#Best trader in the world

[andywltd]

Simple Forex Trading Tool You Must Learn

In Today's video I share with you A Simple Forex Trading Tool You Must Learn. I will give you an explanation how to use it, on what timeframe and what to look for. Please remember to add other tools and patterns I explain in my other videos to get even better results! My website: https://www.andywltd.com/ My Whatsapp: +447414100686

[qwibbs]

collection of heinrix moments in which he's about to kill the lord captain with his mind

[chantalstacys]

.

[mashupofmylife]

I went shopping at TJs for @heartbeatsandrainstorms this afternoon and took some liberties with her shopping list. After I finished cramming the box full, there were only 3 things that didn’t fit. And they weren’t even on the list to begin with! Very proud of my packing box jenga skills.

[theleadersglobe]

This Popular Grocery Item in the US is Prohibited in South Korea

One of America’s most popular exports is prohibited in South Korea – Trader Joe’s Everything But the Bagel seasoning mix.

The blend, which is favoured by influencers and frequently featured in TikTok recipes, contains salt, minced garlic, sesame seeds, and poppy seeds – the latter of which is banned in South Korea.

Travellers arriving at Seoul’s Incheon Airport (ICN) have recently reported seeing signs specifically stating that the Everything But the Bagel seasoning mix is not permitted.

One poster on X, formerly known as Twitter, shared a poster from the airport. The sign had a picture of the seasoning mix and read in Korean, “We would like to inform you that the following products containing poppy seeds are restricted from being brought into the country as ‘Papaver Somniferum L,’ an ingredient of the poppy family designated as narcotic substance under South Korea’s narcotic drugs control law has been detected.”

Read More :(https://theleadersglobe.com/life-interest/food/this-popular-grocery-item-in-the-us-is-prohibited-in-south-korea/)

[gollancz]

The synopsis says: “It’s the hottest summer on record and London is dying. Prices are high, pay is low, and stressed commuters are packed on to London Underground trains again like the pandemic never happened. To add to the misery, the temperatures underground just keep climbing and climbing, the heat trapped in the clay with nowhere to go. 

“Five travellers on an unlucky tube carriage find themselves bound together one morning as witnesses to a single horrific event – an event they can’t quite seem to remember. They make an unlikely team: weary tube driver, a disillusioned civil servant, an ambitious city trader, an overwhelmed hotel worker and an unhoused young man just trying to get by – but now they must come together to confront what they have seen and stop it in its tracks. Because there’s something lurking in the stifling darkness and labyrinthine tunnels that run below London… something old, something vicious, and something very, very hungry.” 

I couldn't be more excited to be working with @jonnywaistcoat on his next two novels! This is just more of what he does best - pulling apart the very seams of society and giving me very specific new sleep paralysis demons, and somehow getting me to say thank you afterwards.

And if you're near London next month, why not pop along to Gollanczfest to hear him chat all things horror with Joe Hill and V. V. James? Tickets are still available:

[thebearer]

the feeling |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: a little tipsy, definitely hungry, and missing carmen, you find your way to the restaurant after closing to see him.

my first work/ blurb here <3 I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!!

contains: 18+minors dni. mentions of a gun and alcohol but not in a bad way lol? established relationship. slight mentions of a dom/sub dynamic. language. but really just fluff fluff fluff <3

"Yo! We're fucking closed!" Richie's voice boomed, throwing down the rag on the table. He huffed, teeth gritting, trying to remember to count yet he was still reaching for the gun in holster. Sure, he could be calm, but he still needed to be safe.

The pounding on the glass continued, a muffled, giggly scream from the other side of the blinds hiding the entrance. "Richie! Let us innnn!"

"Cousin," Carmen yelled from the back, running a bandaged hand through his curls. "What's goin' on?"

Richard rolled his eyes, peeking through the blinds to confirm his suspicions. Just as he thought, there you were, standing on the sidewalk in fucking Chicago with your heels in your hand, leaning onto your friend for support. Carmy was gonna be pissed, that was for certain.

"It's your girl." Richie scoffed, twisting the lock so it unfastened with a loud click, the bell trilling when he pulled it open.

"Richie!" You cheered, staggering on your feet. "Told you they'd still be here." You told Alicia, looping an arm around hers.

"My girl?" Carmen repeated, pushing the swinging doors of the kitchen, heavy chef's clogs on the freshly mopped ground.

"The hell you doin'?" Richie looked at you, face deadpanned and unimpressed. His arm held the door open for you and your friend anyways, jerking his head so the two of you huddled in.

"We did karaoke tonight." You grinned at Richie, clutching the nearest booth when you passed to steady yourself.

Karaoke night was a once a month occurrence, down at Trader Todd's. Carmen had went twice with you and Alicia before, it was a little too touristy for him, but he liked watching you sing. He'd laughed so hard his sides hurt when you serenaded a Nickelback song to him because "it seemed like something he'd like". It was good, nice to laugh like that. It was nice to be with you.

Carmen furrowed his brow, hands thrown out towards you lightly. "What are ya doin'?" He asked, rag slung over his shoulder.

You rolled your lip, eyes trailing down his tattooed, veiny arms. "Just left karaoke." You hummed, striding playfully over to him. "Got hungry and I just so happen to know a place with the best fries in the world."

Carmen snorted when you looped your arms around his neck, swaying with him gently. Richie huffed, eyeing Alicia at the booth. "We're closed. Didn't you see the sign?"

"Can't make an exception for us?" You pouted, looking over your shoulder at Richie. "C'mon, we came all this way for nothing? Not a single fry?"

"You walked here?" Carmen's eyes flashed at you.

"You need a cuppa coffee is what you need." Richie rolled his eyes, ignoring his cousin's comment.

"Ooh, I'd take a cup of coffee." Alicia nodded, head propped on her hand at the freshly cleaned booth, still a little wet and sticky. "And a slice of cake."

"Mmm," You nodded in agreement, grinning at her.

"Hey," Carmen's hand cradled your jaw gently, tugging your gaze back to him. "Did you walk here?"

"No." You rolled your eyes playfully at him, curling into his calloused hands anyways. "We Ubered."

"Good." Carmen hummed, his hand pressing to the small of your back, pushing you closer into his touch. "I'd have your ass if you did, you hear me?" He muttered, low and gravelly in your ear, hand trailing down to the swell of your ass, squeezing the fatty flesh through your dress. A warning or simply just him being playful, you weren't sure, but you flushed nonetheless, knees buckling.

