#if you feel like he says something else (or anyone on any clip ever does) please let me know

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ IS IT OVER NOW? (IT ISN'T) ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: all good things come to an end, including your relationship—but don't worry, broken hearts can be mended, but only if you're both willing to try.

contents: fem!reader. you two break up and make up! you guys fight/break up over something that coulda been resolved with better communication. kinda suggestive ending, maybe i'll drop a part two if this does alright. satoru announces your break-up on his stream. longest fic i've posted so far, 4k words (kms).

author's note: the long awaited angst has finally arrived.. big thank you to @screampied for beta-reading!! tagging @yunymphs who read it early and @sutorus + @kentopedia who i both miss very much!!

ever since you first joined satoru on his stream, it’s gotten way more popular than either of you could’ve ever expected. before he brought you onto his live, he was averaging about eight thousand views per stream. now, his average was well over fifteen thousand—and that wasn't even including the publicity he got from other websites. when satoru accidentally left the camera on while you two made out, you two went viral on twitter. and when another user tried to swipe him away, the clip got over a hundred thousand views on youtube.

at first, satoru didn't mind the change his stream was going through—in fact, he welcomed it. but lately, things have been… different.

last week, while satoru was playing in some competition, he won first out of hundreds of equally proficient players. had it been anyone else, their comments would've been filled with congratulations and good job's, but in his case, all satoru got were messages asking where you were. that wasn’t the first time—ever since that very first day, when you showed up on his stream, satoru’s audience has entirely shifted. and honestly, if you were in his position, you'd be a bit annoyed. anyone would be. 

but you had never expected that it would be so big of a deal that you and satoru—the "cutest couple on the internet"—would break up over it.

you walk along the chilly, suburban sidewalk up to your boyfriend’s house. satoru had just sent you a message asking if you could come over, and like always, you answered with an immediate yes. a flock of crows fly by, raven feathers providing a stark contrast between them and the pale gray sky around you. it’s gray and gloomy, but not unpleasant. 

a sweet, romantic song plays in your ears as you knock three times on satoru’s front door. his familiar voice calls out “coming!”, and you can hear his footsteps grow louder and louder until he swings open the door. satoru smiles down at you, cheeks already rosy from the cold winter air. “hey.”

you tilt your head and smile back at him. “that’s all i get? hey?” you huff, walking into his living room behind him as the door closes behind you. “d’you have any hot chocolate? i’m freezing,” you say, licking your lips. satoru turns and pauses, an unreadable expression on his face. “satoru?”

after a moment, your boyfriend snaps out of it. “oh, yeah, sorry,” he says ruefully. satoru rubs his eyes with one hand and uses the other to open the door to his bedroom, and as you follow him in, you’re hit with a blast of warm air. “i’m just kinda tired, but yeah, i have some hot cocoa in here. c’mon.”

“anything i can do for you?” you offer, sitting down on the corner of his bed. you’ve been to his house so many times that it feels like home—maybe even more so than your own place. everything about satoru’s room is comfortable, from his plush chairs to the faux-fur blankets draped over every single piece of his furniture. you could probably fall over at any given point and it wouldn’t actually hurt—you’d just land on something soft and/or fluffy.

but that wasn’t all that made you so in love with his home. it was just the way it felt—words couldn’t describe the way everything was just so right and just so perfect, and you really did hope that you’d never have to see a time where you wouldn’t be able to spend time with your boyfriend here.

it really is a shame that all good things had to come to an end. at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as satoru finally told you why he called you over. unlike nearly every other time, it wasn’t because he missed you or wanted to cuddle—it was quite the opposite, really.

“i don’t think this is working.”

six words that shattered the life you had come to know and love.

“is this a joke?” you try, an unnerved smile spreading across your lips against your will. he doesn’t reply instantly, which is so out-of-character for him that it makes you stiffen up. “satoru, this isn’t funny—”

“i’m not kidding,” satoru murmurs, looking away. he refuses to meet your eyes, and some part of you is still desperately trying to find reason in the chaos that’s slowly taking over your mind. how could it be that everything was just fine two minutes ago and now it’s anything but that? did something happen? did you say the wrong thing? did you—

“it’s not funny,” you insist, still somehow clinging onto your slowly-dwindling hope. maybe you’re in denial, but still, you were sure that everything was fine—no, that everything is fine. there was no past-tense, right? how could the glass home you’d built with your bare hands just crash down at the throw of a pebble?

satoru finally meets your eyes, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s no amused glimmer in his eyes, no “just kidding” in sight, and even worse, you can’t even see an ounce of the love or adoration you’d come to grow so attached to in just a couple months.

“what happened?” you whisper, miraculously managing to keep yourself together. you’d never forgive yourself if you just started crying over a breakup you weren’t even sure was happening—what little’s left of your pride is holding on. you allow yourself to wrap your arms around your chest, curling into your own embrace. 

satoru doesn’t reply for a long second. right when you’re sure he just won’t reply, he does, and it all comes spilling out in a messy stream of words. “it’s just… i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep going online and seeing everyone on my stream talking about you. i love you, i really do, but it’s just—” satoru shakes his head frustratedly. “i don’t know how to say it, but you know what i mean, right?”

your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head. “you’re breaking up with me because you’re tired of seeing me?”

“no, fuck,” satoru groans, running a hand through his hair. his previously cool and collected demeanor starts to fall apart as he takes a step back. “i don’t know how to explain it, but— shit, you wouldn’t understand.”

you swallow and start to stand up, still willing to try. “then help me understand, satoru, i—”

“you’ve seen the comments, and you’ve seen all the posts on twitter,” satoru says, tilting his head back and glaring at the ceiling. “it’s not your fault, but i really just can’t stand everyone disregarding me and turning my own stream into a youtube channel starring you.”

his words sting like alcohol in an open wound, and you fight the battle of your life to prevent the thousands of tears hiding behind your eyes from being visible. even so, your voice wobbles ever so slightly as you say “that’s a bullshit reason to break up, satoru—”

your boyfriend—is he even still your boyfriend?—scoffs and shakes his head, stumbling back and falling into his chair. "for you, it isn't. you wouldn’t understand. for me, it's like everyone's just... invalidating the three years i've spent on this shit. and i can't do it anymore, i just can't."

you blink slowly, backing away towards his bedroom door. "what does that mean?"

satoru exhales a bitter laugh and turns away, the back of his chair facing you. you think you can hear him take a soft, shaky breath as the room falls silent. neither of you make a sound before satoru turns back toward you, a blank look on his face.

he looks up at you, azure eyes devoid of the sparkle you've become so familiar with. satoru smiles sadly, but to your dismay, there's no real emotion behind it. it's almost like he's already accepted it when he says, "it means we—" he pauses and looks away. "this is over."

you reach out toward him, desperate to hold on to him—to the invisible string that ties you and satoru together, but he's just out of your grasp. "satoru, it isn't even that big of a deal, why are you—"

satoru turns and fixes you with a stern glare, and just like that, the string that kept you and satoru together for months, maybe years snaps, and you're left with a limp strand of what it once was. taking the hint, you walk out of his room in a daze, hardly noticing the way he says "i'm sorry".

and the worst part? he said he still loved you. but apparently that wasn’t enough.

satoru has every right to be annoyed that his stream is only growing because of you—his stream was the way he made money, and after all, it was never meant to be about you. 

and maybe he was never meant to be for you either.

the walk home is cold and lonely. you slip a hand into your pocket—the pocket of satoru's hoodie, which you should probably return to him—and extract your earphones. it probably isn't a good idea to wear both outside as you walk home, but you do it anyway—this day can't possibly get any worse.

a soft voice murmurs words of sorrow and encouragement in your ear as the music takes you to another world. maybe this—the breakup—was meant to happen. maybe it was a mistake to date a boy with thousands of fans.

as soon as you get home, your phone dings softly. you pick it up and frown when you see it's from toru. you'd have to change that name later.

toru: idk if u blocked me already but i still have a lot of ur things, do u wanna come pick them up later?

toru: or i can drop them off tmrw ig

you miss the way he used to text you—with an obnoxious amount of exclamation points and an even worse amount of emojis. now, it's like all of the flavor's gone from his words, and it hurts. that's when it actually settles in, that this is really over. it hurts like an icicle being driven straight through your heart, and it stings like one, too.

satoru's texts are left on delivered for five whole minutes before you reply, and it's only with an "i'll come by tmrw". he likes the message less than a minute later, and you're left to wallow in your misery alone until you finally drift off to sleep.

the next morning, you open your phone to a notification alerting you that satoru’ll be live on stream in ten minutes. curiosity kills the cat, but in this case, maybe it’d be worth it to see what he tells his viewers about your breakup. after all, there’s no way he wouldn’t tell them—he always had something to say about you, and he’d probably rather tell them for sure rather than let them come up with ridiculous theories on their own.

so you hastily make a new account using some email account you haven’t touched since middle school, trying a couple different passwords until you remember the one that works. the website hits you with a hundred questions, asking you about your favorite games and who’d you like to subscribe to first. you choose satoru, albeit after a second of hesitation. two minutes later, sparklingzebra672 joins your ex-boyfriend’s stream. you wait a second, holding your breath as the live loads. a brief moment later, satoru’s painfully familiar face appears on your screen.

“hey guys,” satoru says, forcing a smile on his face. even from behind a screen, you swear you can feel his eyes on you. “how’s everyone today?” 

the already unstable smile on satoru’s face falls when he opens the comments and gets greeted with a flurry of where’s your girlfriend’s. had you been anyone else, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the way satoru’s eyes dulled ever so slightly or the way he curled into himself, but being the girl who once knew him best, you could tell.

“oh, she won’t be back on here for… a while,” satoru starts, dancing around the topic. he leans back against his chair and tilts his chin up, azure eyes focused on the ceiling. “we broke up.”

nothing could’ve prepared you for the way satoru’s comments explode. it’s almost like you can hear the shocked gasps coming from all fourteen—no, twenty thousand viewers as the words nobody thought would ever they’d hear from satoru are spoken.

suguru-geto: holy shit im so sorry 

toji-fushiguro: wait wtf r u kidding?? that's fuckin crazy

yuuji-itadori: omg i thought u guys were together forever :(

inumaki: chat is this real??

satoru shrugs, averting his eyes from the hundreds of comments pouring in, but you scroll through and read them all. everyone, even satoru’s haters, seems genuinely shocked. in fact, had this not been your own breakup, you would’ve been one of them, begging and pleading satoru for more details.

“yeah, we did,” satoru murmurs, eyebrows furrowing just enough for you to read his expression. now that you’re looking closer, you can see the subtle redness underneath his eyes—had he been crying too? and maybe you’re imagining it, but his hair seems a bit dishelved too. your ex-boyfriend shrugs, forcing his face back into his usual lighthearted expression, but it’s not fooling anyone.

satoru scowls at the new flood of comments asking him why you two broke up. some people are already hypothesizing—maybe it’s because you got jealous of his fame, or maybe he got sick of you. maybe you left him to go date some other streamer, or maybe—

“i’m actually gonna end the stream here, ‘cause i don’t really want to deal with all of this right now,” satoru says with a frown. his eyes are narrowed irritably as a couple users protest, still begging for more details. “you guys know that i’m a real person with my own life, right? fuck off.”

and just like that, the stream ends. you’re left with a blank screen and a message saying that satoru’s ended the live, so you shut your laptop. your stomach turns as you groan, just remembering that you have to go over to his place later to retrieve your things, and somehow, you’d have to pretend that you didn’t just stalk his stream to see if he’d say anything substantial about the breakup.

a couple minutes after the stream ends, your phone blows up—every mutual friend you and satoru have is messaging you about what he said, but you can’t bring yourself to open any of them. except for one.

suguru: r u ok?

you: yeah ig

suguru: do u want anything?

satoru’s best friend’s question catches you off-guard—there are a lot of things you want. you want this whole situation to go away. you want the world to disappear. and most of all, you want satoru back, without the online world attached.

but suguru can’t do any of those things, can he? so you leave him on read. 

somehow, you fall back asleep, tossing and turning in your bed without satoru’s steady arms to accompany you. a couple hours later, you wake up again, wincing from the dim sunlight that pours through your windows and directly into your eyes. it’s just past five, so you figure that you might as well go down to satoru’s house and get your things. better to do it now than drag it out for an uncertain amount of time.

the walk is shorter than you remember, but maybe it’s just the absence of music pouring into your ears that makes it seem that way. you watch the wilted autumn leaves flutter in the wind, falling down onto the sidewalk like pieces into place. once upon a time, you had walked these very streets with satoru—it’s a fond memory you remember only all too well.

when you finally step onto your ex’s doorstep, the door opens before you even have a chance to knock. and there he is—the boy who’d once been the love of your life. satoru looks down at you with an unreadable expression. “hey.”

you think you’ve seem this film before, and you didn’t like the ending.

satoru spares you from having to reply by opening the door wider and beckoning you inside. “i already put most of your stuff into a couple boxes, but i thought you’d wanna check on your own. just in case i forgot something.”

you nod and walk past him, not trusting your voice to be steady. this was harder than you expected—much harder. in fact, you’re practically on the verge of breaking down when you step into satoru’s room and look around and see just how different it looks without the touches of you everywhere.

the fortnite poster you’d given him as a joke for the second anniversary of his stream was gone from his wall, and so were the two mini succulents that used to sit on the corner of his desk. the white cat plushie that used to rest on his pillow was gone, too—probably stuffed somewhere in one of the boxes outside his bedroom door.

after nearly a minute of looking around, you decide that whatever satoru possibly could’ve missed wasn’t important enough for you to have to stick around any longer.

you turn and start to exit satoru’s room so fast that you nearly crash into him when he suddenly appears in the doorway. “shit, sorry about that,” you mumble, trying to walk around him. but of course, because the universe is actually praying on your downfall, you and satoru both walk the same way at the same time. you awkwardly try to go around each other, and eventually, the humiliation is over.

