#but while i was looking of references for other things

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[untossablefossil]

Hey hey if society sees me as a woman but corrupted beyond saving and treats me accordingly I actually don't benefit from patriarchy.

If you're treating this like a dichotomy where one side is holding the stick and the other side is getting hit with it I am still decidedly on the end of the stick getting hit here.

Literally all the misogyny I used to experience before I came out, I still get but worse. Please tell me how the ways I benefit from structural misogyny are invisible to me. I would love to know how I secretly get treated better that before. It can be uncomfortable to acknowledge that men don't all have a unilateral experience of privilege in a patriarchal system, but it is something you should be aware of when it comes to other cis men, too. That's what intersectionality is.

I don't pass, good chance I never will, but I can't match the expectations of a cis woman, either. I am visibly trans and queer, and it feels like my gender is being used against me by cis people who hold actual structural power over me to withhold support and understanding at a time that is critical for trans rights, while ignoring the real lived experiences of trans men and transmascs. I don't know how to begin to explain to you that this is not a step up from before I started transitioning if you can't already see it.

Cisnormative frameworks cannot be imposed on trans people in any meaningful way. We fundamentally expose the shortcomings of gender theory developed by solely looking to cis people for reference, just by existing. I'm confused on why you choose to double down that trans men are actually magically identical to cis men in this somehow, instead of maybe acknowledged that a marginalised group does not have the experience that you assume it does.

It's ok to be wrong, the important thing is to learn.

we can't even get a basic "all men structurally benefit from a misogynist society" to pass on this website without a bunch of queer men shooting themselves into a panic cause they get too uncomfortable about the idea of being culpable to self reflect. "feminist" website

[hello-sweetheart]

Heavy Metal References- metalhead!Eddie Details for Your Headcanons (and fanfic)-

To start off: It’s kinda hilarious how we’re guilty of sometimes switching Eddie’s white sneakers for boots cuz we want to give him an edgier look (and yes black leather boots are also metalhead fashion) but also:

White high-tops were metal in the 80s, they’re literally iconic and indicative of thrasher metal bands, and still are. Seen in bands like: Metallica and Megadeth. It’s kinda theorized that this fashion came up to differentiate themselves from hair/ glam metal that were going mainstream, but Dave Mustaine (Metallica Guitarist and Megadeth frontman) said that white Nike high-tops were given to some of the bands as a way to advertise them by their record label.

Bullet belts, battle jackets, spikes and studs were influenced by established Punk fashion and then incorporated into the metal scene thanks to bands like Judas Priest and Motörhead.

I’ve read in some fics where wearing band merch of the band you’re seeing is a Big No, but from what I can find this isn’t really a thing in the metal genre, past or present. It seems more like a rule that has emerged in more recent years, specifically in the punk scene, but I can’t find much about it.

Ozzy Osbourne biting the head of a dead bat that was thrown on stage is tale of legends and references by Eddie as we know, but here are some other significant moments in metal history:

Ozzy Osbourne pursued a solo career after he was fired from Black Sabbath in 1979 (Eddie would’ve been ~13) because of his erratic behavior and drug abuse, he’s replaced by Ronnie James Dio

W.A.S.P debut their first album in 1984 with the song “Animal (F**k Like A Beast)” being released as a single to avoid having their albums banned from chain record stores. They were a main target for the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) for their obscenity but W.A.S.P pretty much road high on the publicity, they are that shit up despite all the death threats they received.

Parental Advisory Explicit Content label was introduced in 1985 (around when Stranger Things S3 takes place), and it hilariously had the opposite effect of deterring the sales of explicitly labeled music.

Cliff Burton, the bassist for Metallica, died on tour in March 1986 when the bus skidded then rolled on the road; Burton was thrown from the window and crushed. “To Live Is to Die” is song dedicated to him composed with his unused riffs.

Other Metal facts:

Black Sabbath’s guitarist Tony Lommi lost the tips of his fretting fingers (on his right hand) in a sheet metal factory accident, he was inspired by jazz guitarist Dango Reinhardt who played with only two fingers on the fretboard due to burn injuries. Lommi made prosthetic tips and tuned down his guitar so he could keep playing. This gave Black Sabbath its unique sound.

Ronnie James Dio is accredited with popularizing the infamous devil horns sign🤘 in interviews he said his grandmother used to use that sign to ward off evil. Speaking of,

While he isn’t Power Metal (a genre that heavily incorporates themes of fantasy with clean and fast guitar that emerged around the mid-80s), Dio is basically the father of it as he had such a big influence over this genre along with bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden

Side Bar: I think if he was given the chance to properly establish his own sound, Eddie would’ve been the frontman of a sick ass Power Metal band beloved by DnD nerds.

Patches on Eddie’s Battle Jacket:

Motörhead, Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Dio, Mercyful Fate, Judas Priest

[hanasnx]

anal w fuckboy!clark bc he’s never done it before and you’re sooooo desperate to differentiate yourself from the other girls on his roster you’ll give him anything

ANAL — c.kent

“ i heard from a friend of a friend, that dick was a ten out of ten ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | dc comics. NOTES: fuckboy!clark nsfw twitter porn link video reference, must be logged in to twitter with age to see it. disclaimer; fuckboy!clark is my au, do not use it without explicit permission. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ au; fuckboy!clark ノ established relationship; fwbs ノ mention of reader having hair ノ allusions to unprotected sex ノ explicit sexual content ノ anal (f receiving) ノ anal virginity.

It’s a dangerous slope, you know. Having a little thing on the side with FUCKBOY!CLARK KENT was bound to end in flames. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, one day you knew him as your classmate, and then you were hitting each other up in the AM to come over for a quick one. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, he acts strangely gentlemanly in a way a modern man can. Unfortunately you know you’ve hit rock bottom in standards because you think it’s sweet when he buys your Plan B, or stays a little longer than he needs to watch something with you until he’s gotta head home. It’s almost friendship, in a way.

The worst part is, you’re catching feelings way too quick. Sure you were attracted to him initially, but now your heart actually skips a beat when he says your name. You wait by your phone trying to catch a text from him to see what you’re up to. It’s pathetic, you think, brushing your hair back over your forehead. You’re not even the only girl he’s seeing right now, and you told him he’s not the only guy on your roster… yet you dive for your cell as soon as you hear it ring.

“You mean it?” Clark reaffirms, smoothing a hand over the cheek of your ass you’re presenting to him. Back at his place yet again, you’re in a familiar position, yet you’re offering up something new. His parted lips in quiet awe enclose so as drag his bottom one through his teeth, tilting his head at how you glisten in the dull light, pretty pussy all open while you await his answer. It’s like you’re getting wet just talking about this. “You’ll let me fuck your ass?” It’s such a crude way of saying it, and it makes you surge forward with the pillow still hooked under your hips. Thick fingers slot in between the fat of your pelvis and thighs, adjusting you right back where he wants you.

“Are you gonna do it or are you just gonna stare?” you challenge, resting the side of your face on his mattress so you can look back at him. From your peripheral, you can see his meaty dick fill out to full attention until the base is grasped by his hand. He gives it a couple of healthy jacks. You’ve been prepping for this, you did a bunch of boring research and you stuck stuff up yourself to loosen the virgin muscle. Just because your little asshole hasn’t been fucked before, doesn’t mean you can’t make it as comfortable as possible for yourself.

He doesn’t waste any more time, bringing the flat of his fingers up to his mouth so he can spit. A fat gob of it drips down, and he gently brings it to your puckered hole, massaging the natural lube in. His callused thumb swipes up and down until it visibly relaxes, when he gets cheeky the tip of it dips in. If you could see his face right now, you’d see stars in his eyes and a slack jaw. You lean into his touch, stowing your nervousness and crossing your arms under your head. The cold air hits the moistened tissue, and you hiss. It’s nothing compared to the clumsy bump of his mushroom-shaped head, the velvety skin coming into contact. You suck in a breath just as he exhales a throaty groan, shoving the whole tip in in his enthusiasm. “Oh, fuck…” he drags out the curse, tipping his head back as his hips lazily chase the feeling. You whimper in turn, but there’s a pleasurable sting in your belly coursing through you from his reaction that acts as more than enough payment for your sacrifice. “For me, baby? This all for me?” he asks, and you nod even if he can’t see it.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum back, clutching tighter onto his sheets as more and more of him is introduced to the new hole.

Once again he bites down on his lower lip hard, inclining his great body to the side to lean on his fist, the mattress dipping with his weight. His other hand palms your tailbone, pushing you down onto his dick as he surges, forcing himself into your little asshole. It hurts, but it’s a different pain than the ache of your neglected pussy. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to relax into the experience while he presses on. “You’re so- fucking- tight.” reverently, he sings your praises. His pre mixed with his spit helps to lube up the entry, but because it’s an entirely different feeling than what you’re used to, you’re not sure what change could help it feel better. It’s not bad, it’s just hard to wrap your head around. It’s probably because it’s your first time. “This your first?” He read your mind.

Once again, you can’t speak, so you nod and hum in confirmation. A grin breaks out onto his face, eyeing you with a dark hooded gaze as he laughs a little breathlessly… the kind that makes your knees go weak. “Yeah? Givin’ me your anal virginity? You want me or sum’n?” he taunts. At the sound of his assumption, he bottoms out, and all the air is pushed from your lungs in a keen. It’s a soreness in your stomach you can’t explain, but you don’t want him to stop.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, idiot friends to lovers, not exactly a meet cute because they already know each other but it's also not not a naughty little meet cute if you get me, face sitting, 69 just not in the way you might think(yet), lots of horny flirting, mentions of blood, minor injury and one tiny meta reference I couldn't help but slip in. WC: 2K

Say what you will about Carol Perkins but the girl's got one hell of an arm. You stare with simmering contempt in your eyes at your purse wedged between the branches of an old, towering hickory several many feet above your head.

You're not surprised by it though. You expected some kind of retaliation after your little spat when you caught her trying to shoplift lip gloss at the cosmetics counter you worked at.

Word travelled fast after that, everyone snickering about how she tried to pull a Winona. Unfortunately for you, the incident wasn't enough to make her swear off five finger discounts. Her sticky little fingers managed to get hold of your purse when you had your back turned for only a few seconds the next day, a crudely scrawled note left behind which read, Come to the woods behind the school if you want your knock off Gucci back.

So you went there anticipating some fight club type of shit to go down. You really couldn't rule that out with a person like Carol, an old school bully to many who went to Hawkins High, especially those unlucky enough to have actually felt the fiery sting of her open palm against their cheek.

Only you were kind of looking forward to this meeting. Now a graduate and a little fired up yourself, you didn't need to worry about anything like a potential expulsion if you were to strike her back, fixing the rings on your fingers so that if you needed to, you could scratch open her chin when you uppercut the bitch.

But Carol wasn't there, a little to your disappointment. Only her handiwork left behind for you to deal with.

So now here you were, a crackling carpet of brittle yellowed and browned leaves crunching under your converse as you try to figure out the best way to go about retrieving your purse, hoping she hadn't also swiped any of the money inside it.

Looking around, you can't seem to spot a stick long enough to try and dislodge it, all of them far too short and skinny like bony witch fingers. The few rocks you try to aim at the thing missed every time too, purse still firmly in place.

So, you knew what needed to be done.

It's been a while since you last scaled a tree but you haven't forgotten how, hiking the skirt of your flared midi dress higher up your thighs while you reach for the closest branch, dry bark crumbling in your palms.

