blindmagdalena · 3 months ago
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All of a Sudden, There You Are
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3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.
As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.
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Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.
He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.
Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.
It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.
"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.
That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.
He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”
"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.
That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.
He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.
Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.
Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.
"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.
"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.
He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."
You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.
He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.
You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.
"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.
"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 
The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.
The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.
Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.
When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 
He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 
“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 
You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.
He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”
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Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.
You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 
“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.
“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 
Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.
“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”
love me back.
Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 
“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.
He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.
God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 
You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.
Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.
“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.
He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.
“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.
Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.
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milaswriting · 28 days ago
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Update. — 3rd October 2024
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Well, helloo. If you're following me and reading this then...you must really hate me for my lack of activity on this blog. I apologise for that. Doing a masters degree really kicks my ass, and leaves me with no time to write. But Golden has never been dead or abandoned, it's very much always at the forefront of my mind.
And, for that pure reason, I know it's a story I haven't been 1,000% happy with so the story is going through some major changes. Probably, the first is that it's being rewritten. A (somewhat) new plot written with whole new software—we're making the move to Twine.
My reasoning; I've spent over a year learning the coding which makes me want to rip my hair out. I get to have a lot more ownership over my work, the customisation options are stellar, and you guys will get to read it for free.
The reasons for rewriting has been because I want to fix the cringey writing from when the story's first demo was released. It's mostly from the earlier chapters, but then the thought of plot changes came to me and I wanted to implement those. Realistically, the majority of what's being rewritten is what I had planned for book two—so I'm just bringing that forward. I'll update the synopsis closer to the release of this rewrite.
The changes (which can be subject to change): I'm getting rid of the university idea (though you can still choose careers that are related to those degrees from the options that'll be given) (e.g., if you liked the nursing student option, then your MC can work as a nurse). I'm thinking that the MC will already know about the supernatural world to some extent—there'll still be a lot of suspense and mystery and things to unravel, that was always going to remain. And, in this rewrite, my thought is that the MC and the gang will be working at a multi-agency organisation — called The Everbrook — where the aim is to bridge the gap between humans and supernaturals. To make the world run smoothly, so to speak.
The ROs are the exact same! No changes to that—the only change is that them and the mc will somewhat know of each other already. The genre is the same. MC is still as they are, a Lehsian socialite with a pretty (yet peculiar) birthmark. The parents will have much, much less of a role, but they'll still be mentioned here and there.
This seems like a load of word vomit, but I feel like these changes will improve the story. I'm hoping that it'll make MC less of a spare part in the story, allowing them to have more autonomy in the supernatural universe, especially with their enhanced skillset.
I've done the customisation in terms of the UI layout for Twine already, and it should be mobile friendly too. With that done, I've started writing and I'm a few thousand words in. A lot of what I've written in the ChoiceScript version can still be used, but also getting back into writing a story from scratch is something I'm looking forward to.
I feel like this is a bittersweet thing because yay to a new and better story, but also the time it's going to take to get it out. I'll debate whether to release the whole ten chapters, or do a few chapters at a time, like splitting it up into chunks (releasing three chapters now, and three chapters later on).
Another reason as to why I've taken so long to mention this, other than learning code and the rewrite, is just the whole process of this being a little nerve-wracking. The whole thought of a rewrite of something I've put so much effort into is scary, but it'll be worth it.
I'll accept any questions you've got, and I'll create an FAQ regarding all of this too. But, most importantly, you're in the loop of how this is progressing. I really appreciate everyone's kind words about this story: loving the ros, re-reading it, still sticking by my writing—it means a lot. So, thank you and I hope the future of this story is what you want and more.
PLANS.
Finish introductory scenes.
Finish chapter one.
WORD COUNT.
2.2k (rewrite)
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bump-inthe-night · 5 months ago
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As hard as I pity Octavia, I believe Vivziepop should've never created her in the first place. It's blatantly obvious she doesn't have any interest in her outside of using her as a tool to make Stolas sympathetic and likable.
Helluva Boss can be rewritten without Octavia because she doesn’t impact the story. Stolas should be training her how to use the grimoire because she’ll inherit his duties after he dies. However, we don't see any of this in Helluva Boss; instead, Octavia's father is neglecting her and his responsibility to train her. This is the show's reason for her existence, but Vivziepop has no interest in exploring her purpose.
Instead of Stella marrying Stolas to bear his heir, it could’ve been because her family wanted to move higher up in the Goetia hierarchy. We could’ve had episodes exploring the history of their relationship and how it decayed into a toxic mess of misery. Vivziepop could’ve only focused on Stella and Stolas instead of creating another character who adds nothing to them or their relationship.
I hate to say it, but Octavia is irrelevant to Helluva Boss, and in the hands of a good writer, she could've been a great character. However, like all of her female characters, Vivziepop has no interest in her.
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obscuretobyfox · 8 months ago
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this image from the art book depicting a scrapped part of snowdin. look in the top left, if you will.
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no clue what to do with this info but its there!
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This happens to be one of my favorite unused Undertale things out there!! Let's break it down, shall we?
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Starting in the top left, we can see what appears to be a mural of a Dragon(?) breathing fire against a Snake(?) More importantly, however, is what seems to be an early variation of the "Delta Rune", given the triangle formation and the depiction of an "Angel" figure.
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Moving right along, we have what I can only assume is placeholder, as I can't immediately identify anything related to Undertale or Deltarune. My best guess is that it's a cave painting depicting the war between humans and monsters.
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Next up is what appears to be the entrance to a "Museum" area, next to a couple of Loox.. Looxses??? Loox's????? This is assumedly a Museum of Monster History, given the theming of the rest of the area.
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The next crevice features a plaque with possibly another Delta Rune, a Loox statue, a statue of some angelic-looking monster, and... Buff Toby??? I think I understand why Temmie didn't want to sprite this area now..
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Speaking of Temmie, there she is! There's not much more to say. Hi Temmie!
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This final area features Flowey hanging out next to a family of snowmen, who have two TV's for some reason?? (Damn you Tenna..) The snowman at the bottom can be seen relaxing on a chair very similar to Sans' chair, later used by Lancer and Susie!
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Thank you so much for writing in! Fun fact about this post, this is the FOURTH time I've rewritten it due to it randomly deciding to delete itself without saving as a draft.. (Estimated time spent... 1h 45m...)
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canonicallyobserving911 · 2 months ago
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"What do you want?" - A Series of Fics and Ficlets
Fanonwriter2023 on AO3
Where CANON and FANON collide!
"What do you want?" A Series of Fics and Ficlets - This is a FANON series of “Fics and Ficlets” that focuses solely on Buddie. Unlike CANON, they'll actually talk so they can discuss the things they've left unsaid over the last 6 years. Hopefully, season 8 will include a narrative for them instead of IT BEING FILLED WITH TM'S (SHOWRUNNER) REWRITTEN AND MADE-UP STORYLINES FROM OLD MOVIES 🙄.
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"What do you want?" - A Series of Ficlets
Currently 6 works completed; 41.4K Words: Rated; Teen and Up Audiences
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"You don't know math!" - 3.3K Words; Rated Teen and Up Audiences: Buck is forced to choose while Eddie might be presented with another option.
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"Math is a universal language." - 5K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Eddie reconnects with an old acquaintance and they spend a lot of time together. However, now that Buck’s single, he finally tries to understand math is a universal language but when he sees Eddie talking to another guy, he wonders if it took him too long to figure it out.
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“You know, it’s like that thing when you meet somebody and you just… click.” - 5.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: When Buck comes face to face with Eddie’s new friend; he hates it but since he’s only told Maddie about his breakup with Tommy, Eddie’s still under the impression he’s taken. Therefore, Eddie makes plans to spend even more time with his new acquaintance.
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"I can't stop thinking about him." - 8.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie are trying to move on but they can’t stop thinking about each other.
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“How I hide my true feelings from others.” - 9.6K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie return to therapy but they’re both not telling each other about recent events that happened. Will they finally have an open and honest conversation before it’s too late?
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"We need to talk." - 11.4K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences:  After Eddie and Buck decide to take a weekend road trip to El Paso, TX to visit Chris, during the 12-hour drive, they talk about a lot of things they’ve left unsaid.
__________
This is a series of “Fics and Ficlets” that I’ll be writing over the course of the next few weeks and my goal is to keep them under a certain number of words. I’m challenging myself to do it this way for multiple reasons but mainly because I want to see if I can write a full Buddie story by including smaller fics in a series in comparison to the multi-chapter fic I’m still in the process of writing titled, “I’m still in love with you but… I needed to learn how to love myself too!” I only have 9 chapters left before I finish it but once I’m done, I’d like to continue writing Buddie fanfics. However, this time I’ll start with my dislike for the way season 7 ended instead of the way season 6 did. Finally, I have a lot of WIPs that I want to finish and I figured I can turn them all into one shot fics or ficlets to build the full story for Buck and Eddie.
Since these ficlets will be posted in order, it’s imperative to read them one after the other. Each part ends at a specific point with a cliffhanger and the next part will begin with the ending of the previous part. Therefore, parts 1 - 5 should be read prior to reading part 6 and the series will continue in that manner until it’s complete.
Parts 1 - 6 are available on AO3.
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chaotic-starlight24 · 4 months ago
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A little bit of a rant!