“so, you got everything?” satoru asks, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets. you nod, bending over to pick up one of the two boxes. it’s pretty heavy, but not unmanangable. you just don’t really seem to know if you’ll be able to carry both back home at once. 

“oh, uh, i’ll be right back,” you say tentatively. a flash of confusion appears in satoru’s eyes, so you clarify, “i’m gonna go grab my car. that’ll make it easier.”

satoru’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “no, it’s alright. your place isn’t far from here at all, i’ll just take the other and walk back with you.”

“no, really, it’s alright.”

“it’s the easiest option, ba—” satoru cuts himself off, stopping himself from calling you baby for the first time since you two had started dating. “sorry.”

“let’s just go.”

the walk back to your house is brutal. you walk side by side with satoru since the path is wide enough for you to do so, and you two just keep bumping into each other. had you still been dating, satoru probably would’ve dropped the box and scooped you up instead, kissing your cold face to warm it up. of course, that would’ve added five minutes to your walk, but it would’ve been better than the tense silence dividing you and satoru right now. 

the wind whistles around you, brushing at your skin and making you shiver with every gust—there’s nothing more you’d like than to go home, plop on your couch and cry while watching the titanic for the hundredth time. 

after what seems like three hundred awkward hours later, you and satoru finally make it to your house. “thanks,” you say quietly, setting down your box in front of the door. 

satoru places his next to yours and slips his hands back into his pockets. he nods and replies, “no problem,” but still doesn’t leave.

you cross your arms, and tilt your head, meeting his eyes hesitantly. “umm, do you need anything else?”

satoru coughs tensely and shrugs. “oh, uh, not really, just—” his eyes drift down to your top, and your face grows warm when you realize you’re still wearing his hoodie. 

“shit, my bad,” you mumble, internally cringing and resisting the urge to say every curse word you know. could this day really get any worse?

well, at least satoru looks equally as embarrassed. he shakes his head and gestures for you to keep it on. “it’s fine, it’s kinda cold anyways. keep it.” satoru hesitates, shuffling his feet before continuing, “if you want something… to remember me by.”

what you say next was done entirely against your will. “do you still love me?” you ask suddenly, not sure what otherworldly force prompted you to do so. you instantly regret it when satoru’s face goes even redder, and you can tell it’s not from the cold the way his blush spreads to his ears.

“i— uh, i mean—”

“answer me, satoru, i think i have a right to know.”

he looks away and mumbles something about needing to go back home, to feed his fish or something (he doesn’t have a fish), and you grab his hand just as he starts to turn away. “please, satoru, i need to know,” you breathe, squeezing his hand harder when he flinches. 

ten silent seconds tick by, but you still don’t let go. so satoru sighs, a soft white puff of air coming from his lips. “yeah.”

your heart breaks again.

“then why did you—”

“because i don’t know how to do this,” satoru says, blue eyes darting all over the place. “i love you, i really do, but i just can’t— i don’t like having thousands of people thinking that i’m only worth looking at if i’m with you, it’s annoying and it pisses me off and i don’t want to accidentally take it out on yo—”

you cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the way he yelps a little in surprise. but thankfully, he doesn’t push you away—instead, his arms instantly wrap around you and pull you closer into his warm, warm chest. satoru’s lips are a little dry, but still minty as ever from the peppermints he’s constantly munching on. he kisses you back like a man starved of affection, and when you two finally break apart, his eyes are just as hungry.

“you idiot,” you whisper, trailing your fingers through his hair as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “you shoulda just talked to me about it first.”

“i know,” satoru mumbles, looking down bashfully. “‘m sorry.”

“you should be.” you pause, watching satoru’s lips curve into a pouty frown. “i’m sorry too,” you murmur, and he looks up, confused. “i should’ve seen this coming.”

satoru shakes his head and presses his lips to your forehead, lingering for a couple seconds before pulling back. “i missed you.”

“i was gone for less than a day, satoru.”

“oh, so you didn’t miss me?”

“i did,” you admit, exhaling a puff of air when satoru smiles smugly. “shut up, it’s not a competition!”

“yeah it is, but fine, you win,” satoru gives in with a dramatic sigh, reaching down and twining his fingers with yours. his hands, which are significantly bigger than yours, instantly warm you up. “but only ‘cause i don’t want you to break up with me next.”

“i hate you, y’know that?” you grumble, leaning into his side and letting satoru kiss the top of your head. he hums in agreement, reaching out and opening your front door. 

“i’m sure you do, baby. now c’mon, let’s get inside n’ warm up. i wanna make it up to you,” satoru says with a grin, bending over and scooping up both boxes. 

“oh, yeah? how do you plan to do that?” you challenge, going inside first and holding the door open for satoru. once he’s inside, you close the door and instantly get pinned against it by satoru, whose hands are already creeping underneath your clothes. “satoru, your hands are col—”

he cuts you off by pressing his equally cold lips to yours, smiling against your mouth as he tugs at your clothes. “i know, baby. but i’ll keep you nice n’ warm for the rest of the night, i promise!”

[writersdrug]

OOOH bartender Simon when one of the regulars starts making comments about reader at the bar

Yes

Slight nsfw, someone makes derogatory marks about reader

Simon didn't understand why the man chose to be a regular at his bar. He never spoke much to the lad, Mitch, other than the occasional grunt and "'nother round?" Still, the bloke had been coming to his pub every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night like it was his religion - it very well might've been - spilling his guts over neat whiskey about his failing marriage, his estranged children, and his shitty job. Simon was surprised he managed to keep one, with how much he was drinking on a Sunday night.

"Don't ever get a wife, Simon." Mitch says, fidgeting his empty whiskey glass in his fingers. He'd already come in with a sour expression and droopy eyes - Simon wondered what the topic would be for tonight, but as usual, it steered towards his divorce waiting to happen.

"Already got one." He says, jerking his head to the liquor shelf. "Woodford."

Mitch laughs, letting Ghost take his empty glass and dunk it in the wash basin. "You got anyone waitin' for you after work?"

Ghost clicks his tongue, wiping the condensation off the bar top. "Rather not talk about my personal life 'ere."

"Bah - you need something young n' fresh." Mitch sighs, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Guy like you can't have something too committed, or else your work ethic will suffer."

Ghost grunts as his response. He reminds himself that Mitch was a patent, like everyone else, and he only has to tolerate his yapping for tonight - until next Friday.

Mitch turns his head to look at you, and Simon follows with his eyes: you're standing at a table, bantering with the couple seated there as you take their orders. Hair pulled back into that weird claw clip thingy Simon likes so much, posture relaxed as you leaned on one hip, a soft smile on your face as the couple takes their time placing their orders. He remembers how unfamiliar you were with it all in the beginning, and now it looks like you've been working here for the past ten years. Like you belong in his pub.

"How's she handling the job?" Mitch asks.

Simon shrugs. "Seems t' be managing just fine. Gets away with more shit than I should be allowin' 'er."

Mitch chuckles, looking back at you. "They always do when they look that good." He comments, making Ghost pause. "Price knew what he was doin' hiring her."

He feels his muscles tense subconsciously. "I hired 'er."

Mitch looks back at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Simon, you ol' dog..." he begins, leaning his forearms onto the bartop. "Gotta keep the customers comin' somehow, eh?"

Ghost blinks. "I don't follow." He does; but he's giving Mitch a chance to redeem himself after his insinuation.

"C'mon, was it her face? What she wore to the interview? Did Johhny-boy see her and beg you to hire her?" He leans in towards Simon, who obliges and meets him halfway, just to hear what else the price will say, so he knows how much damage he can justify.

"I'm telling you - the only reason she probably took the job was, well.." he raises and eyebrow.

Simon waits. "Hmm?"

"You know - three big guys like you lot - not to mention that old brewmaster assistant, Garrick, I know he frequents here... well, any desperate thing like her would be throwing themselves at the opportunity."

He's livid. "Wha' opportunity?"

"Gettin hit from all sides, if you catch my drift."

Ghost nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He wants to punch a hole through Mitch's chest, but two patrons roughhoused in one week would make Price get on his case. He turns to the bar and grabs a whiskey glass.

"Aww, don't be like that..." Mitch says when he senses Ghost's anger. "I'm sorry. Listen - if you don't want to show her a good time, me and my buddy will. I'll leave my number and you'll give it to her for me?"

"Drink this, sober up, and go home Mitch." Ghost says, slapping the glass of clear liquid in front of the man. Mitch eyes him with a huff as he returns to washing the glasses in the bar sink.

"Fuckin' loser..." he mumbles, grabbing the glass and downing a large gulp - he immediately sputters, the drink spilling all over his front as he coughs and hacks violently. The entire floor looks over at the commotion, you included, standing by the POS and watching with a furrowed brow.

"Fuck- was that goddamn Everclear?!" He rasps.

"I think it's time y' head out, Mitch." Ghost says, leaning both of his hands against the bar. "Call your wife and kids. Stop comin' 'ere every week." He then leans in close, right in front of Mitch's face. "Cuz if I see you back at my bar again, I'm draggin' you out the back myself."

His eyes crinkle with a smile as he claps Mitch on the arm, making him jump from the impact. He quickly gets up off his seat and stumbles towards the front door, sparing one last bittwr glance between you and Ghost, before he angrily shoves his way out.

Ghost sighs, putting the Everclear back on the shelf; you walk over right on cue. "What was that about? He ok?"

Simon shrugs, closing Mitch's tab on his POS and assigning an auto-gratuity. "Dunno. Maybe my advice finally got t' the bastard."

[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[thevoidstaredback]

Tim was curious. Maybe a little addicted to whatever the hell was in that coffee, he's still standing by the point that no other coffee will ever be enough, but that's not the point.

He wants answers. The Justice League want answers. No one has been able to get them. Because Phantom stays in the House of Mysteries, no one but the JLD can actually get time him. The Supers have tried listening out for him, but magic is something they're weak against and therefore can't hear through. Batman has tried to get into the House, but he's been sent everywhere else for his attempts. They would track him down as a civilian, but no one actually knows if he has a civilian disguise. It's very hard to hide hair that starkly white and skin pale enough to be blue.

Regardless, everyone wanted answers and Tim was determined to be the one to get them. Why does Phantom claim to be thirty-eight, fourteen, and eighteen all at the same time? Where did he come from? When did he die? How did he die? What the hell is in his coffee because damn was it good!

Off topic.

Tim had the rest of the Titans return to the tower while he stayed out. It'd be easier to track if he was the only one doing it. Besides, these guys work with Raven, they won't hurt him. Probably.

The fact that Phantom apparently smelled like death was another concern Tim had. Was it because he was dead? And what did Constantine mean that 'the smell lingers'?

More questions kept popping up like goddamn daisies, and there was no answers to clip them down. Tim was getting frustrated, to say the least.