You're as careful as can be, taking your time to test every branch before you bear your full weight down on it, winding your way higher and higher up the thick gray trunk as you remind yourself to not look down.

Sweat beads down your back making your dress stick to your skin and your hands began to feel raw halfway through the climb so the relief you feel when you finally reach your purse is immense. Freeing one hand to pop open the clasp, you're able to confirm that Carol had in fact pinched a 50 which you very much intend to get back with interest before you toss her purse into the middle of lovers lake.

Clamping your teeth down on your purse, you begin your descent, following the exact path you took to get up it only you make it just a few inches lower when you hear a distinct dry snap followed by the shifty sound of footsteps. Two sets of footsteps making their way through the fallen leaves in fact.

Quietly, you sit yourself down on a thick branch that looks strong enough to hold you up, your legs dangling as you try to remain hidden behind the greener leaves yet to turn a shriveled yellow and break off from its branches. The thought of being caught like this is something you're not keen on. Especially at the risk of giving whoever it is an unobstructed up skirt view of your panties.

You hold your breath until they comes into view, recognition dawning on you when you set your eyes on the familiar combo of leather and denim and a very distinct tumbleweed of wild hair.

Eddie Munson, your old classmate and some letter jacket meat slab following in tow. The two of them sit across from each other at the formerly vacant wooden table and bench below, the tinny sound of Eddie's lunchbox echoing all the way up to your ears when he sets it down between them.

You watch quietly and closely at them going back and forth when Eddie quotes his price for a considerably large portion of the devil's lettuce all wrapped up in a thin, flimsy little plastic bag, a little amused seeing him all business and no jokes or smiles. There must be a party happening tonight, you deduce, that much weed too much for just the one person, even for a guy as big and hulking as Eddie's new customer.

The meat slab is the first to leave after digging through his pockets for a few extra dollars until Eddie hands him the stuff, trudging away through the crisp layer of dried up leaves until his footsteps turn muffled and then completely silent to let you know that he's no longer in the woods.

Eddie lingers for a few moments, apparently in no kind of rush as he takes his time closing up the lunch box, pulling out a cigarette and lighter as he gets up from the bench, just about to pass by your tree when-

crack!

The branch you'd perched yourself on wasn't as strong as you thought it to be when it snaps, a choked scream stuck in your throat with your teeth still wrapped around your purse when you lose your balance, your eyes squeezing shut as you plummet.

The impact knocks the wind out of you at first. Luckily you hadn't hit any of the other branches on your way down but a pulsing dull ache weaves it's way through your muscles, your palms and knees dirty and scraped up but your face seems to have landed on something much softer.

When you try to pick yourself up, you find yourself face to face with a pair of black denim jeans, the zipper somehow upside down as your hands press down on a pair of meaty thighs while you try to steady yourself.

You rock back just a bit, still trying to figure it all out with your head all spinny when feel your clothed pussy come to rest on something hard, a puff of hot air blown right into your panties with a muffled exclamation sounding out.

The way you scramble away is almost comical, so frantic like a severed gecko's tail when you figure out that you'd fallen right on top of Eddie, your face in his crotch and his in yours.

"Oh my god oh my god, I didn't mean to- are you okay? Eddie I'm so sorry!"

He's far less jittery than you are, propping himself up on his elbows with a little groan, leaves tangled in his hair, his lunchbox knocked onto its side behind him. The fall had made him bite his cigarette in two, one end lying on the forest floor before it's joined by the other when Eddie spits it out of his mouth. You manage to find his lighter nearby, picking it up and handing it back to him.

"Still in one piece", he pats his chest and he huffs a laugh, placing the lighter back inside his jacket pocket. "Could get used to this. It's not everyday that it rains pretty women."

The flirt. Just as he'd been with you in high school though you're not sure whether to be charmed or embarrassed given the circumstances. So both emotions manage to sneak in before you can decide on which one.

"I- my purse- Carol, see she tried to shoplift, right? I caught her and so my purse-", you find it just behind you, holding it up in front of Eddie's face as you continue to explain. "She lifted it before I could notice and she tossed it all the way up there," you point up at the spot you fell down from. "I slipped. I tried to stay quiet while you were busy but the branch broke and my foot slipped and..."

And what? "I'm sorry I sat on your face, Eddie? It won't happen again?" God, you felt so stupid right now.

"Woah woah, take a breath. It's not like I'm going to press charges or anything", he assures you.

You knew he wouldn't do anything of the sort. Eddie was always nice to you. Still is it seems, even after you so rudely and abruptly body slammed into him so damn hard. Maybe your luck's starting to turn. Or maybe it's just because he's in a good mood after a big sale... Yeah, that must be it.

Feeling a little better about the whole thing, you manage to get yourself back on to your feet even if a little unsteadily, holding a hand out to Eddie so you can help him up too. He accepts it at first but when his eyes fall to your knees his hand slips free from yours.

"You're bleeding", he notices.

Looking down, you see that he's right, two open cuts on both knees. Nothing serious but the blood is yet to clot, trailing down your legs in thin red lines and staining your socks.

You don't have anything on you to help dab it with, looking around when Eddie begins to shed his denim vest.

"It's clean, promise. Took it out of the laundry this morning"

The gesture is so sweet, watching him attentively as he kneels at your feet. You attempt to help too, picking the leaves out of his hair because it's the least you could do while he carefully cleans away the dirt on your skin. The feeling of his hand wrapping around your calf to steady himself is nice too, pressing the denim against your wounds so gently that you barely hiss at the sting.

"Doesn't look too bad. That's a good thing. You always had nice legs".

Your face could not feel any hotter than it already feels right now. At this angle, he might even be able to catch another glimpse or two up your skirt again but this time you don't mind at all. He's earned it.

"Thanks", you tell him with a smile, your toes curling in your socks because there's something so nice about being taken care of after the the whole thing with Carol that it makes you want to shiver with delight.

In the past you knew not to take him too seriously just in case he was only being nice to you but at the same time, Eddie was never one to be shy or less than honest about what he thought or said. Maybe you just had trouble accepting that and in turn, accepting that you were more than deserving of that kind of attention.

"You shouldn't be walking around like this. I could give you a ride if you're cool with that", he offers when he looks back up at you, the deep brown of his eyes now a light cinnamon with the sun spilling down on his face from between the branches.

"Yeah, I'd really appreciate that", you accept eagerly.

The drive back to yours is more than pleasant, though you'd never actually lost touch it was nice for two high school friends like you to reconnect on a new level. Eddie even joins you in trashing Carol a bit too though now you feel you might actually owe that thieving venom spitting cobra of a woman a little thank you.

What were the chances of this all happening? the both of you in the same place at the same time, your branch giving way the exact moment he got closer to you? no sooner, no later. Whatever the reason might be, today feels kind of special.

"Sorry I messed up your vest", you hold up the bloody thing tentatively when he pulls up outside your house.

"You kidding? 's the best its ever looked. Pretty hardcore"

You giggle at that, part of you realizing that you don't want to leave his van, trying to stall and find a reason to stay a little longer and keep whatever this is becoming going.

Eddie looks back at you pensively as you do so.

He doesn't want you to leave either. He thinks about how absurdly fast he'd gone from securing a deal like any other day to having his nose buried in your panties out of nowhere. If he doesn't act just as fast he might never get this opportunity again.

"Y' know, I wouldn't mind seeing even more of you next time", he smiles, somehow coming on more sweetly suave than sleazy like you would find any other man who would say so.

"Eddie Munson, you hound", you play scold him back, swatting him gently on the arm. Any excuse to touch him. You can't help noticing how nice and firm it feels under that dark layer of leather.

Honestly, Eddie's a little surprised himself that his charm's actually working too but manages to keep it up.

"So, what do you say? dinner? movie?", he suggests hopefully.

"Sure. Dinner, movie and then, when you come back to mine, maybe we can pick up where we left off from when I was on top of you", you wink back.

[lucylockets]

(whispers) what about wally west x batsis!reader

dividers made by: @cafekitsune

pairings: wally west x fem!batsis!reader (and other members of the batfamily)

a/n: inbox is open if anyone has any requests!

batsis, who starts dating wally a couple of months after working with him. wayne’s know what they want, and they don’t wait around for it.

wally’s ecstatic. he’s seen her long before meeting her, of course. she’s on the covers of magazines, articles are written about her newest outfits, and there’s always some new pictures of her uploaded.

wally thinks she’s beautiful. yeah, he’s flirted with pretty girls before, but she isn’t comparable to anyone he’s ever met. he can hardly believe that this gorgeous girl wants to be with him. actually wants to be in his company.

they keep the relationship private for the first few months. not exactly a secret, she’s just not declaring it in interviews. she wants something to herself for once in her very public life. he’s telling everyone he knows with a proud smile.

they’re spotted one day. a picture taken of her kissing his cheek goodbye after a day together and is uploaded. articles the next day, ‘Gothams Princess is dating . . . who exactly?’

she finds him one morning, looking at the article on his phone with a worried expression. she comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his bare torso, her face resting on the back of his shoulder blade.

“what are you looking at?” she mumbled, looking around his arm to peek at his phone before scoffing and returning to his back. “don’t bother with those silly things.”

“but what if-“ “doesn’t matter.” she cuts him off with a small yawn. wally doesn’t look convinced.

“you’re not even a little bit curious as to what they’re saying about us?” she shook her head without thought. “i stopped reading anything to do with me years ago. even if the article is nice, it isn’t good for anyone to read about themselves.”

wally huffed, putting his phone down. “i hate when you sound smart.”

she just smiled, pressing kisses to his shoulder. “another smart suggestion from me is us going back to bed.”

wally west, who accompanies her to a gala when asked. he declined at first, but then she sighed.

“alright then. i just asked because one of the sons of bruce’s business partners is always asking me to dance. i sort of wanted to show you off.”

that’s all it took to convince him.

and now he finds himself in a new suit, in a room with some of the richest people in gotham. a group of older ladies are cooing at him, touching his hair and saying how “precious” and “interesting” red-heads are.

his shoulders sag in relief as an arm links with his, and he sees reader at his side. she smiles at the ladies. one of them lowers her champagne glass to talk to her.

“(name) wayne! i didn’t know you went for red-heads.”

she laughs. she seems at ease, but wally can feel her fingers gripping his arm just a little tighter. “well, i suppose i just couldn’t resist this one.”

wally smiles to himself and barely registers her tugging him away after giving the ladies one last smile. he looks at her with a lazy smirk.

“couldn’t resist me, huh?” “shut up or i’ll kick you out.” wally just smiles.

wally west, who will just have a dreamy look on his face when reader is scolding him. it might just be a little petty thing that she’s annoyed over, but wally will listen to her with his hand under his chin thinking “she’s giving out to me. it’s me who she chose to give out to. she’s so amazing. she’s cute when she’s angry. it’s kinda hot.”

wally west, who knows he’s a goner pretty early. he has the wedding playlist made before half a year together. probably has kids names picked out too.

reader, who just lets him talk. it isn’t uncommon to find them together, her doing a menial task while he chats her ear off. wally thinks she’s ignoring him, and just letting him get it out, but then she’ll reference something he said at a later time.

like one time he was yapping about the differences between the different fast food restaurants, and thought that she had forgotten about the whole thing. but later that week, when dick suggests going to BatBurger for food, she shakes her head and says “wally prefers Chicken Whizee. he was telling me about it earlier.”

wally’s heart probably jumps, and he goes red at the smirk that dick gives him.

wally west, who probably had a million and one pictures of her in his camera roll. pictures of times where nobody else sees her, just him. her in her pyjamas with her hair in curlers. a mirror picture of them both in matching face masks. her in the morning with her hair messy and mascara smudged. her asleep on his shoulder.

he doesn’t post those. they’re for him to smile at and fall in love with even more every-time he sees them.

he does post her non-stop though. candid photos of her smiling or laughing. the captions are 100% the cringiest lines ever.

