#and i haven't fully resolved my thoughts on it

[exsqueezememacaroni]

I've done it folks, I have listened to all of Mike*

(*so far, according to that giant playlist)

[luvwestwood]

❝ DOUBLE PENETRATED ❞ - Choso Kamo, Suguru Geto

— YOUR OLD HIGH-SCHOOL CLASSMATES DO YOUR NIPPLE PIERCINGS.

₊˚༊*·˚ warnings. nsfw(18+), piercer! choso/suguru, threesome, throat-fucking, resolved sexual tension, choso has a tongue piercing, suguru lip piercing, oral sex, orgasm denial, spitting, face slapping, dp (v/anal), creampies, cum eating, taking polaroids while fucking, filth, MENTIONS OF PIERCING PROCEDURES!

₊˚༊*·˚ notes. I fear that I may have gone crazy with the fucking. choso turned out to be the one with the tongue piercing, but dw.. sug has a lip piercing. cause I wanted to focus on suguru more, after some of you loved my previous piece about him! this is a repost, I experienced a few formatting issues. ty for 900! <3 s/o to my dear rya for coming up with this amazing title 😭

4,562 words (15m read)

Finally, it had come after all; the day you were to get your nipples pierced. Standing in front of the studio, you take a deep breath— half of you wanting to back out, but the other just screaming 'fuck it.'

As soon as you enter, a chime goes off above your head, the man behind the counter hauling his eyelids up to see who it was.

He seems familiar, you thought. Long, raven colored hair; and those piercings... "..Suguru?"

His head cocks forward; like some meerkat, "Is that.. who I think it is?" Suguru hops off the stool, stepping away from the counter. Bringing you in for a big warm hug, he pulls away; taking a good look at you as he does. A silver glint catching your eye; it seems that he had gotten a lip piercing done, a metal ring hugging the flesh.

"Damn, you look good. I haven't seen you since what, high school grad'?" he warmly smiles, his forearm still resting on your back. Both you and Suguru had left high school on a good note; he had tend to hang out with the more, known people in school— although he was someone you could tolerate.

Flustered, you divert your gaze; Suguru walking back around before you could speak. "..Yeah, I never knew that you worked here," moving closer towards the countertop, you rested against your two hands, leaning slightly.

"Mhm, you probably remember Choso? He works here too. I mean, he owns this place." Suguru's eyes busy scanning the bookings, you blink frantically, trying to remember who 'Choso' was. Choso Kamo, perhaps? He adds on, "..You coming in for an appointment? For what?"

"..Choso? That's not really ringing a bell. And uh, I'm here to get my.. nips done..." your voice trails off slightly, embarrassed that your old high school classmate sees you after years; but here, in the middle of getting your tits pierced.

He smiles slightly, alarm bells ringing at those two exact words coming out of your mouth. "Ah.. Choso's gonna be heartbroken for sure if he finds out that you've completely forgotten him." He marks your name off the list of bookings, standing up straight. "Being that you were so quiet back in high school, I never expected you to get your tits done."

Warmth rushing through your body, you nervously let out a laugh, "..People change, I guess.." You purse your lips, mentally slapping yourself at how awkward the conversation has turned.

"Well said, how 'bout you come along with me. Choso's gonna be helping you out today." He steps out of the counter once again, gesturing you to follow behind him.

You both walk through some curtains leading to the back of the studio, Suguru bringing you into a room with dark interior; a leather piercing bed taking up space in the middle of the room.

Another man was sitting on a wheeled stool beside a counter, his back turned to you. Seems like he's busy sterilising some equipment..

"Cho," Suguru calls out, the man glances behind his shoulder, fully spinning the stool around in surprise. "Look who I've got with me!"

Choso's eyes widen, mouth gaped after having not see you for a few years. He looks, so different. Too different. His hair a bit longer, but he decided to keep it down. It was no longer tied up in two pigtails like back in high school; both him and Suguru have turned into.. Good looking men; real men..

"..Choso?" you quietly call out , a type of tension lingering throughout the air— a room with two guys and one girl about to get her tits pierced by her old high school classmates, ones that she last expected to see.

Suguru slouches onto the sofa in the corner, hands holding a polaroid camera. "Our old classmate here has come today to get her tits done," He sticks one eye into the viewfinder, snapping a quick photo of his surroundings. "Also- If you don't mind, we tend to take polaroids of our customers after the finished piercing. Your face won't be caught in it, don't worry."

"Uh yeah, that's fine." You flashed a smile, before placing your coat and bag on the armrest beside Suguru, behind you could hear Choso finally speaking.

"..If you wanna just take a seat right here, and make yourself comfortable." He pats on the leather bed beside him, Choso stealing a quick stare down your body, noticing what has changed about you over these past few years. Pretty face like always, a fatter ass.. and..

"..Kay," hestitant, you scoot yourself onto the bed, leaning your head against the soft cushion. You breathe deeply, nervous about the fact that they were literally about to see your tits. But hey, it's their job, right? ..Why is Suguru still here though?

Choso takes note of your anxious demeanor, adjusting the lamp above you. He goes and slips on a pair of black latex gloves, before spinning back around; stumbling with his choice of words. You dart your eyes to the Choso making an array of strange noises, until he finally knows what to say.

"I'm gonna need you to uh, take that off." He points a finger at your shirt, his hand withdrawing immediately. You quickly understood what he meant, sitting yourself up on the bed.

"Right, yeah.." Your hands like frost from feeling timid, they graze against your skin as you took off your shirt; you had chosen not to wear a bra today, as it felt like it made sense. Your nipples instantly go erect from the cold touch of your fingers.

...And a nice pair of tits. That's the last thing Choso was meant to say. He swallows some spit, offering to take your shirt to keep it safely to the side, Suguru looking at you with the corner of his eye, grinning.

You lay back on the bed, the cold leather causing you to shiver all over again. Choso wheels the stool closer to you, his hand holding an antibacterial wipe. "..Alright, I think we'll go with a straight barbell. It's one of the safest options." Nodding in response, he goes on with the procedure.

He gives the surface of your tits a quick wipe, making them jiggle slightly— Choso tries his best to not let his mind trail off somewhere else. He's pierced multiple before but, something about you just had him whipped.. Especially after not seeing you for ages.

He looks at you for a moment before leaning in, trying not to smile at you all nervous underneath him; feeling your body tense under his touch as he firmly grabs your tits to leave markings with the pen.

"..Just relax yourself for me," he says, lowly, your feet stopping their kicking down the end of the bed. You study his face closely as he focuses on leaving perfect marks over your nipples to indicate where the piercing will go, his hot breath slightly fanning over your skin. You could hear Suguru in the background humming to the music on the radio, tapping away on his phone, and the same polaroid resting on his lap.

Choso pulls away allowing you to take a look at where he had drawn the markings. It took him a lot of strength to keep himself from latching his mouth onto your breasts then and there. "Approved?" He clicks the cap of the marker back on, tossing it to the side.

"..Approved," You give him a small, affirming smile as he gets the other tools ready. A clamp in his one hand, and a needle in the other, he holds them out.

"It's gonna hurt like a bitch for a few seconds, but it will be over before you know it." Reassuring you, you could only nod once more; licking your dried lips as you had ran out of words to say.

You try not to shut your eyes as you feel the cold clamp clutch onto your nipple, thinking that it would be bad etiquette if you did. Instead, you turn your head to the side, seeing Suguru still relaxed on the couch. He grins, but before you know it; the stinging of the needle hits you, a mewl coming out of your mouth.

"Good girl, just breathe," he coos, "I'm almost done with the other one." You bite down on your lip, certain that you had left a bruise behind. What felt like more than minutes, the stinging comes to a halt; numbing taking its place. You could feel Choso lay his gloved hands on your bare stomach, letting you know he had finished. "All done, you took that like a champ."

Turning your head back to it's original position, your eyes travel down to your chest, seeing the metal barbels inserted into both nipples. You smile, Suguru coming close to the bed with the polaroid.

"Oh, they look good." Suguru puts out, "I'm jealous of whoever gets to see these." His lips curl into a smirk as his eye goes near the viewfinder. You disregard his comment, busy looking at your freshly pierced tits.

"You happy with them?" Choso asks, wiping away at some equipment.

"I love them, thanks, Choso." You say, itching to poke at them but both men attempt to grab your wrist, causing you to look up; your eyes alternating between the two.

"Don't be touching them all the time," Suguru says sternly, meanwhile Choso on the other hand says something completely different.

"If.. you know, someone wants to, latch onto them- don't allow it," Choso continues, his blood curdling at the thought of someone else taking his own work for their pleasure. "..It needs to fully heal."

Cautiously, you nod, retracting your hand to lay it down on your side. Suguru switches up the topic, excited with the camera in his hand. "Ready to take a few pics? I'd say smile, but you aren't in them anyway."

"Of course," you sit up on the bed, perking your tits out as Suguru focused the lens on them. Choso bunches your hair up in his fist, bringing the strands behind your back so that the camera could get a clearer view of your chest. His grip delicate, but your stomach churns at how his long, slender fingers scratch off your nape.

You blink at the bright flash going off, the film peeking out of the slit at the top. Suguru takes it, flopping it around in the air for the picture to come through. He sets it down on the table nearby, with an intention to take more.

"Could you move yourself a little bit to the left?" Suguru's eye still stuck in the viewfinder, he orders you around with a gesture; his only sight of you being through the lens.

"..Like this?" you respond, after scooting slightly to the side; your hair still in Choso's grip, which accidentally feels like a harsh tug as soon as you move away— immediately, he lets go.

Choso mutters quietly under his breath, "Ah..- sorry."

Suguru brings the camera away from his face, his free hand suddenly grabbing onto the side of your waist; positioning you like a delicate doll. Your breath hitches, taken aback by his sudden movements.

He puts the viewfinder up to his eye again, snapping another valuable photo of you. The film comes out of the slit again, Suguru carrying out the same routine he had done with the previous picture.

Exhausted, you lay back down on the bed; though Suguru sees this as a perfect opportunity for another pic. "Hmm... Just- stay like that, yeah?" He says, the bright flash filling your vision with white.

You giggle, feeling as if you were a model taking boudoir, fully naked. You arch your back against the leather playfully, your chest protruding and extremely close to the lens, Suguru smiling and continuing to take more photos.

Choso remains silent as he slips the gloves off, a painful strain forming against his pants as he watched you pose so lewdly in front of him, you weren't the same girl as the one he knew back in high school.

Multiple photos scatter the table; Suguru having to go and fetch more film from the drawers.

Both of you had moved to the sofa in the corner, multiple pictures of you kneeling, biting your finger with your tits perked out to the camera; all pieces of film had covered parts of the floor. You were having a bit too much fun.

Choso, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. Refusing to be provoked, he stands up from the stool; making his way over to the sofa to take a seat beside you.

Suguru praises you, picking up a few of the photos that had finished processing. He remains anchored between your legs, towering over your body that was kneeled on the sofa. "They came out great, don't you think?" He holds one closely for you to see, your head tilting to take a peek.

"That one looks good," you point, Suguru approvingly nodding in response; although Choso makes a sudden comment, one that caught you by surprise.

Toying with the ends of your hair, Choso twirls them around his finger. The slight touch from his fingertips sending chills down your spine. "..So, who's gonna be lucky enough to see them?" he says, calmly; his voice not showing one bit of repentance. He was certain with his choice of words.

Confused, you turn to him, suppressing a titter. "..No one, I just really wanted this for myself.." you say, Choso nodding slowly; feeling slight relief at your answer.

“Probably can’t wait to show them off, huh?” Choso’s words sharp, digging into you like daggers; “..Just walking around, tits poking through your shirt, so everyone could see..”

All of a sudden, he yanks your hair back, and you let out a wail; your eyes meeting with Suguru’s above you. Seeing him grinning at you all helpless from the top, his hand reaches down to rest on your face; thumb caressing your cheekbone.

Looking at Choso— your eye moving to the side, his expression blank; but clearly, he was enjoying every bit of this.

“..I’d say we put her in her place,” Suguru says, his voice growing low; observing how easily you succumb to their touch. You could feel Choso’s grip let loose in your hair, and instead, his lips find their way to your neck; a hum crawling from his throat.

You whimper, Choso leaving a trail of wet kisses down the soft skin of your neck, softly gasping as he managed to move you around, laying you down against the edge of the sofa.

“W-wait, Choso..” you whispered, his lips moving from your chest down to your stomach, being careful to not meddle with your freshly done nipples, his hands roaming all over the gummy flesh on your waist.

You watch as he goes down on you, until a sudden grab at your chin lures you away, “Up here baby,” he purrs, your eyes misty— Suguru’s lips lock onto yours, tongues intertwining with each other as he groans into the kiss. You manage to swipe at his metal lip ring in the midst of it; the kiss so filthy and disgusting, nothing but neediness controlling it.

Choso on the other end pulling at your pants, allowing you to shimmy them off; leaving you in your underwear. Cock harder than ever, he licks against the material, the metal orb on his tongue poking through— he had a tongue piercing? He just couldn't wait to have you. A wet stain remains on the cotton, as he nibbles at the fabric before tearing it apart fully.

You let out a breathy moan into the kiss with Suguru, the ball on Choso’s tongue prodding at your clit, he alternates between licking and sucking. Occasionally, he plants kisses on the inside of your thighs; excessively groaning as he takes in all of you.

His large hands wrap around the plump of your legs, bringing you closer to his face; his grunts tickling you each time he slurped, eating you out as if you were his last meal.

Everything going on felt sinful; two men playing with you at the same time, but oh—did you want more.

Suguru pulls away, the camera placed on the ground; a long string of saliva connecting you two. Hands trembling as he reaches down for the buckle on his belt, undoing it swiftly— not fully pulling his pants down but instead grabbing for his cock; letting it hang freely from his boxers.

Your eyes frantically blinking at the size, so girthy, and long; you grab onto and tug at Choso’s strands as you felt him fuck into you with the tip of his tongue, your mouth gaping— Suguru seeing this as an advantage to stuff your mouth full of his cock.

A guttural sound crawling out of his throat, the warmth that your mouth enclosed over his cock doing his head in. His hips move back and forth, head falling back as he dug his fingers into your scalp, bobbing your head up and down his length. “Fuck.. just like that,” he groans, looking down at you taking him whole. “Good girl, how about we train this throat of yours..”

Suguru pushes into your throat as deep as he can go, your eyes brimming with tears; the tip of your nose tickled by his pubes— “Just breathe baby, breathe..” He says so easily with a devilish grin, enjoying the pure panic on your face.

He stills in your throat for a few seconds before completely pulling your mouth off his cock— spit running down your chin, his entire length glistening with it.

You let out a cry, your head crashing back into the sofa as you feel Choso stick two digits into you, his tongue relentlessly gliding over your clit as he does so, enjoying every single one of your desperate mewls.

Suguru rewards you with a slap on your cheek, a stinging mark stays behind. Lightly tapping on the side of your face, he compels you to open your mouth; dropping an orb of spit into the hole. “Swallow it,” and you obey, sticking out your tongue to prove it. “So obedient..”

You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second, before Choso hauls his head up from between your legs. Suguru’s hands clawed in your scalp; allowing him to move you around like a ragdoll— his strength making you stand up from the sofa.

Your head tilts to one side, Suguru leaning closely to your ear; “Go and give Cho' a ride, he’ll be upset if you leave him out.”

Trying to peer your eyes down to take a look at what Choso was up to, you see him struggling to undo the buttons on his pants, so eager to spend yet another minute with you.

As soon as he gets them off, he takes his thick cock in his grasp; giving it a small jerk, spitting into his hand before rubbing the slobber all over.

“..Go on, make him feel good,” Suguru whispers, pushing you closer towards Choso— you land in his lap, mind-fucked; you immediately grab his face, leaning in for yet another sloppy kiss, Choso melting into your touch.

His hands trying to position his tip at your entrance, he pulls away from the kiss for a moment; “Come on.. Sit on it,” his eyes look up into yours, almost as if he were begging.

You glance behind you, sinking down onto his cock without thinking twice. You clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it all together. Choso places a few kisses on your jaw, his eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of your tight walls closing in on him.

“Doing so good for me,” he whispers against your skin, “Start to move when you can, just be mindful of your piercings.”

You nod, furrowing your brows and lips parting, foreheads leaning against each other as you start to bounce up and down, his entire length filling you up and stretching your hole out, you endlessly chant his name like a prayer.