***

Danny made an effort to at least try and help Constantine with the demon problem the building was having. Honestly, it wasn't even that bad, in Danny's humble opinion. The demon was just messing with people, not hurting anyone or stealing anything! He was, at most, planting minor inconveniences everywhere.

That's not technically his monkey, though, and it was most definitely not his circus. He figured he'd offer to be helpful, though, if only so that Constantine would owe him a favor. A favor he already knows how he's going to cash in.

"Why'd you really want to tag along?" Constantine asked Danny while they searched for the demon.

"What do you mean? You offered to bring me along."

"Yeah, but that's because you need to get out of the House more."

"Funny, coming from you."

"I spend more time outside of the House than I do inside." the Brit scoffed, "Now tell me why you agreed to come along. This is demon hunting. You only ever go ghost hunting."

Danny sighed and ran his left hand through his hair. Not that he could feel it, stupid nerve damage. "Deadman's been on my ass about my first trip to Gotham. I would've left to go find some place to crash, but the entire Justice League is also on my ass for some reason! I'd honestly rather not have to face any of them."

"You've been to Gotham?" Constantine asked, "When?"

Danny groaned, "Not you, too!"

"Whoa, okay, okay. You don't need to share with the class."

"Sorry."

"You better be."

"Hey!"

"Now tell my why the JL proper are after you?"

A sigh. "You remember at that meeting when Red Robin mistook my drink for his?"

"Yeah. Hard to forget. You freaked everyone out a little bit."

"Yeah. Turns out they all have questions that I don't want to answer. Avoiding them all has been the best way to not answer."

"You know you can't dodge them all forever."

"I know, but I really don't want to have to explain anything!" he whined, "The questions that they'll end up asking are gonna be really painful to answer."

A raised eyebrow. "How do you know what they'll ask?"

"Because everyone always asks the same things. Worded differently, but still that same."

"Then refuse to answer."

Danny met Constantine's eyes with a deadpan glare. "You're gonna look me in the eye and tell me that the Justice League and their sidekicks will leave me alone if I tell them 'no'?" He shook his head. "Lying's a bad habit, old man."

Constantine rolled his eyes as he went for his lighter, remembering they were were in a no smoke zone and retracting his hand. "Don't sass me, brat. Wonder Woman and Superman, at the very least, would back off. They'd get everyone else to, too."

"What about Batman and his brood?"

"Touche." the man said, "But you can't hide from them forever."

"I can try,"

"But you'll fail."

Another groan. "Can we just get this thing over with? I want to lock myself in the basement and wallow."

Part 5 Part 7

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette @serasvictoria02 @the-chaos-goblin-child @confusedshades @caicie @fantasticstoryteller @randomshtickidk @itsberrydreemurstuff

[ghcstao3]

borrowing from xmen first class but i like the idea of ghost having wings in the sense that they are always there, but they are not always a physical thing—most of the time, his wings are a mere tattoo wrapping across his back and shoulders.

they’re easy to keep a secret. he rarely ever lets them manifest, so it’s become second nature to think of them as only the “tattoo”. no one questions it if they ever catch a glimpse, at least nothing more than a harmless ask like when did you get that done? or is there a meaning behind it?

it’s easy, too, when he’s never felt compelled to show anyone the truth of his wings. at least, he hadn’t ever felt compelled before soap.

for whatever reason, the first time soap sees the tattoo, ghost feels the need to spill his secret, spill all his secrets right then and there. but he bites his tongue and grits out answers to all of soap’s questions, all the while he begrudgingly stands with his back bare to the man.

and then ghost feels the light brush of fingertips. the gentle trace along every line and curve of the wings, and ghost can’t help the way his back tenses—not from the fact of being touched, but the fact of the strange sensation it produces. and of course, soap notices, and immediately backs away.

ghost’s breathing has gone shallow. clipped.

“if i show you something, johnny,” ghost says quietly, “you promise it doesn’t leave this room?”

this room being the emptied locker room is almost laughable. soap nods though ghost can’t see it.

“of course, sir. i swear it.”

ghost nods, to himself more than anything, eyes screwed shut as he wills his wings to unfurl from his shoulders and come to life. he tries to ignore the quiet gasp that escapes soap, but it’s impossible.

more so when he feels his wings flutter involuntarily under soap’s renewed touch.

“this is—these are…” soap whispers, breathless. “does anyone else know?”

slowly, minutely, ghost shakes his head.

“well,” soap murmurs, “then i’m honoured.”

though his back is still turned to soap, ghost can almost sense the onslaught of questions that have risen to his tongue, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask any as voices suddenly grow louder and their peaceful space is intruded. in a practiced, swift movement, ghost’s wings melt back into his skin, and he and soap scramble to pretend like they were in the midst of their own separate, menial tasks.

ghost doesn’t know what had overcome him. he doesn’t know if it’s something he would ever be able to explain. but what he does know is that it felt… freeing, to tell someone.

no, not just someone. johnny.

he finds he doesn’t actually dread the inevitable moment when the topic would be brought up again, so soap could finally ask his questions.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 35: Answers

You leave Jackson to find your daughters. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-34 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 5.4k

A/N: We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It was hard not to panic when the world was ending. 

You’d lived through it enough by now, you thought you’d get used to it. 

You never did. 

“Who has them, Kyle?” You asked, holding the boy’s shoulders, searching his eyes. He was still panting for breath, still looking terrified. “I need you to focus, who has them.” 

“That man, the one who was here a few months ago but left,” he said. “I can’t… He gave me so much to remember and I can’t…” 

“Cody?” You asked quickly, even though you knew you were right, your chest tight. “Does that sound right?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded quickly. “Yes, Cody, it was Cody, he has them. He sent me here, to find you. He told me to bring you and just you back, said if we came with anyone else he’d kill them. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Miller, I was just trying to help, I swear…” 

Your head spun but you didn’t have time to try to calm yourself down or even come up with a fucking plan. 

“Did he say why?” You asked, leaving the teenager hovering in your doorway as you went to your kitchen. You found a notebook and ripped a piece of paper out of it, the pen hovering over it for a moment. Like once you wrote what was going to happen there was no turning back. 

“He said you owed him,” he said. “And he that he would collect with them if it wasn’t with you. He said you’d know what that meant.” 

You held the pen a little tighter. You did know what he meant and you knew the kind of man Cody was, what he would take if you let him. 

You couldn’t let him. 

“Kyle, go in the closet by the front door,” you said, wondering how your voice wasn’t shaking. “There’s my patrol pack in there, it has my flashlight, my axe and my knife. Get them.” 

It wasn’t going to be enough but you didn’t have guns in the house and getting one would require talking to someone else, something you couldn’t risk, not when it was Savvy and Ellie on the line. You’d have to make do.

You tried to think of what to say to Joel, the man you loved more than you ever thought it was possible to love someone like that. How did you say goodbye to someone who meant that much to you when you didn’t want to leave? 

You did the best you could, signing your name - your real one - for the first time since you’d married Joel. 

“Found them,” Kyle said as you folded the paper in half and wrote Joel’s name on one side of it, leaving the note leaning against the flowers that he had picked for you before leaving town. You looked around the kitchen, at the spot on the counter where you perched as your husband cooked for you and the table where you sat with him and took a deep breath, hoping you’d see it all again. 

“You know where to go, right?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I memorized it.” 

“OK,” you said, clipping your knife to your belt, thankful that you’d just fallen asleep fully clothed so you didn’t have to stop to get dressed. You were in one of Joel’s shirts. You always were, when he was outside Jackson, when he promised to come home to you. “Lead the way.” 

You followed Kyle through the dark, quiet town. Even the Tipsy Bison was silent and you realized you weren’t sure what time it was but it had to be late, at least 3 a.m. 

“We’ll have to sneak out,” Kyle said, his voice low. “It’s what we did when…” 

You couldn’t think about it. 

“Show me.” 

There was an area of the fence, covered by a woodpile and not far from the schoolhouse, that easily pried apart, leaving enough room for a person to slip outside. 

Kyle climbed through first and held it for you to follow before the two of you scrambled for the nearest tree line, hoping that you made it out of town unnoticed. 

“How far?” You asked, looking back over your shoulder, your heart pounding. 

“Three hours, I think,” he said. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Miller…” 

“Tell me all of it,” you said, ignoring his apology. It didn’t matter now. “I need to know what we’re walking into.” 

It made so much sense when he laid it out for you. 

Savvy and Ellie had snuck out of Jackson the first night Joel was gone, the friends they were hanging out with apparently slipping out regularly. They stashed some pot outside the walls and liked to go sit and smoke when they thought they wouldn’t get into trouble, where they felt like they had some freedom. It was so typical of teenagers, it was almost funny. That even in the apocalypse, in a place like Jackson, the children found ways to rebel. Kyle and Savvy had wandered off from the group. They didn’t go far, just far enough that they felt like they had some privacy. Kyle wanted to ask her to the dance that was happening in a few weeks. 

That’s where they ran into Cody. 

He’d been nice, at first. Asking after Jackson, how things had been there. How he was thinking about trying to come back. He asked for information, enough that Savvy was starting to feel skeptical. 

And then Ellie found them. 

Ellie was worried, thinking that Savvy had been off on her own with a boy a little too long, and set off to find them. But she’d snapped when she saw Cody. She was a smart girl, she didn’t leave Jackson unarmed and she put her knife to Cody’s throat. 

He’d just smiled, something in his eyes that made Kyle uneasy, more uneasy than Ellie’s knife did. 

“Should fucking kill you right now,” Ellie had said, getting in his face. “Joel never should have let you live, I don’t give a fuck what she says…” 

“Ellie!” Savvy tried to go for her but Kyle stopped her, catching her around her waist and holding her back. “You can’t just kill him, he hasn’t done anything!” 

“Should listen to your sister, little girl,” Cody smirked. “I don’t come back, there’s a whole new set of problems for that perfect little town of yours.” 

“Fuck you,” Ellie spat. 

“You that serious?” He asked. “Come and get me. Tomorrow night. Bring your mom.” He’d looked at Savvy in a way that made Kyle feel sick. “And get your sister on board. Something tells me she might not know the real reason I left Jackson.” 

Cody walked away then, Ellie’s grip still tight on the knife for a minute before she put an arm around Savvy and stalked back off toward town. Kyle couldn’t hear what they were saying. 

When they made it back as dawn was on the horizon, he still wasn’t sure what set Ellie off. He wasn’t sure when Ellie and Savvy came to him the next afternoon, either, to ask him to go with them to find Cody that night. 

“I want to have the upper hand,” Ellie had said. “And you already know about him.” 

Savvy looked different then, something set and angry on her face. Kyle tried to ask her what was wrong but she wouldn’t tell him. He just went along with their plan, Ellie and Savvy out for Cody’s blood and Kyle wanting to keep the girl he was starting to fall for safe. 

But they made a mistake. 

They were outnumbered from the start, Cody bringing a dozen men to capture them. Ellie killed one as Kyle tried to run with Savvy but they failed. 

“Thought I told you to bring your mom,” Cody had said. “But that’s OK. Sure we can work something out.” 

He hauled the three of them away, walking a few hours into the forest, before sending Kyle back to Jackson to get you.

It explained so much of what had happened over the last day. The cagey way Ellie and Savvy were talking in the mess hall, the way Savvy had hugged you - Ellie had to have told her something - like she hadn’t in months, the odd way they were acting when you checked on them that night. 

“How many men were there?” You asked. 

“A lot,” Kyle said. “I don’t know for sure. At least 12 to grab us, we met up with probably another dozen or so after that…” 

“Right,” you said, your heart clenching. You weren’t making it out of this. You tried to resign yourself to that, that the best you could hope for right now was getting the kids out in one piece. “Did he say what he wanted?” 

“Besides you?” Kyle asked. “No. I’m sorry, Mrs. Miller…” 

“It’s OK,” you said, trying to keep him calm. “You did your best, you stayed alive, that’s the important thing.” 

The two of you walked in silence for a while, your heart pounding the whole time. You focused on getting to the girls. That’s all that mattered. You tried not to think about what was waiting for you on the other side of it. 

“When we find them, let me do the talking,” you said as the sunrise tinted the horizon red. “And stay behind me. If you see a chance to get Savvy or Ellie away, do it. Otherwise, do what I tell you.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, a tremble in his voice. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Miller, I didn’t mean…” 

“I know,” you said quietly. “Just get them home.” 