‘she must be the flash because she makes my heart speed’ ‘partner in (fighting) crime’ ‘the peanut butter to my jelly’

and everytime dick will be in the comments like “caption makes absolutely no sense walls”

she’ll post him too. on her public account, it’ll be more proper pictures of them together. anniversary pictures with hearts. most of the comments are happy for them, and every so often they’ll be a guy (or girl) burning with jealousy.

but on her private with just her friends and family, it’ll be pictures of him passed out on the couch with his costume still on, or eating cereal together in bed (i do not recommend btw)

and i can totally see dick posting one of those pictures of the three of them where wally and reader are kissing in the background while dick is just standing there. the caption: ‘when you literally introduced them to each other and end up third wheeling’

wally west, who will spam her phone with those videos of animals together with the caption “us ❤️” with messages declaring love and she’ll just respond with “ok.”

wally west, who quotes shows at her all the time. they watch friends together? now he’s constantly saying that she’s his lobster. parks and recreation? now the line “i love you and i like you,” is a common phrase said by him. jerry maguire? he’s now always saying “you complete me,” while doing the hand motions. he practically glows when she does it back.

he’ll sing love songs to her in the kitchen together, and smile when she sings back.

wally west, who brings batsis to his house for christmas. she meets his mom, uncles, aunts, and cousins (she probably already knows barry and iris).

he’s a bit nervous about showing her his modest house that he grew up in. “it’s not much compared to wayne manor-“ but she just takes one look at the warm lights and the people who are so comfortable in each others company that she just smiles and says “it’s amazing.”

she tried to help mary with some cooking, but she’s never made a meal bigger than grilled cheese before because of alfred, so mary gives her small tasks to do like stirring.

she shows reader how to line pastry, and she just copies mary’s movements. it’s a pretty good bonding experience.

wally west, who loves summer with her. he especially loves beach days and pool parties. he’ll shake like a dog after coming out of the water, spraying her despite her protests. if she’s reluctant to go in the water, he’ll literally toss her over his shoulder and drop her in (and then make up for it with kisses). his fingers will playfully toy with her bikini straps before she smacks his hand away.

and if she steps out in a red and yellow bikini? his brain short circuits. they end up 30 minutes late to the function.

wally west, who loves annoying her. when he asks her on a date while they’re in the relationship, and she says yes, he’ll immediately say “chat is this rizz?” to nobody.

a second after every kiss he’ll say “that was awesome sauce,” or “chat clip that.”

if they’re on a mission together and encounter bad guys, he’ll say “are we cooked?”. she’ll repeat “what does that mean?” while he’s just saying “i didn’t know bad guys were invited to the function,” or “no cap, we’re gonna mog these guys.”

wally west, who calls her every nickname under the sun. she has to check sometimes that he still remembers her name because of how often he actually calls her it.

the normal ones are okay. i can see him being a massive “babe”/“baby” guy. he also sometimes greets you with a “hey gorgeous,” or “hi beautiful,”

it’s the weird ones that he uses to tease. he’ll jump onto the couch beside her, giving a loud smooch to her cheek with a “hey sweet cheeks.” or he’ll put his head in her lap, grinning up at her before saying “what’s up honey bunches?”.

he ABUSES the line “what’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

wally west, who’ll sit in her space happily.

he’ll make himself comfortable in her bed with the floral bedsheets, setting down onto the silk pillow cases. he watches her do her skincare, and won’t protest if she dabs a bit of moisturiser on his face. if she asks to do a spa day with him, he’ll already have the headband pushing his short fringe up. he’ll watch her with stars in his eyes as she puts those under eye things on him.

wally west, who gets her siblings to come around to him. eventually.

dick was no problem, obviously. he was ecstatic to see his best friend and sister together (though he did threaten wally by reminding him how much he likes having kneecaps)

jason might be a little more difficult. he’s protective of the things he loves after loosing so much. wally respects that. he’ll give jason a casual compliment disguised as a passing remark if they pass each other, with a beaming smile on his face. jason will hum a little, and wally takes this as acceptance.

“you’re like a brother to me, jason.” “don’t push it, west.” “noted.”

tim was alright too. wally paid bart to really talk him up (subtly, of course). they were able to bond over niche video games. wally’s also pretty good at science, specifically physics, so they work together sometimes.

cass wasn’t hard either. reader brought wally to one of her ballet shows, and they gave her a bouquet of flowers after. wally congratulated her.

“i normally don’t have the patience for these things, but you were amazing up there.” and cass smiles and thanks him.

his mouth runs a million miles a minute, while cass rarely talks. he notices that she sometimes uses hand gestures to communicate, so he learns some of the common ones she uses. she’s able to read his body language when he’s around reader, and she can tell by the way he’s always turning to her that he likes her very much. wally gains cass’ approval to date her sister.

wally’s convinced that damian still hates him. reader claims that damian just doesn’t know how to show that he likes someone, but wally thinks that the narrowed eyes he gets from across the table every dinner is a sign in the opposite direction.

first time wally was at dinner, damian made a show of the sword on his side, patting it every so often. he also managed to mention that he knew how to gut a person, and wouldn’t mind some extra practise.

reader tuts at damian and tell him to stop, but he’ll just tilt his head up and claim that he’s making sure that wally is “worthy of someone at your level.”

wally west, who traces her scars with care. he’ll slow down for her. in fact, he likes it when their time is slow. lying on either the bed or couch, bodies together. his warm hands will slip under her shirt to feel her skin, his fingertips gently running along the scars from her years of being a vigilante.

his expression doesn’t change. it doesn’t form into one of discomfort, or confusion. his eyes don’t avert awkwardly. he’ll just kiss her shoulder and murmur words of adoration.

if she ever begins to feel unsure of her body or dislike, he’ll be there for kiss every inch of her skin, whispering words of praise and love.

wally west, who during the night, will hold reader close. his arms will be around her torso while hers are around his shoulders. he kisses under her jaw, saying “i love you,” quietly.

he prays she can’t hear his racing heart when she murmurs “i love you too,” into his hair.

[blueskittlesart]

I see you refer to Kris and Noelle as besties a lot. I haven't played the weird routes yet and I certainly don't know the normal route dialogue like the back of my hand, but I thought that Noelle and Kris were estranged family friends, not super close anymore, before the events of chapter 1. That view is specifically because of Noelle's private blog post about Kris from Spamton Sweepstakes (https://deltarune.com/kris_dreemurr_kris/). Noelle wrote, "Even then, with my eyes open, there were times when I wasn't even sure if we were friends." What do you think about this blog post?

well ok first of all when I called kris and noelle 'best friends' in my noelle post which im assuming is what this is about it was after about 3 paragraphs about how significantly they had drifted apart after dess's disappearance. I'd certainly not call them besties as things currently stand, but i think that BEFORE dess's disappearance and the player's takeover of kris they were at minimum the most consistent friend in each other's lives. the real point of that post was that i think they were probably significantly closer than noelle leads the player to believe based on her dialog alone, and that she is an unreliable narrator when it comes to she and kris's relationship. If I listed out every piece of evidence I can think of off the top of my head that she and kris were close this post would get insanely long, but literally just walking around her room in chapter 4 will paint you a pretty clear picture. she had a cactus named after them. and when she mentions that berdly renamed it kris gets pissed off about it in the flavor text afterwards.

as for that blog post, I kind of think taking that one line out of context does a disservice to the picture that is actually being painted here, because honestly I'd argue that the full text supports my point even more. full text of the post for context:

It's funny... there was a time when they were coming over almost every day. We'd play, and we'd play... then after a while, they would suddenly get very still, like they were remembering something. They'd go into the dining room to "get a snack," then after a few moments, I'd hear the piano. The first few times, I went into watch them play, but when they realized I was looking, they'd always shut the piano and come back. So over time, I just started staying on the couch in the living room. I'd lie there, listening to them play, sometimes for hours, sometimes even until I fell asleep. Even then, what were they thinking about me? Maybe they weren't thinking about me at all. They didn't have a piano at their house, so they probably just came over to use mine. Even then, with my eyes open, there were times when I wasn't even sure if we were friends. But when I closed my eyes, it felt like a concert just for me.

Yes, there's a level of removal going on here. Noelle doesn't quite understand kris's motivations and is struggling to contextualize their actions because of this. But I think it's important to remember that this blog post is recounting the memories of a young child, and written from the perspective of a teenager, so it would probably be a miracle if nothing got lost in translation. This is Noelle reflecting on a relationship which has very clearly changed drastically in recent years, and if there's one thing we know about noelle it's that she's avoidant as shit. It's nowhere near above her to recontextualize memories in her own head in order to make her previous relationship to kris feel less personal, so she won't have to feel as sad about losing a close friend. We literally watch her do this in real time in snowgrave--painting over and/or blocking out memories that scare and upset her in order to avoid reckoning with those feelings. I think she likely finds this easier to do with kris because kris seems to have been pretty introverted and kind of. weird in the ways they expressed affection towards her as a child (particularly the pranks she so often mentions) which makes it easier for her to spin their relationship as something obligational rather than true closeness. But because Kris was such a big part of her life for so long, her altered memories are still imperfect. In the same post where she says kris probably wasn't thinking about her at all she also mentions that kris was at her house every day and that she felt an intense personal connection to their music. And for what it's worth, there are at least two other pianos in town that kris easily could have used if all they wanted was to practice--one in the church's choir room and one in the hospital. They weren't at the holiday house purely to use that piano. more likely than not they really were playing for her.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Sad trauma HCs because I’m feeling angsty

Please be aware of discussions of triggering topics below including discussion of eating disorders, self harm, suicidal ideation, and anxiety and depression.

Also sorry for any possible errors/mistakes, I’m typing this on my phone at work

I’ve been thinking about this the last few days, but I think EJ has an eating disorder. In my canon, he was raised in a cult, and part of the process was that he was conditioned to eat human meat while being groomed as a sacrifice for the demon he fused with. As a human, human meat wasn’t appetizing to him, he didn’t enjoy it, but he did it because he didn’t have a choice. Now, however, as a demon, it tastes good. It bothers him, how he knows he was once human, how he hated eating humans then, how it disgusted him, but now it tastes so, so incredibly good, and now he actually needs it to survive. It makes him feel less human, makes him feel more like a monster, and causes him extreme distress. Sometimes he can go months and be fine, and sometimes he’s throwing up after every meal, refusing to eat for weeks, starving himself to the point of collapse, and Slender has to sit with him and help him eat to make sure he doesn’t starve to death. He never knows when his eating disorder is going to resurface once he has it back under control, and sometimes it’s a constant fear in the back of his mind. He hates this part of himself, knowing he’s the reliant doctor to the others constantly reminding them and helping them be healthy, and yet he can’t even help himself.

