#like all i want is a friend. that’s it man. that’s all i’ve ever wanted. i just want someone i can rely on to sit with me at an assembly

[steddiecameraroll]

Robin is gawking at him and he can’t figure out why.

“What??” Steve shrugs.

“Repeat what you just said.”

“What? That I’d kiss Eddie?”

What’s the big deal?

“Yes, yes that.” She narrows her eyes and leans over the counter. “Since when?”

“Since always?” He doesn’t understand what she’s not grasping. “Why are you so surprised? Don’t his lips look super soft?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never once clocked the smoothness of his lips.”

“Oh come on,” Steve scoffs. “You’re telling me after months of hanging out with him, you’ve not once looked at his mouth?”

“Oh I’m sure I’ve looked at his mouth. The man does not shut up, but I can say I’ve never noticed his lips.”

“Whatever, I don’t believe you, but OK.” He shrugs because there’s no point in arguing.

“Steve, I’ve never noticed any man’s lips. Including yours. And the fact that you have is what I’m trying to explore right now.”

“What do you mean?” He feels a weird twinge deep in his gut.

“What do you mean, what do you mean?” Her voice is oozing with disbelief. “How many other men’s lips have you noticed?”

“I don’t know, I don’t keep track.”

Obviously. That would be really hard to do. He’d have to have a notepad or something in his pocket at all times.

“You don’t keep track?” Her eyes look like they’re going to pop out of her head. “Wait, so you’re telling me there’s too many for you to remember?”

“Yes? I mean, even today there was that one customer with that jean jacket and that guy with the colts hat. And it’s only 11.”

“Oh my god.” Her jaw is on the floor.

“What? I don’t get it. We talk about customers we think are hot all the time?”

“OH MY GOD!” She slaps her hand over her mouth.

“What? I seriously don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“Steve.” She swallows before continuing. “You’re attracted to them?”

“If they’re hot, they’re hot. What’s the big deal?”

“I have NEVER thought a man was hot. I can understand how they’re attractive but me myself and I, doesn’t get it.”

“Never?” That doesn’t make sense.

“Never. I’m a lesbian. That means I’m attracted to women. What you’re telling me, so very nonchalantly, is that you, Steve Harrington, have found men attractive. In fact, you’re telling me you find Eddie Munson attractive. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Not really.” He crosses his arms and cocks his right hip out.

“You’re not as straight as you might think you are, buddy.”

“What?” No.

“You find more than women attractive.”

“But I’d never date a guy?”

“Oh really? Tell me, have you ever thought what Eddie’s like as a boyfriend? Or like maybe how big his dick is?” She sounds frustrated.

“Well…kinda?” He remembers that one weekend he had everyone over to hang out at the pool, and the first time Eddie got out of the water. His swim trunks were wet and clinging to his body, and Steve’s eyes clocked the outline of the man’s dick. He did wonder if the man was a grower as well as a shower. “It was only because it was like right there.”

“You’re a disaster. What about the boyfriend thing?” She tilts her head and shrugs.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve never thought what it might be like if we dated? Not even at Scoops?”

“Oh my god, no! Les-bee-an,” she waves her hands in front of her body.

“Whatever, it’s not like I’ve thought about marrying him or anything. Just kissing and like how sex would work, y’know between us. If he- or if I wanted him to- which doesn’t sound bad, I’ve just never done that so I don’t know if I’d like it. Would he like it?” Steve leans on his elbows over the counter, and almost gets lost in thought over the idea.

“Now you’re having sex with him?” Robin squeals.

“How do I know if I don’t like it if I don’t try it? Maybe I’d love it. This feels like a way for me to find out.”

“I think I need a break. Don’t follow me.” She points at him. “I’m happy you’re exploring this…thing, but I’m not equipped for this. My best friend likes boys.” She shakes her head and walks away murmuring to herself.

“I don’t know that I…,” he trails off when she disappears into the back room.

Steve’s thumbing through one of the movie release magazines on the counter when the bell over the entrance catches his attention.