(This is purely my own opinion, if you don't agree move one unless you're polite about it)
Ok, I am tired of the amount of times I keep seeing things about switching characters death in The Outsiders. I love survival AUs, I really do! They're amazing and thought-out and fun to read! But the amount of people who keep saying in the book either Johnny should have survived, Dally should have survived, both should have survived, or PONY SHOULD HAVE DIED IN PLACE OF JOHNNY??? It makes me a little angry. Am I sad that they died? ABSOLUTELY. But that is also why the book can bring so much impact on us! If the book was originally written with them surviving, ofc I would be fine with it. But their deaths is what brings so much impact with their characters. It really makes you think about all the teenagers out there, judged by their cover and overlooked. Some sleeping on the streets, some ending up dead in a ditch, some running from the only place they've ever known. So if you want to write survival AUs, go ahead! I love them :) But if you say that the book should be rewritten or another character should have died because you really liked Johnny... Please don't. You can have your own opinion of course! I think it would be interesting if Pony had died instead, because it would take the book in a different direction. But I just think the book does do a really good job on choosing who dies. If you have a good reason for thinking the book should have been written a certain way, good for you. BUT, if you are one of the several people who have said things like "Dally shouldn't have died! He was hot!" or "Johnny was my mans, Pony should have died instead!" then you can leave :) If you mean that as a joke, I understand why. But if you are seriously thinking that then you have...an interesting opinion.
*ALSO DON'T BE A CHERRY OR DARRY BLAMER FOR THE EVENTS OF THE BOOK!*
Not meaning to call anyone out, just tired
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s0y-s0ss · 2 months ago
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Hey so what are your middleschool ichiya headcanons (twirls hair)
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Oh boy I love dumping about Ichiya hcs cause I got quite a lot. cracks knuckles. You have unleashed a storm. (For reference, I hc Beika going by he/she so that's what ill be using ^^. It's impossible not to mention her.)
Ichiya would always be kind of the showoff, outgoing cool kid in school, being rather popular. He met a lot of kids and was friendly with quite a bit of them, but they were mostly just a crowd he surrounded himself with. Beika was one of the closer friends Ichiya had, one he actually went out of his way to spend more time with and get to know. For his friendship with Beika, I think they bonded a lot over the general shared idea of a future popular band and making music. Ichiya approached Beika first and they hit it off pretty fast as buddies. They'd often have small hangouts after school, having some jam sessions and talking more about their dreams.
They never established a band together, as Beika was already in C-Side, so they just did things on the side together. Beika was a big reason as to why Ichiya wanted a band too. He actually looked up to Beika a bit, as she was also self-taught and already was having a band in development. Ichiya would always be trying to impress Beika with his guitar playing, trying to overcompensate for not actually knowing shit about the music process. Beika was always pretty passionate about music and the creative process behind it. Beika could say a bunch of things and talk about how things are developing with C-Side and Ichiya just wouldn't understand… But he'd try his best to keep up with the conversation LMAO. From time to time, Ichiya would hang out and watch C-Side practice after school.
Now or Never was initially written as Beika's idea when she presented it for a one-on-one jam session one day as a work-in-progress. He wanted Ichiya's thoughts before he would show it to the rest of C-Side. It became more of a joined effort with Ichiya's ideas being added to finish the song, mostly developing the guitar chords. The first Now or Never demo was made by both of them and was later redone and refined by C-Side.
The big part in how they split was due to their differing priorities when it came to music. Things slowly started to fall apart between Ichiya and Beika the more it became apparent how different they were. The turning point was Ichiya expressing his want to move to Inkopolis, because that's where all the big stars were rising from. One of my headcanons really is that he begged his parents to let him move out to Inkopolis on his own when he was 15. They allowed him to, because he told them with the pretense that it was for the purpose of school, and just paid for his expenses. (Small reality check on Ichiya's part. He didn't realize how lonely and rough it kind of was, whoops!)
I think he would have suggested Beika to move to Inkopolis as well, in some way to be helpful, but Beika flatly refused. Beika didn't want to just leave behind his family, friends and the home he grew up in. The Splatlands was a big part of the identity of C-Side and Beika, feeling like leaving it would abandon her morals. She was pretty insulted that Ichiya thought she would even remotely agree to that idea. They had a fight over it, with both of them arguing things in the heat of the moment and pissing each other off. Before they knew it, Ichiya ended up moving away for high school and their argument never really resolved.
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On another note, I personally love the idea of transmasc Ichiya. I think he had a lot of dysphoria in middle school. He just couldn't figure out why it bugged him until after he thought harder on what he wanted to be known as. (He's horrible at self-reflection and self-discovery). Ichiya hadn't decided to cut his hair or change his pronouns until the fresh start in Inkopolis.
Anyway i cant wait for stuff to be rewritten once bankara walker comes out. I gotta know how shattered my hcs are.
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driflew · 7 days ago
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I would love to see some blindsided au scenes if you have any 👀
the part of blindsided that's posted on ao3 was actually repurposed from a one shot about Ren and dreams/nightmares. in the ao3 version i rewrote the end and cut it short, but in the go version there were a few more scenes that went thru the entire timeline from ren's time on the ship to after he's recognized who "the captain" actuallyy is
here's the last line of the ao3 version that matches the OG version and then the rewritten / withheld scenes
If there’s a god out there, Ren hopes He’ll tell Martyn how sorry he is.
The thing is, it almost works. Ren hardly leaves his room, and when he does, he stays within the manor. Much of his staff leaves in that time, and of those left, he fires almost all. 
The criteria is simple. Anyone whose whereabouts the night the box appeared he can’t ascertain beyond reasonable doubt, he sends away. 
The staff consists of a few cooks, a few gardeners, a few maids, a few aides. Most of his attendants leave on their own—no one wants to be seen near Ren. 
Despite the small staff, the manor workload gets lighter. Ren’s life ends the same day Martyn’s does. 
It’s fear that drives him. They took his body, after all—there is nothing Ren fears more than receiving another piece. 
It keeps him in bed. It keeps him awake. He won’t risk anything, not a toe out of line. He cows entirely, and it doesn’t save him. Every night, he sees it—a box on his bed, his hands reaching without his input, something staring back. 
It takes a few months for sympathy to dry up. Ren’s back to doing only the bare minimum, running his estate and only his estate—staying exactly in his own lane. He hears his little staff whispering about it, though. About how it was bad, sure, but really, he’s supposed to be a duke. He can’t lie in bed moping forever. At this rate, they may as well give the title to someone else, someone less… fragile. 
That would mean losing the manor, though. Losing their home, losing the place Martyn spent all his life. Losing the dream he and Martyn made together. 
So Ren climbs out of bed. He gets dressed all on his own, dries his face, and vows not to let Martyn’s life have been wasted on him. 
He has no choice. 
It’s fear that drives him. Ren is afraid all the time. Afraid he’ll lose his home. Afraid he’ll waste Martyn’s life by not doing enough. Afraid he’ll receive another box by doing too much. 
But Ren can’t be afraid. Not where anyone can see him. 
So Ren is angry all the time. 
They call him ruthless, volatile, cold as ice. He doesn’t think that’s fair—he’s never sent anyone a severed limb. But if they think he’s ruthless, maybe they’ll think twice before crossing him. Maybe if he’d been cold then…
He burns, constantly, fire seering at his heels to keep him running ever forward. There’s no safe place to rest, and so he won’t. 
His dreams make sure of that. 
Ren wakes up gasping, hands curled tight around something that isn’t real. Sometimes it’s an eye, sometimes it’s not. A finger, a hand, a tongue. A head, one socket empty, the other bright and intelligent and looking right at him—
He doesn’t think he’s dreamed of anything but that box for a year after he opens it. They die down a bit, but return every time Ren is stressed. 
Ren is stressed all the time. 
Tired, too, absolutely exhausted, not that it helps him get any sleep. He works in his office to avoid it, staying up late into the night managing this or that until he sees deeds and bills behind his eyelids instead. 
He wants to move beds, but how could he? This was Martyn’s, too, was once the place he felt safest. He can’t leave it, even if it features so prominently in the worst moment of his life. 
Hiding under their blankets like it’ll protect him, Ren has to wonder. What would Martyn think of him now? 
He’ll never know, but the eye changes. He dreams of pity, an eye floating in a bottle of sympathetic tears. He dreams of accusation, bloody fingerprints staining the glass. He dreams of scorn, an eye that won’t even look at him. He dreams of love, rarely. 
Theirs is not the bed he’s taken from, at the least. 
No, King Ren is stolen from the castle, so as to be sure he never feels safe in any place he could conceivably consider home.
Ren sits on the deck of the ship, kneels at the feet of the Captain. When he looks up at the man who has stolen him from his new home, he finds himself eye level with a coat he knows very well. 
The Captain speaks of assassination, then of ransom. Promises not to hurt the King, so long as he can get money for his life. 
Ren wants to scoff, but he doesn’t. The only man who would have paid for his life is long dead, and the Captain wears a trophy of his murder tied around his waist. 
Ren knows fear. He knows how to bury it, too, how to smother it in so much anger it boils him alive in his own bubbling, frothing blood. 
He is so beyond the point of being afraid for his worthless, meaningless life. If he can make the Captain bleed, then it will all have been worth it. 
(Ren does not sleep. The only man who would have paid his ransom is dead—soon they will realize, and soon he will die. He’s sure of it. He locks the door to his pathetic facsimile of a sanctuary and hopes every single night that tonight will not be the night they notice.)
(Ren does not sleep until he cannot stay awake a moment longer.)
The Captain stands in front of him, a box in hand. 
“I’ve got a gift for you,” he says, holding it out. Ren recognizes the box, but takes it anyway, his hands so far out of his control. 
“You know,” he says, amusement in his voice, watching Ren with one cruel eye, “I’m always looking out for you.” 
He smiles as Ren’s hand moves to the top of the box against his will, stepping forward when Ren’s hands hesitate on the latch. He guides Ren’s hands to open it, puppeting numb fingers. 
“You’re lucky,” he says, “That I like to keep things like this.”
Ren looks down. There’s a heart, thumping quietly, pulsing to the same rhythm rushing in Ren’s own ears. He doesn’t need to be told who it belongs to. He knew the moment he saw the box. 
“Don’t be shy, your majesty. Take it,” The Captain says, voice sickly sweet, “I know you’ve always wanted it.” 
