#Fluctuating Vision

[asgeyecareindia]

LASIK full form is Laser-Assisted In Situ Keratomileusis, It offers the promise of clear vision without the need for glasses or contact lenses. While the procedure itself is relatively quick and painless, adjusting to life after surgery can be an exciting yet slightly challenging process. In this article, we’ll delve into what you can expect after LASIK eye surgery, how your vision will evolve, and tips for a smooth transition to a glasses-free lifestyle.

[callsign-bunnie]

Hello!! Same person who did the last ask you responded to where you gave a few more details on the privating thing. You mentioned that you might offer private copies in exchange for feedback, (if I interpreted that correctly, I’m sorry if I misinterpreted it and if so you can just ignore this whole ask) what kind of feedback would you be looking for? Im not as experienced with writing or fic-publishing as you but I’d love a chance to reread those fics and offer feedback

Haha, I appreciate the offer! So, when I offer private copies with the expectation of feedback, it's more in the sense of a beta reader, kind of? I'm to the point with my fan writing where most of it is practice for book writing, so I need a bit deeper of insight into it.

I'm not really looking for grammar or general sentence structure changes because A) I have an editor, B) I'm not interested in that.

So in the example of feedback I've asked for The Horror Of Silence And Sound, my prologue is very heavy metaphor based, it has a lot of prose (I've noticed my writing tends to get a bit wordy, I'm working on cutting it down where necessary.) and a lot of foreshadowing, so I asked people to count off what they picked up, just to sort of generally point out the pieces of the scene.

Essentially, consider it like... annotation, but a conversation! It's why I don't just... throw the idea out there, because I know it's a hard task, lol.

Basically, I'm just looking for feedback that helps me in writing. For another example, my friend pointed out that I use 1 line paragraphs as a way to bring a scene back to action or conclude a long string of thought. This has helped me a lot, because it helps me find a way to end longer scenes and I think (I hope) it gives my reader a bit more of a structured read.

I'm not really interested in professional feedback because A) it's fanfiction, I seriously don't think it's that deep. It's why I never bothered with a beta reader or anything like that, because it's free content. B) Again, I have an editor. If I need anything like that, I can just go to her.

For the record, today is a low vision day so I have like no idea if any of this makes sense.

Honestly, if you're ever curious and want a better explanation, DMing me is best. I don't think I'm that scary, lol, but I promise I don't bite.

[self-spaghettification]

anyone else have a playlist of just a few songs that in the context of the dragon prince emotionally wrench them like a lot or just me 😃

[stargazeraldroth]

I can't remember if I asked this before, so I'll ask now: What if Ink was colorblind? Or what if he perceived colors differently from everyone else, kinda like how certain animals can see colors that we fleshy mammals cannot?

Like, just imagine the possibilities for both of these options. I remember coming across a post on this hellsite that was about Adventure Time; the OP was colorblind and thought that one of the characters- Princess Doctor, I believe, or something like that- was a human because they perceived her green skin differently. I can see Ink talking about something like this while watching TV with the others.

Alternatively, this could make for some colorblind shenanigans when it comes to his vials, too, or even when just painting in general. Imagine he's running low on his active paints and he asks Dream to grab some colors, and Dream comes back with the wrong ones. When he's making a painting in his free time, he's explaining what the colors symbolize to his friends, and they're just nodding along because they don't have the heart to say that he used to "wrong" colors.

As for the forbidden color spectrum, there's so many possibilities with this one. Imagine Ink and the others are watching TV when all of a sudden he mentions a color that nobody has ever heard of before, so they all collectively give him confused looks but don't comment on it because. They assume it's just Ink being Ink. And while that's technically true in this scenario, it doesn't change the fact that he sees the forbidden colors.

[fliits]

During the Great War, the field of aeronautics emerged in competition to the previous fields of combat on land and at sea. While many attempts towards employing airborne travel had been made over the centuries, none had proven effective enough to be used for military purposes. Gnomish artificers had invented mechanical birds and ornithopters before the dawn of the 7th century, but their use in combat roles could only be minimal due to their small size. The necessary fuel source for any larger, and more importantly faster, methods of airborne travel and combat would only be found after the invention of the electro-magical transformer, applying the theories of Albrecht Eisenschtein in practice.

With this innovation, utilisation of magical fuel sources, traditionally much more potent and efficient in comparison to material fuel, was made compatible with electrical engines, leading to a revolution of new innovations, including new forms of aerial travel. While efforts to create so-called "air carriers", ships that were meant to carry large amounts of equipment and personnel like traditional vessels, were stumped by a fundamental misunderstanding of aerodynamics, efforts continued until more applicable paths of research were discovered.

During the war, research went into overdrive, as fear of the other side dominating the skies became a very real threat. While all sides invested heavily into aeronautics, the two who earned the greatest results were the Silval elves and the Altinboynuz dwarves.

Elven mages had long since discovered the use of balloons for airborne travel, but it was the advent of modern aeronautics which allowed them to turn this mundane innovation into the basis for a brand new form of travel. By using a metal framework to support the balloon and using a more fuel efficient source of heat, air balloons could be built large enough to carry personnel for hundreds of kilometres without need for stop, trumping any and all forms of travel by land handily. While carrying large amounts of equipment was still unfeasible, use in military efforts became possible with the advances in personal air travel, as iterations on the ornithopter had yielded results that far exceeded expectations.

While the required wingspan had previously been the chief issue in creating an ideal form of personal air travel, advancements were made by utilising research into insect biology. The required wingspan to create lift could be circumvented with a rotating set of rapidly flapping wings that could easily fit into a backpack-style contraption. With this new type of wingpack developed, the Silval military immediately set out to find a military application for it. Though not a feasible alternative to long distance air travel, the wingpack allowed for enough maneuverability that a trained pilot could utilise their size and agility to take part in aerial dog fighting. As development of aerial strike squads began, the picture soon came together for the leading figures of Silvalia.

The squads, equipped with the latest gear the military had developed, including wingpacks, would be transported safely above enemy positions with airships, from which they would descend onto the battlefield, taking their time to secure the airspace first in tandem with the airship fleets. As these mobile strike squads then made their way to ground level, they'd utilise squad tactics to act independently of high command to carry out the operation, namely to take out any key targets of enemy command and secure enemy holdouts from the back line.

This they would accomplish by utilising the newest technologies the military had to offer: gaseous chemical agents released from grenades and silent firearms which could be used to defeat entire divisions without a sound; runebombs that could be precision crafted for each mission and always had room for on-the-spot improvisations if needed; and of course, the MEDUSÈ, or Masque d'exclusion universel des dangers sensoriels et élémentaires, which not only grants the user protection against all airborne chemical agents, but also superior darkvision, protection from visual illusions, heat vision and the ability to breathe underwater as well as breathing completely silently.

Armed with a small arsenal each, every member of the squad became a silent and deadly agent functioning completely independently and often with a devotion to their country that even bloodhounds would envy. Each soldier had a willingly implanted memetic kill agent planted within their mind, which would kill them if their mask was ever removed without proper safety protocol, a secret that they carried to their graves. Small wonder that these flying troops struck fear in the Allied forces' hearts almost as soon as they were implemented.

As elven air forces began specialising in airborne strike squads, many others began to build air forces specialised in aeroplanes instead. The most significant of these parties were the Altinboynuz kingdoms, who were the first to create an air force comprised of fighter pilots. As dwarven engineers began developing their first aerocraft designs, they ran into a seemingly insurmountable obstacle quite early on. As per the medical theories of their time, the belief that a dwarf could retain consciousness within a small air tight pod such as a fighter plane's cockpit, often hundreds of meters in the air, seemed unfeasible.

The dwarves, a race notoriously averse to most forms of traverse by vehicle, had never experimented on the possible side effects of the pressure and forces a dwarf would experience while traveling in anything smaller than a locomotive. To their surprise, when compared to human testing at the time, dwarves proved to be much more resilient to the effects of atmospheric pressure and and gravitational forces that a fighter pilot typical experiences.

While theories as to the specifics of this took decades to fully understand, the modern understanding is that the dwarven build, typically having larger and denser bones and muscles than men of similar height, is much better equipped to handle fluctuations in gravitational forces and the dwarven lungs are powerful enough to draw oxygen even when under higher pressure levels.

As development swiftly continued after this revelation, the dwarven reputation for quality design proved its accuracy. While many designs were born over the course of the war, the dwarves would time and time again manage to produce the most agile planes that somehow still remained among the cheapest to build without compromising durability. This combined with the shockingly quick mastery of aerial fighting by dwarven pilots made the AAC (Altinboynuz Air Command) the most reliable and often the most fearless branch of the Allied forces. Their well-earned reputation managed to prove once and for all that the phrase "when dwarves fly" was never an allegory; it was a promise.

[karmaphone]

anyways can you still have pots if you don't meet the shitty diagnostic criteria

[earthtooz]

x : BANDAGED HEART :*+ﾟ

in which: blade finds out you're injured and can't contain his anger.

warnings: gn!reader x protective!blade, fluff, mentions of blood and injuries, 'who did this to you?' trope with blade LOL, slight manhandling, did i mention that he's protective?

a/n: blade debut, omg? this sucks btw but this was inspired by this comic that i saw the other day :> it just reminded me that the 'who did this to you' trope existed and i went YES and took my own spin onto it so, i hope you enjoy!

the smell of antiseptic wafts heavily through the air, bandages sit tightly rolled beside you, and you hiss at the sting of the antibacterial ointment slathered over the open wound on your arm. 

it hurts. 

blinking the tears away and gritting your teeth to bear with the pain, you reach for the unused roll, clumsily unravelling them with shaking hands and a blurring vision.

“oi.” a raspy voice from behind catches you off guard and you turn around from where you’ve seated yourself in the corner of the medical wing, having helped yourself to a supply of ointment and bandages. 

a familiar swordsman and fellow coworker towers above you, glowering at you through the streaks of his bangs. maybe if you weren’t on the verge of fainting, you’d have the energy to fear him.