Choso’s cold hands running through your hair, trying moving loose strands away from your face. A snap goes off behind you, a familiar white flash blinding your sights— Suguru taking a photo of this pornographic moment, he takes the film and tosses it onto the ground before bringing his attention back to you.

A hand snakes onto your shoulder from behind, possibly Suguru. A pair of hands belonging to Choso resting on your hips as you moved up and down his cock, his head falling heavy into the sofa’s cushion in pure gratification.

The hand on your shoulder rushes to your mouth, covering it as you felt another cock enter your ass; a string of muffled moans trapped against the palm of Suguru’s hand.

Two cocks fucking into you at the same time, your eyes roll to the back of your head; feeling both tips in your guts, Suguru’s cock pounding into you harder than Choso’s.

You were just full of dick, and you loved it, Choso fighting the urge to hold onto your tits bouncing in his face; knowing it would be a bad idea to. He didn’t want to risk it, possibly infecting anything.

Your ass rippling against Suguru’s pelvis, you let out a long, laboured moan, your toes curling at the sensation. Suguru’s hand reaches under your chin, his voice almost mokcing you. The tips of his fingers tap against your jaw again, “You love being stuffed with our cocks, don’t you?”

You could only nod, your eyes closing as you indulged in the pleasure; mind completely blank— fear arousing in you from how feral Suguru has become; but it turns you on even more.

“Use your words, tell me you love it. Tell me.” Suguru firmly grips onto your face, moving it in all sorts of directions.

You hiccup, tears stained with hot tears. “I-I love your cocks so much, I.. I need more,” managing to choke out, he somewhat seems satisfied enough with your answer.

He peels away from you, and so does his cock, your asshole completely stretched out; your holes aching. You try to stamp your legs, squirming from all the different things coming at you .

Choso slides out of you too, his heavy cock slapping onto his abdomen. He didn't allow himself to cum. Nor did he let you. “You hear that Suguru? The slut said she wants more.” Fucked like a whore, you felt empty and lost without any cock inside of you.

Choso pushes you aside on the sofa, getting up and making his way towards the end— Suguru swapping positions with him; this time he aligned his tip with your hole, taking over as he fucked you from behind.

Suguru’s hand presses down on your back, forcing you into a more defined arch, his hips thrusting into you mercilessly, practically fucking you into the sofa. You cry into the cushions, pleading him to slow down; your hand reaching back. Suguru snapping a quick photo of his cock moving in and out of you— getting a perfect shot of you bent over in front of him.

The crisp sound of the film leaving the slit rings through your ears, before you could hear the photo falling onto the ground.

Choso guides your head back up, bringing you to eye level with his cock, forcing your mouth back down his length. He was on the verge of losing his mind too— did he want to keep you to himself forever, so he could fuck you every hour, day, week.

You were being stuffed both ends; gagging noises emitting from your throat as Choso fucked into your front like a flesh-light, Suguru on the other end drilling into you like a mad man. His leg props up onto the sofa for leverage, allowing himself to rut into you deeper than before.

You whimper all over Choso’s cock, buckets of spit spilling down his shaft, then to the ground as he used your mouth as he desired, your holes at both end not being shown any remorse.

A cacophony of moans and skin slapping echoes throughout the room, along with the faint melody coming from the radio.

“I-I’m gonna cum in this pussy,” Suguru whines, his nails digging into the skin on your hips, clutching onto the flesh trying to fucking you back onto his cock as he chased his orgasm.

A creamy ring forms at his shaft, his hands reaching down to your clit to lazily rub circles, urging you to cum as well. “Let it out baby, m-make a mess all over me.”

You grip onto the sofa’s arm rests, letting out a long groan over Choso’s cock again, your body spasming as your orgasms washed over you. Your legs shake and jitter, both feet kicking in overstimulation.

Choso pulls you by the hair off his cock, red tip slapping against your lips as he jerked himself off to his high, forcing his length back into your mouth— ropes of warm cum coated every inch of your throat.

He slides himself out for a second, the remaining spurts of his load decorating your face. “Pretty..” He breathes out, chest heaving. Choso leans in, nastily kissing you on the lips, getting a taste of his own cum off your tongue as he does.

The sight so lewd, both your saliva and remnants of his load trickling down your mouth. You try and swallow the rest, Choso smiling, so proud.

Suguru ends up bottoming into you, his hips rocking deeply in rhythm with each time his balls tighten; your brains fucked to the point that you could only think about cock.

He spills his own load into your womb, completely filling you up with his thick cum that was bound to leak out of you as soon as he pulls out; in fact, you were stuffed with cum on both ends.

Suguru strikes a spank on your ass, tenderly massaging the flesh afterwards, spreading your cheeks as he slowly slides out; cock heavily hanging as his eyes watched his cum drip out of your stretched hole.

He reaches for the camera, taking one last snapshot of your fucked up holes as a sentimental memory, grabbing the film and tossing the camera to the side.

Suguru bends down towards your pussy, licking up a bit of his cum out of you before mixing it with some saliva, spitting the ball back into your pussy, rubbing it everywhere with the help of his fingers.

Choso walks around, slouching back into the sofa; Suguru gently seating you down beside him, being mindful of your trembling legs.

All three of you remain seated, focused on trying to calm you down; the studio was littered with film everywhere, the room stinking of pure, filthy sex— bodies warm, sticky, and covered with sweat. Everyone trying to recollect themselves; faces blushed with red.

You could feel Choso’s hands run through your hair, remembering how hard they were both tugging on your scalp earlier. Suguru also rubbing your thigh up and down, soothing your nerves. Your body ached, completely fucked out of your skin.

“..I think we should have you in for a weekly dick appointment instead.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts. 🎀🩷

[luvwestwood masterlist]

[punkshort]

if you get time could i ask you do like before she got hurt like waking up with joel that day and all that and then up until she leaves, if that makes sense

Thank you so much for this request, I would love to!

Enjoy a little extra before our final chapter this Saturday ❤️

Before

An I Know Who You Are drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, fluff, language

WC: ~1500

"Joel, c'mon, Tommy's gonna kick my ass if I'm late again," you giggled as he rolled you over and pinned you into the mattress with his hips.

"I'd like to see him try. You'd have him knocked out in a heartbeat," he replied, gathering your wrists in his hand and pressing them into the pillow above your head while his mouth descended on your throat.

You sighed and tilted your chin up to give him better access as he ground his erection against your center. Your resolve was crumbling and you both knew it.

"Fine, we gotta be quick," you relented, and before you could even finish your sentence he was tugging your sleep shorts off with his free hand. "What's gotten into you today? You're not exactly a morning person," you said, watching with excitement as he pulled his cock out of his sweatpants.

"Dunno. Just gotta have you, is that a crime?" but before you could answer his mouth covered yours, stealing all the air from your lungs. Your legs fell open underneath him and you bucked your hips, patrol suddenly the furthest thing from your mind. He swiped the tip of his cock through your folds and he hissed, breaking the kiss and causing you to whine. "Fuck, you dirty thing. Look at how soaked you are f'me."

"Don't tease me," you scolded with a pout, and he chuckled.

"So sorry, baby," he leaned down and pressed another kiss against your lips. "Don't worry. I'll give you somethin' to remember me by today." Before you could reply, he notched himself at your opening and slowly eased in, earning a sharp gasp from you followed by a deep moan. Your fingers curled around his hand, still pinned above your head as he fed you his cock nice and slow, watching your face as you took him inch by inch. He never got tired of seeing you like that. All docile and at his mercy. You were so strong. A survivor. A fighter, in a way. Something deep inside him got excited seeing you so submissive. And it was all for him.

When he was fully seated, you both let out a rush of breath before your lips locked once again. He began to roll his hips, dragging in and out slowly and deliberately, just the way you liked it. Your legs tensed up and you dug your heels into the backs of his thighs, holding him close to you since your arms were still rendered useless.

"Just like that," you whispered, biting at his lower lip. He growled when you tugged his lip between your teeth and you smirked, letting it go. You could practically feel every ridge and vein when he fucked you that way. Every thrust was purposeful, every kiss was deep, every groan was cherished. He always liked to fuck you slow and you loved it, but unfortunately that particular morning, you were on a tight schedule. So you decided to say something to speed things up.

"Fuck, daddy, you're so deep."

His hips stalled and his eyes snapped up to yours. He didn't even need to say anything to know your words had the exact reaction you were looking for.

"You haven't called me that in a very long time," he said lowly, his eyes darkening. You grinned and squirmed in his hold.

"Well, you haven't woken me up like this in a very long time," you shot back, "thought it was only fitting."

He hummed and ticked his jaw to the side as he considered your answer. Before you knew it, he had pulled out and flipped you over, yanking your hips up while your cheek remained smushed into your purple quilt. He released your wrists in favor of pressing that hand into your upper back, but it didn't matter in the position you found yourself, anyway. You felt him hovering at your entrance once again and you wiggled your ass enticingly, your slick smeared around your inner thighs as you waited.

"Say it again."

Your breath caught in your throat at his domineering tone.

"Please fuck me, daddy."

He groaned and slammed into you, causing you to cry out in surprise but your body quickly welcomed him back inside. Gone was the slow, gentle way he usually fucked you. Now his hips slapped against your ass with reckless abandon while his hand snaked around your waist and played with your clit. You immediately saw stars. Your jaw hung open in a silent scream as he rammed into you over and over, pushing you both towards the edge. You reached behind you blindly, searching for his arm to hold onto as he dragged you to your peak.

"You gonna come for daddy? Hmm?"

"Yes!" you cried out, "Fuck! Daddy, I need it so bad."

His head fell back onto his shoulders as he moaned, his pace relentless now, each thrust shoving you further and further up the bed. Fingers digging into your hips, he pounded into you from behind, feeling your body, reading its cues, listening to your noises... everything he memorized by now to warn him you were close.

Your grip on his arm tightened and you gasped. A triumphant smile spread across his face as you came, moaning his name while your pussy fluttered around him, sucking him in and pulling him over the edge with you.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh f-" he pulled out at the last second and came all over your ass with a deep groan, watching in a daze as each burst of his seed covered your skin and dripped down your legs.

He collapsed on top of you, pinning you into the bed, his chest heaving. He nipped at your jaw, his coarse whiskers harsh against your sensitive skin but you just smiled and sighed with your eyes slid shut.

"As much as I want to stay here all day, I -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Joel said with a grunt as he hoisted himself up. You giggled and waited for him to return with a wet washcloth, cleaning you up so you could dress and head downstairs.

He cooked you eggs and poured your coffee, setting both on the table right as you entered the kitchen.

"You'll need your strength," he explained when you looked at the eggs. You quirked an eyebrow at him but gave in, sitting down to shovel in the breakfast he so sweetly made for you. It wasn't until you were nearly done that you noticed he only had coffee.

"What about you?" you asked around a mouthful of food.

"I'll be fine. I don't got patrol today. I'm just helpin' Maria fix a dresser for Violet."

You furrowed your brow but let it go. He was always looking out for you and never himself, something that you scolded him for in the past more than once. You knew he had gone through a lot with Sarah, and then later, Ellie. He struggled a lot with the decisions he made and you tried your best to give him some grace, but you also loved him deeply and wanted him to take care of himself.

You wanted him to love himself as much as you loved him.

Your eyes raked over his broad shoulders straining against his blue flannel, which he left unbuttoned, revealing a black T-shirt underneath. Somehow your body still craved him, even though you just had him thirty minutes prior.

"I'll walk you to the barn and tell Tommy to fuck off if he says anythin'," he assured you as he rinsed your plate, your coffee mugs left abandoned on the counter for later.

"My hero," you teased.

As you walked together down the relatively quiet street, your arm casually looped through his while he carried your backpack with his other hand, you couldn't seem to wipe the stupid smile from your face, knowing you would be thinking about the morning you shared for the rest of the day.

"Be careful out there," he murmured, handing you your pack before cupping your face with both hands and staring deep into your eyes. "I love you."

You felt yourself melt into his touch. "I love you, too."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against yours, slowly deepening the kiss, not caring who was around to see because you both knew no one would dare say anything to him about it.

With a sigh, he pulled back and rested your foreheads together. "Maybe later we can tend to the garden. Frost is comin' soon."

"Okay," you said softly, giving him one more kiss before stepping backwards. You could hear Tommy and Jesse talking in the barn and you knew you had to go.

"I'll see you later," you said, continuing to walk backwards with a grin.

"Can't wait," Joel replied, and he didn't move from his spot until you disappeared inside the barn, neither of you knowing your lives were about to change.

[animatedjen]

What's some stuff you're really hoping to see in Jedi 3 (either narratively or gameplay wise)?

Oh I'm so glad you asked this 🙌 Because I have THOUGHTS.

Gonna put everything under the cut so this doesn't clog up the feed with a wall of text (whoops.) Some of these ideas I hope to create concept art for, after I replace/fix my very cranky thirteen-year-old tablet. Anyway let’s start with gameplay!

Gameplay!

Maintaining Cal's abilities: Survivor handled this beautifully by keeping many of the skills learned in Fallen Order, instead of undoing Cal's growth from the first game. I think it'll be trickier to keep this momentum into Jedi 3 (the skill tree has gotten so large!) but story reasons could push Cal towards new types of abilities instead of bloating the current options.

More synergy between the lightsaber stances: I like all the stances in Survivor and it'd be A) disappointing to lose any of them, but B) overwhelming to add MORE combat styles. Being able to flow between the stances more fluidly would be fun though, with specific combos unlocked depending on which two are active together. Now if Merrin lets Cal borrow her knife-staff and he puts his lightsaber on the end... MAGICK SABER PIKE GO.

New or adapted movement mechanics: Maybe the ascension cable is replaced with a force ability (Force Ascend or Force Leap for an extra vertical boost?) or is "upgraded" to connect between two anchors, letting Cal create his own temporary ziplines.

Replayable missions: This could be explained in-game with a Force Tear or Cal's own interactive echoes. But I'd love the option to experience story missions and boss fights again post-game.

Customization!

This is a bonus section because Merrin should get new outfits. Haven't decided how to make it part of gameplay yet, stay tuned.

Cal's cosmetics in Survivor are mostly cool, some just funny, but overall a huge improvement from Fallen Order (yes, even though we miss all the poncho designs). For Jedi 3 I'd love to see more story-centric cosmetics that tie into the communities and people Cal has met along his journey. A Legacy outfit (incorporating pieces from his three Jedi masters), an Anchorite-inspired outfit (with arm tattoos), a bounty hunter outfit (the prize after defeating the Brood), etc. Maybe a Bogling outfit? No not made from Boglings; it looks like a Bogling. Hang on lemme fix my tablet—

Narrative + Gameplay!

Explore Tanalorr: Right now this sparkly, strong-in-the-Force, temple-carved planet is a huge mystery box for Jedi 3. There's a few directions it could go - more High Republic history, another civilization (the Nihil? someone new?) lurking in the shadows, or Force-related secrets hiding below the surface. Each Jedi game has followed Cal's exploration of an ancient culture, and I think Tanalorr can be a focal point in that journey.

Defeat Sorc Tormo and the Haxion Brood: I mentioned this in an ask earlier this week, but I so want a resolution to this fight against the Brood. Especially since roaming bounty hunters would threaten the Hidden Path. Maybe Cal breaks back into Ordo Eris, or hunts down Sorc Tormo on another planet. Maybe there's a Force-only stealth section?? Maybe a big multi-wave boss fight? Maybe Caij is there??? (no she doesn't get an invite to Tanalorr)

Dark Side Force Slow: The fact that Cal's Force Slow ability kept its red-stained aura, even in the Survivor post-game, is great. I love lasting consequences and ludonarrative harmony, yes yes yes. Really hope this isn't fully resolved by the start of Jedi 3 (potential timeskip makes it tricky but whatever) and the ability receives some sort of healing through Cal finding his way out of the darkness.

Narrative!

Timeskip?: I vote no, but I think Jedi 3 will vote yes, likely to age up Kata and allow Tanalorr to be more developed. But that also means Cal and the Mantis Crew goes through character development without us (boo) or remains emotionally stunted until we get there (also boo?). I'm more comfortable with the five year gap between FO and Survivor than I used to be though, despite "missing out" on big character moments, so maybe it'll be okay. Maybe. 👀

The Hidden Path builds a home on Tanalorr: This works until it doesn't, whether from outside pressure or the threat of a spy within. I don't think Bode's fears should necessarily be validated, but I do think the risk will keep Cal on edge and hurt his ability to trust (both others and himself.) It'll drive decisions that strain his relationships and be a source of conflict for part of the game.