Ren wakes up gasping. It sounds so loud in the cramped closet, but he can’t make himself calm down. His heart beats so fast he thinks it might kill him, and the awareness of his pulse is enough to send him falling out of his hammock. 
Impulse finds him in their storage the next morning, looking in every large box for something he won’t explain. The Captain simply sighs, sends him back up top, and asks his crew to be sure to lock the hatches. 
— 
Ren approaches the bed slowly. The box on the covers is longer than Ren is tall, broader than Ren’s shoulders. It takes up most of the bed, which sinks under the weight of it. His hands reach for the familiar latch without his input, not that he’d fight—he’s long since learned it isn’t worth it. 
The lid is light—it’s only ever been flimsy packaging. He pushes it with no effort at all, peering down into the box. 
It’s full of glass cases and jars. Ren’s eyes roam over them with horror, but he knows what’s in all of them. It’s the rest, it’s—
“Ren? Hey, Ren wake up,” there’s a hand on Ren’s shoulder, shaking him awake. “Open your eyes. Can you do that for me?”
Ren complies. Martyn is sitting above him, hair hanging around his face. Ren meets his eye—he’s staring at Ren with undisguised concern. 
Ren follows the line of his scar down his face and to his chest, where it disappears into his loose shirt. 
“Uh,” Martyn clears his throat, “While I don’t mind you staring, you seemed to be having a bad dream.” 
“Do you know what happened to your eye?” Ren asks, “The other one. The one you lost.” 
“Uh?” Martyn blinks the one he has left. “Can’t say I do, no.” 
“Oh,” Ren says. 
“Why?” Martyn asks, then grins, teasing, “Did you want it?” 
Ren isn’t sure what his face does at that, but Martyn’s smile vanishes, and he’s rolling away from Ren to get out of bed entirely, leaving Ren to sit up and stare after him. Before Ren can ask him to come back, he’s returned, this time with his trash bin in hand and under Ren’s mouth. 
A beat passes. Martyn retracts the bin. 
 “You just. Looked like you were going to be sick,” Martyn says, setting it down. “It’s… We’ve only got the one bed, and it’s really hard to do wash out at sea.” 
Ren snickers as Martyn climbs back into bed, sitting at Ren’s side. 
“Did my eye have something to do with whatever you were dreaming about?” Martyn asks. Ren nods. 
“I don’t think you could have said anything worse,” Ren admits. 
“Why?” Martyn asks, “What, don’t tell me you already had it.”
Again, Ren isn’t sure how he reacts, though he’s sure by the way Martyn pales that he sees right through Ren’s attempt to keep his face straight. 
Seems even all his years walling himself off weren’t enough to keep his Hand from reading him like he’s made of glass. 
“You’re kidding,” Martyn says. Ren shakes his head. 
“They wanted to send a message. Prove you were dead,” Ren says, “I received it loud and clear.” 
“So they sent you my eye?” Martyn asks. Ren shrugs, looking away. 
“Hey, at least I didn’t bury an entirely empty casket,” Ren offers. Martyn laughs. 
“Sure. Grave just for my eye. Was it in a little casket, too?” 
Ren snickers despite himself, leaning his head against Martyn’s shoulder. 
“No. I got you a really nice casket. Best money could buy,” Ren says. His smile fades, and he turns his attention downward, picking at his nails, “I wanted everything to be perfect. Even if you weren’t going to use it.” 
“Yeah. I was too busy for that. Maybe next time,” Martyn says. Ren punches him in the arm, however weakly. All Martyn does in response to that is lift it, wrapping his arm around Ren’s shoulders.
“Next time I’m getting you a worse casket. Not going to spend all that money if you’re not even going to be there,” Ren says. Martyn laughs. 
“Hmm, well that’s not going to work. I’m a powerful man, you know—I can’t be buried in a lame casket,” Martyn says, “You’ll have a nice one, won’t you? Maybe next time I’ll just squeeze into yours.” 
Martyn squeezes Ren’s shoulders as he says it, crushing Ren closer to his chest. Ren laughs, turning his face to press his nose into Martyn’s neck. 
“Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do. Can’t leave you alone for a second,” Martyn decides, moving his arm down to Ren’s back. He snakes his hand up Ren’s shirt, lining his fingers up against the side of Ren’s ribcage. He smooths an arc with his thumb on Ren’s skin, warmth and movement to remind Ren he’s as real and alive as Ren himself. 
“If you want to talk about it, though…” Martyn adds, “The dream or the, uh. Eye.” 
He wrinkles his nose on the last word, making Ren laugh again. 
“That grossed you out? What kind of pirate are you?” Ren asks. 
“What is that supposed to mean? I’ve cut people’s tongues out for— It’s weird when it’s your own eye, alright?” Martyn says. 
“Sure, sure. I guess your eye did look kind of weird,” Ren says. 
“Wh— Hey!” Martyn says, “I’ll have you know, I have beautiful eyes. Even when they’re not in my skull.” 
“I don’t know. It was pretty…” Ren trails off, humor fading. He bites his lip, focusing on the feeling of Martyn’s hand against his skin. “…Traumatizing.” 
“I gathered that, yeah.” 
Ren smacks him in the leg. 
“You’re genuinely impossible,” Ren says, “I don’t understand why I mourned you so bad. Maybe it was head trauma from when I fainted.” 
“You fainted?” Martyn asks. Ren shrugs. 
“Apparently. I don’t actually remember any of it. I opened the box, and my memory just kind of stops,” Ren admits. 
“Sounds lucky, honestly,” Martyn says, “Like you dodged a bullet.” 
“Hardly,” Ren scoffs, “Didn’t stop me from dreaming about it. And I thought they had your body, so there was always the chance they could just. You know.” 
“What? Send you more?” Martyn asks, “Maybe then I would have used your whole fancy casket.” 
Ren smacks him again. 
“You’re the worst,” Ren laughs, “But I did think of that. I just knew you’d say something like that.” 
Martyn wraps both his arms around Ren’s middle then, tugging, pulling Ren into his lap. He leans his chin on Ren’s shoulder, pressing the unscathed side of his face to Ren’s. He prefers to keep Ren on his good side—though Ren would love to cover Martyn’s blind side, Martyn says he’s depriving Martyn of his favorite view. 
“But you missed me,” Martyn says, moving his hand out of Ren’s shirt to rest on Ren’s chest.
“Maybe,” Ren says. He sighs. “I just… thought I’d stop dreaming about it, now that I know you’re fine, but I didn’t.” 
“Have you been dreaming about it the whole time?” Martyn asks. Ren shakes his head. 
“I mostly didn’t dream about anything, but I’ve had a few nice dreams,” Ren says, “I guess I just thought it was gone forever.” 
“Well,” Martyn says, “If you have that dream again, and I’m not the one who woke you, you can always wake me up, and I’ll prove to you that I haven’t lost any other body parts.”
“Right,” Ren says, “…Thank you.”
“Anytime, my liege,” Martyn kisses the side of his head, and Ren feels him smile against his skin, “Say, if you ever want to check that everything really is all there—”
Ren elbows him, though it doesn’t stop Martyn laughing. Despite his pretending at annoyance, Ren tilts his head back, leaning into the sound.
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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 1 month ago
Text
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Birthday Event: Francis Drake
Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.
Not proofread. Rush translation.
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Still holding her in my arms, I started untying her corset.
With each layer I removed, Mitsuki's bare skin became more exposed.
Drake: "Haha! I never thought taking off the clothes I put on you would be this fun."
Mitsuki: "Don't make it sound like a game. Ah, mnn!"
Tempted by the sight of her exposed breasts, I rolled my tongue over them.
Taking off my shirt, I laid her down, and Mitsuki, feeling shy, wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
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Drake: "Alright, let's move those hands."
Mitsuki: "Ah, geez."
I grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the sheets, and her eyes looked up at me with a hint of confusion.
Drake: "There's no point in hiding now."
Mitsuki: "That's true. But still, being completely naked in front of you feels a bit…"
Drake: "Haha, that's so like you."
I glanced down and saw the petal-like marks from last night were vividly scattered across her skin.
(I'm definitely being greedy here.)
(But seeing Mitsuki, who looked like a princess, in this state after removing her dress is exhilarating.)
Drake: "Mitsuki, don't hide anything from me now."
Drake: "I love seeing your face even when you're trying to hold back your pleasure, so show me everything."
Mitsuki: "Francis. Ah! Wait. Nmm."
I moved my fingers against her sensitive spot, and a relentless stream of wet, lewd sounds filled the air.
Her efforts to hold back her moans and the way she tightened around my fingers were so adorable.
(I'm so into her that it's making my head spin.)
Mitsuki: "Ahh, Francis."
She sweetly called my name, and my last bit of reason snapped.
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Drake: "Haa. Mitsuki, I love you."
Mitsuki: "Ah! I'm so happy."
She clung to me like she was seeking support and pressed her body against mine, her sweet fragrance almost overwhelming me.
Mitsuki: "I'm happy to be with you. Both yesterday and now. Stay by my side forever, Francis."
Drake: "I'm here. See? We're connected."
I thrust inside her to make my presence felt and gently stroked her head.
When she lifted her chin, I kissed her, and her expression of pleasure turned into a tender smile.
Mitsuki: "I love you."
(Ah, damn it.)
(That's yet another perfect smile.)
That night, I kept exchanging warmth with the woman I loved.
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I heard the quiet sound of the door closing.
(Hmm. Mitsuki?)
The warmth that was supposed to be in my arms was gone.
As I dozed off, the door opened again, and I felt a person's presence return.
The person who approached the bed gently stroked my head.
Drake: "Caught you."
Mitsuki: "!"
When I grabbed her hand, she looked wide-eyed as if her prank had been discovered.
Drake: "Where did you go, little fawn?"
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Drake: "Wait. Did you change?"
In the dim light, I noticed she was wearing her familiar white blouse.
Mitsuki: "I put the dress in the closet so it wouldn't get wrinkled."
