#find part 6 somewhere on my blog

[idoweirdcrap]

part 5 (soz im posting out of order).

A/N: im turning all my mini klangsts into a one-shot at the end, so ill let you know when thats out. ;D

Space clubs are amongst some of the more… peculiar things in the cosmos. Firstly, the whole dancing element seems to be lost on the aliens, most of them clinging to the sides of the club. Secondly, the drinks were… strangely addictive. Most forms of alcohol you know would taste bad to throw people off and prevent getting too drunk. But space alcohol, space alcohol tasted good, and got you fucked up real quick.

Unfortunately, Keith got really, REALLY wasted. So wasted that he wasn’t sure where he was going, and blacked out at least thrice. By the halfway point of the so-called ‘party’, he had had enough.  So when Allura and Lance made out on the dance floor, well, that didn’t sit too well with him. He thought Lance liked him! He was so sure that he would confess tonight, that he would finally free his brain of these thoughts that had been weighing down on him for months. But maybe nothing ever went his way.

And maybe it was the rejection, maybe it was the alcohol, but…

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[samsseptember]

Samtember 2024 Calendar, Rules, and Guidelines!

Hi, Sam Wilson Nation! It’s that time of year again when we all get together to celebrate our beloved Sam Wilson’s birth month. That’s right, it’s ✰Samtember2024✰ !!!

As per usual, the event will be running from Friday, September 1st to Saturday, September 30th and there will be prompts set for each day:

Week 1:

Day 1 - Free Space

Day 2 - Bird Telepathy

Day 3 - Costume

Day 4 - Crossover/Multiverse

Day 5 - Canon Divergence

Day 6 - Hurt/Comfort

Day 7 - Future Fic

Week 2:

Day 8 - On Your Left

Day 9 - Move Your Seat Up

Day 10 - I Never Said Pilot

Day 11 - The Big Three

Day 12 - When Do We Start?

Day 13 - Man, Shut the Hell Up

Day 14 - Moon Stuff

Week 3:

Day 15 - Cap Quartet

Day 16 - Redwing

Day 17 - Mission Fic

Day 18 - Shield

Day 19 - Wakanda

Day 20 - Undercover

Day 21 - Co-Pilots

Week 4 + 2 Days:

Day 22 - Cookout / Boil

Day 23 - Birthday

Day 24 - Fishing

Day 25 - Louisiana

Day 26 - Lovers

Day 27 - The Paul & Darlene

Day 28 - Slice of Life

Day 29 - Wilson Family

Day 30 - Home

We will open a collection on AO3 soon. We will update this when the collection is ready, but when it is you'll also be able to find it by typing samtember2024 in the add to collections option.

You can also tag any works you post with #samtember2024 or tag this blog @samsseptember. Works will be reblogged every day throughout the month. 

What works count for this fan event?

Any of the following count:

fanfic

podfic

fanart

gifsets

photosets / moodboards / collages

graphics

Haikus

videos / edits

playlists

fic rec lists

comments

Whichever way you want to celebrate Sam Wilson, it’s up to you! 

The rest of the FAQ and rules are under the cut.

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a Sam Wilson fan event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one prompt. Fill all the prompts on for the month. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all 30 prompts at once with one piece of art or fic. If you can fill every single prompt from every single day in one fill, that’d be wild but it’s okay by the rules. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Should the work I make be Sam Wilson-centric?

Yes. You can make a gen work or a piece with any ship with Sam Wilson in it, but the main focus should be Sam Wilson.

How long will this event run?

It will run from September 1st to September 30th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There will be! They will come out daily.

Do I have to post my fic for the prompt on the day of the prompt?

You can if you’d like, but it’s okay if you post a piece on a day other than the day of the prompt.

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the event?

For Everyone:

1. Remember to tag @samsseptember in the post as well as #samtember2024.

2. Please also tag the prompt you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Redwing”, use “#redwing” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to Samtember 2024 Collection that you can find here.

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 5 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

For Fic Rec Lists:

1. You must have at least three fics or podfics on the rec list.

2. Make sure to give brief descriptions of the fics or podfics as well as their rating and wordcount.

For Commenters:

1. Any amount of comment counts, from a heart emoji (“❤️”) to an essay.

2. We would rather this be about what makes you happy and joyful about reading than any scathing critiques.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

For more information, please check out this document suggested by @ninesdb on how to write Bucky as an amputee. @ninesdb is also open to questions if you have any queries not answered by the google doc.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and “Bucky Needs a Hug”.

Have fun and we look forward to all your wonderful works! ✰

[creatingblackcharacters]

FAQs!

I go by Ice, she/her pronouns 💕. In case you had any of these questions, here you go:

1. "Why'd you make this page?"

I want to make the creation space- fandom to professional- more inclusive for people that look like me.

It is very disheartening when you really like something, and you see that oh! It's going to include a Black character! And then you get that character and... They're subpar. Especially in comparison to the usually white characters that have so much thought put into them. You accept them because you REALLY want that rep, but... We deserve to wholeheartedly accept our characters too, no ehhs about it.

I wanted to challenge myself, using my amateur art skills and my teaching skills, to convey to creators how that makes us feel, and little things they can do to more intentionally create their Black characters. There's more to us than adding to a diversity quota.

2. "So you aren't even a professional?"

I got 27.5 years of being a Black person on my resume 🤣 jokes aside, I am a self teaching artist. It's only been about a year for me. My more specific goal here is to use my skills to convey a perspective change towards Blackness, not necessarily a "how to do". If you want to learn the specific how-to's of drawing Black characters, there are Black artists all over Tumblr and the web that can show you. I actively encourage you to go check them out and support them, it's a great way to learn as well as to support our community!

3. "But if you're not a professional, why should I trust you?"

Well, again, because I don't have to be a professional to recognize when supposedly Black characters... Don't look like me 😅. Or, in writing, don't have any thought about me behind them. I could show my 87 year old Grandma some art and she'd recognize the issues.

But also, I personally believe that if you start from the foundations thinking about intentionally creating your Black characters, it'll make it much easier for you moving into the future. I am holding my hand out as a Black peer to HELP YOU! There are professional video games and art pieces and projects out there with poorly designed Black characters. The concept clearly needs to be introduced to the people somewhere before a million dollar project is release 🤣 But I can't talk to the people at the AAA studios. I can talk to you!

4. "I don't think race matters/should matter."

Alas, it does, everything we do is affected by our beliefs unconsciously or not- but I'm not going to waste my time and argue with you. This blog isn't for you 🤷🏾‍♀️ this blog is for those who want to take that first step to be better, both as creators and as people. 👍🏾

5. "Do you support AI?"

Not in the arts. Learn how to draw and/or write, it's very fulfilling.

6. "Do you answer asks?"

I do! However, this is a lesson based page, more than an ask based page. If I think your ask can be answered by one of my lessons, I'll refer you to that lesson. If it's an ask that's relevant to something coming up, I will answer it, but you will find more detail in the lesson coming up! I'm only one person doing this, and I can't answer every singular scenario. Also, keep in mind, if you ask me my opinion on something, I will be fair, but honest!

7. Will you be turning on anons?

Okay: right now, we've earned Anon Office Hours Wednesday 12:30pm thru Friday 6:30pm EST!

Most of this is due to the nature of what I'm discussing. Historically, these topics (and how race is relevant) upset some people, and it can get unsafe. Personally, I have no intention of allowing racists, or those who will take my advice in bad faith, to hide their faces. If you want to hate me, speak with your chest 😤👍🏾

The other part is that it is not a bad thing to ask questions! I did create this blog to be a learning opportunity. So long as you are kind to me and send me asks in good faith, I will be kind to you and reply in good faith. I'm also pretty sure I have the option to answer privately, so if you don't want your question posted publicly, You can say that.

If I get more questions, I'll update this!

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (14)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For all the parts check out my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (Aerys is warning on his own)

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 13

- Next part: 15

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

(unspecified time jump)

The chamber in the Red Keep is thick with the scent of smoke and burning pitch, though no fires are lit. The atmosphere itself feels heavy, oppressive, as though the very walls remember the echoes of past screams. King Aerys sits upon the Iron Throne, his disheveled silver hair cascading in knotted waves around his shoulders now. His eyes blaze with an intensity that is neither entirely sane nor completely mad, but rather somewhere in between, a dangerous twilight that keeps those in his presence on edge in these past months. His once-proud stature has withered under the weight of his paranoia, his frame thinned even more beneath the extravagant robes that drape from his bony shoulders.

"Lord Qarlton Chelsted," Aerys’s voice crackles, sharp as a whip as he stares down at his new Hand, who stands at the base of the Iron Throne. The man bows deeply, though his face betrays a hint of unease. "Speak."

"Sire, I come with news from the battlefield," Chelsted says, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "The battle is over. Lord Jon Connington has fallen... slain by Rhaegar himself."

Aerys does not immediately respond. His long, twisted fingers grip the armrests of the Iron Throne, the blades biting into his skin as if the throne itself hungered for blood. The king tilts his head slightly, his lips twitching in a smile that holds no warmth. The madness in his gaze flickers, like wildfire waiting to consume.

"Jon Connington, my Hand... slain by my treacherous son?" Aerys murmurs, his voice slow, as though tasting the words. He lingers on the word treacherous, as though it holds special meaning to him.

"Aye, Your Grace," Chelsted replies, straightening. "But I swear to serve you loyally. I will be a more—"

"Yes, yes," Aerys waves a hand dismissively, as though Chelsted’s life were a mere afterthought. His attention is no longer on the fallen Hand or the war outside the Red Keep’s walls. His thoughts have wandered somewhere far darker. His eyes gleam, burning with a different kind of fire now. "But what of, Y/N, my daughter?"

A palpable tension fills the room at the mention of you, the daughter of the Mad King. Terrax, who now rests behind the Iron Throne, shifts his great bulk, his tail thumping once against the floor. His head lifts, nostrils flaring as if even at the sound of your name, he senses your absence. The beast's eyes, much like Aerys's, are alight with something primal.

Varys steps forward from the shadows, his movements so fluid and quiet that one could almost forget he was in the room. "Your Grace," the spymaster says in his usual soft, syrupy tone, "there are whispers. Whispers that suggest the princess is in Dorne. Hidden away, though there is little more I can say at this time."

Aerys's eyes narrow, his lips curling back to reveal the yellowed teeth of a serpent about to strike. "In Dorne? My daughter... stolen... by that traitorous son of mine?" His voice rises with each word, his temper flaring, but there is something more, something darker lacing his anger. An obsession that claws at his mind, unrelenting. "She belongs to me!"

Terrax lets out a low growl, a rumble that vibrates through the stone of the throne room, and Aerys's attention shifts to the dragon, a deranged smile curling his lips once more. "Yes, my son... yes. She belongs to us. The mother of dragons. The queen that was promised."

Tywin Lannister stands quietly, his sharp eyes watching the scene unfold. His face betrays nothing, but there’s a calculating gleam there, as if measuring the madness in Aerys’s words and how best to maneuver it. His gaze flickers to Jaime, standing silent as a sentinel by the door. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, and though no words are exchanged, the tension between father and son is tangible. Jaime’s grip tightens on the hilt of his sword, the Kingsguard armor feeling heavier on his shoulders with every breath the king takes.

"My king," Varys interjects smoothly, bringing the king's attention back. "Dorne may yet harbor the princess, but with patience, we will learn more. Our spies are ever vigilant. The people of Dorne, they are not ones to act without reason. Perhaps she is kept there for now, hidden in shadow, waiting. But rest assured, I will know when the time comes."

Aerys leans back into the Iron Throne, the metal spikes and edges digging into his flesh, though he seems not to notice—or perhaps, he enjoys the pain now. His fingers trace one of the jagged edges of the throne, slicing open his finger. A thin line of blood drips down his hand, unnoticed by all but Varys, who watches with cool, calculating eyes.

"She will come back to me," Aerys says, his voice soft now, almost a whisper. "She will come to her dragon. We will be whole again. All of them will burn for this betrayal... all of them."

His words linger in the air, a promise of fire and blood, and Terrax lowers his head, resting it near Aerys's feet, as though the great beast himself understood. As though the dragon, too, awaited the day he would burn the world for his king.

Tywin shifts slightly, his lips pressing together into a thin line. Jaime, still at his post, cannot help but glance at the king, wondering how much longer the madness will be contained—if it ever truly could be.

The room falls silent once more, save for the occasional creak of the Iron Throne and the slow, rhythmic breathing of Terrax behind it.

The winds off the Torrentine River were warm, carrying the scent of salt and stone as they whipped across the walls of Starfall. Perched on the cliffs overlooking the river’s mouth, the ancient castle stood like a sentinel, its pale stone towers catching the light of the midday sun. Below, the river sparkled in shades of silver and blue as it met the Sunset Sea beyond. Starfall’s walls were high, built with the pale stone that gave the castle its name, and they seemed to gleam like starlight even in the brightness of day.

You stood on the edge of the courtyard, watching Arthur Dayne train, the weight of your worries momentarily lifting. His legendary sword, Dawn, gleamed in his hand, the pale blade flashing as it moved through the air with impossible grace. Arthur’s movements were fluid, almost like a dance, each swing of the sword a testament to his mastery. It was mesmerizing, watching him—how effortlessly he wielded the blade that had felled countless foes.

And when Arthur was near, the voices in your head—the dark whispers, the warnings—always fell silent. It was as though his presence calmed something deep within you, a stillness where before there was only unrest.

Your gaze trailed from his sword to his face. The focus in his violet eyes, the way the sun glinted off his sweat-slicked brow, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he trained all made your heart ache. He was beautiful in his strength, in his quiet determination. And he was yours, in a way that only the two of you understood. His loyalty, his affection—they were unshakable, even in these turbulent times.

When he finished, Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to you, his features softening as he caught your gaze. He approached, the familiar warmth of his presence like a shield against the world outside. "You’ve been watching me for some time, haven’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but filled with affection.

You smiled, feeling lighter just by his closeness. "It’s hard not to when you’re so captivating," you replied, stepping closer, the fabric of your dress rustling against the stone as you moved. "Though I wonder," you added, glancing at the sword in his hand, "is it true what they say? That Dawn was forged from the heart of a fallen star?"

