuming caring for Tate & possibly getting a job to support him & herself. Meanwhile, she keeps her distance from Fiddleford, not speaking to him for years.

- When Tate gets older he makes the decision to head to Gravity Falls in order to find his father, hoping for closure & generally worrying for his health/safety. Perhaps Emma-May & Tate are somewhat emotionally distant/ have a strained relationship which could’ve prompted him to reach out to his father (side note but I also have a small headcanon that Tate could be a queer man himself & his decision to stay with Fiddleford stemming from him being the only person in his family that would be accepting towards/ understand him or Tate having an idea that his father may have been queer himself).

- After the events of the series, perhaps Tate reaches out to his mother (with the assumption that she’d still be alive & that Tate would still have a relationship with her) to inform her about his father’s improved condition, newfound success & Ford’s sudden reemergence, perhaps he tries to mediate between his parents while encouraging them to, at the very minimum, open up to each other & allow for his father & Ford to properly apologize to Emma-May for the grief they’ve caused her over the past few decades. Perhaps Emma-May has completely moved on in her life, maybe she’s remarried & has her own successful career, perhaps she’s moved away from Palo Alto. Whatever the case, she’s should at least be afforded closure & honesty from her ex & the man that inadvertently destroyed their marriage.

[fave-fix]

SANYA KAZARINA HAS A COMPLEX DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER, AND HERE'S WHY: a pafl analysis

point zero: definitions

im aware that my knowledge regarding cdds is above average. so, in an effort to avoid being like that one xkcd comic, i'll define the terms i use real quick.

complex dissociative disorder: abbreviated to cdd. an umbrella term that covers did, osdd, udd, and p-did.

dissociation: a mental disconnect, typically from reality. everybody dissociates to an extent - some less severe forms of it are zoning out, driving on autopilot, or getting really absorbed in a show you're watching. in cdds, the dissociation is at a maladaptive level.

alters: short for alternate self states. the dissociated parts of a person with a cdd.

point one: childhood

why do complex dissociative disorders form? it all comes down to stuff that happens in childhood, before the personality is fully integrated. experts disagree on the exact cutoff point [some say as low as 6 years old, others say as high as 12], but 9 is the typical agreed-on point. when somebody dissociates too much during childhood, it keeps their personality and identity from fully forming and integrating. this level of dissociation is almost always a result of childhood trauma.

sanya most certainly has childhood trauma. she grew up without a mother, her father died when she was six, her brother was overprotective, and other caregivers were nikita and kolya. she's also shown in canon to use fiction as a coping mechanism, which is a dissociative trauma response by nature. i don't think it's a reach to say that sanya likely relied on dissociation a lot through her childhood.

as a side note, one common risk factor for cdds is the disorganized attachment style. this attachment style forms when a child's caretakers are inconsistent and unpredictable. all things considered i think this matches sanya as well.

point two: dissociation

i just talked about sanya's dissociation during childhood - now it's time to talk about examples of her dissociation at the current time.

first off, sanya pretty clearly has a dissociative barrier around the concept of grief. what's a dissociative barrier? it's a mental "wall" that uses dissociation as the "bricks". it's the same thing that keeps people with cdds from remembering their trauma, or times when other alters were in front. with this dissociative barrier, sanya has separated herself from the painful emotions that will otherwise come when she loses someone.

another example of sanya's dissociation is in the beginning of 100 epitaphs, when she believes yura to be dead. at first she freaks out, but then she shuts down. this is pretty much textbook dissociation, imo.

point three: alters

i wanted to discuss this one later on because a lot of people tend to see cdds as just "alter disorders" and i wanted to point out some other aspects of the disorder first. that being said, though... sanya not being a singular person is kind of blatantly obvious.

the girl on the right is the sanya that we all know and love. the girl on the left? that... is not sanya. like pretty blatantly so. i'm gonna call her sasha, for ease of reading.

sasha and sanya are pretty clearly different, both visually and in terms of personality. i'll point out the differences.

sasha:

glasses

hair down

typically wearing that fuckass "just escaped gym class" fit from false disposition

seems to be less rebellious than sanya, is fine just staying inside and doing what sergei says

kind of a wimp

sanya:

contacts

ponytail

usually wearing her gopnik fit and has her tshirt sleeves rolled up

rebellious and aggresive, doesnt listen to sergei

not a wimp

they are different people within the same body who go by different names and even interact with each other mentally. they are literally alters

closing statement

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch. 6

(Hes sitting next to you in this pic :D)

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slowburn, angst, SMUT Summary: You search for Daryl after Negan's lineup. You didn't understand the trauma he went through, and eventually you decide enough is enough, and you leave. Notes: The last chapter! Somewhat proofread. Filled with tensions overflowing and then some sex. I had a lot of fun writing this and want to thank @louifaith again for allowing me to write out her idea. It's also pretty long because I didn't want to break it into two chapters, it didn't really make sense that way. Longish read, but longish smut at the end if you're just here for sex and want to skip ahead.

When you found out he left on some halfcocked revenge mission, you were pissed. And then you learned nearly everyone else had gone too, you were pissed and confused. 

The rare presence of the others had become more common than the familiar presence of Daryl. He was gone more often than not now, either out with Aaron or off with Rick. Even when he was home, he was never really there. He didn't laugh at your crude insults about others anymore, he didn't want to spend all day with you out hunting in the woods. It looked like was also making an effort to smoke less, often declining your outstretched cigarette. He was the one who got you to smoke once. You used to hate it, but eventually associated the smell of tobacco with him, and you grew to love it.