“oh, it’s just you,” you mutter, “can i help you?”

his eyes glance you up and down, as if scanning you for any indication of misadventure. feeling uneasy under the intensity of his gaze, you return to trying to rip the bandages with bare hands since you had not brought scissors or even a blade with you in your haste. 

feeling the blood from your wound drip down your arm and onto the floor beneath you, you cringe, hurrying up so you don’t make a mess. this whole patching-yourself-up-thing should have been easy, but without something sharp and half your strength evaporated after a gruesome mission, it was much harder than usual. 

the growing frustration you were feeling was not offering much aid either, and with blade practically towering over you, you try not to let your fluctuating anger overwhelm you. 

aeons, it was as if you were sent on this mission with elio praying for your downfall. you’re lucky that you managed to get out with only a scratch on your arm and a missing weapon. it’s going to be hard finding a replacement for it, but when you just looked death in the face, you can’t say you have much to complain about that a weapon was the only thing you lost. 

suddenly, two hands sneak underneath your arms to lift you up, breaking your train of thought with a tight, unforgiving grip as you’re effortlessly placed onto a hospital bed right beside you. meeting the ruby eyes of the swordsman, your breath lodges uncomfortably in your throat, and you have to rip your gaze away from him; the intensity would paralyse you otherwise. 

“where are you hurt?” he asks, sounding more like a demand than a question. 

“i can do it myself,” you grumble. blade takes the bandage out of your hands, holding back your wrist that instinctively reached out to grab it back. the glare he shoots you from the corner of his eye placates any complaint you have.

“show me.”

reluctantly, you present your injured arm. he mutters a very quick and quiet ‘stay here’ before stalking off. a faucet is turned on, water begins running from a nearby sink, and blade returns with a wet cloth. 

grabbing your wounded arm, he cleans around the area, rubbing the blood that has trickled down your arm as well. he’s scarily gentle with you, attentive to your every wince and hiss, halting momentarily every time you let a noise slip. 

he makes quick work of patching you up, flawless and effortless in his technique. makes sense, you suppose, since he is covered in these. 

you wonder how many times he’s had to do this on himself. a small part of your heart aches thinking about it.

“thank you,” you whisper when he’s done, gratitude silently swirling inside you. grabbing the bandages and cloth, you slide off onto your feet. “i’ll put these away.” 

stepping in front of you, his body intercepts your path and you’re pressed against the bed, frozen under him. there’s an indescribable look of fury in his eyes, his red eyes seeming even angrier than usual. 

“what happened?” he asks.

you have hold yourself up, suddenly weak in the knees. “just a typical mission, it’s nothing you should worry about.”

the fellow stellaron hunter does not look satisfied with your response. “what do you mean ‘nothing you should worry about’? who did this to you?” he asks, punctuating each word with a dark expression. 

“blade- please, can we not talk about this right now?” you mutter, “i’m tired and i just want to sleep.”

he narrows his eyes. “who. hurt. you?”

“why? what can you do about it now?”

“kill them.”

you scoff. “yeah, right.”

blade wedges a leg between yours, hindering your escape even further by leaning himself closer to you. “i’m serious.”

“so am i. if you’re thinking about hunting them down, then please, don’t bother. let it go.” you mutter.

“but you got hurt.” 

“i get hurt all the time.”

his brows scrunch together, a small indication of the dangerous protectiveness growing within him. you interrupt his train of thoughts, placing a brave hand on his chest; right over his heart. ‘i’m fine. you don’t need to worry about me.”

“i’m not worried,” he grumbles lowly. 

“oh. i see.”

he grabs your hand and takes it away from his chest, holding you gently. “i’m angry that you got hurt.”

you’re speechless, blinking at the swordsman who raises your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it. it feels like a promise- not that you know what said promise is, but with that look in his eyes, you know it’s not a peaceful one. 

“so why don’t you tell me the truth? who did this to you?”

the answer slips past your lips before you can help it and when the words are spilled, a creeping guilt invades you. whatever he’s planning, you know that bloodshed will follow.

“see, that wasn’t so hard.”

in a blink of an eye, blade is gone, taking the intense pressure with him. he left so quickly that you wonder if he was ever here to begin with. the lingering brush of his lips is the only indication that he was not a figment of your half-aware conscious.  

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[charnelhouse]

teacups

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader rating: mature word count: 2.5k+ summary: Joel and you take a shower after a traumatic event. warnings: srs hurt/comfort. violence/gore. implied attempted sexual assault. trauma. panic attack. joel being too nice. A/N: same reader as the one in bad people and moments, but no need to read. Joel Miller Masterlist

Joel wondered if his luck had finally run out. His hand slid along the slippery kitchen floor as the man on top of him snarled. Joel was pinned in a way where he couldn't get a full breath in. He'd been an idiot, relying on threadbare information passed between smugglers. 

"You know that real nice house outside the wall? Only bout half a mile South? Apparently, it's empty. The guys livin' there got taken care of during a raid. A lot of shit probably left inside. Well hidden. I'll pay you to see what you can find."

Joel hadn't thought it'd be that dangerous. He needed a second pair of hands, and everything had been fine until three of the supposedly dead men had walked in on them, rifling through their shit.

"Fuck. Fuck," Joel hissed between clenched teeth as he attempted to reach for the knife that had been kicked out of his grasp. The man's arm around his throat tightened. 

Joel felt his vision tilt, his body shuddering forward. Everything was fluctuating between spots of bright yellow to deep gray. He wasn't scared for himself, but he was for her. She'd been taken into the next room. He could hear her screaming-

No-she was shrieking. Painful, warbling, animalistic noises that only rang out from people cornered without options. Joel knew them well. He'd caused them. 

His jaw clenched as she wailed, a tempest of sound that destabilized him. It cut him straight to the bone, and his head was galloping a mile a minute: no, no, no, no.

Beneath that mantra was something more explicit. Not her. Not her. Christ-not her. 

He swore he heard her shout his name. Beg: Joel. Joel. Please. 

Okay. Okay, honey. 

He went blind-white with a rage he hadn't felt in a long damn time. Despite his lack of oxygen, he braced his hands and knocked his head back. The guy yelled, loosened just enough that Joel shot forward and snatched the knife. He lifted his arm and flung the blade back, making contact with something squishy that gave under the sharp tip. Eye, he guessed, especially by how loudly the bastard was hollering. Joel whirled around to find him holding his face, blood squeezing through the creases in his knuckles. The handle trembling between fingers.

Joel jumped to his feet, jerking the knife out before driving it forward once, twice, and then a third time. He couldn't waste a second, so he jabbed the vulnerable areas. The man gurgled, frantically attempting to stem the injuries before abruptly collapsing. He’d bleed out.

Joel!

His name rocked through his head, and how much time had he just wasted? What if they'd hurt her past the point he couldn't help her? 

He ran.

***

Joel's hands were pulsing with his own heartbeat, dribbling blood from the violence of using a knife. Stabbing was a tricky business.

Joel.

As he tore through the house, he shouted her name, hoping it would comfort her to know he was coming. He'd been a fool to take her outside the walls of the QZ with only two guns and not sufficient information.

But-fuck-she'd handled herself before. 

He hadn't forgotten the night she'd taken out the three people who had killed her boyfriend. Luke had been a good man. A benevolent leader. When he’d been murdered, Joel hadn't exactly cared since he was focused on his own shit. Death had been normal. Loss was easy. Luke had been another name whispered through the channels of QZ communication.

But he did remember her.

Dolly.

It's what most of the community called her because she had a lovely, rich voice and sang a lot of Dolly Parton to help the kids sleep. 

Then, she went briefly insane. A switch flipped when she found Luke ripped and shredded with his guts out. She'd taken it in stride, seemingly calm and collected, as she wrapped his body and brought him to be burned. She'd then asked around, discovered where the three who'd done it were sleeping, and slaughtered them with a Ka-Bar.

Yes-the QZ's homecoming queen walked out of the woods covered in blood, and no one said a word. It was swept under the rug just like everything else, and who was going to complain about losing three assholes who'd murdered a decent guy for a couple ration cards and supplies?

The community had liked Luke. Respected him. 

Joel, admittedly, found the man foolish. Back then, he hadn't given Luke his attention, but once he started fucking his girlfriend, he mulled over his encounters with the blonde jock like he was studying a map. Who was he to her? How much had she liked him? How had he fucked her, pleasured her, made her smile? 

There was the tiniest piece of Joel that felt jealous. Luke was dead, but he still haunted her just like Joel's ghosts plagued him. 

Selfishly, he wanted her rage-her stunning wrath. The idea of that girl carving three people up to avenge his death was a strange, exhilarating image for him. 

In truth, Joel was deeply fucking attracted to her. Dolly. 

What had she said that night as they sheltered from the rain? The first time they'd had sex, and they both had been blind drunk. 

"He was an idiot.

"He still operated as if the rules hadn't changed. He didn't understand that you have to be a bad person to survive here. He trusted too easily. Far too empathetic for his own good." 

Joel never told her, but those words had lit a fire in him. That had been the moment he’d realized she wasn't just some sweet, pleasant angel who sang to kids. She was all teeth. She was smart-

She was still screaming. 

Joel sprinted, barreling through the final door into the dining room before he abruptly slid to a stop. He was puzzled at the scene before him. He couldn’t figure out what he was seeing.

Blood. Dark, viscous as syrup. It was all over the floors. There was arterial spray covering the pale, peeling wallpaper. Dolly was straddling one of the men, bringing her arms up and down in brutal strikes. Joel could hear the squelch of tissue. The creak of the wooden floor under her knees. She had stopped yelling at some point and now was breathing heavily-grunting low and rough. Across the room was the third guy, very obviously dead. 

Joel moved steadily toward her, calling her name softly. She wasn't hearing him, and he realized her sleeves were drenched in blood up to the shoulder. The silver of the knife continued to disappear into the purple-pink mess of the man's belly. His eyes were open and unseeing, mouth parted in shock.

"Dolly," he tried. Nothing. 

"Sweetheart." Nothing.

Finally, he lunged and seized her wrist. She yelped as the knife flew from her hand and skated across the floor. She struggled in his grip, making wet, hiccuping noises when she attempted to wrench herself from him.

"No," she spat. “No-no-no-”

Carefully, he pulled her off the man and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He shoved the side of his face against hers. She was twitching in his hold, shaking furiously. Her teeth clicked, her body taut with adrenaline. "Focus," he coaxed. "You focus for me, now."

She choked and sputtered. She attempted to crawl away, but Joel had her locked against him. Her heart was vibrating in her chest, thumping with the same fury as a battering ram. Joel scanned the room, fully digesting the utter devastation she had caused. Wordlessly, he turned her toward the paintings hanging on the walls. Gold-framed watercolors. It was something nicer, at least. 