Mitsuki: "I also changed clothes while I was at it. Sorry for waking you."
Drake: "No, it’s fine."
(After spending such a satisfying birthday with her by my side, I really don't feel like going back to my normal life.)
I found myself reluctant to let go of this moment that was almost over.
Mitsuki: "It's almost dawn. Someone might be coming back soon."
Mitsuki tried to move away from the bed, but I took her hand.
Drake: "Nope."
Drake: "I still want to stay like this for a little longer."
(The truth is, I don't want to let her go, even for a day.)
I muttered my honest thoughts to myself.
Mitsuki: "Hehe, what should I do? I think my happiness just got rewritten again."
Drake: "Huh? From that?"
Mitsuki: "Yeah. Because you’re acting all cute and sweet, Drake."
(You're the cute one.)
(That's what I want to say, but she seems to be having fun.)
Drake: "Well then, how about I rewrite your happiness even more?"
I held her hand, gazing deeply into her eyes.
(If only my feelings alone could keep her smiling and happy.)
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Drake: "Mitsuki, I love you."
Mitsuki: "----!"
Drake: "You're my one and only. The princess I want to steal away more than anything in the world."
Mitsuki: "Hehe, you're being so generous with your words of love."
(But none of them are lies.)
Drake: "You're so cute that it's making my brain short-circuit."
Mitsuki: "Haha! What kind of confession is that?"
Mitsuki: "If you keep confessing like this, I won't be able to stop feeling happy."
Like a bud blossoming, her smile bloomed into a radiant flower.
And again, that smile was the most beautiful thing.
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Drake: "Mitsuki, I love you."
What spilled from my heart was pure, unfiltered love.
I kissed the back of her hand, pouring all my heart and soul into it.
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Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Premium ╎ Epilogue
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queenshelby · 1 year ago
Text
Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)
PART 16: EDGED
Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader
Warning: Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Fluff, Smut
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After Cillian disappeared and you tied up your robe, you opened the door for Kit who, when you opened the door, held a pile of paper in her hands.
“Y/N, what a nice surprise” she said nervously while quickly shuffling the papers into her handbag before marching in to Cillian’s apartment.
“Likewise” you responded with a smile before informing Kit that Cillian was in the shower.
“That’s fine. I just came by to drop something off” she informed you while stammering nervously, before reaching back into her bag and pulling out some of the papers again, but not all of them.
“Uhm, should I give these to him or will you stay for a drink?” you offered politely as she placed two pieces of paper onto the kitchen bench as well as a cut out from Peoples Magazine featuring an alleged affair between Cillian and his co-star Florence Pugh during the time of filming Oppenheimer.
“No, I won’t stay. Just give these to him, would you?” Kit asked before being on her way. She seemed rather distant and you knew that, if it was not for you being here, at Cillian’s apartment, she would have stayed and handed him something else as well.
She had another piece of paper in her bag that was clearly intended for him but, with you being there, she took it with her again, possibly trying to hide its content from you.
***
“Where is Kit?” Cillian asked just as, after a few minutes, he came out of the shower, wearing his briefs and a t-shirt.
“She left” you told him before handing him the newspaper article and two letters from his and co-star’s publicists, denying the affair.
“Is that all?” he asked and you nodded. “She could have emailed these” he then said somewhat surprised before pulling you closer.
“She could have, but I think that she has a crush on you and that is why she came over” you teased but your suggestion that Kit took a liking in him amused Cillian.
“You think that Kit has a crush on me?” he asked somewhat surprised. “Please, don’t be ridiculous” he then laughed, brushing off the fact that she had come to his apartment unannounced for no real reason whatsoever.
“I am serious Cillian. I am just surprised that you can’t see it for yourself” you told him, even though you did not really feel threatened by her.
“She’s been working for me for six years and has never made a move on me, so no, she does not have a crush on me. Despite, are you being a little jealous right now?” Cillian asked teasingly while caressing your face.
“Me? Jealous?” you laughed. “Never” you then said before pulling him in for a quick kiss and then pushing him away again playfully. “Although, knowing what I know now about you and Florence Pugh, I am inclined to think that…” you then began to say and Cillian was quick to interrupt you.
“Shh…” he said, placing his index finger onto your lips seductively. “It’s a rumour, nothing more. Despite she is way too young for me…” he then reassured you before telling you that, as for now, he wanted you and no one else all whilst getting undressed again.
“Cillian…” you began speaking just before he tried to kiss you just as some guilt was creeping in. You still had not told him the truth about your age and this was a situation you needed to remedy.
“Hmm” Cillian murmured before attacking your neck with his lips and eliciting a moan from you which almost made you forget about what you were going to say.
“Nothing” you thus stammered. “Keep going” you demanded and Cillian asked whether you want to continue where we had left off before Kit arrived unannounced.
“Absolutely. Come on then, the handcuffs are still waiting for you” you teased while dropping your robe again and leaving you wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties.
“You are not going to cuff me to the bed again. I can’t fucking take it” Cillian responded before, playfully, pulling you into his bedroom.
“Oh, is that so?” you asked as you followed him through the door in a haste and he nodded.
“Yes!” he said. “In fact, I believe that it’s time for payback” Cillian said before he pushed you back towards the bed.
Of course, you obliged with his request and fell backwards onto the covers and grinned, disheveled wavy hair haloing your face.
“What are you going to do to me Cill?” you asked as Cillian climbed on to the bed with you to straddle you.
“I am going to tie you up now and lick your pussy until you can’t take it anymore” he announced with a devilish smile while you felt the warm skin of his thighs against yours.
His cock has already sprung to attention again as he secured your wrists to the bed and, just as he cuffed you, you supressed another shiver and remained silent, breaking into a smile of your own.
“Well, I will try to be a good girl for you then” you eventually winked as Cillian ran his hands up your chest, giving your breasts a brief squeeze before bringing his fingers to your mouth to gently part your lips and slip a pair of digits past them.
“I am sure you will be” Cillian winked as you willingly suckled at his fingers, bathing them with her your tongue.
“Fuck you are so goddamn sexy, aren’t you?” Cillian then acknowledged as a strand of spit connected him to your lips as he pulled his fingers away and traced dampness down the graceful arc of your neck.
“I need you so badly Cill” you moaned just as you stared up at him eagerly, waiting for him to make the next move, and he hesitated as arousal made way for uncertainty.
His sexual interactions with Danielle for the past twenty years were not like this but you clearly seem to be enjoying this dominant side of him as he watched you while you quivered in anticipation.
“Cill, please, I need your hand, mouth, cock, anything…” you then begged while, at the same time, you could feel your heart racing.
“Do you just?” Cillian asked, playing along before he pinned you down properly.
It wasn’t just the cuffs holding you into place now as Cillian leaned in, holding your head so that he could plant kisses along your neck, which Cillian knew was something that drove you absolutely crazy.
You squealed and squirmed underneath him as he nipped and nibbled, leaving red marks along the sensitive skin.
“Good god Cillian” you moaned when he finally reached your collarbone, biting down and sucking hard.
“More…” you demanded him and Cillian was certainly delighted in the way you gasped under his touch.
“You are so fucking perfect Y/N” Cillian then said in a husky murmur, planting a kiss over what he knew would still be a dark mark tomorrow morning.
“And you are so fucking perfect at this Cillian. Please. More” you begged once more as a certain kind of thrill shot through your body while you tried very hard to grind your naked mound against Cillian’s thigh.
You needed friction, down there, but he wouldn’t give to you for at least fifteen minutes until, finally, he broke off with a gasp and then tweaked both your nipples, keeping them pinched for long enough to make her squirm.
“It’s payback time remember?” he then said while his eyes were locked on yours. They were both, attentive and hungry. “That means that, at least for now, I will get to dictate when you are allowed to cum” Cillian then warned you in a low voice just before, finally, he reached for your panties with both hands.
He slid the waistband past one curve of your hips at a time before slowly and teasingly pulling your underwear down your thighs and, by doing so, drawing out a strand of wetness that connected you to the lace.
“You are so fucking wet already” Cillian acknowledged as he discarded the damp fabric and lowered himself slightly on then bed.
“Spread your legs” he then ordered and, of course, you complied in earnest.
“Yes sir” you smirked just as Cillian brought his face to your waiting mound and inhaled sharply.
“What do you want me to do?” he then teased as you could only feel his breath fanning against your wetness, teasing you.
“I want you to make me cum with your tongue” you blurted out, begging him to stop teasing and, just as you said the words, his hot tongue pushed through your folds.
“Holy fuck. Yes. Like that” you moaned as, with a few licks, Cillian collected your wetness.
“You taste so fucking good Y/N” he told you before he settled into a well-practiced pace that made you moan loudly.
Cillian knew just what you liked and it didn’t take long for you to get rather vocal as you were basking in the sensations.
"Don’t you dare cum” Cillian murmured with amusement as, under his skilled tongue, you were slowly losing control, squirming and shivering all at the same time.
“I cannot hold it” you gasped as, after as little as five minutes of Cillian’s ministrations, you were ready tip over, which is when, suddenly, Cillian stopped and you whined in disappointment.
“Not yet!” he winked as you looked at him with a torn expression on your face. It was an odd mix of lust, frustration and excitement.
“Fuck, why did you stop?” you asked and Cillian simply grinned.
“Because I will draw this out for at least an hour” he then winked and your chin dropped.
“A whole fucking hour?” you asked surprised before Cillian leaned to give you a kiss, making you taste yourself on his lips before resuming where he had left off.
“Yes, one hour and you will not get to cum until I say so!” he went on to say before latching onto your clit once more.
An hour later…
‘Do you want to cum?’ Cillian teased with a smug smile on his face and you nodded eagerly in response as sweat was dripping from your forehead.
“I want to cum. Goddamn please! I am begging you” you gasped as you couldn’t cope with this any longer. You were spent and overstimulated by Cillian’s tongue. He was driving you absolutely crazy and you were sobbing mess by now.