You couldn't read him like a book like you once did. He'd become overly serious, distant, and uncharacteristically concerned with the well-being of others. 

You had half a mind to just leave. The only reason you hadn't left months ago was Daryl, but the way he was treating you felt like a slap in the face. It hurt. For the first time in so long you hurt. You felt utterly and completely alone, leading you to once again close yourself off from the others, spending all your time hunting or scavenging for substances in the city that could make you feel better. You scored an unopened bottle of painkillers, something you once hated, and drowned your sorrows with a stuffed nose and a foul post nasal drip. 

The savior issue never really seemed like a big deal to you when it first arose. Some asshole raiders trying to make a point, you didn't give a shit. Rick and Daryl would handle it like they always did. 

You took a deep drag from your cigarette as you watched the front gates being opened, two heavy duffle bags over each of your shoulders. You’d come to terms with it, you were leaving, and that was it. You weren't some obedient housewife that didn’t mind the absence of Daryl, you were his best friend and you couldn’t put up with the dramatic emotions anymore. You were fully prepared for the conversations that would ensue, a list of reasons you should stay, maybe some light pleading, so when you saw what came from those gates you froze. 

The muscles in your jaw throbbed as you listened to Rick's pitiful attempt at retelling you what happened, his eyes red and puffy, his hair wet and matted to his forehead. He couldn't, so he gave up, and drug his feet into the house, moving in a way that closely resembled the dead. Carl followed, and you realized Maggie was missing too. Your heart dropped. 

“What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened?” You gaped, looking from face to face, searching desperately for an answer, only to be met with the ghosts of their former selves. You spotted Aaron and realized he was almost never out without Daryl, and your confusion snapped violently to panic. Michonne was really the only one who wasn't too shocked to speak. She told you everything in great detail, her words cold and harsh as she made her anger towards your insensitive behavior well known. Each word she spoke felt like a curse, spitting at you with such venom you'd never had directed towards you before. You deserved it. 

You weren't a good person like them. The deaths of Glenn and Abraham didn't make you cry, go through all the stages of grief and have a mental crisis, in the moment she told you they just felt like problems you’d deal with later, you didn’t have the time. Not when you still had no idea where Daryl was. 

Despite not being a good person, you reacted to the news in a way that was very impressive by your standards. You didn't scream at anyone, or punch Gabriel in the face, you just threw your already packed bags in the car and set off. 

You chain-smoked an entire pack of cigarettes the first hour of searching. You never did find the saviors home, even though you didn't stop searching to sleep the first few days. You found the location of the massacre, a few shredded pieces of clothing and blood stained dirt. You were brought to furious tears at the thought of the scenario where you were in Daryl's position, and him yours. Your first assumption was that he would've already tracked you down by then, him and his one man army breaking you out and taking you far away from the entire state. Then the second, and more daunting assumption, would he even look? Would he be too busy taking care of Rick and the others, the task of rescuing you put on a back burner? 

You told yourself maybe you were just impulsive and stupid, maybe Daryl in that scenario was just being smart and careful, you were just a guns blazing idiot who didn't think far into the future. 

It felt like you'd been out there for weeks, living off a diet of cigarettes and various illegal substances. You nearly stuck a knife in the face of  a woman who was unlucky enough to walk into the same store you were in. 

“No, please, don't.” She sniveled pathetically, her hands raised to the sides of her head in surrender. “I don't have anything. Please. I can take you to my camp, we've got food and water and medicine-”

“Dude, shut up. Just thought you were a walker. Goddamn.” You sheathed your knife and stood back, the tip of your tongue held between your teeth in thought. “But I'm hungry as fuck!”

She took you back to her camp, which was extremely impressive. And just in time, too, your stomach growled noisily and you felt the small waves of hunger nausea begin. 

“Put your gun away, please.” She pleaded in a hush whisper as you stood in front of the wooden gates. 

You looked to her with furrowed eyebrows, your cheeks hollowed out as you pulled on your twentieth cigarette that day. You really needed to cut back. “No.” You muttered around the cigarette, eventually sighing and slinging your rifle over your shoulder with a dramatic eye roll. 

The sight of Rick and Maggie chatting outside with a small group of others felt like you'd been slapped in the face. They looked just as stunned as you were, pausing their conversation. You stood there for about ten solid seconds before the silence finally broke. 

Rick opened his mouth to speak but you raised your hand, stopping him. “Don't have time. Just gonna eat and leave.” 

“Daryl's here.” The sound of Maggie's harsh voice halted your route to the front of the mansion. You couldn't hide the look on your face, an intense ‘this better not be a lie’ mix of anger and disbelief. She pointed up to your previous destination with raised eyebrows and you took off. 

He almost punched you in the face when you jumped him. He was still wet from a shower, littered in various sized bandages and bruises, wearing a fresh set of clothes. He smelled like laundry detergent and cheap flowery shampoos. 

“Holy shit I thought they killed you. Holy shit. Mother fucker.” You babbled into his chest as he squeezed you so hard your back cracked. 