“Hey, big boy.” Eddie gives Steve a bright smile as he saunters up to the front counter.

“Hey, man.” Steve closes the magazine and stands up straight. Perfect timing. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Oh yeah? Missed me?” He leans over the countertop and looks up at Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes. This goofball. “Yes, I’ve got a question for you. Rob and I were talking earlier and she said she’s never checked out a guy before. That because she’s a lesbian, she’s not attracted to men, at all. But that makes no sense because I’ve found a ton of guys attractive and I’m straight. Maybe I’m not dating these men, but I’d definitely fool around with them. She’s lying right?”

Eddie’s staring at Steve with his mouth slightly agape. The smile is gone and Steve can see more of the whites in Eddie’s eyes, like he’s surprised or something.

“You get it, right? Am I crazy?” Steve’s heart is starting to pick up.

“F-fool around?” Eddie’s voice cracks a little.

“Yeah, like, hand jobs and making out or whatever. Maybe more? I don’t know, I’ve never done more than a blow job but I’ve thought about it.”

Eddie shoots up with a violent cough, like he swallowed wrong. He starts slamming his fist into his chest trying to catch his breath, and Steve stands there watching the guy have a coughing fit.

“You OK?” Should he get Eddie some water?

Eddie raises his finger asking for a second, and keeps slapping his palm against his chest. Steve stands there getting more and more self conscious as each second passes. After a good 20 more seconds Eddie seems to have caught his breath and gives Steve a small smile.

“Just for, uh clarifications sake, did you give the blow job or get the blow job?”

“Both?”

Who only receives and doesn’t pay back? That’s rude.

Eddie huffs and stumbles forward slightly catching his hands on the counter. He nods at Steve, then lets his head dip down, his hair falling down over his face.

“Right, obviously. Did, uh, did you enjoy it?” Eddie’s voice sounds strained.

“Yeah? Who doesn’t like sex? I haven’t done it a lot but yeah. Don’t you like it?” Is he missing something?

“Uh huh,” Eddie flips his head back and looks at Steve. “I like it a lot.”

Steve shrugs, and then watches Eddie drag his eyes slowly up Steve’s body like he’s cataloguing every inch of it. The direct attention catches Steve by surprise, and he can feel a blush spread across his cheeks.

“So, y-you get it, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “I just didn’t know you got it.”

“What? Of course. Doesn’t everybody find all hot people attractive?”

“Some of us,” Eddie’s voice is almost gravelly now, and it’s doing something to Steve’s body.

“Some? What do you mean?”

“Not everyone thinks like we do, Steve. Wow,” he shakes his head. “We. As in, you and I. As in you, Steve Harrington, pretty boy extraordinaire. Ohhh this changes everything.” Eddie murmurs almost to himself. “How did this, uh, topic come up with Robin?”

“We were talking about you, but hold on.” Steve waves his hands around. “Not everyone? You’re telling me that not everyone is attracted to everyone?”

“Me?” Eddie ignores Steve’s question. “What about me? You were talking about me?”

“Yes, I said you had kissable lips but go back. I don’t understand. I can name five guys right now who agree with me. I mean, two of them had girlfriends when we messed around. In fact, Stacy was there one time. She only watched but like, what are you saying?”

“Kissable lips? You think…? Wait, five? You’ve had a threesome?”

“I don’t think it’s a threesome if she didn’t get involved. Right?”

“Riiight, ok wow. So you’re straight, you say?”

“Yes, why is this so hard to explain? I figured if anyone would understand it would be you, because you said you’re bisexual. So you’re actually attracted to men and women as in you’d date them both.”

Eddie blinks at Steve a few times before nodding slowly. “Right, cause that’s what that means. Um, is Robin still here?” Eddie’s looking around the store now trying to find the woman.

“No, she had the early shift.”

“Ok, well, um so I’m gonna go home and blow my brains out, but uh if you want to…,” Eddie taps his fingers on the counter. “If you want to come over later and find out how soft my lips are, let me know.” He slaps his hand in the counter, and turns away heading toward the door without glancing back at Steve.