The Mantis gets semi-retired and then reinstated: I just love the mental picture of the Mantis parked somewhere cozy and decorated with cloth and lights and a hideout for Kata. It's become too small and high profile to use for gathering the Path, but when the plot gets going, they're gonna need her back in action.

Three main antagonists: The Empire, an unrelated third-party with their own goals (Nihil or someone else), and Cal's own demons. The first two drive the external conflict, the third drives Cal's inner conflict and the story's themes. More on that at the end.

A memorial garden: It's designed by Pili and filled with native Tanalorrian plants and trees, from which the Anchorites hang cords and windchimes and bits of colored glass. Cere's saber was buried beneath the largest tree. Cal plays her hallikset here when he's too troubled to meditate. If we want to be mean, this place gets damaged during a battle in Act 3. If we want to be less mean, this is the place that doesn't get damaged during a battle.

Kata has some sort of student-teacher relationship with Cal: I'm torn on her being Force sensitive: this is a story about Jedi and "guide her through the darkness" is pretty telling given Cal's own darkness at the end of Survivor. But Cal helping Kata (and Kata helping Cal) can happen regardless of her Force sensitivity - it would just look different. This is a soft answer because I'm still exploring ideas around it BUT admittedly the angst levels would be higher if she is sensitive.

A battle against the shadow self: Look this one is cliche. I don't care. I want a huge cavern in the depths of Tanalorr where Cal gets to fight a dark version of himself that switches between all his former enemies. If we're making a video game here let's physically beat up our darkness. Let's have it not work. Let's bring Cal to rock bottom to remind him that he is more than his darkness and he doesn't have to do this alone. Let's go back to that same fight later and then we finally win.

There's more to explore story-wise and I will eventually, but I'm overall not concerned about Jedi 3's narrative. Respawn has been very intentional with their writing of Cal Kestis and the Jedi series so far (despite some last minute changes to Survivor) and I love this character and this story because of all the great work they've created. I really hope they finish this journey the way they want to. That being said—

How should Jedi 3 end? Should Cal die?

No: I'll argue Cal dying at the end of the trilogy completely undermines the entire lesson of Survivor.

Cal wouldn't stop fighting the Empire: The Cal we meet at the beginning of Survivor definitely wouldn't. That Cal also watched countless friends die to that same fight and saw two different Jedi fall to their passions-turned-obsessions that led them to the dark side. He may wrestle with remnant obligation or a bitter apathy, but he's definitely not as single-minded as he was before.

Cal would sacrifice himself to save the Path: Yeah, he probably would. Cere did exactly that during the Siege of Jedha when all else failed. But maybe the Path could be protected without Cal needing to be a Weapon - a lesson Cere also wanted him to learn.

Another way: I think the Koboh abyss (that separates Tanalorr from the rest of the galaxy) could be destroyed. I don't know if Cal would choose to destroy it, but I think the Empire would: if they can't reach Tanalorr it's the next best thing.

Now Cal has to make a choice: Leave (continuing the fight alone) or Stay (shepherding the Path for an unknown future.) It doesn't mean they never find a way back to the known galaxy, but it'll take time. Enough time for a New Hope to appear.

Whatever your opinion of the Sequel Trilogy, the line: "That’s how we’re gonna win. Not fighting what we hate. Saving what we love." is not only a complete thesis of Star Wars, but fits really well with Cal's journey. He's become very good at fighting. He wants to save everyone in Fallen Order, and he can't. He still wants to save everyone in Survivor, and they refuse him. His Fight has made a difference (again, Cere says as much) but it's clear this can't be Cal's final answer.

Choosing to protect the Path, choosing to trust the Force, choosing a home. That's what he's been fighting for. I love Cal Kestis because he isn't the chosen one and he isn't going to save the galaxy. But for his family and his community, he saved their galaxy. It's cheesy but I don't care, and you know Greez and BD would agree with me.

-

Okay this got so, so much longer than I expected. Bonus points if you made it all the way down here haha. I've had a weird assortment of concepts and ideas over the past year but never wrote them down in one place - until now. I've said it before but part of my hyperfixation with the Jedi series is because it isn't finished yet and Survivor ends on such a gut-wrenching cliffhanger. Whatever happens to this series, I'm slowly finding some sort of catharsis through all the edits and photomode shots and half-baked concepts. Thanks for tagging along ✌️

[jellys-compendium]

Welcome Home

A Dad!Vash Father's Day Special

Rating: T

Summary: Vash's adult children have left the nest, each pursuing their own hopes and dreams in the treacherous landscape of No Man's Land. Being the only one left at the ranch, there are some days where Vash feels lonely--but he finds solace in his children's visits and the memories of you. Wc: 3.3K Cw: angst, mentions of reader's death, depictions of grief and loss, familial hurt/comfort with a bittersweet/happy ending (A/n below the cut cause it's a long one)

Prefer to read on AO3?

A/n: Sorry this took a little bit longer than expected I had to stop and cry a few times. This oneshot is based on my Trimax series so it will be a little confusing to those who haven't read those fics (or Trimax), but I hope it's still enjoyable as a little standalone piece. There is quite a time jump in this fic with some implications about what happened to Vash and his family after Resurrection. I still hope to write out the third part of the series that covers this period of time, but it may take me a while. I'll do my absolute best to keep going until I feel this series is complete. Thank you so much to the people who've been so kind and sent me words of encouragement. It really helps motivate me to keep going. If anyone has questions about the story you're welcome to ask.

(***)

With a twist of his wrist, the hiss of running water fills the once silent bathroom. The groggy ex-legendary gunman groans as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, blinking away the murky fog obscuring his vision. Vash had just woken up moments ago from his dreamless sleep and instead of lounging on the lonely mattress for a while longer, he resolved to stumble his way into the bathroom and start his day instead.

Slowly, Vash’s drowsiness dissipates, freeing his brain to cue him to cup some of the cold, running water in his right hand. The tips of his fingers tingle at the abrupt change of temperature. Once Vash has collected enough, he leans down and with the slightest grimace, splashes the water on his face. His breath stalls at the arctic shock, cool rivers rushing down his cheeks and dripping off his chin as the water washes away with finality the sleep of the night before. 

A couple more cool splashes later, Vash exhales a tired sigh and stands at his full height. He turns off the tap with another twist of his wrist before straining for the towel sitting on the self to his left. An inconvenience for him to be sure given his lack of a left arm, but it sits in the spot where you used to put it, and Vash could never muster the courage to change it. 

Once dry, Vash pauses and stares at his reflection in the mirror. It’s still a shock to the system. He’s changed more in the last thirty years than he ever has in the last two hundred. His once black hair is now more salt than it is pepper, his skin once only marred by scars is now decorated with lines and sunspots from the blistering sunlight. His flesh no longer holds that youthful suppleness, now looser and less rosy. The corner of his eyes is now permanently etched, wrinkled from the years of smiles and laughter he shared with you and the children.

Vash had never thought he’d see the day when he’d look into the mirror and see an old man staring back, and yet here he is. 

In his silent appraisal, Vash reaches up and traps a strand of a grey hair between his thumb and forefinger, twirling the dry, straw-like lock between the pads of his fingers. 

 He remembers the first silver hair you had found on his head all those years ago, and how excitedly you’d plucked it from his crown and showed it to him.

“Look honey, we’re finally starting to match!”

The hair on your head had been fully grey by that point, and despite your insistence to the contrary, you’d never been more beautiful in Vash’s eyes. As he helplessly watched you get older, Vash had resolved to treasure every moment he had with you. He insisted, pleaded, that the two of you promise to live life to the fullest each and every day, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the cruelness of time ran its natural course.

“Oh, Vash. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. I wish I could stay longer. I love you…I love you…”

Vash’s hand drops, his vision clouding with saline tears as the last memory of you resurfaces along with all the pain and longing it carried.

I miss you. I miss you so much…

Vash forces in a trembling breath, fighting against the tightness constricting his lungs, suffocating him. No matter how many years have passed since your death, the agony of that day still lingers.

“We finally match now, mayfly.” Vash’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I wish you could see me now, you probably wouldn’t even recognize me.”

“Silly, I’d never forget that handsome face.”

Vash finishes up his morning bathroom routine, occupying his mind by reviewing his mental checklist of today’s tasks while listening to the morning chuffs and calls of the toma outside. 

The seasoned plant makes his way back into the bedroom, opening the closet door and rummaging a bit, pointedly ignoring your unraveling, dusty clothing that hangs and sways in the back like ghosts. Vash swallows the tight knot in his throat and pulls out his clothing for the day, setting it on the bed so as to free up his single hand to remove his sweatpants. 

As he dresses, Vash’s eyes wander, inevitably falling upon the most treasured item he possesses. A dustless, framed photo he keeps on his nightstand. It’s an old family picture taken graciously by a stranger who no doubt has long since passed. The photo depicts you, Vash, and your four children at the town’s yearly fair. 

To most, it’s just a quaint photo of a happy little family. But to Vash, what is encased in that little wood and glass box is more precious than all the wealth in No Man’s Land and beyond. It’s a happy and precious memory, an echo of a time when all the pieces of his world had been slotted perfectly into place. It’s the last thing he sees when he goes to sleep, and the first thing he looks at when he wakes up.

Vash has memorized every detail of the photo. He knows every color, every shade and line, and how he felt on the day it was taken. He’ll never grow tired of looking at it.

In the picture, you and Vash stand side by side, both of you beaming with one twin resting in each of your arms. Nico is perched high on Vash’s shoulders, his tiny fingers threading through his father’s long, black hair as he musters a shy little smile. Nico’s adorable little face looked so much like yours back then.

Nova on the other hand stands confidently between the two of you, her feet wide apart in a power stance with one hand on her hip while the other is extended forward, her middle finger looped cheekily behind her index finger in a sign Vash had taught her. The huge gap toothed smile stretched between her cheeks is one of pure joy as she’s captured in her essence entirely.

“Love and peace!”

Vash smiles, eyes burning hot as the bittersweetness of that joyful memory swells in his heart. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t miss you terribly, but the thought of never having met you at all, of never taking your hand and seeing what life had in store for the two of you, of never having taken that photo…that thought is an even more painful one to bear.

With his clothes now on, Vash makes his way towards the nightstand and reaches out to the photograph, his longing fingers brush along the fuzzy lines of your face enshrined behind the glass. 

He remembers.

The first time you smiled at him, and the last.

The first time you kissed him, and the last.

The first time you told him you loved him, and the last.

The first time you entwined your fingers with his…and the last.

Vash’s body tenses, his breath stalling at the haunting memory of your hand becoming cold in his. He swallows against the sob clawing at the back of his throat. His chest heaves as he gasps for breath, throat tightening and becoming painfully raw with the memories that tip and pour down from his mind and pool at the bottom of his heart.

I miss you. Oh, mayfly, I miss you…

But as Vash lets go, allowing his tears to fall as his grief resurges and washes over him, his blue eyes refocus on the faces of your children. Nova’s nose, Nico’s eyes, cheeks, chin, and shy little smile…the twins’ ears….

Vash’s fingers brush along the faces of his children. Fifty years have come and gone since you’d passed, but you’re still here, aren’t you? Living on through them and living through him. You’d never really left and as long as he’s here, you never truly will.

Everyday, Vash sees you in the home you’d helped him build, feels your presence in the sunset over the horizon of the land, hears your voice in the gentle zephyr that blows over the sand. And even though he can’t hold you anymore, or kiss your lips, or dance with you, or laugh at your jokes, everything that has ever mattered to him came from the life the two of you had built together.

And Vash will go on, cherishing every single day, every single second of it all, until the time finally comes when he can see you again.

Sniffling and finding solace at that thought, Vash wipes his tears away.

“Mayfly, you’d be so proud of them.”

Breathing out a cathartic sigh, Vash is about to head into the kitchen for breakfast when a distinct knock sounds from the front door. It’s melodic and jovial. It’s a sound that Vash would recognize anywhere.

“Special delivery for Mr. Stampede!”

Vash beams, his heart hammering as not unlike a flower, boundless joy blooms in his chest. It lifts his sorrow and lightens his step as he makes a beeline for the front door.

Vash can hardly wait, can barely respond to that cheerful voice beyond the door as his words topple over one another on his tongue. In a flash Vash makes it to his front door and opens it to reveal a face he hadn’t seen in months. That sweet little face that over the years had paradoxically changed so much and yet so little.

“Good morning papa!” Nova smiles, presenting Vash with a big white box secured expertly with a sparkling red bow. “Happy Father’s Day! I brought you a treat to celebrate.”

Vash’s radiant smile matches his daughter’s as he rushes over and pulls her into a huge, single armed, bear hug.

“Sheesh, almost a century old and you still call me papa?” Vash teases, squeezing her and swaying his now not so little star back and forth until she laughs, tapping out from his exuberant affection with a gentle swat to his back.

Vash releases Nova the moment she gives him the signal, grinning from ear to ear as he plants a big kiss on her head and takes the box of doughnuts from her.

“Welcome home, Nova.”

“Thanks, it feels good to be home.” Nova laughs, adjusting her travel bag across her shoulder. “And I’ll have you know it doesn’t matter how old I get, you’ll always be our papa. Besides, it would break your heart if we started to call you anything else.”

Vash unabashedly hums his agreement, placing his gift upon the porch’s little table before sitting on the patio swing and patting the space beside him so that Nova can take a seat. 

Putting down her travel bag—the very same that Vash used when he wandered No Man’s Land himself—Nova takes a seat beside her father, her sky blue eyes examining him as she makes herself comfortable.

“You’ve gotten smaller. Not by much, but still….”

Despite the tinge of worry in his daughter’s voice, Vash can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. Not meaning to be dismissive but adamant to avoid his daughter to worry, Vash shrugs and tries to reassure her.

“I’m fine Nova, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m just happy to see you.”

Nova is still and Vash watches as she calmly and perceptively examines him. Vash’s smile widens under her scrutiny and Nova sighs, her hand coming to rest on her father’s knuckles. Vash remembers when it used to fit in the palm of his hand.

“I’m happy to see you too,” Nova says softly. “Have you been eating enough? I’m planning to stay for a few weeks if that’s okay. I can whip us up some belly busters, help fill you out a bit more? I know you’re tough but it can be hard running a ranch all by yourself.”

Vash slips his hand out from under Nova’s and reaches up to ruffle her shoulder length hair. His daughter’s fretting comes full circle as Vash himself starts to feel his chest grow heavy with worry at the sight.

The once radiant, golden crown Nova possessed as a child is now marked with streaks of alarming black. Vash’s keen eye notices a few more obsidian stripes have been added since he’d last seen her. She’s been pushing herself hard, using the insurmountable energy that flows through her veins to achieve a goal many thought impossible.

But Vash knows his daughter—has been witness to the limitless expanse of her determination. If anyone could achieve the dream she had set forth to make a reality, it would be her.

…

With a little help from Knives too, no doubt.

The recollection of his twin brother’s hand in his daughter’s crusade makes Vash frown, tepid anger bubbling beneath his skin. Nova senses it immediately and plucks her father’s hand from her head before pinning him with a stern look.

“None of that. I know what you’re thinking.”

“So, what have your siblings been up to?” Vash abruptly sidetracks, very unsubtle in his changing of the subject. Nova sighs, mumbling complaints of his stubbornness under her tongue before she replies.

“Last I heard, Nico’s been busy at the New July Medical Center. I think he’s been spearheading some important medical research based on what I’ve read in the Bernardelli Times. As for the twins…well you know them.”

Vash chuckles and shakes his head at the thought of those two running rampant across the wasteland. Truly, humanoid typhoons in their own right.

“I know. You’d have an easier time pinning down the wind than those two.”

Nova laughs.

“Yeah.”

“How about you?” Vash gestures towards Nova’s travel bag. “How has your work been going?”

Instantly, Nova’s eyes are alight with excitement, her lips hardly able to contain her smile. Without so much as another word she reaches for her bag, ruffles through the contents, and then pulls out her lovingly used journal. She turns through the crinkled, yellow pages, proudly showing her father the work she’d done over the last few months.

“I’ve been busy documenting and cataloging the typography and climate of the planet. Ran a few experiments too. I feel like I’m getting closer to figuring out the key to terraforming No Man’s Land.”