It felt indescribable being in his arms again. It also felt incredibly different. You'd hugged him hundreds of times but something about this particular hug stood out. It was desperate and deep, you didn’t worry about coming off as soft or being too much. Your fingers dug into the sleeves of his shirt around his biceps, your face buried into his chest, and his hands were all over you. He couldn't decide where to touch you, your arms, your face, your hair, your back, they would move from place to place as he cemented into his mind that you were really there, there in his arms, holding and petting him like you'd always done before. His mind flashed with images of him back in that cell and his throat tightened, the slightest whisper of a whimper sounding in the back of his mouth. He held you tighter and kissed the top of your head, rocking you in his arms for a few silent moments as you pulled yourself together. 

“Where the hell you been? Rick said ya left with all your shit.” His voice was tight, the way it would get when he would try not to cry, along with raising in pitch a little. 

You looked up and smiled softly, seeing him through a sheen of wet tears. “Doesn't matter.” You hummed as you stroked his cheek. “Really. It doesn’t. I've been looking for you, only reason I'm here is because some bitch thought I was robbing her and told me about this place. Couldn't keep looking if I was starving.” You buried your face back in the fabric of his shirt and sighed deeply. 

“Told ya, I ain't leavin'. I ain't dyin’ neither.” His warm words in that deep rumble resulted in your racing heart finally slowing its pace. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” You pulled back from his chest to look up at his face. He looked miserable, it broke your heart. He looked away from your gaze, unable to keep eye contact, which was something he never struggled with before when it came to you. “Daryl?”

His head immediately dropped and his forehead collided with your shoulder. Your heart banged against your ribcage and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, stroking the back of his neck and kissing the side of his head while he stifled his soft sobs.

“Let's leave. C'mon.” You parted from him, only to be pulled back by his grip on your wrist. 

“Y’jus’ got here.” Daryl furrowed his brows, his eyes wet with tears that he quickly blinked away.

“Yeah, to eat so I could keep looking for you. I've found you, so let's go.”

“Go where?” 

You gritted your teeth as his grip on you loosened. “Anywhere else, I don't care.” You said through clenched teeth, your gaze intensifying. “We're done with this shit. Not our problem anymore. Let's go. I'm not letting these people get you hurt again. Never, Daryl.”

Daryl had never been the reason you cried, at least, that's what he thought. So when you started cracking at his rejection, his heart shattered. Every bone in his body yearned for him to hold you, bring you back into his arms and make the pain stop. It hurt even more to see that you weren't just upset, you were pissed, disgusted at the fact that you were showing such weakness in front of the same person who made you cry. 

“I gotta. ‘Jus need to do this.” He attempted to comfort you after your rage at your perceived betrayal faded into tears of defeat. “M’doin’ it for us. Ya gotta trust me on this.” 

There was a small glimmer of hope then, and you allowed yourself to feel it. You were desperate to believe him, and desperate to believe everything would turn out alright. Rick and everyone else would deal with Negan, you'd scratch that burning itch for revenge, and everything would be okay. 

Rick did deal with it, that much came true. At the cost of his son's life, he defeated the saviors.

You were more than willing to fight. You’d been dying for a purpose, and being a soldier in the war against Negan was exactly what you needed. You looked like a cheesy action movie protagonist with two long arm guns on your back and two pistols in each hand. You used more ammo that day than you had in your entire life. God. You wished Merle had been there to see you and Daryl. 

You didn't get the revenge you so desperately craved. You absolutely lost it when Negan was defeated. After Daryl decided against killing Dwight, you lunged at the man like a rabid fox, fully prepared to end his life with just your teeth and hands, only to end up clawing and wriggling in Daryl's grasp. You could've gotten over that eventually, it would take a really long time, sure, Dwight was a brainwashed cult member and did what he did because he was told to. And he'd get his, even if you had to restrain yourself. Fine. It’s fine.

But Rick sparing Negan? 

No. Your reaction to that earned you the reputation of the group's feral animal. You shared the same reaction as Maggie, but unlike her giving up after a while of being held back, you ended up earning a matching set of rope bracelets and anklets.

“You'll have to kill me.” Your throat burned as Daryl tossed you in the back of a blue Toyota camry. He nearly had to force Dwight into the passenger seat at gunpoint, the terror in the backseat scaring him more than the thought of death. 

Your spit was red and thick as it smacked onto Dwight's battered face, blending with the blood that made him unrecognizable. He was barely able to get to his feet after Daryl's threat of death if he was to return, blindly picking up the car keys in the mess of blood spattered leaves. 

The relationship between you and Maggie quickly became a deep friendship as you plotted to kill Negan. Neither of you were allowed to see him in his cell without someone to stand guard, but Maggie even moreso. With enough time you were able to get down there alone, gun in hand, only to be stopped by Michonne, who had apparently come for the same reason. 

“I haven't seen you much before. What's your name.” Negan's eyes followed you as you paced back and forth in front of his cell, seething from the fact that Michonne wouldn't let you kill him yet. She had her own unknown motives, which didn't really matter to you, but all this talking was driving you insane. 

“You don't need to know my name.” You muttered, cutting your eyes at the man. “You look so much smaller than I remembered you looking in that field.”

He winced at your words, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oh, sweetheart. That hurts. Actually, I've been told I'm pretty impressive.”

He watched you as you continued pacing, your hands sweaty and your eyes wild with rage, confusion, and confliction. A smirk spread on his face. “Look at you. Like a lion in a cage. Well, I’m the one in the cage, but. Coulda used a psycho bitch like you. If you were on my side that day, phew!”