“Um, OK.”

“See ya, Harrington.” Eddie throws his hand over his head and pushes himself through the exit.

Steve shrugs and scoops the magazine back into his hands. Maybe he’ll get to see how soft Eddie’s lips are around his dick.

[orcatstra]

Dave is not an idiot! [DSaF Rant/Short Essay]

This is gonna be a bit of a yap fest, so if you don’t want to read my entire rant and just want the tldr, then here’s a summary in image form:

I don’t have a complete idea if how I’m going to format or construct this rant, so.. yeah… my bad if it’s kind of messy. I will warn you now, a lot of this information is from memory or obtained from my friend [who knows DSaF info way more/better than me lmao], so I apologize for lack of evidence, but I PROMISE this stuff is able to be proven or agreed upon.

One of my biggest pet peeves in the DSaF fandom, aside from the abundance of employee x boss ships, people making fun of Henry’s body/drawing him skinny, people babying Jack + Dave, and people changing characters’ confirmed/implied sexualities? Oh, you bet your ass it’s when people act like Dave is stupid, dumb, an idiot, and so on. Sometimes I wonder if the people who portray him as such or agree with such portrayals have ever even played the games or paid attention to his character! Of course, I’d probably understand if you just haven’t finished all the games, maybe missed a few routes, some bits and pieces of dialogue, or just saw fan-made content of him being painted as an idiot before you really got to know his character and went into the fandom thinking those were accurate to him! I get that, I understand where you’re coming from if that’s your case! But alas, I am a fan who occupies that rage of a thousand suns when such a complex, three-dimensional, well-written character is watered down to an “uwu yaoi soft boy who doesn’t know anything”.

I’d also like to add before I get to my points that … saying Dave is “dumb” for believing Henry’s lies and manipulation is.. kind of victim-blaming, innit? Even before Henry lobotomized Dave, Henry intentionally planted into Dave’s head the idea that they’re “family”, and family sticks together! Henry took advantage of Dave’s desperation for a family, a father-figure, for his own gain and amusement. Just letting you know! Don’t say Dave’s stupid for being manipulated!!

First of all, Dave is trilingual; He can fluently/decently speak English, Russian, and German! Hell, he might even speak FOUR languages, with his use of French in DSaF 2 (this is referring to when he says “Au revoir, babe!” to Jack)! I don’t know if you know this, but being able to decently/fluently speak several languages is quite difficult and takes a long while to learn!!!! It’s not clearly stated which is Dave’s first language, but i’d assume it’s maybe english or russian. In DSaF 1-2, Dave is forty-two years old, and is approximately seventy-eight in DSaF 3 — If one were to assume that he only spoke English and a bit of French in DSaF 1-2, he’d have 30-40ish years to learn Russian and German.. but you have to take into account that learning new languages is more difficult the older you are.. ok that last part is mainly just hypothetical/speculations, but you get where I’m coming from.. I doubt a homeless child with purple skin/nonhuman traits [features of him that were deemed undesirable and caused him to get kicked out of the orphanage — so i assume people just wanted to avoid him in general] and little-to-no education had the resources needed to learn a new language, let alone multiple… but that’s just my thoughts!

My second point, as you can see in the image, refers to when Dave knew how to play instruments (or an instrument? The trombone is definitely one of them) when he was younger and living on the streets. Again, learning instruments is difficult, but learning on your OWN?? WITHOUT HAVING PROPER EDUCATION?? Yeah man.. that boy’s wise… Also, I’ve been told by my awesome cool friend [ribena59p] that one of the songs that Dave learned BY HIMSELF [on trombone] is “Singing In The Rain”. I don’t have much to say on this point because I think it is pretty self-explanatory/clear.

Third, and I cannot believe people manage to forget this detail [unless they haven’t played DSaF 3 / The Evil Route]; The Fazbunker… You know,,, the bunker Dave built himself under Fredbear’s Family Diner that has several monitors connected to cameras in Jack’s house that STILL work in DSaF 3 [assuming they were initially installed in DSaF 1-2], and has a path to the inside of Jack’s house… yeah!