Jeff has a bad habit of burning himself on purpose. After the incident, after being intentionally tied up and set on fire, he couldn’t be around fire, couldn’t even look at it, for several years. He’s started working on getting used to it, and now he can be around it, although things like bonfires making him very uneasy and anxious, but smaller flames are fine. He’s got a little lighter he carries around sometimes, a nice metal one, and when he gets a little anxious he’ll flick the cap back and light it, just sitting and staring at the flame. However, sometimes, he hovers it just a little too close, holding it under his hands or his arms, or his legs, allowing the flame to lick at and burn his skin. He feels like he deserves it, like he should be punished for all he’s done. He used to do it more when he was in his late teens, and doesn’t do it as much in his 20s now (mostly due to Slender and Liu looking out for him and trying to keep an eye on him as they’re aware of this habit of his), but every now and then they’ll catch a new burn somewhere and know where it’s come from, especially with Jeff avoiding eye contact, his eyes dewy with unshed tears. It puts him into an unhealthy spiral of feeling ashamed of his burns and scars and hating the way they look and hating having them on his body, to feeling the compulsive need to continue to add more and more and more as a form of punishment and self loathing.

BEN has been trying to force himself to get used to water with what he’s been referring to as “exposure therapy” by himself, although it’s been making his trauma so much worse. He’s been having to adapt to how he showers in the years since he’s been at the mansion, using a mix of cleaning wipes and having someone help him shower, but his depression and anxiety have made his self hatred over his trauma spiral in recent years. When he thinks the house is empty he’ll fill his tub up as far as it’ll go, and force himself to sit in it. He sobs and shakes and screams until his body shuts down and he can’t even move, the water feeling suffocatingly chilling no matter how hot he runs it. It feels like a form of torture and harm, and it is, even if he won’t admit it. If he’s struggling particularly hard, he’ll submerge his head under the water. He doesn’t need to breathe as a ghost, even in physical form, so he can’t drown anymore, but sometimes he dreams of drowning and dying again while he’s under the water, a twisted part of him thinking he deserves it, just like his dad always said he did. Slender and BEN’s closer friends like Jeff and Toby have started catching on from how shaken and traumatized he seems whenever they return home, no matter okay he tries to present himself, and they’ve been making sure that BEN is no longer ever left completely alone in the house anymore. They’ve also been making sure whenever BEN needs to clean himself or shower, he no longer attempts it alone, and has to at least have someone in the room. BEN feels embarrassed, hates himself for being so weak he can’t even do it alone, no matter how much people try to reassure him that it’s okay and he’s not weak, that he just needs help and that’s okay.

Tim has started having severe anxiety attacks on a regular basis. While his own trauma isn’t that bad all things considered, he’s been trying to take everyone else’s onto his plate, been trying to help as many people as he can, and he’s overwhelming himself. He can’t handle the weight of trying to help so many traumatized people at the same time, his mind constantly running trying to think of who needs help, a shoulder to lean on, who needs comforting. Even trying to manage Toby alone is an extremely difficult task with his own level of trauma, but Tim is trying to juggle everyone at once. When he’s alone at the end of the day he collapses, sobbing and shaking and getting nauseous, sometimes throwing up from stress and anxiety, pushing his body to its limits. Some nights he can’t even sleep because he’s so overwhelmed, and that makes it so much worse. Brian and Slender have started catching on that something is wrong with Tim, but they haven’t fully caught on to the severity. He lays collapsed in a heap on his floor, eyes wide, breathing ragged, choking on the anxiety of taking on so many problems at once. Sometimes the others notice, politely deny his help when he offers it, noticing the dark circles and anxiety behind his eyes, telling him he should rest instead, but his inner perfectionist tells him he’s not trying hard enough. He’s become so dependent on being the responsible, dependable brother figure that he can’t be anything less than perfect at it.

[perseephoneee]

┈ ⟡ crash out [a frank langdon fic]

˖ 𐦍 CHAPTER 1: SOMEONE SAYS 'I DO'

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After returning from rehab and looking to earn forgiveness for his mistakes, Frank makes his way back to the Pitt Trauma Medical Center, where he discovers he's been given a supervisor to oversee his progress.

a/n: finally returning to this after crashing out for the past three weeks. can you even crash out for three weeks? it doesn't matter...i did it anyway

beta'd by the beautiful @eurydiceauxenfers <3

“I’ll bet you $10 this isn’t going to work,” you said, watching as Langdon operated. The patient had been injured on a construction site, and you both were arguing over the best way to treat them. While part of you was well aware that he usually had smart ideas for how to handle these situations, you also knew he responded best to competition.

“Then you are going to be $10 short and feeling very stupid,” Langdon laughed, eyes focused on his work. He seemed a lot more joyful than he was a few weeks ago when you first met him. 

“Don’t be a douche.”

“Can’t,” he shrugged. “Because I just succeeded.”

You bit back a smile as he finished off his work, standing back and gesturing to the nurses to bandage the patient up. You left the room, knowing he’d meet you later, as he finished cleaning up. 

You’d had no idea what to expect when Robby asked you to be Frank’s supervisor. You had heard from the rumor mill that he tended to be arrogant, had a hard time not being in control, and was close with Robby. Oh, and the whole stealing drugs thing. But the man you saw on the first day seemed more desperate and sad than anything. Challenging him in his work was the closest you got to seeing that version you were told of before. 

You had also heard him referred to as ER Ken, which gave you a certain idea of what he was supposed to look like. You were not disappointed. 

He’s married, you thought to yourself, looking at the board in central. You heard his footsteps a second later. You could always tell it was him because the steps always seemed hurried, much like a puppy. He wore a grin.

“You owe me $10.”

You raised a brow at him. “How about I just get you a drink from the vending machine and we call it even.”

Langdon pretended to think about it, even though you knew he had already decided. “Deal.”

“Good. We have a sick child in six.”

Langdon pouted. “There’s an amputation in three.”

“I don’t care,” you snorted, watching as his expression fell. You enjoyed that aspect of being his supervisor, getting to make him do whatever case you wanted. He didn’t complain…much. 

He made sure to stay a few paces behind you as you approached the curtain, announcing yourself as you opened it. A little girl, seven years of age, sat on the bed with her knees to her chest and a rabbit in her arms. She was frowning as her parents sat in the chairs next to her. 

“Hi Chloe, I’m Dr. L/N and this is my colleague Dr. Langdon,” you smiled, closing the curtain behind you. “What seems to be the problem?”

“She says her ears won’t stop hurting, and we gave her Tylenol, but it isn’t doing anything.” Her mom twisted her hands, looking anxiously between you and her daughter. You grabbed your otoscope and got closer to Chloe. You hummed as you looked inside both ears. 

“Any other symptoms?” Langdon asked as you examined her ears. 

“She said her head hurt a little bit, but we thought it was just from the strep,” her dad replied. 

“Strep?”

“She just got over strep throat,” the mom replied. You put away the otoscope.

“Her ears are very swollen, but it doesn’t look like the eardrums are affected. Her strep likely didn’t go away and moved to the sinuses, which gave her an infection,” you explained. You felt bad for the little girl. Her ears were so inflamed that you were shocked she wasn’t crying. “Dr. Langdon, what would you prescribe as treatment?”

“Another round of antibiotics, as well as oxycodone as needed for the pain,” Frank smiled, hands in his pockets. You nodded in agreement. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he replied. 

“Her ears right now are full of pockets of excess liquid. Her hearing might be slightly affected, but it’d only be temporary. At some point, the pockets will burst and drain out naturally. If they don’t go away and she’s still in pain after finishing the antibiotics, you should come back in.”

“Thank you so much,” the mom smiled gleefully, giving her daughter a kiss on the head. You noticed Frank tense up out of the corner of your eye. 

“We’ll write you a prescription now for everything,” you nodded, opening the curtain and stepping out with Frank behind you. He seemed quieter than before. 

“What’s wrong, Langdon?” you asked, bumping his shoulder. He looked down at you, plastering on a smile. 

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You never do, cupcake,” he grinned, walking backwards towards the ER entrance. You frowned at the nickname. You don’t remember when he started calling you cupcake, but you didn’t always appreciate it. 

“Where are you going?” you called out, arms crossed.

“STEMI incoming, and I’m going to beat the record.”

“Like hell you are,” you grumbled, following after him. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to do something. The STEMI rolled in a moment later. You both ran alongside the gurney as you wheeled it into the emergency OR… 

Langdon did not beat the record (neither did you). But the guy survived, so all in a day’s work. Things managed to calm down a little bit, and you found yourself taking a breather in the break room. You slumped against the wall with a Rice Krispies treat, staring a hole into the opposite wall. The door creaked open, and Frank slumped down next to you.

You sat in companionable silence.

“Wanna see me shotgun this Red Bull?” He asked, holding up the can.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” you responded. “But yes.”

It went about as poorly as expected. Frank’s scrubs were now covered in the energy drink. But it made you laugh, actually snorting laughing. He was an idiot, one whom you were in charge of.

“Glad my failures entertain you.”

“Always,” 

Frank smiled. You were waiting to see the smile reach his eyes, but you knew progress was slow. You cleared your throat. 

“What happened earlier?”

“Earlier?”

“With the kid. You got kinda…distant.”

Frank looked down at his hands. He played with the wedding band on his finger, twisting it around. You observed the action.

“I just haven’t seen Tanner in a while,” Frank admits. “And it’s hard.”

“You haven’t?” He wore his friendship bracelet everywhere. Frank wore Tanner’s friendship bracelet everywhere, you’d noticed. You knew he had to be the light of his life. “How—?”

“Abby left me,” Frank shrugged. You felt your heart drop. “After the…she was mad at me. For lying. For everything.” Langdon ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen him since. Courts are still figuring out custody.” He takes his ring off, holding it up in front of you both. “And I didn’t want people to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m fine,” Frank forced a smile, in a way a totally not fine person would. 

What do you do in this situation? Sit and empathize, you guess. You’ve prided yourself on being good at comforting, but you didn’t always know what to say. 

“Do you mind not telling anyone?” Frank murmured. God, he looked like a wounded puppy with those eyes. 

“Of course I won’t.” You paused for a second. “Would working on the amputee make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

~ * ~

You’re not sure why you did it. Following your co-worker home was never a good idea. Following the mystery that was Frank Langdon was a worse idea. But you couldn’t get that look of his out of your mind, nor the way he held his ring like he wasn’t sure if he should toss it or cherish it. And frankly, you were nosy. 

You follow a little bit behind him as he walks. Luck had it that he didn’t drive to work (your snooping would’ve ended then), but that didn’t leave many options in the closest area. He didn’t ride the bus either. He walked for several blocks, and there were a few close calls where you would roll into the bushes very sleek and cool like a movie spy. You were kidding yourself; you fell into the bushes like a flying squirrel. 

Thoughts of squirrel-like tendencies left your mind as you watched him enter the three-star hotel near the hospital. 

Well, shit.

[authenticcadence18]

phinabella with prompt 25?

25. “…..as a yes.”

(there’s a reference to season 5 in here, fyi!)

AO3

Kiss Prompts

…

Isabella watched her footing as she ventured into the dimly lit gymnasium, cautiously dancing over bits of broken glass and charred confetti butterflies.

Phineas sat in the epicenter of the calamity, the eye in a hurricane of an invention gone haywire, a few limp flowers clutched in his hands.

“Phineas?” she whispered.

He glanced up as she approached, heart catching in his throat because oh.

“….your hair.”

“My hair?”

Isabella’s hands rose to gingerly cup the curls framing her face.

“It looks different, huh?”

“It looks beautiful,” Phineas uttered.

Isabella’s eyes widened, face flushing pink at the unexpected compliment.

“You’re beautiful,” Phineas continued, “you’re so beautiful and I’m so……”

He gestured around himself.

“….so…..busted.”