You pulled your gun from your waistband and pulled the trigger. Negan raised hands and jumped. Your heart dropped when you were met with an empty click. You inhaled sharply through your nose and pulled out the clip, which was completely empty. 

Daryl. He dragged you out of the basement, thankful he’d unloaded your guns the night before. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were planning. He didn't care that you were pissed, Rick wanted Negan alive, so that's what he was going to stay, even if he did want the prick dead.

It didn't take long for you to pick up on Daryl's trauma. He was good at hiding it from others, nothing much had changed aside from him being quieter. But once your selfish rage had settled you noticed small differences. He slept closer to you at night, no longer on the other side of the mattress, and his nightmares became more violent. He'd thrash in his sleep, tossing and turning and sweating, you found yourself waking him up more times than you could count. Each time he'd get real quiet, maybe from shame, and walk outside to smoke a cigarette. You'd follow him each time and sit quietly on the porch steps, not caring that he didn't offer you a hit. He looked like he needed all he could get. 

You saw him crying with Carol once. His head dipped down and his forehead pressed against her shoulder. If it had been long ago you would've felt hot at the sight, assuming he obviously must've felt closer to her since he hadn't cried like that with you since his capture, but you weren't as shallow and selfish as you once were. Your heart ached for him, wishing he would open up and tell you what happened, you could comfort him too, you wished you could tell him that. 

“Wanna go hunting?” You asked one day, picking up your new hunting rifle, a Savage model 99 that you'd replaced your broken bow with. Daryl shrugged from his spot on the chair beside your bedroom table, not looking up from his work. He was almost always making new bolts in his free time then. He had a pile of twenty-two sitting next to him. 

“Come on, I'm craving venison.” 

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. 

“Seriously, we haven't hung out in forever man.”

“Hang out?” He said it like you asked him for a ‘playdate’. “What're ya, twelve?”

“No, I'm an adult who misses you, jackass.” You muttered, kicking one of his boots across the floor closer to him. “You've made two hundred arrows in the past week man. I think you can take a break. Yeah, don't look at me like that. I've counted.”

It was when you were alone in the woods that he broke down. You hadn't even asked, he just told you after you took down a buck. He didn't cry at first, he gave a vague retelling, it was only when he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders from behind that he cried. His head hung low as his chest shook with quiet sobs, his hands laying idle and nervous in his lap, his eyes looking down at the stump he sat on. You rested your head in the crook of his neck and held him for a while, your fingers occasionally giving his biceps a reassuring squeeze if his breathing grew too ragged. 

“I'll kill him. I promise. I'll find a way.”

When you were fifteen you skipped school for the first time. Your freshman year, Daryl's too. It was one of the only times you hung out that wasn't just the right time, right place. He was the one who talked you into it, since the two of you shared a history class. He brought cigarettes and a wild assortment of drugs, no doubt nabbed from Merle. 

“We should do this more.” Daryl had said as you walked the power line trails in the woods behind the school. He shrugged when you looked at him, his gaze falling to the grass in front of him. “Hang out, I mean.” 

“Yeah, we should.” You flashed a rare smile, earning one from him as well, the purple skin around his eye wrinkling. 

You never did. You were too busy with school work and getting beat on by your withdrawing mother. Daryl wasn't really busy, in fact, he was alone most of his teenage years. Always alone out in the woods. Sometimes he'd miss school for a week, living in his father's tent deep in the forest, spending his time learning to live on his own. His father never noticed, not until the school called and he got one of the worst beatings he'd ever gotten. You saw him at school a few days after that, one of his last days before he dropped out. 

He looked awful. Busted lips, bruises all over his arms, light purple handprints on his neck, and deep purple blotches around his eyes and jaw. The school called the police, but nothing ever happened. Daryl told them it was from a fight with some kid, and they happily accepted that answer, eager to miss out on the paperwork. 

“We should just leave.” You said after he pulled the cigarette back away from your lips to take a drag of his own. 

“I would.” He muttered as he held the smoke in his lungs, watching the kids in the far off soccer field chasing the ball. His legs dangled off the edge of the school roof, occasionally swinging a bit. 

“I would too.” You wouldn't. Not until you got your brother back. You looked at him, feeling an unfamiliar twist in your heart when you saw the way he flinched under your sudden gaze. “I'd kill him if I could.” 

You truly meant it. Even though Daryl was barely an acquaintance at that point, you would have killed his father if you got the chance. Daryl didn't mean much to you to be brutally honest, you didn't care to form a deep friendship with anyone, but you shared the bond of trauma from parental abuse and that was deeper than any normal friendship. He could leave, never see you again, and you wouldn't be upset, but if you ever had to witness his father touch him it would shatter your soul. 

You promised yourself you'd kill anyone who ever hurt him after that. You almost murdered Andrea when you found out she shot him. You risked being eaten alive by walkers just to make sure the Governor was really dead. You beat Dwight until Daryl dragged you off, if he hadn't done that you would've killed him. 

Things got a lot worse after the day of your failed assassination attempt. Daryl was never home anymore, either at Hilltop or Ezekiel's kingdom. You had reached the point of considering leaving again. The emotional rollercoaster you were going through was taking a heavy toll on your already fucked mental health.