To add onto point 3; When in his little underground enclosure, Dave also mentions the advanced animatronics he built by himself. The robots in question are clearly meant to be the Funtime animatronics, as they’re described to be chrome, and one specifically was made to scare a Phone Guy who was afraid of clowns [meaning, the specific animatronic in question is Circus Baby]. There was also a brief allusion to the scooper, or of a person hired to be there, and the fact that Jack was possibly the person in question… but this post isn’t about Jack, so I don’t care.

To expand on this… God, he loves tinkering. Dave even says this himself… Like, verbatim! Two of the best examples off the top of my head is when Dave modifies Foxy — One instance is for the purpose of tormenting/horrifying Peter, the other was with the intention of … Jack fucking it. How considerate of Dave! This can also be applied to the previous two points, him creating the Fazbunker and Funtime animatronics, but I felt like it was an honorable mention that deserves its own section!!

Sixth of all, and this section is going to be brief as well [since it’s a bit difficult to get an exact instance of this], but.. yeah, Dave has a great vocabulary! This alone doesn’t mean he’s highly intelligent or whatever, but it DOES point to the fact that even after missing out on a significant amount education as a child, he is still somewhat book-smart!! I mean, compared to Jack’s vocabulary [which mainly consists of more casual and memey words/phrases/tones, prominently in DSaF 1-2], Dave’s is … better. I mean,,, the dude says “adversaries”,,, who the hell says that regularly??

My next point is .. incredibly obvious. You know, Dave being able to get away with several counts of serial child murder, and taking the identity of Henry’s son. I feel like this shouldn’t even have to be explained, because identity theft and getting away with murder SEVERAL TIMES is definitely going to require amounts of advanced thinking and planning ahead of time. Sneaky lil’ bastard. I don’t know how he gets away with faking his identity, but.. you go girl! Steal that dead baby’s name!

Hell, there might even be MORE evidence that backs up my claim, but as of right now I’m just listing things from my memory! I’d like to add that, yes, at some points Dave can act foolish and stupid, but that doesn’t mean he IS stupid. If you were to pick between Dave and Jack on who’s less intelligent, it should.. be Jack, actually. There’s a possibility I will add onto or edit this in the future, but these are just my thoughts as of now!! I got that DOG in me..

But hey, that’s just a theory rant, a GAME THEORY RANT! Thanks for reading!

[myojinn]

Unveil Me - Sukuna Ryomen

☁︎ Unveil Me ... Multi-chapter fanfic Secret Agent!Sukuna Ryomen (JJK) x Secret Agent!AFAB Reader ☁︎ Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, secret agent! au, fluff, action : tw - lots of swearing and mentions of violence

☁︎ Summary: It’s basic Agent 101 not to trust anyone else. You know that and that’s why you always work alone. But what happens when another agent proposes a truce? You agree… but only if there are no strings attached. Can you both keep a promise? ☁︎ a/n: I’ve had this fic idea for a long time already and I finally got to do it. If this series flops then…oh well. Gonna stick to the one shots then T-T : 4k+ words // minors do not interact plz

Chapter 01 ; Words of Trust

Words went in one ear and out the other. 

Do they ever just… shut the fuck up?

You thought this meeting would go along without a hitch. But, oh, you were so wrong. You can’t have nice things in this fucking place. These morons made sure of that. Said morons were your fellow agents—people who should be supporting you. But rather than lifting you up, it’s like their life’s purpose to shit on you, especially in front of your boss. 

Truth be told, you expected it anyway. After all, you’re a woman in a male dominated field. Espionage? C’mon. You walked right into that one. But you were determined nonetheless. You knew you were capable. You were smart, adaptable, skilled—pretty much everything a secret agent should be. But most of all, you had no connections—nothing else to hold you down. You could live your life as a spy without any restrictions. 