Arthur glanced down at the sword, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That is the legend," he said, his voice steady and quiet, the way it always was when he spoke of something deeply meaningful. "They say that long ago, a star fell from the sky, and from the metal within it, the first Dayne forged this sword. Dawn has been passed down through my family for generations, always given to the knight deemed worthy to bear it."

He paused, the tip of the sword resting lightly against the stone at his feet as he looked back at you. "But it is not the sword that makes the knight. It is the honor with which it is wielded."

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "You carry both with such grace, Arthur. I've never seen anything or anyone like you."

His gaze softened, and he reached out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was intimate, familiar, but there was always something more, something deeper between you both. His thumb traced your skin as though trying to memorize every part of you, as if this moment was fragile, fleeting.

"I only wish I could shield you from all of it," he murmured, his voice low, filled with emotion. "You’ve been through so much. Your father... the rebellion... everything. I hate that I can't keep you safe from it all."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, savoring the rare peace that his presence brought you. "When I'm with you, the world feels... quieter," you admitted, your voice a whisper. "Everything falls away, and it’s just us. Even the voices—" you hesitated, glancing up at him, "they go silent as before."

Arthur’s expression tightened, the concern clear in his eyes. "The voices... they're still there, even now after all these months?"

You nodded slowly. "Always. Dark dreams, dark warnings. But when you’re here, it’s as though they can’t reach me."

He drew you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I’ll always be here for you, Y/N." His words were a quiet vow, one that you knew he meant with every fiber of his being.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below blending with the soft breeze. Starfall, for all its ancient grandeur, was peaceful in a way King’s Landing never could be. Its history, though steeped in blood and legend, seemed to settle like a protective blanket over its halls. Here, among the high towers and old stones, it was easy to believe that the world beyond couldn’t touch you.

"Starfall has always felt... different," you mused, resting your head against Arthur’s chest as his arms wrapped around you. "There’s a sense of peace here. Like it's somehow separate from the rest of the realm."

Arthur chuckled softly. "It’s the land of my ancestors. This place has stood for thousands of years. The Daynes have always been here, and the sword..." he paused, tilting his head slightly, "well, perhaps it does carry a bit of that fallen star’s magic. I’ve always felt it too, though I think it has more to do with you."

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart swelling at his words. "Me?"

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, you. There’s something about you, Y/N, something... otherworldly. You have a strength that no one else can see. And I’m drawn to it, just like I’m drawn to you."

The sincerity in his eyes made your breath catch, and for a moment, all the fears, the dark dreams, the war—none of it mattered. All that mattered was Arthur, his arms around you, and the sense of safety he gave you.

"I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as breathing. You didn’t say them often, not because they weren’t true, but because they felt too precious, too fragile to speak aloud too often.

Arthur smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips brushing against yours in a way that was both tender and full of promise. "And I love you, more than you’ll ever know."

The air in the Stormlands was thick with the scent of rain and the promise of battle. The tent’s flaps fluttered softly in the breeze, the canvas walls stained with the grime of weeks of warfare. Outside, the campfires flickered in the dusk, casting long shadows across the muddy ground. The sounds of soldiers preparing for the night echoed faintly—clanking armor, sharpening swords, quiet conversations—but within the tent, the atmosphere was tense, a weight pressing down on the men inside.

Rhaegar Targaryen stood by the map-strewn table, his silver hair falling loosely over his shoulders. His violet eyes were focused, studying the battle lines marked out before him. Robert Baratheon’s forces held the Stormlands with grim determination, their defenses solid despite the prince’s best efforts to break through. The rebellion had grown larger, fiercer than he’d expected, and the weight of it bore down on him like a chain. His fingers traced the inked lines on the map as though they held the answers he sought.

The flap of the tent rustled, and Rhaegar looked up to see Eddard Stark step inside, his face somber, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. The young Stark lord was quieter than most men Rhaegar had fought alongside, but there was a strength in his silence, a kind of unyielding resolve that Rhaegar had come to respect.

"My prince," Eddard said, bowing his head slightly as he approached. "A raven arrived, bearing a message. Varys sent it."

Rhaegar’s heart quickened at the mention of Varys. The spymaster had been his key ally, working behind the scenes to manipulate Aerys’s growing paranoia and keep the Mad King’s attention diverted from his sister. He took the sealed parchment from Eddard’s hand and broke the wax with swift, deliberate motions.

The message was brief, written in Varys’s careful, looping hand:

"Aerys’s eyes have turned to Dorne. All goes as planned."

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. He crumpled the message in his fist and tossed it into the fire pit beside the table. The flames devoured the parchment in moments, leaving only ash behind.

"Varys moves the pieces well," Rhaegar murmured, his voice low, more to himself than to Eddard. He stared into the flames for a moment, watching them dance before he turned to face the Stark lord fully. "But no matter how well the game is played, some pieces can’t be moved easily. And I wonder, Eddard, if Robert is one of those pieces."

Eddard’s face remained impassive, but his brow furrowed slightly as he shook his head. "Robert is... stubborn, my prince. Once he sets his mind on something, it’s hard to pull him away from it. Especially now, with war upon us. His blood is up, and all he sees is victory."

Rhaegar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as weariness settled in his bones. "He’s promised to your sister, is he not? Lyanna. Can’t you talk some sense into him? Remind him what’s at stake? This isn’t just about war. It’s about the future. The realm."

Eddard’s eyes darkened, and a shadow passed over his expression. "Robert loves Lyanna, or at least the idea of her. But this war... it’s no longer just about love or promises. Robert hates the king, as do many. And while he may hate Aerys, he does not hate your sister." Eddard paused, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "The people... they love her. Many speak of the princess with admiration, more than they speak of the king himself. And there are many lords, my prince, who would see her on the throne. Many more who would see themselves beside her."

Rhaegar’s eyes flashed with a brief, irritated gleam. He straightened, his shoulders tense. "I know how much my sister is loved," he said, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. "But I’m not doing this to place her as some prize to be won by ambitious lords. She is not to be another man’s conquest, another ladder for them to climb to power. She’s my blood. And I would see her safe, not used."

Eddard nodded, understanding the conflict in Rhaegar’s heart. "I understand, my prince," he said quietly. "Truly, I do. My father and brother... they loved her too, in their way. They died by dragonfire because of it."

Rhaegar’s expression softened slightly at the mention of Rickard and Brandon Stark, their tragic deaths by the hands of his mad father a stain upon the Targaryen name. "Your father and brother were good men. They died protecting my sister’s honor after Aerys made his intentions clear. I wish their fates had been different."

Eddard’s jaw tightened, and a flash of pain crossed his face. "They stayed longer in the capital than they should have," he said, his voice thick with grief and regret. "Had they left sooner... perhaps they wouldn’t have been there when Aerys declared he would take your sister as his second wife. They might have lived, and the rebellion might have never begun."

Rhaegar was silent for a long moment, his mind turning over the weight of Eddard’s words. The rebellion had been sparked by many things, but Aerys’s obsession with you—his declaration that you, his daughter, would be his bride—had been the breaking point. It was a madness that had consumed the king, and the cost had been paid in fire and blood.

Rhaegar moved toward the edge of the tent, looking out across the camp where his men gathered around their fires. "My father’s madness has cast a long shadow over all of us," he said quietly. "But I won’t let it destroy my sister, or the realm. If I must fight, I will fight for her—for her future."

Eddard stepped closer, his presence solid and reassuring, even in the face of so much uncertainty. "You have allies, my prince," he said firmly. "Men who believe in your cause. Robert may be headstrong, but there are others who will listen. The princess has more support than you know."

Rhaegar’s gaze shifted back to Eddard, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "Let’s hope that support is enough," he said softly. "Because if it’s not, this war will consume everything."

The two men stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of their shared burden pressing down on them like the gathering storm outside. Another war was coming, and with it, the fate of the realm hung in the balance.

The air in Starfall was warm and fragrant, the scent of blooming jasmine and orange blossoms wafting through the castle’s sunlit courtyards. It was a rare day of peace, and you wandered the familiar paths alone, seeking a brief respite from the weight that had been pressing on you since your escape from King’s Landing. Terrax’s absence weighed heavily on you, a constant reminder of the danger that still lingered in the capital. The bond you shared with your dragon was strong, but with him so far away, you felt a deep emptiness, a loss that you couldn’t shake.

As you rounded a corner, your steps faltered. By the fountain in the courtyard, Ashara Dayne was speaking with a woman you recognized immediately. Her long, dark curls cascaded over her shoulders, her sun-kissed skin glowing in the midday light. She was dressed in the loose, flowing garments of the Dornish, her eyes as sharp as the smiles she so often wore.

Ellaria Sand. Oberyn Martell’s paramour.

The woman’s presence here surprised you, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. Dorne had long been a haven for those who defied convention, and Starfall itself was no stranger to intrigue. Still, the sight of Ellaria made your heart quicken with a sense of unease, even as you tried to push it down. What could she want here?

Ellaria caught your gaze before you could slip away. Her lips curled into a playful smile, and her dark eyes sparkled with something that felt like curiosity. "Ah, the dragon princess herself," she called out, her voice rich with the accent of Dorne. "I’ve heard many tales of you, Y/N. Intriguing things, from Oberyn."

Ashara glanced over her shoulder, her expression softening as she saw you approach. She gestured for you to join them. "Y/N," she said warmly. "Come, we were just speaking about you."

You hesitated for a moment, but then forced yourself forward, stepping into the courtyard. The sunlight danced on the surface of the fountain’s water, casting a shimmering light across the smooth stone beneath your feet.

Ellaria smiled, her gaze sweeping over you with clear interest. "I must admit, I was eager to meet you. The stories don’t do you justice."

You forced a polite smile, though you felt the slight shift in the air as something stirred within your mind. A voice, soft at first but growing stronger, whispered faintly in the back of your thoughts: “Stop doing that. Mother shan't be too pleased. None too pleased.”

You blinked, trying to shake the strange sensation. The voice had been absent for so long, quelled in Arthur’s presence, but now it returned, a dark whisper threading through your thoughts like an unwanted guest.

"I hope the stories were flattering," you said, keeping your voice steady as you took a seat beside them. You glanced briefly at Ashara, her serene expression betraying no sign of concern, though she had always been difficult to read.

"Flattering?" Ellaria’s eyes gleamed with mischief. "Some were, but others were... more intriguing than flattering. Oberyn speaks of you with a kind of admiration I’ve rarely heard from him. A Targaryen princess without her dragon at her side, living in secret in the south. It’s the stuff of legends, no?"

Ashara chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "Oberyn always did have a taste for the dramatic."

Ellaria nodded, her smile widening. "True enough. But I see now that the stories pale in comparison to reality. The princess has a fire all her own."

The words, though kind, seemed to carry a weight to them, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that Ellaria was assessing you, as though she were looking beyond your face, beyond your title, to something deeper. You shifted slightly, feeling the heat of the sun on your skin but also the cold grip of the voice still echoing in your mind.

"Mother shan't be too pleased. You know better."

Your stomach twisted, and for a moment, the courtyard seemed to dim. You glanced around, expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows, but there was nothing. Just the voice. Just the quiet reminder of something darker within you.

"Tell me, princess," Ellaria’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. "What is it like, truly, to have a dragon? Oberyn says Terrax is unlike any other, and that your bond is... unique."

Your heart sank at the mention of Terrax. You could feel the distance between you, like a severed thread. He was still in King’s Landing, still under your father’s control, and it pained you every moment you were apart from him. "It’s difficult to describe," you said, your voice quieter now. "It’s... it feels as though he’s a part of me. More than just a creature, more than just a dragon. When we’re together, I feel his thoughts, his emotions. He feels mine. It’s... comforting. But now..."

Ashara’s gaze softened as she listened, but Ellaria’s eyes gleamed with interest. "A bond that deep? It’s no wonder the stories are so grand. The Dornish respect power, and I think they would envy such a bond."

"They envy, they watch, they want. But it’s not theirs. It never will be." The voice was louder now, more insistent, its words laced with an edge that made your skin prickle. “None too pleased, Mother.”

You flinched slightly, your hand gripping the edge of the stone bench beneath you as you tried to shake the voice free. Not now. Not here.

Ellaria must have noticed the flicker of discomfort, for her smile softened, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "You seem... troubled, princess. Is everything well?"

You forced a nod, though you knew it was a lie. "It’s nothing. Just... memories. There’s been much to remember lately."

Ellaria’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if she sensed there was more you weren’t saying, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she leaned back slightly, her demeanor returning to its usual playful charm. "Well, memories are heavy things. But you’re safe here, princess. Safe and among friends."

You managed a small smile, though the words rang hollow in your ears. You were safe in Starfall, but the voices, the dreams—they were always with you. And Ellaria’s words, though kind, couldn’t banish the darkness that lingered at the edges of your thoughts.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—Dorne, Oberyn’s exploits, the happenings in the wider world—you forced yourself to focus, to stay present. But all the while, the voice in your head whispered, a constant, unrelenting reminder that something larger loomed on the horizon, something you could not yet see.

"Mother shan't be too pleased."

The nightmare begins in darkness, as it always does. It pulls you in slowly, insidiously, until you’re no longer aware of what is real and what is not. This time, though, the shadows are thicker, heavier, like a weight pressing against your chest. It’s not just the darkness that surrounds you but the stench of death—rotting flesh, blood, smoke. You can see them now, shapes in the distance, hazy at first, but then they become clear.

Bodies.

Men and dragons alike, lying in twisted, grotesque forms, as if struck down mid-battle, their limbs contorted in unnatural ways. The dragons’ once-magnificent scales are dull, lifeless, their wings tattered and blackened. The ground beneath you is slick with blood, so much blood that it feels as though the earth itself is drowning in it.

You try to move, but your legs won’t obey. You’re rooted to the spot, forced to watch the carnage unfold around you. The sky overhead is red, as though the sun itself has bled out into the heavens, casting everything in a sickening light. The air is filled with the moans of the dying, the cries of the defeated.

And then, a voice. It cuts through the chaos, sharp and cruel, echoing in your head like a distant thunderclap.

"All are blind whose eyes are closed."