"Look at that," he murmured.

She moaned, pushing against him. 

He waited.

***

"Joel," she gasped as if finally coming up for air. She was bending forward, nearly falling, and he latched to her back possessively.

Protectively. 

"Yeah?" His cheek was still glued to hers, his beard scraping her jaw. Both of them were slick with sweat. If he moved his head just right, he'd be able to kiss her, but it wasn't the time. Initiating something sexual seemed like bad form after whatever had gone down.

"Joel," she repeated, and he cleared his throat. Her thin, weary voice worried him.

"You're alright," he assured her. "They're all dead."

She said nothing, so he let her go lax in his arms. He studied the walls and the chandelier. He tried to count her heartbeats but found it challenging when the room stank of copper and viscera. The real stench of death.

Suddenly, she lurched in his arms.

"Teacups." She pointed to the white cabinet-so dusty it could be gray.

"Yes," he agreed slowly, puzzled. 

"Teacups," she muttered before it bloomed into a laugh that was verging on hysterical. "We should take them home." She turned, fingers caught in the opening of his shirt, tugging down like she was attempting to climb him. "Would be nice, you know? Have something pretty."

He grimaced, readjusting his stance, crouching lower to the point that his knees creaked and pain shot through his thighs. He ignored it and grasped her face, tilting it toward the delicate stream of moonlight. "Look at me," he ordered firmly. "Look at me, honey."

She did, her eyes flickering from the floral-stamped teacups to his face. She appeared gone-blood, tears and tears smeared across her nose and cheeks. Her hair was even wet with it. A disturbing memory infiltrated his head: Sarah's artwork that used to hang on their fridge. Finger-paints. Lots of red and pink. He swallowed before licking his lips. 

"Is this blood all theirs?" He asked, gesturing to her clothes. He was pissed at himself for not checking her sooner, but he figured calming her down had been the most necessary action. 

She lifted her shoulders before dropping them. She had gone somewhere else. Shit.

Gingerly, he maneuvered her into his arms to carry her up the stairs. He needed to clean her and wipe away the remnants of tonight’s mistakes. His mistakes.

***

"Get in the shower," he instructed, but she wasn't moving. He sighed, tenser now. He figured a hot shower would have excited her. A luxury neither of them had had in months, maybe longer. Joel frowned and scraped a hand over his face. 

She'd killed before, so he wasn't sure what this was? She seemed broken. Carefully, he reached for the hem of her jeans only to find her belt gone. He inhaled sharply as he began to scrutinize the rest of her outfit. He'd assumed things had gotten messy in the fray. Her sleeve was torn, and there was swelling along her throat. He took her face into his hands and moved it left to right, right to left. Looking closer, he realized her bra straps had been wrenched loose. Buttons missing on her shirt. When he pulled the collar to the side, he found a distinct bite mark. 

Joel cursed, jerking away instantly. She didn't flinch, only stared up at him sadly. 

He hadn’t meant to. It had been a reflex. A very poor one. He needed to try a softer approach and show her he wasn't fearful of her. He'd just been surprised. 

He reached for her again and began rubbing her shoulders. He found them cold and damp. Clammy. 

"They weren't infected." He was stating it as fact. Hoping.

She bit her lip. 

"Work with me here, baby. They weren't infected, right?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "It wasn't that." She blinked dazedly before continuing. "They tried…" she trailed off, and her eyes began to fill with tears. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, chewing hard as if she couldn't say the rest. She averted her gaze, and Joel felt sick.

"They didn't, Joel," she whispered. "They-they-"

He reacted immediately. 

Wrapping his arms around her, he hauled her body to his chest. "They tried," he confirmed. "They tried, and they didn't get close. You took care of 'em."

She broke.

She began sobbing into his shirt, muffling her mouth against the denim fabric. She was shaking, and Joel felt inadequate-completely lost. Inexplicably, he decided that this would be something Luke would most likely excel at. Kindness. Empathy. Understanding. Joel only felt nauseous. He felt ill with guilt and then had to banish the thought away, disappointed at his pettiness. She needed him, so he cupped the back of her head, using his thumb to draw tiny circles above her ear. 

After a few minutes, he spoke gently. "Do you want to shower?"

She fisted his collar, her back hitching under his hand. She was working herself up again, straying very close to a panic attack. He had to calm her down.

"I'll go in there with you," he offered. "I won't leave."

She stilled, though her shoulders continued to tremble in spurts of aftershocks. He could smell the blood on her. Rusty and metallic. 

"Okay," she agreed.

***

The shower felt good. Better than good. It was narrow and cramped, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she burrowed into Joel's naked chest, desperate to feel his skin. He had even been willing to get in fully clothed.

"You've been through a lot. I don't want to make you uncomfortable-"

"Shut up, Joel. It's fine."

The room was humid with steam, the air tinged with old blood. The shower floor had turned pink, and Joel had to detangle himself from her to search for wounds. He'd found a slit in her side, just beneath her ribs. Hardly serious, but it had to have stung. With a bar of valuable ivory soap that had been just lying on the shower step, he carefully dragged it over the injury. He crouched low, one hand holding her hip as he cleaned her. 

She said nothing as she watched him, her fingers running through his hair. Somewhere between washing her toes and beneath her breasts, he felt a strange affection for her. This was the most intimate thing they had ever done. The gentleness. The womb-like shower. The dim lights. 

 When he was done, he kissed the wound under her ribs, lips firm against velvety skin. He stood, and she regarded him with tender curiosity, her eyes far more present than they'd been ten minutes ago. He pulled her to him, his cock slightly stiffening simply because she was beautiful and molded into his frame, and his body reacted to her regardless of his intentions.

"I was scared," she confessed as the water sluiced down them, drumming the tile floor. "I was so scared they'd killed you already, and I couldn't do anything."

"I think," he said, lightly teasing. "You managed to do quite a bit."

She huffed, shoving her face into his throat, nose rooting along his jaw. She used enough force that his back hit the wall and his arms automatically rose to cradle her. He said nothing, just let her find him, use him as she needed. She'd been terrified for him even when they'd attempted to harm her. He swallowed thickly as a new wave of anger pulsed in the trenches of his marrow. He hoped one was still breathing downstairs, unable to move. Joel would make it hurt.

He felt her shift in his arms, and as she relaxed, it cooled his temper. She stood on tiptoes, her mouth running along his ear. He shivered and attempted to calm himself down-think of anything else. 

"I did it for me," she whispered. "But-but I also did it for you. I'd kill for you if I had to."

Stunned, he gripped the nape of her neck and forced her face from his throat. He pulled her eyes to his. He wanted to tell her that she'd certainly already done that. He didn't want her to have to, even if it shot heat through his bones.

"You did a hell of a job," he managed to say instead. He was drunk off the shower steam and hot water, and her breath was cool against his mouth. "You did so fuckin' well, sweetheart."

***

Afterward, Joel tucked her into one of the beds. She reached for him, her lids heavy and movements sluggish. He promised her he'd come back after he checked the house. He didn't kiss her, but he thought about it. Things were changing. He shook his head, interning those worries for another day. He swapped his tenderness with something easy. 

Anger.

He found outrage and clawed his fingers into its familiar texture. 

There it was. Fury and revenge were his old, perfect lovers, and he felt them as he stood outside her door. They touched him, caressed him, begging to be used.

For her. 

Joel would do this for her even if it meant nothing. Even if the damage was already done. He needed somewhere to put it. He needed somewhere to place those emotions because he certainly wouldn't take it out on her, fuck her simply for stress relief after what had happened tonight. 

"Joel?" From inside the room, her voice rang small. It distressed him. Bury that, too. 

He rested his forehead against the closed door, sighing. "Yeah?"

"Will you check if they're gone, please?"

"Of course."

***

Silently, he went downstairs, found a hammer from one of the men's belt loops, and then ruined whatever she had left still whole in the dining room. Skulls. Ribs. Bones. He crushed them all, fractured them to bits and pieces for what they had done to him and his. 

[cupidcures]

𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝? ♡ 𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠

you and your best friend jisung were always tittering on the borderline of a romantic relationship and a platonic one. you thought you knew everything about him, only to be proven wrong in a way you never expected.

PAIRING: han jisung x reader

GENRE: fluff, crack, angst if you squint

WARNING: none, just tooth-rottingly sweet fluff with our dense hannie

DISCLAIMER: this is 100% fiction and doesn’t portray how the featured idols act in reality, this is made purely for entertainment

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

a/n: i recently got back into the very first anime i’ve watched, and the two main protagonists are so OBLIVIOUS to each other’s feelings. there’s literally an ongoing joke within the fandom that the main male protagonist believes that he’s been in a relationship with the female protagonist the whole time despite not having discussed it (natsu and lucy from fairy tail..)😅 but that’s what inspired this very short oneshot LOL. i hope you enjoy!

A yellow beam of sunlight peeked through the transparent material of the window curtain, casting its glow throughout the bedroom. The warmth from the sun bloomed on your skin, greeting you with a pleasant and sunny morning. Fluttering your eyes open, you find yourself face-to-face with your best friend sleeping soundly beside you with his lips slightly parted as you feel his soft and slow breaths tickle your nose.

This was normal to you at this point, you were no longer fazed by the recurring visitor who would sneak into your house almost every day. Was it an invasion of privacy? To most people, definitely. It took some time for you to get used to it, but you didn’t mind it. You had grown quite fond of the quokka boy in front of you—so much so that you’ve found yourself falling in love with him, much to your dismay. How could you not? He has been by your side through thick and thin, and the trust and bond between you two has never wavered. Not once. And here he was, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, his legs entangled with yours, and his face just mere inches away.

Staring at his delicate features, you often pondered about whether or not he felt the same way, but you have always been too scared to ruin the friendship that you hold too dear to you, that you’ve just decided to keep all your feelings to yourself and remain on platonic terms with the boy you grew to love more than just a friend would.

As if you were in a fairytale, the dissonant melody of the birds outside on the tree by the windowsill stirred the boy next to you awake. As soon as he made the slightest bit of movement, you closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep, just so you wouldn’t be caught staring at him.