It had been foolish. To agree to set up for the school dance last minute when their class sponsor caught a cold bad enough that even a teacher couldn’t be expected to suck it up and push through it. To insist on working totally alone so Ferb and the rest of their friends could go to dinner with their dates (or “stag” as Buford and Baljeet put it, they “totally weren’t going together-together” but Phineas didn’t buy that) before arriving. To completely change the theme in an attempt to impress a certain neighbor of his.

He’d thought that maybe. Just maybe. He’d create the perfect dance for her: a butterfly garden, complete with flowers and twinkling rainbow lights and red velvet desserts as far as the eye could see. And then Isabella would arrive and understand, innately, that he’d done it all for her and she’d feel so special and so seen and maybe possibly start seeing him in a more-than-platonic light!!! And then……

And then nothing.

Because Phineas could’ve quit while he was ahead. The gym had been gorgeous, perfectly beautiful but perfectly ordinary. He’d HAD to try and reverse engineer the birthday surprise he built Isabella years ago, to figure out how it summoned butterflies. But instead of butterflies, something went very wrong with the laser light show.

And this was the result.

A battered gymnasium. Broken DJ equipment. Splintered fairy lights. Inedible desserts.

There would be no dance. No chance to sweep Isabella off her feet. No jovial evening shared with friends.

They’d all be so disappointed in him. And he’d likely be in a heap of trouble (though, was the school not partially to blame for this, since he’d been working unsupervised?)

“You’re here early,” Phineas mused as Isabella knelt beside him. “Dance isn’t supposed to start for another hour and a half.”

Emphasis on “supposed” to. Phineas doubted anyone could dance over broken glass.

“Ferb told me you were here all by yourself.”

Maybe Isabella had given up on Phineas liking her romantically, but she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of him setting up an entire dance all alone. She knew firsthand how arduous this sort of thing was, what with all her extra-curriculars, and she loved helping others, especially Phineas, so…

“I came to see if you needed help. Like old times, you know? …and that offer still stands.”

Her words made Phineas’s chest ache with longing because of course she came to help him. Of course she was here, knelt beside him on the dirty floor, sparkling mauve dress and golden wedges and glittering eyeshadow and all.

How did he get so lucky to have a friend like her?

Isabella took a moment to survey the damage.

“I bet we could get this cleaned up in an hour. If we hustle!! We’ve accomplished harder things in an hour. I’ll sweep up the glass, and you can repair the sound booth, and then we’ll tackle the food. But….”

She’d been expecting to enter the gym and be awash with gaudy Eiffel Towers and stacks of Parisian pastries and curly cues and garish pink lights.

“I’m a bit confused, wasn’t the theme supposed to be ‘A Night in Paris’? I saw the decorations Ms. Chesterfield prepared, but everything in here looks like it was brand new.”

“Well, I overheard you say you hated the theme to Holly…..” Phineas replied sheepishly. “I just wanted you to have a nice time.”

Isabella froze, heart catching in her chest as the full implications of Phineas’s words dawned on her.

“….you did this…for me?”

“I mean of course it was for our friends and classmates too! A Night in Paris is a pretty generic theme—no offense to Ms. Chesterfield of course she was working with what she had on a limited budget!!—but. Uh. Well. I guess if it wasn’t for you I….wouldn’t have minded the Paris stuff so much. That was a fun day, when we went to Paris.”

He hung his head and mumbled, “And I should’ve just stuck with Paris, this is what I get for rushing and not thinking clearly.”

“So,” Isabella said, long dormant butterflies slowly stirring in her stomach, “…you did all this to impress me?”

“Well, yes and no? I just wanted you to feel special, I wanted to make you happy, and okay maybe a selfish little part of me hoped you’d be impressed and realize that I—uh….that I…….ugh…….”

Now this truly was a calamity.

“….Phineas…”

Isabella gazed at the boy who’d captured her heart so long ago, daring to consider a possibility that, actually, didn’t seem all that far fetched if she really thought about the last few years.

(I mean he’d showed up to all of her soccer games with a different personalized jersey with her number on it. And organized a massive bake sale to help the debate team when they lost funding. And the first thing he did upon seeing her tonight was call her beautiful. She almost felt silly for not putting it together sooner.)

“Do you….like me? Is that what this is about?”

Phineas felt his entire body flinch, nervous system on red alert, anxiety spiking and sending his heart rate skyrocketing.

This was not happening this could not be happening this could not be how Isabella realized his feelings for her.

“Because, you know….”

Isabella slid her hand across the scratched tile until it met his, gingerly resting her fingers atop his knuckles.

“I never needed big inventions to be impressed by you. Well. Except for that one time, with the pogo stick? To be fair, i was mostly just confused that day rather than needing to be impressed, a plain pogo stick just didn’t seem like you at all. But WOW I should’ve trusted you, that was an awesome day!!!!!!!!!”

She gently touched his shoulder, and Phineas slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze.

“I love your inventions, Phineas. I love them because they’re yours. I think you’re a genius, but what really impresses me is how you use all that knowledge to make others happy.”

She lifted her hand to his face, running her thumb over the freckles dotting his cheek.

“And you really are handsome, you know.”

Phineas could barely breathe, between Isabella’s compliments and close proximity and her hand was so soft and she was still holding his face oh God.

“….Isabella?” he managed to squeak

“Do….do you….like me?”

Isabella just smiled, sliding her hand to grasp the back of Phineas’s head as she leaned in close.

Close enough to count his freckles.

Close enough to meet his nose with her own.

Close enough to…

To…

They stayed suspended for a moment, taut between friendship and something new and far more fragile.

But when Phineas reached out to cup Isabella’s face, reverently brushing a few curls behind her ear, well.

That was all the confirmation she needed.

Phineas had more or less figured out where this was headed and yet, when Isabella kissed him, he couldn’t help but gasp, which made her laugh, which made him laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!” he giggled, shifting closer to her. “Can we try that again?”

Isabella gave him a playful smirk as she wrapped her arms around his neck and wove her fingers through his hair.

“Phineas, I thought you’d never ask.”

….

And then they cleaned up the gym and the dance was fine and all their friends had fun, hooray!!!!!

Thank you for the request!!!! I will be posting this on ao3 as well and will link to it here😁

[trashcatkid]

SKIPS SHADLEY APPEARANCE HEADCANONS

I love Skips, super adorable, his design could use a bit more UMPH. So here's my Skips headcanons.

• He used to straighten, but over the years, he’s been working with his slightly wavy hair (think 2a). Heat damage and humidity are a bitch so embracing what he's got is easier than fighting it. He still does tease it to all hell, though.

• If it's too hot, he’ll put his hair up with a claw clip or half-up bun, BUT bangs are still out. Examples here:

BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

• He has makeup, but it is sparse! It's all questionable/drugstore brands. In a tiny pencil bag is: black gel pencil eyeliner, black lipstick that's EXCLUSIVELY sold during Halloween, white foundation that he has to mix since the formula is separating (he doesn’t put it on a lot and has kinda had it for a while), eyeshadows in black, red (rare use), and grey. No brushes in sight. He puts it all on with his fingers or a Q-tip IF he wants to be precise for once.

• Open to you putting makeup on him so long as it kinda looks like it would fit him, ex; corpse paint, graphic liners, vampy, etc. His only request is that he’s lying down while you put makeup on him which is his excuse to get you on top of him. Definetly wouldn't be leaving the house if you snuck in a full glam insta baddie look, would be super embarrassed cause how the fuck is he supposed to look mysterious now??!!!??!!!? You're fucking up his brand lmao

• Not looks, but I had to throw it in. Have you been in a Hot Topic? Because he always smells like a Hot Topic, earthy and sweet. I mean, look at him! How could he not?

• Piercings: eyebrow piercing, double nose (one side), venom, snake eyes (textured for your pleasure), had a spider bite but had to take them out, one nipple piercing he had to get because he lost a bet to Benji, stretched lobes, two more above his stretched ear lobes, helix on both sides, and a double helix on one ear. He's done a few of these himself.

• Tattoos: Spider on his hip, his roleplay character in a really cool piece on his back, Pierce the Veil lyrics close to his inner elbow saying "With heaven above you" on one, and continuing on the other "there's hell over me", Ouroboros on his right ankle, eclipse on his left forearm, will DEFINETLY be getting a portrait of you, and few smaller ones in reference to some of his favorite games/shows/movies/music.

• When you first met him, he was definitely in a more relaxed and casual look, but oh boy, can he stack on jewelry like crazy when he wants to. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, you name it, he's putting it on. Every piece is all studded, spiked, skulls, creepy crawlies, or leather, or a combination of all of these things.

[prettypinkporkchop]

REQUEST!!

Seth Clearwater x alt human reader

Bella and reader go with each other to check on Jacob. Paul Lahote obviously went to his wolf form and hurts reader before Jacob can jump in, while reader falls down, Seth and reader make eye contact and he imprints :3 then a fight breaks out between Seth and Paul because obviously Paul hurt Seth's imprint

(would this be classed as breaking sam's rules of imprints not being harmed? Idk 😭)

(A/N: we are changing things up a bit here. Seth is 19 in this story. He shifted before his father died and before Leah. He's already with Sam, Jared, Paul, and Embry. The pic of him above is how he looked irl when he was 19, so we use that as a reference here!)

"Bella, don't piss me off."

Seth Clearwater x alt fem reader

Warnings:

You have lived in Forks forever. You're well aware of Jacob and all of them guys on the rez because you work in a diner that they frequently go to. You know them all by name.

Bella is already walking out of her truck to confront the guys. You groan and roll down the window. "Bella, don't piss me off." You say.

She turns to you for a moment before walking further towards the shirtless guys.

This is what you get for befriending the most curious and nosey girl.

You sigh and stare out the window to be sure everything is okay. You notice Paul is getting heated. You know he's a hotheaded guy. You instantly get out of the truck.

"Bella! Leave them alone!" You call out. Your boots stomp the wet ground.

Before you can reach them, she slaps Paul.

Your eyes widen, and you run over there to pull her away. As you get to her and pull her arm so she's away from them, you feel pain in your back.

You scream and fall on the ground. The pain is so bad. You hear loud roaring, and you look to see a gigantic wolf.

Embry and Jared go over to you in a panic. Seth follows behind them, and you meet Seth's gaze.

You feel something. Something... powerful and strange. Momentarily, the pain is forgotten. Until he turns into a wolf and runs to Paul. Then, you're back to reality, and so is the pain.

"Hey, hey, goth chick.. breathe. We're gonna get you help." Jared says in a panic.

Embry glares at Jared. "That's not her name, idiot." He turns to you with soft eyes. "Hey, it's going to be okay. Sam is getting help."

--- you pass out ---

SETH'S POV:

I bite Paul's neck. He whimpers but in his mind, he's yelling at me.

"SETH! STOP! I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN TO-"

I shut him up by knocking him against a tree. Paul lies against the tree. He's not fighting back but I'm so angry...

Suddenly, Sam appears and I can hear his thoughts. "Seth! Stop! Now!"

---- Back to you ---

You wake up to pain on your back. You groan and roll over onto your side.

"Hey, hey.. don't move too much." A voice speaks. It's familiar.

You open your eyes to see you're in a random bedroom. You look over and see Seth Clearwater. Your eyes meet, and you relax instantly. You smile at him and sigh.

He doesn't smile back. He's staring at you with worry. He swallows hard, wondering if you remember the events that took place.

Oh, you do. After a few seconds of coming to, it all hits you.

Wolves.

You cover your mouth slowly as you stare at Seth.