The words make no sense, yet they send a shiver down your spine. You try to block them out, but they grow louder, reverberating inside your skull, rattling your very bones. More voices join in, overlapping, like a chorus of madness.

"They see nothing because they choose not to see."

"The storm will come, and none will be spared."

"Ashes, only ashes will remain."

You close your eyes, willing the voices to stop, but it only makes things worse. When you open them again, you’re no longer standing among the dead. Now you’re in the throne room of the Red Keep, but it’s wrong, all wrong. The Iron Throne looms ahead, but it is twisted, a monstrous thing made of jagged, blackened metal, as though the fires of Hell itself forged it. Sitting upon it is a figure you can’t quite make out, obscured in shadow, though you know who it is.

Aerys.

He laughs, a high, manic sound that echoes in the empty hall, and beside him stands a dragon, not Terrax but something far darker, its eyes glowing with an unnatural fire. And at the foot of the throne, lying in a pool of blood, is a child—a babe no older than a few months.

Your heart seizes in your chest, and you take a step forward, but the voice returns, louder, more insistent.

"Death comes for all, even those not yet born."

"The child will die. You cannot stop it."

"The flames will consume them all."

Terror grips you like a vice, and you scream, but no sound comes. The child on the floor doesn’t move. Its tiny body is still, so terribly still.

"Even your child will die, princess."

Your breath catches, and your hand flies to your stomach instinctively, as though you can protect the life that might be there, but the voice laughs, mocking.

"The flames will take it, too."

The nightmare shatters into a thousand jagged pieces, and you wake with a gasp, your heart pounding violently against your ribs. You’re back in the chambers at Starfall, the soft light of the moon filtering through the window. The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below is distant, barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears.

Arthur sleeps beside you, his body warm, his breathing slow and steady. You force yourself to remain still, swallowing down the panic that threatens to rise, trying not to wake him. Your skin is clammy, drenched in cold sweat, and your hand trembles as you place it on your abdomen, the place where life might now be growing.

You bite your lip, holding back the wave of fear. Could it be true? Could you be with child? The possibility had crossed your mind before, but now, after that nightmare, it feels far more real, far more terrifying.

The voices... they had never spoken of a child before. And yet tonight, they did. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the memory of the nightmare back, but the image of the lifeless babe on the floor of the throne room won’t leave you. The voice’s threat lingers in your mind, refusing to fade.

Carefully, you shift, propping yourself up on one elbow, watching Arthur as he sleeps. His face is peaceful in the moonlight, his brow untroubled, his lips slightly parted. For a moment, you’re overcome by the sheer intensity of your feelings for him, how safe he makes you feel, how much you trust him. But now... now you’re not sure if even Arthur can protect you from this.

Could you tell him? Could you burden him with this fear, with the knowledge that you might be carrying his child, even as the world teeters on the brink of war?

You reach out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. The touch is gentle, and he stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. For now, you’ll keep this to yourself. For now, you’ll protect him from the weight of it.

But as you lie back down, staring up at the ceiling, your mind races. You need to be certain. You need to know.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll find out if it’s true.

For now, you’ll try to sleep. Try, though you know that the nightmares will return.

"The child will die."

The voice’s cruel words still echo in your mind as you close your eyes once more, hoping—praying—that sleep will come without the darkness.

The throne room of the Red Keep was sweltering, the air filled with dread and the ever-present scent of smoke and char. The massive iron doors were shut tight, barring the world outside from what was about to unfold within. Terrax, lay coiled behind the Iron Throne, his scales glinting faintly in the low light of the hall. His enormous body stretched across the cold stone floor, a beast far too large for any room in the Red Keep, but Aerys, in his madness, had insisted he remain close.

King Aerys II sat on the Iron Throne with an unsettling calmness, his ragged silver hair framing his face. His pale eyes gleamed with a feverish intensity that betrayed the stillness of his body. There was a flicker of his old instability in those eyes, but for now, he appeared unnervingly composed, watching the men below him with an expression bordering on delight.

"Bring them in," Aerys said softly, his voice carrying through the hall like a snake’s hiss. His long fingers gripped the armrests of the Iron Throne, nails tapping against the twisted swords that formed the seat.

Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy stood at attention near the foot of the throne, their faces carefully neutral, though Jaime’s eyes flickered to Terrax now and then, the dragon’s looming presence making the knight uneasy. Both knew that no matter how calm Aerys appeared now, his moods could shift like wildfire, unpredictable and deadly.

The heavy doors creaked open, and a group of prisoners were dragged inside, their hands bound in chains, their faces drawn with fear. They were accused traitors—men who had dared to speak against the king, who had plotted rebellion or whispered dissent. Their crimes varied, but their fates would be the same.

Aerys leaned forward, his eyes glittering. "Traitors," he murmured, as though savoring the word. "You thought to betray your king, to betray the realm. But you forget that I have a dragon."

He smiled then, a thin, crooked thing, and his gaze shifted to Terrax, who stirred at the mention of his name. The great dragon’s golden eyes opened slowly, glowing with a dim, molten light. His massive tail thumped once against the floor, causing a tremor to ripple through the room.

"Burn them," Aerys commanded, his voice cold, dispassionate. "Let the flames cleanse their treachery."

There was a moment of tense silence before Terrax moved, his great head lifting from the floor, nostrils flaring. The prisoners’ eyes widened in terror, some of them pleading under their breath, others too petrified to speak. But there was no mercy here. The dragon reared up, his neck arching back as his jaws parted. For a brief second, the room was filled with a sickening, heavy anticipation.

Then, with a roar that shook the very walls, Terrax unleashed a torrent of flame. The dragonfire swept over the prisoners, reducing their desperate cries to nothing in a matter of moments. The flames were impossibly bright, and the heat was so intense that even those standing near the throne could feel it singe the air. When the fire died down, nothing remained of the men but charred, blackened bones and smoldering ash.

Aerys watched with a twisted, satisfied grin, his eyes alight with something that was neither relief nor regret, but pure, unadulterated madness. "Beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself. "The flames are so beautiful."

Terrax lowered his head again, smoke curling from his nostrils, but something in the air had changed. The dragon shifted uneasily, his tail lashing once, twice, against the floor with increasing agitation. His eyes, once calm and steady, now flickered with a wildness that had not been there moments before.

Aerys, too absorbed in his own reverie, did not notice. "More," he murmured, his voice growing louder. "We must find more traitors. Let the dragon cleanse them all."

But Terrax wasn’t listening anymore. Something had snapped inside him. The flames that had poured from his mouth moments before now seemed to burn within him, unsettling and uncontrollable. His wings twitched, his breath coming faster, and then, without warning, he let out a thunderous, guttural roar that reverberated through the throne room, shaking the very foundations of the Red Keep.

Jaime’s hand went to his sword, his heart pounding. He glanced at Ser Barristan, whose expression had hardened, but neither moved. Terrax thrashed his tail, knocking over a brazier and sending embers scattering across the floor. The dragon’s eyes glowed brighter, wild, and full of rage.

"Calm him," Barristan muttered under his breath, stepping closer to the king. "Calm him now, before—"

Aerys, oblivious to the growing danger, waved a dismissive hand. "He is my dragon," he said, his voice cracking with arrogance. "He will obey me. Terrax!"

The dragon snarled, his head swinging toward the throne, teeth bared. For a moment, it looked as though the beast would strike, his eyes locking onto the mad king’s form with a fiery intensity that sent a ripple of unease through the room.

"Terrax!" Aerys barked, his tone sharp, commanding. "Do as your king commands!"

But Terrax did not obey. His rage had consumed him. With a deafening shriek, he turned toward the doors of the throne room, his wings unfurling in one swift, powerful motion. The force of his wings sent a gust of wind through the hall, knocking over banners and rattling the ancient windows.

"Open the doors!" Jaime shouted, his voice ringing with urgency. Barristan was already moving, rushing toward the doors to throw them open.

Terrax lunged forward, his enormous claws scraping against the stone floor, his tail smashing into one of the pillars as he charged toward the exit. The massive iron doors groaned as they swung open just in time for the dragon to escape, his huge body barely squeezing through the entrance.

"Stop him!" Aerys screamed from the throne, his calmness shattered. His voice was high-pitched, desperate. "He is mine! Bring him back!"

But it was too late. With a terrifying, ear-splitting screech, Terrax launched himself into the air, his wings beating furiously as he took flight, disappearing into the darkening sky above the Red Keep.

The throne room fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the crackling of embers still smoldering on the stone floor.

Aerys, his face pale with fury, gripped the arms of the Iron Throne so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "He will return," he hissed, his voice shaking with a barely contained rage. "He is mine, and he will return, just as my daughter."

But in his heart, there was a flicker of doubt—one that he would never admit.

[wandixx]

Greeting comrades,

I’m Wandixx, a history enthusiast, baby writer and budding artist. Grab your tea/coffee/juice or whatever else beverage you favor and let’s go!

I’m part of the DPxDC fandom so my fics are from here. And this list exists so we all can find anything on this blog, welcome!

Here is my AO3:

My finished fics/prompt fills:

“Blood Blossom”:

Desperate times require desperate solutions. When, after escaping GIW, Danny gets trapped by the Justice League, he has only one way to get out of it. Eating a Blood Blossom. (this one includes a sad and happy ending!)

“Contingencies”:

Danny lives with Bats and it all seems to go pretty well. Until they find his contingency plans, including ones against himself, that were just over glorified suicide to-do list. How the hell are they supposed to handle that (that’s a chunky boi, over 20k)

“Ghost of fries and hero of cookies”

Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay Or Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of a local hero? And he looked like he needed a bad day combo anyway. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, art AO3 link

“Reverse summoning”:

It’s always DC characters summoning Danny. How about we do this another way around? Danny was desperate for a mentor and help (and some cold medicine). How- What- Why is Wonder Woman standing in his bedroom? 

“Unknown, the Wandering Hero”:

Unknown was who Justice League called the friendly anonymous hero, who kept helping them with ghosts. Only one with powers working on them. It just turns out, they were much younger than everyone expected. Danny went through a lot lately and the less people knew who he was, the less likely he was to return to the operating table.

Stuff that I shared snippets of:

"Danny and Wally are chaos incarnate"

"Dani's dress-up game and Batman's rouge gallery" (also known as "serious chaos one-shot snippet")

"GIW made a lot of mistakes and the biggest one was going against Young Justice" part 1

"Danny, the Young Justice member" random ideas part 1, part 2

The stuff I have somewhere on paper and would love to share if asked.

Make yourself at home, and I hope you’ll like it here!

[polyamorousmood]

Hi there, I want to thank you first for running such a helpful page!

So I'm actually just starting to explore polyamory. My girlfriend has been poly since I met her over a dating site, but I'll admit when we first started dating my insecurities made me not want to hear much about her other partners.

But over time, I started realizing not only that I may want to date more people but that I was missing out on a part of my girlfriend by avoiding something that is a feature of her person. And luckily we did have a good talk about it! We are gonna have a tabletop game night soon for me to hang with some of her partners, and maybe I'll be lucky and they find something to like in me too.

But honestly, it still gives me some anxiety to see her talk about her time with other people. I hate feeling jealous like that after wanting to work on it! I just really love her and don't want my insecurities to make us break up. Do you have any good advice for how I can help reassure and center myself?

I just want this girl to be happy and I'd like to be able to continue to be someone who makes her happy

Well, then I'll start by saying you're welcome! I'm so pleased you get something nice out of this blog 🥰

I have talked several times about how to handle jealousy I was going to post links, but honestly, it'd be like 6 links at this point. Search for "#jealousy" on this blog and you can find them. Please read those, they contain good thoughts.

I am struggling to find the words to explain just how touching I find it that you're opening up to this side of your partner. Its the sweetest, most beautiful of revelations. As a poly person I feel what you said is very true, and I would be really touched you're wanting to open that up.

I would therefore also be very concerned with making sure it went well, and be willing to do a lot to help you out. So I think it'd be a good idea for you to make dedicated time to thoroughly talk over your concerns with your partner before, and talk about how you felt about everything after. I find it useful to mention anything, even if you dealt with it and it ended up okay. Its totally fair and in fact probably helpful to your partner to say "it was a little weird at first when you gave X a hug, but I realized that was stupid and I think I'm okay now."

I think for someone in your position, who is working on expanding what you're comfortable with -- and as something not mentioned in the other posts I've made -- its going to be important to find the sweet spot for growth. That is, generally exposing yourself to situations that are uncomfortable, but that you're able to accept/work through/handle. Factors for this could include (but are not limited to):

length of exposure

topics/types of discussion (sex, similarities/differences between you and other partners, attractiveness, (dis)enjoyment of activities with other partners, etc)

type of activity

what sort of affection is shared with whom

the degree of "publicness"

Think it through, and start out with some things you know you can handle. Again, if you want to make progress, you should be seeking something that is a bit uncomfortable, but not so much discomfort you can't get over it in a timely manner. (As an example, my cutoff would probably be something like "I'm still bothered by the end of the next day, and after talking to my partner about it," but its okay if yours is somewhere else.)

Also worth noting you don't have to have a "total success" to be successful here. There may be certain things you're never fully comfortable with seeing/hearing about. Since it sounds like everyone else is okay with you not being comfortable with any knowledge, I'd be surprised if it'd be a problem for you to maintain a few boundaries about it, even after you've put in a lot of work to being more open.👍

Since you mentioned already that you're uncomfortable with her sharing things she'd done with others, I'd like to offer three points to that specifically.

Congrats fr fr on that self-awareness! 🧠Legit you should be proud

You can start small here too. If you're not ready to know full details about something, but want to try something, maybe just ask her to give you a one-sentence summary when you ask how it went so you can practice!

I want to offer you a reframing here. I think you're likely feeling insecure when she mentions fun with her other partners because your thought is something sorta like "she has so much fun with them, she can't even stop thinking about it when she's with me... she must like that more..." . . . But what if... instead... you worked on replacing that thought with something like "she loves me so much, she wants to share even her special experiences from her other partners with me"? Does that feel more wholesome? and do you think that paints your partner in a kinder light, too?

I wish you the very best of luck, but quite frankly, I don't think you need it. I think you've done very well so far, and will continue to do so under your own power. And I do hope you feel powerful for tackling this.