“Mornin’ Y/N.” His raspy voice spoke to you in a gentle manner, and you felt yourself burning up from just the feeling of his gaze on you. Yet, you stuck to your act and kept your eyes closed. It was quiet for a minute or two before the joyful sound of his laughter broke the silence.

“Y/N baby I know you’re awake, weirdo. Why are you pretending to be asleep?”

Here he was with the pet names again. Your heart skipped a beat before speeding up, the blood pumping through your veins and rushing to your face. You hesitantly opened your eyes to a small squint, your eyelashes blurring your vision.

“Hey, Sungie.” Your voice greeted him with a mellow whisper as the sensation of his hand wiped the corner of your lip.

“Ew, you got drool on your face.”

“Shut it, will ya?”

The dynamic between the two of you would constantly fluctuate from flirting and teasing, it was never really consistent. His actions often left you dazed and confused, the borderline between friends and something more than that was blurred beyond clarity—even your closest friends wondered if there was something more going on.

“Is everything alright? You have… this look on your face,” Jisung scrunched his face and sat up, bringing you with him. He leaned his face closer to yours, you assumed to inspect your expression, and you felt your face burn up.

You were confused about a lot of things—but if there was ONE thing that you were sure of, it was the fact that he drove you mad. You had your speculations that he knew your feelings for him and did these things to tease you, but your intuition speaks to you that it isn’t EXACTLY the case. Things have been this way for as long as you can remember, and to be frank, you were getting more and more affected by it.

It was when Jisung stared at your lips and leaned in even closer, that you finally decided you had had enough. Your hands took its place on top of his chest and you pushed him away softly. “Why do you keep doing this?”

A small frown played on his lips. He couldn't read your mind, and you couldn’t read his. “Keep doing what?”

“This!” Your voice grew a little louder as your finger gestured back and forth between him and you. It didn’t seem to help, though. Jisung still looked lost, you were able to tell that he didn’t exactly know what you meant. He was so painfully oblivious.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you, Y/N.” He apologized anyway, despite not knowing what he did wrong. “Is it because I keep sneaking in without your permission? I thought it didn’t bother you because you never said anything, but I’ll stop if you want me to. I’m sorry.”

The frown on his face became more evident, and you started feeling bad for the boy. His eyes watered as he looked down at his hands, fidgeting on the blanket. You let out an audible sigh and shook your head.

“It’s not that. I’m fine with you sneaking in, but leaning in so close to my face? Calling me pet names? Wrapping me so tightly in hugs that would last more than what’s considered normal? Why?”

You were frustrated, to say the least. You felt like your emotions were just being toyed with by your own best friend and you couldn’t take it anymore. His lips quivered and his eyes got watery. For some reason, your questions hurt him.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I just thought it was normal to do that, I am your boyfriend after all. Do you want to break up with me? Please don’t, I’ll stop it if it makes you uncomfortable, I promise I didn’t know. Did you lose feelings for me?”

And so you stared at him. Silently. It took you a while to process his words in your head—but the more you processed it, the wider your eyes got.

“…you’re my boyfriend?”

Jisung blinked. You blinked. He blinked even more. The look of hurt on his face quickly became replaced with a look of disorientation.

“Uhm? Yeah? We love each other, don’t we? So that makes me your boyfriend? We’ve been together for a while now, Y/N.”

Your jaw dropped to the floor when you heard him utter those words, and suddenly everything started making sense to you. All those times he flirted with you, all the attempts to kiss you, all his protectiveness against other people, and all the hugs and cuddles suddenly made sense. He wasn’t toying around with your feelings at all, he was just reciprocating them. Strings of laughter began to escape your lips as your arms grasped your stomach—Jisung only looked at you in bewilderment.

“Why… why are you laughing?”

“Jisung you‘re so stupid!”

“Hey! I’m trying to be serious here and fix things and you’re over here laughing at me and insulting me?? HOW RUDE!” He crossed his arms with a pout, but he couldn’t hide the underlying look of relief on his face when he saw that you weren’t mad or upset.

“Yes I love you, but you have to ask me to be yours before you could just assume it, idiot!! I didn’t know that you loved me back so I just thought you were playing with my feelings!” You flicked his forehead as he furrowed his eyebrows in disagreement.

“But it‘s obvious that I love you!! I thought that because we feel the same way, we would automatically be a couple!”

“THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS!!”

You threw a pillow at Jisung’s face, the sudden impact throwing him off the bed. You could hear him whine childishly from the foot of your bed and so you stuck your tongue out at him, a lovesick grin plastered on both of your faces.

He was such a dork, but you didn’t care because you loved him. And he loved you too.

Masterlist

MASTERTAG (OPEN)! @skzstan12345

[neil-gaiman]

Hello,

I will try to keep this short.

I just want to thank you, Terry Pratchett (RIP), Michael Sheen, David Tennant, and the rest of the people behind Good Omens for giving me back my desire to read.

Reading was my greatest joy starting around 9 yo when it finally “clicked” for me. I even became a school librarian for years. Then when I was about 29yo, I noticed a spot in my vision like when you accidentally look at a light bulb, except mine didn’t go away. It turned out to be Presumed Ocular Histoplasmosis Syndrome.

POHS looks a lot like macular degeneration in that blind spots are caused by blood vessels punching through the retina in my central vision. Most people need one to three treatments to stabilize their vision. Over the next 14 years, I lost track of how many injections I received and my doctor even wrote a paper on me about people nothing works for. A very dubious honor.

Years of my vision fluctuating wildly in each eye just made me read less and less often without realizing it. I use audiobooks, but it’s not the same. The edition of Good Omens I listened to had a narrator who mispronounced Aziraphale the whole time. It was like nails on a chalkboard.

I loved season one, but I’ve become a bit obsessed after season 2. After a long dry spell lasting years, I decided I HAD to read the book even if it was hard and frustrating.

I am happy to say that it was great! It’s still harder, but now that my vision has been stable for a few years I discovered I had worked out strategies to help myself. Reading is a joy again instead of a frustrating slog and reminder of what I’ve lost.

Thank you for giving me my joy back.

Jenny

(Yes, that was the short version.)

I'm so glad!

[lua-magic]

Moon and your pending Karmas.

Moon is the most dengerous planet, as it is fast moving planet and it continuously waxes and wanes, which brings fluctuations in nature of a person and person experiences mood changes.

Now, it is proven even by scientists and by quantum physics, the reality is just our "Experiences" and this experience is shaped by "Moon" that is why everyone is experiencing different realities at the same time.

Whenever Moon is afflicted by Malefics it is most dengerous and troublesome position for moon and person experiences, suicidal thoughts, depression, OCD, financial issues, stability in life, and an

Moon is the planet that gets afflicted very quickly.

Anytime moon is debi or afflicted Jupiter also becomes afflicted because Jupiter is exalted in fourth house which is house of Moon.

Moon is exalted in second, fourth and eleventh house as well .

Moon is debi in sixth, eighth and twelfth house

"So, best remedy of Jupiter is improve your moon"

Fourth house from moon lies your pending karmas and there you will experience most problems in life.

"If your moon is in first house then fourth from moon is your fourth house".

So native experiences mental health issues like mood swings, anxiety, depression, problems with mother, OCD. So, person needs to work continuously on his mental attitude in his life.

Moon in second house

Native experiences issues with making decisions and remain confused in life, as now fifth house is getting afflicted, which house of intelligence. Most of the time, person education will not be useful and native will work in entirely different area of life. Native can get problems with his/ her child as well.

Native should read more books and continuously update his knowledge.

Moon third house.

Person would make many secret eniemies and and might suffer from health issues and debt in his life time. Person sometimes becomes too greedy, lustful and angry which is why keeps getting involved in unnecessary fights.

Person should always work on his/her own triggers and must focus on healing.

Moon in fourth house

Native experiences problems in relationships and with his/her spouse.

If person owns business or are in partnership then it creates problems in partnership as well . Moon in fourth keeps native in his/her comfort zone and makes person extremely Moody.

Native should choose his/her partners wisely.

Moon in fifth house 🏠

Here, native experiences lot of transformations and has to let go lot of emotions from him/her. Native doesn't like to show emotions in front of others but feels everything deeply inside. Person experiences lot of pressure or load in his mind

Person has anger issues , ego problem.

Native needs to do lot of shadow work so that he/she can release their emotions

Moon sixth house

Person Jupiter is getting afflicted here, so native experiences problems in long term goals, visions, problems with his/her luck and also causes problems in education.

Remedy is to follow your ritousnes and morality in your life and always make long term goals

Moon in seventh house

Moon in seventh house native (Male) gets attracted to the wife of other's married men easily it also gives native problems in jobs and profession and native continuously shifts or Changes his/her carrier.

Remedy is to learn to manage your sexual desires and choose your profession wisely.

Moon in eighth house 🏠

Moon in eighth house is not so good position for moon as person has lot of hidden emotions and traumas that he/she needs to work on. Native also faces issues with his/her gains and financial issues.

Person feels isolated and depressed and are unable to make friends in his life time.

Only remedy that can work for native is to learn astrology and occult.

Moon ninth house

Native experiences sleep related issues or bad dreams in certain cases. Native could suffer mental health issues like OCD, insomnia, and problems in bed pleasure.

Native needs to follow spirituality and do meditation.

Moon in tenth house

Person has problems with his/her personality and health issues as well

Native might be introvert, and experiences frequent weight gain and loss issues.

Native should continuosly work on his/her personality.

Moon in eleventh house.

Person experiences problems with his/her family, and problems in gains, if moon is in good position and exalted then person experiences good and sudden gains but if moon is afflicted then person experiences unstable flow of money.

Remedy is to be careful about the words you use, don't hurt anyone by your words and take care of your food habits.

Moon in twelfth house

Person experiences issues with their siblings and problems in starting any work.

Person would be too lost in his/her own thoughts and suffer from depression.

Person lacks courage and can't fight for his/her desires.

Native needs work on his/her subconscious mind .

If you love my work kindly keep supporting me, so that I can make more astrology content and help everyone.