"Kitchen's closed." Carmen announced, looking at you and Alicia, both your boos and cries of protest a chorus bouncing off the empty walls. "But I'll make you a fresh pot of coffee and see if we have any left over cake, but you," His finger poked your side, leaving you squealing and squirming in his grasp. "Have to clean up."

"Yes, Chef." You saluted him playfully.

Carmen rolled his eyes, but pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Brief and light, not nearly the same kiss he gave you this morning before he left for work. When you were still rolled up in the warm covers, eyes fluttering with sleep, the light of the morning on your skin.

Carmen patted your ass lightly, before turning back to go to the kitchen. You grinned triumphantly, snagging two forks and napkins before sliding into the booth across from Alicia. Richie's face fell, dropping the rag on the table he was cleaning.

"Oh, no fuckin' way. Cousin!" Richie yelled, stomping towards the kitchen. "Carmen, we're closed!"

"I got is, cousin. You can go." Carmen nodded towards the door, scooping the ground beans into the pot. "Gotta take them home anyways. I'll finish up."

Richie's face fell slightly, eyes bouncing from Carmen back to you and your friend, giggling over your phones, slumped into the booths.

Carmen looked at him, brow raised at his displeasure. "What?"

Richie huffed. "I just finished cleanin' the tables, and-and I'm tryin' real hard here to help you out and be better, but cousin, you gotta-"

"-They'll clean it up." Carmen said firmly, pressing the button firmly. "Or my girl will. I'll make sure of it, alright? I got it."

"Carmy-"

"-Look, Richie, I appreciate you helping me. I do. You've done real good too." Carmen said genuinely. "But I got it covered. Why don't you go sit with them? Tell Alicia the Bill Murray story, she'll like it." He nodded towards your friend.

Richie's ears perked, turning to look at the girl across from you. His love life was still shit, that was for sure, bad date after bad date. "You think?" Richie asked in a low tone.

Carmen shrugged casually. "Sure, yeah. Watch. Hey, baby," Carmen called to you. "You ever told Alicia about when Richie met Bill Murray?"

"Oh my God, no." You giggled, head tipping back onto the booth.

"Wait," Alicia looked over at Richie with a small grin. "Bill Murray? Ghostbusters, Bill Murray?"

"Yes, holy shit, Richie you hafta tell her." You giggled, tapping the table lightly. "He got him to do his voicemail and-"

"- Hold on, you gotta start from the beginning or it'll make no sense." Richie held his hands up, sauntering over to the two of you. "Alright, so I'm absolutely hammered. It's six-forty-five in the fucking morning, me and Mikey are leavin' the bar just drunk outta our minds..." Richie pulled a chair up to the table, exaggeratedly launching into his story.

Carmen smirked to himself, cutting two slices of cake and plating them off the still warm, clean dishes. He could hear Richie's voice trilling louder and louder, your laugh a delicate melody that soothed his chest, filled it with warmth.

Carmen slid beside you, just in time for the voice mail, setting your coffee and plate next to you. You muttered a small thank you, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you moved into his side.

"No shit, it's still your voicemail?" Alicia gasped, eyes shining at Richie's

"Swear to God." Richie held his hands up. "Call it right now, you'll hear it."

Alicia looked over at you. You nodded, picking up your fork. "It's true."

"Well, now I gotta hear it for myself." Alicia declared, snatching her phone off the table. "What's your number?"

Richie flushed for a second, faltering before he sputtered out the number. You looked up at Carmen, brows raised in amusement. He shrugged lightly, pushing the coffee closer to you. "Drink it f'me, please."

You cradled the still steaming mug, lifting it to your lip while Alicia's jaw dropped, hearing Bill Murray's voice on the other end. "Oh my God!" She gasped, laughing. "That is so fucking amazing!"

"Thank you!" Richie threw a hand out to her. "It is fucking amazing. My proudest accomplishment- well, beside my daughter, of course, but a close second."

"How old is your daughter?" Alicia scooted closer, lashes batting towards Richie as he pulled out his phone to flick through photos.

You smirked, looking up at Carmen. "Thanks for the cake," You hummed, resting your head on his arm. "And the coffee."

"Anything for you, c'mon." Carmen shrugged, trying to hide the blush he felt rising in his cheeks. He hadn't done this before, really, had a relationship like this. One that felt this good. One where he felt this safe with someone.

"I'll clean it up, promise." You yawned, lashes fluttering, while your head fell heavier and heavier pressed on his bicep. "Hand wash 'em if you want me too."

"I know you will." Carmen muttered, shimmying his arm out so he could wrap it around you, letting you fall into his chest.

He didn't let you clean up, though. You stayed half awake, a little woozy and sleepy in the booth, listening to Alicia and Richie's playful flirting. You'd tried to get up, but he snatched the plate gently from you before you could, nodding at you to stay put.

You held his hand the whole way back to the apartment, resting in the center console, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Richie had offered to take Alicia home, which she eagerly agreed to, leaving the two of you to return to your own place.

Carmen shimmying your dress off you gently, tucking you under the covers with him. The apartment didn't have the same haunting presence here that his old one did. Not tainted with nightmares or fears. No, here he felt good. Happy memories he'd created with you, loving ones that filled his chest with contentment. He still had his moments, waking in a cold sweat screaming and clinging to you, but they were becoming scarcer with each day. He took care of you, and you took care of him- it was everything he'd ever fucking wanted.

[greatdenimbeast]

Diamond Castle au- introducing, Shadow, Muse of History, Astrology and Astronomy

Once a mortal in ancient Greece, moulded from clay by an inventor and brought to life by the blood of a god, he spent his years caring for his ill sister, Maria. Doing his best to assist his creator in finding a cure. Since the blood of god ran through his veins and, seeing that his existence was a miracle in of itself, it stood to reason that he could be the miracle that helped save her

Cuz he was quite literally born yesterday, his sister loved to tell him stories about historic events, tales of gods and heroes to teach him about the world and how it cane to be. She was a damn good storyteller too, always leaving Shadow craving for more.

His favourites were the ones related to the stars, the constellations, so much so that Gerald noticed and taught him how to properly chart them

Maria wasn’t allowed to leave the house, her grandfather fearing that the elements would be too much for her and that often made her sunny demeanour dull and, looking to cheer her up, he did his best to find ways to brighten her mood until found one that worked

He entertained his bed-ridden sister with tales of history, of old dead heroes, of gods, of prophecies, things that he had picked up from local traders and travellers when he was out running errands for Gerald.

Maria was enthralled by them, hanging off of his every word

“The island of Crete truly holds such a monster?”

“It’s travellers gossip, but who’s to truly say.”