Vash whistles with awe, gently taking the journal from his daughter's hands so he can better study her scribbled notes and schematics.

As Vash thumbs through the pages, the two of them sit in silence for a while. Nova’s dream and the methods by which she is pursuing it is an old point of contention between the two, but Vash has long since learned that in matters such as these, his daughter is not to be swayed. 

Vash is worried to death for her, but he knows that if he’s to be a good father, he’ll need to let her go her own way and support her on her path. He’d promised you that before you left.

Eventually, Nova’s soft sigh breaks the silence. She reaches over and closes the journal in her father’s hand.

“Papa, I know that you and uncle Knives don’t see eye to eye, and that you’re less than thrilled about everything he’s been teaching me, but he’s right that humans and plants can’t keep on going on like this if either of us are to survive.”

Vash’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hard and unfaltering from Nova’s. Born with her father’s stubbornness and her mother’s perseverance, Nova doesn't falter either. Not an inch.

“The spider eats the butterfly, but what happens when the butterflies are all gone? I’m not choosing sides, I want to try and save them both.”

Vash’s eyes widen, holding his breath as a flash of an ancient memory from his childhood returns to him. The smell of grass, his foolish hope and her naive wisdom…he recognizes it. An echo from long ago. Nova smiles as she rests her warm and reassuring hand on her father’s.

“I think grandma Rem would want that.”

Vash’s bated breath explodes forth from his lungs, his heart pounding and mind swimming as the realization dawns on him that perhaps everything that’s happened has been for a reason. Each little event in his life had been connected by a paradoxical amalgamation of free will and fate—an enigmatic puzzle put together by some unseen force, piece by piece over centuries, perhaps even across a millennia. 

And it was all made possible because of that one little moment in the med bay over two hundred years ago.

"Even if you’re in the dark right now, the blank ticket in your hand is just waiting to be filled in. So…so don’t…don’t throw it all away! Don’t let go! Don’t say you’d rather die!”

Vash’s vision blurs. He feels lightheaded and dizzy as he covers his mouth, choking back tears as memories of Rem, of you and the children, of Wolfwood, Meryl and Milly, of Brad and Luida, of everyone he’d ever loved and cared for emerges like a bright light from the deep, dark recesses of his lonesome despair.

“Let’s see the world together, let’s walk through it together!”

Vash’s sobs are uncontrollable now, snot running down his nose as he doubles over and hides, pressing his forehead to his knees. He’d been lonely, so unbearably lonely, but the truth is that he had never truly been alone. Not now and not ever. He has his children, his friends, and the memories of the people he loves to keep him going.

Vash’s body shakes with each choked gasp, withstanding each surge of the love and loss he’d endured like a rock against the crashing waves. It renders him helpless yet humbled beneath its wondrous might.

“S–sorry, Nova. I’m sorry, I…”

But all the while, Nova sits quietly beside her father, rubbing his back comfortingly as all that grief and love and loss and that damned foolish hope that he'd never been able to extinguish pours out of him in waves. 

Slowly, with time, Vash’s sobs quiet down into soft gasps…then sniffles, and then eventually, silence. The sound of the desert wind is the only thing they can hear whistling through the support beams.

Vash doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually, Nova gently taps his shoulder, the rhythm of her fingers a soothing balm to his soul.

“Papa, look who’s here!”

Vash sits up and follows his daughter’s pointed finger into the horizon. He stops when he sees three figures approach, their silhouettes unmistakable despite the glaring sun.

They’re here!

Elated, Vash immediately stands and descends down the porch’s steps. Two of the figures instantly spot his approach, and before Vash can blink, they burst into a blindly fast sprint towards him, both cheerfully shouting in unison.

“PAAAAPAAAA!! WE’RE HOOOME!!” 

The twins show their old father no mercy, both nearly tackling him to the dirt path with their smothering hugs. Nico is quick to join them, wrapping all three of them in his long, lithe arms.

“Careful you two, you’ll kill the old man.”

Vash’s laughter rings across the dunes as he holds his children close, the sound bouncing joyously as it mingles with the warm zephyr that surrounds them. Overjoyed, fresh tears swell in the proud father’s eyes in droves of unwavering happiness. They’re here, and you’re here. Everyone is here together—in his mind, in his soul, and in his heart.

Vash squeezes them all in the tightest hug he can muster, a testament to the depths of unending love a father has for his children.

“Welcome home.” Vash whispers.

dividers by @/saradika

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

The season is kind of a blur for me at the moment, and I'm sure I'll have a lot more to talk about as I rewatch it more slowly and with less hysteria, but here are my current overall thoughts! Under the cut for spoilers

Beginning with the things I liked, because there were many of them:

The voice acting was phenomenal. Everything with Claudia? Soren's tirade at Viren? Every single speech of Janai's? Top tier. I've rarely been moved by a performance as much as I was this season

Additionally: the music was on another level, especially in the final episodes. It made already-breathtaking scenes absolutely haunting, and I'm praying they do another soundtrack release soon

I adored everything about the janaya wedding. Their outfits were so good, their expressions were so full of love, and their speeches were absolutely adorable. I also loved Kasi and Gren as officiants, Gren's little "what are they going to do? Come with an army?" joke made me cackle. (Also: hearing "and her wife, Queen Amaya" made me cheer so loudly my throat still hurts a day later)

I've been a passive sorvus shipper since season 4, but episode 2 ratcheted that up about ten levels. Every one of their interactions was so good, I love how they have the stoic/silly dynamic but also establish that Soren understands Corvus's sense of duty and Corvus has just as much of a ridiculous streak as Soren. They have to get together next season, please please please

Rayla and Callum! Back together at last!! And we have (hopefully) a full season of them being together to look forward to after this. It was really nice to see them fully on the same page at last, and the mix of ease and nervousness in their affection felt really cute and authentic

Speaking of things I've been waiting for forever: RUNAAN IS FINALLY FREE. I'm so happy that plotline was finally resolved, and I'm very intrigued about where he's going to go from here in regards to his relationships with Ethari, Rayla, and Callum. I really like that they addressed how he treated Rayla during their last encounter and established how deeply he regrets it

In general, I really liked how many loose ends we came back to this season. It was great to get the whole story of Viren, Lissa, Soren, and Kpp'Ar, especially for people who haven't read the comics or novelizations. I was thrilled to see Aanya again and loved her prowess in battle and her friendship with Ezran

I love that Claudia's hair actually looks like it got cut by a knife. No magically even cut for her. Somehow she really pulls it off, though, so good for her

Things I wasn't as much of a fan of:

I wish we had gotten to see Callum and Rayla actually talk the whole leaving-for-two-years thing out. Callum seems to think he was in the wrong for giving Rayla the cold shoulder when she first came back, but in my eyes he did have a right to be upset, and I wish they would acknowledge that. I was thrilled when they got back together, but I think it would have landed a little better for me if I felt like their "breakup" had been fully resolved

Has Sol Regem's mate ever been brought up before? It felt like a weird thing to pull up in the middle of the climax. His scene with Aaravos was written and presented very powerfully, but I didn't really feel the impact of it because I was busy going "where did this come from?"

And finally, this is really just a nitpick, but if you wear a blindfold for your entire life, you will not be able to suddenly see when you take it off because your brain doesn't know how to translate the shapes and light around you into cognitive images. I know I can suspend my disbelief, it just kind of bugged me

Overall, I was on the edge of my seat the entire time, and I think it was the most completely engrossed by a season so far. I'm begging and pleading for season 7 to be released sooner rather than later, because I need more and I need it now

[plumpybread]

GOOD NEWS, EVERYONE!

The reason as to why I left in a panic and deleted all my stuff has now been fully resolved, and I can happily say I can now safely put my website up publicly again!

Originally I thought I had completely deleted it, I wasn't even thinking it through when I pressed the button, but Wix luckily retains the site for some time if you ever have second thoughts!! And jesus christ I'm glad I checked it cause it was only 2 days away from fully deleting everything

If you haven't seen my website yet, I encourage you to check it out!!!

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 264 (spoilers)

You know sometimes you just want to strangle Gege for hype endings of the last chapter that are going to be nullified in the next. It gets frustrating so close to a (possible) end of the fight but this time you can excuse it somewhat because the explanation and character feats make sense 😬

Angel's current JL even though it is maximum output is weaker than before because with one arm less her CE can't be channeled 100% from her body to her cursed tool. In other words, Sukuna can brace himself against it scale up to kill Angel

Remarkably, Sukuna calls Angel by her name and we haven't even seen what she looked like. Heian flashback??

Just like against Mahito, Todo simply gets back up after his CT dies. What a champ. Sukuna gets a BF though that isn't immediately negated by Yuji's soul punch

Angel and Todo are seemingly out, Yuta is still lying on the ground somewhere until his CT burnout ends but we still have the weaker good guys standing around and Maki is also there

Sukuna is not beating the Cute™ allegations

It's interesting that JL is active for this long and Yuji, who's drenched in Sukuna's CE is also affected by it but that doesn't hinder him at all

Yuji does get a punch in but it doesn't disrupt Sukuna's recovery of his CE output. This could be because Yuji just left Angel's attack which hindered him in using dismantle.

Yuji isn't beating the Cute™ allegations either with the lines and scissors of his technique. I can already hear the sound effect the anime will add to it. Snip snip

So Sukuna gets his arms back and looks like he's about to overpower Yuji once more. But you know what I thought while reading the chapter? That Sukuna had an awful lot of inner thoughts.

Sukuna never get this much thought bubbles and he's confident of his success to boot? Something is going to go sideways for him, definitely.

And look, we get a flashback about the first time we saw a DE with blindfold Gojo. But it's not like Sukuna needs that flashback, he knows more than anyone how they're made. So... why did this particular image appear in his mind?

Because Yuji

I've seen explanations of Yuji's handsign. I'll link or reblog them later.

The biggest problem for Sukuna is now the Sure hit but he knows Hollow Wicker Basket and has all his arms back so the fight should continue as it started but....

It's so nostalgic seeing Itadori Sukuna 😤

This probably answers the question we had when Sukuna took over Megumi's body. How does his soul look like now? Like Megumi? Or still like Yuji?

Yuji it is.

The setup here is also reminiscent of Gojo's airport scene with Sukuna now in Gojo's place

But is this Yuji's domain or is it one of those fake memories like Todo and Choso had??

As a reminder, not only does Yuji induce strange dream sequences into others but so does Sukuna. We've seen it with Jogo and Kashimo. What we haven't seen is if Sukuna is actually aware of them happening. He might very well be like Yuji with no idea that sth happened.

The difference with Yuji's and Sukuna's induced dreams are that with Yuji they're uninvolved sequences that still speak to the receivers' (Todo/Choso) hearts. For Sukuna they're a last talk with the receiver being fully conscious and able to speak their minds however they wish.

This looks like Sukuna will be fully conscious... But Yuji won't?

It's not like Yuji isn't affected by these dreams though. After Todo's he said that he was in strange place during the Hanami fight where he also called Todo his brazaa. Those fake memories probably affected Yuji subconsciously as well.

So, my guess is that this last scene where Sukuna and Yuji are probably going to have some heavy talking happen to them, is a dream. The real fight might actually be happening simultaneously while they... don't really resolve their character conflict that has been build up since the beginning of the manga. But they might build on top of it.

My second guess for the end of the this arc with how this is set up now, is that Sukuna will get backstabbed by Kenjaku. He will most likely involuntarily become part of the merger which will mean that this fight (and the talk) won't have a proper winner. That part will become Megumi's arc then.

[factual-fantasy]

28 ASKS! THANKS A BUNCH!! 🥰🌊

f...FANK YOIU SO MYUCH!!! 🥰💖💖💖

My cookies can eat and drink :0 but that's mostly becuase I imagine my cookies as more.. people than cookies <XD

Ah, I'm afraid I cannot help you there. I seem to be physically incapable of explaining how I draw things. I've made some hand/art tutorials in the past but I just cant seem to explain myself well-

It boils down to: "Well.. I just, draw it. And uh.. if it looks kind'a off? Draw it a little differently. And if it still looks off.. then uh.. just draw it again, until it looks right." <XDD Not really helpful.. sorry!..

Also thank you so much!! :DD Your compliments mean the world!! 💖

@a-manicured-lawn

ALKSF XDD That sounds great, I'll keep that in mind! :}

(Post in question)

XD It sure is!

That is a good idea! I'll have to keep this in mind! :0 ..Though I do love receiving asks.. 🥺

@headspace-tales

XDD I've been told that Jangles looks like Papyrus, they might fight right in!

Oooo that's a good idea! I might have to try that! :00

(Post in question) (..Or was it this post-)

ALKJSWDJ XDD I'm glad you liked it!! :DD

Probably like warm canned tuna fish spread across a gingerbread cookie XDD

I'm unfamiliar with the world of happy tree friends.. is it safe there? If so, sure they'll stay! :D

That condition was tacked on last minute.. I haven't put much thought into it.. but I'm sure situations like that are very possible :00 I'll have to think more on it! :oo

Can they do that?? Man, Tuna could really use that- <XD

I don't know.. do they? :0

AHEMMM AHEHEMMMMM... THAN K YIOIUUU!!!💖💖💖

SKSAJS IT PROBABLY IS XDD

Aww!! 🥰💖🥰

TERROR!! XDD

I'm not sure.. idk how more cookies in the game are made- <XD

I'm not sure.. I assume a world made of candy would be rather normal to them..? :0

(Post in question)

SKJJDJKSLV XDD

YOOO THATS GENIUS!!

@beryl-shade

I would assume negative.. since a real cookie jar is a bunch of cookies kept "sealed" away in a jar. Its probably the equivalent of a prison to them! :00

My interests come and go. We're bound to see more of it someday, :o

THE NINTENDO SWITCH???

Thank you XDD I hope it works!

ooooo good question! :00

Its rare that Seafoam gets really stressed or overwhelmed. Its the mark of a good Captain to keep his cool when under pressure. But if there comes a time where his stress is high and he cant get away from the situation, he probably seeks out Octo for help. Getting him to take over so that he can step away or just to help him in general. In which Octo is always willing to help.

Octo is the same as Seafoam. Really good under pressure and rarely gets overwhelmed. But just like Seafoam, if things get to be too much he would seek out Seafoam for help. Maybe even getting Seafoam to take control so can get a few minutes to himself.

Red probably gets stressed a lot, the poor kid :< He just runs to Coco, Seafoam, Blue or even Octo if he can. Just the nearest parental/protective figure that can resolve the situation for him <XD

I can see Blue diving deeper or swimming out a ways from the ship when stressed. The whale equivalent of taking a walk <XD

Cuttlefish probably uses her powers to slip out of any situation and find a quiet space to calm down. Removing herself from the situation usually fixes her up pretty quick. Spider crab is the same, just going to find a space alone where he can calm himself down. Usually by taking deep breaths and soaking up the quiet.

Urchin, Louis, Coco, Tuna and Ellie probably would all just find a way to leave the situation to go pace and rant when stressed. Even if they have to make a scene in order to leave.

I can see Pinwheel fleeing to Seafoam whenever something becomes too much to handle. Getting him to step in and help her, though she might not fully leave the situation. Since Seafoam provides her comfort, she might hover nearby while Seafoam resolves the situation for her.. 🥺

(Also thank you for the ask/prompt! Was very tasty😋)

@artistmad (Post in question)

:DD Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it! XDD

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch9

chapter nine: the crawl

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 9, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-8, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

Warnings: smoking, addiction, withdrawal symptoms, suicidal ideation; animal death, typical gore/violence

A bit of a disclaimer here: the reader is somewhat forced to curb their smoking addiction, which results in several withdrawal symptoms. Their addiction isn’t intended to be a centerpiece of this fic in the slightest, so the pacing of that part of the story may seem a little fast. I want to restate that I don’t intend to romanticize addiction or substance abuse in the slightest—I tried my best to do some research and ensure that this depiction was as accurate as possible. Hopefully, I haven’t made any missteps along the way.

Jack took away your lighter and your cigarettes. He even went so far as to appear on your front doorstep and demand that you turn over any remaining materials you had at home. It was utterly humiliating and dehumanizing to have your privacy so swiftly broken. Not to mention, it felt incredibly patronizing. You’re a fully-grown adult, not a child who needs disciplining. You’re able to make rational decisions and monitor your own health. And yes, smoking was having a poor effect on your health. But you had already considered its adverse effects and decided to ignore them (and even embrace them). 