He could see the effect his absence had on you, and it made him feel like shit. There wasn’t much he could do, he had so many responsibilities and he would never ask you to come with him and Rick every time they packed up and went on long trips every five seconds. It felt selfish to him, he didn’t know that you’d be more than happy to accompany him. 

His hands on your tense shoulders as you sat on the edge of your bed did wonders to loosen you up. You set your gun down beside you and looked up to him, forcing a smile. 

“C'mon sweetheart. Wanna show you somethin’.”

He took you on a long walk in the woods to a secluded pond that once belonged to a fisherman, obvious by the raggedy dock and small wooden shack filled with all sorts of fishing tools. There was still homemade canned fish in his cupboards. 

“Gonna stay here for a few days. Jus’ you an’ me.” 

You watched him over your can of trout, chewing slowly. “Really?”

Daryl shrugged and stabbed his fork into his own can. “Yeah. Ya need it.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We need it.”

Your heart swelled with warm joy, a smile spread on your face and you tried your best to contain the satisfaction his gift had given you. You missed your best friend more than anyone you’d ever missed before after your baby brother. You’d come to terms with the more than likely possibility that he was dead, and so were your parents. It took a long time and many different weeks spent searching when you were back in Georgia. 

You had a fantastic time with him. You fished all morning, talked all afternoon, and ate your fill of fresh and canned fish. It wasn't long before you set up your bedrolls in the middle of the shack and blew out your candles. It felt amazing to sleep next to him again, you couldn't properly put into words how much you missed him. The feeling of his large warm body next to yours as you fell asleep had you thinking that it was all worth it. He was making an effort to spend time with you again, and with that effort came the sparks of hope, hope that you were getting your best friend back.

You woke up the first night spent with him in the fishing shack to see moonlight seeping through the holes in the tin roof. You rubbed your blurry eyes and sat up, propping yourself up with an elbow on the floor. 

“Daryl?” You murmured sleepily as your eyes came to focus in the dim light. His bedroll was still beside yours, albeit empty. You waited a few minutes before walking outside, assuming he just had to go piss or something. 

Ten minutes passed before you walked back into the shack, now carrying a small candle to light the room, cursing when the wax dripped down your knuckles. The amber glow illuminated his bedroll, bringing attention to a small white square. You leaned down and picked up the piece of paper, squinting in effort to read his handwriting. 

The pain in your chest was deep and dark. Growing up you had grown used to being disappointed by your parents and people around you. It never surprised you. Even now you didn’t expect much from people, but Daryl was that exception. So when you read his little apology, claiming Rick called on him through his walkie to request his help in the Kingdom, you decided you’d had enough.

He had been in the Kingdom for about two weeks until you heard from Rick that they were back.

“We're leaving.” You seethed the moment you stepped into your new shared bedroom with Daryl. It was upstairs in one of the apartments in Alexandria, no longer the basement in Rick's house. You had a nice king sized bed, lots of dressers and shelves, a big ass tv, and even a gaming console that once belonged to Carl. Daryl had only slept in that bed three times since you moved in months ago.

He sighed your name and stood from his seat at the table, setting down the disassembled gun he'd been cleaning. “No we ain't. Cut that shit out.” 

“I can't be here anymore. I can't. I can't.” You began hyperventilating as you ripped the dresser drawer fully out, falling to your knees and quickly grabbing the clothes that spilled out. 

“Stop.” When you didn't comply he made you stop, grabbing your wrists and forcing you to look at him. He spoke in that serious tone that felt like a stab to the chest, his eyes burning holes into yours. “I'm not leavin'.” 

You froze at his words. Your mouth opened and your lips trembled, your breath catching in your throat. The words never came to you. You just stared at him with wide eyes and a horrified look of disbelief.

Daryl didn't speak either. He stood his ground, maintaining a firm gaze, his grip on your wrists slowly loosening. 

It hurt. And that made you angry. 

“Who even are you anymore?” You hissed, tearing your hands away from him and shooting up on your feet. “I never see you anymore, you're cold, distant.” He got to his feet, accepting each blow of your words with this calm face that turned your anger into lividness. 

“You promised me you'd never leave me. You promised you'd always be the one thing Daryl, the one thing that wouldn't change, wouldn't leave, wouldn't hurt me, I kept my promise!” Your finger hammered against your own chest in reference. “You say you're never leaving but you already left! I can see it in your eyes, don't look at me like you have no idea what I'm talking about.” Your face burned. “I can see it. The pity, the disdain. The only reason you haven't just kicked me out is cause you feel like you're obligated to me now, or maybe you're scared I'm some loose canon and I'll burn this fucking house down-”

Daryl had heard enough, he lurched forward until he was inches away from you, his nostrils flared due to his increasingly heavy breathing. “You're fuckin’ delusional!” He spat. “You don't think this is hard on me too? Don't think I'd rather be out there livin’ in some cabin with you? That shit ain't happenin’, these people are family. I ain't leavin' ‘em neither. Shit don't mean I don't care ‘bout ya anymore. We ain't in Atlanta, ‘ts not like that anymore. Ain't just me you ‘n Merle.”

“We should've just left. We should've just left.” You repeated in a breathy whisper, your glazed over eyes locked on his chest. 

“Yeah? Well, we didn't, now we can't. Now I won't.” The purposeful enunciation of the last word was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he immediately regretted it as soon as your eyes squeezed shut. “G’damnit.” 