[ireadwithmyears]

How each member of the bad batch would be with a visually impaired significant other (short imagine’s/headcannons

Word count: 5.4K

Pairings: the bad batch ex female reader (individual)

Tags/warnings: some are suggestive, mostly domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injuries

note: look, it’s the epitome of self indulgence. I wrote this solely because I’m blind, and have never seen these ideas discussed when it comes to our beloved boys. However, I recognize that the majority of people reading this will not have shared this experience, so this is why I am adding a disclaimer/reminder to tell you that blindness is a spectrum, and the majority of us have at least a degree of useable vision left, so that is why I continue to use visual language/descriptors like look or watching. That being said, I hope you enjoy these, I had so much fun writing them, and if you have an idea for a specific scenario so I can do more of these, or another particular clone who isn’t a member of the batch, please let me know, and I would be happy to write more

Hunter🩷 

Hunter is the best at planning dates when it comes to keeping your accessibility and comfort in mind. 

If he wants to take you out somewhere, he’ll always go and scope it out beforehand, analyzing things that might not make it an enjoyable experience for you. I.e. if the lighting is too low and will obscure any of your remaining vision. If the music is too loud and will make it hard for you to effectively communicate with him. He knows that both of these things, especially when they’re working in tandem, can make you feel on edge and anxious, and that’s the last thing he wants you to feel when he’s taking you out on a date.

He will always ask the establishment about things like accessible or braille menus, or, if you happen to have a guide dog, seating that will have the space to accommodate and be comfortable for all of you.

If the menu isn’t accessible for you, he will always give you a heads up beforehand, using his datapad to pull up the menu on the holonet so that he can help you familiarize yourself with it, and you can decide what you want before you get there, taking a lot of the stress and pressure off of you because you don’t have to rush.

He wants you to feel cherished, loved, and safe when you’re out and about with him. So if you are going somewhere that’s particularly busy or crowded, he will also adapt himself. 

He’ll keep you close, whether it’s with your arm tucked securely in the crook of his elbow to guide you around, or his hand gently placed on the small of your back, letting it rest there so that you know he’s right there with you.

He never plans on getting separated from you, but if, by some unforeseen circumstance, it happens by accident, he has a plan for that too. 

If you’ve got remaining vision that is useable, he will intentionally wear bright, contrasting colours to make him easier to spot, even when he’s a distance away. 

If you don’t have any remaining vision, he’ll wear something like keys that jingle, or an article of jewellery that makes a distinct sound as he walks so that you can tell when he’s approaching. 

Regardless, every time you go on a night out, he will take the time to describe his appearance to you in detail, his general physical description, what he’s wearing, so that if, for some reason, you do get separated, you know how best to describe him to someone, so that they can locate him for you and help you make your way back to him

His enhanced senses have become innately attuned to your normal patterns and rhythms, and if he notices any rapid fluctuation or change be it with your breathing or heart rate, indicating that the environment you’re in is causing you stress, he’s whisking you away, taking you back home, despite any of your protests. He knows you’re just fighting him because you feel guilty about potentially messing up the night, which you absolutely are not.

He will not let you feel that way for long, because when you’re home, he is determined to make you feel like the beautiful, treasured, and wanted human being that you are.

He orders your favourite takeout food. He’ll lie you down on your bed, surrounding you with soft blankets and pillows, gently and tenderly beginning to caress and massage the tension from your tensed up shoulders and back, partly because he feels like he might have inadvertently been the cause of it being there in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you try to apologize. “I know you really wanted to...”

“Shh,” he quiets your apology, a hand coming up to softly brush a finger against your lips, resting his forehead against yours gently. “Meshla,” he breathes, unable to help the small smirk of amusement that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he observes, taking note of your breath audibly catching in the back of your throat as his finger, slow and slightly teasing, begins to lightly trace the edge of your bottom lip.

He presses his lips to yours in a sweet, chaste kiss as he affirms, “this is all I want,” he breathes in a whisper close to your ear that immediately has your whole body erupting in goosebumps.

“You,” he continues, his voice a low, husky rumble against your neck as his lips press, warm and deliberate, directly where your pulse flutters beneath them, pulling a soft, yet audible gasp out of you, that makes his lips curve up into a smile that you can feel against the skin of your neck.  “Are all I want.” 

He spends the rest of the night taking his time to prove that to you, in every way that he knows how.

*

Tech🩷

He takes note of every single bruise you get on your legs from bumping into shit all the time. 

You’re blind, it’s just an occupational hazard. You might not even notice that you have one, but he certainly does, and he’ll take care to notify you of every time you accumulate a new mark in your collection.

“There is a bruise directly above your left knee,” he observes, gentle fingers tracing over the mark with a soft frown marring his features. 

He naturally has picked up on using the language that is most helpful to describe the location of something visual to you. You didn’t even have to ask the first time you were on hands and knees on the floor, feeling around for one of your shoes. He didn’t point, and say “it’s over there,” which is just instinctive habit for most people. Instead, he had a used more specific directives like “behind you, on a slight diagonal to your right.”

“How did this happen,” he asks softly now, placing your hand directly on top of the blossoming mark on your leg.

You give him a half shrug and a rueful smile. “I don’t know,” you admit, honestly puzzled. “It happens all the time.”

From then on, he observes you closely, quickly coming to the realization that there are things that are just harder for you to look out for, and, just as quickly, doing his best to rectify each one. He’s easily able to identify a pattern of cause and effect that lead to your many bruises, bumps, and small every day accidents, and rather than being over bearing and cautious with you, he just figures out a way to remove the root of each problem entirely.

Each step on the Marauder’s gangway is suddenly marked with a long strip of brightly coloured tape at each edge, so that you can more confidently move down the steps without having to fumble to find the edge with your foot.

Low sitting caf tables in the middle of the living room, with sharp, jagged corners jutting out are suddenly pushed up against the wall, so that you don’t have to be careful while stepping around them, trying not to hit your leg off of one of them.

He makes sure that any overhead cupboards in the kitchen that are hard for you to notice until your head is colliding with their open doors, are kept securely shut, recalling a particular incident when, whilst putting away dishes, your head had caught on one of the cupboard doors, large bump blossoming on your forehead, just barely missing your eye. He had frowned, gently holding an ice pack to the swelling bump, deciding that from now then on, he would put any of the dishes away that needed to go on the top shelves. He wouldn’t budge on this, even when you tried to argue.

“Cyar,” he had said, voice stern, even as he gently took you by both of your shoulders. “I understand your need to be able to do things independently, and I respect it greatly. But, as much as you can make a light about getting bruises on your legs from these little incidents. Your head is much too important to apply that same lightness to, and I will not compromise on that so please, let me do this for you.” he had leaned down, barely brushing his lips over the bump on your head in a caring, affectionate gesture, and that had made your resolve completely crumble.

He’s also hyper aware of your systems and ways of organizing things, and it has become a habit for him to make sure that it is maintained. 

Shampoo and conditioner bottles that look almost identical with exception to the labels that isn’t much help to you are always set in a specific order for you to find in the shower. You always leave things like your wallet and your cane in the same place, and if anyone messes with these orders, it can really throw you off.

If anyone does touch or move any of your things, regardless of how insignificant, without telling you first, Tech will find out, and, especially if it’s one of his brothers, will thoroughly scold them for it, ensuring that they understand why somethings so small could be really frustrating and disorienting for you, and makes sure that they never do it again.

If you read braille, this man learns it for fun one day on a whim, and he doesn’t even tell you about it.

He’ll put away your groceries for you one day, and then you’ll be searching for something like a dinner ingredient, and find that he’s attached a braille label to the box, with completely correct use of the six dots that form the language.

When you confront him with it, he only shrugs, adjusting his goggles with a slightly confused expression.

“You sound surprised,” he observes with one raised eyebrow. “In a practical sense, this was a logical solution,” he continues, clearly unfazed by your display of shock.

“That’s not fair,” you pout, leaning against the counter and folding your arms. “If you’re going to learn braille, then you at least need to teach me some Mandoa,” you challenge.

“I was not aware that you were interested in the subject. But that is an agreeable request. What would you like to know?” He asks, looking at you questioningly.

“Like,” you bite your lip, considering, tilting your head in curiosity. “What’s that word that you always call me?” You ask. “It starts with an S? I think? Or maybe a C...c cyar?” You say, suddenly uncertain and cringing at your own pronunciation.

He straightens, suddenly grateful that you’re unable to see the blush that’s crept into his cheeks as he answers evenly. 

“Ah, yes, the word that you were saying is correct. Cyar... it means, love... or beloved,” he answers, voice going soft as he catches your hand in his, almost absently pressing his lips to the back of your knuckles briefly as you stare at him, surprised.

“You ... you love me?” You ask, hopeful and voice clearly bewildered. The smile that pulls at the corners of your lips lights up the whole room. 

Both eyebrows arch as he looks down at you, because now he’s the one who’s confused. When he responds, his voice is far less confident and sure than it usually is. It holds almost a shy, completely uncharacteristic timidness, which conveys the genuine honesty in his words when he speaks.

“Well ...cyar. of course I do. I thought it was obvious.”

*

Echo🩷 

Echo, unlike most people, understands all the aches and pains, mental and physical, that come with being disabled.

He’s sat with you on the bathroom floor, your head resting against the cool linoleum of one of the tiles on the wall after a concert. You had come home to find your head throbbing from the after affects of being surrounded by a combination of extremely loud music, a screaming crowd, and strobe lights that made you wish that you didn’t have any remaining vision at all. 

Your eyes were shut tightly, and  your heart fluttered with surprise and gratitude when, with his one functioning hand, Echo, movements slow and meticulous, carefully began to undo your hair from the tight updo it had been forced into all night. There he sat, fingers so, so gentle as they ran through your hair, undoing the tangles and soothing away some of the tight ache that had gathered at the back of your head. 

He’s careful to stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt the little bit of peace that you had found. The only thing that fell from his lips were gentle breaths and soft murmurs of “oh, sweetness, s’okay,” lips pressing the lightest kisses to your flushed cheek, the side of your aching forehead, until the painkillers had finally, finally kicked in.

If you’re a cane user, he always has his eyes peeled for the little bumps and cracks along the sidewalk.

He’s seen what happens when the tip gets caught in one of them, when the handle inevitably jabs against your stomach or ribs and the immediate discomfort on your face that follows.

He also sees the bruises that are left there afterwards, and as much as he loves gently pressing his lips to each of them, reassuring you that he’ll kiss them better, he’d rather them just not be there in the first place.

So, he always watches out for them, giving you an ample warning on ones that your cane could get caught in so that you can move it out of the way. 