You grew up with the familiar feeling of loneliness. The changing of the seasons were marked by a new orphanage after the other. Eventually, you didn’t bother with making friends anymore. What’s the point? They’ll be replaced in a few months anyway. Being cooped up to the side with a book was much better, so that’s what you did. It paid off in the end because when an uptight-looking man came to your orphanage looking for the brightest of the bunch—he chose you.

You figured he was a regular ol’ family man seeking out to help a child in need. Once the papers were all signed and everything was said and done—he brought you home. You had never been to a house as huge as this one. But despite the glamor of the life ahead of you, everything else was normal… at first. The man and his wife welcomed you with open arms. The three of you went out on picnics, ate dinner together, had family game nights in the living room—you know… the normal things normal families do.

But normalcy went right the fuck outta the window when one night he sat you down in the living room with a serious expression. This is it, you thought. They’re gonna get rid of me aren’t they? But I was such a good kid and I—

“Wanna be a spy, kid?”

Huh?

HUUUUUH?

Back then you thought he was messing with you like it was some sort of game. But then you realized everything that wasn’t normal about the family. He would always come home late at night or sometimes he’d have scary looking men over for brunch. His wife would pay no mind to any of it. She’d go about her life like her husband wasn’t doing anything suspicious. Sure, you were young, but that didn’t mean you were stupid.

Reality was that he was the boss of a hotshot spy agency. Now he wants this child that he adopted to be his little project. The idea of becoming an agent was alluring to a child. And, in hindsight, the old geezer definitely used that to his advantage. The way you practically shouted ‘yes’ almost immediately was proof of that.

You say ‘project’ because after you agreed to it—the sense of having a family vanished. He programmed you into thinking that he simply recruited you. Under the law, you were his child. But in your heart, you were just another pawn in his collection. Rather than developing a loving father-child relationship, you had what any boss and employee had. You respected each other, that much is true. And you even admire the man for his abilities. And that was that.

Regardless if you were tricked or not, you’ve come to love your job. The thrill of a good fight would never fail to captivate you. Even though some missions were considerably difficult, you loved your work for all its challenges.

You love it… sooo much. 

You repeated that thought at least 20 times in the last minute. You truly needed some convincing right now ‘cuz some fuckers here are really testing your resolve. 

I love my job and my job includes respecting my colleagues and not pulling their windpipe out with my bare hands… you thought.

“With all due respect, Mr. Nanami, I can’t just accept you sending her out for this important mission just because she’s the former boss’ kid.”

Alright, that’s it. He can consider his windpipe gone. No one brings up your relationship with the old boss and thinks they can get away with it. You grip the armrests of the chair tightly, preparing to stand up and beat this guy up. But Nanami gestured for you to stay put. You huffed out and leaned back, letting him take care of things again.

After a certain tragedy, the agency had to seek new leadership. As his adopted kid, the one he trained since childhood, you should’ve been the one next in line, right? 

LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER SOUND. Wrong. Absolutely wrong.

The agency would lose credibility if a woman ran it apparently. And it would just be worse because then people would think it’s another case of nepotism. Oh well. Not like it mattered that much to you. Nanami did a hell of a good job running the place anyway. And it made you feel amazing that he did a way better job than your old man could ever do. 

As you can tell—you have a strange relationship with the man who used to run this place, the same man you’re supposed to call dad.

Nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Her being assigned this mission has nothing to do with her being related to the former boss. How many times must I reiterate this?” But everytime Nanami tries to quell their (unvalidated) thoughts. Another wave of (awful) discussion happens about how you’ll fuck everything up and yada yada. 

“Just because she did a couple of jobs doesn’t mean she can do this one.” “Exactly! This is extremely important. What will happen to the agency if she fails?” “Just make her do some shitty honeypot mission. That’s all she’s good for.”

This time you were sure that you’d knock the living shit outta this bastard. Even Nanami won’t stop you now. But alas, a booming voice from the back of the room made his presence known. You grumbled and sat back down as Toji spoke up.

“All you shitheads ever do is complan, don’t ya? Do any of you even have the balls to do this mission? I’m sure as hell none of ya have it.”