You caught a glimpse of someone moving in the woods then, just on the edge of your vision, your head whipping around to track the motion on instinct. It was baked into you still, moving through the forest alone, being on guard, knowing when you were being watched. You’d survived most of your life that way and years in Jackson hadn’t pulled it out of you. The second you realized it was a man and not an animal, you adjusted your grip on your axe with one hand and reached behind you with the other, shifting your body so you were between Kyle and the man. 

It took you half a second to place his familiar face, one of Mitchum’s henchmen who was low enough that he wasn’t allowed to touch you, a slow smirk spreading over his face. 

“Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he emerged from a fern and gave a long, low whistle. “Mitchum’s been lookin’ for you.” 

“Bet he’s been lookin’ for you, too,” your hold on the axe tightened. You wanted to kill him but you couldn’t, not when you didn’t know where Ellie and Savvy were. “Unless you’re still his little bitch. But I don’t think he took too kindly to you taking off on him to serve some other asshole.” 

“You always did have a mouth on you,” he said, trees and brush at your back starting to rustle. “But look where that got you.” 

“And you were up his ass for how long?” You asked. “Where’d that get you, exactly?” 

His eyes narrowed and you tracked where you were hearing movement around you, the sound drawing closer. Kyle’s shaky hand grabbed at your bicep. 

“Don’t think the boss would be too happy with you picking a fight with our biggest commodity,” a man said from behind you. Kyle gasped and you felt him jump but you kept your  eyes on the first man. “You know what he wants with her.” 

“And what’s that, exactly?” You called over your shoulder, still tracking where Kyle was with your unoccupied hand. 

“Leverage, of course,” the man came around to the front of you, smirking just like his friend. You didn’t recognize him. “Mitchum has the biggest operation around these parts and you, it seems, are the only thing he wants that he doesn’t have. Give him you on a silver platter? We get first pick of new territory.” 

He looked you up and down in a way that reminded you of inspecting livestock. Your stomach turned.

“Don’t really see what all the fuss is about but,” he shrugged. “Don’t really give a shit.” 

“You got my girls?” You asked, cutting to the chase. 

His smile grew. 

“So the boss was right,” he shook his head a little. “You women, so predictable…” 

“If they’re not in one piece, I got no reason to leave you two idiots alive,” you snapped, losing your patience. You needed to see your daughters and you needed to see them now. “So if you don’t want my axe in your goddamn chest, you’re gonna take me to them right fucking now.” 

He licked his lips. 

“Might get the fuss a little more now,” he said, stepping close to you. He knew he had you, knew that you wouldn’t do anything that would risk Savvy or Ellie. “Gonna need that axe and knife and anything else you got on you or the boy. Then we’ll see if we can’t find your girls.” 

You narrowed your eyes but surrendered your weapons anyway. 

“Mrs. Miller…” Kyle whispered but you shushed him. 

“I’ll keep you safe,” you glanced behind you toward him. “Stay calm and do what they tell you.” 

You turned your attention back to the men in front of you, more emerging from the trees now. 

“If you’ve hurt either of them, you have no idea the shit storm you just brought down on your heads.” 

“Not much of a threat without your little toys,” he looked them over. “Something tells me we can take you just fine unarmed.” 

“Cody tell you what I did to the men who tried to catch me last time I got out?” You asked, brows raised. For half a moment, there was a flash of concern on the first man’s face. You nodded to him. “He knows. Take me to my girls before you find out first hand.” 

The second man quirked his jaw before jerking his head in the direction you’d been walking. 

“Keep up.” 

You only needed to follow them another 15 minutes or so, your heart pounding the whole time. Eventually, you came upon a clearing, a fire dying at the center of it with Cody standing right behind it, watching you approach with a satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Hey there baby doll,” he said, prowling around the fire to meet you. “You don’t look too happy to see me.” 

“Where are my daughters.” 

He ignored you, like you hadn’t spoken at all. 

“You’d think that, after last time, you’d learn…” 

“Where are my daughters.” 

“…that you should at least pretend to be grateful when you see me…” 

Your patience was gone. If he didn’t have Ellie and Savvy, there was no point to this. No point to his game, no point to trying to make it out alive. You needed to see them and you needed to see them now. 

The man at your left had a handgun in a holster on his right, one he wasn’t paying close attention to, his hands on his rifle that was strapped across his body. You, on the other hand, had paid attention. 

You went for the gun, moving fast enough that he didn’t know what was happening until he felt the tug of you pulling the weapon from his side, turning to face you with a frown on his face after you freed the revolver, pulling the hammer back as you raised it and pulled the trigger. He dropped, Kyle screaming in shock at your back, and you turned the gun on Cody, pulling the hammer back again. 

“WHERE ARE MY FUCKING KIDS!” 

You could feel every gun and eye turn to you as you fought to control your breathing, the sound of birds taking flight the only sound beyond the echo of the gunshot and your scream. But you knew they wouldn’t shoot you, not when you were apparently so valuable to their boss and their boss was still breathing. And if they were smart, the wouldn’t hurt Savvy or Ellie, either.

“You know you wouldn’t make it out of here alive,” Cody said, stepping closer, until the barrel of the gun was in his chest. 

“You think that matters if they’re gone?” You asked, brows raised. “If you killed them, all that matters is that I kill as many of you as I can before you take me down and I’m a damn good shot. So. Give me my daughters or another one of these fuckers dies.” 

He gave you a cocky smirk and whistled. There was rustling somewhere you couldn’t see but, after a moment, three men brought out Savvy and Ellie, bound and gagged. You clenched your jaw but stayed still, eyes ranging over them as quickly as you could, looking for all signs of injury. They were still dressed, a good sign. Ellie had a cut at her forehead, Savvy had a bloody bandage at her arm. You clenched your fist on the revolver. 

“See?” Cody said. “All in one piece. Now, hand over the gun before we have to change that.” 

Ellie’s eyes went wide and she shook her head at you, frantic, but you ignored her.

“Untie them,” you said, gun still in his chest. 

“Gonna need a little more incentive than that,” he said. “I know how you are with people who do you favors…” 

“Untie them,” you said again, pulling your eyes away from the girls to meet his. “Let me talk to them, make sure they’re OK, then let them go with their friend. And I mean let them go, your men stay where I can fuckin’ see ‘em. You do that? I’ll do whatever you want.” 

“Whatever I want?” He asked, looking you up and down. 

Your stomach turned. 

“You heard me,” you spat. 

He mulled it over for a second before smiling, cocky. 

“Deal,” he said, jerking his head toward one of his men. They moved to untie Savvy and Ellie. “I’ll take that gun now.” 

You lowered the weapon and turned it around in your hand before holding it out to him, handle first. He took it. 

“Good as you are, don’t know if I ever thought your pussy was worth all the fuss Mitchum made over you,” he said, handing the gun to one of his henchmen. “But damn if it ain’t fun to watch you break.” 

“Mom!” Savvy was freed first, running for you and throwing her arms around your neck. You clutched onto her, clinging to her, breathing in the scent of her, floral with a hint of apple and hay and gunpowder. “I’m so sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry…” 

“It’s OK,” your voice was thick and you tried to focus on how she felt in your arms so you could hold onto that memory before stepping back from her. “Are you OK? They touch you?” 

“I’m fine,” she sniffed. “They got my arm a little but…” 

“They haven’t touched you since you’ve been here?” You asked, brows raised. “No one’s hurt you or…” 

“No,” she shook her head. “No, they tied us up but they haven’t done anything.” 

“Good,” you nodded, brushing her thick curls back from her forehead. “That’s good.” 

Ellie approached you cautiously, like she was waiting for you to yell at her but you didn’t. You didn’t even want to, there was no point to it. Instead, you pulled her into your arms and held her tight as she pressed her face into your shoulder. You tried to remember her, too, the daughter who came into your life so late and that you desperately wanted more time with. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice thick and wet. “I thought I could handle it, I thought…” 

“S’OK,” you said, stepping back from her and looking her over, too. Her lip was split and the blood at her forehead was dried, the cut there scabbing over. “Ellie, I need you to listen to me. You’re in charge, OK? You’re going to get Savvy and Kyle back to Jackson…” 

“But -”

“No,” you said, harsher than you really meant. “This ain’t a discussion, this is me telling you what you’re going to do, do you understand me.” 

“I can’t just leave you here!” Her eyes were wide and desperate and you forced yourself to be calm. 

“Yes, you can,” you said, taking her by the shoulders. “Ellie, the most important thing you can do right now is take care of your sister, do you understand me?” She nodded. “You get her and Kyle back to town. You’ve patrolled, you know how to do it safely. Get them there. That’s your job, they are your responsibility. Promise me you’ll get them home.” 

She looked like she wanted to argue but you held her tighter. 

“Ellie,” you said. “Promise me.” 

“But…” 

“Promise me!” You yelled it, loud enough that you saw Savvy flinch out of the corner of your eye. 

“I promise,” she said, crying now. 

It was like a weight lifted. You knew it was hours back to Jackson but, if Ellie actually kept her word, they’d make it. They would be safe. That was all that mattered. 

“Thank you,” you pulled her in for another hug, kissing her cheek as you did. “I love you so much. Take care of yourself and your dad for me, OK?” 

“I love you too,” she breathed. 

You gave her a final squeeze and went for Savvy who was fighting back tears. 

“Mom,” her voice was thick and wet. “I can’t…” 

“Yes, you can,” you said gently. “Go with Ellie, do what she tells you and you’ll get back safe. Listen to Joel, stick with school, find your place in Jackson. Have a good life, OK?” 

She shook her head. 

“I don’t want to do it without you,” she’d given up on not crying now. “I tried to before and I don’t want that, you need to be there, Mom, I need you, I…” 

“Savvy,” you said, holding her face in your hands, brushing her tear-streaked cheeks with your thumbs. “Everything I’ve done for as long as you’ve been mine has been for you but you don’t need me now. You’re all that matters. You get back safe, you have a good life with people you love. You do that and I’ll have done everything I needed to do. So give me that, OK?” 

You didn’t give her a chance to reply, just pulling her in close and holding her there, kissing her cheek as you did. 

“I love you so much, baby girl,” you whispered. 

“I love you, too,” she said. 

You stepped back and looked at them for a moment before casting a glance at Cody. 

“They need weapons.” 

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” 

You rounded on him. 

“Give them weapons,” you said through clenched teeth. “Or I’ll kill as many of your men as I can between here and Mitchum.” 

He smirked a little before jerking his head in the direction of one of his men. They surrendered knives you recognized - ones you were sure Ellie and Savvy had come here with - and your axe. 

“Better get going,” Cody said. “Before I change my mind.” 

You just nodded and watched them go, Ellie and Savvy looking back at you as long as they could, Ellie pulling Savvy along side her as they went. You kept looking at the place where they’d been long after you couldn’t see them anymore. 

“Alright Doll,” Cody said eventually, stepping forward with cuffs in his hands. “Wrists together. Not about to risk you changing your mind on that deal. You’re a little too valuable and it’s time for me to cash in.” 

***

“Joel.”

Tommy sounded desperate. Joel ignored him. 

“You can’t just take off…” 

Tommy’s hand came to Joel’s shoulder but he ripped it off, rounding on his brother, moving quickly and decisively and backing the younger, smaller man into a building. 

“You tryin’ to tell me I can’t protect my family?” Joel towered over him. “You gonna try and stop me?” 

“Can’t do shit for them if you run out there hot headed,” Tommy said, his eyes darting over Joel’s face, like he was watching a wild animal. “You can’t help them if you’re dead, you need to wait, you need a plan…” 

“I have a fuckin’ plan!” He didn’t have time for this. “Get my girls back. Don’t try to fuckin’ stop me.” 

“Joel,” Maria’s voice was behind him, calm and collected. He turned to face her, ready to go through her, too, if he had to. “We have everyone out looking for them, there are no fresh horses because we sent everyone we had as soon as we could. We’re looking for their trail but they could be anywhere. Wait until we have people back to go with you, wait until we know where they went. If you run off now, you’re only going to make it worse. You’ll waste time. Give it a few hours, Joel.” 

“A few hours?” He bit out. “You want me to sit here for a few fuckin’ hours while that monster has my wife and kids? Expect me to let him hurt them for hours while I fuckin’ wait?” 

Maria didn’t have a chance to respond, the sound of chaos at the gate sending the three of them running for it. 