And as always, I LIVE for updates. I'm proud of you!! 💙💖🖤🥰

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Forgotten Nest (Part 5) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 3.9k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Father Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; Arguing; Verbal Altercation; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: Cora and Nickie talk. Rooster and Maverick argue.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Master List

Nickie grabbed his doorknob and slowly turned it didn’t make a sound. His mom called him out of school and although she offered to take him somewhere special, Nickie told her that he just wanted to be left alone. And for the whole day, his mom didn’t bother him. And he was hoping that she didn’t come up for the next hour or so.

Opening the door slowly, Nickie glanced down the stairs to see if his mom heard him, before sliding down the hall. Nickie quietly entered the small room at the end of the hall. Carefully rifling around, Nickie slid out two plastic boxes that were covered in dust and all the way at the back. He carried them back to his room and shut the door behind him softly.

Nickie opened the first box and started looking around for any information that he could find on one person—Bradley Bradshaw. His father. DNA donor. His mom’s ex? Nickie didn’t really know what to call him at this point.

Sifting through all of the random papers and photos, Nickie pulled out a thick photo album. Setting it on the ground, he flipped open the cover. He vaguely recognized the handwriting scrawled there, and when he saw the first set of photos, he quickly identified the author.

Carole. Carole Bradshaw. His grandmother.

Whenever Cora talked about Goose or Carole to him, she always talked about them as if they were his grandparents, which Nickie didn’t really think meant anything. He called Ice ‘Pops’ just like he would Maverick, after all.

Nickie knew he was named after Goose—Maverick told him back when he was probably six or so. But Nickie just always assumed that it was because his mom and grandfather been so close with Goose and Carole, not because his mom was honoring his actual grandfather.

Flipping through the photos of a young Carole, Goose, and Maverick, Nickie paused when he saw a set of wedding photos. Goose stood in his dress whites, waving happily at the crowd, while Carole wore a simple white lace dress that did very little to hide the prominent baby bump that she was sporting and seemed to be giggling with glee.

Did young unplanned pregnancies run on both sides of his family? Suddenly his grandfather’s very stern lecture just a few months ago made more sense to him.

After the wedding photos, there were a few more of Carole pregnant, before Nickie flipped the page and saw a photo of his . . . of Bradley as a newborn in the hospital. Goose and Maverick were in several photos with Goose holding Bradley in just about every other one.

Twenty-three hours later. Baby Goose was very stubborn, was what Carole wrote there.

Nickie flipped through a few more pages of baby Bradley Bradshaw, subconsciously picking out the similarities between the two of them, until suddenly there was another baby in the photos. Cora. His mom. And though there were individual photos of both Cora and Bradley, the vast majority of the photos involved both of them.  

Cora and Bradley really had known each other for their whole lives. And that, in the back of Nickie’s mind, made Bradley’s decision to leave and never look back all that much worse.

Nickie kept flipping through the photos. Goose and Maverick popped in occasionally but Nickie assumed that they were busy being deployed to be pictured often. Flipping to another page, Nickie paused when a simple set of dog tags and a funeral card were preserved.

Carole’s note read: The day that my heart died. July 29, 1986.

Gently pulling out the funeral card, Nickie flipped it over to see a photo of his grandfather. Goose. The man that he never got to meet. The man that his mom admitted that she barely remembered. She had only been three or so when he died, after all. And Nickie had to wonder if it was some kind of Bradshaw curse to grow up without a dad.

Not that he was a Bradshaw. He was a Mitchell. He was Nicholas Peter Mitchell.

Shaking his head, Nickie put the funeral card back and pulled out the set of dog tags. Goose’s dog tags. Running his thumb over the thin metal, wondering about the man that he was named after, Nickie suddenly looked up when he heard his mom’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Nickie? Did you want dinner?”

“Just a second, Mom!” Nickie yelled back, hurrying to shove the dog tags back into the album.

Carefully putting the photo album back into the box, Nickie scrambled to hide them. But before he could do anything more than haphazardly shove them behind his bed, his mom knocked on his door.

“Nickie? Are you alright?”

“Just a second!”

Nickie hurried over to his bedroom door. Yanking it open, he tried and failed to act casual, earning an immediately concerned look from his mom.

“Hey, Mom.”  

“Why are you covered in dust?” Cora asked immediately, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not . . .” Nickie started to say before he noticed that his shirt and shorts were very much covered in gray dust, “. . . covered in . . . dust.”

“Nickie,” Cora sighed, looking completely concerned about him, “what are you doing?”

“Just . . . cleaning.”

“Well, you missed all of the dirty clothes on your floor,” Cora stated without missing a beat. She didn’t even need to look into his room to know that. She could just sense it. Resuming her concerned mom expression, however, Cora tilted her head to the side. “What’s going on?”

Sighing, Nickie stepped to the side and let his mom into his bedroom. Cora stepped further into the room until she spotted the two plastic boxes full of old memories that she tucked deep into the closet for a reason. Cora slowly turned back to Nickie with a resigned expression.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

Silently, Nickie sat on his bed and Cora sat down next to him. Reaching into the box, Nickie flipped to the page that he had been on, causing Cora to look all the more depressed at the sight of Goose’s dog tags. She specifically tucked in there after Carole died so that they didn’t set off Bradley or Maverick.

“I know that you always told me that Grandpa Goose died young, but . . .” Nickie trailed off quietly.

“He died at Top Gun. While he was training there with your grandfather. Maverick,” Cora stumbled over her words. “There was a training exercise and they flew into some jetwash and there was a mechanical failure during the ejection and . . .”

Turning to her son, whom she had named for the second father that she lost out over the seas that were not that far from her now, Cora swallowed thickly.

“His ejection failed and he hit the canopy and . . . that was it.”

Cora turned back to the photo album and slowly pulled the dog tags out. Grabbing Nickie’s wrist gently, she placed the dog tags in his hand.

“They’re yours, if you want them,” Cora stated, causing Nickie to nod slow. “Just try not to show them off around your grandfather when he’s . . . you know, when he gets—"

“—I won’t,” Nickie promised, placing the dog tags on his night stand.

Silently, the mother and son flipped through the photos. Cora would point out certain events or little secret memories to her son, who listened intently to every little bit of information that she had for him. Coming to the page for one of Bradley’s birthdays, Cora couldn’t help her soft smile. Bumping Nickie with her shoulder, Cora looked up at her son.

“Remember how when you were small and I used to put little random drops of food dye in the cake and mix it all together?” Cora suggested, causing Nickie to nod along. “Well, that was one of Carole’s old recipes. She’d make it for me and for . . . Bradley for our birthdays all the time.”

Cora flipped through a couple of the photos herself, getting lost in her own memories of the happier times when Carole was alive and well. It was hard to not think about how life would have turned out if Carole never got sick.

“Most of the baking recipes that I have are from her,” Cora mumbled out, lost in her thoughts.

“She was a good cook?”

“The best. She never let anyone leave her home hungry,” Cora replied, turning back to her son with a soft smile. “She was a tough woman. A strong woman. And she had a bigger heart than most of the population combined.” Flipping to another page, Cora choked back some tears as she cupped her son’s cheek and rubbed it with her thumb. “You got her smile.”

“What happened to her?” Nickie asked quietly, causing Cora to nod and look down again.

“She got sick. Cancer,” she stated softly. “They caught it late and . . . there was nothing that anyone could do.” Discreetly wiping a tear from her cheek, Cora sniffled before turning back to her son. “She went very fast. Very fast. It was only a few months between the diagnosis and . . . and the end.”

“Was . . . should I get checked?” Nickie inquired curiously, causing Cora to turn to him quickly.

“Oh, honey, no, no you’re fine. It was ovarian cancer,” Cora explained softly, resting a hand on Nickie’s shoulder. “You and . . . and Bradley . . . you’re both fine.”

“Where’re they buried? Goose and Carole?” Nickie asked curiously after a few moments of silence. “I don’t remember visiting them.”

“They were buried out east. Virginia. It’s where your grandfathers were first stationed out of flight school. It’s where their house used to be.” Turning to Nickie with a sad smile, Cora offered him some strength. “Did you want to go and visit them one day?”

“If we can.”

“Yeah, we can go one day,” Cora agreed, staring down at the photo of Carole, herself, and Bradley.

“Do we . . . is there still family out there?”

“Not very close ones,” Cora replied honestly, wracking her brain. “Both of your grandparents were only children. And both their parents died long ago, so . . . no, I don’t think so.”

“So, Bradley . . . he had no one else to go to . . . except you and Grandpa?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Cora responded, nodding along.

“Then why did he leave? Did he really want to be by himself that badly?” Nickie asked, trying to put the pieces together.

It didn’t make sense in his mind. If Bradley was raised alongside Cora and with Maverick as his stand-in father, why did he leave? When he had nowhere else to go? Why did he leave Cora in the dust like that? Was he just that big of an asshole?

“No, Nickie, he was just . . . angry,” Cora sighed, smoothing down the fabric of her pants.

“Why?”

“Him and your grandfather had a fight,” Cora began, staring down at the floor. “A big fight.

“About what?”

“About . . .” Cora sighed, rubbing her face with her hand. “About the Navy.”

“What about the Navy?” Nickie pressed, anxiety suddenly lacing his features.

“Your grandfather, he . . . Bradley . . .” Cora cut herself off and started over. “Ever since I can remember, Bradley wanted to go into the Navy. Your Grandpa Goose went to the Naval Academy and then to flight school and Bradley wanted to do the exact same thing. He wanted to carry on his dad’s legacy.”

Nickie sunk a bit more into his bed, looking at the floor as his mom continued with the story.

“And your grandfather . . . Maverick, he—I don’t know how he did it—but he ruined or pulled or did something to Bradley’s application to the Naval Academy and because Bradley was a legacy and a Gold Star kid, he should have gotten in. So, Bradley went digging, called the school, and somehow figured out that Maverick messed with his application and then . . ."

Cora sighed, holding her head in her hands for a moment, remembering that awful night and all of the words that got thrown around. She cried so hard after Bradley left in a fit of rage that she threw up. But, then again, maybe there was another cause behind that.  

“And then he left,” Cora stated softly, picking her head up again.

“Gramps pulled my d—Bradley’s application to the Naval Academy?” Nickie asked quietly with his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes. It’s what they’re still fighting about to this day,” Cora responded honestly.

And your existence, she thought, though she never would have said in a million years to her son.

Nickie sat back on his bed, lost in a train of thought. Cora gave him some time to process, assuming that he was emotionally exhausted from the last few days. And while that was true, that was not the main reason behind Nickie’s sudden silence.

He knew that his Grandpa Mav didn’t like the Academy. And he knew that Maverick wouldn’t have exactly been thrilled with Nickie’s desire to go there? But did Nickie ever think that his grandfather had it in him to actually pull someone’s application? No.

That didn’t justify what Bradley did, but holy hell Nickie was starting to feel scarily close to the man.

What was it that Ice always told him?

Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.

Cora looked away from her son when her phone started to buzz. Pulling out her phone, she spotted the Kazansky name. Cora gaze Nickie’s shoulder a tight squeeze before standing up and moving to answer the call in the hallway. Nickie was still caught up in his own thoughts for a moment, but snapped his head up when he suddenly heard his mom cry out.