He wasn’t as good of a storyteller as she was but he did keep record of every story he could, and Maria loved it so that was all that mattered

As Maria got worse, Shadow started praying and giving offerings to the god Asclepius and the god Apollo, he doubted they would come to his aid but if there was a chance they could help he wanted to be sure.

But it was getting harder to cure her, some of the medicinal herbs they needed grew far off and the merchants that brought them to the markets to sell them kept marking up the prices out of greed. So Shadow, who had been blessed with inhuman speed, was sent off to pick the herbs himself, allowing him the opportunity to venture and see more of the world and bring back more stories, even making a few of his own, slaying a few monsters on the the way

The soldiers for the nearby king didn’t make it easier, tormenting the people for laughs, outright stealing, sometimes outright killing people when they refused to cave to their demands. Gerald was always being pulled away from his work for a cure to craft machines and statues for the king, the only reason the soldiers were unable to harm him or Maria when he refused was because of Shadow being there to protect them.

This became an issue when the king decided that he wanted Shadow

Soldiers stormed the house and workshop, taking the inventor prisoner, dragging him away to the castle and as Shadow tries to get Maria to safety she pushes him out of the way of blade and gets stabbed through her stomach

Shadow blacks out.

When he comes back, his hands are covered in blood, the bodies of dead soldiers litter the floor, his ears are ringing.

The only other breathing Shadow could hear besides his own was the shaky, laboured breaths of his older sister

He rushed to her side and examined her, the wound was deep, too deep. He tried his beat to clean up the blood but he could barely see what he was doing past his own tears. As he did he prayed, to his other father, to Apollo, to any god that would listen, to please save his sister, to not let her die

Then Maria’s hand squeezing his stopped him

“Sh…Shadow… o-one more story…”

“Maria please, please, i have to treat this, I won’t let you die, i won’t let you, i can’t let you die!”

“One…one m-more… please?”

“…okay… okay, one more story.”

So he shakily told her a story, about the fabled diamond castle, the birthplace of music, home to the museum of music. He struggled to remember parts of the story but Maria shakily helped him fill in the blanks

Then as the story concluded, Apollo made his presence known and applauded the two on how exemplary their storytelling was. It turns out Shadow has gained Apollo’s attention for a while, ever since he started praying to him and he had an offer for him

He wanted him to be his muse, an inspiration, a god. Initially Shadow wanted to refuse until Maria winced and coughed in his arms, then he got an idea

“…Lord Apollo I will accept this honour on one condition, that you heal my sister of her wounds and her ailment so that she may live as freely as she wishes.”

Apollo accepted these terms and gave Shadow, ambrosia (the food of the gods). It burned away his mortality and left him a god

And Apollo fulfilled his part of the deal, healing his sister, and did Shadow one better by turning Maria immortal so that she may be Shadow’s attendant to assist him in his duties before whisking them both off to the diamond castle

50 years later Shadow meets the next muse

[jimvasta]

Humans aren’t poisonous

It was another canteen argument at the spaceport. This time it was about the new species, the humans.

“I hear they are poisonous. That is why they do not come near and why they cover their skin, so they do not harm others.”

“I heard the clothes are about clan allegiances and you know who they follow from their colours.”

“I thought it was which Gods they follow.”

“No, it is poison.”

The argument had various creatures involved, they were from a crew whose Captain prided themselves on picking as many species as possible to work for them, and who was already attempting to entice a human onboard.

There were so many conflicting stories about the humans. They looked harmless, unarmoured, no claws to speak of, they were not even especially big although further rumour was that they were incredibly strong for their size. But, when the Dran attacked them no one could have predicted how easily the humans sent the dangerous imperialists fleeing back to their home world. How did they do it? No one quite knew.

“They are poisonous. How else did they kill everyone on the Helin outpost without any weapons? With only on scout ship.”

There was a snort from the hooded figure at the bar. “Humans aren't poisonous, trust me, I should know.”

“I learned that from the team who investigated the outpost. I know.”

The hood was lowered to reveal a human with short brown hair and a frighteningly toothy smile. “My knowledge is a little more first hand than yours. We aren't poisonous.” He reached in and patted the speaker's lower mandible, laughing as it recoiled from his touch. “You'll be fine.”

“If you are not poisonous, how did you do it? They were clearly poisoned by something horrific, a biological agent that the investigators swore was somehow alive.”

The human licked his lips. “I said we aren't poisonous, I wasn't lying.”

“So you're defenceless.” The insectoid being stood. It was angry at being touched by a soft fleshy creature, it felt dirty.

“Nope. I'm human, I'm never defenceless.”

“It would be so easy to defeat you in combat.” It loomed over the human. “Why is it you do not cower? How do you kill your enemies?”

“You wanna become my enemy and find out?”

“Johnson!” The sharp snap from the across the room made everyone freeze.

The human sighed, his eyes dropping. “Sir.”

“Back off, right now.” This barked order came from a Subeco warrior in the uniform of a merchant vessel.

Johnson grumbled. “Seriously?”

“I don't want another incident, stop baiting people.”

“He called me defenceless.”

“And that is not a capital offence. I have found a trader who has a pallet of what he claims is a human drink called Rum, I need you to help me check it.”

“Rum? It better be dark rum, I don't want any of that Bacardi shit.” Johnson forgot the insectoid to the lure of alcohol, striding to the door.

“Subeco.” the insectoid was not so quickly put off. It respected the Subeco, they were fine warriors, proven in eons of battle across the galaxy. “What do you know of humans? How are they so dangerous?”

The Subeco's head wobbled from side to side as they considered their answer. “They are extremely vindictive with tools and masters of improvised weapons, but mostly they kill their enemies slowly.”

“So they are poisonous.”

“No not poisonous, but they are venomous.”

The entire room's attention was fixed on the Subeco in a moment.

There was a sneer from the warrior who knew one of their best guards was a human with a short temper. It was useful to make sure people were scared of him. “Their fluids are all toxic to some extent, but their saliva is laced with micro-organisms, viruses and bacteria. Death by human is slow and excruciating.”

“I'll be sure to never let one bite me.” the insectoid was not impressed.

“Bite?” the Sebeco laughed, copying the noise used by humans that was so off putting. “If Johnson wanted you dead he would have stayed at the bar and spat into one of your eyes. My survival tip for dealing with humans is be more useful alive than dead or stay out of range.”

“What is their range?”

The Subeco looked at Johnson before turning back to the insectoid. “If you have to ask that question, you're too close. Enjoy your drinks, gentle-beings.”