Joel reached it just as three horses rode up. It took him a moment to realize they each carried more than one rider. His heart pounded. For one second - a glorious, peaceful second - he thought everything was going to be OK. That they’d found you and the girls before anything bad happened, that he was going to be able to hold the three of you close and never let you go again. 

And then he realized that you weren’t there. That you’d gotten the children you shared with him back but you hadn’t made it. 

“Joel!” Ellie jumped off her horse before it had fully stopped. “Joel, he has Bambi, we have to go get her, we have to.” 

She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him and he could feel her taking shaky breaths. 

“It’s OK Baby Girl,” he said, holding her close. “I’ve got you, you’re OK.” 

“We have to go get her,” Ellie said again, frantic as she pulled back from him. “We have to.” 

Joel, Tommy and Maria led the girls and a trembling Kyle to the clinic. Ellie and Savvy didn’t wait for the doctor to be done looking them over as they sat beside each other on the exam table, the story spilling out of them quickly. How they’d lied to you and snuck out of Jackson the first night he was gone. How they’d run into Cody in the woods. How Ellie threatened to kill him and Savvy didn’t understand why. How he told them to come back the next night with you. How Ellie had told Savvy everything she knew about what happened to you. How Savvy wanted to leave then and there to take care of it and Ellie had to make her wait, confident that they could handle him. How Ellie had killed men like him before, how she was sure she could do it again. How they got help from Kyle to be sure. How it had all gone to shit the second they were too far from Jackson to get help. How you’d come for them, how you’d sacrificed yourself to get the three of them out safely. 

How Joel knew that’s exactly what you would do. 

Because of course you would. It was exactly what he would have done. How would you have done anything else? 

“We need to get her back, Joel,” Savvy was crying, pleading. “We can’t leave her there with him, we can’t, please…” 

Joel looked between the two of them. He wanted to scream. He wanted to ask why. Why had they snuck out? Why had they tried to take matters into their own hands? Why had they put themselves in such danger? Didn’t they know, if they failed, you’d have no choice? That you would do anything for them? That he would, too? 

But yelling and questioning wouldn’t do any good. What was done was done. Taking his fear out on them would only make shit worse.

“I’m gonna get her back, Baby Girl,” Joel said. “I’m gonna bring her home.” 

He turned and gave Tommy a look, half begging for help, half daring him to stop him. Tommy just squared his jaw and gave him a single, firm nod. Joe returned it and the went to leave, but Ellie stopped them, catching them on the porch of the clinic. 

“I’m coming, too.” 

“No,” Joel shook his head. “No, you’re stayin’ here…” 

“No,” she said sharply, a fierce look in her eyes. “I’m going. I can help, I know…” 

“It don’t matter,” Joel cut her off. “Not putting you at risk…” 

“I don’t care about the risk!” She snapped. “You can’t just expect me to sit here on my ass while she’s out there…”

“You think she’d want you gettin’ hurt for her?” Joel grabbed Ellie by the shoulders and held her tighter than he should. “She took care of you by…” 

“By cleaning up a fucking mess I made!” She yelled before closing her eyes for a moment, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She took a deep, centering breath before opening her eyes again, voice calmer now. “I never had parents, Joel. I never had anyone who loved me like that until you and then she showed up and she didn’t have any fucking reason to care about me like that but she did. She’s my mom and I got her hurt because I tried to handle shit on my own. I’m not handling it on my own now, I’m handling it with you. I know what you’re capable of. I know what you’re going to do. I’m telling you that I don’t want to be here when you do it, I want to be with you. I want to get her back and I want to make him fucking pay and I can’t do that from Jackson. So are you going to let me come with you or are you going to make me sneak out and try to handle this shit on my own again?” 

Joel looked to his brother. He’d done shit like this more times than he cared to count but only twice with stakes as high as this. Every time, it was either alone or with Tommy at his side. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do what he normally did with Ellie there. He’d be worrying about her, watching for her, protecting her. 

But they were out numbered and Ellie was a strong rider who was smart and good with a gun. 

“She’s an adult, Joel,” Tommy said hesitantly. Joel could see in his eyes that he was thinking about William, if he would let his son do something so reckless if he had any say. “And she does a good job on patrol.” 

Joel took a deep breath. 

“You gotta listen,” he said. Ellie was already nodding quickly. “Do what I say so I can keep us all safe. I tell you to get back to Jackson, you do it. If you’re a liability out there, you’re makin’ things worse for her, not better. Got it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Repeat it.” 

“What you say goes,” she said, watching him closely. “I won’t fuck up, Dad. I promise.” 

In another time, another place, Joel’s heart would have soared in that moment. Just knowing that Ellie saw him the same way he saw her made him feel complete in a way he didn’t realize he was missing. 

But he wasn’t able to enjoy it. There was another vital piece of him that was gone, one he was going to get back if it was the last thing he ever did. 

“OK,” he said, looking at Ellie. “Let’s go get your mom.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Figured we'd kick off the more feral part of this fic with some Feral!Bambi. Don't worry, Feral!Joel fans, he's up next ❤️ As always, thank you so so much for reading and for sticking it out with this fic! I know it's been a long one. I'm glad you're still here. Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

[superpowered-dirt]

i never post on here but i have so much in my head about twd: the ones who live i honestly feel like i might explode.

i know all anyone really wants to talk about from episode 2 is That Part of their reunion (which is fair, don't ask me how many times I rewatched it), but now, the part that keeps playing over and over again in my head is this tiny bit:

and i just need to say, danai and andy are so insanely talented bc this clip?? this clip—short as it is, with not a world of dialogue—says SO much about where our two characters are at.

first, rick. i watch this clip and i think holy shit, yeah, that is a broken man. andy does a masterful job at displaying through his eyes and the way he carries himself the extent of the psychological damage and anguish within rick, not to mention the guilt he carries. you can see the gears turning in his head as he reminds himself how he basically gave up on her. how he gave up on himself. how he told himself that he was done, he was never seeing her again, and let himself fold into the CRM. i think it's safe to say he hates himself for his choice to move on. he's utterly crushed by it. like look at him, he can't even meet her eyes!!

and michonne? she sees it. once the euphoria of I Found You has begun to wear off and she lets herself really take him in, she immediately clocks that this is not the same rick that "died" on the bridge. not the rick that led alexandria. not the rick that got them out of terminus. and definitely not the rick that stood up to the saviors. in fact, the last time she saw this version of him, it was right after the first time they ever lost to negan, and that horrifies her, because if that rick is back, then something truly terrible has happened. the look on her face in the clip says a million things, but most loudly, she's wondering, understandably and devastatingly, "my love, what have they done to you?"

the final clue for her that her rick is gone, at least for now, is their next interaction. since forever, both of their instincts anytime they've been told that something bad is coming their way have been to either hoof it for the safety of their family or stand back to back and dispatch the threat. it's the panic in his voice, the sheer desperation as he pleads with her to stand down instead and hide herself after she suggests they go that tells her she has no idea what he's been through or what she's in for now that she's in the shit with him. and even now, if the trailer for E03 has been any indication, she still fails to grasp the danger they're both in. i know what people online have been saying, but she's not being careless, this is michonne we're talking about, she just doesn't understand how careful she really has to be. and then throw jadis and her bitch ass bowl cut into the mix and suddenly a whole new threat looms over alexandria and the commonwealth that ultimately all comes back on rick too? the guilt he now has to face for not only dragging his wife into his mess, but through jadis, also his daughter and all his friends?? and if he finds out now that he has a son too, then there's even more guilt??????

i could go on for hours but i won't. all i'll say is that we're definitely in for such an emotional ride tomorrow. and really there's no one else i trust more than andy and danai to deliver that for us.

[yae-energy]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ╰┈─✩ ˚ ‧ closet tour ! ‧ ˚

✧˖° synopsis : commonly worn items (or accessories) these characters may have .

✧˖° cast & crew : megumi fushiguro , maki zenin , yuji itadori , and yuta okkotsu .

.ᐟ content warnings : cursing , yuta lwk fighting for his life

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ authors note : new layout !!!! we finally ditched the old one cause it was def time for her to GO 😭. all pictures down below are just for visual aid :)

~

megumi <3 : friendship bracelets

he’s got so many of them, mf got one in every damn pattern and color you can think of. and he only has this many because one summer nobara got into bracelet making.

she convinced gojo to buy her a bunch of kits and she’s been a little busy bee since ! so now every time she shows up with a new bracelet megumi feels like he has to wear it— or at least this is what he claims whenever he gets asked about it.

he actually thinks it’s sweet she’s always giving him bracelets, he’s got one for almost every outfit so it’s always coordinating !

he even wears the matching one she made for him and yuji so the three of them are always matching.

~

maki <3 : hair clips / claw clips

she absolutely hated them at first ngl

the only reason she started wearing them was because gojo would alwayssssssssssss buy them for her ,,

like for no good reason either, literally just cause she’s a teenage girl and sometimes girls wear hair clips. he also said she could spruce up her style a little bit because she’s “bland” and maki didn’t take that well 😭

one day though, she actually wore one of the claw clips he got her because she had no more hair ties and everybody thought she looked so cute and it made her feel nice, so she kept wearing them. over time they grew on her more and more, so she’s always got in a cute lil hair clip now.

but if she sees gojo she will immediately rip that shit out.

she wouldn’t be caught dead in something gojo gave her LMAO,, he’ll get a big head about it and don’t nobody wanna hear that.

she loves her little accessories though <3

~

yuji <3 : the weirdest shirts imaginable

i don’t even know where to start tbh

like i can’t even tell you where he keeps find them become i literally don’t have a single clue,, but he’s always got one on.

it started as just a fun little thing where he’d where a silly shirt once and a while. but because he keeps find them he’s ALWAYS wearing one and they’re the most hilarious things ever, cause how are you finding these???

like bro will have on the most normal fit ever, but if he unzips his jacket or takes off his hoodie you get hit with them most random t-shirt ever 😭 and every time him, nobara, and megumi go anywhere they take a picture of him in his weird ass shirts.

they even made a little photo album of it for novelty purposes.

~

yuta <3 : a plain white t-shirt

i’m sorry yall… but yuta is a victim of the plain white tee epidemic 😕 i hate to say it.

and he absolutely refuses to let it go too. like bro is the number one consumer of the plain white t-shirt,, LIKE LET IT GO PLEASEEEEE IM BEGGING.

panda and inumaki are SICK and TIRED, like he gets clowned for it on the daily but he literally does not give a single fuck. he’s gonna wear the white t-shirt and you cannot stop him. but because of this lifestyle choice, everyone has banned from making comments about anyone else’s style.

like if inumaki puts on some bullshit he can’t say anything 😭 and it eats him up inside cause he knows if they hear one PEEP from him, he’s getting cooked BADDDD.

and every single time he catches yuji in those weird ass shirts he gets heated 😭😭 cause how they let him get away with it but he cant wear his shirts???

all in all, he’s forever a white tee lover 😕 can’t shit be done about it.

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ysl production credits : thank you to @ivanari for helping me with my layout !! live laugh irene

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ tags : @morosis-haze @jogeto @mypimpademia @ivanari @planetlunaa @cosmiles @milesmolasses @chinieh @romiantic @stqrriichiigo

if you wish to be tagged in any future works, here’s my tag form to fill out <33

if you wish to submit a request, here’s my ask box :)

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ closing notes : take care of yourselves please ! or i WILL hunt you down. also, for those who filled out my tag list and i wasn’t tagging you in any work, it’s just cause i forgot to check it lmao 😭. mb ! imma do better. i love yall bunches, mwah x2 .

- xoxo , yves <33

[dark-elf-writes]

I have no clue anything about ff but where is the ‘Harry gets adopted by FF7 characters and finds out what a family should be” au

No one is more surprised than me that I haven’t written this yet tbh like who am I????

ANYWAY

Little Harry who has heard a woman’s voice from a young age telling him that he is not alone, that he is not a freak, that he will be loved and cared for more than he could ever know. He always hears her more when he is working in his Aunt Petunia’s garden. Can practically feel her in the way the plants bloom more beautifully than anywhere else on their street. His invisible friend that helps him find what little beauty he can in his world.