All of them suddenly fell quiet. Nanami was the boss, but Toji surely had an aura to him. He was the top agent of the firm. Any mission assigned to him was as good as done—he was just that good. Normally, you’d be pissed that someone is outdoing you, but not him. You respected him and he respected you back… somewhat.

He never attended meetings, but for some reason he was here today. He swaggered over to where everyone else was gathered. His big hand gripped the back of the chair you were sitting on and he lowered himself to face you. His scent was strong, but pleasant. He had a lazy smirk on his face and it irked you. “You can do it though, right, princess?” 

You scowled at him. You hated it when he called you ‘princess’. It always felt condescending, but you couldn’t do anything because he decided this is what he’d call you ever since the first time he met you.

“Of course I can,” you spat back. He pulls away and flashes his shit-eating grin to everyone in the room. “Well, ya heard the lady. She says she can do it. Why not let her have it?”

This is why you think he somewhat respected you. Well, respect was a bold term to describe it, but hey, you were thankful he stood up for you. 

The men grumbled. Now that both Nanami and Toji were against them, their balls just magically shriveled up. There was no way they could argue with you now. 

So, case closed. You win. You get the mission and you can rub that fact in their sorry ass faces. You start to love doing your job again.

And that only lasted for a while.

Suddenly you hated this piece of shit life and this piece of shit job when you found yourself seeking shelter from the rain in an old telephone booth miles and miles away from home. You angrily held your burner phone to your ear, trying to make sense of the choppy audio of some random fucker from the intel division.

“Don’t you fucking hang up on me! I don’t care if the signal is shit—you’re gonna fucking talk to me right now!”

No matter how loud you mouthed off this guy’s ear through the phone, you still couldn’t understand a thing he was saying. You just hung up out of frustration and started slamming your fist against the musty wall of the booth. 

FUCK.

Everything just went wrong. So so wrong.

First, they made you fly economy. Not that you minded economy… that is if you were on a trip to the fucking Bahamas. But this isn’t Bahamas and you’re not here to fuck around. You’re here on an important mission so you expect to get to borrow the agency’s jet at least. But noooo, the execs think you’ll do just fine.

Second, the airline decided it was a good day to lose your luggage. You waited for an hour at the carousel, praying that the next boring gray travel bag would be yours. But it never came. You saw red when one of the attendants told you they MIGHT have lost it.

At that point, what you were really losing was your will to live.

Lastly, since everything else blew up in your face, you lost track of time and now communications is shit. You missed the car that was supposed to pick you up and bring you to where you’d be staying for the duration of the mission. You had even managed to get caught up in the heaviest fucking rain you’ve ever experienced in what you swear is the world’s grimiest telephone booth.

Fuck this. Fuck life. 

You slowly slumped against the wall and slid down, not caring if this ancient piece of shit had bacteria that could eat your skin off. Actually, the damn bacteria can go ahead and eat you. Nothing matters anymore. All you wanted to do was wither and let the rain wash you away. Forever gone… forever lost.

...

...

NO. SHUT UP. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

You slapped yourself with both of your hands, making sure it would leave a mark on your face. This isn’t how you should be acting right now. You’re an agent for crying out loud. Things are supposed to be hard and it’s your job to overcome it. 

You felt a little embarrassed from that mini meltdown, but you now have a newfound resolve to move on and prove those idiots back at the agency wrong. You had to succeed. Even if your life depended on it. 

You soldiered on through the rain and found a taxi. You thought you had a good grasp of the local language, but you were dead wrong when the taxi driver started speaking in what sounded like moon runes. So he dropped you off in God knows where and left you to your own devices. Like literally. You had to use the shitty burner phone they gave you and the shitty maps app that it had on it.

Somehow you managed to arrive at the inn you’d be staying at. You looked like a wet piece of cardboard limping through the entrance and into your room, but at least you were alive. Now that you had a steady signal, you tried contacting the agency again. Not the dumbasses at intel though—you called Nanami instead. You explained to him what happened with your luggage and how you were lagging behind schedule.