“Mom?” Nickie called worriedly, getting up from his bed. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Nickie raced out of his room, causing the dwindling sunlight to rest on a photo of Maverick and Ice holding Nickie as a baby and Goose’s dog tags, which Nickie had just placed on his nightstand.

~~~~~

Bradley was stewing, absolutely stewing, in a mess of emotions in the ready room.

He swore that he could still hear the explosion echoing through the comms after Phoenix and Bob’s plane burned in. The clear edge of fear and panic that entered Phoenix’s voice when she yelled for Bob to eject from her backseat. Maverick’s screams for Coyote rattled around in there too, along with the altitude warning systems.

Bradley had never lost a wingman before and now he nearly lost three in one day. One right after the other. And, of course, Maverick was the only aviator up in the air when shit hit the fan that seemed to walk out of it unscathed. Like he always managed to do.

And don’t even get Rooster started on the emotional toll that was still weighing on him from yesterday.

Bradley hadn’t slept and he barely ate since that confrontation at the Mitchell house. He briefly fell asleep on the floor by his door, after crying out every last bit of moisture that his body could expel, but it wasn’t much. If Phoenix or any of the other Daggers noticed the dark bags under his eyes, they didn’t speak about it.

But honestly, right now, it was the silence that killed Bradley.

The silence let his thoughts run wild and untethered. He had already run through at least a thousand scenarios about how the situation with Cora happened and none of it made him feel any better. They all made him feel sick to his stomach.

It still didn’t feel real. It still didn’t feel possible. And yet it was.

Cora was pregnant when he left. But that wasn’t possible, he argued with himself. Except it was. It definitely was. It was so possible that Rooster wanted to smack his head through a wall for being dumb enough to not think about the risk back then. Jesus Christ, how could he have been so stupid? How could they have both been so stupid?

And Nickie—his son—how did he not recognize him at the Hard Deck? How did he not feel some kind of instinctual pull towards his own son? And hell, the kid was a walking sign that screamed ‘Bradshaw.’ All that he was missing was a mustache and a Hawaiian shirt. And his name was Nickie, Nick, Nicholas—whatever—after his dad. After Goose.

God, Bradley could have laid there for hours and cried about that. He did, actually.

And Cora, Jesus Christ, he blocked her number early. The night that he left after she tried calling him about twenty times. And by the time that he even thought to unblock it, she had probably given up on him already.

She raised Nickie by herself. Without him. With Maverick probably standing right there, waiting to swoop in and talk about how Bradley wasn’t ready to be a dad. How he wasn’t good enough or strong enough or prepared enough.

The door opened behind Rooster and Maverick—the son of a bitch—stepped into the ready room. Maverick took a few steps into the ready room, but Bradley didn’t acknowledge him. Not right away. He didn’t deserve acknowledgement after what he did, in Rooster’s opinion.

“They’ll keep Phoenix and Bob in the hospital overnight for observation but they’re going to be okay.”

Bradley nodded, but otherwise refused to acknowledge Maverick. Bradley was concerned that he would knock Maverick’s lights out if he did. His anger with Cora was still there, but it was more hurt than any anything else. Guilt, overwhelming and all-consuming guilt, and pain. He felt a stab in the gut every time that he thought about her, about the struggles that she probably went through without him. 

But with Maverick? That was all rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

“Rooster?”

Standing up from his chair so quickly that he threw the chair back onto the floor, Rooster spun around, almost rabid. Maverick was sickeningly getting used to receiving death glares from Goose’s son and slowly widened his stance, as if he was expecting Rooster to charge at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about my son? Huh? You didn’t think that I deserved to know that I had a son!?”

“We tried to reach out to you,” Maverick stated, keeping his voice calm and his gaze steady. “Cora must have sent you a hundred—”

“—I’m not talking about her! I’m talking about you!”

Bradley took a few steps forward and Maverick steeled his expression, ready to take the brunt of Rooster’s wrath. He was more than prepared to take it.

“You used all of your favors with the Navy to pull my fucking Academy papers, but when it came time for you to get in contact with me or track me down to tell me that I had a kid that I didn’t know about, you just said fuck it and didn’t look for me? Didn’t try to get to me through that!?”

“Cora didn’t want me to do that,” Maverick stated calmly.

“That’s bullshit.”

“What’s bullshit is the fact that you blocked her in the first place,” Maverick snapped back, some of his own frustration coming to the surface. “I understand why you were mad at me after the whole Academy papers incident, but why the hell did you ever take it out on Cora?”

“She took your side that night and I wasn’t thinking straight!”

“And what about all the other days since then?” Maverick demanded, causing Rooster’s eyes to flash. “Because there’s been a couple.”

“You son of a bitch,” Rooster cursed, shaking his head at Maverick as he clenched his fists at his sides. “You think that you’re some kind of saint, Maverick?”

“No,” Maverick replied immediately.

“You were barely there for Cora when she was growing up! It wasn’t until my mom got sick that you ever stuck around! So, stop rubbing it in my face that you’re some kind of perfect father!”

“I’m not a perfect father!” Maverick shouted out, letting some of his own emotions show. “I let my teenage daughter get knocked up by some dumbass, selfish kid under my own goddamn roof because I was more focused on my career! I let my daughter suffer and stress and agonize over raising her son by herself for sixteen years when I really should have tracked you down and given you the biggest kick in the ass of your life!”

Maverick paused, glaring daggers at Rooster for the first time in . . . ever, really.

“Do you have any idea what you took from her? I love Nickie. I love my grandson with every last bit of my soul and I would do anything for him. I wouldn’t trade him for the world. But do you know what it was like watching Cora struggle? Watching her have to put off college? Watching her go for days, weeks, months with about two hours of sleep a night? Be degraded? Shunned?”

“Why did you pull my papers?” Rooster demanded, causing Maverick to narrow his eyes again. “If you didn’t pull my papers, if you just let me—”

“—I shouldn’t have pulled your papers,” Maverick interjected, causing Rooster to straighten up. “That was wrong and I regret it.” Tilting his chin up slightly, Maverick narrowed his eyes slightly at Rooster. “Do you have any regrets, Bradley?”

“Not with you,” Rooster stated evenly before grinding his teeth together.

“That’s fine,” Maverick replied calmly with narrowed eyes. “But make it right.”

“I don’t need any help or advice from you, Maverick,” Rooster snapped defensively. “You’re the one who pulled my papers and set this whole chain of—”

“—Stop with the fucking excuses, Bradley!” Maverick interjected, losing his composure. “Your dad knocked your mom up and you know what he did? He married her! Bought her a house! He was there with her in the delivery room! He changed diapers, did feedings, all of that! And you couldn’t even open a single goddamn letter or answer one fucking phone call from Cora!”

“So, what?” Bradley scoffed, shaking it off as his emotions got tucked back into that pocket deep in his chest. “You going to tell me that he’d be disappointed in me, Maverick? That my mom would be disappointed in me? Is that what you’re going to do?”

“No,” Maverick stated, staring up at Bradley. “I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”

“Yeah, well, they trusted you, Mav,” Rooster returned fire, flames burning in his belly and in his eyes. Or were those tears? “And look where it got them.” He straightened up to his full height, towering over Maverick. “I won’t make the same mistake.”

The silence after that exchange was absolutely deafening on both sides as Rooster and Maverick simply glared and each other with hurt and anger and heavy emotions ripe in the air. But then the door to the ready room opened and Warlock broke the tension, calling for Maverick.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Tags: @xoxabs88xox @eternallyvenus @mygyn @kmc1989 @thegoddessc @midnightmagpiemama @badasspizzalover @praline357 @oatmealisweird @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @abaker74 @avengersfan25 @yogabigooby @daisydaisygoose @sgt-barnesveins @angelbabyange @percysaidnever @artemissunn

(If I forgot you in the tags, don’t be afraid to ask again because I’m definitely scatterbrained when it comes to that but please have a reference to your age somewhere on your blog (bio, pinned post) or just message me!)

[burntheedges-updates]

over again, epilogue: together

Joel Miller x f!reader | 18+ minors DNI | word count: 6.4k

summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him and your whole family in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming. or, five times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse (and one time you did something about it) chapter tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, banter, light angst, kissing, pet names (darlin’, baby, honey, pretty girl), Joel calls reader a good girl, neck grabbing (no breath play), light manhandling, grinding, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), deepthroating, light choking, p in v sex (no condom this time, but use a condom, y’all), creampie, praise kink, light anal play, face sitting, if I missed anything please let me know! a/n: I cannot believe this is the last part (this is the +1 - the time they did something about it). I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think!

series main post | series playlist | ao3 ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges

Epilogue: Together

Austin, December 2002

Almost two years in, and sometimes you couldn’t believe how happy you were with Joel. Almost two and a half, really, if you counted the 6 months you spent getting to know each other but holding yourselves back. 

You had a memorable second Christmas together – you stayed with the Millers for your entire holiday break from teaching, only running next door to your house to get random things you needed as they came up. Sarah, then 13, had been excited about it for weeks, though her excitement hadn’t died down after Christmas itself. You weren’t sure why, but she was still practically bouncing off the walls of the Miller household. Joel easily agreed to let her go to a New Year’s sleepover to burn off some of her energy.

A couple of days before New Year’s Eve you came back from a grocery run to an empty house. You knew Tommy had driven Sarah to the mall, but Joel should’ve been there somewhere. You called for him and heard a thump from the backyard, so you set down your bags and wandered out to see what he was up to. You found him up on a ladder, hammer in hand, string lights trailing over his shoulder and already secured in other places on the tall fence around the backyard.

“What’s all this?” you asked, coming to stand beside the ladder to steady it. It had rained earlier, but now it was just foggy and a little chilly. For Texas, anyway. You shivered.

Joel grunted, voice muffled by the nail he was holding with his lips. “I wanted to do something nice for Sarah for New Year’s.”

“Isn’t she going to that sleepover?”

“Yeah, but she’ll be back the next day. Thought we could celebrate it together.” You rested your hand on his ankle and smiled up at him. He was such a good dad, always thinking of little details like this that would brighten her day.

“Need any help?”

“No, I’m ‘bout done. Hey, could you go make us some coffee? Maybe we can sit out here for a bit when I’m done, think about what else we could do to decorate.”

“Sure, baby.” You squeezed his ankle and headed off to do just that.

It took you about 20 minutes to put away the groceries and make some coffee the way you both liked it. By the time you wandered back outside, Joel had finished the lights and put away the ladder. The string lights were glowing softly all around the back yard. You smiled a little, noticing that he’d also put down a large blanket in the middle of the yard and set up the boombox nearby. 

“¡Que Bonito!” was playing quietly, but Joel was nowhere to be seen. 

“Joel? You out here?” 

You whirled to your left, careful with the coffee, as he cleared his throat from behind you, near the door to the house. Somehow he’d managed to sneak in and change without you noticing. He was wearing a black button up and nicer jeans than he had been 20 minutes ago. 

Before you could ask what was going on, he walked towards you and took the coffees from you, setting them carefully on the low table the boom box was sitting on. “Come here, darlin’.” He guided you into a slow dance, starting to sway back and forth.

“What’s the occasion?”

He hummed, pulling you closer. “Just dance with me, pretty girl.” 

You realized he wasn’t going to tell you, at least not yet, so you relaxed into it. You rested your face on his chest as he rested his cheek on top of your head.

You swayed gently together, and the soft glow of the new string lights made everything feel soft and romantic. You sighed and let yourself sink into him. 

When the song ended you felt Joel tense a little. You tried to raise your head, but he suddenly relaxed and tucked your head back to his chest with his left hand. You realized the next track was “Amazed,” and you started to smile.

Sure enough, Joel ducked his head and put his lips right to your ear as he started to sing along softly with the song. You closed your eyes and let his deep voice wash over you.

I don't know how you do what you do I'm so in love with you It just keeps gettin' better I wanna spend the rest of my life With you by my side Forever and ever Every little thing that you do Baby I'm amazed by you

He sang through the first chorus, but then trailed off. He slowly stopped swaying you back and forth. You raised your head, and he let you this time. His eyes caught yours as he stepped back from you, your brow furrowed in confusion as he took a deep breath.

And then he dropped to one knee. 

Your hands flew up to cover your mouth, eyes wide, as Joel reached into his pocket and revealed a small black box. Your whole body was tingling and you sucked in a sharp breath.

He said your name softly as he opened the box, not breaking eye contact once.

“I was planning to wait until New Year’s Eve, bring you out here at midnight and ask you to spend the rest of your life with me. But when you came home earlier, you looked so goddamn beautiful and so right, here in our home. I couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Darlin’, I started falling in love with you standing in my driveway, watching you smile at me and our daughter over those bushes. I didn’t let myself admit it right away, but that’s the truth of it. And then I spent months falling deeper and deeper, sitting with you on your back porch, ‘n every new thing I learned about you just pulled me in more. But I was stuck in my own fear until that day you watched over our girl and took such good care of her and told me you loved her. And I knew it then. I knew you were the one for me, the one for us, and I needed to stop being so afraid to let you in.”

You realized you’d started crying and you wiped away your tears, a huge smile taking over your face. Joel watched you intently and visibly powered through it instead of reaching out to you.

“Every moment with you blows me away, baby. I didn’t think I would ever be this happy. I want to spend the rest of my life making you smile just like that, hearing about your day, watching you be a mom to our little girl, holding you when you need comfort, marveling at how smart you are. I want to bump shoulders in the kitchen as we do dishes together and catch you as you stumble when you’re too tired after a night of dancing to make it up the stairs. I want to dance with you every day, even when we’re old and our backs hurt with every step. I want to watch you watch our daughter grow up. I want to see you every morning when I wake up and I want your cold feet to snuggle under mine in bed. I want to spend every night in bed with you, touching you and kissing you and making you come so hard your legs shake.” He grins and winks at you, and you laugh. You can’t help it.

“I love you so much, darlin’. I want to take the long way with you. I want you here, with us, together, for the rest of our days. Will you marry me?” 

You flung yourself at him before he even finished the question, and he caught you around the waist, laughing and keeping the both of you from toppling over. 

“Yes! I love you so much, Joel Miller. Yes, I’ll marry you. I want all of that too. I want it so bad, baby.” He grinned at you, and you saw he’d teared up a bit too. You were both a mess, teary and smiling, as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

You both looked at it for a moment, stunned, before he took your hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back of your fingers with his eyes closed. He whispered, “I never saw you coming, darlin’, you took my breath away from the first moment.” He opened his eyes and when he met your gaze he smiled, slow. “Come here, pretty girl.” He pulled you in by your hand and drew you into a deep, slow kiss that stole your breath. With his left hand at your back he lowered you onto the blanket he’d put out, nestled under the trees. 

Joel hovered over you, pressing small kisses all over your face and trailing down your neck. You threaded your fingers through his hair and sighed. 