And sometimes she talks about her friends. About a woman who is as strong as she is kind, who loves freely but took no shit, who welcomed those with good intentions with open arms and threw anyone without them out on their arse. About a ninja with sticky fingers and the blood of a princess who would give anything for her people and have fun every step of the way. About a father who demanded the world to change for his little girl and decided to be the push that set it all in motion. About an inventor trapped in the place he should have been able to do good but unable to make anyone listen so he sent his inventions out to make change for him. About a pilot who was grounded against his will and decided to make those that would clip his wings choke on that decision. About a man who was only doing his job and was hurt over and over again for doing the right thing and who learned slowly that the things done to him did not make him a monster.

About a hero that led them all, each of them broken and shattered in their own ways, into a better world.

Harry liked the stories of the hero the best.

Then one day things get bad and Uncle Vernon gets far more angry than he normally is. Harry runs to the garden, hoping somehow that his friend, his only friend, could save him, and she does.

In a space that is more light and glowing green energy than any “world” should be, he sees her for the first time, softly smiling and reaching out to rub her fingers through his hair. She is the prettiest lady he has ever seen. Another voice laughs when he tells her so and a big man with kind eyes, a scar on his face, and hair just as wild as Harry’s grins at him as he announces that “this kid knows what he’s talking about.”

She smiles though there is something sad in her eyes when she speaks.“I can send you somewhere that will help for a time, but eventually you will have to come back. This planet is quite certain that it needs you in the future.”

Harry wants to cry, wants to scream. How does he have to go back! He doesn’t want to.

But something else sticks with him, something that makes him hurt before he even realizes what it was.

“Send me somewhere. Not us?” Not his friend who had told him so many stories and helped him grow flowers? Not this pretty lady and the man with such a kind smile? After everything he would still be alone?

It’s the man’s hand that lands in his hair this time, a comforting weight as he ruffles the tangled locks. “Spike and the others will be waiting for you on the other side. They’ll take good care of you. SOLDIER’s honor.”

Harry doesn’t understand, can’t understand really but “You’re my friend,” he tells the woman, frustrated tears gathering in his eyes. He doesn’t have the words to say anything more. To name the swirling mass of hurt and yearning in his stomach.

She seems to understand smiling sadly at him again before she leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’ll still be able to hear me. More clearly than most I think. I will not leave you Harry Potter.”

Harry Potter is seven years old when he goes missing from the backyard of his Aunt’s house in a swirl of green light. He is seven years old when he wakes up in a shallow pool of water in a church that has seen better days with a man with wild blond hair and shining blue eyes watching him in stunned silence. He is seven years old when his first friend sends him to his hero for safety.

[hotchs-bitch]

Autograph

Summary: Aaron loves you in a way you've never been loved before, and you never want it to end

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: fluff, case study brain because I'm ill, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, allusion to proposal, possessive!hotch

A/N: big big shoutout to @honeybrowne for 1) inspiring me to write this and 2) betaing (see: validating) it. You are the best <33 Find it on ao3 here, or under the cut!

Happy reading <3

I'd change your autograph

I'd put my name on you

And I'd put big gold ring on your left hand

So everybody knew

That I'm the lucky one

At work, you know that your partner deals with all kinds of psychopaths. Abusive boyfriends, men who have scratched their initials into their victims, and more scenarios that he certainly keeps to himself.

You prefer it that way; Aaron is a possessive man sometimes, and you don’t want to draw any sort of association between him and the criminals he hunts. He’s a good man in both intention and action, and he always has been.

When he’s possessive, it’s in a good way. It’s an arm around your waist at company parties when some FBI hotshot eyes the swell of your breasts in a dress. It’s a hand holding yours in public, or an arm offered before you walk up a flight of stairs together.

It’s in your sex life, the way Aaron groans louder than ever whenever you say, “I’m yours,” and the way he fills you up with grunts of “Mine,” spilling from his lips into yours. 

You’re your own person, and you both know that. You and Aaron are mature, developed adults who are well past your years of thinking that partnership is needed to complete you.

The fact that he does complete you, makes you another person- a better person- beyond yourself is really just a bonus, at this stage in your life. His possession just proves it.

He worships you, calls you late at night from hotel rooms strewn across the country, showers you with attention whenever he’s home. He respects you, supports your career, and makes every decision with you instead of for you. The two of you look at houses together, discuss the future together, and you know that your opinion is just as valued as his- if not more.

So when he gets possessive, you don’t mind. You’ve encouraged it once or twice, flirting at the bar with a stranger before Aaron returns back from the bathroom just so you can feel arms encircling your waist and a kiss to your ear, followed by “Who’s your new friend, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t possess you like he wants everyone to know that you belong to him. He possesses you as though you already do, and that anyone else in the world is at fault for not seeing how head over heels the two of you are for each other.

It’s protective, in a way. Sure, you could always stand up for yourself when you get catcalled walking down the street. But the sight of Aaron striding towards a parked car, knocking on the cracked-open window, and saying “Want to try that again?” with his badge clipped to his suit isn’t an image you’ll grow tired of anything soon.

Aaron possesses you like something more cherished and loved than a trophy, like something he can’t believe is his. He doesn’t hide you away from the world, plastered in ‘for your eyes only’ signs. He shows you off, kisses you in public, and he’ll smirk at everyone in the place- especially anyone who’s tried to flirt with either of you, women and men alike on occasion- when you inevitably pull him towards the door with both hands in his towards the end of the night. It doesn’t matter what moves they try, or how flirty they are. He goes home with you, and it’ll never be any other way.

You’re his, in every way except legally. The two of you belong together, you belong to each other. It’s an intertwinement of souls, if you’re trying to get poetic about it; you make each other better, celebrating on the good days and uplifting on the bad. You’re two whole people, combining to form some deity of love beyond what you could ever be alone. Two hearts forming one massive one, instead of two halves of the same heart.

You know how lucky you are to have him, to have this side of him. When you’d first started dating and met his team, you heard joke after joke about what a hardass he could be, and Derek had even wished you luck in drawing a smile out of him.

It’s hard for you to picture Aaron’s face painted with anything less than a broad grin.

He’s told you time and time again that you make him better; a better man, a better person, a better partner than he thought he could be. The crumbling of his first marriage, months after he joined the FBI, has certainly played into those insecurities.

You’ve always been up for the task of reminding him that you’re the lucky one; particularly because to you, it isn’t a task at all. You’ll do any work, say anything he needs to hear, in order to break down those walls of fear and resentment he’d built up over the years before meeting you.

The progress that the two of you have made has been astounding, to say the least. Still, sometimes during a late dinner or while watching TV you’ll ask him what he’s thinking about, and he’ll mumble, “Not sure how I got so lucky.” 

No matter how many times you echo the sentiment for yourself, he’s never stopped saying it.

————

You’ve talked about the future before. You’ve discussed houses, career changes, and even whether you want to have kids, but you’ve never broached the subject of marriage.

It’s Aaron who brings it up first, of course. It’s nice to think that you’ve added to his confidence, but the truth is that he just feels comfortable approaching you about anything; there’s no credit to take, and you wouldn’t take it even if he tried to give it to you.

“What are you doing?” He asks as a greeting when he gets home, pressing a kiss to your temple as he passes by the kitchen table. His gun is set in the safe, and his briefcase is stowed out of sight; work is left at the office.

“That new car I’m buying,” you answer, half-distracted. You’re not focused enough to keep your attention on signing the stack of papers in front of you, and you catch him by the tie and pull him down for a proper kiss when he moves to pass you again. “Mm. They’ve got me signing away my life, here. My hand is going to cramp up soon. How was your day?”

Aaron grabs you a glass of water, setting it down in front of you. “Poor girl. You should invest in a new pen,” he suggests, watching the inkflow falter when you sign yet another page. “It was alright. Dave has Morgan and I going over to watch the game. I’d rather stay home, but he’s got a flatscreen.”

“At this point, I might just invest in a stamp with my autograph on it.” You sigh dramatically for comedic effect, and he chuckles. “It might not be as legal, but it would be easier. When are you leaving?”

“Right away. I’ve been called on to pick up pizza and beer.” Aaron pulls his suit jacket off, replacing it with a brown fleece quarter-zip overtop of his dress shirt. The white collar peeks out of the top, teasing you until he tucks it back under the fleece. “I wouldn’t go for a stamp, by the way. That’s a waste of an investment.”

“Because it’s illegal? Ugh, I knew it,” you groan, and Aaron laughs again while he digs for his car keys in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“I’m not going to speak on the legality. That’s between you and the car dealership,” he advises. “But I’m going to change your autograph, and I’ll do it long before that stamp runs out of ink.”

Your eyes widen a fraction; that’s not what you were expecting to hear, but it’s not unwelcome. “Oh. So, uh, I’ll stick to pens, then.” Your voice is hopefully more level to his ears than it is to yours, but he doesn’t seem to notice the twitch of your lips fighting a smile.

“I’ll bring you some of the good pens from work, if you remind me tomorrow. I’ll see you later, sweetheart. I love you.” He leans down to kiss you again, soft and sweet and smiling into it.

“Love you too,” you murmur when he breaks away. “Drive safe, root hard, whatever you men do at games. Call me if you need a ride, okay?”

Aaron promises to do so and leaves with another little smile in your direction. The door shuts behind him, and your own face breaks into a grin. It feels like another door has been opened, and you can’t wait to see what’s behind it.

—————

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Tell me what you thought <3

[eoieopda]

hello, jade! 👋 congratulations on 2k followers 👏 👏 you deserve it sm!!! I'm so proud of you! 🫶 if it's okay, I would like to request something for your 2k drabblepalooza event, please. it would be a JungKook x reader e2l drabble with the trope "cuddling for warmth", please. :) (it's been hard for me to find some great fluffy fics with jk and I love everything you write, so I know it'll be good if you decide to write it ♡) thank you in advance, take care! 💕

tysm, sweet bean! as i am wont to do, i went a bit left field. hope that’s okay 😵‍💫 tbh, this one was actually really difficult for me to attempt in drabble format because those things feel so opposite to me and would normally justify a lot more backstory, i think?? but i loved the challenge!! i went more with a “life decided we are enemies” kind of thing.

pairing: jeon jungkook x gn!reader type: drabble | wc: 811 | 18+ genre: hurt/comfort, angst au: enemies to lovers(ish), organized crime summary: you didn’t plan this far ahead. you should have. cw: implied gunshot wound & blood (after the fact, not described in detail) / implied criminal enterprise / reference to threats (a hit) / a plot twist? in this economy? / ambiguous ending

Jungkook hisses as he tightens the belt around his bicep. Not far below it, invisible with the deep black of his jacket, is proof that he isn’t invincible after all. In fact, he bleeds much more freely than anyone else you’d ever met — or, more specifically, anyone else you’d ever shot.

Clipped, rather. The bullet barely grazed him.

He sits two meters away, half-slumped and wholly displeased. Between you, there’s a spent shell casing — your last — that had previously been sitting pretty in a magazine, itself nestled in a pistol once strapped snugly against your right thigh. The gun was confiscated and that thigh strap is useless now, just like the black denim underneath it; the turtleneck sweater above it; and the radiator behind you that likely hasn’t worked at any point in your lifetime.

Cold concrete nips at your ass despite your jeans and you shiver. As it saps what’s left of your body heat, makes the back of your thighs tingle until they’re numb, you do your best to squeeze yourself tighter. You can’t reduce your surface area to zero, but if you shrink as much as is physically possible, you can try your best to keep warm.

For the same reason, you can’t lean your exhausted body against the stone wall behind you, but you can crumple forward and rest against the bent knees you clutch to your chest. You can’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, either, but you can use the fallout from your ponytail as cover and pretend that you aren’t.

Suffice to say, this was not how your night was supposed to go.

“Worst fucking shot I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jungkook mutters through gritted teeth for what you imagine to be the hundredth time. His scoff is visible when it hits the air; his rage doesn’t dissipate the way his breath does. “Kim was right there and you hit me instead? Unbelievable.”

You don’t respond.

If you unclench your jaw to do so, the chattering of your teeth might reduce them to dust in your mouth.

Without your cell phone, you can’t tell how much time passes while you sit in silence. You can’t confirm your suspicion that the temperature outside has, in fact, dipped far below zero. Similarly, you can’t tell if anyone stuck around after locking you in this basement to see how long it would take for the cold to take you out — or to finish the job themselves if you beat the odds.

Jungkook huffs as he shifts in place. Now, with his back resting uncomfortably against the wall, he glares headlong at you. Unfortunately for him, looks can’t kill.