[alternativeminiatures]

(They're talking about Rogue Trader)

I didn't know you could go full "Niceguy™" on videogame mechanics, but here we are, in the year of the Lord 2024.

Yeah, being an asshole in a fantasy world with a lore telling you it's designed by and for assholes is more profitable than being nice surprisedpikachuface.jpg

PS: if you're only 'good' for the reward, you're not good, you're true neutral at best.

[andywltd]

https://www.andywltd.com/blog/what-is-the-money-flow-index/

What Is The Money Flow Index?

The Money Flow Index (MFI) refers to a popular technical oscillator that gauges the inflow and outflow of capital into an asset over a period of time. The MFI tracks the price and volume to evaluate the buying and selling forces in the market.

[aryastarksource]

Only Braavosi were permitted use of the Purple Harbor, from the Drowned Town and the Sealord’s Palace; ships from her sister cities and the rest of the wide world had to use the Ragman’s Harbor, a poorer, rougher, dirtier port than the Purple. It was noisier as well, as sailors and traders from half a hundred lands crowded its wharves and alleys, mingling with those who served and preyed on them. Cat liked it best of any place in Braavos. She liked the noise and the strange smells, and seeing what ships had come in on the evening tide and what ships had departed. She liked the sailors too; the boisterous Tyroshi with their booming voices and dyed whiskers; the fair-haired Lyseni, always trying to niggle down her prices; the squat, hairy sailors from the Port of Ibben, growling curses in low, raspy voices. Her favorites were the Summer Islanders, with their skins as smooth and dark as teak. They wore feathered cloaks of red and green and yellow, and the tall masts and white sails of their swan ships were magnificent. -- Arya III, AFFC

A Song of Ice and Fire Calendar 2025 || Skagos by Eddie Mendoza

[educatedsimps]

Ahh I'm so in love with the idea of timeskip!Kenma as a dad 🥺 You've really made me even more in love with your blog 😘 Can I please request timeskip!Kenma x fem reader where he introduces our son to his followers on his stream? Baby Kodzuken ❤️ I'd love it if his followers were a gushing in the comments about how cute the baby is and how happy Kenma is when he talks about his baby boy and us (his wife)? I love Kenma and the thought of him as a dad is just the cutest to me. Thank you so much! Take care 🫶🏻

≪ back to fics masterlist

kozume kenma x f!reader

a/n: OH MY GODSHKKAFYSYVUDNGUSYRGUKSYKS THIS IS LITERALLY THE CUTEST IDEA EVERRR OMG thanku for requesting my dear kenma anon ❤️ i'm so sorry this took WAY longer to publish than expected so THANK YOU for having the patience of an angel 😭 i really hope this was worth the wait so pls enjoy! lots of love and u take care too <33

cw: TIMESKIP SPOILERS, parenting au, domestic fluff, slice of life kinda thing, chat gg crazy bc kenma is an amazing dad. GREEN FLAG DAD KENMA

"Hey guys, welcome back. I've got a very special announcement to make today, so here we are," Kenma adjusted his camera, smiling slightly.

It was a regular Tuesday evening and you were taking the time to do some self-care, which left Kenma with his second favourite thing in the world - his son.

As a YouTuber, professional gamer, stock trader, streamer and CEO of his own company, Kenma's work schedule was extremely flexible, and both of you were grateful for that. Not only did he have various sources of income, but he could be home as much as he wanted. And being home meant being able to spend time with his precious son, Kozume Kaito.

Kaito was your six month old bundle of joy - literally. If you had told Kenma a decade ago that he'd be a dad one day, he would have never believed you. Until, that is, you had Kaito.

Even before Kaito's birth, Kenma had no idea how he was supposed to take care of and raise a whole child. He just knew that he wanted to be the best father you and Kaito could've ever asked for. And so, you saw how stressed he could got about even the tiniest of things.

"What size clothes do we buy for him? Will S or M be better? What if he's a huge baby? Let's just get one of each size... Wait, what about pacifiers? A-and bottle hoods? What shape will he prefer? Longer ones? Shorter ones? Softer or slightly tougher ones? Ugh forget it, we'll get one of each type too."

However, all his worries disappeared the moment he held little baby Kaito in his arms. Kenma had never really been a crier, but the second he laid eyes on your beautiful son, he couldn't help but let it all out in the hospital ward.

"Can you guys see me clearly?" Kenma asked. The excited responses of "YESSS" "what's the surprise??" "OMG YOU'RE SO PRETTY" "yes i can see your handsome face" confirmed that his camera was indeed working just fine. Amused, he chuckled lightly. "Great. I'll be right back."

As he left the frame, his viewers were left staring at the background screen in his office, a big logo of Bouncing Ball Corp. After a few seconds of silence, some shuffling could be heard as Kenma returned with a chubby ball of energy in his arms. The moment he stepped back into frame with his beloved son in hand, the chat exploded.

kodzukenner: NO WAY IS THAT YOUR BABY??? riceballzzz: CUTIEEEEEEEEE AHHHH nek0mab1tch: omg he has a kid ?? ADORABLE miyamiya07: hawajhjchdjvhhfjhfrsjkhfdhasjhjchjfhjvhkrh lookattheclouds: since when?! vballer1208: HE HAS A CHILD??????????????

Kenma proudly held up his son like he had won an Olympic trophy - he simply adored Kaito. Meanwhile, Kaito watched, enamoured, as comments flooded the chat. Among those comments were also questions about Kaito and even you.

He knew the news of his son would be a major surprise to his online community, especially since the two of you had very successfully hidden your pregnancy from the public. Neither of you wanted to deal with all the pressure from netizens, media and the public.

"'He has Y/n's smile'," Kenma read one comment aloud. Chuckling, he agreed, "He does, doesn't he? He's lucky to inherit the most beautiful smile on earth."

Another comment asked where you were, and when Kenma simply replied with "Doing her own stuff." some commenters gushed about how cute it was that Kenma was on "babysitting duties".

With a scrunch of his face, Kenma retorted, "It's not babysitting. He's literally my child. Y/n's just doing her own stuff, what's the big deal? Come on, y'all gotta delete those gender role stereotypes from your heads, that's so 1950s." He huffed.

"'What's his name?'" Kenma read. "Hm. Y/n and I have actually decided not to reveal his name, so we hope you'll respect our decision."

kodzukenner: omg i wonder what his name is he's so cute i'm sure his name is as cute as him! nek0mab1tch: what if they named him kodzuken bouncingballer: baby kodzuken HAHA miyamiya07: OMG BABY KODZUKEN ??

Kenma chuckled as he read the comments guessing his child's name.