Seth nods his head and looks away. "Figured you'd remember. I hate that it happened this way.." He whispers.

You're confused as hell. Also, why the hell does it feel like he is an Angel you've been missing forever?

Seth stands up and walks over to the side of the bed. He crouches down. His face and few inches away. He brushes a strand of hair from your face. "There's a lot to explain." He searches your eyes. Then, suddenly he slowly starts to smile. "God, you're beautiful." He rubs his thumb over your cheek.

🫦

[somewheres-woods]

I feel like T'ainkui is more curious of the little human than anything, I have no doubt we would see him develop feelings for her, but for now, he's slowly accepting her existence in the clan, mfker is both arrogant and prideful, he would rather fight a queen alien rather than be honest with himself . Down the line, I can imagine him fighting another yautja for having any interest in her. Like, he would yell at her for going out and about and demanding her to stay inside, but that's because he cares for her and doesn't want anybody, especially the males, to get too close to her. His methods are questionable, but that's just him not being honest with his feelings for her. Also, the mentor's just watch their relationship blooms on the sidelines. Also, getting some gossip materials with the other older yautja females

*Them ! I prefer to use they/them when referring to the reader.

I respectfully disagree with this interpretation! You do raise some points I generally agree with, but I'll explain it, don't worry!

Your first point about T'ainkui slowly accepting their existence in the clan is correct. He takes a while to warm up to others, and Reader is no exception. But despite being arrogant, he can accept that others do have strength in certain areas of expertise.

It's not that he is incapable of being honest, he's actually too honest sometimes. When he does eventually come around to the idea of feeling things for Reader, it'll be slow and hesitant.

Think of it like Beauty and The Beast!

You need to be slow and patient with him, or else he'll reject the idea of entertaining his "feeble curiosities".

As for how you view the relationship with him down the line... I completely disagree.

T'ainkui, for all his aggression and arrogance, is not controlling. Possessive? Yes, but not to the point of trying to isolate Reader. In order to be in a relationship with him, he needs to respect you. He won't be mates with someone he doesn't respect.

In yautja culture, I personally believe that relationships are generally seen as open until shown otherwise. If two are in a relationship and they only want to be with each other, that's fine. Respected even. However, if another comes along and is interested in one, fighting for their affection is seen as an acceptable challenge.

Yautja value strength in their society.

Some get annoyed by these challenges, and others understand that strength triumphs.

Very few yautja stay with the one they were originally mated to if they lost. They only stay if there's a deep bond between them. But those who have a deep bond in the first place will reject the challenge directly instead of entertaining it. Unless the two are looking for some cruel amusement or for a chance to show off to their mate lol.

So, no, T'ainkui would not yell at his human mate for speaking with others or try to lock them indoors. That behaviour isn't healthy! Even for yautja standards.

As for Reader's mentor, she's not the kind of warrior to be in gossip groups. She's actually considered the clan weirdo, often keeping to herself simply because she enjoys her own company. The relationship she sees between Reader and their chosen yautja partner, is more of an amusement to her than something she's heavily invested in. She's a loner, but she's respected as an Elder and the clan's Witch Doctor.

[sapphicides]

please write that nastylot meta if you feel so inclined!!! i’m a believer as well <3

i’m not sure how coherent or well-written this will be but i have SO many thoughts on their dynamic(s) so i’m gonna try my best to put them together

i think what makes nastylot so compelling to me is that all three of these women have been ostracized or outcasted in some way. either by society, their friends, their families, or some combination of all 3, misty, natalie, and lottie are all intimately familiar with what it means to be “othered.” this seems to bleed into all of their romantic relationships, as well, with lottie being the only main character without a canon love interest, misty’s multiple failed attempts at dating, and natalie’s inability to achieve stability with any of her partners

… which is why it makes perfect sense to me that these would be the three characters most open to polyamory out of anyone. lottie seems like the most obvious candidate for someone who would be into it— out of all three of them, i think she’s the one who craves togetherness and community the most. misty’s desperation is more evident in her drastic and, oftentimes, outright dangerous attempts to get people to pay attention to/like her, but, unlike lottie, misty never really stoops to the point of changing herself for anyone. instead, misty hovers around people like a lost puppy looking for its owner, hoping they’ll see her for what she’s worth if they only get to know her. lottie, on the other hand, takes the opposite approach, projecting an image of stability and leadership while hiding the parts of herself she’s been taught to hate (see: her mental illness)

misty and natalie both have something lottie wants desperately: the ability to be completely and utterly themselves. misty never changes for anyone, despite many people’s attempts at getting her to. natalie is similar in this way, maintaining her sense of morality no matter how bad shit gets in the wilderness + being one of the only survivors who openly admits that what happened to them was traumatizing despite the unspoken agreement to never acknowledge it. lottie, on the other hand, falls so deeply into this role of prophetess that she built in the wilderness that she maintains it into adulthood, creating an entire commune that surrounds her with worshippers so that she can feel connected to people after being isolated and ostracized in her youth, no matter how empty or fickle that connection is

the thing that sets lottie’s connections to misty and natalie apart, though, is that they’re based in the harshest parts of reality that the other survivors tend to look away from: the shared trauma, the innate understanding of one another’s desire for intimacy, and the knowledge that each of them are so fundamentally damaged that they will likely never receive it in anyone but each other. so of course lottie is the key here. she’s the one who proposes the idea of polyamory, likely positing it as a spiritual thing and asserting the importance of the collective (think about how she referred to shauna’s baby as “our baby;” how she acknowledged the wilderness as “just us;” how she’s often speaking in “we”s in both timelines)

misty may initially reject this— despite her desire for a romantic relationship, she’s very much a traditionalist in how she views romance. she has an idyllic perspective on what a relationship should look like, often falling into this dreamy fantasy and imposing unrealistic expectations on the guys she’s interested in. she convinces herself she’s dating ben because, in her mind, it’s a fun, thrilling teenage romance when, in actuality, it’s a nonexistent, one-sided relationship that would be extremely disturbing if it were ever to actually materialize. she even does this with walter, romanticizing him before realizing that he can’t provide her with the emotional support or understanding she actually needs. and i think she realizes this at some point in season 2, on the commune with natalie and lottie and the other remaining survivors who actually do understand her, and that’s when she opens herself more to the idea of polyamory

even though i can see her showing some hesitancy, much like lottie, misty also values the idea of community and would likely open herself up to polyamory more quickly than natalie. where i think natalie’s main issue lies, however, is not with her holding onto some vague idea of monogamy being the “right” way to have a relationship (she was a punk kid in the 90s, trust me she doesn’t give a fuck about that) but moreso with her own commitment issues. i think her issues with her father influenced her in such a way that she began associating emotional intimacy with her dad’s violent outbursts from a very early age. on top of this, her mother seems to have been emotionally distant up until she died, setting a bad example for her from the time she was a young girl that never corrected itself

she’s known to have a lot of hookups in high school and this seems to continue well into adulthood, but there’s a reason they tend to stay as hookups rather than full-on relationships. travis is the closest thing to a real relationship she had and that was far from stable— except for her dynamics with misty and lottie, which seem to not only mimic romantic relationships in the adult timeline (her and misty working together to solve travis’ death, her becoming lottie’s right-hand woman completely unintentionally and “adopting” lisa with lottie) but provide her that sense of stability she can never seem to associate with relationships in both timelines (misty and lottie protecting her from the others in the wilderness, misty and lottie saving her from herself as her addiction/mental health issues spiral in adulthood)

this is also something natalie realizes in season 2 while on the commune— think about how she was initially so wary of lottie, only to give her trust over to her completley. think about how she was initially confrontational with misty, only to be genuinely happy to see and involve her when she joins them. after a while, i think natalie would realize what a critical part of her healing journey letting go of her commitment issues is and ultimately allow herself to be loved and love both of these women; not just from a distance, but as an actual romantic partner

and that is precisely what makes nastylot the most feasible polyamorous relationship out of anyone imo. each one of these girls has something to gain from entering an established partnership with the others, and each of them have a unique, mutual dynamic with both of the others that makes the idea of them entering a relationship entirely believable. i love love love most polyjackets ships but what makes nastylot so compelling to me is its genuine canon basis that a lot of other ships just don’t have

but don’t get me wrong here: i can absolutely meta-ize just about any polyjackets ship involving the main cast. so if anyone has any requests… my ask box happens to be open hehe

[heartforce830]

Ideas to have have your COD Reader Insert be more inclusive

a common topic in Cod Reader inserts is inclusivity and what can break the immersion of its the reader(or their OC Fill in). I’m here to show some ways to still have descriptions while being more inclusive

It’s okay if you intend the Reader Insert to be Female, Male or Gender Neutral(ditto if they are feminine, masculine or in between). Just remember to properly mention if say it’s Fem!Reader fic. People always appreciate a head up

Try to avoid stuff like color description when talking about stuff like hair and eyes. Ditto for hair textures like straight, wavy etc. Usually hair and eyes work just fine on its own and tend to flow better too. There are other ways to still have hair descriptions like” messy/tangled hair” or tied up/ pulled up”, at worse it’s a specific length. Ditto for eyes, like say if the reader’s eyes are red from crying/or just woke up from a nightmare

Stuff like Scars are okay. It makes sense if the reader is say in 141. Most won’t bat an eye at something the reader probably had picked up over the years. Or if they are a player insert(Bell for Example), it would make sense if they had a gunshot wound(since Bell was canonically shot in Cold War

If you want to avoid the dreaded blushing, you can say stuff along the line of “you felt heated” or “you started to warm up”. Ditto for marking , you can often just say”visible markings or just markings(or just say specifically bruises, welts etc) instead of mentioning the color red when describing them. When talking about skin, you say along the line “the fire made your skin glow”. Pale can be fine to use as a description since it usually refers to temporary lost of color

This is more for Fem!Readers(but can work as well for Male and Gender Neutral). In terms of height, try to keep in mind the average height of a woman(5,6-5,10). At worst, the description may be that the reader’s head may have to be tilted to look at their love interest. Again, properly list if the reader is intended to be petite/small or along the line of that

This is more a name thing, but if you don’t want to use y/n, try to avoid giving the reader a name. It can break the immersion if the reader keeps being called something like Lisa. Code names and Fake names are perfectly(ditto if you want to use nicknames). Or even if they are a player insert(again Bell as a example), you can simply use the name given to the player character for them

I hope this helps for people struggling to write inclusive reader inserts without sacrificing description much. I love to hear your thought in comments and Reblogs and please share for others to see

[blankfairy]

All Things Devour | Chapter 1

Samsa Waters is a bastard. A noble bastard, but a bastard nonetheless. She knows — and her aunt so often reminds her — that if she wants anything in this world of politics, war, and dragons, she’ll have to fight for it. Tooth and claw. Luckily, for a child of House Vesgar — an ancient family of Valyrian bloodmages — neither are in short supply.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Original Character(s), Aemond Targaryen/Original Character(s).

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Period-Typical Attitudes, Misgendering of a Trans Character.

Read on AO3!