“Look… I know it’s been fuck up after another, but I promise I’ll get back on track.”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the call. And you completely understand if he was disappointed. He did fight for you to be on this mission and this is what he got in return. “It’s alright,” he reassured, “I know you’ll bounce back. You always do.”

His voice was gruff, but comforting. You breathed a little easier.

“I’ll have them bring you some stuff by tomorrow. Just let me know if you need anything else. Is the inn okay?”

You told him that it was fine. It was no 5-star experience, but this was better than any musty telephone booth. You two talked for a while about your experiences for today. You earned a chuckle or two from him. And maybe a conversation with Nanami was enough to ignite your spirit again. 

Nanami’s one hell of a drug—considering that his pep talk gave you the strength to venture out of your inn at 2 in the morning to scope out the scene. The scene being the grand mansion of the man you were tasked to spy on. This should've been on day 2 of your itinerary, but you had enough disappointments in this mission already.

Better to take initiative now than later, you thought.

Essentially, all you had to do was keep tabs on this particular man. The man in question hides under the alias, Kenny. Putting it like that makes the task sound easy, but unfortunately for you—Kenny is excellent at covering up his tracks. Not much is known about him even in the underground.

So... what's so important about Kenny?

It's because he has a MAJOR vendetta against your agency. Major as in... he'd probably do just about anything to see it crash and burn. There was a mission in the past which your agency carried out (successfully) which effectively wiped out one of his illegal operations and almost got him in the slammer. Suffice to say he wasn't happy.

Oh... and he may have also killed your former boss... A.K.A your dad.

So, yeeeah. Pretty fucking important mission.

You needed the intel to finally put him away for good. After reading up on all suspected crimes, you wanted nothing more than to make this man face the consequences of his actions.

You may not have loved your father the way you should have, but at the very least, you wanted revenge for him. Up to this day, it still brings a stinging sensation to your heart when you think about how easily they dismissed his murder case just because it was all 'circumstantial evidence'.

REVENGE—was painted in big, bold, red letters on the back of your mind. But at the same time, a part of you knew that there was no way you could kill another man. Sure, you've had your fair share of 'forceful' interrogations, but you've never really gone so far as to take a life of another.

An image of the former boss would sometimes pop in your head. "Don't bite off more than you can chew, kid," he'd remind you—almost constantly. And maybe that applies to your situation now. You know you can't kill him. You know that all you can do by yourself is to collect information—typical espionage things that you were used to.

But, man, it sure would feel great to get the revenge you really want.

You saunter around the estate with your binoculars, hidden behind the rose bushes. You peered through the many windows from afar, trying to find any kind of activity going on. You can’t find the man, but you do see his henchmen all over the place. You made sure to keep mental notes like how many exits there are, how many men are stationed in each place, and how fucking insane this mansion is. You think one infinity pool is enough, but 4? That’s just absurd—definitely compensating for something.

You were so caught up in your recon that you were taken aback when you heard the slightest rustle of leaves behind you. But before you could completely react, a large palm covered your mouth and a strong arm snaked around your body to keep you in place. You thrashed around like a fish out of water, but the assailant’s grip was strong—too fucking strong.

You continued to struggle and gained enough leverage to lift your leg and slam it back right in his family jewels. He stumbled backwards a bit with a groan. You swiftly turned to face the unknown person, ready to retaliate. But upon facing each other, you were both put to a halt.

The assailant in question was a tall man of muscular build. He had a messy undercut, pink spiky tufts with black hair beneath it. He had an intimidating look on his face. Add to that the bold black tattooed lines around his arms. You just knew… he was trouble.

You pulled out your gun and pointed it at his chest.

“Woah woah, slow down, lady,” he says in a low voice. “You a cop or somethin’?”

You were on the good side, of course. You were taking down a detestable man, after all. But it annoyed you to be compared to a cop. You were a fucking secret agent. Emphasis on secret and agent. “A cop?” you asked, eyebrow raised, gun still pointed at him. Even though you wanted so badly to tell him that you’re not just some cop, it was basic agent 101 to not talk about your identity to anyone AT ALL.