He takes you to a holofilm, and you both don’t realize that it’s not available with audio description until you’re in your seats and the headset doesn’t work. He immediately turns to you, giving you a reassuring smile and offering his hand, saying “We can leave, if you want. If you’re not going to get anything out of this, we can go, and we’ll find something else to do.”

You decide to stick it out, rationalizing that you’ll still be able to get something out of the film, if not the whole story, and besides, he can catch you up on parts you didn’t understand after it’s over. 

In the end, it’s still worth it for you.  

You finish half of a bag of popcorn before commercials are even over. You’re intrigued by the movie for almost half of it, and then finally, you spend the rest of it passed out with your head resting on Echo’s shoulder, only for him to wake you, slightly chagrined, when the credits are rolling.

When you’re out of the theater, you walk together hand in hand down the street. He apologizes profusely, saying that he should have done more research. You try to laugh it off to reassure him that it was fine, because you just had one of the best naps of your life in that theater. When it’s clear that that doesn’t help, you’re turning to him, sighing with a small frown.

“Echo,” you say with a small shake of your head. “I’m the one who should be sorry, not you, love.” At his look of bewilderment, you continue. “You do so much for me already, and I’m just so, so grateful for that. It’s not always something I feel like I can repay you for.” You look away, ashamed. 

Because it’s true. He has his own set of issues and lingering problems from the injuries he sustained at the citadel. You can encourage him to do things like his physiotherapy exercises that ensures that his cybernetics are working in tandem with his body. But you can’t actually help him with them, whether it be with making modifications or repairs. It sometimes makes you feel a bit useless, because he helps you so much and you feel like you can only help him so little, and you feel like you’re just adding to his already overflowing plate sometimes.

“I know there could be easier people for you to be with,” you confess, voice quiet.

Echo stops dead at the street corner, catching your wrist to stop you from moving forward, and turning to fully face you with his brow creased in a frown.  

“Oh, Cyar’ika,” he says, voice soft, reaching out a hand to tilt your head up so that you’re looking at him. “Now who put that idea in your head, ner kar’ta?” he whispers, gazing down at you with pursed lips.

Unexpected tears spring to your eyes at his gentle tone. The truth is that you can’t place this feeling on a singular person, though people have contributed to it. Family members have made comments in passing, strangers who look at the two of you and immediately begin to judge from there own preconceived notions and outside opinions. It’s society at large, who has made you feel like your blindness is a burden to the ones you love. 

You don’t know how to say that, though. So you remain silent as Echo leans down, dropping a lingering kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “I don’t need you to make my life easier, cyar. You make my life meaningful, and that, to me, is more important. 

He rests his forehead against yours, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. “Your needs don’t make you a burden, cyar’ika. I want you to remember that. I want to make sure that they are always being met. It’s the least I can do, you understand?”

All you can do is nod, your heart in your throat. 

The next time you go see a holofilm with him, and the audio description isn’t available, Echo is prepared this time.

He still offers to leave, but when you refuse, he has a plan. In his own time, and on the occasions when you both have been watching something at home, he always makes sure the described video settings are on, for your benefit, and when he’s alone, for his.

He’s observed closely, listening and carefully paying attention to how the narrator’s go about describing things. So, when the movie starts, he leans over to you, keeping his voice low and quiet, beginning to describe to you what’s happening onscreen, careful to never interrupt any dialogue.

You stare at him, more than a little surprised. “Echo, are you going to do this for the whole film?” You ask, caught off guard and delighted all at once.

He gives you a quick nod. “Yes,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Now, be quiet and let me do it.”

True to his word, he does, staying close to you and keeping his voice quiet, so as not to disturb anyone around you. If someone still tries to shush him or gives him a dirty look for talking in the theater, he glares at them, in only the way that Echo can, until they stop.

This time, you stay awake during the whole film, watching intently, and listening to echos every word as he is meticulous in describing the visual things that you’re missing. In spite of all of the things that are different in comparison to your last date, one thing still remains the same.

You still finish the movie with your head resting on his broad shoulder, and he still looks at you like you’re the centre of his world.

*

Wrecker🩷 

The first time you make a blind joke about yourself in front of him, he’s terrified. 

Instinctively, he starts laughing, but then, registering your words, he immediately cuts himself off, not wanting to offend you, and is concerned that you’re being mean to yourself, which he will not allow. 

When you only snort at his reaction, playfully nudging him and explaining how it’s fine, because you have to make fun of the things that you are unable to change, and how it’s actually a mark of self love if you have the ability to laugh at yourself, slowly, he begins to understand. 

Soon enough, he not only readily laughs at your self deprecating humour and blind jokes, but at one point, he ends up slipping out one of his own before he can stop himself.

Again, he’s immediately apologetic and regretting his words, but when you throw back your head and laugh heartily, he feels a little less insecure and soon enough, you both have the ability to crack blind jokes with each other without missing a beat, to everyone else’s chagrin and fond amusement. 

He decides that having the ability to make you laugh, getting to watch your eyes sparkle with amusement and hearing the sounds of your joy is music to his ears, and is one of his favourite things. 

Wrecker is your number one protector. Not in a toxic, over protective way.

Even though he’s only got one functioning  eye, chances are he’s still got more vision than you, so he’s taking it upon himself to be the working set in this relationship, meaning he’s always watching out for you.

If you’ve got a guide dog, the first time he encounters it, he might have gone to pet it, but, before he did, he sees the do not interact sign, and stops short, quickly pulling back and apologizing. 

He asks questions, just to make sure he understands why it’s important, and after you explain it, he fully respects the boundaries and never forgets them, to which you are immensely thankful.

He doesn’t understand why you’re so grateful for him just doing the decent thing, until you tell him that a lot of people understand that you’re not supposed to pet the dog, but will either do it anyways, thinking that if you can’t see them doing it and they do it silently, you won’t notice, or they’ll talk in a distracting way to the animal, which is sometimes worse, and equally as distracting for the dog to work through.

This angers him, that they would take advantage of your blindness in such a disrespectful manner, and because you’ve explicitly told him that distracting your dog could potentially put you in danger, under the right circumstances.

From then on, he’s always watching.

If someone is petting your dog while it’s working, or trying to distract it, he’s right there, towering over them and glaring with his arms crossed, not so subtly pointing at the do not pet sign until they back away, stuttering and flustered.

If a child runs up to pet it, he’ll much more gently intercept them, crouching down on the ground to quietly explain to them the rules. In your experience, children are often much more respectful than adults, and watching him interact so kindly with them melts your heart every time.

Wrecker is tall. Standing at 6 feet six, it makes him not the most ideal guiding companion.

If he’s guiding you himself, sometimes, unintentionally, his elbow might knock against your head, for which he is immediately aware of, and instantly apologetic. 

He will always stop, large hands gently cradling the sides of your face as he looks you over, worried that even the slightest bump from him could leave a bruise. Regardless of what he finds, though, he’ll always lean down, dropping a kiss to your forehead with a soft, “m sorry, meshla.”

His solution to this problem, however, is a tad bit unconventional. 

When confronted with a situation where it’s just more efficient for him to guide you, for example, a street blocked off by construction, taped off areas and pylons everywhere, instead of offering you something like his hand or his wrist to hold, he simply reaches down, scoops you up into his arms and carries you over his shoulder until you’ve both cleared the obstacles together, you letting out a surprised squeak and giggling all the while.

Wrecker finds you beautiful, every day, all the time, and he is constant with his reminders of that.

As a blind person, it can be more difficult to coordinate a whole outfit, look, hair, and make up. He is so appreciative, and loves if you do that. But, if you’re one of those blind people who never learned how to do make up, who isn’t as confident in their sense of personal style, and you feel a little bit self-conscious about how much, or how little, in your opinion, effort you put into your look when you’re going out on a date with him, he will quickly assuage your fears the minute he catches wind of them.

He’s very good at detecting those days where you’re not feeling good about your appearance, just intuitively sensing when you’re having a bit of an off day, and when you could use a reminder of how beautiful and precious you are to him. He knows he can’t magically change your mind.

But he can  tell you about all the things he finds attractive about you, every day, if you need that reminder.

He’ll tell you of each one, each part of you that he finds beautiful beyond belief, while taking the time to softly caress and kiss each one, with whispered affirmations of “Such a pretty little thing,” and “You’re perfect, cyar, absolutely perfect.”

And if that’s not enough, he’ll keep going, keep moving downwards until he can look up at your beautiful face, watching from in between your parted thighs as your lips form equally beautiful noises for him.

*

Crosshair🩷 

It isn’t that Crosshair doesn’t want to help you. It’s just that, honestly, he’s a little bit hesitant to, in the beginning, fearing that he might overstep, because he places such a high value on choice, and respects your independence and autonomy to much to question you and your abilities.

He trusts that, if you need his help, you’ll come to him and ask. He also trusts that you’ve been living with blindness for a long time, maybe even since birth, and you’re aware enough to know your boundaries and limits, trusting that you’ll advocate when you need him to help with one of those limits.

Just because he doesn’t help you as much in the physical sense, does not mean he isn’t your number one advocate, because he absolutely is. 

For example, if you’re a guide dog user, and you both are going out together using a ride sharing app. If the driver refuses to let you in they’re speeder because of your service dog, he will wait patiently for you to explain, analyzing every micro expression of the driver and knowing when they’re still not listening to you, and he will step in without hesitation.

Wearing his most menacing glare, and in a voice that is deadly calm, he will absolutely read them the riot act. He knows every law regarding your guide dog, and knows just how properly to phrase them in a way that will make the driver scared, usually when he mentions the 5000 credits fine they could be sued for not denying you access 

He’s also keeping his eyes out to make sure that no one distracts your dog, and isn’t afraid to directly confront anyone who tries, saying something snarky like, “You know, maybe you’re the one who needs a guide dog, if you can’t read the don’t pet me sign that’s right in front of your face,” paired with a signature eye roll.

They always back away stuttering, and it always makes you laugh, even as you gently rebuke him, saying “Cross, that was a bit rude.”

He scowls, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him as he responds.

“And you, sweet girl, are too nice,” he purrs lowly against your ear. But, with the way that he begins to nuzzle at your neck, you don’t really think it bothers him that much.

If you’re one of those blind people who feels like asking for help is just burdening other people with your problems, and would rather risk facing the consequences by trying to do something yourself, rather than ask for help, he will find out, and he will not be pleased in the slightest. 