I'm not really sure where this ride is taking me, nor how soon updates will come, but I've had chapter one of this fic ready for a while now, and I thought, fuck it. Let's do this. I wanna give a quick but huge thank you to everyone who's supported me as I wrote, either through encouragement, feedback, or beta reading! My partner dogboykennedy, my dear friend amarithian, darkwolf76 (everyone go check out her amazing fic, Children of Bone and Blood!), and everyone in the HOTD Hub discord for putting up with my incessant questions! ^^" Note: This is, essentially, an ASOIAF/Resident Evil crossover — if you're the least bit familiar with RE, you'll know — with an OC focus. Prior Resident Evil knowledge definitely not required. There are a few characters in this fic who are transgender, non-binary, or generally gender nonconforming, Samsa being one of them. I use she/her pronouns for her for simplicity. There is also a trans male character who is not always gendered correctly by other characters and, in reference to his daughter, is called 'mother.' Please take careful note if that's something that causes you distress or dysphoria.

The Red Keep reeked of death. When Samsa parted her lips and scented the air, the taste spread across her tongue like melting fat — thick and buttery, cloying in its sweetness. It grew so overwhelming the deeper she and her aunt proceeded within Maegor’s Holdfast, that by the time they reached the king’s chambers, her head was throbbing.

Meat. Fear-scent. Game, spoiled by the chase. Flesh, lost to rot. She had butchered quarry that stunk like this. Deer with fatty liver and rabbits with white-freckled intestines. The illness ruined it all. Samsa eyed the crack beneath King Viserys Targaryen’s door, inhaled the air soaked in sickness and sweetsmoke, and decided then and there that there would be no saving him. Three-and-ten, self-decidedly wise to the ways of life and death and the powers that kept each at bay, she wondered if Alyx’s game was worth playing at all.

The king will die, Samsa had reasoned, clutching the curl of parchment scrawled and sealed by Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King. Words not meant for girls named Waters, but she’d read them all the same. Best he does it under the maester’s watch, not ours.

Alyx had only given her a sly smile, the one she’d once shared with Samsa’s father, and told her to start packing her things. Now, she fussed with her hair as if she were still a babe. Even bastards must look their best. Especially bastards.

“Easy, kēlitsos.” Alyx’s deft fingers combed through Samsa’s blond locks, freshly cut at her shoulders. “Nervous, are you?”

“I’m not nervous,” Samsa countered. Perhaps it would have been wise to be. A pair of voices murmuring behind the door pricked her ears. She tried to parse their owners out as Alyx pinned her hair back with a sliver of polished black rib bone. A whisper, hoarse with exhaustion, then a woman’s, firm but coated in worry. Viserys and the queen?

She felt a tug at the back of her head and hissed. “Watch it!”

“Hush,” Alyx tutted. “You won’t do that in front of the king.”

“Do what?”

“Act like a child.” Alyx released Samsa’s hair and circled her, studying her as though she were choosing new tapestries for Arlior Ānogrion’s receiving hall. “Disregard, disobey, or ignore me…”

The voices caught again, harsh whispers. If only she could hear what they were arguing about…

“Stare,” Alyx pressed up at the underside of Samsa’s chin with a sharp finger, “with your mouth agape like a simpering fool.” Her gaze, an indigo as rich as the sky at dusk, was cool and hard. Still, Samsa found her threats harder to take seriously now that Alyx had to look up into her eyes to scold her.

“I would not dream of disrespecting our king, my lady,” Samsa replied, pushing her hand away. “I’m only listening.”

“Listening,” Alyx echoed. “Fine. Yes. Perhaps try not to look so foolish when you do.”

“I’ll behave.” Samsa offered a smile and felt her canine teeth poke her lip. “Perhaps you should have some faith in me.”

“I had faith in your father.” Alyx touched Samsa’s clasp, a bronze pair of prancing chimeras clutching each side of her crimson wool cloak, and straightened it out with a tug. “And we know where he found himself.”

A burning scent pricked Samsa’s nostrils. Her smile faltered. She set back her shoulders and knit her hands behind her back. “Have I been preened to your liking, my lady?”

Alyx smoothed her hands over her own dress; a modest gown of black linen, with red silk peeking from slits in the fabric like blood blossoming from a wound. A light chain belt, smoky Valyrian steel, hung from her waist, and rubies flashed at her ears. “Well enough. There’s only so much I can do.”

  Alyx hadn’t even tried persuading Samsa into a dress. A black doublet with crimson cotton sleeves, embroidered in gold thread at the neck and sharp shoulders, was appropriate for meeting the king and queen, though perhaps not for a young girl. Her long cloak hid the menswear well enough; her dark pants and laced leather boots, not so much.

“How kind of you to say so,” Samsa said, watching as Alyx’s face pinched in resigned displeasure. She took a long, deep breath.

The voices grew louder. Samsa could hear them more clearly now: one man and one woman in disagreement. She let her hands fall to her sides. “The Hand will not be greeting us today.”

“Dāria?”

Samsa nodded. The queen. That was well enough; Alyx had known Alicent as a girl, naught more than a companion to Princess Rhaenyra, before she had ever worn the crown. Still, Alyx ironed out her posture, the lingering folds in her dress.

A moment later, the doors heaved open. A knight of the Kingsguard greeted them. “You may enter.”

“Come. Rȳbās,” her aunt said, urging her with a soft touch to her back. “And do not speak unless spoken to.”

Samsa dipped her head in silent obedience. As she looked back up, she spotted a flash of white at the end of the hallway. Ghostly curls, a pale face. Dark, wide eyes gawked at her from behind the hall’s last column. She reached for Alyx’s sleeve to point them out, but when she blinked, the face was gone. The doors heaved open, and the queen’s voice beckoned.

When all the pleasantries and greetings were said and done, Alyx spread her spidery fingers and slunk them over each pock and crag marring King Viserys’ face. Between the now overwhelming scent of rot and the hard, discomforted looks the queen had been giving her since she set foot in the room, Samsa tried not to grimace.

Alyx hummed, undisturbed by anything but her subject. “These years have not been kind to you, my dear.”

Viserys chuckled hoarsely, and with little joy. “Kinder to you, to be certain. You look as though you were never…”

“I am well. Don’t fret.” Alyx gave a practiced smile. “The gods exact their toll on each of us.”

And some of us have a higher price to pay, Samsa thought. For all the horror it was, the king’s face was a marvel, too. She found herself attempting to peer past Alyx when she blocked her vision, listing each of his possible afflictions in her mind. Sweetrot, yellowgum, wormbone, butterfly fever, brownleg — none seemed to fit. Alyx would comb her for her thoughts afterwards, and she knew to be ready.

“Some of us more than others,” Viserys wheezed. All he seemed to speak in were wheezes and coughs.

“And the pain?”

“It feels as though it grows worse by the day,” he told Alyx. She touched his cheek, gaunter than any man’s Samsa had seen before. The skin was discolored, red with irritation and black with something else. “Some days I can hardly find the strength to eat.”

“That will do you no good, Your Grace. You must try.” Alyx felt down the side of Viserys’ neck, shoulder, and where his arm should have been, ignoring his flinches of pain.

Samsa observed the queen as they spoke. Alicent watched, her body coiled tight like a spring, ready to pounce the moment Alyx pushed too far. They had never been friends, she knew; Alyx had been Aemma’s lady-in-waiting and a guiding voice to Princess Rhaenyra, not Alicent, but Samsa had expected more familiarity and less unease. When Alyx declared she was unsure of the cause of the king’s illness and turned to Alicent to seek her own account, the queen was tense, terse, and gave a smile that convinced no one of her courtesy.

“You’re sure you can help?” she asked, touching the seven-pointed pendant laying across her clavicle.

“Of course,” Alyx answered. “I’ve brought my best. Your maesters have done well, but some things cannot compare to what House Vesgar can offer.” She clasped her hands at her waist and took a step closer, her belt clinking gently against itself. “Still, I should like to meet with the Grand Maester. Orwyle now, is it?” There was a kind of sparkling satisfaction in her eyes — she had never been fond of Mellos, nor Mellos of her.

“Grand Maester Orwyle, yes.” Queen Alicent gave a nod. “I’ll have him visit your chambers once you’re settled.”

“Sooner rather than late,” Alyx said. She looked at Viserys and smiled. “I’d like to start today. If it please you, Your Grace.”

“It would,” The king replied, managing to smile. “Please. We grew up together, my lady. Viserys.”

Alyx nodded deeply. “If his Grace commands.”

They shared a short, gentle laugh as both Samsa and Alicent watched on, silent. For a moment, there was kinship in their frustration, in being nothing more than an outsider. Was she thinking of Aemma, Samsa wondered? The dead queen she had replaced? The familiarity flickered out like a candle the moment she remembered it was the queen that stood beside her, not an equal with jealousy to share.

It could have been hers once. The life Alyx and her father, Albyn, had lived long before she was born. Highborn, companions to dragonriding royalty, living in the shadow of the Iron Throne. Samsa knew she was foolish, immature, petty for thinking so; Alyx had told her as such time and time again. She didn’t even want it, for a creature like her had no place in the Red Keep; not sewing with the princess or sparing with the princes. Yet, the jealousy remained. If only her father had had the decency to wed her mother before having his way...

She’d dreamed of her proper name, her chambers in the Red Keep, of dragonriding; sneaking into the Dragonpit to claim a beast of her own. She had enough Valyrian blood, she thought… But so had her father, and it had hardly done him any good.

The laughter lulled until it was nothing but a buzzing echo in Samsa’s ears. Alyx bowed her head, offering a curtsy to both the king and queen.

“Now, Viserys, Your Grace, if you’ll excuse us…”

“A moment,” Viserys interrupted. He peered past Alyx’s figure and his watery violent eyes met Samsa’s sharp blue ones. “You’ve hidden this one from us for long enough. Albyn’s son, yes?”

“Daughter,” Alicent corrected.

“Daughter,” Viserys echoed. “Yes, yes. My apologies, my girl. Come closer.”

Samsa obeyed, warmed by the attention, and bowed as low as her pride would allow. Alyx touched the small of her back as she passed, a silent warning to behave.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Three-and-ten,” Samsa replied.

“And sprouting like a weed.” Viserys had to crane his neck to look at her properly, and Samsa couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that fluttered in her chest. She could, however, help her smirk. “You look just as your father did at that age.”

Samsa heard it often. Hard-edged with a strong jaw and fierce eyes, she sometimes even gave Alyx a start when turning corners.

Viserys studied her for a long moment. She could only endure as his tired eyes slithered over her frame. Just as the silence became unbearable, he spoke once more. “I was sorry to hear what befell him.” His tongue clicked ever so softly, not in sorrow, but as if he were chiding a dead man. “’Twas a horrible thing.”

“A foolish thing.” Her voice cracked the air into an uneasy silence. Whatever joy she’d taken from the frailty of the man sitting in front of her vanished as quickly as it had taken hold. “You should not mourn my father, Your Grace. Nor my loss. He was a fool, and a thief. He died a fool’s death. There’s no pride in that.”

The stench of the smoke and sulfur that had clung to his black bones was as fresh as the king’s corruption before her. Grief hadn’t found Samsa the night he died, nor any after, but the smell of flesh razed by dragonfire always sought her in her dreams.

Alyx shifted out of the corner of Samsa’s eye, no doubt preparing to berate her as soon as they were alone. She’d spoken out of turn at best, and snapped at the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms at worst. Was Samsa supposed to apologize? Thank him? What good were Viserys’ condolences to a bastard who only knew him by name and sickness? The king flashed her a wavering, pitiful smile.

Samsa set her shoulders back. If he wouldn’t reprimand her, she saw no reason to prostrate herself. “I’m glad to be here, Your Grace. I look forward to seeing you well.”

The next moments flit by in a blur. Alyx apologized, much to Samsa’s chagrin, and attributed her brashness to the long journey and Albyn’s recent death. The trip was naught more than a few days at sea, and her father’s death a year stale, but Samsa knew better than to protest. They hurried out to their assigned chambers shortly after, with promises of attending to Viserys that evening.