But, for Cillian, denying you was all part of the game. He loved to tease you and played you like an instrument for hours until you squirmed and screamed for your release.
‘Why should I let you cum?’ he asked, his face smug.
‘I don’t know Cillian, but I am begging you, please…’ you managed to choke out in need and with great desperation.
‘Please what?’ he teased.
‘Please make me cum…please’ you said, desperate for his tongue to make contact with your mound again after he had pulled away once more and, luckily for you, he finally relented and his lips closed around your clit.
“Cum!” was all he said, ordering you to let go after an hour and ten minutes had passed and he certainly did not have to tell you twice.
‘Oh fuck, yes right there’ you screamed almost immediately, giving into your needs just as you felt as though Cillian’s tongue was everywhere and he began adding one finger followed by another inside of you.
He curved his fingers upwards slightly while he continued to suck on your clit and, just as he did, an unfamiliar feeling raged through your body.
‘Cillian, oh god…’ you moaned, not sure what was going on as the rough intrusion and onslaught of sensations had you seeing stars. You never felt anything like this before and thought that, right then and there, you could possibly pass out from the sheer amount of pleasure you were experiencing.
‘Yes, please don’t stop!’ you screamed as your legs began to shake violently and you were cumming against Cillian’s hand and mouth, shouting his name desperately while pulling against the restraints which were clearly cheap enough to give way.
You pulled your wrists off just as the broken cuffs fell off the bedhead. You then clutched onto Cillian’s hair for support and screamed once more.
“Oh god” was all that left your lips. The intense sensation lasted for what felt like several minutes but you knew that it must have been something less than that as your head finally stopped spinning and you recognised your surroundings.
‘Jesus Cillian, what was that?’ you huffed out, breathing heavily as the stars began to fade and Cillian slowly withdrew his fingers from inside you.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked somewhat confused but with a slight chuckle as you were still panting, trying hard to calm down.
‘It felt like an orgasm, but so intense. I could not control it’ you tried to explain with blushing red cheeks and Cillian smiled in response.
‘Good’ he said. ‘I guess I found the perfect position to get to your g-spot then’ he smirked while crawling up on your body and kissing you passionately again, making you taste yourself on his lips and tongue.
‘You sure did” you panted against his lips as Cillian slid two fingers inside of you again, right against the same spot, causing you to shriek.
‘Fuck, stop! Too much’ you immediately panted and Cillian decided to give into your demands and relented, for now.
“Too much, huh?” Cillian teased just as you pulled him on top of you.
“You broke my cuffs” he then acknowledged and you smiled.
“I did and, yes, it’s too much. My g-spot needs a rest for now but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want your cock inside of me right now” you said just as you felt him against you, hot and hard.
‘Patience isn’t your strong point, is it?’ Cillian smirked as he leaned into you slightly, causing you to moan.
But you wanted all of him, and you told him as much.
‘No. We’ve been at this for hours and now I just need you to fuck me senseless Cill” you begged and just as you did, he pushed his length inside of you with one firm push.
‘As you wish” Cillian groaned, almost surprised as he bottomed out against your cervix.
‘Oh god. Yes. Just like that” you moaned, holding him close as he gave you some time to adjust to his size before he started to move with slow but deep thrusts.
‘Fuck you feel amazing” Cillian groaned loudly and you loved feeling the warmth of his flesh inside you and he loved the feel of your moist walls rubbing against his length as he thrusted in and out of you.
In between moans, you shared several passionate kisses and it didn’t take you long to find a rhythm.
Your fingernails were digging into the flesh of Cillian’s perfectly round ass, keeping him deeper and deeper inside you as he continued to fuck you until, suddenly, his movements came to a standstill and he repositioned himself so that he could lift your legs against his shoulders.
‘Uhm, what are you…’ you were going to ask but, just as the words left your mouth, he drove back into you and you let out a loud moan.
‘Holy shit’ you shouted out as you could feel the tip of his length against your g-spot in this position and every time he thrusted into you, electricity shot through your body.
‘Are you going to cum for me again?’ Cillian asked and you could barely nod when your legs began to quiver.
‘Good. That’s it’ Cillian groaned and, just as he did, you started to scream so loud that he had to over your mouth with one of his hands.
‘You look so sexy like this’ he groaned, watching you come so hard, even harder than before as his cock thrusted against your g-spot and his pubic bone was rubbing against your clit.
“Christ. Cillian. Fuck” you yelped against his hand as your body began to convulse and Cillian certainly loved seeing you loose control beneath him which was exactly what, in the end, pushed him over the edge as well.
‘I want your cum inside me’ you blurted out as you came, almost surprised by your own profanity and it was obvious to you that Cillian enjoyed some good dirty talk and, with that, Cillian groaned again as he slammed himself into you. Your legs were quivering still as your orgasm continued on and your tight walls began to clench hard around Cillian length, urging him on to find his own release.
With one final thrust and a loud groan, Cillian finally stilled, pushing himself into you as far as he could get and, just as you felt the warmth of his essence flooding your insides, you moaned again.
‘Oh god’ you moaned as you felt him throb and pulsate inside you, spilling himself into you before taking in a sharp breath.
‘Jesus’ he then huffed out, still panting as, slowly and carefully, he pulled out of you, causing some of your combined juices to spill from you and onto the sheets.
You could certainly feel it and, when you collapsed onto the bed and turned around to face him, an almost devilish grin escaped you until you looked down and in between you.
“Oh my god. Shit!” you cursed as embarrassment washed over your face. This couldn’t possibly be happening, or could it?
To be continued…
Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!
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roastingyaoigirl13 · 4 months ago
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Hello its me again.
I have yet another thing to say before I disappear until October.
I am a huge fan of Sarcastic Chorus and his videos on Helluva Boss.
youtube
Here is the most recent video he made about Apology Tour and I have something to say about it.
While I agree on somethings, I also felt that we forget that this show is about Blitzø become a Helluva boss. Its about a guy who is a kind but due to trauma can’t see his worth in peoples lives and hates himself and thus destroys his relationships in the hope he saves others from himself. This season is about Blitz realizing he is so much more than a boss or an easy fuck. I think people get so stuck on who to blame rather than seeing the true dynamic between Stolas and Blitzo. Blitzø despite being a dick and being a hurt/broken person has shown how much he truly loves others and how others learn from him. His best quality is his ability to adapt also known as his  resilience. This man knows what its like to lose someone and everything in one go. He understands yet that doesn’t stop him from being something. He opened his own business. He became a father. He has friends who care about him even though he can’t see it and thinks he will die alone. Point is Blitzo greatest quality is that he is resilient and that is why people gravitate towards him.
This then leads me to this; I know some of you think this episode was a hate train on Blitz to make Stolas seem better but look deeper, this episode was about Blitzo and him being resilient. Stolas hasn’t reached his lowest yet, in fact I believe he won’t feel it until he loses Via who is symbolically being his reason for living. Via was Stolas reasoning for why he had to live and when Blitzo came back he gave me the realization that he could live for himself. Right now Stolas is doing that which is something we realize when we are children but again Stolas never got this development milestone occur till now. My point is that their relationship is a yin and yang a pull and push. Blitzo inspires Stolas to live life to the fullest while Stolas reminds him that he deserves to be loved unconditionally despite his flaws. Blitzo started the this by breaking into Stolas house and Stolas continued it by making the deal. Stolas ends the deal and Blitzo comes back. Stolas tries to better himself and Blitzo self destruct. Stolas “moves on” ( I say this loosely because Stolas is still obtuse and needs an episode where he comforts it which is basically Via centric episode. Also I have a theory that Ghost Fuckers is about confronting or destroying one’s reality and I think Via might be in it as a parallel to Blitzo facing his reality being destroyed and rewritten) and Blitzo lets him go. Blitzo is now going to change and Stolas is going to be stuck. Point is that they are two different side of the same coin and need each other. Blitzo inspires Stolas and Stolas loves and protects Blitzo. Something that both of them need in a partner. The important thing is that while Stolas got the ball rolling for change Blitzo is the one who will truly change first and this needs to happen because Stolas will be lost and will need someone who understand what it means to lose it all but most importantly how to rise above it.
In conclusion,
These two are meant to be and if you see it this way you will finally get why you shouldn’t pick sides.
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rervraiilsaukl · 3 months ago
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||| AlteredPageAU!Sigma Character Sheet |||
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Out of all the APAU characters, Sigma is definitely one of my favorites and one of the most interesting.
In the AU, he's affiliated with the Armed Detective Agency, with Kunikida as his mentor.
He's the archivist of the ADA— doing research for cases, taking notes during meetings, and storing information on past cases and current cases.
(Individual images)
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Other important info on his character under the cut ↓
Things of note about his design/character:
His Gloves
The gloves that Sigma is wearing have a few important things to note. 1: they are ability suppressant. 2: The color choice of the gloves as well as the sleeves have symbolism pertaining to Sigma's character throughout the story.
The gloves allow his ability to be suppressed due to the fact that they contain Dazai's blood. Ranpo gave these gloves to Sigma after Sigma's entrance exam.
The main reason why Sigma's gloves are ability suppressant is for his own good. For one, I believe that he would not really like his ability very much. His only experience before the ADA was his canon backstory(except for the fact that Ranpo found him in the desert instead of Fyodor.) He was always forced to use his ability, and he cannot control his ability if he is forced to come into contact with another person.
Ranpo also suspects that later on, Fyodor will try to use Sigma's ability to gain info on the ADA. The gloves could prevent that from happening.
As for the design symbolism, it goes along with his sleeves. Throughout the plot, Sigma does commit some immoral acts after being manipulated by Fyodor. He truly does have good intentions, thinking that his actions are 'for the greater good.' His sleeves are white: his intentions are moral. The arms move the hands. His gloves are black: his direct actions are immoral. His moral intentions lead to and guide his immoral actions.