"'Is he joining today's stream?'" Kenma read aloud. Turning to his son with a gentle smile on his face, he replied, "You bet. Aren'tcha, big guy?"

In response, Kaito burst into a fit of giggles, excitedly babbling and pointing at the big screen in front of him.

The comments once again exploded into cheers of happiness as Kenma sat down in his usual gaming position, but this time, with his beloved son in his lap.

a/n: i'm so sorry this is really short 😭😭 but i hope it's okay :,) tysm for requestingg! hope you liked it bae <3

© educatedsimps 2024. do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarise any work from this blog on tumblr or any other platforms. if you do, the simps will hunt you down. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[thinkinonsense]

Magnetic──★ Logan Howlett x fem!oc: Chapter Four

╰┈➤Summary: After years of torture, Daphne decides how she wants to spend the rest of her life; at the bottom of a lake. Out of nowhere, Logan pulls Daphne from the water and finds her help. Now they must navigate how to live with their decisions.

╰┈➤C/W: mentions of death, suicide, cursing, age gap, mild violence, issues with infertility, slight sexual themes, mentions of body mutilations, blood, and sort of a hysterectomy (nothing super graphic)

ᯓ★ mdni.ᐟ

ᯓ★word count: 1.7k+

ᯓ★ spotify playlist link

ᯓ★ last chapter here

ᯓ★ A/N: Sorry for the chapter being so short. i had this idea and needed to right it. hope you enjoy!

✮⋆˙ It's been days and Daphne hasn't seen Logan around the mansion. She began to worry that maybe he was starting to regret his decision to save her and bring her here. It wasn't until day three while training with Storm, that she found out where he had been.

"Jean mentioned they would be busy these next couple of days," Storm says nonchalantly.

"Oh," Daphne let out under her breath.

The worst part of Daphne's attraction control is that it can work both ways. Deep down she was yearning for something she didn't deserve. She felt it once before and now he is dead. Maybe that's why Logan has been avoiding her; he feels like she is manipulating his feelings. Daphne figured that the best thing she could do for him was avoid him too; for his sake.

That is exactly how that week went. Not once did their paths cross. Logan disappeared with Jean while Daphne spent time training with Storm and some of the other students. During the evening, Daphne stayed in her room with Juna. Storm, Rogue, and even Jean would knock on her door to invite her to join everyone at dinner but she always declined; making up some bullshit excuse. Nighttime was a struggle for Daphne. She would fight off sleep by distracting herself with books, her cat, or pacing around the room until her legs hurt. It wasn't easy for her as her eyes would often drift into slumber at some point.

Tonight happened to be one of those nights.

──★

Within the walls of her slumber, Daphne awoke in the familiar glass cage, curled up, and barefoot covered in a puddle of her own blood. A loud yell in the distance urges her to crawl to the glass, despite the gush of blood seeping from her.

"Help!" Daphne screamed at the top of her lungs. "Please!"

After minutes of howling, she sees them. Bellinor, two guards, and the love of her life; tied up and blindfolded. Daphne panics banging against the glass frantically. She did what they told her, wiped out millions and now they would wipe out what she loved too.

"Please! Take me instead!" Daphne cried, face full of tears. "Take me! Kill me instead! He doesn't deserve this!"

They ignored her pleas; instead calling the bonded man a 'trader' and 'coward' for caring for someone so evil. Someone who could never truly love him back.

Daphne's powers were useless behind the special glass. Bellinor made her watch as he destroyed the only world she knew. In a split second, the bullet flies through his head. In a mighty roar, Daphne's eyes roll back to return to dark red. Everything around the men shakes angrily, including the floor and ceiling. Finally, the glass cell bursts open.

Like a true coward, Bellinor runs, telling the others to shoot her dead. Daphne tuned out their groans, screams, and cries for help. To her it was quiet.

──★

3:15 am

It started with the chandelier downstairs. A few students woke up and noticed. Next, were the doors and windows slamming, waking the adults. By the time anyone realized where it was coming from, the floors were shaking.

Logan steps out of his room, joining the others down the hall. Similarly to the students, he had no idea what was happening. That was until he saw Jean, Scott, and Storm outside Daphne's bedroom door, talking.

"What's doin' on?" Logan asks, confused.

"Your damsel is shaking the whole mansion at three in the morning, that's what's going on," Scott informs Logan. Storm smacks Scott in the chest, shooting him a glare.

"We are pretty sure she is having a nightmare," Storm states.

"It's horrific," Jean warns him.

"I'll check on her," Logan states. "Get the kids back to bed."

Storm and Jean nod, gathering the children before Logan opens the door. The room looks normal to him, that is before he sees the woman thrashing and intertwined in her bedsheets. As Logan moves closer to the bed, he can hear her mumbling with tears streaming down her pink puffy cheeks. It was devastating to watch.

"Daphne," He says, shaking her softly. "Hey wake up, sweetheart."

Logan repeats this twice until she jumps up with her heart pounding so hard that he can hear it ringing in his ears. There's no hesitation in Logan's actions as he pulls her into his chest. Daphne's wet tears leak onto his tank top with her mumbled apologies.

"I-I'm sorry." Her voice breaks as she speaks.

"It's okay, it's okay" Logan whispers into her head of curls. "No need to apologize."

It felt like a lifetime spent in his arms, Daphne thought; a lifetime well spent. She used his heartbeat to steady her own. Logan didn't make her feel like she was overstaying her welcome in his embrace. One of his hands tangled in the hair near her neck while his other sat on her lower back, thumb swiping back and forth over a small exposed slit of skin.

When Daphne stares up at Logan with her glossy green eyes sparkling in his direction, he thinks he might've fallen under a spell. He knew he shouldn't feel this way while she was in a vulnerable state, but anyone would feel spellbound under her gaze.

She shouldn't be staring, she thinks. It's not fair to give them both false hope. She should let him go; remind him that she's a liability. Daphne wanted to use every excuse to make him stay but she knew better.

"Sorry. You shouldn't have to save me anymore," Daphne said softly, avoiding Logan's hazel eyes.

Suddenly, the hand in her hair moves north to her jaw, gently keeping her in place. Logan shakes his head, "Like I said, no need for apologies."

"Right..." She hums, pulling back and then adding, "Well, I should probably let you get back to bed-"

"I could, um.. I could stay," Logan blurted out, cutting her off. "If you would like."

"You want to stay?"

"If you don't mind. I could watch over you in case you have another nightmare."

"You don't have to..."