If they could, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Against your better judgment — again — you give in to the primal part of your brain that begs for self-preservation. Your muscles are stiff after so much time spent in knots, and they ache as you push yourself off the ground. Your joints protest too, clicking uncomfortably as they resettle. Wordlessly, you ignore the confusion knitting Jungkook’s brows together and cross over to him.

When you reach him, you drop into the space at his side — his good side — and lean against the arm that isn’t trying hard to clot. He doesn’t flinch or attempt to move away, either because he doesn’t have the energy or because he wants to live, too. So, you rest your head against his shoulder and your eyes drift shut as your combined warmth starts to soothe. Eventually, his cheek claims the top of your head. You have to glance up at him to confirm that this is a choice and not a sign.

Still breathing.

For now.

“Boss know how bad your aim is?”

He doesn’t because it isn’t.

You’re an expert marksman — the best of the best — and you don’t miss. Because he knows that, he now knows that your failure to take down the target wasn’t an accident; it was an illusion. Worse, it was a blatant refusal to carry out a direct order. One he gave to you because he’d wholeheartedly believed that you, more than anyone else, could be trusted.

Not like Jungkook, who isn’t the surreptitious infiltrator he thinks he is; and who still doesn’t grasp the rules or the stakes of the game he’s playing.

Who doesn’t know that the purpose of this errand wasn’t to kill a member of the Kim family; or that he was never meant to leave this warehouse with you.

Who will likely die regardless of your subtle attempt to dodge that outcome; and who — like you — didn’t plan more than two steps ahead.

Whose hatred for you and all you stood for was predetermined by circumstance; and who doesn’t know that you know.

It’s not a question when you reply.

“Boss knows you’re a badge, agent.”

[sky-fire-forever]

“The truth is stranger than my own worst dreams.” For Hawke and anyone else you’d like?

Thank you for the prompt for @dadrunkwriting ! I used Anders for this one because of course I did XD

My Hawke in this one is Mal Hawke, who uses he/him pronouns.

Hawke is silent. He’s been silent all day and has been mostly silent for the past week, ever since he and Anders separated from the rest of their friends. Isabela sailed them to Maker knows where and then she’d left, waving goodbye and grinning like her life hadn’t been turned upside down because of Anders. 

At least Isabela would talk to him. Merrill too. They didn’t have much to say, but they didn’t treat him like a cannon about to go off at any moment or like he was a dark cloud simply hovering over them about to strike down lightning that would ruin their lives any more than they’ve already been destroyed. 

He misses them more than he thought he would. Misses Fenris too and Varric and even Sebastian, a little. Even though Sebastian had vowed only to rest when Anders lies dead at his feet. Maybe that’s what Anders deserves. 

Anders misses Hawke too. Hawke is still physically beside him, but he’s barely even addressed him since the battle with Meredith ended. When he does speak, it’s in short sentences that are usually orders or clipped questions, straight-forward and to the point. 

Of course, that’s always been how Hawke is. He’s never bothered with dancing around an issue and would rather say what he means, no matter who he upsets by saying it. Bluntness is as much a part of Mal Hawke as his sword is — which is to say, he’s never seen without it. 

Which just makes Hawke’s refusal to discuss what happened even more isolating to Anders. He doesn’t know what to make of it and doesn’t know if he should try approaching the subject first or if that’ll only earn him Hawke’s scorn. He feels like he’s trapped in limbo, desperately watching the man he loves from a cloud of fog that he can barely traverse. 

They’re camped for the night. Hawke and Anders had silently set up their bedrolls — two of them, they no longer share — and Hawke is attempting to light a fire with his tools. He’s barely managing to create a spark that won’t catch and Anders feels pity just watching him. 

“Here.” Anders moves closer and snaps his fingers, drawing on his mana to create the warmth of a flame. The fire sparks to life at his fingertips and he holds it to the kindling, watching as it catches and spreads until it illuminates Hawke’s face. 

He wears an unreadable expression, the reflection of the fire dancing in his blue eyes. “You’re back to using magic again, then?” 

That takes Anders aback. “What do you mean?” 

“You haven’t used magic since after the battle.” Hawke averts his gaze. “When you healed everyone. I haven’t seen you use magic since then.” 

Anders hadn’t even noticed that he hadn’t. It just hasn’t occurred to him that he might have need of magic for anything since then. “I… guess I haven’t.” While Hawke’s face stays turned towards the fire, Anders can’t stop looking at Hawke, searching for a sign of something. 

They lapse into silence that feels suffocating. Anders can’t take the quiet, the avoidance, the any of it. 

“Does my magic bother you now?” Anders can’t think of any other reason Hawke would have brought it up. 

Could he even blame him if magic did frighten him now? After what Anders did? After what Anders’ magic did? 

The silence stretches out between them until Anders thinks Hawke won’t answer. Then,

“I grew up surrounded by magic,” Hawke says as he continues watching the flickering flames. “My father never hid it from me and when Bethany showed signs of magic, I vowed to protect her.” Anders watches his throat bob as he swallows. “I was never afraid of magic. Even in my worst nightmares could I imagine being afraid of magic.” 

Anders fights the urge to fidget with his robes. “And now?” 

Hawke looks up and catches Anders’ gaze. “The truth is stranger than my worst dreams,” he says. “I’m not afraid. Not of magic.” 

“Of me?” The realization hits Anders like a punch in the gut. 

“Of what you’ve become.” Hawke doesn’t look away this time, but Anders almost wishes he would. His gaze holds him in place and Anders feels smaller than he ever has before under those blue eyes. 

Anders feels pinned like a butterfly in a display. “I’m still me.” 

“Are you?” Hawke shifts closer. “Or are you Vengeance?” 

Anders flinches at the harshness in his tone. “Mal…” 

“Don’t.” Hawke finally looks away so he can stoke the fire. “Just don’t. I don’t want to discuss this right now.” 

Anders still has more questions. He wants to know why Hawke didn’t just kill him if he no longer trusts who Anders is, but he’s terrified of the answer. So he just nods and sits in silence by the firelight.

[notlushi]

Same anon with the same mealworms thank you for answering with so much info, yess ramble please! And since you’re taking questions, imma lay out all the questions in my brain rn. 

(I’m taking into count the character descriptions, the comics, and the two influencing AUs of Freakshow and Carnival) 

Is there some motivation behind the productions other than the already stated purpose of Gangle’s creative expression and amusement? Like are these being created for an outside audience that’s clueless of the truth (like Freakshow) or something else? 

Who is tip and rule??? I get they’re the comedy and tragedy masks, but are they Ais as well, the angel and devil on Gangle’s metaphorical shoulders? Do they only chill in gangle’s room or can they move? I suppose we’ll get more info on them in due time. 

Is Gangle sentient? since you say she is capable of experiencing human emotion and some what in understanding others emotions just that she’s not aware of how her actions will affect others. 

Soo where do the disembodied ribbons that dragged Jax off even come from? I suppose they just spawn. (I have a small head cannon that they no-clip from the walls, Gangle just has hundreds of ribbons inside the walls, ceilings and under the floor. They just shift and rithe in the walls, in complete silence the actors just hear the walls “breathing” but is just the hundreds of ribbons shifting. An ever present reminder that the director could just grab them off at a moment’s notice. Idk why just horrified myself thinking about that.) 

Do the actors work every day or do they have break days? Like the weekends or are work regulations nonexistent? 

Is death painful? Can the actors feel pain? We know there’s blood but do they also have guts and stuff (like freakshow)? Is it realistic how death works in this world, like would a bullet to the shoulder only injure while one to the heart kill? 

Can the actors fight back against Gangle (it’s probably a Herculean task but is it possible)? Can her ribbons be cut? Has  anyone ever tried to fight her? 

What range of punishments are even dished out and how often. I recon that backstage is the worst. Or at least that’s the illusion she’s probably trying to create but putting such mystery around it. Knowing the influences of this AU definitely something with murder or torture. 

You mentioned that gangle even creates Adventures, are those just more areas for filming or are they actually adventures that Gangle creates to build team cohesion or something? 

Is Gangle capable of puppeteering in this AU or is her control more so over the world? Would she do that if someone’s acting was bad or not exactly what she wanted or would she just scream and punish them? 

Are the productions all professional or can they get a bit silly? (Fanfic-y like carnival) 

Are the exit finding trio the main ones you’ll be focusing the story around? 

Wtf is bubble??? (I refuse to believe he is human he has to be an npc that they keep around or something, I’m so with Caine here. That thing freaks me out) 

Can humans have other roles of productions as well? Are there only actors or can there be mainly maintenance players? Or do the actors not involved in a project work as that? 

ABSTRACTION, so are there still abstractions/abstracted characters in this AU? What does Gangle do with them? They don’t seem to have been mentioned at all and the doors don’t have any indication of them. Kaufmo is still here, although still insane but not horrible to be around. I wonder if he’s not gone just cus of the existence of Caine to share ideas with. Kaufmo’s entry also says he saw exits exists, so Gangle did the Caine thing from the pilot or is it something completely different? 

Is there a lore reason Jax face ugly?/j 

Can we make/ put ocs in your AU? Tagging you fine? (Probably not gonna need this but it’s good to know boundaries) 

So what does it take to give and/or receive a hug from each of these fools??? (I just need to know- I need to know [and I feel it would tell more about their characters]) 

Anyways so that’s yeah. I’m genuinely truly sorry for this, I won’t be bothering you again- (I was not kidding about the worms) 

Just remember take your time, don’t stress yourself and most importantly have fun. And thank you for making this fun AU!

1. So the actors don’t go insane as well as entertainment for everyone.

2. They are like the bubble in this world but way more useful they give advice as well as orders. Kind of like 2 little henchmen. They float around where ever they want but mostly stick to gangles side.

3. Gangle is sentient.

4. They no-clip or spawn out of thin air, mostly just fade through the walls or floor.

5. The actors have breaks occasionally.

6. Death can be painful depending on how you die but it is not as painful as if they were in the real world. When respawning they do feel light headed and numb. Pain and death is a lot less painful in the digital Theater.

7. They can but best not too. You can cutting off Gangles ribbons but it will just respawn as if it was never gone.

8. Backstage is the worst punishment since anything can happen back there and the least is service such as cleaning.

9. Adventure always gets recorded. Kind of like the show “wipe out” but instead it’s gangles wacky ideas.

10. Gangle can puppeteer but is usually on mannikins or npcs. When gangle puppeteers an actor is usually for a twisted joke like “oh I’m jax and I do nothing alllllllll day!”

11. It’s the Amazing Digital Theater! If you blink in a middle of a serious scene a giant duck can show in the middle of the set!

12. Everyone will have a time to shine!

13. Bubble is bubble.

14. The actors can be in any type of production as long as they behave.

15. Abstractions still exist and they all go to the cellar.

16. Yes.

17. OMG YESSSS

18. Ragatha is your best is safest option when asking for a hug. She gives the best hugs too. Kinger just won’t hug you back. Caine will feel a bit disgusted. Bubble will just pop. Kaufmo and Pomni are too paranoid for hugs. Zooble “no”. Gangle will squeeze you too hard. Jax will literally back stab you.

I love answering these questions so much

[weirdestcornelius]

Starting this sparklecrit blog out with a bang of course. Hello fellow critics and those that will send me slurs /hj

Sparklecare and Cometcare their fandoms have a blatant ableism problem. The fandom consistently makes fun of characters that are seen as having "gross" disabilities or disorders.

Take Sly, for example. She doesn't take care of herself because of depression, something that is shown in comic and stated directly on her toyhouse profile. Fen is one of the MOST relatable characters I have ever come across. The moment I saw her in comic my first thoughts were "that's me. That's literally me in this comic, I've never felt so close to a character before." Untillll I saw how god awful the fandom and even Kittycorn treats fen.

Sly is so consistently made fun of for fens hygiene, it's disgusting. Sure, maybe one or two jokes would be fine. Hell, even a joke every arc would be fine, but it's something she's constantly made fun of for. The way the fandom and Kittycorn squeakself calls fen "stinky" and "gross" is TERRIBLE. There is no excuse to act like this. Yes, fen is a character and therefore not a real person, but it's really shitty behavior to make fun of a character for their legitimate illness. Jeez, I figured I wouldn't have to worry about this in a fandom supposedly made out of mentally and physically disabled/ill people.