He hates Ranpo
This is mainly for two reasons: 1. He thinks that Ranpo views him as incompetent and that his role in the ADA isn't worth much. With how quickly Ranpo can solve cases, Sigma doesn't always have the opportunity to do his job to the fullest. It's unnecessary for him to do lots of research and take notes about certain cases
And 2, he doesn't like how Ranpo acts. He views Ranpo as childish and annoying. And with Sigma and the rest of the ADA's limited knowledge compared to Ranpo... Sigma tends to find some of Ranpo's suggestions to be absurd and even dangerous at times.
The Weapon in the Character Sheet
The knife present in his character info/design sheet is, in fact, the one that Fyodor uses to stab him in chapter 108 in the bsd manga. Do with that information as you will.
Parallels to Atsushi
This won't get a whole in-depth explanation here, but it will get its own post once I make an info sheet for Atsushi.
Put simply: Atsushi is in the DOA, and Sigma is in the ADA. Sigma views the ADA the same way Atsushi does in Canon. Atsushi views the DOA the same way Sigma does in Canon.
The specifcs do go beyond this, and will be explained later ^^
Poe's Archives Book
Ranpo being Ranpo, he predicted that Fyodor might try to use the page to redirect or even reverse reality. Before that happened, he had Poe write a basic book that detailed the different gifted organizations/ability users in Yokohama, foreign gifted organizations and their relations to the ADA, and the status of the DOA/Rats.
Ranpo found a way to carry this book into the rewritten reality of Fyodor's making and gave the archives book to Sigma. Sigma was instructed not to open it under any circumstances.
The archives book plays a big role in Dazai's suffering throughout the AU, considering how the fandom can not figure out/agree on how Poe and Dazai's abilities would interact.
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My next goal is to start concepting for Atsushi's design, so some sketches of that will be posted soon, as well as the DOA/Rats' relations to one another.
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matchagyudon · 1 month ago
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Pomp and Gallantry - Jakurai Jinguji English Lyrics Translation
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Now, do you understand what karma is? The glory and errors of my past days have been piling up Was I trapped because I wanted to be at ease?
Remorse, my guilty conscience, and self-sacrifice This is the conclusion to taking the easy way out The challenges that have been lying about are still untouched
In this Labryinth Wall Time or patience, are they no longer necessary? Is it easy to break free from here? Are you saying that life itself has no pain?
Is our answer, even now, that suffering in agony is inevitable? Is it said that we humans have ended conflict? So then, what in the world have we learned from history?
Life is a game, this embellishment is a joke Just when you think that you can’t take it anymore, The true scenario of your fate can be rewritten Strike out your languidness, and remove the overbearing shackles With my mic and charts, all that’s left is the love in my heart It’s not that those who believe are saved, But rather whether you can keep believing until you are saved
Inside of strength is tenderness, and within tenderness you can find strength The taste of defeat, like biting on sand, is now the spice of life
With these hands, certainly, with these hands I will wake them up This country’s heart is coming to an end And the only power that can revive it Would be love That is the only way we can wake them up With pomp and circumstance, today, we will be gallant too
The commotion of Shinjuku, noises mingling together Dissonance reverberating within the spiral of reincarnation This city is still in deep turmoil Whispering sweet temptations, fleeting pleasures
Like a weed hidden in a back alley, this flower is nameless, yet noble It sways gently in the breeze today, once more There is no other flower as strong as concrete
It was sudden, my heart became soaked The shock hit me like lightning “Obligation and self-awareness”, I was prepared for those two words From tragedy to comedy, the reasoning is reversed
To live, in itself, is love Life isn’t about winning or losing It’s about everything Now is the time to accept one another’s differences Why don’t we accept each other? Or to love each other?
Let’s return, once more, to the beginning Be rid of any doubt’s on the meaning of Life Life and soul, the contrast of finite and infinite The land that rises with its bestowed role
The voices that cry out as we plunged into the battlefield Even if my throat were to be slit, I will keep shouting For the happiness of myself and others, my altruistic heart keeps going on The timbre of world peace now sounds nostalgic Let it ring out
From this one microphone, this song will connect once again I am not offering words such as ostentation, vanity, or greed But my very life in itself, I am selling piece by piece Relish yourself to your heart’s content on my flesh and body
The contradictions and absurdity of our murky, chaotic society Drink it all in one gulp This is the essence of the power of words, true vitality, meaning and significance of life, To be inherited with abundance and triumph
There’s no need to be frightened or worry anymore If you have already put together that death is certain That even then you cannot escape the 7 Deadly Sins Calmly hold it close, just as you are, all your worries The future is waiting for us to complete our unfinished work Lying in wait, clearing their throats Eagerly waiting for as long as it takes
We will set a firm foundation for the new century to come When that time comes, we shall make a sound that will shake the heavens and the earth The land will split and crawling out of it will be song and dance The voice that we shouted at the moon, and felt as if it were in vain Will reach the moon in 32 days Devote yourself to the one before your eyes From the bottom of one’s heart to another, the seed of peace Together, slowly, one step at a time, we will move forward
We are all God’s creatures!
From now on, let us all entrust our lives to another, together!
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darkpoisonouslove · 3 months ago
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Something You Can Do
Summary: Alicent goes to Helaena to tell her about Jaehaerys' funeral and try to comfort her as best as she can. A rewritten scene from 2x02 "Rhaenyra the Cruel" that pays more attention to the awful choice Helaena was subjected to and her feelings in the wake of her son's murder. The idea of rewriting scenes from the second season of HotD is a great way to engage with the show despite its flaws and I would like to thank @aegoncarney for creating this event. It got me to write my first HotD fanfiction! AO3
The eyes of the Red Keep are like knives in Alicent's back, in her ribcage, in her mind. She wants to turn to the seemingly empty hallways and scream, yell at them, demand their accountability. Always watching, at least a dozen pairs shadow her every movement now but where were they when her daughter had been all alone against the monsters in the night?
They are only here to confine her, stop her from going two steps back for every three steps forward like she's lost her mind. She has to leave herself to the motion of walking, keep her mind on other things to let her feet take her to the quarters where her daughter and granddaughter had been moved on their own.
The thought of what she'll see when she gets there only makes her slow down as she wrestles with the impulse to turn around and storm the Small Council again to countermand her father’s commands. But she can't run from this forever. She has to be there for her daughter, as close as Helaena will allow her.
She had been in shock last night, staying in Alicent's chamber. They'd hardly talked her into letting go of Jaehaera and she'd remained perched on Alicent's bed and watching over her the whole night. The alertness in her posture had been disturbing, her hands stroking Jaehaera despite the distant look in her eyes as if to make sure the girl was still there. Alicent had barely convinced her to lie down and rest her body at least if she refused sleep, gaze penetrating the space in front of her as if she could see something in the distance the rest of them were unaware of.
The knight in front of Helaena's door opens it for Alicent, a little too quickly as if he's ashamed of how little use there is for him, now. She thanks him regardless – for guarding her precious girl, for saving her from agonizing over whether to knock and startle Helaena or risk frightening her if she walked in without warning, and for the sake of announcing herself to her daughter. Maybe even for her own sake, to earn herself another second to steel her nerves and bear the sight of what had become of her sweet girl, all because of her.
Helaena is on her feet again, holding the bedpost for support. She has Jaehaerys' blanket in her hands, hugging it to her to feel any trace left of him – his scent or the warmth that is no longer there. Something leaves her throat but it is unintelligible.
Alicent's heart pounds in her ears frantically despite her resolve to listen in, to never let Helaena feel alone or unheard again. She tries to ask… something but the possibility that a sob would be the only response she gets is an insurmountable lump in her throat. Helaena has every reason to weep and never stop. Why should she herself be allowed anything different?
Helaena turns to her, head snapping in her direction so fast that Alicent almost gasps in fear that she's hurt herself. Her eyes are focused now, her gaze so intense as it lands on Alicent that she nearly collapses to her knees. Whatever her sweet girl is looking for, she will fail to provide.
"I had nothing to give," Helaena's voice is so hollow – as if she knows her mother won't have what she needs.
Alicent chokes down her own sobs but her words are still wet when they come out, bathed in the tears welling in her eyes, "No, you are so loving and warm. A great mother-"
Helaena goes on as if she did not speak, "I couldn't offer myself. They only wanted a son."
Alicent freezes. The blood drains from her; she can't breathe. Her arm only shoots out to brace her against the wall when her knees buckle.
"I only had a necklace they didn’t take." Helaena's fingers are bunching the blanket, digging into it in search for her baby, or at least for an answer to settle her heart and mind. "Did I have something else to give?"
She whips around, eyes running over the room.
"This was my son's," she holds up the blanket. She steps towards the table and picks up one of Jaehaerys' toys. "This was my son's. All of these. He had many things. Why did I not…?"
Her arms fall next to her body, limp, the blanket pooling in her feet. She looks up at Alicent, her lips trembling. "I must have had something to give. If I am the queen."
Alicent runs to her. The moment she opens her arms, Helaena collapses in them and they fall to the floor, the blanket barely softening the thud their bodies make against it. The toy in Helaena's hand clatters to the ground and her nails sink into Alicent’s shoulders like she'd slip away if she doesn't burrow herself under Alicent's skin. She is only grateful for that pain.
She tries stroking Helaena's hair and only continues when Helaena doesn't push her away. Though, she doesn't really seem to notice, still clutches at her and her breaths come in irregular gasps. Like she's stifling the cries before they can form in her body.
Alicent doesn't know what to say, how to encourage her to let it out. She wants to tell her she'll remain with her as long as Helaena needs her but Helaena speaks first.
"What else could I have done, mummy?"
Alicent's heart breaks. She bites herself to blood to keep from weeping; the tremors of her body are already shaking Helaena. That's all she can give her. Not an answer but her own pain reflected back at her.