“Fine.” Your breath was shaky, and you resumed packing. 

He found it impossible to stop you, impossible to move. In reality all it would take from him was a simple request for you to stay, but he couldn't even manage that. It felt like watching a fire you started get out of control, he knew he still had the power to stop it, but he was too stunned to move. 

You zipped up the same second duffle bag you'd packed with the same intention on leaving, just as you'd done before. This time though, it wasn't the same. It felt too final. You knew it would be the last time. Daryl did too, and he still didn’t stop you.

You’d set up camp deep in the woods down a dirt road that led to a pond. You slept in your car with your campfire a few feet away, a pot of wild carrots and rabbit simmering over the coals. It smelt amazing due to your stolen beef bouillon cubes, but you didn’t really have the motivation to eat. You flicked away the first cigarette of your last pack and stared into the red hot coals, watching them ebb and glow until the flash of something large and dark caught your eye. 

You stared in disbelief as you watched his figure move through the thick trees, making his way over to your little camp beside the car you'd stolen from Alexandria. He had a heavy bag with him. 

He plopped his bag down next to your fire and sat down, helping himself to a bowl of your stew. He said nothing, not even looking up at you as he finished your supper.

“The hell are you doing here?” 

He looked up at you and sucked the grease from his fingertips, the empty bowl now discarded at his side. You had no idea how he’d managed to get his fingers coated in rabbit fat, it was fucking soup and he used a spoon. “Ts’it look like?”

You couldn't move, your feet glued to the debris of the forest floor. Your mind spun with questions. If he was actually willing to leave with you, leave all those people behind, why had he shut you out? Why had he changed? What changed? 

“I don't want you here. It's an obvious act of charity.” You finally spoke, watching as he lit a wrinkled cigarette. “You told me yourself-”

“Will ya shut up?” He squinted up at you through the burn of smoke. “Jus’ walked six  damn days to find ya. M’not leavin'.” 

You sat on the opposite side of the fire in silence. He scooted around to sit next to you, and held his cigarette up to your lips. You took a weak pull and sighed. After a while of not speaking, you broke the silence. 

“You're so different. Changed so much”

He nodded at your words, his head tilted down to stare at the leaves between his legs. “Had to.”

“Why?” The question burst from your lips so quickly that it surprised you. 

“You.” He took a deep pull off his cigarette and blew it out the opposite side of his mouth to avoid blowing it directly in your face. “This ain't the kind of life you deserve. Tryin’ to get that for ya. That little house ya dreamed of living in, one with a screened in porch for plants ‘n shit. Life that ya ain't spendin’ hungry, cold, scared.”

He paused for a moment, taking another long drag. “Wanted me to be better too. The kinda man to pick ya flowers, take ya on dates, all that stupid shit.” He flicked the spent cigarette into the fire and leaned back against your car door. 

If it was possible, you were feeling every emotion all at once, in such a rapid and disorienting fashion that it looped back around and made you too shocked to feel. 

He delved deeper, explaining that he felt you deserved better than who he once was, Merle’s echo, a loud and angry asshole, then turned into a cold and traumatized shell, never allowing himself to feel vulnerable with you again. When he finally broke out of it and realized exactly what he wanted, he worked on himself in a determined attempt to be the man you dreamed of marrying as a kid.He worked on your surroundings as well, making sure to eliminate any possible threat in every colony that had even the slightest chance of risking your livelihood. But more importantly, he wanted to be yours. The type of husband you described when you were thirteen years old, cleaning the blood from his swollen ear one of the nights he slept on your back porch. 

“I'm not gonna be like my mom.” You had said firmly, tossing away the bloody tissue paper. “I'm gonna get a good husband and I'm not gonna mess it all up like she did.”

“A good husband?” He questioned curiously, wincing as you dabbed his ear with rubbing alcohol. 

“Yeah, like…. He'll take me on dates, open doors for me, buy me cool stuff, uh….” You trailed off in thought. “He's gonna build me a house too. With a screen porch that I can put a hundred plants in, and he won't be allowed to smoke in it. Oh, he won't smoke, actually. Or drink, or do drugs. He'll never hit me or yell at me like my mom did to my dad, and to me. He'll be handsome too. And smart.”

You were brought to the present with a jolt as Daryl’s hand touched your knee, making you jump. You didn't notice your eyes had started watering and you quickly went to discreetly dab them dry. 

“Guess I fucked up. M’sorry. Was a real piece of shit.”

“No,” your voice broke as you stopped him, grabbing his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze. “Complete opposite of a piece of shit. I had the wrong idea, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Tsh. Nah.” Daryl waved you off and shook his head. “Should’a told ya. Wasn't thinkin' right.” 

The two of you sat in thoughtful silence until the embers began to grow dim. The forest was thick, so even though the sun was visible as it sank lower and lower, it soon became too dark to see properly. 

“My…” you broke the silence, searching for the right word. “Aspirations have changed since then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Several seconds of silence.

“How'so?”

“Well, I don't care if he smokes, or does drugs, or curses or can't take me out on a date. He doesn't have to build me a house, but that's still an option.” Daryl snorted, and you went on. “But he does have to own a crossbow, ride a motorcycle without a helmet even though I tell him to, and he definitely needs this,” your finger tapped on the skull tattoo on the back of his hand before sliding up his arm to stroke a line down his back, “and these tattoos. And this.” You touched the mole over his upper lip. “And he definitely has to slur all his words together because of his accent.” 