“Let me make you feel good, baby.” He moved to take off your clothes at the same time your hands moved to his buttons. After a bit of laughter and fumbling, both of you were stripped bare, right there in the yard, hidden by the trees. He looked down at you from where he hovered above you on all fours, cock already hard and hanging heavy between his legs. 

“Look at you, beautiful. Laid out for me all perfect, wearing nothing but my ring.” He dipped down to pull your nipple into his mouth, and you moaned. “That’s right baby, let me hear you.” He reached over and turned up the volume on the boombox slightly. 

You moved your left hand to cup his face, and he immediately turned into it to kiss where your ring sat on your finger. “What do you want, pretty girl?”

You reached down and held his cock lightly in your right hand. You wanted what you knew would drive him over the edge – what always made him lose control. “I want you to fuck my face, baby.”

He groaned, dropping his head to your chest. “Fuck.”

“I want you to come up here and feed me your cock. Come on, cowboy.” You moved your hands to his hips and urged him forward. 

“Baby, I want–“ he started to protest.

You pulled his head up so he had to meet your gaze. “Fuck. My. Mouth.” You could see him shudder, his eyes blown wide as his mouth dropped open. He scrambled to do as you asked. 

His big thighs came up to surround you, sturdy on either side of your head. You hummed, pleased. He leaned forward to find the right angle and you stuck out your tongue to meet the tip of his cock as it lowered towards your face. He groaned loudly. His hips moved closer, suddenly, like it was out of his control. You opened your mouth and extended your tongue, flat. 

Joel was breathing fast, but he lowered his hips perfectly so that the head of his cock landed right on your tongue. You realized he must have been watching and tilted your head back to look. You met his gaze, upside down, his head hanging between his shoulders. He looked completely undone and you’d barely touched him. You smiled as he slowly sank the head of his cock into your wide open mouth. 

He groaned as he pushed inside, not too far yet. He knew you loved this, and he fucking loved it too, but he was always a little afraid of hurting you at first. Always cautious. You positioned your mouth and throat so that he could push father, but he pulled back out and you hummed. You reached up and lightly slapped his ass cheek before grabbing his hips to urge him forward. 

“Ok, baby, ok. I just don’t want to choke you.” He breathed out a laugh, sounding completely wrecked. You pinched his ass. “Ok, I know, I don’t want to choke you too much.” This time he sank down further and you tried to open your throat to welcome him in. You swirled your tongue over his shaft as the tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck baby that feels so fucking good. Fuck.” He pulled back out and, a bit faster, thrust back inside. You hummed and squeezed your thighs together at the feeling. You were already getting wet.

Slowly, steadily, he started to actually fuck into your mouth. You encouraged him with your hands on his ass and your moans every time he went a little bit farther, a little bit deeper. You could hear him, cursing and murmuring quietly about how good it was, but the blood started to rush in your ears as he settled into it. 

You pressed your tongue to the tip of his cock the next time he pulled out and then sucked, hard, on his next thrust. His hips jumped forward and his cock sank slightly farther into your throat. You choked, just a little, and immediately held onto his ass to keep him from pulling out. “Oh baby, your mouth is fucking perfect,” he growled, accepting that you wanted him right there, down your throat, not moving until you let him. “You want to choke on it that bad? You got it, pretty girl.”

He started thrusting a little deeper, pushing the head of his cock into your throat every time. You moaned, encouraging him, and realized tears were streaming down your face. You clenched your thighs together, pussy dripping wet, overcome by the sound and the feeling of him starting to use your throat. 

On his next thrust you slipped a finger in between his ass cheeks and his hips stuttered forward, almost sinking his entire cock into your mouth. Joel cried out as you choked and your throat tightened around him, before pulling out suddenly and yanking you up the blanket towards him. 

“Holy fucking shit, baby, what did I do to deserve you? Such a good fucking girl for me. You take my cock so fucking well.” He wiped the tears from your eyes and leaned down to lick across your lips before kissing you deeply, tasting himself and groaning loudly. “I need to be inside you, pretty girl.”

“You were, baby.” Your voice was husky, throat a little raw, and he shuddered at the sound. 

“Let me fuck this pretty pussy, baby, I want to make you feel good.” He lifted your knees to your chest, opening you up to him. “I need to put my cock inside this perfect little hole. Fill it up.”

“I do feel good, Joel.” You smiled, dreamily, watching him look at your pussy and lick his lips. 

“I can see that, honey.” You were sure the look on your face was totally blissed out. It’s how you felt. “I want you to feel even better.” As he said it his fingers moved from your legs to your pussy and he moaned. “You’re so fucking wet, is this just from sucking my cock?” You nodded. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Getting so wet just from having my cock in your mouth. Like I already filled you up and you’re dripping, leaking everywhere. So needy, baby.”

“I love your cock, Joel. Love the way it tastes. Love choking on it.” You reached for him, but he leaned down before you could pull him towards you and licked your pussy, tongue flat, from your hole to your clit. You whined and fisted your hands in the blanket. 

“You taste good too, baby. So fucking good.” He lowered his head again and slipped his tongue inside of you, holding you open with his hands behind your thighs. You squirmed, trying to thrust your hips towards his mouth. He twisted his tongue, closed his mouth over your hole, and sucked lightly. You moaned. 

He pulled his face away, gasping. “I need to be inside you, baby.”

You nodded, pulling him towards you. His eyes were dark and his gaze burned into you, making your breath stutter.

“I’m going to fuck your so good, honey. ‘M going to fill this tight little hole, stuff it full of my cock, stretch you open and make it mine.” He leaned down and kissed you as the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, your legs still wide open for him.

“It’s already yours, Joel. I’m all yours.”

“That’s right, baby. For the rest of our lives.” With that, he pushed forward and sank his cock inside you, slowly, inch by inch. You threw your head back and whined as his hips met yours. You felt stretched full, a perfect fit. He stopped there and watched you for a moment before leaning down and kissing you, so softly and gently it made your breath catch. 

He moved his lips to your ear and whispered, softly, “I am going to ruin this pretty pussy, baby.”

You moaned, clenching down on his cock and twisting your fingers through his hair. “Please, Joel. Do it.”

He moved his face back above yours, giving you a cocky half smile. He pulled out slowly, met your eyes, and then slammed back into you. You could feel your chest heaving as he set a wild pace, strokes fast and deep. You thrust your hips to meet his, panting. He moved his left hand to where it belonged, holding the back of your neck in a strong grip as he held himself up on his elbows.

Joel leaned down slowly towards you, the move totally at odds with the devastating pace he was setting with his cock. You could feel his breath on your lips. He slipped his tongue towards you and brushed it lightly along your bottom lip, teasing you, holding your neck in place when you tried to surge forward to meet him. The soft pressure combined with the feeling of his cock hitting you just right inside made you whine and close your eyes. 

“That’s it, baby. You’re always such a good girl, fucking taking what I give you like you were made to do it.” He leaned to the right and nipped lightly at your jaw. You tried to tilt your head to give him more room but his grip on your neck held you in place, right where he wanted you. He shifted his weight to his left elbow, picking up his right hand and grasping your hip to encourage you as you met his thrusts. He scraped his teeth down your neck.

“Being with you feels like a miracle, baby. It’s so fucking good every time. A man could lose himself in this pussy.” His hips stuttered. “Wish I could stay right here inside you all damn day.”

You felt tears forming at the corners of your eyes as he kept his steady pace, fucking into you, holding your body where he wanted it. “Joel, please.” You couldn't help but beg him even though you didn’t know what you were begging for. You scratched your nails down his back, feeling his muscles moving beautifully under his skin.

“Shhh, let me give it to you. Just take it, honey. That’s it. Be my good girl.” You held your breath as he whispered in your ear, as his right hand moved to your clit. He began to dance his fingers over it in time with his thrusts and you suddenly felt your orgasm, which had been building steadily, coming for you like a meteor. 

“Joel!”

As you cried out his name, you felt yourself clench around his cock, coming so hard you swore you heard ringing in your ears. He moaned your name, low and guttural, and sank his teeth into your shoulder. His hips stuttered and his fingers pinched lightly at your clit as both of you flew over the edge. His orgasm stirred yours higher and your hands went lax. You saw stars dancing in your vision as he ground his cock into you, almost smothering you with his weight.

His hips stilled, but neither of you moved. You both sucked in deep breaths and tried to slow your racing hearts. You could feel his in his chest, beating strong and fast. 

Slowly, Joel lifted his head to meet your gaze. You realized with sudden alarm that he was crying.

“Baby, what–”

He cut you off with a kiss, so soft and gentle it soothed you. He whispered your name.

“How did I get so lucky as to find you, honey?” He spoke right into your mouth, seeming unable to move back, unable to stop kissing you. “I’ve never been so happy. Never knew it could be like this.”

You mustered the strength to move your arms, slipping them around his waist. “I’m the lucky one, Joel. I’ve never been loved this good. No one’s ever come close. I didn’t even realize what I was missing before you.”

He hummed, kissing along your jaw softly. “Maybe we’re both lucky. Sure do fit together like this is how it’s meant to be.” He ground his hips into yours a bit, emphasizing his point. You laughed.

“Well, you know how much I love your cock.”

He smiled, but hid it in your neck, licking and kissing his way down and back up. “Just my cock? I see how it is.” He kissed your ear before biting down on it lightly.

You laughed again, and considered continuing the joke, but you couldn’t. Not that day. You moved your hands up to take his face gently between them, bringing his gaze to meet yours.

“I love you, Joel Miller, every part of you, with all of my heart. I can’t wait to marry you. Every part of me belongs to you and our family. I never want to be without you ever again.” He looked stunned and then he smiled so wide you couldn’t help but return it. 

“We’re getting married.” He looked elated as he said it, like he’d forgotten and only just remembered. You grinned.

“Yeah, cowboy, we are. You even swept me off my feet.” You kicked at his ankles a bit, reminding him. He laughed.

Slowly, he reached down to pull out of you, humming as he felt his cum spill out of you with his cock. He fingered you lightly, pushing it around and making a mess. You raised your eyebrows at him and he grinned ruefully. “Ok, ok.”

He moved to the side and laid down, pulling you in so your head was resting on his chest and your leg was thrown over his. He tugged the part of the blanket you weren’t lying on over the two of you, holding you tight against him. You knew you’d want to go inside and clean up soon — you’d started to notice again how chilly it was — but for now you relaxed into his embrace. You were both quiet, reveling in the moment.

“I feel like you should have something, too,” you mused.

“What do you mean?” Joel picked up your left hand from where it rested on his chest and toyed with your ring before kissing your fingers. “I’ll get my own ring real soon.”

“I just want to get you something. Like, an engagement watch or belt buckle or something.” 

Joel burst into laughter, eyes crinkling. “A belt buckle? Baby, I don’t think that’s a thing.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and tried not to laugh. “Well, we’ll just have to make it a thing, won’t we?” He laughed so hard he almost bounced you off his chest and onto the blanket. You grinned, making a mental note to enlist Sarah’s help to definitely get him an engagement belt buckle – the cheesiest one you could find, and soon. 

…

Later, when Tommy and Sarah got home, they found you dancing in the kitchen to the mix CD Joel and Sarah had made you the Christmas before, laughing and singing along to “Forever and Ever, Amen” as you made dinner. Sarah immediately gasped and zeroed in on the ring on your finger before you could even say anything. She screamed and jumped across the room to hug you both.

“Finally! I thought you were never going to do it.” She pinched her dad in the side and he squirmed away.

“Hey! I told you I was planning on New Year’s, you little meddler.” He was smiling wide as he teased her.

“Is this what you’ve been so excited about?” you wonder aloud. 

Sarah nodded at you, bouncing on her toes. “We bought the ring a month ago! Do you like it?”

“I love it, sweetheart, thank you. It’s beautiful.” She beamed at you and hugged you again. You laughed, holding on tight. Tommy came in and squished all four of you together in a hug. 

“Welcome to the family, sunshine!” He pulled you away from Joel and started dancing you around the room as Sarah and Joel laughed. “You’re stuck with us now.”

You grinned as he spun you around, catching Joel’s eye. “Stuck, huh? But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

...

Jackson, Early Fall 2024

After that night you and Joel can be found together more often than not.

You don’t move in together, not yet – you want Ellie to be comfortable, and that’s more important than anything else. 

But you spend a lot of nights in each other's beds.

At first it surprises you, how quickly the two of you fall together again. But it shouldn’t, really. Just like you told Joel, the core of who you are is still the same, and who you are together was always something special. Something that had burrowed so deep inside of you, had become so much a part of you, that you’d mourned a part of yourself when it was lost. You’d assumed it was gone for good, right up until the moment Joel Miller touched you again. 

You have some difficult conversations, difficult in the sense that it’s hard for the both of you to talk about some parts of your past. But just like Before, Joel is there to catch you when you stumble over your words, there to hold you when the memories are too strong. You do the same for him.

And when Tommy and Maria’s baby is born in early summer, you’re there for each other for the hard moments and memories that come along with all of the good ones. (Ellie takes to her baby cousin Isabela and the joy of being the big cousin with wonder and enthusiasm – they’re like two peas in a pod of chaos. You still wish Sarah was there every day, but seeing them together heals you a bit, too.) 

Later in the summer, once he can come up for air after the baby is born, Tommy shows the three of you the lake near Jackson. Joel takes the opportunity to teach Ellie to swim, which results in a couple of hilarious afternoons with both Joel and Tommy ending up soaking wet when they don’t mean to be. You laugh at them from the grass nearby (or sometimes from the lake, with Ellie).

In early fall, on what seems like one of the last warm days of the year, the five of you go out to the lake. Maria leaves Isabela with her closest friend, taking advantage of the summer weather while you still have it. (You were surprised Maria wanted to come, since no one wanted to bring the baby outside the walls of Jackson, but she just shrugged and said she was getting stir crazy and wanted to spend the afternoon with family, that it would only be a couple of hours, anyway. Her smile was a little too knowing, a little suspicious. You’d narrowed your eyes, sure something was up, but couldn’t figure out what.) It’s a day off from work and school and Ellie bounces along beside you, excited to be out exploring. She’s adjusting well, but still needs to get away sometimes. 

You and Joel are walking slowly around the edge of the lake as Ellie and Tommy invent some sort of splashing game with extremely complex rules (that mostly result in Tommy getting soaked and Ellie grinning like a little demon the whole time). Maria just watches and laughs at their antics from her comfortable spot on a blanket next to the lake. Whatever the game is, they’re clearly having fun, and you leave them to it. 

Joel takes your right hand in his left, intertwining your fingers and squeezing, and says, “I still can’t really believe it, that we get to have all of this again.”

“I know what you mean. It’s starting to make the 20 years in between feel like a dream, which seems impossible.” He nods, agreeing. “I don’t think either of us will ever be unaffected,” you share a glance and the knowledge that both of you still have nightmares and rough days, “but it seems too good to be true.”

He pulls your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. “You know, Ellie pointed something out to me the other day.”