She has to remind herself not to cling to Helaena like that's the only thing keeping her head above water. She's supposed to be the one consoling her baby.
She has nothing to give.
"I didn't see them," Helaena's voice is so thin, like she'll break under unbearable weight. "Just the rats. In every hallway, swarming together, with a big shadow behind them swallowing the light. They were coming for us and I couldn’t pick him up, my boy…" She buries her face in Alicent's neck. "They were running from it."
Alicent can't help the pangs of guilt cutting through the relief of having Helaena nestled into her neck, safely in her arms where nothing can take her away. It's a comfort only to her while her sweet girl is twisting her mind inside out, looking for a way out of a tragedy that's already happened, that none of them could have foreseen. She has to soothe her, has to find a way to lead her out of the maze Helaena is wandering in her own head.
"There is to be a funeral for Jaehaerys. We’ve been asked to… accompany the procession."
Helaena has gone still, stiff, in her arms. She has to tread very carefully.
"If we show we need them, the people will help us. With them on our side, it will be easier to defend ourselves. You can protect your girl."
Helaena pulls back to look at her and Alicent tries to find her own conviction. She'd do anything for her sweet girl but this doesn't feel right. She's not lying; they need the people. She still feels like retching just thinking of standing next to her daughter while her pain is paraded around.
Her sweet girl needs a second but understands. Her eyes search Alicent’s face and she feels like she's failing her. Tears have already started to blur her vision and she knows her jaw trembles; she doesn't even have the strength to clench it hard enough to stop that. How can she harden herself when Helaena is in her arms? Only gentleness should ever touch her girl.
Only when she sees her tears mirrored in Helaena's eyes as she nods, she knows her girl is braver than her.
Her heart jumps when Helaena leans into her again. She tucks her under her chin immediately and strokes her back.
She wants to say, "I'm sorry."
All she says is, "There is something you can do."
She's not sure if she's talking to Helaena or to herself.
She repeats herself over and over again.
Maybe at least one of them will believe it.
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icallhimjoey · 2 years ago
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Imagine this: Wesley makes a new friend and Joe is jealous of how close they are UNTIL he sees her for the first time. Suddenly, he can’t stop nagging Wesley about her.
ok so, i need everyone to understand that i do not know wesley or his mannerisms at all (obviously i do not know joe either, but we've established what my fictional joey's like) so i TRIED and it was AWKWARD for ALL SORT OF REASONS but i hope that you LIKE IT enjoy! (rewritten 16 nov 2023) Wordcount: 2.8K
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Inevitable Sparks
part one - part two - part three - part four - part five The noise of a soft ringtone cut through the conversation and made Wesley stop talking mid-sentence.
"Sorry, I have to take this," Wesley said when he saw your name grace his phone screen.
Sat opposite him, Joe made a face.
"Um, you literally don't?" Joe jokingly frowned in frustrated confusion.
"Hey!" Wesley answered, far too chipper for Joe's liking. He hadn't been in the best mood. Conversation had been fine, but sort of serious. This different version of his best friend that he saved for someone else rubbed him wrong, just a little.
".... yea, I'm not doing anything, what's up?" Wesley turned away from Joe, his full attention with you now.
Joe flung up both arms and shook his head in bewilderment. Couldn't believe what he was hearing.
What did he mean, he wasn't doing anything?!
Going for lunch with his friend, hanging out at home, even taking him on trips around the globe - his best friend seemed to always be talking to his other friend.
This other person who seemed to be replacing Joe on that number one spot fairly quickly - too quickly, because you hadn't known each other long at all, Joe thought.
But anytime Joe would call Wesley, he either didn't answer, declined his call and sent him to voicemail, or he would answer but he'd say he wouldn't be able to talk long. Would ask for Joe to make it quick.
"You up for dinner tonight, mate?" "Sorry, I can't do tonight, I've already got plans," "Oh, is it with her again?"
The fact that he was out having lunch with him now almost felt miraculous.
It was silly. Everyone had friends that their other friends didn't know, didn't they?
But this was Joe's best friend. And he was his too. Wanted it to remain that way. Too many things were changing already, and keeping this the way it was, always had been, felt important. Grounding.
But then Wesley talked on the phone for over ten minutes and didn't even seem that bothered that it was incredibly rude to Joe.
After a lot of humming, yes-ing, and even some loud, loud laughs, Wesley hung up, turned back to Joe and pretended the call had never even happened.
"So, Tokyo, you said? How was that?" Wesley took another bite of his lunch, falling back into their previous conversation, leaving Joe to squint at him.
"Yea, no... Japan was amazing... what the- how do you even know her, again?"
Wesley looked up from his plate at his friend, for a second unsure who Joe was referencing.
Like Joe hadn't just listened to him talk to you for ages.
"Oh," the penny dropped. "Um, we went to school together, did a film- a thriller, together for a class, and then I ran into her randomly, what, two, three months ago?"
"Mmhm, school, huh?"
"She did awful storyboard drawings of a girl being punched once, and then we made her be the girl, and she accidentally got socked right in the eye! We didn't even use the footage," Wesley recounted a funny memory and chuckled lightly.
"Almost didn't recognise her without the bruised face, but she recognised me, so," he shrugged, took another bite.
"Oh, she did, yea?" Joe acted up his hatred in rivalry with you, and it tickled his friend, but he swiftly moved onto another topic and didn't mention you again.
Joe took Wesley with him to events for his job all the time. They seemed the perfect pair: the film maker (you know, the camera guy) and the actor.
Besides the hopeful networking Wesley maybe got to do, Joe was mostly happy to have a friend at these things; someone to ensure that he'd actually have fun and wouldn't just be a big ball of nerves throughout. Would say he was his PA if anyone asked. They never asked, it was always fine.
Sometimes, of course, there were moments when Wesley couldn't tag along, because of his own obligations.
Not a problem, there were plenty of other friends to ask to come to things with him.
It's just that... Wesley sometimes didn't have time for him because of you, and when he caught onto how annoyed Joe would get over it, he started mentioning your name loads. Just to fuck with him.
Like a couple of days later, hanging out at Wesley's place, spread out across the sofa, Joe and Wesley had the TV on in the background, but weren't really watching what was on.
"The absolute units of yachts they had over there," Joe scrolled through his phone gallery, looking for a picture to show his friend. "Just, ridiculous. No one needs a boat like that, really, do they?"
"You know who's got a yacht?" Wesley took a sip of his drink, eyes glued to his phone, before continuing, "Like, a sailing yacht?"
Joe turned his phone to show a picture he took in Newport Beach a couple weeks back.
Wesley peeled his eyes away from his own screen, looked at Joe's, and went, "Yea sort of like that one."
Joe tutted, immediately groaning, knowing Wesley was going to mention you again and it instantly made Wesley grin.
"Not her, she doesn't have a fucking yacht. Fuck, could you imagine? Someone our age with a massive sailing yacht?" Wesley said and let Joe visibly relax before continuing.
"Her dad does, though,"
"Okay," Joe slapped his knees as he got up from the sofa.
"At this point, is she even fucking real? What are you hiding from me?" Joe flung an arm about, slid his phone into his pocket and grabbed some shit from the coffee table he needed to throw out.
"I'm not hiding anything!" Wesley argued, but couldn't help laugh at his friend accusatory tone.
"So why haven't I met her yet?" Joe collected the empty beer bottles from the table too, and made his way to grab two new ones.
"You wouldn't- I just... I don't think you'd get along, you know? You're very different people," Wesley lied, not sounding as confident as he would've liked, and Joe poked right through it.
"What are you on about, mate? I get along with everyone!"
Wesley sat up and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, contemplating if what he was about to say next was the right move to make.
"People love me." Joe definitely didn't believe that in his gut, Wesley knew. But he also understood that... yea, people kind of always did really like Joe.
"Yea, exactly... maybe that's the problem,"
Joe turned around, jaw dropped, but eyes showing nothing but absolute cheek.
"Oh?" suddenly, Joe was intrigued, but Wesley was quick to hold up his hand.
"No!"
"What was her name again?" Joe whipped his phone from his pocket, ready to look you up anywhere he could think to. Not being on any social media himself didn't have to stop him from googling yours for a quick look.
Mentioning you had bit Wesley in the ass, and he sighed in annoyance, knowing from the start this is exactly what it would eventually lead to.
How could it not have?
It was absolutely inevitable.
Joe was single, you were single, and hot but approachable. And also friendly, sweet, kind, fun. All the good shit.
Wesley was drawn to the same type of people. The amount of times he'd been hanging out with you and had thought to himself, wow Joe could've said that, or, Joe would've done the same thing, had really started stacking up.
So when you had a couple of friends over on a random Friday night, for drinks and chats with music playing in the background, you had also invited Wesley to mingle with this new group of people he suddenly was a part of.
Half way through the night, Joe'd facetimed him and Wesley had decided to answer this time.
"Joe," Wesley said upon seeing his friend's face fill out his phone screen.
He saw Joe's face go from utter shock and surprise, because Wesley never fucking answered his FaceTime calls, straight into a frown as his face get closer in the camera. He was obviously trying to figure out Wesley's surroundings.
"Where are you?"
Wesley grinned and switched the camera around to show your living room, aiming his camera to see out the window and Joe could see three people out on a balcony, smoking, drinking, chatting and laughing.
"Is that-"
Before Joe could get a proper look, Wesley had turned the camera back onto himself, hiding a grin as he took a sip from his beer.
"Wait, turn it back a second, I thought I saw something," Joe said, sounding so very earnest, but it just made Wesley laugh because he knew Joe just wanted to check again, see if one of them had been you.
"Why are you calling?" Wesley tried to shift the focus away from you.
"Just checking to see what you were doing," Joe feigned being incredibly bored, speaking through a dramatic sigh.
Joe could see his friend look over his phone for a second as someone asked him something. Then Wesley's eyes scanned his phone, and Joe was shocked when his friend muted himself so he couldn't hear what was going on.