“That's all, huh?” He joked softly, watching you draw your hand away from his face. “Y’got some low standards for a husband.”

“Oh, right, I forgot. He also has to go back to his family, because that's where he belongs.” There was a quick flash of hurt on his face, his lips parting and his eyes narrowing, so you continued. “And because that's where my dream house is going to be built.” 

In all your years knowing Daryl Dixon, you'd never been sexually intimate. You'd never had sex, flirtation only being reserved for playful teasing banter, you'd never really kissed, aside from that one night at the Greene farm. You'd laid with each other multiple times, more often than not sleeping curled up together in the woods or on the floor of some house. Despite never being sexually intimate there was an unspoken mutual understanding of your relationship, you were together, but not in the traditional standard sense. Neither of you ever had interest in a relationship with anyone, that was simply out of the question. Why have a partner when your best friend is everything you need? 

He became your partner at some point, maybe that's why it caused so much anguish to the both of you when you left. But it was only that night that you solidified it. And the next morning, and in the back of the car on your way back, and on the hood of the car, and after your shower back home, and after dinner, on your bed, on the floor, a second time after that, right before bed, and again the moment you woke up. 

It started with a kiss, which just so happened to be his second ever kiss, the first being you in the back of Dale’s RV. You wouldn't have ever guessed, the way he kissed with so much passion and vigor felt akin to a man kissing the same pair of lips he'd kissed his entire life. And you would have never guessed he was a virgin. 

Each touch was as if he was handling precious glassware. He never took off any of your clothes, he'd just gently tug at your shirt until you got the hint and undressed yourself. 

At some point you moved to the back of the car, he laid you down and closed the door behind him. Your soft pants and gasps quickly led to the windows fogging over, and by the end of it there were beads of precipitation dribbling down the glass. 

He led graciously. His fingers were gentle but firm against your clit through your panties, working hard and with determination to give you the orgasm you deserved. He obeyed your requests for ‘circles, ah, softer, to the left, more’, and before long he was a master in the art of making you come. 

Daryl wanted to give you oral, but you quickly pulled him back up, shaking your head as you gasped for air. “N-no, please. You. Need you.” 

It was shocking that he didn't feel embarrassed when he came early. You'd reached down to stroke his cock, only getting in a few strokes before he pulled away with a strangled gasp, spilling his hot cum on your bare stomach. He didn't have time to feel embarrassed because only seconds later you were taking him in your desperate mouth, giving it your all to make him hard again. 

He didn't take long. After stiffening in your mouth he eased your head away, maneuvering you on your back in such an effortless way that it made you look like you weighed nothing. Due to your wetness and unimaginable arousal it didn't hurt at all when he finally pushed in after rubbing his cock all over your desperate slick flesh. 

You cried out anyway. Your jaw dropped and your eyes rolled back, clutching at his bare shoulders when you felt his pelvis fully connect with you. 

“F-fuck.” You groaned as your eyes rolled back, digging your fingers deeper into his skin.

He let out a moan then, a light and vulnerable sound. You could feel him shaking on top of you as he fought not to finish again. It broke your heart, knowing he wanted to have sex with you so badly, to please you like you had him. 

You stayed as still as humanly possible while you waited for him to move. 

Daryl’s breath slowed and he moved, finally. He fucked you slow at first, slow and deep thrusts that managed to bury his dick further and further inside you each time. With each thrust he let out either a shaky whimper or a deep grunt, and soon he was picking up the pace, fucking a moan out of you each time he drove his throbbing cock back inside. 

When his hand connected with the warm skin of your torso you whimpered, tossing your head back against the car seat. His hands stroked your sides, rough and dirty fingers scraping against your nipples and breasts. He gave one a firm squeeze, eliciting a sharp moan from you, one that he eagerly swallowed down with his hungry mouth, kissing you deeply and feverishly. He was breathing heavy through his nose, hot puffs of air sending waves of heat across your upper lip and cheeks.

A rough slam of his pelvis against yours sent the tip of his cock so deep it was almost painful, your gasp choked in your tight throat, your thighs squeezing the life out of his torso. He groaned at how responsive you were, his hot wet lips sliding down your face to start kissing your neck. 

Daryl was quiet in the sense that he didn't say much. He groaned and whimpered, sure, but he hadn’t said a word since entering you. Which was totally fine by you, but you were a sucker for dirty talk. It was one of your favorite parts of sex.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, hoping to get a response. He just grunted, a possible returned compliment, his head not moving from the crook of your neck. 

A noticeable increase in his pacing had all thoughts vanishing from your mind in a puff of smoke. You could feel the side of his jaw clenching against your neck, the skin hot and prickly with stubble, the friction eventually becoming uncomfortable. As if he could read your mind he raised his head and looked down at you, the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth, looking like a man in deep, oh, deep, concentration. 

“Fu-uh-uck-” You babbled, your heavy eyelids shutting against the brutal force of his thrusts. You grabbed onto his biceps again and held on for dear life, giving them a squeeze each time he gave a really deep thrust. 

“That’s it.” Your heart jumped in your chest at the sound of his voice, it was gravely and sounded from the base of his throat. You felt your lower stomach do that delicious flip sensation, your clit throbbing in response to his voice. 