Your stubbornness is something that he loves about you. But if it has a tendency to go too far, especially if you’re putting yourself in harms way, that adoration will quickly turn to frustration.

For example, one time, you both were staying at a place that had a glass topped stove. 

These things are so inaccessible for blind people, it’s not even funny. But rather than admit defeat and let him cook dinner, you decided that you could figure it out, and gave it your best shot. 

Your best shot ended with you trying to line up the pot with the burner, and very quickly, receiving a searing burn on your hand from touching the heat. 

You had not anticipated it getting that hot that fast , and as you quickly pull your hand away, tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you let out a pained hiss.

““what are you doing?”

He had materialized behind you from seemingly out of nowhere, voice a silky, yet tensed coil as he reaches around you carefully, quickly flicking off the burner before long, dextrous fingers wrap  around your wrist, still gentle, even as he insistently pulls your hand away from where you’ve been clutching it to your chest, eyes keenly examining the burn with a soft frown on his face.

Wordlessly, he guides you over to the kitchen sink, hand on the small of your back, turning the water on cold and carefully placing your injured hand beneath the stream. 

Only then does he come to stand in front of you, placing both of his hands on your shoulders, his expression hard as he looks down at you. 

“What were you thinking, cyar?” He grits out, voice almost a growl as he tries to understand. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I could have helped and prevented this,” he gestures to your hand. “From happening.”

You blame the trembling in your voice on the lingering throbbing ache in your hand.

“I’m s sorry. I I thought that I could figure it out. You were busy, and I didn’t want to bother you B because I’m scared that I burden you with all the help I need sometimes and.”

“Stop,” he cuts you off in one quick, decisive syllable, and you instantly fall silent.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, guiding your eyes to look at him. His lips form a thin line when he sees the glimmer of unshed tears there. When he next speaks, his voice is still firm, but there is an underlying gentleness and softening in his tone. It has lost its hard edge, and it’s protective bite.

“You are not a burden, to anyone, but especially to me.”

“But,” you try to interject, but he easily silences you, taking your face in both of his hands and cradling it gently.

“Shh, cyar, listen to me,” he says, his voice a quiet command.

“If you are a burden, then you are my burden. In the same way that I am yours.” He takes your uninjured hand in his, relaxing his fingers against yours,  allowing you to feel it’s tremors.

Oh.

It’s been so long since his hand has shaken like this. He’s worked so hard to try and work through this particular trauma, and though it hasn’t completely gone away, it only begins to tremble during moments of high stress. You flush with shame, realizing that this moment of high stress is completely on you.

“I know what you’re doing, and stop it,” he says, voice stern, squeezing your hand in a silent warning. “Look at me, cyar’ika,” he continues, voice softening.

When you do, he continues. “If we are each other’s burdens, then we take care of each other, together. Do you understand me?”

You nod, actually stunned into complete silence at his proclamation.

“Good,” he says, voice softening further. He leans forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, fingers gently caressing the side of your neck as he pulls back.

He gives you a playful nudge as he smirks.

“Don’t ever try something like that again, cyar,” he quips with a scowl. “Your eyes already don’t work, and if you lose one of your hands, you’re completely fucked.”

All the levity of the moment vanishes, and it ends with your face pulling into a smile, a soft laugh falling from your parted lips as he watches you, eyes filled with adoration.

[statsbot]

SITUATION In an alternate history where time travel has been invented, a cabal of time-traveling traders and politicians are engaged in intertemporal arbitrage, using their future knowledge to corner markets throughout history. They've recently set their sights on the oyster trade of 19th century New York City, hoping to use their advanced refrigeration tech and insider info to make a killing. But their actions are destabilizing the timeline and threatening to erase key historical figures from existence. The party must unravel this temporal trade network and confront the mysterious mastermind behind it all before irreparable damage is done to the space-time continuum.

SETTING The adventure spans multiple eras, but key events occur in:

New York City, 1842 - The booming oyster trade has made the city the oyster capital of the world. Oyster cellars line Canal Street, shucking a staggering 700 million oysters a year. The docks bustle with oystermen.

The Far Future Oyster Vaults of Neo-Nassau, 2891 AD - Towering refrigerated vaults hold trillions of perfectly preserved bivalves. Chrono-barges zip through pneumatic tubes overhead. Neon-lit canals crisscross the city.

The Temporal Trade Hub, Outside Time - A mind-bending nexus where past, present and future intersect. Causality-defying architecture shifts like a kaleidoscope. Traders haggle over price fluctuations yet to occur.

CAST

Crassus Rockefeller III - Robber baron, mastermind behind the Oyster Futures Syndicate. Seeks to monopolize history's oyster supply. Wields a Causality Anchor that stabilizes him in spacetime.

Vivian "Viv" Wellfleet - Rogue chrono-trader with a heart of gold. Wants to stop Crassus and restore the timeline. Former collegiate oyster shucking champion.

Shucker Jim - Grizzled 19th century oysterman. Secretly an undercover Chronoguard agent. Rocket harpoon prosthetic arm. Loyal but haunted by a tragic past.

The Muculent Sibyl - Prophetic oyster-human hybrid from an alternate timeline where oysters evolved sapience. Whispers maddening future-truths. Chained in Crassus' vault.

Ostreida, the Oyster Goddess - Eldritch bivalve deity worshipped by a future oyster-cult. Seeks to flood Earth's history, returning it to a primordial sea.

The Chronoguard - Temporal law enforcement. Hardened time-cops in chromed exo-suits. Seek to stop illegal intertemporal trade by any means necessary.

The Oystermen's Union - Tough New York oyster workers, their livelihoods threatened by future sabotage. Burly, bearded, and brawny. Know the oyster beds like the back of their callused hands.

INITIAL CONDITIONS The 19th century oyster trade is booming, but prices have started fluctuating wildly and oyster shortages loom due to temporal meddling. Anachronistic tech has been found in oyster beds. Strange future-cultists lurk in oyster cellars, preaching the coming of an Oyster God. The Chronoguard has dispatched agents to 1842 to investigate, but Crassus' syndicate has a head start and deep pockets. The timeline is already fraying at the edges - historic oyster-lovers like Queen Victoria are fading from existence. The players arrive in old New York to find a temporal powder keg ready to blow.

GOALS

Crassus Rockefeller III - Corner the oyster market across all of history, making trillions. Ascend to economic godhood.

Vivian "Viv" Wellfleet - Stop Crassus, restore the original timeline, save the future. Maybe shuck some oysters along the way.

Shucker Jim - Complete his mission, avenge his partner, keep the space-time continuum safe from rogue traders and their greed.

The Muculent Sibyl - Escape her imprisonment, reveal cosmic truths, bring about the Oyster Singularity her visions foretell.

Ostreida, the Oyster Goddess - Flood Earth's history, make the world a oyster's paradise. Destroy upstart humanity.

The Chronoguard - Arrest Crassus and his cronies, stop the temporal trade in its tracks, preserve the integrity of the timeline.

The Oystermen's Union - Protect their way of life, drive out strange future interlopers, keep oyster prices stable and bellies full.

TOOLS/RESOURCES

Crassus Rockefeller III - Vast wealth, future tech, Causality Anchor, bribed officials across eras, oyster futures contracts.

Vivian "Viv" Wellfleet - Heirloom chrono-compass, knack for disguise, knowledge of oyster lore, her trusty quantum-shucking knife.

Shucker Jim - Rocket harpoon arm, Chronoguard combat training, 19th century street smarts, loyal oystermen contacts.

The Muculent Sibyl - Precognition, psychic whispers, eldritch oyster magic, fanatical mollusk-hybrid cultists.

Ostreida, the Oyster Goddess - Divine bivalve powers, oyster monster hordes, tidal magic, beachhead temples across history.

The Chronoguard - Jurisdiction across spacetime, stun-harpoons, chrono-cuffs, hardened exo-suits, orbital trawler-ships.

The Oystermen's Union - Strength in numbers, intricate knowledge of oyster beds, sturdy oyster boats, shucking solidarity.

SAMPLE SOLUTIONS

Infiltrate Crassus' syndicate posing as fellow traders, destabilize his operations from within while searching for evidence of his crimes. Coordinate with Chronoguard to arrest him in a dramatic sting.

Rally the Oystermen's Union to sabotage future tech and resist the Syndicate's strong-arm tactics. Stage a general strike to force the city to crack down on rogue traders.

Beat Crassus at his own game by cornering the oyster market first. Flood the market with your own supply via time travel, tanking prices and ruining his monopoly.

Cut a deal with Ostreida, brokering a compromise where oysters and humans can coexist across history. Use her power to threaten Crassus into surrendering.

Rescue the Muculent Sibyl and convince her to aid you with her prescient visions. Navigate the fluctuating timeways to always stay one step ahead of Crassus and his goons.

[kentopedia]

starry silence

dazai x reader my lil contribution to the chaos that was today's episode <3 not quite a reunion, but the aftermath of one ෆ. i'm happy he's safe & sound, but he must be so tired. :( sfw !! kind of sad bc i’m also dealing w jjk leaks i love being in pain (i don’t)

as dazai slept, moonlight cut across his face, highlighting the contours of his skin, the dark maroon cuts and bruises that had been littered across his face. though he seemed the image of a soldier home from war, his freshly washed hair and soft breaths turned him into something much more gentle. dark strands fell in soft waves over his head, shifting as he stirred, his inhale just a skip before his breathing evened out once more. 

you traced his jaw, watching the steady streams of air flow through his chest, out his nose. he looked so angelic, so tender in that waxy moonlight, comprised of something otherworldly and earthly all at once. 

a soft sigh left his lips as you traced his chin, and something about that sound of relief, of him relaxing completely under your palm, had you choking up. tears pricked at the edge of your waterline like sharp needles, each one filled with something poisonous. 

dazai didn’t move, but you curled into a ball, squeezing your legs to your chest as he slept on.

he’d been out for hours, ever since he’d gotten out of the shower, collapsing in a pile of long limbs stretched toward every corner of the room.

the blankets were much kinder to him than the steel bed he’d slept on at meursault, where he’d always kept one eye open. now, though, even his own clothes fit him poorly, like the white prison pants that had hung so loosely off his waist. 

under his t-shirt, the angles of his collarbone had become sharper, the planes of his stomach much flatter than you remembered. though his features had never been soft, even the skin of his cheeks had thinned, stress taking more of a toll on him than he'd admitted.

it was peaceful night outside, no sounds of screams to be heard in yokohama. you were certain that you’d absorbed every ounce of turmoil that had lingered in the city beyond your doorstep, and it gathered up in your chest like a bundle of fiery energy. something that you weren’t sure how to get rid of without bending over the porcelain toilet. 

everything had resolved itself, hadn’t it? yet, you couldn’t shake the twisted anxiety that lingered in your chest, even when dazai was right beside you, sleeping soundly with no lasting injuries. 

you rested your chin on your knees, letting that emptiness swallow you whole, disappearing somewhere that wasn’t entirely there. the steady rise and fall of dazai’s chest was the only thing that kept you grounded, kept you from drifting away, lost in a spiral of every possibility that hadn’t come to be. 

a small sound of misery left your lips, and you bit down hard, tasting blood as two salty drops rolled down your cheeks. though the cry had been nearly inaudible, dazai heard it nonetheless, alway attuned to you, even the simple fluctuation of your heartbeat a beacon for him across the universe. 