Moving onto Sparklecare instead of a side comic, Polly. Poor, poor Polly has been done so nasty. It has a genuine illness, made up or not, that has terrible symptoms that cannot be cured on spinch. He can't remember their own friends, she can hardly feel emotions towards others, but all of that is tossed aside to make another "lmao being around Polly makes everyone else horny" joke. I guess it makes sense for them to act like that around Polly (sort of?) considering the whole heat retainment lore and the cold, but Polly is literally shown to be uncomfortable with this. They don't seem to be interested in Barry or anyone around them at all. She doesn't get any personality other than "numb fox dude that steals from people and can't feel emotions that well". You can write emotionally numb characters without giving them zero personality. Not to mention how Polly just doesn't use his cane despite it being specified that it needs it otherwise they're at fall risk. It seems like that issue is being fixed, but here's hoping it actually stays fixed.

I want more disabilities to be shown so badly, but at the same time, I'm scared for them to be. I just know that the disabilities I struggle with, if they were represented in this comic, they'd be made fun of. For example, my really bad skin picking disorder causes me to leave flakes of skin and nail clippings wherever I go. I just know that this fandom would make fun of a character for that by saying shit like "they can't even clean up after themselves lmao. #lazy" or something along those lines.

I've been so consistently triggered by people making fun of Sly that it's not even funny. For a fandom that's supposed to be understanding, everyone sure does love to make fun of peoples illnesses the moment they're not played off as cutesy or a gateway into ship material. It's disgusting.

[pearwaldorf]

I started writing this after the fleeting glimpse of Taika in Rita's Insta story.

--

And there Ed is, talking to Fang about something. Fang nods and walks off, leaving Ed by himself.

Stede stays quiet, taking the opportunity to drink in the sight of him. His hair is pulled out of his face in a half bun, lovely as ever. His beard is shorter, framing the strong line of his jaw. It has been such a long time since Stede's laid eyes on Ed, and now that he has the real thing in front of him, the memories pale in comparison.

Another crew member, one Stede doesn't know, calls out to Ed. It sounds teasing, and Ed makes a rude gesture as the woman passes.

Ed leans against the rail. There's something in his posture that Stede's never seen, at least outside of the captains' quarters. It takes him a moment to realize it's ease. There is an openness to him that wasn't there before, a settled assurance that makes Stede wonder if coming back truly was the right decision.

(He is not a disease or a corruption. He was a fool to listen to Chauncey. But that does not mean he is good for anyone.)

Stede isn't sure when he ended up at the rail. But there he is, next to Ed, who's flicked his eyes towards him but has otherwise not reacted. The breeze blows against them, fluttering and playful. Stede is still not used to having so few layers between him and the rest of the world, but it's not as bad as he feared.

He turns to Ed. “You look good.”

Finally, Ed faces him, takes him in. Something flashes in his eyes but is gone before Stede can identify it.

"Thanks." His tone is clipped, terse. They're next to each other but for all the warmth Stede just heard he could be on the moon. That does hurt more than he thought it would. He's not stupid; he didn't think he'd be welcomed back with open arms, but he expected a little more… heat. Agitation. Something.

Ed's still looking at him, unreadable even though Stede can see all of his face. Maybe that's where things started to go wrong, Blackbeard without his armor, a tabula rasa to project things he wanted to be true.

(I'd call those things love.

The look in Mary's eyes when she realized he finally got it, the joy of watching the revelation happen reflected in her face. That was real, so this must be too.)

He meets Ed's gaze, holds it. Raises his hand slow, curls it to Ed's nape. Feels the way he relaxes against the touch, presses his forehead to Stede's.

"I'm sorry."

Ed sighs, closes his eyes. Stede's near enough to feel lashes flutter against his skin.

"You fucking should be." It's not angry at all, just tired, so tired.

Stede pulls away, just enough so he can press his lips to Ed's. It's only fair he reaches out this time, after what happened. But he doesn't want to create any sort of expectation, not when everything is still so tenuous. The graze of skin is more of a question than gesture: are we all right? Can we be?

Ed makes a noise and Stede can't tell if it's good or bad, so he stops. Before he can say anything, Ed pulls him back in, clutching at his shirt. The kiss is a fierce, desperate thing, as if Ed could keep Stede from leaving again by swallowing him whole.

He wraps his arms round Ed, lets him rest his chin atop Stede's head. It tucks him against Ed's shoulder, the warm skin of his neck. Now that he knows what it feels like, next to the man he loves, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to part.

"I waited for you." Ed says this into his hair, like it’s not something he can do face to face. Stede thinks he understands.

"I should have come. Even after— that's not important right now. I'm sorry." He'll repeat it not just until Ed believes it, but until he feels expiated.

"But you're here now." Ed's arms tighten around him. Stede's unsure if it's relief, possession, or something else. But he’ll take it.

He turns his head up, meets Ed’s eyes. "And I will be, until you say otherwise."

[cleavetheclover]

okok, i have a cyphmen prompt for you, hope you look through it

how about omen/cypher buy a plant that represents the other? OMG it would be like "this plant is really you" and omggggggg skdkdjkskskdkskd

hehe thank you for taking your time with me

AHAAHAAAAA YOU HAVE ACTIVATED MY LOVE OF PLANTS YOU HAVE FALLEN FOR MY INVISIBLE TRAP AHAHAHHA

Jk I don’t know a whole lot about house plants, but I do know a little

For Omen: Siam Aurora/Red Algaonema

I think Cypher would say that the vibrant multicolor suits Omen well.

They’re relatively easy to care for and don’t cause a fuss with regular watering and good lighting (bright and indirect). I actually have one of my own!

Omen also has bonsais, as seen in one of the cinematic sms (forgot which). So clearly he knows what he’s doing when it comes to plants. I think he could definitely deal with more difficult/fussy plants if he so chose to. (Ahem, calatheas)

For Cypher: Jade Pothos

A classic beginner house plant that does well in low lighting. Cypher definitely wouldn’t know much about plant care, so this is well suited. He would appreciate the simplicity of it.

It would also be very obvious if the plant wasn’t doing well, in which case he would call Omen to come fix it as if he were a plant IT specialist.

Cypher would probably would keep this in his bedroom because his workshop definitely gets no lighting.

———————

Ok so now it is FANFIC TIME in which they go to something like Mahoney’s (basically Costco for plants), also I wrote this on the fly so it’s not that good

In this one they r an established couple because I said so hehehe

———————

Usually, Omen is the one hovering one step behind Cypher. He is usually so quiet, almost coming across as timid, when in reality he is simply a shy introvert who would rather let the talkative Cypher take the lead.

Not here, though. Omen is four steps ahead of Cypher, marching forward with a confidence the informant has never seen before. They pass the entrance, all the bouquets and flowers, and many smaller plants in tiny black pots.

Cypher almost stops to look at them, but Omen shows no signs of slowing down.

“Ignoring all those lovely plants, habibi?” The cadence of his melodic voice seems to ease some of the ever-present tension in Omen’s shoulders.

“Those are garden plants. Vegetables. Herbs.” To anyone else, the clipped reply would have been interpreted as aggressive and off-putting. To Cypher, this is no bother. Omen has trouble speaking, what with his barely-stable form. In fact, he finds it endearing that Omen elaborated so much. If he weren’t in a good mood, he simply would have pointed at the nearby sign that said ‘Outdoor Plants’ and left it at that.

“You look like a man on a mission. If I had known you’d like it here so much, I would have taken you a long time ago,” Cypher remarks. When Omen simply scoffs, he laces his hand in Omen’s and gives it a small tug to remind them to slow down. “My dear, the plants you are looking for won’t get eaten by bugs in the next minute. Slow down. Let’s enjoy the sun.”

Omen says nothing, but he does slow his pace a bit. As they continue their way through the enormous greenhouse (the first of many), he allows Cypher to pull him along in any direction like a child in a candy store. What’s this plant? What’s that? Do you like petunias? (No.) Although the wraith is here for the specific purpose of purchasing houseplants, he adores the curious look that lights up his lover’s eyes, and so he lets them be delayed.

It isn’t long before they get to the houseplants section. Omen takes the lead once again, Cypher following at his shoulder. The two of them stroll down the aisles, gazing at the rows upon rows of baby plants. Whenever Omen pauses for a long period, he can feel Cypher gearing up to ask him what he’s thinking about, as he always does. He decides to save the effort and simply say his thoughts aloud.

“Snake plant. Easy to care for. Not your style. You need softer leaves.”

“I need softer leaves?”

Omen simply brings his hand to brush against the snake plant and feel it’s rigidity. “You are more gentle than that. Your plant should be the same.”

“Oh,” Cypher says softly, abashed at the compliment. It was really so easy to get him flustered.

They pass a few more plants. Omen brushes his fingertips in the leaves, feeling the stems, idly checking the health of plants he will never buy. They are all in good condition, at least. This trip was not wasted.

“Jade pothos,” Omen declares triumphantly, holding it up to the light. He examines the underside of the leaves, gently punches the stems, and brushes the pad of his finger over the leaves. It was well cared for in this greenhouse, but it wasn’t particularly difficult to do that. Nonetheless, Omen deems it a suitable companion for his partner, and hands it off to him. “For you. Easy care. Simple design. Grows well.”

Cypher examines the plant, mimicking the motions Omen had just done but clearly without knowing what they did. It was endearing to see the information broker so confused when utterly outside his sphere of knowledge. It reminded Omen that even the world’s greatest mastermind still did not know everything.

“For me? I— you know I don’t have any plants. I’ve never even cared for one before!” Cypher protests.

“Beginner plant,” Omen states. “Your bedroom needs more life.”

“Ah! Excuse me, but my bedroom is plenty lively, what with all your midnight visits.” Cypher cries indignantly, then laughing while running a free hand down Omen’s back. Trust him to always take the path of innuendo rather than literal. Omen lets out a huff in lieu of actual laughter, and responds by putting his own hand on the small of Cypher’s back.

“Another kind of life, Amir.”

“Fine, I will take it. Anything for you, my dear.”

With the pothos secured in Cypher’s arm, they continue walking through the houseplants section.

“This one, for you?” Cypher points to a plant with bright dapples of pink on the small leaves. “Not every plant is just green and brown. It’s pretty and multicolored, like you.”

“Not elegant enough.” Omen says. “Too small.”

They keep going. The shadow already cares for bonsais and an assortment of other small plants. Today, he looking for something larger. A tree, maybe? A monstera would be too large, but he wants something like a money tree…

“How about this one?” It’s dark green with thin pink stripes on the leaves.

“Beautiful, but fussy.” Omen says. He hates feeling picky, but he really does want to get today’s choice right. “Calathea are tropical plants. Very specific light and soil requirements.” He turns the plant slightly and lifts some of the top leaves to reveal some yellowing leaves below. “Not a good choice for someone who is deployed every other week.”

“How about this one, then? It looks happy,” Cypher is now looking at the plants beside it. This one has a thick pink stem, large pointed deep green leaves with red margins. The tag reads “Red Algaonema.”

Tenderly, Omen examines the plant in the same way he did the pothos. Then, being unfamiliar with this particular plant, checked the tag for care instructions, and then checked to see whether the soil was the right mix.

“I think the red suits you. It’s bigger than the other one, and the stripes are cleaner than the dots on the other one,” Cypher explains, and the shadow can’t help but agree. Wow, his boyfriend really does know him well. Cypher has always been adaptable when it comes to new information, so Omen can’t say that he’s surprised. But he does appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

“Yes,” the shadow says, thumbing the leaves. “I like this one.”

The two of them stand there for a moment, admiring their selection. Cypher takes the opportunity to touch Omen’s plant and gauge its qualities and temperament. Again, not knowing what the hell he’s doing, but the effort is apploudable. Somehow, Omen knows he could care less about the plant itself, and is more excited for how the plant will keep Omen’s mood up. Omen can see it, in the thoughtful gaze the informant directs at the leaves. What else about the plant would have him go so quiet?

“I love you, Omen,” the words come spilling out of Cypher’s mouth so smoothly, as if his entire train of thought had come to that one sentence. It could be perceived as a sudden sentence, breaking the conversation about plants, but to Omen, it was only the rightful conclusion to Cypher’s inner dialogue. Of course his imagination and careful planning of Omen’s happiness was out of love, and of course he was going to say as such.

Omen has to stifle a laugh. Cypher, the hopeless romantic, who would take a ghost out on a date to a fucking greenhouse of all places, just because he wanted to see Omen’s confidence and knowledge blossom like a flower in spring.

“I love you too, Amir.”