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought that your new habit was consistent enough to create an addiction, but you were wrong. In the hours following Jack’s house visit, you’re shaking and trembling as you stare off into the wall in front of you. Your mouth feels dry, your eyelids feel heavy, and a persistent nausea climbs up your throat, threatening to spill past your lips. Most of all, you feel terribly… empty. There is an utter lack of emotion and color to your life. Everything bores you, nothing excites you. 

Typically, when you feel uncertain or are struggling with something, you’re able to throw yourself into work. But now, when you focus your attention on work, you find yourself experiencing a new emotion as you meet the hazy eyes of the corpses of victims: envy. When you blink and look down at them, you see yourself lying on the cold metal table—skin mottled and entirely motionless. 

You’re starting to think you won’t feel anything ever again; you’re succumbing to the seemingly infinite fog suffocating everything and everyone around you. Everything lacks substance. Nothing gives you fulfillment. Life is horribly muted and painfully monotonous. You wake up in the morning, pretend that your breakfast tastes like something, drive to work, toil away at your desk (and occasionally find yourself in the field), force yourself to eat lunch, do more work, go home and pretend your dinner isn’t the same meal as the night before—only to fall asleep and repeat the cycle all over again. It’s all an act—a performance to convince yourself and Jack that you’re capable of getting better—even when you don’t believe it to be true.  

Surprisingly, somewhere along the way, going through the motions—as miserable as they are—begins to yield results. You begin to feel the familiar stirrings of rage and disgust in your gut as you come across corpses; grief and remorse when you’re left to the shadows seeping through the corners of your home. You’re slowly picking up the pieces of your shattered psyche. 

…But then the card tower of coping skills you spent time delicately arranging topples down into a scattered mess. But then the pendulum tears through the air in front of your eyes, until you’re standing at the top of a carpeted staircase and looking down at a woman’s sprawled body with the taste of copper settling on your tongue.

Through the shadows, you can see her husband crawling on the ground—dragging himself towards you in a futile attempt at resistance. You grab his hair and yank his head up, promptly pushing the barrel of your gun to his temple and firing a shot he will not survive. The children are swiftly eliminated with the same unapologetic cruelty—necks twisted brutally and viciously. 

You look down at your bloodied hands and inhale slowly, feeling a strange sense of serenity and peace overtake you. The Jacobis and the Leedses were small steps towards your desires; this family is a much bigger lunge towards them. Even so, you feel a magnetic pull towards the bathroom tucked away in the corner—a visceral urge to punch the mirror and dig your fingers into the shards of glass. But you cannot leave fingerprints, so you have to settle for placing a shard in your pocket and making a quick departure. There is nothing left for you here. 

The pendulum is unyielding in its descent, as it roughly pulls you back to the present moment: back to the chilly white walls of the lab and away from the trickling warmth of crimson running down your fingers. You’re not sure how much time has passed since you entered the laboratory—nor do you really recall entering the space in the first place. Yet here you are: staring down at the mother’s wide, milky eyes and wishing they could tell you more. 

Jack and you are standing over the table in utter silence. You can’t pinpoint exactly what Jack’s feeling, but you’d wager it’s a mix of guilt, frustration, pain, and exhaustion. Well, the pain and exhaustion may be projections. Your limbs have been trapped in an eternal state of dull aching; the skin on your face feels drawn far too tight across your cheekbones and jaw. There’s a weird taste settling on your tongue and a desperate tremble to your hands. You haven’t been sleeping well lately either. It’s almost as if your body knew that something was about to happen, because, in the past few days, you’ve only slept for a collective few hours. And you doubt your sleep is going to get much better, now that the image of the fresh corpses is thoroughly cemented in your mind. 

While the pain ebbs and flows, as you suspect, your sleep gets worse in the coming days. The unfounded dread from before gives way to skin-deep grief and persevering self-loathing. You’re sleeping at short intervals—with long periods of restlessly staring up at the ceiling interspersed across them. Even as your withdrawal symptoms start to fade and color slowly bleeds back into the world, you still feel miserable. You’re exhausted and overworked. Life as an FBI agent is hard enough on a full ten hours of sleep and a complete breakfast. You’re lucky if you get five hours and a bite to eat on the way out of your house in the mornings. 

Throwing yourself into your work has never been a healthy solution to your problems, and this newest attempt is no exception. Bloodied, misshapen corpses follow you into your dreams and your waking mind. You can’t stop contemplating the nature of your existence—what has gifted you continued life, while children’s flames are brutally snuffed out without a moment’s hesitation. You’re going more and more fidgety as time passes—a confusing contradiction to the lethargy and fatigue that assault you the moment you wake. You’re trapped in a strange state of unreality, bogged down by reminders of the life you reunite with every morning. 

You can barely think straight. Your mind feels like a giant mess of a cobweb, with strings shooting around in all the wrong directions. There is no clear path to the answers you seek—and, frighteningly enough, you don’t think you can even remember why you want those answers in the first place. What are you fighting for? What are you running towards? Is this really your fate: waking up to fall asleep, avenging the dead to live? What happened to that determination from your training years—that visceral desire to push yourself up from the ground and keep at it? You can’t remember the last time you felt genuinely motivated to walk into work.

Even Jack has noticed your changes in behavior, but he’s so swamped in work that he never seems to address it. Besides, that responsibility isn’t his—you should know when you’ve reached your limits; you should be able to call things off when it gets to be too much. You’re an experienced agent by now—you should have some sort of process for all this. But you don’t have anything. Instead, you’re falling victim to a merciless cycle of hope and despair; anger and remorse; anticipation and apprehension. You’re fading, just as the lifeless corpses on the spotless lab tables.

It certainly doesn’t help that the newest murder comes with a frustrating lack of substantial evidence. Shattered mirror fragments can only reveal so much. Jack and you seem to come to the same troubling conclusion, as you lock eyes in the dim warmth of his office. 

“We need to talk to Hannibal,” you realize aloud. The recognition settles into the air uncomfortably. 

“I’m afraid so.” Jack appears resigned, but not defeated. The two of you both know that Hannibal likely has information. The only problem… is trying to get him to reveal it. “Would you like me to accompany you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine,” you deny the offer. Sensing that Jack is impatient, you push yourself out of your chair and head for the door—only for him to interject just before you can leave.

“Agent,” Jack remarks. You freeze and turn back around to face him, unsurprised to find a grave expression on his face. “Don’t let your guard down. He is not assisting us out of the goodness of his heart.”

Then why are we seeking him out again?  You think wryly. 

“I think you know we have few other options,” Jack responds. You hadn’t realized that you uttered that last thought aloud. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to leave Lecter to rot in his cell. But this killer is far too similar to him. He will have valuable insight, even if he hasn’t revealed it yet.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “What if he never reveals it?”

“Then we’re in trouble,” Jack admits darkly. On that note, you leave his office and head out of the building. Once you make it to your car, you’re quick to pull out of the parking lot and begin the drive to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. You don’t have to use navigation to get there anymore—and that small realization is rather frightening. You never wanted this—never wanted him —to be a part of your life again. In the years following Hannibal’s surrender, your life was blissfully quiet. The voices in your head were subdued. Now, they’re back in full force—scolding you for everything you haven’t yet done. 

You go through the motions of the entrance procedure, coming back to yourself just a few steps from the door that leads to the corridor with Hannibal’s cell. You contemplate turning around and walking away, as you have done many times before. And, just as you always do, you reach out and open the door. The door lets out an ominous creak, betraying the fear and apprehension that keep you firmly frozen in the doorway.

Eventually, you somehow manage to convince yourself to keep moving forward. You take one step, then another, then another. Through this process, you find yourself standing in front of the ever-familiar glass-wall of the Ripper’s enclosure. You take a slow breath and attempt to steel your nerves, despite knowing the effort is futile. 

To your surprise, Hannibal doesn’t notice you right away. Instead, he seems to be looking at some sort of paper with rapt attention. You squint and attempt to get a glimpse of what he’s reading, only to recoil upon reading the headline. It’s an article from TattleCrime—the one about you that was published a few years ago. There’s a picture of you on the front cover—glancing off to the side with a stormy expression on your face, the scar ripping through your cheek fully visible—underneath a bolded headline speculating about the nature of your “relationship” with Hannibal. 

Fortunately, you haven’t been featured in TattleCrime since your unplanned friendship with Freddie. But seeing that paper in Hannibal’s hands transports you back in time: to a deceptive tranquility and a comfortable silence that clung to your home’s walls. You remember the feeling that stirred within you as you read the article for the first time. After all, back then, you were doing a rather good job at compartmentalizing any and all thoughts about Hannibal. But that article was the first to crack through the walls you erected and invade your mind with unwanted thoughts. 

When you remember your surroundings and refocus on Hannibal, you find that he’s already staring at you unabashedly. Your gaze falls to the paper in his hands and he makes no attempt of concealing it, instead offering you a smile and placing it on his desk. Something ticks in your jaw. You hold back any sharp remarks as Hannibal gets up from his chair, stalking over to stand across from you. His hands folded behind his back, he levels you with an intent look. He seems to be scrutinizing you—and it almost appears as if he doesn’t like whatever he finds. 

“You look…” Hannibal starts. You’re suddenly incredibly irritated. 

“Awful, I know,” you finish for him, sick of everyone you meet scrutinizing your appearance. Well, “everyone” is a bit of an exaggeration—a playful remark from Bev and a quick inquiry from Jack was all you really received. But you’ve noticed the wary glances that have been paid to you at crime scenes; the way everyone has been giving you a wide berth, as if waiting for you to snap and lash out. There aren’t any words that can overstate your exhaustion. 

“I was going to say exhausted,” Hannibal says with a thin smile. He pins you down with an attentive gaze. Your hand twitches at your side as you notice just how close he’s standing. Taking a deep breath, you try your best to maintain your composure and remain frozen where you are—even as your heart races along your skin. Your eyes are burning from fatigue. “How much sleep did you get last night?” He asks. 

“Is this a doctor’s appointment?” you snap bitterly. Hannibal doesn’t respond. You take a deep breath again, recognizing that he isn’t the source of your frustration. “…Three hours.” You decide to answer honestly, after a few moments of contemplation. There’s really no harm in providing him with such a useless detail. 

“Have you been having difficulty concentrating?” Hannibal hums, his gaze flitting about your face. He almost looks concerned. You may be tired, but you’re not dazed enough to mistake the turn of his lips as genuine distress. You cross your arms over your chest, then let them fall to your sides when you remember how much you’ve been doing that simple gesture in front of Hannibal—as if you’re attempting to shield yourself from him. The effort is futile, though. You have no agency in the affair—if Hannibal wants to know something, he will learn of it. “Memory problems? Worsened moods?” He presses. You’re idly reminded of his background as a surgeon… and then sickened by the subsequent contemplation of how many people he covertly harmed under the knife. 

You’re beginning to get a headache. Admittedly, you have been experiencing all of the symptoms he mentioned—in varying degrees of severity.  “What’s the prognosis?” You ask in lieu of providing an answer. Hannibal nods knowingly. He’s more than familiar with your avoidance, just as you are more than familiar with his loaded questions and ambiguous answers. 

“Sleep deprivation,” he remarks. You exhale in amusement. That’s far from a revolutionary diagnosis—you could’ve pieced that together yourself, even with your minimal medicinal knowledge. (After all, the FBI never taught you how to heal people–only how to hurt them.) “And the lingering traces of withdrawal. Why haven’t you been sleeping?” Hannibal continues.

“Nightmares,” you admit. A phantom shiver rolls down your spine, sending goosebumps across your arms. 

“About what?” Hannibal is practically leaning forward in interest. You don’t want to give him more ammunition, but damn it, you need information on the Tooth Fairy. And, perhaps, if you can get him in a good mood… then he’ll be a bit more forthcoming. After all, that’s what you’re here for… right? …Right?

“The newest victims,” You respond. Hannibal is staring at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to elaborate. Somehow, that’s when your mind shuts off and the desire to speak fades into obscurity. You settle for shaking your head silently, not wishing to summon more thoughts of bloodied stains splattered across homey walls. 

“Perhaps you should return home,” Hannibal suggests a moment later, clearly sensing that you would rather be anywhere else. You pay a fleeting glance at the security door from which you came, wishing you had such a luxury.

“No, I need to keep working on this,” you maintain. “Here.” You take a few steps to the side and slide a photo through the small mail slot. The photograph has been burning a hole in your pocket since you prepared for your visit here. And regardless of how many times you ran your fingers over it and ensured there wasn’t so much as a single paper clip attached to it, Hannibal’s predatory approach to the mail slot puts you on edge. Standing across from you once more, Hannibal looks down at the mail slot and stares down at the photograph. Your stomach churns as he takes it in his hands. But he barely gives it more than a second of his attention. Just as quickly as he picked the photo up, Hannibal places it back down in the slot. 

“I don’t wish to look at this,” he announces, sliding it back through the slot. 

You choke on a laugh. “What?” You stare at him in surprise. The expression on his face is completely blank. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.” You scoff and stare at him, irritation and helplessness assaulting you. 

“You need to go home, Detective.” Hannibal asserts, enunciating his words carefully. What is it with everyone treating you as if you’re made of glass? Do you really look that pathetic? Sure, you have impossibly dark circles under your eyes and a general sluggishness about you, but that doesn’t seem like cause for such concern. 

“The newest victims,” you continue determinedly, pretending as if he hadn’t spoken. “Another family, two parents, one child. Mirrors shattered. The wife had strangulation marks, bite marks on the neck.”

“Enough.” Hannibal orders, his voice cutting through the static in your mind. You blink and lurch forward, placing a hand on the glass to brace yourself as a wave of vertigo hits you. When your vision finally clears, you’re surprised to find Hannibal on the other side of the glass, his hand extended to match yours. There’s a stormy expression on his face. 

“Leave,” he says. “If you return well-rested, I will discuss the murder with you.” Hannibal doesn’t leave you much of a choice. If you want his perspective, you’re going to have to come back later. You grit your teeth and walk away, bidding him a quick goodbye and shoving your trembling hands in your pockets. 

Your suffering doesn’t end there, however, as you nearly crash into Frederick Chilton on your way out. He steadies you with hands on your shoulders, looking at you intently. “Lecter seems worried about you,” he prompts. 

“Hm?” You ask, admittedly zoned out.

“Lecter seems worried about you,” Chilton repeats, his brows furrowing. 

You squint at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you decide to say, if only to appease Chilton. Unfortunately, Frederick Chilton must be the densest person on the planet, because he refuses to drop the subject. 

“I have to admit, you look tired,” Chilton says after a moment. Somehow, the look on your face must be enough to convince him that you don’t want to talk, because he holds his hands up in surrender.  “Alright, I won’t fight you on this. Get home and get some rest.” 

You mutter a goodbye and head back to your car. The ride home is uneventful, save for your eyes stinging with exhaustion. Unfortunately, you don’t get rest. Rather, you find yourself sitting across from Jack as he brainstorms a way to draw the Tooth Fairy out of hiding. It’s clear that the killer will continue to kill every full moon, and you’re regretfully lacking in evidence. If you don’t have a new lead soon, another group of innocent people will die. The thought keeps you tossing and turning that night, until you’re walking into the bureau the following morning with a renewed vigor. You restlessly ruminated over the Tooth Fairy murders that night, neglecting sleep in favor of attempting to dissect the same few pieces of evidence again. Is it insanity to do the same thing over and over again, expecting different results? You’re not sure. 

Regardless, you do come to some sort of conclusion. It doesn't necessarily have to do with the existing evidence; rather, you have an idea of how to draw the Tooth Fairy out of hiding. You tell Jack as much that early morning, and he looks at you tiredly over his mug of steaming hot coffee. He eventually places the drink aside and asks you to elaborate. 

You go through your existing characterization of the Tooth Fairy, starting with what he looks like and moving on to his personality. There, you remind Jack of the man’s pride—and how that pride and arrogance led you to develop an idea. At that point, Jack is practically foaming at the mouth with how much you’ve been leading him on. You eventually abandon pretense and tell him outright. 

“I think we should set up a TattleCrime article,” you say. “In it, we’ll characterize him to be a sexual deviant and a monster, amongst other things. Then, when he sees the article—which he will—he’ll take out his anger on the closest target.”