"I wasn't getting much sleep before anyways." He reassures; standing up, and pulling over the chair in her room. He sits on the right side of her bed while Juna curls up next to Daphne. They sit in silence for a while and Logan is almost sure she fell back asleep; until he hears a whisper.

"Do you ever get nightmares?"

"All the time."

"Me too. I try not to fall asleep."

"What are yours about?"

Daphne blinks slowly up at the ceiling before answering him, "They vary; but tonight was the return of a painful memory. The man who captured me mutilated me then took the life of the man I loved."

Logan's body stiffened as she spoke. This didn't seem too far-fetched considering what Charles had let him see before of her life. He never saw a lover though. Logan didn't doubt that she would've had many of them, it seemed odd that none of them would've tried to protect her.

"Mutilated...?" He hesitated to ask.

"They cut me open so I wouldn't be able to have children." Daphne sounded numb, he thought. "I was left bleeding out in my cage."

"Daph..."

"Some nights, I can see my life as a mother. It's so silly but I can picture myself cooking dinner while my baby sits in their high chair; both of us waiting for my husband to come home from work." She sniffles quietly; letting her hand travel down her stomach, stopping between her hips to trace the scar left behind. "It is the sweetest form of torture."

Logan stares at the floor, trying to picture her fantasy. He saw Daphne standing in the kitchen, baby bouncing on her hip while she stirred a pot on the stove. She was right; it was the sweetest form of torture.

"What was he like?" Logan asked.

"Who?"

"The man you were in love with."

Daphne smiled, picturing him so clearly. "He was great. Our situation wasn't ideal but we made it work. At first, I thought he was out to hurt me like the others but over time, he would open up to me."

Logan wanted to question their relationship but knew better than to crush her dwindling spirit. Perhaps a part of him felt a sting of jealousy at how much she gushed over a man who helped keep her locked away.

"... it was like catching lightning in a bottle." She sighed. "I would give anything to feel it again."

"You'll find it again."

Logan watched as Daphne traced the scar on her lower stomach.

"Do you ever think about it..?"

"Think about what?"

"A family."

There is a long pause. Daphne wonders if she overstep, then again they didn't know each other very well. When she went to apologize, he cut her off.

"Sometimes." Logan shrugs. "But it's not realistic."

"Oh, yeah," Daphne lets out a dry chuckle. "I almost forgot you're an old man."

A small smile forms on Logan's lips at her laugh.

"Not everyone can be young and pretty like you, dollface." Logan noticed her shift onto her elbow to look at him. Her face turned a cherry wine color in the moonlight and her eyes went dark as they found his.

"You don't mean that." She shakes her head. "It's the curse talking."

He was offended by her assumption. I mean, look at her. Daphne was more than her mutation, more than her 'curse', more than those horrible moments that she thought defined her. It was a tragedy that she didn't see that.

There was so much that he wanted to say to her; to assure her that her life was not doomed, her dreams weren't far-fetched, and that she could be happy.

That's all she wanted, right? Happiness?

Logan could do that. Restore the light that left her eyes long ago. He was convinced he could give it to her.

Too caught up in his thoughts, he almost missed her muffled, "Goodnight, Logan."

As he watched her lay back on her pillow, eyes closed, smile still on her face, Logan realized he did not give a damn if it was her attraction control anymore; he was done for.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

tags: @bethexo07 @marcybug @borapsycho @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367

@aylawylie @princessanglophile @mxtokko

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[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

(Aemond's POV)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,2k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond's POV.

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Gravity had nothing on us, my dear. 

You can’t untie red strings of fate. 

This is how it feels to fall in love with the atmosphere. 

The world surrendered to a symphony of wind.  Turbulence thundered in my ears and whipped my hair untamed as I ascended the skies. Rising higher and higher, the clouds enveloped me in a blinding haze, and the elements of the earth below decreased into a mosaic. I conquered the celestial at such speed that I felt like Aegon reborn. 

Vhagar was an extension of myself, her undulating muscles beneath my straddling body felt as if connected to my own, forcing our masses through the heavens with an effortlessness. I commanded her higher still, and she heeded my command. We defied gravity in a dance of grace and power.

As we approached the stratosphere where air ran thin, I straightened in my saddle, and my mighty Vhagar leveled out, conforming to every delicate change in my movements. The world below became an inverted dreamscape as we sailed the vague interstice that marked the transition between sky and oblivion - the clouds beneath were the unconquered sky, and the indigo above was the ocean, and I was flying upside down. 

Together, Vhagar and I, were limitless.

The memory of when I first claimed her was so potent it eclipsed everything else, real or imagined. It was like walking penniless and finding a mountain of gold at your feet. What was one to do with such power? A power so raw and exhilarating, it consumed. Suddenly, I had no fear. Suddenly, I was not alone…

I leaned into Vhagar’s warmth and she folded her wings against me. We plummeted back down towards the earth, a thrilling drop that sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through my veins. My stomach lurched, and beneath me, Vhagar’s thorax vibrated – a deep, primal roar that resonated through my very bones. In that moment, I mirrored her, a guttural exclaim of pure, unadultered joy escaping my lips.

Never had freedom tasted so sweet.

The force of our descent sliced through the nebulous clouds like a knife through cotton, and as we emerged, the Narrow Sea gaped wide, glittering beneath the noontide sun like a crystal embellished blue silk. I leveled out again and watched Vhagar’s twin loom out of the water. 

In the distance, the seven huge drum-towers, proud sentinels of pale red stone, rose out of the sea on their stony summits, and the tolling bells welcomed me back home. An unfamiliar fleet of ships coasted down Black Water Rush like wooden beads along a blue mesh - an unremarkable observation, as nobles from every corner of the realm had been descending upon King’s Landing for the wedding. They had all come through the gates by horse and carriage, none by sea. 

Traders perhaps? Coming just in time to fortify our stores for the upcoming plunder. 

So many fucking mouths to feed. I had seen them endlessly pour through the castle gates in a river of gold, silver, and polished steel – their banners displaying the sigil of house Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, and I could’ve sworn I saw a direwolf banner among them. Would the Starks truly find a Targaryen wedding of such importance that they would bother dragging themselves out of their frozen pits? It was to be a grand affair, to be sure. A celebration with tourneys, hunts, feasts, and dancing, to last for at least a fortnight.

If I had it my way, I would escape and race the wind on Vhagar. But mother’s orders were a bittersweet curse. We were to be on our best behavior, a euphemism for me babysitting my nuisance of a brother, to ensure he does not imbibe every wine cask in the keep, and to hearten my sweet sister who always grew gauche in social gatherings. 

One could hardly fathom I was the youngest.