Alyx restrained herself from scolding Samsa until they were alone in their chambers. She stood tall while Samsa draped herself over a plush green chaise lounge and studied her fingernails.

“A different king would have taken your tongue for that,” Alyx hissed. Her voice was smooth, rich and deep like dark silk. This was the tone of a ruling lady; the daughter of a Lannister and a Vesgar. The sweet praise and soft my dears she had treated King Viserys to didn’t sound natural from her lips, but these threats did.

“If there was a different king, we wouldn’t be here,” Samsa replied. “How do you take a tongue with only one hand, anyways?”

“I will. If you won’t listen.”

Samsa flicked her gaze up at Alyx. Her threats were not empty, so she kneaded her tongue with her teeth and kept herself from biting back again. She forced herself to speak more softly, but no less begrudged. “I didn’t want to hear him speak of Father any longer. It’s humiliating.”

“It pleases me no more than it does you to hear him trip over his kind words and apologies.” Alyx held her hands at her waist, smoothing her palms together, the soft sound like a hiss in Samsa’s ears. “You’ll hear more of it. You’ll be stared at. Lords your father once knocked into the dirt will give you condolences, then snicker behind your back. If you plan to remain in the Red Keep for long, you’ll face it with dignity.”

“Dignity,” Samsa echoed, incredulous. “There’s no dignity in any of that.”

“Take up your fight with your father’s ashes, Samsa. It’s been a long day, and the next moons will be longer. No more. Not from you. Not from Ser Leon. Not from the king.” Alyx spoke with an edge that told Samsa that she wouldn’t humor the topic any longer. She sighed, fixed her sleeves, and slipped away to the pale balcony affixed to her suite.

Samsa simmered in a few minutes of silence before joining her. They had plans to make, or at least needed to speak about what to do with Viserys. She kept an ear out for the door, wondering when Alicent would send for the Grand Maester, or when her sworn shield, Ser Leon, would come fetch her so they could walk the castle together. The details of their chambers kept her occupied in the interim. Decently sized, not far from Maegor’s Holdfast, and open to the air of one of the castle gardens. They each had their own room, attached by a small bathhouse, adequately decorated and befitting of their station.

When she grew tired of counting the patterns on the wall, and none of the steps beyond their door halted to knock, Samsa pushed herself to her feet and went to Alyx. The sheer curtains brushed against Samsa’s skin as she pushed past, soft and light as a feather, dancing in the warm breeze. Alyx lounged against the parapet, her loosened blonde braid strewn over her shoulder.

“The queen did not seem fond of you.” Samsa joined her aunt in the fresh air, perching herself on the edge of the parapet. “Us,” she corrected after a moment.

“She didn’t,” Alyx conceded. The edge in her voice had blunted from earlier, though she always kept a certain sharpness to her words. She didn't seem as angry as before, or at least had other things on her mind. “I expected as much. This is not the princess. It’s the queen. We only ever spoke in short courtesies when Rhaenyra brought Lady Alicent to see Aemma.”

“Will it be a problem?”

 “I don’t suspect so.” Alyx turned to look at Samsa. The setting sun haloed her in rays of pink and gold. “For all the Hightowers have done, the king brought us here. He’ll not send his oldest friend away so easily.”

“As long as I stay out of trouble, you mean.”

Alyx’s face creased with a hint of impatience. “As long as you stay out of trouble.”

“I hear the eldest prince is a mischievous one,” Samsa said. “Perhaps that’s what I need to get his attention.” She thought back to the face in the hallway, framed by silvery curls. Had it been Prince Aegon, or Aemond? Whichever one, she needed to find him.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Alyx chided. “Be simple, be safe. Keep Leon close.”

“Wherever he may be, enjoying the castle and city without my company...”

“He’ll find his way,” Alyx said. “I sent for him and Luis.”

Leon was older, nearing his twenty-second year, but had not yet grown so insufferable that Samsa dreaded his company. By all accounts his demeanor was a miracle, considering the knight who had mentored him, Ser Jack Connington, was as joyless as they came. He made a good captain-of-the-guard, but had little use otherwise. Leon had been her protector since he’d been knighted, and bearing the name of Waters just like her, she liked to think of him as an elder brother. He was comely, with soft blue eyes that reminded her of a begging dog, and fond of letting Samsa get away with things. She’d spent her last nameday at a tavern by his side, squeezed between the castle blacksmith and kennelmaster.

She didn’t know Luis as well, though he’d been drinking with them too, and a steadfast companion of Leon’s for years. He was another former student of the Citadel, Dornish, and had an easy air about him. With a mind as quick as his smile, he had been Alyx’s first choice to bring to King’s Landing.

Samsa leaned further back, anchoring herself to the parapet by her ankles. The open air yawned at her back while the breeze brushed her cheeks. She scented the clean sea air; salt and flowers, fish and smoke. A touch of pine and sulfur and she could have been home, watching the sun rise over the Gullet from her chambers in Arlior Ānogrion.

Samsa craned her neck, peering across the askew garden and the Sunset Sea beyond. “And… If I come across my mother?”

“Restrain yourself,” Alex said in a flat tone, as if the answer had been obvious. “I don’t need a rogue voice running to Alicent because you grew too eager.”

“You think so highly of him, that he would cry to the queen at first sight.”

“You don’t know him as I did.”

If it were up to you, I wouldn’t know him at all.

Finn. It was hardly a mother’s name, let alone a lady’s, but Samsa liked the way it laid on her tongue. She tasted it each night she laid alone in bed, holding it close, wondering what he looked like, if they had the same nose, or lips, or wide set of the shoulder. He’d left so little of himself in her that Samsa could only guess.

An old maidservant had given the name to her; a witness of what had befallen the poor girl in men’s clothing that Lord Albyn had taken to bed. Alyx had even deigned her his family name when Samsa proudly presented her findings: Flint. The blood of Old Valyria ran thick in her veins, but she took special pleasure in knowing a bit of her came from the North; the barren tundras, the cold, churning waters, the stony seat of Widow’s Watch. She had Bolton in her, too, from her father’s grandmother, but her cousins at the Dreadfort were more distant than the foreign lands across the sea. Finn was a stone’s throw from the very place Samsa sat.

Perhaps he’d stood in these chambers before. Perhaps he’d walked in the garden at her back. Samsa did not want to love him, or his husband Lord Larys Strong, nor the spineless boy their union had produced, but she wanted to see him. Touch him, even. Find a bit of herself in his sharp, Northern face.

“I’ll be courteous,” Samsa promised after a moment of thought, only half lying. “I won’t say I’m his daughter. I’ll greet him as a stranger. He’ll have nothing to fear from me.”

“He’ll recognize you the moment he lays eyes on you.” Alyx pressed her hand against Samsa’s hip, urging her back towards solid ground. She cupped her cheek in her palm. “You have Albyn’s face. It’s sure to terrify him. And fear makes us do very stupid things.” Her gaze softened. “Come down. I’m sure the Grand Maester will be here any moment. Have you given any thought to Viserys?”

“Some.” Samsa slid to her feet. “Sweetrot seems likely,” she said, “but I highly doubt the king has ever been to Sothoryos. The same with wormbone.” The mystery of the king’s ailment piqued her interest, but in the moment, nothing seemed more dull.

“King’s Landing is a trading hub. You don’t think a sailor could have brought it to him?”

A test. “If it’s that contagious, the entire court would be dead.”

“It’s a kind of necrosis, to be certain,” Alyx replied, sauntering back inside with Samsa at her side. “Something that eats at the mind and body but doesn’t kill quickly. We’ll ask Orwyle when the sickness first started, in truth.”

“Do you truly think we can save him?”

“Ziry kaerīnagon?” Alyx suppressed a laugh. “If anyone can, it will be us.”

The Grand Maester appeared at their door as the sun sank into the sea. Orwyle was a slight man, his small frame shrouded in heavy grey robes, with a thick book pressed under a thin arm. Samsa studied his chain with curious delight as Alyx bid him entry, picking out what metals she could: copper, lead, iron, tin. One link was darker still, laced with pale smokey waves: Valyrian steel. In Arlior Ānogrion, they kept no maester, but plenty would-be initiates and disgraced scholars found solace within their walls. Her father had met his closest friend at the Citadel before their curiosity had them both expelled.

Samsa still dipped her head out of respect, greeting him by title. He in turn named her lady. She wondered if the Alicent would call her the same. Alyx took his hand like he were an old friend and gave him her best smile. More honeyed words. More undeserved idolatry.

Samsa moved to take her leave.

Liquid High Valyrian rang in Samsa’s ears. “And where do you think you’re going?” Alyx had paused her greeting to catch her red handed, going for her sword. She excused herself from Orwyle to pull Samsa aside.

“Jokorigon,” she replied. To explore. “And find Ser Leon.”

“It would serve you best to remain here.”

It would serve you, you mean. As intriguing as the king’s sickness was, Samsa would have plenty of time to study his ailment for the time they were in King’s Landing. Far more interesting was the Red Keep itself, the secrets she could pry from its stone, and the pale-haired prince who had watched her from afar. Her mother, too, if she could find him — but no doubt Finn had heard of her and Alyx’s arrival and had already hidden away like a frightened mouse.

“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye,” Samsa promised. “Before the king’s first session tonight.”

“Before supper,” Alyx replied, insistent on the privacy of their ancestor’s tongue. “I suspect Viserys will invite us to his evening meal.”

“Us, or you?”

“Us. You’re my heir, whether he and the queen like it or not. Not my petulant uncle.” Alyx straightened out Samsa’s dress again, tucking stray strands of blond behind her ear. “Change your clothing before supper as well. The king’s children may be there.”

Samsa smiled, subdued, then nodded. “I understand, my lady.” If luck served her, she’d find at least one of them before they dined. If not, well… She’d have to make her best impression at the table.

“If you find Luis with Leon, send him our way.” Alyx cast a glance towards Orwyle. “Walk in stride, kēlitsos.”

Samsa nodded again, took her sword from amongst her things, and gave her polite goodbyes to the Grand Maester. The castle’s evening sigh met her as she left her apartments; scents of yeast and baking bread, spiced wine and roasting meat. She affixed Chimera’s Claw to her belt, grateful that she was now tall enough for it, and set down the hallway. The weight of the blade at her hip brought a special comfort, like a buck growing back its antlers after shedding season.

Distantly, she heard Alyx speaking to Orwyle, petering into silence the further her feet carried her. “Three-and-ten,” she said, “and she thinks she knows everything…”

Her feet carried her to a junction in the castle. Samsa cast her gaze down one hallway and up another, eyeing the burning daylight through window slats carved in the shapes of fire-breathing dragons. She had some time, but not much. Despite the wealth of time Alyx had promised her to do her work, Samsa felt a heat blooming in her chest, restlessness prickling in her legs. There were moons to make nice with princes and lordlings and whoever was brave enough to come her way — but it did not feel that way. This was her chance to earn her name, her proper name, and she had no desire to waste the precious time she had been given. The sooner the realm knew her as the future of House Vesgar, the sooner the stinging humiliation of her father’s death would burn away.

With a hand around the grip of the Claw, thumb tracing the empty eye sockets of the lion’s head pommel, Samsa shut her eyes, took a scent-filled breath, and listened.

She’d tracked rabbits and shadowcats, brought down great stags and gutted them herself; she’d not let one little prince squirm out of her grasp.