Muted.
Shut Joe right out by muting the audio.
He saw Wesley talk to someone off screen, then look at Joe when leaning to show someone who didn't step into the camera's vision enough for Joe to see.
It was obvious he was showing Joe's face to someone in the room. To the person he was talking to about something Joe wasn't allowed to hear.
Fucking muted.
What the fuck.
Then Wesley laughed, raised his eyebrows questioningly in that same direction and then nodded before turning back to his phone and unmuting himself.
"You want to come over?"
Wesley texted your address, and about half an hour later, you were stood out on the balcony when you heard the buzzer go inside. You knocked on the window and interrupted Wesley's conversation with one of your other friends, gestured for him to open the door.
You'd seen Joe walk up to the building and knew it was him who'd rang your doorbell.
You knew what Joe looked like, it was almost impossible not to in the year of our Lord, Eddie Munson, 2022.
But you also remembered meeting him once on a night out when you'd just turned 19 and you'd been out with a bunch of people from uni. Wesley had brought Joe along, and you only remembered that he'd been goofy. Sort of didn't really fit in with the group, but was funny enough for people to enjoy and appreciate his presence.
You didn't know if you had actually spoken then, but a swift plow through countless now hidden Facebook photo albums showed you weren't in any photos together.
A shame, you thought, because Joe was handsome.
And Wesley had been a little bitch for weeks about having the two of you meet.
It's not like you hadn't been pushing for it. A little.
"Are you gatekeeping Joe?" you had asked him, more as a joke, but you did wonder. Wesley talked about Joe all the time like they were joined at the hip, but you had yet to meet him.
"Absolutely." Wesley had thrown a bag of nuts into your shopping cart.
You snorted. You had expected him to deny your accusation, to come up with a million different excuses, but instead Wesley jokingly confessed and you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you.
"What possibly for?"
"Joe's.... he's sort of... I don't know, you won't like him, I think. Joe's weird," Wesley'd scrunched his nose to really convince you.
"Wouldn't that make you weird by default?" you'd laughed, referencing the fact that they'd been friends for years.
"No, it's like... like, I don't know. He's just weird. Joe likes wallabees, you know those shoes?" Wesley had raised his eyebrows at you, making a point.
"Oh, ew," you'd grimaced.
"See? He's a weird fucker. Best to steer clear of him." Wesley'd concluded, and you had agreed to put it to rest, but you couldn't lie.
You'd seen pictures of Joe on red carpets looking sharp.
In your opinion, he was allowed to be weird and like wallabees if he wore suits like the ones you'd seen him wear every other week, no problem.
When you saw Wesley walk him into your flat, the first thing you did was pan down to see what shoes he was wearing.
Sneakers.
Okay.
Good.
Sneakers were fine.
They didn't match his outfit, but, they were fine.
Wesley pointed at you, and you smiled and waved at him from outside. Joe did the same, small smile, small wave, and then you turned back to your friends, turning away from the window completely.
"Shit," you whispered, making two of your girlfriends turn to see who you had just waved at, and they chuckled when they saw Joe.
"Shit," Joe said softly under his breath upon seeing you, his hand still stuck up in his wave, even after you'd turned around and faced away from him.
"Okay, let's go," Wesley said, dragging his friend into the kitchen. "We've got to talk."
Whilst getting Joe a drink from the fridge, he sighed deeply.
"There's no way..." he started, handing Joe a beer bottle, but not letting go of it just yet. "You're obviously each other's type, so there's no way I'm going to be able to stop this," Wesley looked his friend in the eye sternly.
Joe was just about to object, but Wesley was quick to speak over him.
"But if you fuck this up," his grip on the bottle strengthened. "She won't want to be my friend anymore, and then I won't want to be yours." Wesley warned, finally letting go of Joe's drink.
"Mate, nothing's gonna happen," Joe reassured, obviously lying to himself and to his best friend, planting a heavy hand on his shoulder and making Wesley scoff loudly.
Who was Joe trying to fool here?
"All right, well, we'll see about that,"
"Hi!" you stepped into the kitchen, and very obviously walked in on them talking about you. Both heads turned towards you and you were met with four big, bulging eyes and silence. You stared at them for a second, eyes going from one to the other, until you cleared your throat loudly.
"Hi," Joe snapped out of it and smiled his warmest of smiles before reaching out a hand and bowing his head down slightly as he shook yours.
Sparks.
You smiled back and silently told yourself you'd been right all along.
Joe really was handsome.
And cute?
How could you describe him... handsomely cute?
Pretty.
Joe was pretty.
Yes, pretty felt right.
Wesley formally introduced you to each other, but you couldn't even hear what he was saying.
Inside your head you heard classical music playing- a full orchestra, loud with violins and flutes and harps. Several harps, very romantic.
You held onto each other hands for far too long for it to be normal, and Wesley's eyes darted back and forth between the two of you.
"That's um... that's a lot of prolonged eye-contact, guys," Wesley spoke, his voice slightly hesitant, like he knew he was intruding.
"Yea," you sighed, still not breaking eye contact.
"Yea," Joe agreed and his smile grew wider, almost impossibly so.
"Greaaat... yea, this isn't making me uncomfortable at all," Wesley sarcastically elongated his words.
"Yep. yep. Great, this is just great. Well, I trust you guys will let me know if you need anything," Wesley's voice sounded uncomfortably constricted as he took awkwardly big steps to tiptoe around you as he stepped out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.
"I've um... I've heard a lot about you," you said, finally snapping out of it.
"I've heard a lot about you too," Joe replied before taking a swig from his beer.
From outside on the balcony, Wesley and your two girlfriends watched as you and Joe chatted, exchanging pleasantries with flushed faces, pursed smiled, and probably painful cheeks from suppressing your grins so much.
It was an adorable sight to behold, and it made Wesley chuckle a little.
"I am either going to have to write two best-man-speeches for their wedding, or I'm going to be the deciding factor in who gets the dog when they break up," Wesley said, making your friends laugh as he shook his head.
He wasn't joking though, and inhaled a sharp breath before taking a sip from his drink.
There was no other choice for him but to stand back and watch this unfold.
We'll see how this pans out, he thought.
We'll see.
-----
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olivieblake · 1 month ago
Text
I know it's SO silly to avoid posting spoilers on a fic that was written almost a decade ago but @wonniesverse asked about what happens in chapter 35 or 36 or whatever of Marked (you know the one) and I am putting my answer under the cut!!! it's unfortunately kind of a short answer lol
hi! i am so sorry if i've got the wrong account but i had just recently read the clean and marked dramione series you wrote on ao3, and i was genuinely FLOORED. yep it's me lol this was the first fic i had ever genuinely cried for, the way you expressed hermione's and draco's relationship so well. the fic was written so long ago - in 2016 - and you might have forgotten about it, ahahahah pls but i had one question i simply couldn't ignore for the life of me: when snape used the time turner, he went to another parallel universe, right?
sorry to interrupt you here, but no! he used the time turner to go back in time, within the same universe, in a time loop. as with the events of book 3, there is still only one universe and only one timeline—there are briefly two harrys and two hermiones in the book because they're the ones who used the time-turner, but in this case, only snape went back, so he's the only one who is experiencing both the current timeline and the rewritten past.
so the new universe's hermione and draco could feel the phantom original universe's draco and hermione's experiences, so the original universe must still have been existing and operating alongside the new parallel one, meaning that the original hermione and draco were still there (please correct me if i'm wrong!).
so again, there is only one timeline, but them being able to feel the echoes of other decisions and other lives was meant to be sort of ineffable. magic!!! etc etc
but i was wondering, if that was a separate timeline, what happened to the original universe's draco and hermione if they still existed? i know draco died in the original universe, but i was curious how the original universe's hermione (master of death) lived after that, and if she ever found joy again, or if she only talked to the ghost of draco forever, and i also wonder how theo fared in that original timeline. there are so many other questions i'd like to ask, but i'll keep this as short as i can.
I made a joke in this week's not writing video that the oversaturation of multiverse media has led to some confusion so yeah, the timeline is disrupted and written over, like—oops maybe this is too Aged a reference—but it's like when you record over an existing VHS and the original footage is simply lost. but there is also the concept of a palimpsest, which is what I wanted those echoes of another life to feel like
as for what would have happened if that timeline continued: what the story suggests (the reason snape went back to begin with) is that the timeline is hopeless—draco is dead and can't be resurrected, hermione maybe never moves on, she allows absolute power to corrupt her absolutely. but that was the point of the story, that the pressure point that re-starts the time loop each time is that draco dies and everything goes irreparably wrong from there. you are of course welcome to reimagine something else! but that was the point of writing a story that resets to canon; I was trying to resolve and explain all the places where something doesn't make sense, like whenever an adult makes a terrible and illogical decision
the way that you wrote of hermione's heartbreak truly tore me apart, and i cried unabashedly when i saw draco died. draco loved her so much and she loved him, so to kill one of them would be utter torture, and i hope the original hermione got to find peace or at the very least see draco in the afterlife. theo was so strong too - even though he wished he could be selfish and talk to draco too, he knew he couldn't take even the ghost of draco away from hermione, so he gave up his chance. i cannot even begin to describe how this story broke my heart and mended it again, and i'm happy that at least the hermione and draco in the other parallel universe got their happy ending, but i also worry about the original hermione and draco too. if you've read until here, thank you so so much for just indulging and entertaining this silly question of mine, and i wholly understand if you don't feel like reading this question anymore. nonetheless, regardless of if you read or reply to this message, i just wanted to let you know that this series was truly of the best i have ever read, and i thank you so so much for that. again, if this is the wrong account, i apologize! but the fic was written in 2016, and the author said this was her tumblr account, so i found the best match i could <3
hahahaah it's so funny to me that you would have any doubt that this was me... I still pretty much write endings that people get mad
but thank you so much for caring this much about the story and I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!
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