You turn to look at him when he doesn’t say anything more. “Oh?” You elbow him a little to urge him on. He smiles, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“We were talking about Before, and she pointed out that technically, we’ve been engaged for almost 22 years now. You know, we never officially called it off or anything.” 

You stumble a little and laugh, wondering where he’s going with this. “I mean, technically, she’s right.”

Joel grins at your reply and pulls you to stop, turning you to face him by grabbing your other hand. “And technically,” he winks, “that’s probably long enough for an engagement. We could probably, well. We could get married, um. If we wanted.” He looks a little shy, somehow, even after everything you’ve been through. 

Your breath catches in your throat. And for some reason the question that comes out is, “do people still do that?” 

He laughs, crinkling his nose at your question. “Yeah, I asked Tommy. Sounds like at least around here, people still do that.” Of course they do, you realize it as he says it – Tommy and Maria are married, after all. 

“I…” you trail off, words leaving you, overcome by a possibility that you hadn't once stopped to consider. He sees how surprised you are and tries to talk you through it.

“You know, there’s not one particular way, sounds like people just do whatever seems right to them, with a few witnesses or sometimes a party at the Bison or something. Something they like.” 

Your brain is coming back online and with it the force of your desire to be married to this man. It emerges from somewhere deep within you, pushed down and ignored for so many years because of how much it hurt to think about. You never stopped wanting it, not really, you only stopped being able to have it. It was out of reach for so long that it didn’t occur to you that you could have it now, even with Joel right in front of you, miraculously alive. You start to smile and he straightens up, smiling back and looking relieved.

“It’s just too bad we don’t have any kind of rings, you know?” He continues. You clear your throat, suddenly awkward, and he narrows his eyes at you. He knows you far too well. “What?”

“Well,” you start, “maybe we do have some rings.”

“Rings?” Joel’s eyes go wide as he emphasizes the end of the word, clearly incredulous both at their possible existence and at the idea that there might somehow be more than one ring available to you.

“I might have held something back, from the shoebox.” His mouth drops open and he pulls you closer. “I held onto mine, somehow, never lost it. I didn’t wear it of course, but I kept it close and never had it stolen.” He’s shaking his head in disbelief, looking down at your hands that are still clutched in his own like he might find it there on your finger, somehow unnoticed until now. “And then when I went back to the house, I found them. In your sock drawer.” He squeezes your hands so hard and looks so shocked you worry he might fall over.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s a fair question.

“Well, at first it was like the rest of the shoebox – I was just waiting for a good time to tell you about it, and I did as soon as I could. But the rings…” You sighed. “I was trying not to push, you know? You said slow, and I agreed.”

“But we left slow behind months ago, darlin’.” He tugs you in closer, letting go of your hands to move his around your waist. You slide yours up his chest to his shoulders. 

“I know, but well, two reasons. One, it honestly hadn’t seemed possible in so long that I sort of… assumed people didn’t get married anymore. And two, well. It seemed kind of fast, to just bring it up right away. Hey, thanks for the mind-blowing orgasms, did you still want your wedding ring? Then I just made it more difficult by waiting and got all in my head about it.” He laughed and pulled your face into his chest, kissing along your hairline. 

“You could’ve said that. The orgasm thing. We have been engaged for 22 years, after all.” You can feel him laughing as he says it and for a second you marvel at the idea that it’s something you can both joke about. “Let me help get you out of your head, baby. We can work it out together.” He pulls back and to your surprise, for the second time in your life, Joel drops to one knee in front of you. His hands go to your hips and yours to his arms. He holds you up as your knees suddenly feel weak.

“I can’t beat that first proposal, I don’t think, especially not with our family right over there. So I’ll just say that I love you, darlin’, and I never stopped. I can’t believe I get another chance at spending the rest of my life with you. I’m not letting it pass me by. We were made for each other, after all.” You smile, and feel tears slip down your cheeks, just like last time. He squeezes your hips. “I know it won’t be easy all the time, but I’d rather handle the hard things together than apart. Even when the hard things come from us.” 

His eyes are looking a little teary, too, and he says your name softly. “It turns out we really did take the long way ‘round, but I’d like to go the rest of the way with you by my side, however long it turns out to be. Will you marry me, darlin’?”

You say yes, of course. You say yes, and fall into his arms again, just like last time. Joel draws you into a kiss, both of you on your knees, and then laughs when you slide your hand into his back pocket and squeeze. 

“We’re too old for me to take you right here on the ground like last time, baby, and we’ve got an audience anyway.” You look up to see Tommy, Maria and Ellie are all watching you, grinning. When you make eye contact with them they start cheering. It’s ridiculous and it makes you tear up again. Joel leans forward to whisper in your ear as they come running towards you, “I promise, honey, I’ll give it to you so good when we get home that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” You shiver. 

You rise, just as Ellie arrives and throws herself at you both, getting you all wet with lake water. She smiles at you both and starts to poke at Joel as Tommy walks up behind her. 

“Well, what am I supposed to do, sunshine, welcome you to the family a second time? It don’t make any sense.” He grins at you, and pulls you into a hug. Maria is right behind him with another, and you realize that all three of them must have known what Joel was going to ask you today. 

Ellie looks up from where she’s teasing Joel mercilessly for being such a romantic. “Hey, why does he call you sunshine, anyway?”

Joel and Tommy start laughing, and you roll your eyes. “Come on, I’ll tell you the story on the way back.” 

“Aw come on, it’s not a long story,” Tommy grins as he needles you. He looks at Ellie. “We were at some bar and this guy wouldn’t leave her alone, got so far as putting his hand up her shirt. After she’d already pushed him away a couple times. She was dancing, we were over by the bar.”

Joel chimes in, “She took care of him, though. Didn’t need any help.” He’s grinning.

Tommy nods. “Yeah, it was beautiful. She grabbed him by the shoulders, shouted, ‘watch where you put your hands if you want to keep ‘em, fucker’ and kneed him straight in the di– erm, junk.” Tommy corrects himself, glancing at Joel. Ellie rolls her eyes.

“You can say dick. I’m not a fucking child.” Ellie crosses her arms and frowns at Tommy. Joel sighs, long-suffering, but you know he’s hiding a laugh. 

“Anyway,” Tommy shrugs, “the fucker folded in half right there on the dance floor, just fell right over and groaned. Everyone around them turned and laughed at him.” Tommy pretends to wipe a tear away from his eye. “He had to army crawl off the dance floor and creep his way outside. Truly, one of the most beautiful sights I ever saw.”

“Ok that is like, fucking awesome obviously, but it doesn’t explain the nickname.” Ellie raises her eyebrow at Tommy.

Joel and Tommy start snickering again. The absolute dorks.

“Sure, yeah, but you know,” Tommy snorts and says gleefully, “she got him where the sun don’t shine.” He and Joel laugh again, louder this time, leaning into each other. This time you roll your eyes, even as Ellie laughs, too. Tommy’s still just as pleased with himself for coming up with that nickname, more than 20 years later. He’s got the same look on his face as he did outside of the bar, crowing about the way you took the guy down. 

You and Ellie and Maria leave them there, leaning against each other and laughing, as you walk arm in arm back to where you left the horses. 

...

a/n: that’s it, y’all. Thank you for reading!! Every single one of your comments has meant so much to me. Please let me know what you think of the ending?

I bet I’ll add some drabbles showing some of this stuff that didn’t fit in the story. To answer your probable questions:

Yes, you get married. (Your rings don’t actually fit anymore, but neither of you care. You have them, that’s enough. And later you pass them on to Ellie.)

Yes, you do show Jackson how it’s done, dancing at the bar. You even bring out the mix CD. 

I handwaved the cure and resulting issues here but just know that however it went, they took care of it. 

You and Joel do talk about Tess and Michelle and everything else that happened. You tell Ellie all about Sarah and the extended family she would have had in Texas. Talking about them hurts but seeing her wonder, hearing about her huge family, helps. 

You and Ellie talk about Michelle and she eventually opens up to you about her crush on Cat, bringing the two of you closer together. 

Joel still sings to you in the kitchen and dances with you in the backyard. 

You’re all happy, in the end. It’s hard, and sometimes it’s so hard you think it might not work out. But it always does, and you’re happy. Together. 

Tag list

@morgaussy @jay-zzle @bluetattoos @dins-riduur-anthe @huffle-punk @poodlebae

[autism-alley]

augh found my old post abt pjo and disability from before the show came out but it was on ye olde blog so i’m literally just gonna copy and paste, 3, 2, 1—

ok now that i’ve got it on the brain, i want to talk about disability in pjo and specifically how calling percy jackson dumb or treating him as such is not only a mischaracterization, but ableism. as a quick note, i’m keeping this to just percy to avoid having this already long post be even longer, but there are other disabled characters in pjo worthy of discussion, though i hit many of the same points in this post. i bring up percy specifically because he is mostly the character i have seen people treat as stupid.

percy is a dyslexic teen with ADHD who comes from a low-income family, raised by a single mother, and deals with an abusive step-father. i cannot stress enough how much of his character is shaped by that experience, but as hard as it is to single out any one part, i am going to focus on his ADHD and dyslexia. this kid has nightmares of being forced to take tests in a straightjacket as teachers ask him if he’s stupid and withhold him from recess with his peers. he is constantly labelled as “troubled” and blamed for things he didn’t do or aren’t his fault. he is told, over and over again, even from trusted adults, that he is “not normal” (othering him). he bounces between schools. he struggles to make friends. he deals with bullying. he has difficulty studying and reading, even when invested. teachers struggle to connect with him and tend to just give up on him. these are real disabled experiences, and rick does a good job at presenting them in the pjo books. sometimes, it feels like everything is a struggle. you are living inside a system that not only is restricting, but actively works against and punishes you.

in contrast, CHB is a great example of how when environments meet the needs of disabled people, it hugely changes how disabled we are in that environment. demigod brains are hard-wired for ancient greek, not english, and they’re born impulsive, with high energy levels that help them survive battle—but aren’t very good for a classroom setting. but by having them read books in ancient greek, regularly do lots of training/physical activities, and have genuine opportunities to express themselves...they function pretty damn well. percy discovers that while he struggles academically, he is brilliant in combat and capable of saving the world numerous times—he is a hero. do you know how important that message is for disabled children? disabled adults, too? that we can be heroes?

it is here, in camp half-blood, that percy finds a place he belongs, that shows him his worth—finally, somewhere is built to not only include him, but to nurture and genuinely prepare him for the world outside its boarders. however, i think people forget that just because percy functions in the world of CHB and the gods, that does not mean he doesn’t face ableism in the mortal world—and that there is an entire group of people who see ourselves reflected in his character.

i could talk on for hours about how much being disabled shapes percy’s identity and how he interacts with the world—like how percy’s humor revolves around coping with his environment and actually displays a very low self esteem after being looked down upon his entire life. this kid doesn’t even have to say anything and he screams i had a neurodivergent childhood. but about 5-6 years ago, when i was more regularly tuned into the fandom, every time i saw someone call percy jackson dumb or an idiot, even jokingly, i raised an eyebrow, and now that the series is getting fresh coverage from disney+, i have wanted to make this post. so much of this kid’s life and personality comes from being treated like he’s dumb or incapable, so it’s troubling to watch part of the fanbase reflect the harmful parts of this character’s upbringing. i truly hope it does not become common again. it’s also one thing coming from a neurodivergent/disabled person with similar experiences (and even then i personally find it a little uncomfortable), it’s another to be said by a neurotypical/able bodied person.

percy jackson’s experiences make for very important representation, and for people to characterize him as just a goofy, unintelligent guy is not only an insult to his character as a kid who is intelligent, but previously lacked the environment to show it, but also ableist. so in the dawn of the new tv series era, i ask that we cut that shit out. rick riordan did not create rep for neurodivergent and disabled kids for them to be called stupid by the fanbase. even jokingly.

[fanonical]

I see your point about June (and June is my favorite too). And I've definitely seen people headcanoning trans boy John out of really blatant spite, and complaining about June in a way that felt extremely pointed, like her mere existence is an insult and a source of hurt.

Buuuut on the other hand, many people loved transfem Roxy for a long time before the Epilogues, and I think it's fine and fair for them (... okay, us) to feel fleetingly disappointed that Roxy is transmasc in the Epilogues. I also think it's fine and fair to continue headcanoning Roxy as transfem, because the Epilogues were very explicitly in-text framed as one possible continuation out of many. I won't lie, I just love that t4t f/f Roxygen.

So my line of thinking is, it's probably still fine and fair to also love trans guy John, if people are inclined that way. It's more about the way that they do it? If you're finding yourself framing June as some kind of invasion on your holy safe space by the mean and terrible new writers of Homestuck, you need to take a step back and reexamine the transmisogynist bias there, and most importantly you need to stop being so goddamn rude to the people making art that just isn't for you. But on the other hand, I think simply ignoring the Epilogues and doing your own thing with trans boy John and his shaving cream trauma, that to me is perfectly in line with - and in fact respectful of - the spirit of the Epilogues.

(Similarly, I don't think it'd be bad to do a reading of the TUA comics where Vanya is a trans girl; I don't even think it'd be bad to write an AU genderswap of the TUA show universe where Viktor is a trans girl, though I'd greatly prefer if other characters' gender was changed too in that case.) (For example, I'd enjoy a full swap where A and V Hargreeves were the only "boys" growing up, and then V transitions and A is left all alone with his masculinity and he lets it steep into resentment. Also, sometimes you want trans girls with violins blowing up the world.)

Right, I hear what you’re saying but I think there’s a couple of key differences here

First of all, we know for a fact that Roxy being transmasc was prompted by a transmasc writer who was repeatedly & horribly transmisogynistic about transfem headcanons, so I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to assume that he really did specifically hate transfem Roxy headcanons out of spite so much that he made it an impossible reading in both timelines. But even then — I do think that if somebody specifically just decided Roxy is transfem and everything else from the Epilogues is the same (or magically headcanoned away as making sense somehow) then they would be intentionally misunderstanding & rejecting the text too. Like, that’s ok, that’s literally what a large part of fandom is, but the reasons for doing this are not neutral, and they reflect hegemonies & wider values.

In the case of transfem Roxy the point is to pointedly reject something we think is transmisogynistic — we have been teased with transfem Roxy for years, it’s an obvious & clear reading of her relationship to Callie in Act 6, and so I think it’s a legitimate criticism of the Epilogues. Meanwhile, there straight has not been years of hints for transmasc John, in fact, to headcanon June as transmasc you have to pointedly ignore her already extant queer narrative.

I also think you either misunderstand or are intentionally misunderstanding how alternate realities work in The Homestuck Epilogues & Homestuck Beyond Canon. They are not just one continuation out of many — there is only the two as far as I’m aware. I’m not up to date with HSBC but it’s my understanding that reality was cleft in two.