“Which is…?” Jack trails off, staring at you expectantly. You gesture to yourself and understanding passes over his face. He contemplates the idea for several minutes, his hands folded in front of him as his elbows rest on his desk. You almost want to accuse him of being distracted, but it’s clear from the look in his eyes that he’s meticulously analyzing the plan you’re suggesting. You both know it’s risky, but at this point, you don’t feel as if you have a choice. You need to catch this guy—or, hell, at least get something on him.

Hours later, you find yourself in a conference room at the Bureau with a rather unique group of individuals: Jack, of course; Freddie Lounds, journalist for TattleCrime; and Frederick Chilton, the head administrator at the Baltimore State Hospital of the Criminally Insane. The four of you quickly review the basic information on the Tooth Fairy, before Jack takes the lead with creating a suitable narrative for the story. Freddie types notes rapidly on her laptop, while Chilton divides his attention between staring at you and providing unwanted commentary to Jack. 

Then comes the fun part: inventing provocative remarks about the killer. It isn’t exactly hard to do, considering the mirror fragments he always leaves behind. The Tooth Fairy is a man deeply wounded inside—longing for acceptance amidst a society and world that doesn’t understand him. That’s the sugarcoated way to put it. 

“He is a sexual deviant,” you say, the words practically slipping from your lips of their own accord. “A predator that preys on innocent people and gets off on killing women because that is the only time when he is able to exude power and authority. In all other aspects, I daresay he is small—in stature and in presence. He is hopelessly insecure, and seeks external enlightenment to mask his many flaws.” If there’s one generalization that can be made about the Tooth Fairy’s ego, it is that he loathes being underestimated, objectified, and otherwise scrutinized. No doubt these comments will drive him absolutely crazy. At least, that’s your hope. And judging from the somewhat surprised and impressed look on Jack’s face, you think your statements are suitable. After all, if the killer is secretly as fragile as you suspect him to be,  he will take offense at virtually any insult—even if there isn’t a grain of truth in it. 

Some time later, Freddie has gathered everything she needs for the article—save for an accompanying photo. She seems to think that a picture of Chilton and you will do nicely, and Jack agrees. Outnumbered, you suppress your objections and stand next to Chilton. Freddie adjusts the angle and the camera flashes, freezing everything around you. A feeling you thought to be vanquished has just reared its ugly head: fear. You will be faced with the brunt of this killer’s attack, unless you somehow divert it. 

In a spur of the moment decision, you clap a hand on Chilton’s shoulder. Admittedly, the physical contact is entirely purposeful and pointed. Through the gesture, you’re forging an association in the killer’s mind and passing off the blame to Chilton himself. If you’ve characterized the killer accurately so far, there’s a good chance he’ll take his anger out on Chilton. 

The irony is not lost on you. When you were held captive by Abel Gideon and forced to point a gun at Frederick, you couldn’t take the shot. You had pushed him to the floor and inadvertently saved his life. Now, you’re holding the gun… and you’ve just fired the trigger. 

You tilt your head in what feels like slow motion to look at Chilton. Suddenly you can see him lying dazed on the kitchen floor, eyes glazed and hazily crooning at you, “See?” Suddenly there’s a bullet carved neatly through his temple, and his body lurches backwards and falls to the floor of the dimly lit hallway of that crumbling house you were trapped in. Suddenly he’s ripping his way out of a horse’s womb, covered in blood and guts, and you’re firing at him with nothing but rage in your heart… 

You blink again and look ahead. The camera flashes once more, sending dizzying spirals across your vision. 

You just sent Frederick Chilton to the gallows.

next chapter

endnotes: I really don’t think I did the TattleCrime article justice. In the TV show, Will goes OFF on the Tooth Fairy and it’s savage as hell.

Recent movies/shows I've watched: Chucky (1-3), Halloween 2 (the bloody tears almost made me cry), Late Night with the Devil, and The Patient (went back and finished it; it was fucking awesome)

thanks for reading!

look forward to a new POV in the next chapter Ψ(`_´ # )↝

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

[haziwritesstuff]

My little rose, part 3

"You are meant to be the love of my next life."

Pairing | Aemond and Aegon x reader Wordcount | 4.2k Warnings | Medieval misogyny, Aegon isn't the nicest Previous chapters | Part 1, part 2

You make your way to Dragonstone, landing on the stone steps of the castle. Your family isn't there yet. It's quiet as you approach alone. You feel like you're walking into an empty castle, with nothing but your own footsteps echoing in the vast halls. The air is still and you feel like you're walking through a desert of stone and silence. You find it oddly peaceful and tranquil in a way, despite the solitude. The change in environment was refreshing and cleansing, after the tense atmosphere that you've just exited. You feel like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, a sense of calm and contentment wash over you as you look around at the vast halls and empty rooms.

You find yourself wandering through the gardens, your attention being drawn to the roses as the vivid colors and sweet smells fill the air. You feel your heart skip a beat as you take in the sight of the lush foliage and vibrant petals, and you can't help but feel a jolt of nostalgia. These were the roses that you've always loved, the ones that used to bring you joy and peace when you were a child. Bittersweetness washes over you as you remember those years growing up in solitude, with only Silverwing and the roses for company. You feel like the roses were like your faithful companions, always there to bring you comfort and joy during those times when you felt lonely and isolated. The  roses remind you of those comforting moments of companionship and the bittersweetness you feel is a reflection of the mixture of feelings that those times brought to you. You feel a bit of anger and resentment towards your father for keeping you hidden away from the world for years. You feel like he robbed you of a proper childhood, leaving you alone and isolated with no real friends in your life, he deprived you of so much, he was selfish and callous in his treatment of you. Although you made peace with it, you haven't forgotten it either. You've learned to accept and come to terms with your past, but you haven't let go of the bitterness and resentment that you feel towards Daemon for what he did to you. You've learnt to live with this injustice, but the anger and hurt still remains deep inside your heart.

You've been so deep in thought that you haven't realized someone else has joined you in the gardens. You're startled by Rhaena's sudden appearance and you feel a surge of relief as you realize it was her. "Where have you been? We almost started a search party!” "I'm sorry, I was just..." you stop short, realizing that you don't have an explanation for your absence. You feel like Rhaena's sudden appearance has caught you by surprise and you feel a bit embarrassed to explain why you were away. Rhaena’s staring at you and she’s not willing to let this matter go. There is still more to be said, but there is a certain level of awkwardness and tension and between you two right now. You didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it already has been, so you keep your answer brief and simple. "I just flew alone, I wanted some time to be alone with my thoughts..." Rhaena nods her head, seeming to accept your explanation and she doesn't press the issue any further. “So what did you think of King’s Landing? And what did you think of your other family members?” "Well... it was certainly an experience..." you respond nervously, not sure exactly how to answer the question.

“Mmh. Did you manage to fix your issues with Aegon?” You feel a wave of awkwardness wash over you as Rhaena brings up the topic of Aegon. You're not sure what to say, or how you would even begin to explain the situation between the two of you. “Sort of.” You whispered, feeling like you haven't really fully resolved your issues with Aegon. The two of you still have some things to work out, but the tension is not as bad as it was before. Perhaps kissing him wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Rhaena's observant and perceptive, noticing that you're holding something back when you give your answer. You're not sure if you should give more details to her, you wanted to. You wanted to scream that you’ve kissed Aegon, that you hugged Aemond. That you were utterly confused. This was your first ‘experience’ with the other sex and you weren’t sure what to do now. You wanted to tell her everything that’s going on inside your head, but you decided against it.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It's been a couple of weeks since you had your experiences with Aegon and Aemond in King's Landing. A lot has happened since then, and things have shifted and changed in your life. Viserys is dead and they have crowned Aegon as King, stealing Rhaenyra’s throne.

"You're going to King's Landing and you're going to give Aegon this.” You are caught off guard by the sudden declaration of your father. You're not sure what he's referring to, but you feel your heart beating faster at the prospect of meeting King Aegon and giving him something. You struggle to contain your anxiety as you look at your father, wondering what he has in mind for you. You're being thrown into a dangerous situation, and you're not sure if you can handle it. There are so many ways this situation could go wrong, you're being pulled into a situation that is bigger than you are ready for. “I don’t think I’m ready… For th-“ his eyes narrow and his voice becomes more demanding. "You must go. It is your duty as my daughter." He stares at you intensely, his eyes sharp and piercing. He's not giving you a choice, you must do his bidding. Daemon's eyes narrow even more as he glares at you. "I am not giving you a choice," he says harshly, "You will go to King's Landing and you will give Aegon this." He leans forward and holds up a small black pouch. "This is the message that I want you to deliver to him. Do you understand?" The intensity of Daemon's gaze leaves you feeling scared and intimidated, as if he's determined to not let you refuse or refuse his demands. You realize that you have no choice but to go, and are left feeling like a pawn in this game of power and politics. “Yes, I understand." you say softly, having no choice but to comply with his orders, since he is your father and you have been raised to obey him. Daemon doesn't respond. Instead, he hands you the small black pouch and begins to walk away, his walk slow and measured.

Daemon's words leave you feeling scared and uncertain about your upcoming trip to King's Landing, where you are expected to deliver a message to the new king. You don't know what the message contains, and you feel a sense of anxiety and unease about the situation, as well as a sense of trepidation about the journey ahead.

It turns out you weren't the only messenger. You learn later that same night that Rhaenys, Jace, and Luke were also sent off with messages of their own. Thinking about the message you're carrying, you can't help but wonder what it could be. It's a heavy burden, with your life potentially hanging in the balance. Every step you take on the road to King's Landing is a step closer to danger and potential confrontation with the new ‘king’. The gravity of the situation suddenly sinks in, and you feel like you're walking into the unknown. Aegon wouldn’t hurt you, would he?

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It's a long journey to King's Landing, but after countless hours of flight, you finally make it to the city. You land in one of the city's landing spots, feeling both relieved and exhausted as you finally made it. That sense of relief and exhaustion is quickly replaced with a sense of anxiety and uncertainty as you realize that you still have the task left: to deliver the message to the new King, Aegon II.

You make your way to the castle in King's Landing, walking up to the gates. There are guards stationed on both sides of the gate, who keep watch over the castle grounds. You feel anxious and fearful as you approach them, they keep an watchful eye on you as you draw closer. Eventually you find your way to the throne room of the castle. Aegon is sitting in his throne, his piercing eyes looking down at you. He is flanked by a handful of guards and advisors, forming a circle around him. As you enter the room, the quiet conversations and whispers stop instantly, and all attention is focused on you. His gaze is like a blazing flame, his look burning into you as he waits for you to speak. The guards and advisors stand close by, as if they are ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Everyone in the room is watching you intently, and you feel the pressure of everyone's eyes bearing down on you.

“I brought you a message from Queen Rhaenyra.” Your voice sounds small and strained as you speak, the weight of so many eyes upon you is overwhelming. The atmosphere in the room is thick with anticipation. After a pause, Aegon speaks, his voice calm and measured. "And what is the message?" "The message is personal and private, and it is to be delivered only to you and no one else." Aegon’s eyes narrow and his expression becomes more intense, as if deep in thought. He's silent for a moment, before finally speaking. "I see. If the message is personal and private, then why are you delivering it instead of Queen Rhaenyra herself?" The tension in the air increases as he speaks, his tone is stern and his face is fixed in a serious expression. He's awaiting a good reason for him to accept this message as legitimate and not a trick or ruse. "There must have been some reason for you being sent here, rather than Queen Rhaenyra coming herself," he says, "Is there a reason why she wouldn't have come here herself? If this message was so personal and private, why didn't she come herself to deliver it?" “I’m not sure.” Aegon raises an eyebrow, his expression becoming even more skeptical. "You're not sure?" He asks in a skeptical tone, "That's a rather unsatisfactory answer, don't you think?" After a few moments, you finally speak again. “My father sent me as the messenger.” “And why would he have done that, I wonder?!”

Aegon stares at you for a few more moments, with a stern and intense expression, before finally speaking again. “Well, I suppose we shall just have to read the message for ourselves, and see what Rhaenyra has to say.” He finally reaches for the small black pouch in your hands, and begins opening it. He removes the message inside and examines it, reading what is written on it. After a few moments, he looks back up at you. "That cunning bitch," he mutters under his breath. His fury seems to be reaching a boiling point, as he speaks again. "Everyone out!” As the room falls silent, you look at Aegon, who is now standing in front of you, still clutching the message in his hands. His face is contorted with fury, and his expression is like the face of a raging bull, ready to charge at a moment's notice.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he speaks again. "How dare she send you here with a message like this!" He shouts, his voice full of rage and anger. "She thinks she can tell me what to do? Who the fuck does she think she is!?" He stares at you for a few moments, his eyes narrowed and his face full of rage. "And does she think I'm just gonna let you walk away after this?!" "Pardon me?" Your face began to grow darker. "I will not let this pass. I will not let her disrespect me in such a manner. And I'm not going to just let you walk away either. I will not let you go. You're going to be my prize of war, and you'll stay here with me, where I can take my time with you." The threat of violence is now very evident in the king's tone. He continues to stare at you, his expression growing darker and more intense.

This was probably a big mistake. You can feel the weight of his glare digging deep into your skin, and you feel like he's considering what he's going to do to you even more seriously now. After a few moments of silence, Aegon takes a deep breath and starts to speak again. "You're going to stay here with me, and I'm going to take my time with you. Your queen might think that she's being clever and making a request, but I'll show her just how foolish she is." "The fuck I am! You can't keep me captive!" Aegon takes a deep breath and nods his head slowly. "Oh, can't I?" He responds calmly and politely, but his tone is one of pure menace. “I can keep you here for as long as I like, and there's nothing you can do about it.” His face grows even darker, and he slowly steps towards you. He moves in closer and closer, getting right into your personal space. He's so close that you can feel his breath on your neck, and it's an unbearably intense feeling. His face just a few inches away from your ear. You feel his breath tickling your neck, and it sends a shiver down your spine. His voice is like a whisper, but it's a whisper of pure threat and power. "You're mine now." His breath tickles your skin, you feel like you can't move, like your body has frozen up and you can't even scream.

Aegon’s breath continues to tickle your skin as he pulls you close to him, his lips just brushing against your skin. You feel powerless to move, as if your body has been frozen in place by the fear he is instilling in you. "Worry not sweetling, we'll have a good time." He whispers into your ear, his voice is like a snake slithering its way into your head. "N-no..." His breath continues to whisper into your ear, and his voice is full of a predatory kind of sensuality. "Oh, yes.." He replies slowly, dragging his next words out for a long time. "You are mine, there’s no running from me now. I’ll take good care of you..." You try to break free from the his grip, but it's hard to get away from him. He holds you close to himself and his hold on you is tight. He seems to be enjoying himself far too much at the prospect of taking you for his own. Your body is filled with fear and trepidation, but you also feel a strange sense of excitement and arousal. Your body is responding to his touch in a way that is both terrifying and pleasurable at the same time. Aegon’s hands are caressing your skin softly as he pulls you closer to him, holding you even tighter and not letting you go anywhere. You let out a whimper as the caress of his touch sends a tingling sensation down your spine. You're being consumed in a very intimate way, your body being overwhelmed by his presence and you feel yourself melting in his grasp. Your attention was completely focused on Aegon that you didn't notice Aemond entering the room.

Aemond sees the two of you, and you can tell from the look in his eye that he is absolutely furious. He walks up close to you, and you feel the heat of his anger radiating off of his presence like a fire. Aegon finally notices Aemond's presence and looks over at him with a dark expression, his mouth curled up into a sneer. His grip on you becomes even tighter, and you can feel the heat coming off his body like a furnace as he stares at Aemond. He seems very protective of you, and he is not going to let anyone interfere with his plans. Aemond's eye was burning with fury, staring down at Aegon, his voice is a low and menacing growl. "What do you think you're doing with her?!" Aegon looks up at Aemond with a dark and menacing expression, he continues to hold you close to himself. "I'm taking her for my own." He replies in a cold voice. Aemond's eye is still fixated on Aegon, and the two men seem to be locked in a fierce staring contest. You can feel the tension in the air increasing as both men glare at each other, their hostility and aggression rising even higher. Aegon’s grip on you tightens even more, and you feel like you're being smothered.