“Mmm’god.”

“I know. I know.” He breathed, taking a second to readjust himself between your legs before going back to his artistic thrusting. He was grinding against you then, barely pulling out, using the full weight of his hips to force himself as deep as possible while he ground into you. You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, it was a miracle that a virgin could fuck like that. He was a savant at something he’d never done before. You came hard around his throbbing dick, your walls clenching down so hard that it ripped his orgasm straight out of his body. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening around his flexed biceps as your orgasm shook through you in violent waves. You moved your hips on your own, grinding up and against his pelvis to draw your pleasure  out for  as long as possible. 

Daryl wasn't expecting it, he just came. His jaw dropped and he held onto the nearest body part, which just so happened to be your neck. He didn’t choke you, which came as a slight dismissible disappointment, he just held onto you with his large hands as he finished. It was so sudden and unexpected that he couldn’t control the sounds he made, better for you, he let out this beautiful high moan that sent flashes of Daryl in Atlanta behind your closed eyes. His body shuttered and jerked as every single rope of his cum flooded your insides, coating your vice like walls like spilled paint. 

You didn’t give him time to recuperate. You squirmed under him, swapping your positions, and took his softening cock in your mouth. He groaned under you, grabbing you by your hair to pull you away, only to shudder when he felt his cock growing hard again. You smirked against the tip as he gently pulled you back down.

Halfway through he tugged you off of him, the two of you switching spots once again. You whined when you felt his lips connect with your puffy clit, your mind swirling as he used the flexed tip of his tongue to drift between your slick folds. 

“Oh god, daryl.” You panted and ran your fingers through your sweaty hair to push it back over your head. You were either extremely sensitive due to the two orgasms, or he was an extremely skilled pussy eater. Either way you came fast, clenching your thighs around his head to clamp his mouth tight against you. He didn’t ease up as you came, his tongue and lips pulling tricks you didn’t think possible, drawing out your orgasm longer than any time previously. 

He slid up between your legs, planting kisses from your wet mess up your stomach to your chest. He suddenly bit down on one of your nipples, gentle at first, but the moan that came from your lips had him tightening his teeth.

You were under the impression that he would ease you down from your high with light kisses and soft touches, but apparently, he had other plans. His cock plunged back into you before you had any idea what was happening, and he quickly set a fast and intense pace. His hands slipped around both of your wrists and pulled, using the leverage to both fuck you deeper and keep you firmly in place.

If you could’ve seen the state you were in, you’d be a red hot embarrassed bitch. Your mouth was hanging open, your eyes fluttering between open and closed, sounds coming from your throat that envied any moan and whine to ever come out of a woman's mouth. Your hair kept falling back in your face each time his hips slammed into yours, no matter how many times you hastily pushed it away or tucked it behind your ears. You looked at him for as long as you could, but you were too stimulated, it was too hot, he was too beautiful, you had to let them fall shut as you came again.

As cliche as it sounds, your final orgasm, for that night at least, was world shattering. You didn’t care how loud you were or what types of faces you were making. Your body was completely out of your control, your brain on pause as it struggled to deal with the flood of dopamine and oxytocin. 

Daryl wasn’t looking any better, he’d ran miles before and came out looking more put together. He huffed as he came inside you yet again, his dick twitching with each spurt of cum. He braced himself on his elbows on either side of your body, his head drooping down as he managed a few sloppy thrusts. He muttered something then, something you were too fucked up to make out through his thick and slurred accent.

When he finally drew his red and tender dick out of you his heart seemed to skip a beat. The two loads spilled out the second he withdrew, trickling down your folds and over the swollen head of his dick. That was a sight he’d remember till the day he died.  

You fought to catch your breath after he all but collapsed on top of you. It was pure bliss for a few moments, and then it was too hot and too close. Before you could say anything he lifted himself off of you, still waging his own war against his lungs. 

“Getting old there, huh?” You teased, sliding up into a sitting position after grabbing your panties. Yeah, he's old, it's not the fact you just did the same amount of exercise as swimming across the atlantic ocean.

“Shut up.” He breathed as he wiped his damp hair from his face. 

After a few moments of silence, apart from the sounds of your breathing, you dressed yourselves and began loading all your shit into your car. 

“You really walked six days? No bike, no car?” You questioned as he plopped down into the driver's seat, the flame of his lighter illuminating his face. The smell of cigarette smoke had you leaning over and he pressed the filter against your lips. 

“No bike.”

“That’s kind of stupid.”

“Huh. Rich.” He smirked around the cigarette at you before glancing over his shoulder to watch the dirt road as he reversed.

“Yeah, true.”

Your life wasn’t magically fixed after that night, and neither was Daryls, but it did get a lot easier. You zipped up your coat but your shoes were still full of snow, that kind of better. A lot of shit happened, you had your arguments, but no fights. After RIck died you ran off together looking for his body, for Daryl’s closure, living off in the woods somewhere with a dog that liked to growl at you. He was over possessive of Daryl, and so were you, so the two of you were butting heads often.

He never did build you that house, but you moved into one of the newly built homes in Alexandria. He did build you a back porch, which looked great for someone who’d never built an entire screened in porch before, even if it did look a little raggedy in some spots. He even brought home pots for you to plant ‘shit’ in, as he said. 

Daryl wasn’t home often, which didn't bother you anymore, because you were out there with him. 

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