i agree with you on the Umbrella Academy! because this is something that has been like rebooted to switch things up, those characters are gonna get remixed. i’d love to see a transfem Vanya somewhere down the line. but if i only blogged about the tv show and i was constantly & loudly explaining how i prefer transfem Vanya and how she should be transfem in the show then I think that would obviously be in poor taste.

i think what bothers me is the boldness of so many men to be like “idk i just prefer this as a man character” right in the replies of posts where transfems are gushing about/sharing their transfem headcanons. I can’t even talk about June being trans without a few people saying that, and that’s actually confirmed as 100% happening, so it’s even more impossible to escape with like transfem Link headcanons etc.

i think all in all, transmascs, trans boys & trans men should try and leave more space for their sisters in the community. it is not subversive to wish every character was a man. just misogynistic. leave room for transfems, trans girls & trans women in fandom and beyond, folks.

[artists-ally]

I wanna start a blog but I’m not sure how to start off, I know I want to write and have some vague ideas but not sure what to do.

Any ideas or tips?

Alright get comfy I have so many things to say.

Above ALL. ELSE. for the love of god, do not give in to the pressure to constantly write. One day things will click on Tumblr, and asks and requests will start flooding in. You’re gonna get hundreds of likes and comments asking for more parts and whatnot. Do. Not. Give. In. To. The. Pressure. You’re going to get really excited, like “oh my god, finally I’m getting noticed and appreciated let me give them more!!” No. You will get burnt out and will hate it. Do it on your own time, whenever you want. Write what YOU want. Use that excitement in a way that has a positive impact on your work.

When it comes to planning what to write, just keep it simple. It doesn’t have to be some elaborate top to bottom detailed guide. I personally just use bullet points. And trust me, none of it has to be cohesive. It can literally just look like this:

Reader goes to a party

Azriel is standing mysteriously in the corner

They catch eyes from across the room

Reader is dancing with friends, and some rando dude comes up and starts feeling up on them

Reader tells him to back off

He doesn’t

Readers friend goes to intervene

Azriel comes from the corner and takes the guy outside to show him what happens when you disrespect a woman

Az makes sure you and your friend are okay

You two get talking and plan to go on a date

It can just be something like that. Or sometimes the best plan is no plan and see where your brain takes you. Whatever you do, just make sure you’re writing it because YOU want to write it. That it’s the kind of context you’d like to read, and everything else will fall into place with time.

3. Write whatever you’re feeling. If you’re sad, write whatever you need to make yourself feel better. Whether that’s fluff, angst, or something else. If you want to be comforted, write something about a character taking care of you. If you’re angry, write a crazy betrayal. It is just you, your mind, and google docs.

4. Don’t be worried if your writing doesn’t INSTANTLY take off. THATS just not how shit happens here. And here’s a little tip, depending on your timezones, you’ll want to post at different times. I’ve found that posting later in the evening, at like 6-8pm on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday will yield the best results. It’s when people are settling in for the night and want to relax and read some good shit. But honestly, post whenever, people will find it.

5. Make yourself a rules/who you write for and post it on your masterlist. By all means, go ahead and look at mine for inspiration. When you find your audience, they will ask for more. Let them know what/who you’re comfortable writing for.

6. MAKE FRIENDS. Having some support when you’re stuck on a plot point and don’t know where to go from there is so nice!! We have such an amazing community of writers here and I have made lifelong friends on this app. Everyone has their own bits of advice they could give and having a different perspective or fresh set of eyes is really helpful.

7. Model what you see. Everyone has to start their writing journey somewhere. I’m not sure if you’ve ever written fanfiction before, but the first couple you put out there are definitely not going to be your best work. And be okay knowing that. The more you read, the more styles of writing you look at to develops your own is how you get to that sweet spot where everything you write is consistent and good quality. It could take months and years, it certainly took me a long fucking time to be able to produce the work I do, and that’s just how it goes. I’m proud of the work I post, no matter if it’s for Suits or ACOTAR, I love everything I put out. Be patient with yourself and allow room for mistakes.

8. Have a note in your phone for all your random ideas you come up with while out and about. Happens to me ALLL the time. I constantly have new ideas and having one collection of them all, that’s easy to access anywhere, is so smart.

9. Let’s talk about the layout of your blog!! The number one thing you should have is a masterlist! A collection of all your links to your writing. Take a look at mine and any of your other favorite writers to see what aspects you like/dislike. It should be organized and easy on the eyes, try not to have a billion things on there that are unnecessary. You can link who/what you write, all your fics, and whatever else you wanna post about!! Whether your requests are open or closed. Stuff like that. Make it to your aesthetic and exactly what you want. It’s like decorating your room, it can be anything.

10. Last but certainly not least, welcome to the tumblr writing community. We are so excited to have you here love, and I cannot wait to see all the amazing work you put out. If you’re nervous, don’t be!! We’re all here to lift each other up and help along the way. If you ever have questions, feel free to reach out!! All of us had to start somewhere. We know what it’s like to spend weeks and months posting stuff to only get 30-40 likes. But it’ll happen one day. With one re-blog everything will change, you just have to be patient

I’m going to tag some of my besties and hopefully they’ll re-blog or comment some of their advice and welcome you in!!

@thelov3lybookworm @sarawritestories @readychilledwine @berryzxx @bubybubsters @claireswritingcorner @milswrites @fell-in-luvs @riddlesb1tch @pit-and-the-pen @thehighladywrites

[moons-cozy-corner]

Rescued Pt. 6

Look guys I KNOWWW its been FOREVER but pls tell me you haven't lost interest because I have finally written a part 6 to this series. I've been spectacularly busy, I'm in college for English and get to write constantly, however none of it is fiction ESPECIALLY not whump :(, so unfortunately this account has been on the backburner. HOWEVER here we are, and please enjoy.

And while I cannot promise consistent writing on this blog, I will TRY (at least after my finals are over because holy hell they are killing me fr guys help) but I have a lot in the works, drafts are overflowing.

Content Warning: Fire, flashing lights, panic, brainwashing, mentions of torture and manipulation, kidnapping

Part 5

Lights are flashing all around Pet. They must have passed out, but now Hero was gone. It could smell smoke, and part of it was yelling to run, to find Hero, to save itself. Save yourself, Villain. But he was frozen. It was frozen and couldn't move an inch as smoke snaked in from under the door.

His heart shook in his chest, and the cold he felt moments ago was replaced my a terrible heat.

Then the door opened, and smoke billowed into the room, attacking his face. "Her- Hero?"

Harsh red and orange shapes outlined the figure in the doorway, but the voice was still all clear. "No, Pet. I've come to take you home."

Villains eyes opened wider than they had since they were rescued. They crawled forward on their knees towards Whumper and bowed down their head.

“Thank you, Master. For coming back for me. I- I tried to do well without your guidance.”

Whumper smiles down at their pet. "You did a terrible job, Pet. I'm disappointed in you, truly." They watch as it practically deflates, its shoulders sink down and they quake.

"I understand. I'm... I am sorry I disappointed you, Master. I'll accept any punishment gratefully. Please, take me home."

Master grabbed the back of its shirt and lifted it to its feet, rather roughly. It had only been a few days, a few blurry days. Somehow, returning to his reality brought him countless dread, but it shook the feeling away.

The smoke got worse in the hallway. It was blinding, but Master led them through the cloud easily, cutting through the smoke like butter. Pet could do nothing but follow, their legs dragging below them as they tried to keep up.

Coughing emerged from somewhere in the room, somewhere Pet couldn't see. "S-supervillain, stop this-!" Whumper growled, stopping in their tracks. They stomped the ground in front of them, eliciting a gasp from the silhouette on the ground. From Hero.

Villain's heart crumbled as they were dragged forth again, their eyes lingering on Hero's quivering form before it disappeared into the smoke. He didn't dare say anything. But Hero did, yelling out at them as they reached the door. "I will find you, Villain! I will find you aga-". A coughing fit overtook him. The crackling of fire filled Pets ears, clutching onto his masters hand for guidance as they reached a door, an exit to the terrible black cloud that was Hero's office. The whole

Organization building was catching fire, and Pet couldn't help but look on in awe. "Get in the car," Master growled. Hero had called them Supervillain... Pet remembers that name from somewhere long ago. Not that it matters, not as they get into the back seat of Master's car, covered in a blanket as they huddle up on the floor.

It was a long drive, longer than Pet expected. It couldn't complain, though. It would finally get to go home. The car was quiet aside from its breathing and the gently humming of the motor. It was peaceful, and the longer it sat there the more guilt it felt for ever crying, moving, speaking, thinking of being happy when not with his master. The more it remembered how much it loved his master.

The car stopped only after what felt like hours, the vibrating of the motor shutting off, the door slamming gently as Master stepped out of the car, coming to retrieve their pet, who remained still and perfect under the blanket.

"Get up, Pet."

...

"We're home."

taglist: @alwaysalilhigh@nicolepascaline@whumped-inc@littlespacecastle@hollowgast1@edkore@ramadiiiisme@writereleaserepeat@when-no-wings-do-broomsticks@robinwrites@aswallowimprisoned@whumblrwork@cepheusgalaxy@tedrakitty @delicateprincepaper@alwaysalilhigh@0eggdealer@subval01@ifthisislifeidontlikeit

@books-are-everything @whumpsoda @robinrites

[inkiedraws]

just discovered your blog couple of days ago AND IM IN SHOOK i havent in my life seen such gut wrenchingly amazing anatomy my jaw is on the ground LIKE REALLY your doffy is my EVERYTHING DAMN idk if you shared it somewhere but can i ask you to wield us the secret knowledge of what resources you mostly used for studying anatomy?? cause im really curious your stuff is literally gold omfg

Thank you so much! There's way better anatomy artists out there but i'm happy that people like what i'm doing!

And hmm that's a question with several answers so i'm just gonna give a list on what helped me the most!

Also i'm just a hobby artist so keep that in mind when reading! I have no idea what professionals do lmao.

1: Don't be afraid to find you own way of learning! Everyone process information differently and if you feel a certain way helps you learn then use it!

2: Don't just look at people with defined muscles! Look at people with very different body shapes and sizes. Human anatomy for artists is a site i often use! (lots of tasteful nudity in the link, be aware)

3: Practice your muscle memory as much as your sight! By tracing anatomy, you'll be able to feel what is actually going on in the image!

This is a big one because i recently discovered that i'm the kind of person that learns by feeling the movement of what i'm looking at.

Now i'm able to pick up on little details that i otherwise wouldn't have seen! And i (usually) get my drawings right immediately, without needing to do this before. :)

If you ever struggle pin-pointing what is wrong with your drawing, try this out and see if it works! Hopefully you'll go "AH so that's how it's supposed to look like."

4: Look at videos and photos of people wrestling and MMA fighting (or any other marial arts. Great way of learning how physics work. And dancers too!!

5: Pay attention to how skin reacts! By that i mean do weird movements in the mirror and see how your skin moves and stretches.

6: When using a reference make sure it's right beside your canvas. Then dart your eyes quickly back and forth and see what part of your drawing looks different from what you're looking at!

7. No matter how much you think "I understand how this muscle work now" there will always be at least one photo of a person that makes you go "What??" because muscles are fucked up and can look way differently in certain angles.

8: If you can't find a good reference take a photo of yourself in the mirror. It doesn't matter if you don't look like the character you're drawing, as long as it gives you some idea how it should look, it's fine!

There's way more but these are the main things i keep in mind when drawing anatomy!

[sorakazeno]

Sailor Moon Museum Part 6

All the information provided on the Sailor Moon Cosmos Move at the museum in 2022. Two part movies set to premiere in early summer 2023.

Sign for the Sailor Moon anime collection room. The sign that explains the entire room.... after I looked at everything. Oops.

Sign for the next room. The room fill with all the merchandise goodies from the 90s to present with over 600 items. Many I own and were featured on this blog. I also saw a whole bunch of things I never seen before... many which I ended up purchasing!

Neo Queen Serenity and King Endymion. Part of the 2016 Sailor Moon Exhibit in Roppongi.

All the merch!!! Some of these look really familiar now. Bandai release for 90s items. Closer up phots to flow. Cute Super Sailor Moon dress!

Transformation lockets and star locket. I didn't realize they had a prism locket. Proplica later released one.

Chalice were Pegasus hide in Chibi Usa's room, star locket (future post!) and the star wands from the R series. Somewhere I have Mercury and Mars but it's in a box somewhere. I've discovered a some of collection got separated when I moved and there are still some boxes that were never unpacked. I guess I needed that motivation to go through those boxes, eh?

Close up of the star wand wands along with Stars mech. Gloves, Star Yell (on my wish list but so $$$).

The Luna P is so cute!!!!

Close up of Stars merchandise. I now have the Star Headset. But that Star Yell keeps taunting me.

Close up of Eternal brooch, gloves, and Eternal dress.

Propolica. I was so excited when these were released since I was never able to buy these in the 90s.

Proplica brooches.

Children's dresses for each of the Inner Senshi.

Proplica wands. Eternal Tiare was not released at this time.

Still searching for a Holy Chalice that is not super expensive.

I have the Bandai or Irwin release off the four staffs below.

I'm glad they released the wands for Uranus and Neptune, but why not Pluto and Saturn? There are so many other items they can release from the show!

SuperS scepter and wand beneath.

I have about half the items in this picture. Outers wands are hard to come by.

First time I saw the star wand for the Inners. Afterward I started to look for one and found one!

Doll box. Love the look!

Lots of little plushies.

So many different versions.

The few times you find Tuxedo Kamen!

[ofmdee]

deep breath okay lets do this, active ofmd blogs, give this post a like so i can check out ur page, yeah? 👉👈

bunch of rambling under the cut lol

GOSH man. i almost never check my followers on here and now im overwhelmed by it, so i thought this would be easier lol. but i find myself wanting to be More involved here at this time? and i wanna feel... idk more of a PART of all of it?

i have this compulsion?? to make sure i catch up w my social media feeds every day (meaning get back to stuff i saw the previous day) which is why i don't follow a ton of people, because i get easily overwhelmed, to the point where i start to feel.... uncomfortable if i am out of the loop for too long, and i am rly trying to get past that and make that not matter to me? to make peace with what i Do scroll thru in a day and be cool with not seeing every single thing.

anyway point being, i wanna follow more people, and meet new people, and be less..... standoffish? i am feeling particularly fond of the fandom right now, in light of everything that's happened, and i would love to make more connections i say even tho i can never keep a fuckin conversation going lol

i've been realizing lately that i never reach out to ppl, i never initiate a conversation or approach others first, and often let conversations die because idk how to continue them, and idk, that kinda makes me sad? when did that start? and no promises that'll change, but... idk i gotta start somewhere. and it makes me nervous even tho i KNO it's not that deep? idk!!!

i've been doing fandom and sims on tumblr since like, 2012, lol, and idk when i started to shrink back and blend into the background, but it def happened? online and irl lol. i've just got so much anxiety! how can that much anxiety fit into one person???? and while i've def been more active on fandom twitter over the past 6 years, there are a lot of things that i like better abt tumblr so. yeah. here i am!!! i'm sure none of this was necessary, lol, but i wanted to talk thru it w myself so. now u get to read it too.