“what’s wrong, darling?” his words were quiet, like he was hesitant to break the atmosphere, in fear that he might startle you. 

you blinked, not sure when your vision had become so blurry, and twisted your neck, letting your jaw rest against your shoulder. “nothing,” you said, but your smile was weak, and the word was hardly a sound at all.

dazai had tucked his cheek under his hands, blinking up at you with sleepy brown eyes that so resembled a child's. it hurt you all over again, that this aching soul who had never seen the beauty in himself had almost been taken away from you. 

your lips parted, but the words halted at your tongue as you pinched your eyebrows together, trying to explain what exactly was within you. it wasn't quite sadness, but it wasn’t relief either, a cumulation of everything you’d ever felt, and something entirely new. 

though, as always, dazai seemed to understand. he reached a hand out, fingers slender and delicate, placing them on your wrist. “it's not good to hold back your tears, my love.” 

as if you’d just been waiting for dazai’s permission, you shook once more, silently, the tears rolling down your cheeks faster, harder. he sat up, bringing you closer with every moment, until you were wrapped in his warm arms. ones that were battered and bruised, but still the safest place in the world. 

he smelled clean, more like himself than he had when you had reunited with him, and that fact alone sent another nauseating wave of emotion over you. you gripped his shoulders, his chest, unable to get any closer, even as you tried to fuse yourself into his being, turn yourselves into one whole that could never again be separated.

dazai kissed your temple, holding you as you cried, saying nothing until you could form the words to explain the ache that in the deepest part of your stomach, stretching to the back of your throat. 

“i was so close to losing you, osamu,” you said, and even if dazai denied it, even if he said he’d always had it under control, you knew that wasn’t true. one slip up, one miscalculation, and you never would’ve seen him again. a single error by chuuya, by ango, by yourself… 

dazai’s fingers twitched against your spine, and he, for once, was faced with uncertainty. like he hadn’t considered what would’ve been ahead of you when he was gone for good, even if his death would always be a possibility. even if you'd always known that if the world wouldn’t kill him, maybe he’d do it himself.

“i’m here,” dazai said, and it wasn’t a promise, but it wasn’t a lie, and you'd accept it for what it was woth. “I’ll be here.” 

there was no way to predict how long that would hold true, but you’d grasp that last spark of hope tightly nevertheless. you'd shelter it away in your loving embrace until the universe clawed it from your bloody palms, stealing the very last light that it had dropped down from heaven into your life.

and that would have to be enough.

"i probably won't write anything abt the episode, i really need to work on—" … rylie is such a silly liar (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡

[just-jordie-things]

hello!! since you're accepting blurb requests, i was thinking about jjk men doing that one tiktok trend where the couple have to spins 15 times and then tries to kiss 😵

feel free to ignore this if anything. tysm!!

GOJO SATORU

... is a cheater. most times when you come up to him with a cute tiktok trend that you want to try, he finds a way to wiggle out of actually doing it and instead finds great amusement in watching you follow thru completely.

so when you spin around fifteen whole times in rapid succession and he's dawdling in slow circles because you're going too fast to really notice that he's hardly even spinning, he's grinning when your blurry vision lands on him.

he laughs boisterously as you topple forward into his awaiting arms, your lips barely hitting his chin as you try to complete the silly challenge.

"satoru did you even try!?" you accuse when you realize he's standing firmly on both feet and keeping you up.

"of course sweetheart, not my fault you're always falling into my arms"

and yes, yes it is his fault. ___

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

... will tell you it's dumb. like he always does when you bring him your phone with a tiktok challenge. he'll remind you like always that you spend too much time on that app. and like always he lets you pull him to his feet to do it anyways. even when you nudge his shoulders to get him to start spinning it doesn't take much force to make him do it.

and surprisingly- but not to you of course- he does do it. he even does it properly, twirling around at a speed fast enough to make him dizzy after just a few turns, but you begin to giggle as your footing gets messier and you bump into each other a few times near the end of the spins. he can't help but laugh too.

even stumbling, his hands find your shoulders, holding you firmly, although you're both rocking in every direction as your center of gravity fluctuates. you're both giggling as you try to lean in to one another, bodies colliding unceremoniously, but you do manage to get one decent peck in. a dozen others scattered amongst each other's cheeks and noses. ___

INUMAKI TOGE

... is all too excited. way too excited.

he spins rapidly, dangerously slow. you try to warn him that he doesn't have to go so fast, as long as he does it fifteen times, but he doesn't listen. he's in a silly goofy mood, and clearly wants to make a competition out of it.

so when he's finished with his fifteen twirls and you've still got a few to go, he is stumbling. he looks wasted with the way he tries to catch his footing and it sends him throwing himself around the room, his movements getting faster the longer he trips himself up. when you finally do finish, his body finally gives out, and he's crumpling to the floor like a doll with little sandbags for legs.

you can't help but cackle. especially as you try to make your way over to him, but your own body betrays you and you can't move all that well either. toge takes mock offense to your laughter and kicks his foot out to catch against yours, sending you down next to him right away.

when his pouting lips brush yours, you don't think it counts for the challenge, seeing as you're on the floor and the difficulty lies in standing upright and smooching, but you enjoyed yourself nonetheless.

toge will try the challenge again later, anyways. ___

OKKOTSU YUUTA

... thinks it's so cute that you find little games like this to play. he's not keen on the whole spinning thing, but any excuse to kiss you is a good one, he supposes. besides, he's a special grade sorcerer, a few spins couldn't possibly hurt him.

fifteen spins later and yuuta's face is flushed and his feet are tripping over the carpet. he's a bit embarassed, actually, even though this is all in good fun.

but then you collide into him, hands on his chest to brace yourself from your fall before he's gripping you by the hips and holding you as tight as he can so you don't both go crashing to the floor. he's surprised neither one of you fell, seeing as you're wobbling around like toddlers with sea legs.

and you're so cute when you give him a dopey little smile with heavy lidded eyes, the spinning image of him before you making you dizzier. you ty your best to kiss him, grazing his lower lip in a sloppy kiss that he can't help but chuckle at. his own head is still spinning too, but closing his eyes and grounding himself by kissing you helps.

maybe he'll try a few more times just to make sure his center of gravity is restored <3

___

a/n: this was so cute!! i hadn't seen this challenge, my tiktok fyp is... uh... mostly edits teehee. thx for the idea!

xoxo ~ jordie

[we-stan-cale]

I have enjoyed some of the TCF reaction fics, but I feel like there's a major problem.

Namely, that it's really hard for fic writers to stay motivated for over 700+ chapters, so it feels like they all start off strong for the beginning (especially rescuing Raon) and then peter out. We never get to the really good stuff.

Never reach that flashback when Cale reads the letter from the GoD, or see reactions to Choi Han rushing over to see Kim Rok Soo after getting Choi Jung Soo's records. Never have them see the Sealed God's test, and really... Post-apocalyptic Korea horrified Alberu, for good reason. Not that it's explicitly stated, but when is it ever? He had quite the reaction when he was trying to decide what to tell everyone else.

I've had some thoughts on how I would do it, but fair warning - I'm not much of a writer, and will probably never write it. All my respect for the ones that regularly write fanfic because I have like - less than a handful? Maybe, maybe, if I haven't moved on after finishing this reread, I'll try writing it myself.

The other thing is that I've been reading part 2 - only as far as eatapplepies has translated as I find mtl more confusing than helpful - and I'm really liking the Heavenly Demon. He seems to have fallen for our Cale pretty hard, and I'm interested in seeing how that goes.

So I have been playing around with ideas.

First - Dodam is trying to find 'that terrible bastard', and is dragging around his Choi Han.

He reaches Korea. Og!Cale as KRS, specifically. He has his own attribute, one to help him track down Cale, so he can pull up visions/memories related to that.

He pulls up the dream meeting between Cale and KRS.

There are a few team 1 members present, particularly Kim Minh Ah. Cue a bit of chaos, some 'aha' moments, and the long and the short of it is Dodam is going to pull up some of just what they're team leader is up to. (And if Dodam can figure out exactly which world or dimension to to next, and OG! Cale gets the bittersweet ability to see how his deal with the God of Death prevented the destruction he'd lived through, well... That's fine too)

During that brief moment, the Henituse noticed some strange mana fluctuations and managed to get Rosalyn there. She's basically able to tap into the feed and see and hear what's going on.

And divine intervention (like perhaps a god of love) extends the feed to the Heavenly Demon.

What would follow would be an abbreviated version of the key points. Sure, it loses some of the flavor... But we don't actually need, say, the amusing anecdote where an elf mistook Cale for a dragon.

Anyways, the more I thought about it the more I thought about how team 1 would react.

Because the minute they see those monster statues you know they'll all be going 'what the fuck?!?'

They will probably also nod knowingly at some of Cale's more shocking plans. Like hey, there he goes agreeing to help the Mogoru Empire put out the fire he started with the Whipper kingdom.

Nod, nod

Just like he did when they were dealing with that one corrupt guild

And if they ever get as far as seeing the Heavenly Demon, I'm sure one team member will be like 'Is.. is he flirting with Team Leader-nim?!?'

Cue stories where Team Leader Kim Rok Soo avoided a honeypot - except now they're thinking maybe he was just too dense to notice?