"I will not let you touch her!" Aemond snaps, and you can tell he's barely holding back his anger. His face is a mask of fury, his body is tensing up, as if he's preparing to attack at any moment. He seems absolutely determined to protect you, and you can feel the raw power and aggression coming off of him like a storm of fury. Neither man wants to back down in this stand off, and they continue to glare at each other with a sense of simmering fury. You're trapped in the middle, with all of this tension and hostility growing around you. Your body is being overpowered by Aegon’s grip and you can't move away. "Please let me go..." Your voice is completely being ignored by both men as their confrontation becomes more intense and heated. You try to plead with both Aegon and Aemond to let you go, but they both seem to have lost all rationality and their sense of logic. Now all they're focused on is fighting over your possession. You’re trapped, scared and helpless as you continue to plead with him to let you go. But his resolve is like iron, and you can't help but feel like this is the endgame for you, and that you're going to be carried off in the king's arms at any moment now.

Aegon finally releases you from his grip, and you fall to the floor at his feet. You can feel him looking at you with a cold and menacing glare, but you're also relieved to be free from his grasp. You have a few seconds of hesitation and fear before Aemond pulls you behind him. You cling onto his back as he faces Aegon and you can feel his anger overflowing like an overflowing cup of wrath. "A-aemond..." you whimper, clinging onto him for support. He's the only thing in this room that seems like it could protect you right now. You feel like you're safe with him, but you still can't help but feel terrified at what might happen next.

"I am going to escort her to a guest room and then I’ll deal with you, Aegon." Aegon stares at Aemond with a deadly look of fury, but he doesn't resist. He lets Aemond lead you out of the room, and you're still clinging onto him for support. You feel safe and protected in Aemond's arms, but you still can't help but feel a bit of hesitation and uncertainty. Aemond's tone is stern and authoritative as he leads you out of the room. He doesn't look back at Aegon, and he keeps his eyes focused on the task of safely getting you away from him. You can feel him breathing softly next to you, and you can feel his muscles flexing slightly with each step he takes as he leads you out of the room. He leads you through the halls of the castle. Your body still clinging onto him as a source of protection and comfort, and you’re slightly trembling with fear and nerves. Despite being stern and authoritative, he's also being very gentle and careful with you.

The two of you finally arrive at a room, and Aemond closes the door behind you. He turns to face you, and you can see the intense look in his eye as he stares at you for a moment. You feel like you're being scrutinized by that penetrating gaze, and it makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. He's not smiling or being friendly like before, but instead he seems to be assessing you in an oddly intense way. Aemond stays silent for a minute, continuing to look at you with that intense gaze. You feel like he's looking at you like a stranger, and you feel like he's judging you based on what happened back there. You feel a bit nervous under his intense stare, and you feel like he's not being friendly at all. You have no idea what sort of reaction he is going to have to this situation, and you feel very vulnerable as a result. You still feel like a trembling nervous mess under his stare. After a minute of silence, he finally speaks in a stern voice. "So...what happened back there?" His tone is very serious and stoic, there's no hint of friendliness in his voice. His eye is penetrating, looking into your soul. You don't know what to say, and you feel like your words are being scrutinized heavily. "I, I gave him a message from Queen Rhaenyra." Aemond’s face remains stoic and unchanged, and he waits for you to say more. His face show no hint of a reaction to what you've said, and he continues to stare at you with that piercingly intense gaze. "I have no idea what it says... But I can only imagine... Aegon isn't the rightful king." His face still remains expressionless, studying you intensely. He still seems very cautious and distrustful. He seems suspicious of your reason for delivering the message in the first place. "So, you're trying to steal my brother's crown?" Aemond finally spoke, and your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice. His tone filled with a suspicious kind of disdain. His words were loaded with malice and anger as he accused you of trying to steal his older brother's crown. You could not help but feel your heart beating in your throat at his accusation. "Your queen is a usurper, and a thief. She is trying to steal my brother's crown."

Your heart skipped a beat when Aemond moved closer and caressed your cheek gently, your body shuddering slightly at the touch. You could feel the heat of his breath and his touch on your skin, and your whole body felt like it was trembling under his grasp. "I'm afraid your our prisoner now, dove." His touch made you shiver and tremble in a way that you found both thrilling and frightening. The way he caressed your cheek with his thumb was so tender and gentle, his touch was like a gentle caress sending butterflies through your whole body. "My father will have your head for keeping me hostage!" Your words seem to be have a profound effect Aemond's stance as he stops caressing and backing away slightly. His eyes are filled with a sudden flash of anger and hostility, and he seems to be glaring at you with a mixture of distrust and fury. He then speaks in a harsh and stern voice. "My brother will also have your so called queen’s head for being a traitor to the throne! You should be grateful that I have chosen to keep you safe." His sudden outburst of anger and hostility took you off guard, and you had no idea how to handle his sudden change of mood. You felt like a small and powerless creature facing off against a giant beast. His tone was menacing and he seemed so much stronger and more frightening than you remembered him to be. As he spoke, his anger and hostility made you feel even more vulnerable and scared. This was not the gentle and friendly Aemond you remembered, this was a whole different beast entirely. "I am protecting you. Your so-called queen would never treat you with such care as I have." He took one step closer again, his tone sounding more insistent and authoritarian than before. You could feel the heat of his breath and the intensity of his gaze, and your heart was beating out of your chest. "I will take care of you. I will protect you." He spoke softly this time, almost sounding like a whispering voice. You felt like your whole body was trembling with fear and nerves, but you felt a strange sense of comfort underneath the intensity of his gaze. You felt like a small animal being held tightly in the grip of a predator, but in this predator's eyes you found a hint of kindness and tenderness. "Do you see how I am treating you? Like a precious jewel. Like a delicate flower. Like my little rose."

[alice-the-demon]

(Long post, content warning for mentioning r*pe and animal genitalia halfway through. I ask you to read it fully to understand what happened without misunderstandings and to not be vulgar if you want to make comments about me. Thanks.)

Hey guys.

You might be wondering why I haven't been posting art in the past few days. "Wow, Alice that it's not being active here? What a shocker, it's not like that's the first time this happened!", you might be thinking, "She's either working on something very big or just slacking off as usual!"

If you actually thought that, one point you're right, but the main reason is another and it's what I'm going to explain here.

I initially didn't want to tell you guys what was going on in the past days, because firstly I know that most of you here don't use Twitter and secondly I didn't want to make you preoccupied. But it's not fair that I keep this kind of thing hidden from you, I want to be honest so that you get a full view of what happened. And it's about this post I made. 👇🏻

On July 31st/August 1st a guy on Twitter accused me of making a comic where I badly tackled the topic of s*xual assault and that somewhere else I retweeted a content including "animal genitalia".

The first response I showed here I made it out of stress, frustration and tiredness, because when a friend of mine showed me the post of the accusation it was around 10-11pm in my country, I was tired and fed up with the fact that this is the second time that I got called out for the same reason and to apparently being falsely accused of z**philia. I wanted to resolve the whole thing quickly, I wrote my response with capital letters and bold in some parts and I went to bed, hoping that this story would die out soon.

When I woke up I noticed how my response's quotes were filled with people being mad and disappointed at me for the tone I used and that I didn't resolve a thing. In fact, because of this I lost over 20 followers there. I was shocked and saddened by this, I realised that I should've stayed calm in such a serious situation and actually act like an adult instead of berating the guy who accused me. So I wrote a second response, apologising for my behaviour and actually explaining myself (I won't post it here so I'll just make a recap of what I wrote).

First of all I apologised for the tone I used in the first response and the reason why I acted that way. Secondly, about the "animal genitalia" part... I won't go into too much detail because I don't feel comfortable explaining that situation here, but to summarize quickly the repost the guy was talking about was in the alt account I made on Twitter where I draw adult stuff, I explained the misconception and resolved it by undoing the retweet. (And btw for your information, I don't support z**philia, or p*dophilia for that matter. I might have weird tastes but I'm not mentally sick, that's for sure)

Finally I appropriately apologised for the comic I made. If you don't know which one I'm talking about, it's a Hell Tower Q&A I made where someone asked how an Angel becomes "fallen", with me answering that it happens when the said Angel falls into sin and reaches their breaking point. And to show the "breaking point" I wanted to show an action that it was clear that what they've done is wrong, and I've decided to show an attempted s/a.

Now, there's nothing wrong with talking about r*pe and s/a in media, in fact the guy who grabbed the girl in the comic got dragged away before he could do anything to her and sent in Hell for it. The problem is how I used this argument, using it as an excuse to showcase an imaginary scenario instead to tell a topic with seriousness. Without mentioning that I showed it without any warning when I first posted it.

R*pe and s/a shouldn't have been tackled this lightly, it's a serious matter and there are people who suffered and/or still suffers from it to this day. It wasn't my intention to hurt anyone like this because of my art and I apologise for my stupidity and carelessness, as I'm taking a break from my usual drawings I'm doing my best to get better and be more mindful when talking about serious stuff like this.

As I'm writing this I've locked both my Twitter accounts to avoid getting more hate bombs. Also I temporarily locked the Tumblr account for a day because some anonymous guy wrote something nasty about me through the Hell Tower's mailbox.

It's true what it's done is done, and no matter how much I want it I can't change the past. But I can get better in the present and change my future by slowly becoming a better person and it's what I want to do.

In fact, the other reason I'm not being active is because I'm making an important comic about the girl who almost got assaulted, both as a final apology and to give a closure to this situation once and for all. The story will follow Hilda (that's the name of the girl) talking about the toxic relationship she had with her best friend to a psychologist the day after the event, how they met, how it evolved and what consequences have brought to the girl's psyche.

If you managed to read this far, thank you so much. I'll do my best to be a better person and to make sure to not repeat history in the future. As a lil treat enjoy this lil doodle I made of my favourite Archangel X Imp couple. And I know that this is the tenth time I say this, but I really love you folks for understanding and appreciating me. ❤️

[antifictionsfiction]

Worth the Free Admission - Part 5/6

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / AO3

Fandom: Children’s Theater Critic with Alfred Molina

Pairing: Arthur H. Cartwright x gn!reader

Rating: T

Chapter summary: An awkward morning confirms to you things haven't changed as much as you'd hoped and pushes you to act. Arthur is faced with a situation that he can't back out of anymore.

Warnings/tags: age difference, insecurity, mutual pining, tension (getting somewhat resolved?), personal growth

Additional info: reader is mentioned to be wearing some more masc clothes in one scene, but no gendered pronouns, terms or descriptors are used for them

Chapter word count: 3603

A/N: It's been a long long time, but I want to say a huge thank you to @scorsesedepalmafan for constantly cheering me on (and letting me use one of his gifs again💙) and to @francis-ford-kofola for her support ☺️ And of course, thanks to everybody who's been waiting for me to finish this, I hope you enjoy! And stay tuned for Part 6 ★

“Ah, you slept in.” Those were the words Arthur greeted you with. You had stumbled upon him on your way to the bathroom, hunched over the desk in his study. He was fully dressed, wearing a tweed jacket and from the looks of it, he had been up and working for quite some time now. 

“Well, it was a late night yesterday,” you said, somewhat defensive. Letting him see you only in a T-shirt and a pair of comfy boxers wasn’t something you thought you would be self-conscious about, especially not after last night, but the contrast with his fully professional getup was making you feel underdressed even though it was no later than nine.  

“Yes,” he looked away for a second, his voice coming out uncertain, “I woke up early, that’s all. I couldn’t go back to sleep.” 

“I’m sorry I kept you up.”

“No you didn’t, it was just… back pain.” As if to emphasize his words, he shifted in his chair, straightening up and pushing his shoulders back. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were struggling with that. I’m sorry.” You were getting anxious just watching Arthur visibly avoid holding eye contact with you.

“I usually don't. I just didn’t sleep in the best position.” 

You would pay to see what was going on inside his overthinking brain at that moment. He was already regretting the somewhat intimate way you’d ended the evening with, you had no other theory. The behavior you were witnessing seemed way too skittish even by his standards. Unlike last night though, something about him felt different, as if he was ashamed or guilty instead of frightened. But it was you who instigated (or tried to, anyway) anything yesterday, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

“Arthur, if you’re worried about what happened yesterday- I didn’t think anything of it. We were both feeling out of our depths, and I appreciated the gesture. I know you were just trying to comfort me and that’s all it was, right?” The words felt heavy on your tongue, of course you did make assumptions about the way he bashfully suggested to read to you, or the way he let you, let’s face it, full on cuddle him while he was lying next to you and reading. It didn’t bring you any pleasure to lie, but at that point, you were just trying to say whatever would make him act calmer about the whole situation. Whatever would bring the relationship you’d been building for months now back to the way it was before this unfortunate domino effect of repressed feelings.

“Oh.” The way he looked at you, his eyes wide and slightly magnified by his glasses, reminded you of a very large, frightened owl. He pulled said glasses off his face, gripping them in a nervous gesture before speaking again. 

“Of- of course not. I just assumed, for a second, when you said you… But of course you didn’t mean- I should’ve watched myself better, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I- I’m so much older than you and you are- I’ve been reading people and situations wrong my entire life,” the words tumbled out of his mouth in half-finished sentences, his voice unsteady. This was the least eloquent you had ever seen Arthur, and in turn, it left you speechless too. 

You didn’t know what to say and you didn’t really want to keep talking either. You had both been clearly locked inside your heads and unsure how to act, but seeing Arthur struggle to this extent to just describe how he felt made something snap in you. You crossed the room that had been separating you from him, not thinking anymore. You didn’t wait for him to blurt out another badly constructed sentence as you stood directly in front of him. You didn’t have to bend down much as he was quite tall even sitting down - one hand placed on his tweed-covered shoulder, you leaned in and kissed him. 

The kiss wasn’t long nor deep, not to begin with. You pulled back after a couple seconds, giving Arthur an opportunity to push you away. The situation had gotten so complicated you weren’t completely sure, but you were willing to take the risk rather than keep maneuvering around the subject. Arthur’s response came in the form of a faint whisper of your name and a warm hand brushing against your cheek, pulling you closer again. 

The way his lips touched yours felt hesitant, trembling. Not wanting to rush him, you returned the butterfly-like touch with gentle patience, silently reassuring Arthur that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he couldn’t. To your surprise, it was him who took the next step, opening his lips slightly and deepening the kiss. A subtle taste of toothpaste lingered on your tongue when you broke apart. 

Arthur’s hand slipped from your cheek, reaching for the hand that was still resting on his shoulder instead. 

“I’m so confused,” he said, his breathing still coming out heavier than usual. 

“I really think we should talk, Arthur.” You hadn’t really stepped away from him yet, your legs softly pressed against his knees. 

“I agree, it’s just-” he sighed, putting his glasses back on, probably out of habit, “I need to think everything through first. I can’t give you any… well, answers right now. I’m sorry.” He patted your hand before letting go of it. You took the hint, finally taking a step back. 

Your heart felt like an anchor in your chest, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He had just kissed you, and no, his words didn’t immediately suggest a rejection. But a part of you was hoping the kiss would untie his tongue, so to speak, and allow the jumbled emotions to run free after all these weeks of circling around the unspoken core of your not quite unrequited affection for him. Couldn’t you just wait a little longer after having survived this whole time? You certainly could, and you were going to give him all the space he needed to get his thoughts and emotions in order. But it hurt, being denied the chance to finally know for sure where you were at with him, to decide the next step in your relationship.

“I understand,” you gave a slow nod, trying to prevent the deep disappointment from coming through in your tone, “and I don’t expect you to give me a definite answer right now. I don’t even know what that should be. Just, please, whatever your thoughts are, whatever you feel, know you can tell me anything. You can be open, no matter how hard it is. Just don’t let it distance us from each other, because… I love working with you and being around you, whatever that might look like.” Despite your best efforts to keep your emotions at bay, you felt held back tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Arthur must have noticed, as the tension in his expression softened. 

“I won’t, I promise. I’d never want that to happen. Not again.” 

Oh Arthur, there’s so much you have yet to share with me, you thought. You weren’t about to push though, not when he was already making such an effort to handle the situation head-on, rather than finding a way to wiggle out and avoid it again.

“Thank you,” you paused, trying to come up with the least painful end to the conversation now that there apparently wasn’t anything else to be said. There was only one that you could think off:

“Look, I think I need some time to process this too, so I guess I’ll just head home. I can take the bus or-”

“I’ll drive you,” Arthur said firmly, getting up from his chair. The resolution was a pleasant surprise to you, you expected him to jump at the offer of some immediate alone time instead.

“Oh okay, thank you. I’ll just get changed and then we can get going.”

“Wait. Let me at least get you something for breakfast first. And a coffee. That’s the least I can do.” Something about the way he said it made you feel like this was his attempt to make it up to you, and you accepted it gratefully. There was no point in running away from anything anymore. 