But the chief of my worries was Aegon. He already had an inclination of getting unreasonable drunk on a plain day. I shuddered to think of the lengths he might go to in tribute to his own nuptials.

Unease filled my gut.

But it wasn’t the vigil of my siblings that rendered me apprehensive.

As I drew close enough that I could make out the banners, I realized that these were no ordinary trading ships. In fact, these weren’t traders at all. I tugged at the reins and Vhagar gathered air beneath her leather and sprung up high, casting her mighty shadow atop the vessels. 

Memories consumed me like a bad aftertaste. The sigil-emblazoned sails draped across the masts below needed no introduction. The seahorse and the three-headed black dragon caught the wind. 

It could only mean one thing…

The thought got knocked right out of me as a bone-jarring impact to Vhagar’s thorax threw me off my saddle. Her earsplitting roar resounded across the blackwater, as I tumbled down her back. Instinctively, I snagged my wrist through a loop in her saddle ropes, dangling precariously until she steadied herself. I hauled myself back up, heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream. I scouted the skies for an attacker in a glassy bewilderment, growing acrimoniously aware of my disability. But the firmament was still and empty. 

What in the Seven Hells?

Another blow. It knocked me aslant, and I felt fury consuming me like poison. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the saddle horn and twisted the reins twice ‘round my forearm, and perceived every muscle of Vhagar’s back contracting beneath me, waiting to charge. 

Who would dare challenge me?

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A shape, shrouded beneath Vhagar’s wing membranes, was soaring alongside us. And when I turned to look, my eye met a stranger, masked and cloaked, stalking us on a dragon as black and swift as a raven. But the beast was miniscule in relation, just the age to breathe fire, and yet had nearly forced me to meet the gods. 

Humiliation morphed into a blinding rage that seethed through my veins and marred my vision with a red mist. “Ossēnagon, Vhagar!” Kill. I growled, and steered her toward the trespasser. But the figure crouched down in their saddle, and their dragon dove towards the city. 

Fucking craven.

We went after them. Their descent was swift and inaudible, while mine was slow and thunderous like a moving mountain. The pale orange rooftops of King’s Landing, bleached from the summer’s scorching sun, spread out like a vast rust beneath our darkening shadows. I pursued them to the Hill of Rhaenys, where we landed opposite each other outside the crypts of the dragonpit. 

Dismounting, I started towards them, each step a measured threat. The steel of my dagger sang its lethal warning as I drew it from my scabbard. But the stranger stood their ground, defiance flickering in their shadowed form. My anger, already a simmering cauldron, boiled over. I closed the distance between up, a growl ripping from my throat, raw and primal.

“You!” The word barely a breath before my blade bit their throat. A desperate struggle ensued, but my palm collared the nape of their neck, locking them to the steel. A Kingsguard’s alarming exclaims sounded in the distance, but the words faded underwater. 

“The Stranger requests an audience.” The contiguity drowned my voice into a whisper. I took pleasure in that I towered over them, and felt their hot, humid breath against me, hitching beneath the sharp edge.

“My prince!” Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came running towards us. His voice, booming like thunder, always sufficed in snapping the whole court to attention. But it wasn’t his timber which stirred me this time. “Let her go!” 

His words carried me out of my raging inferno.

Her?

I blinked through my apprehension and scavenged the stranger’s frame with my eye, as if I’d awoken from a dream and seen them for the first time. A tug, a rustle, and their hood fell back and settled around their shoulders. 

A wave of ice ran down my spine. 

It was like seeing a ghost. The protagonist of all my nightmares coming alive, ready to haunt me. 

Aylana Velaryon.

Her eyes, the color of sunlit amber flicked with gold, held mine with an unsettling intensity. She seemed to see right through me, demanding answers I could not provide. Then, a knowing smile played on her lips.

“Skoros iksos pirta, kepus?” What’s wrong, uncle? A sardonic edge laced her voice. “Gaomagon ao daor gīmigon issa?” Do you not remember me?

The words hit me like a physical blow. I swallowed, stunned by her High Valyrian.

For a moment, I believe I stood petrified, unable to tear my gaze from her, unable to utter a word.

A torrent of questions, accusations, apologies – years of unspoken turmoil – churned within me. But now, with her life literally in my hands, the words deserted me. My tongue, usually an agile weapon, felt like lead. This was the person who had haunted my every waking and sleeping thought for years, and all I could manage was a stunned silence. Perhaps my countenance spoke volumes where my voice failed.

She echoed the girl I remembered, but time had woven its changes. I had to take it all in. Her voice, saccharine and laced with a hint of mockery, was a stark contrast to the playful child I held in memory. Her once youthful features had sharpened, cheekbones higher, lips fuller. Then, my gaze, fell upon the one jarring element – a crimson scar that snaked across her left eyebrow, expressing a raw pink sheen beneath a shell of transparent skin. Years had passed, yet the wound looked fresh.

The accident.

My jaw tightened as venom seethed through my veins.

I could still see her crumpled, lifeless form in the dirt, her skull cracked open, every time I closed my eye.

And I was holding the bloody rock.

Shame coiled in my gut like a suffocating weight. I could not bear to look at her.

“Some things never change,” she said facetiously. “Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Shit.

I was still holding my knife to her throat. I recoiled with such force that the effort pushed her back as well. A bright seam of red welled up at the lip where my blade had kissed her and painted the length of her neck like dark fruit. 

I reviled myself. I had tried to kill her. Again. 

But she just smiled, a dimple flashing in her cheek. As if we were still kids and she had made a humorous jest.

I realized I had been holding my breath when a gasp escaped my lips and air rushed back into my lungs. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

“Aylana.” I spoke her name derisively without intending to, as I sheathed the knife at my waist where my gaze lingered a moment, dreading to meet hers. 

My stomach turned. I never used to call her that. It sounded so formal and distant on my tongue, just like ‘uncle’ on hers. But that’s what we were to each other now - our friendship no more than a distant memory. I no longer assumed myself worthy of her alias. I had lost that privilege. Just as I had lost my friend. 

The weight of the past pressed down on me, suffocating.

Agitation infiltrated my mind and my whole disposition must have come off as reticent and hostile. I watched her pull her gloves off finger by finger and release the clasp of her cloak. There was an attitude in her movements and a poise in her posture. Beneath she was dressed in sable flying leathers that clung tightly to her body. 

I averted my gaze. 

Frustration clawed at my chest, and whatever other feeling it was that made my mouth dry and my palms clammy. 

“You look well, nuncle,” she said. 

My eye met hers and I noted them briefly flicker across my eyepatch. Her scrutiny made the leather singe my skin with awareness. Growing diffident, I looked away. 

“Hmmph,” I said, my favorite expression of disdain. 

I knew what she was implying. That if I had only listened to her that night, instead of acting like an arrogant scoundrel, I wouldn’t be looking like a eunuch with one eye at present.

And she was right in mocking me. If her insults were the currency for my betrayal, I would gladly become a spendthrift.

My breathing shallowed as I gazed at the damage I’d caused. I had to get out of there. 

“I hope we did not frighten you earlier,” she said, interrupting my escape. “I only thought I might test the mettle of the largest dragon in the world. She truly is remarkable. A fair exchange, to be sure.” 

I turned to look at her, and I didn’t know what I must’ve looked like, because the playful smile that had been dancing between her lips our entire encounter, vanished. There it is, I thought. The realization. The Aemond you knew is gone. This is the monster you forged.

“Ser Harrold,” I said. “Escort the princess to the Red Keep. And make sure she does not test the mettle of anyone else in the city.”

“Certainly, my prince,” said Ser Harrold, the Lord Commander who was the very first person to see my face after the loss of my eye. This fact made him remarkably significant somehow.

I mounted Vhagar and took to the sky, watching Aylana and Nymax blur into mere specks on a canvas. 

This would be a celebration I was sure to remember…

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[sixx-sixx-sixx]

THE TRADER’S DAUGHTER — cooper “the ghoul” howard x female!oc

EDIT; FOLLOW @bonafideyapper FOR FUTURE PARTS

warnings(?): dbf!cooper, female!oc, oc is described as brown eyed (but feel free to picture whatever you want), proofread to the best of my ability (correcting capitalization is not my priority on my phone, this is hard enough to format as is), this series will have smut at some point but let me work up to writing that (meaning, let me smoke this joint and see where the wind takes me), there’s allusion to smut in this towards the end but it’s nothing wild

(this is part one of some) - part 2

Daisy hadn’t seen Cooper for a very, very long time. She’d never forgotten the charismatic cowboy that told her stories of the old world and of his encounters with creatures in the wasteland. The ghoul that would bring her little trinkets from his travels, gifting her a pearl necklace for her 10th birthday. A single pearl on a dainty silver chain that she would wear every day until it wore out. She was 13 when that happened, and was utterly devastated. Thankfully, she had charmed a local boy for a new chain, sneaking behind her dad’s back to go on a few dates with the kid. She’s continue to flirt with men and make empty promises to them to replace the chain each time it broke.

Cooper had gotten himself into some thick shit, spending a good time locked up by some raiders and other bullshit that got him sidetracked. On the other side of the goddamn wasteland, on the fucking east coast. How did he even get to the fucking east coast? By the time he made it back to the trading post, over a decade had passed, and it showed in the size of the once-familiar settlement. More gambling, more fighting in the streets, whole lotta bad shit that he didn’t have time to get involved with. He made his way through the town, his gaze trained on the old trading post at the center of town. He took careful notice of how men sneered at him as he passed by them, mumbling some racist bullshit about his ghoulishness.

Fuck them, he thought as he stepped up to the door of the trading post. He opened the door to hear the old bell jingle to alert his presence, watching as a young woman walked out from the back room with a routine “Welcome to Jo’s Shack, what can I get you?” leaving her pretty pink lips.

Daisy was almost in shock, seeing the ghoul standing in her doorway. She had assumed the worst over the years, as his visits had become less and less until they were not at all. She figured he was dead, shriveled up and baking in the sun. Or worse, she worried he had gone feral, which was always going to be inevitable in his case. Either way, she would keep extra chems stocked for the day he returned.

Cooper strolled towards the counter and looked at the girl, recognizing those big brown eyes from a mile away. “Hey, little flower. Your daddy around?” He asked her, his eyes flickering down to look at the pearl around her neck. Huh, he didn’t know she’d have kept it all those years. Pretty things were hard to keep around these parts.

Daisy’s face broke out into a grin and she gave him a little nod, leaning forward to get a good look at him. “Sure is, I’ll go get him for you. he’s not gonna believe this.” She had to fight to maintain her composure and keep her excitement at bay, going through the back room and up the stairs to the second floor of the shack to where her father was sleeping. In the ghoul’s absence, Daisy had grown to be a respectable trader, taking over the face of her father’s shop after growing up learning from the best. Although the population was tougher, she was just as tough, and nobody dared to fuck with Jo’s Shack or the woman running the place.

She stepped back out to the main room and leaned against the newly-reinforced counter, a bright smile on her face as she gazed up at him. He was just as handsome as she remembered, though she was never truly able to capture how his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“Flower, you are just as pretty as a peach.” Cooper flashed her a wide grin, unashamedly flirting with the girl who he had essentially watched grow up. And whew, did she grow up good. He couldn’t help himself as he let his sunken eyes roam over the smooth, exposed skin of her chest, the tank top she wore under her unzipped jacket left little to the imagination.

Daisy thought his southern drawl was absolutely intoxicating as she slid a little box of chem vials across the counter to him, “Thank you, Coop. Don’t tell dad I gave these to you.” She winked and leaned back as her dad came out to greet his old friend, letting the two men greet each other like they hadn’t spent any time apart.

“Cooper Howard, you son of a bitch! I hope you brought me that Brahmin you still owe me.” Josiah grinned as he pulled the ghoul in for a hug, giving him shit over some long-forgotten wager on a card game. Coop patted him on the back with a shit-eating grin, “Yessir, why, yo’ momma’s waitin’ outside!”

Daisy watched Cooper closely as she stood beside her dad, taking in the way his skin had started to redden in places she didn’t remember being scarred over before. She had spent her whole adolescence infatuated with him, playing it off as a silly little girl crush on a big strong man (who had killed for her, but that’s a story for another day.) Her pulse quickened as she overhead her father invite the ghoul inside for a drink and to rest, watching him come around the counter to push through the curtains leading to the back.

It was fucked up, Cooper knew that. He knew it was fucked up to already be thinking about the woman behind him. Thinking about how sweet she sounded when she said his name, thinking about that little pearl necklace dangling in his face as she skillfully sat atop his—

He really needed that drink, and maybe a puff of his inhaler before he went feral at the thought of something as soft and pretty as his Daisy having anything to do with something as scarred and distorted as him.

a/n: okay yall what do we think about part one? I got to the app to post it and immediately rewrote the ending because I hated the original, so I hope this was good!

taglist: @savanahc @one-of-thewalkingdead @silverose365 @neverendingdumptser