—

You hadn’t heard much from Arthur since the day he drove you back home. Not that the conversation during that drive had seemed unnatural or awkward in any way, on the contrary. And you had to keep reminding yourself Arthur was a man of a different generation, and so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that he wasn’t an avid texter. Still, he had promised he would have a serious conversation with you about the future of your relationship with him, however that was going to turn out, and he hadn’t mentioned it since. Except for a few texts and one phone call, all related to the play, you hadn’t really gotten or found a chance to talk to him in a more personal setting until the next week’s rehearsal.

The greeting was warm and you could sense that something had shifted in the way you were interacting or perhaps in tune with one another, but fragile uncertainty was still hanging heavy in the air between you. You didn’t really have the space to explore the feeling further however, since you had almost run late thanks to an unreasonably upset parent storming into your office after your regular classes earlier. After such an encounter, you barely had any energy left for two hours of extracurricular activities, but there was no way you were going to cancel the rehearsal, for a multitude of reasons. All you had to do was hang on for a little while longer, hopefully with Arthur’s help.

“Ollie, please, I need you to focus. What Luna just said, that was your line, remember?” You had lost count of how many times Ollie (and not only him) had forgotten a line or zoned out during this week’s rehearsal. And to think the performance was scheduled for just over a month from now - you knew you couldn’t afford to lose a single precious second of the limited rehearsal time that you had each week. Which naturally posed a challenge, since getting the kids to pay full attention to the play for two hours straight was proving to be an almost impossible task. 

“I’m sorry. I just don’t like how Arthur’s looking at me,” mumbled Ollie. You sighed. Even though the relationship between the children and Arthur had improved significantly, there were still moments when he couldn’t hold his comments at bay, and of course the children had never truly forgotten their first encounter with him. You turned to Arthur with a tired look, which was met with an almost guilty expression on his side. 

“I was just lost in thought, Ollie. You’re doing fine, just make sure you don’t let your cues run away from you,” he said and you noted the clear shift in how he was trying to match his tone and vocabulary to the setting, even if not perfectly. You gave him an approving smile. 

“What is ‘cues’?” asked Ollie. You didn’t mind actually explaining the word this time, deciding it could be useful for them to know, unlike some other expressions that Arthur was still prone to using from time to time.

“A cue is something you have to pay attention to so that you know when to say or do something on stage. So for example, you were supposed to say what?” 

“Uh… Is this your ship?” Ollie had to think for a second, but he ended up getting it right. You nodded.

“Exactly. And so, what is your cue? What reminds you that you need to say this?”

Ollie was silent for a while, struggling to remember the sequence of the scene. Two little hands shot up, Emily and Luna both trying to answer for him.

“Let’s give Ollie a chance to answer first, okay?” 

“Oh I know!” Ollie beamed, “My uh…”

“Cue?” you suggested. 

“My cue is when we come on stage and the ship appears!” 

“Exactly, great job,” you praised him, “So, this is for everyone, okay? Always remember what comes before it’s your turn to act. Then you won’t forget anything. You’re a team so pay attention to each other.” 

Some of the kids nodded, but most of all Ollie, proud of his little achievement. You checked the time, realizing you’d probably pushed them enough for now.

“Alright, it’s time for a break. Grab your snacks and don’t forget to drink plenty of water. We’ll try this new rule out in 10 minutes,” you said, loud enough for everyone to hear even through all the cheerful noise at the first mention of a break. 

As everybody ran towards their little backpacks to retrieve their snacks, you sank into a chair next to Arthur’s, maybe just as excited for the break as the children. 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to watch myself there,” Arthur said, his voice quiet and almost sad. You touched his arm for a second, a very subtle gesture that wouldn’t make the kids question anything even if they saw it. 

“No, it was okay, don’t worry about it. You’ve clearly been working hard on how you act around them, don’t think I didn’t notice. And at least I got to teach them a new word,” you smiled.

“That’s true, it was a necessary lesson, I suppose.”

“Maybe next time you can try to explain something to them yourself though.” It was only a suggestion, but the truth was you wanted to challenge Arthur just a little further, not only to get some more help from him, but to prove to him that he was capable of much more than he limited himself to. Even in just a couple months of attending the rehearsals, he’d managed to co-write the script with you, learn how to talk to kids and give them many creative prompts. You knew for a fact that with some practice, he could find his way back to theater in more ways than just as a spectator and a critic. 

“I could do that,” he nodded, seeming grateful that you would trust him with it. But that wasn’t the end of your request. 

“Well, I wanted to ask one more thing of you, actually. Let’s be honest, you pretty much wrote this scene yourself. And you had some really helpful notes for the staging. So why don’t you take over for the rest of the rehearsal today?”

Arthur stared at you as though you just suggested something unthinkable. His eyes traveled to the group of kids sitting on the floor and snacking or showing off their newest toys, and then back to you.

“You mean direct them? I couldn’t, no,” he said, quick and resolute. 

“Why not? You’ve been watching me do it for months. You even participated, multiple times. I fully believe you can do it, Arthur. And it would mean a lot to me if you at least tried. I’ll be right here, I’ll help you out if you don’t know how to approach something. I’ll even give you a cut of my pay if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Oh please,” Arthur scoffed, “you know it’s not about that in the slightest. I’m happy to help in any way I can, I just don’t know why you’d even want me to interfere with your work like this. I know it might be hard to believe after everything I said after that first performance, but seeing you work with them- you’re an excellent director. You know just what to say to set their imaginations soaring, I can’t do that.” 

Your hand found his discretely again. He looked down, a slight flush creeping up into his cheeks.

“Here you are underestimating yourself again. Remember what you told me about learning? This is the perfect opportunity for you to learn. Not just how to do things, but what you already can do, even if you keep telling yourself otherwise. Please, Arthur.” You made sure to hold eye contact the whole time, and even though you could tell a part of him wanted to avoid it, he couldn’t look away. 

“You’re not playing fair, you know that? I can’t believe you’re making me even consider-”

A shrill scream interrupted Arthur’s sentence, making you promptly let go of his hand and walk towards the source of the sound, which turned out to be Lexi. 

“What’s going on here? Lexi?” you asked, a worried edge to your voice.

“Nothing,” said Andy, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Not nothing!” protested Lexi, “Andy ate my cookie. I already gave one to Emily and Erin, and this was my last one,” she sniffled. 

“Andy, why did you do that?” you asked, trying to keep up a balance between stern and gentle tone, but your nerves were starting to fail you. This was the last thing you wanted to be dealing with at that point. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Andy still carried on with his nonchalant facade. Kids this young shouldn’t find lying this effortless, you thought. 

“Alright, did any of you see who took Lexi’s cookie?” you tried another approach, realizing you couldn’t exactly solve the situation unless you got a direct confirmation that Andy was indeed the thief, even if you had no reason to believe otherwise. The reply you got was a disappointing mix of “no” and “I don’t know”. You let out a heavy sigh, your exhaustion catching up to you. 

“I didn’t think you were capable of lying, Andy.” Hearing Arthur’s voice right behind you startled you at first, but the surprise was soon replaced by a wave of relief. You had to hold back a chuckle at how strict his eyes appeared through his glasses. You hadn’t seen that look in a while. 

“I’m telling the truth,” Andy tried again, but this time his act faltered. Even if Arthur wasn’t intimidating through his reputation alone, his impressive height was definitely commanding respect, especially in a six-year-old’s eyes.

“Are you now?” Arthur didn’t have to say or do anything else, the mere tone of his voice (which was surprisingly still very level) combined with his overall presence was enough to crack the tiny thief, who was suddenly blushing and looking directly to the ground.

“Alright, it was me,” he said, almost too quiet to hear. 

“Excuse me, what was that?” asked Arthur, a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

“I ate it, okay? I’m sorry, Lexi,” said Andy, louder this time, but still refusing to meet anybody’s eye. 

“It’s alright… If you give me some of your candy.” Lexi looked much more cheerful already, confidently presenting her conditions to him. 

“That’s a good idea, what do you say Andy?” Arthur turned to the boy, who agreed and reached for his bag of gummies immediately. He let Lexi pull out a whole handful of candy and Arthur nodded in approval. 

“And now there’s just one more person you should apologize to.” Andy looked up at him with a puzzled expression, while Arthur gestured towards you. 

“Your teacher perhaps? For lying like this?” 

Andy’s cheeks heated up again, as he stood up and brought you the bag of candy. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t lie again,” he said, his eyes pleading with you to forgive him. You took a watermelon-shaped gummy candy and thanked him for the apology, relieved the conflict had been solved quickly and painlessly. You were impressed by how well Arthur had handled the situation, showing as clear as day how wrong he was in his perception of himself yet again. 

“Good, good. Oh thank you Andy,” Arthur also accepted a candy from the (now almost empty) packet, “And the rest of you, I believe you’ve had more than enough time for your snacks, haven’t you?” Apart from a few objections here and there, most kids agreed with him. 

“Your teacher deserves a break after all this mischief, so I’ll rehearse this scene with you,” he added, shooting you a quick look and a smile, silently confirming to you what you had been hoping he would decide to do. You mouthed a “thank you”, your affection for him bubbling up in your chest, stronger than it had ever been.

You sat down in the spot that was usually his, watching as he ushered the children back to the little stage, and with a script in hand, started going over the scene you had left unfinished before the break. You could tell he was nervous, and it seemed as though he turned back to look at you, searching for support or approval, almost every couple minutes. You had no reason to blame him for that though: after all, knowing him the way you did at that point, you knew what he must have been going through in order to push himself to do this. And you couldn’t be prouder of him in that moment. Every one of his interactions with the children you observed during that rehearsal was just another proof of how much work he had put into this, into himself. It all had come from inside him of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere - but the thought that you had been there for the journey from the very start, that you might have even facilitated it in a way, made your heart feel like it was growing impossibly large in the confines of your ribcage. You had to come clean to yourself, you were in love with him.

[macbeth-murder-match]

Macbeth Murder Match!

Laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.

Welcome to the Macbeth Murder Poll!

For those unversed, in the play Macbeth, Macbeth is given a prophecy by three witches: No one born of a woman can harm him.

In the play (spoilers!) this is resolved by MacDuff, who was born via c-section. However that's boring, so lets do something more fun!

Submit your blorbos who you think could kill Macbeth!

Submissions will be open for quite a while as i am currently also running @white-boy-bracket and need to wait for that to conclude to get to bracket building! I'm opening it now though so we can get lots of contestants!

Questions welcome!

Inspired by: @system-bracket @ocd-character-polls @butler-bracket @beautiful-boy-bracket @artificialkids-2k23-official @aroaceswagtournament @the-nobody-tournament @worlds-worst-dad-competition and more!

RULES FOR SUBMISSION:

Characters do not need to be physically strong enough to kill Macbeth, this is about technicality!

Characters in header are not guaranteed entrants- if you like them, submit them!

NO:

C-Section babies! That counts as 'being born'!

Babies born naturally *from a woman*

Mass Produced Clones

I'd say no real people but honestly if you can find me a real person who was not born, good on you.

Any animal! Animals need to fit another criteria! "Woman" here means any woman identifying member of ANY species!

YES:

Artificially Created (carved, cloned, assembled, baked)

"Born" in an unusual way (sprung fully formed from head, mother disintegrated without baby)

Loophole caused by throwaway line ("Neither of my parents showed up for my birth")

Mpreg

Characters resurrected into a body that meets the above criteria

Other fun technicalities i haven't thought of!

Orion Fowl clause: (below)

Body is of woman born, but the rules of the universe the character is in appear to treat an entity as separate enough to be affected differently from host by magic.

In the above scene, Artemis (with magical DID) has been enthralled by a rune, and is completely controlled. However, when an electric shock causes Orion (an alter) to front, he is not possessed despite the rune branded into the body's skin. For this reason, Orion counts as separate enough from Artemis to count as "not of woman born", and thusly qualifies to kill Macbeth. Additionally as I am using Orion's name to explain this concept, he is the only guaranteed entrant.

[allchoseny]

I was discussing the Season two episode"Ted," recently, and even while I watched the show as a teenager during the original airing, there was always something about this episode that made me uncomfortable.

For those who recently started following me, I'm a social worker within the child welfare system. So, I have a habit of viewing things through my "social worker lense." Everytime I watch this episode, I find myself disappointed at the writers for the missed opportunities in addressing some of the more serious themes presented to the audience.

Sure, "mom's dating again," here are some feelings you might associate with that new element (isolation, feeling left out, boyfriend is an idiot), and that is all good, BUT the episode took a complete turn toward wrong when Joyce refused to believe Buffy.

Hear me out. I've seen too many situations of little girls coming into foster care after being removed from their homes because mom's boyfriend abused them in some way. In most of these scenario, the child has informed their mom about the abuse and it went ignored. The mom would claim the child is lying because of her delinquent behaviors and continue on with the relationship.

Sound familiar? It might, because that's what Joyce did in the episode. The writers may have tried to nullify Joyce's actions by having Ted drug her, but you see that's also a grave mistake. Sometimes drugs are present in these real life scenarios as well. It's still no excuse.

This is what happens when parents introduce people (who maybe they havent fully vetted) into their children's lives, opening them up to all kinds of dangers. If your child tells you your SO makes them feel uncomfortable. BELIEVE THEM.

The writers missed the mark on this one.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this, it is television after all, but I feel like how the show addressed the subject matter was irresponsible. When the conflict was "resolved," there should have been some assurance from Joyce that as her mother, she's her protector (regardless if Buffy is the Slayer). We didn't get that.

We got bad boyfriend robot story.

Verdict: Parents who neglect their children and people who abuse children are the real monsters.

P.S. I love Buffy. Sometimes I get thinky thoughts about the episodes that haven't aged well with me since my frontal lobe has fully developed.

[mountkennedie]

I really loved Decision Making! Will there be a part 2?

I wasn't planning on a pt.2 but...

Decision Making P.2

Edward Cullen x reader

Summary: You and Edward reach a middle ground about everything

Warnings: swearing, ANGST but it's resolved

_________________________________

You also never quite fully moved on. How could you? Your heart had been ripped from your chest and trampled over like it never had value.

He can't say that he hasn't felt the same. The feelings that he had that still longed for you were easier to ignore before you returned. But now you're back. Everything that he had buried was now brought back.

When Bella fell into a deep enough sleep that she wouldn't notice his absence, he went out to search for you. Edward had nothing prepared to say. However, he knew that things could only worsen if he left things where they were.

You sent he had pinned to memory. He used that memory to track you down to the river.

"You know... I wanted to jump in," you began. "But I didn't. I couldn't."

"You wanted me to find you?" Edward asked.

"I wanted my old love to come to me. But I understand that he is no longer with us," you responded. You still haven't met his gaze.

"I would like to apologize."

"An apology without the action of change is just words. You'll waste your eternity."

"I'm well aware I am undeserving of your forgiveness. But please, let the guilty have their last words," he pleaded.

You stood up from the river bank. You matched his gaze and explained, "You were my first everything. I gave you everything I could. Even my mortality, Edward." You slowly approached him and continued, "When they sent me your obituary in the mail, you know what I did? I went to your parents' house. They were distraught, and I consoled them in the best way I could. " You stood before him, "I gave you the last rose in your coffin."

"When I heard about a 'Dr. Carlisle Cullen' when I left my last coven, it began my spark of hope. I really didn't mean to impede on your new life. And to think that I could just reappear after all this time -"

"I searched for you too."

"I'm sorry?"

"I would have come to see you had I been stable enough. But you know how newborns are. Carlisle barely let me out of his sight. I had a moment when I left his side and spent a lot of time trying to find you. But all I could recover were old missing posters. It crushed me deeply. I gave up my search for you and began to hunt down your capture. I went through New York, killing those that would hurt someone in any way. I thought I was doing you justice. But then I joined Carlisle's vegetarianism."

"Yeah, to be honest, that was mean," you said, breaking that serious energy surrounding you both.

I moved to stand beside Edward. "I- I think that moving on from you is... okay," you said softly.

"I apologize for how I treated you those years ago. After everything you've done... and I treated you like a stranger."

You both chuckled and continued to stare at the water. You faced him with a smile. "One last hug, before I go." He accepted, and he gave you one last strong squeeze.

"You don't have to go," he clarified.

"I just escaped my coven, I need room to breathe for now."

"Be safe, Y/n"

"You too, Edward." You ran into the river, covering your scent.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Bonus:

you get called back in 2 weeks when everything in breaking dawn happens lol