“Jeez, you look so offended. I take it you’re not a cop then?” He laughs. The laughter comes deep from within his chest. He seemed oddly calm with a loaded gun pointed at him. He calms down and fixes his gaze on you again. “Well, whatever you are—I won’t let you stop me from killing that man.” Your eyes widen at his declaration. You slowly lowered your gun and as you did, his smile widened. “You’re here for the same reason, aren't you? You’re quite easy to read.”

Now you regret ever lowering your gun on this cocky dipshit. “Who are you?”

He took a few steps closer to you, but you didn’t fall back. You stood your ground and looked up into his red burning eyes. If he thinks he can scare you off, well, he’s dead wrong.

“Name’s Sukuna. And you?” “I don’t care about your name. I’m asking who the hell you are.”

He knew what you were implying, but clearly, he found it funny to toy with you. “Let’s just say we have the same goal, yeah? To get that little jerk living happily down in that mansion?” He says while pointing over at the mansion in the distance. The way your sight followed his finger with a look of contempt practically confirmed his suspicions.

“So I told you my name—what’s yours?”

You gave him an uninterested look. Does he really just give out information this easily? If so, he chose the wrong line of work. “I don’t owe you anything.” He grins and imitates the sound of a fire going out to feign hurt. “After I made myself vulnerable like that? How cruel of you…” He laughed a bit through his nose and backed off a step. “How about I make a proposition?”

“Like hell I’d make a deal with y—”

He placed a stubby finger on your lips to shut you up. “Trust me. You’ll want to hear this,” he says with bravado. You slap his hand away and stare daggers at him. “Seeing as how we might become potential competition for each other and potentially derail each other’s jobs… how about we work together instead?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m gon—”

This time he flicked your forehead. “You don’t shut up, do you?”

First of all, ouch. Second, THE AUDACITY? He could care less about what you had to say. He stared at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. It was like he was studying you, taking in every feature so that he may ingrain into his brain. You instinctively look away—now's not the time for some rando to memorize what you look like. That's just dangerous.

A wide grin spread across his face. "You don't look like someone who kills."

You glared at him. He was right, of course. But he made it seem as if it was something to look down upon. "Who said I killed people anyway?"

"Definitely not that gun your holding," he muses. "You pulled it out so quickly like you wanted to hurt me," he says, getting closer to you again.

"But you never thought to remove the safety hm?"

That got you quiet. True. The gun was mostly an intimidation tactic. You would've resorted to other measures before shooting him dead if needed be. God. You hated how he was so right about you.

He chuckles at your silence. "I guess we're not here for the same reason then?"

You could only turn to look away to the side. Somehow, this felt incredibly embarrassing—like an older bully taunting a small kid.

“So, you’re faced with a dilemma, aren’t you? Am I right or am I right?" He asked, practically shoving his face into your personal space. Though, you didn't budge an inch.

You hated that he was right. Maybe he was good at his job. That or he should've considered fortune telling at those shitty carnivals.

“Let’s say that you are, but what exactly does us ‘working together’ bring to the table?”

“Good question,” he says before flashing a menacing grin. "You see, you have something I don't and I have something that you don't," he explains. Your jaw falls slack at the vague explanation. He notices this and takes it as a sign to continue.

"Since it seems like you're from a fancy agency—I take it that you have the necessary equipment to gather intel on this guy, yeah? Where I'm from... let's just say we're not as blessed." He pauses and sighs, still with a slight smile remaining on his face. "Though, I am blessed with the power to kill this guy. No high-tech bullshit needed." This cocky piece of…

“What makes you think that you could even get anywhere near the guy?”

He laughed again. This time not out of amusement, but definitely out of arrogance. “Baby, I’m just that strong.”

You continued to give him that uninterested look. But you gave it some thought. It really did seem like a win-win situation, except for the fact that you will have to put some insane amount of trust into this guy. Even you don’t trust yourself THAT much.

As you pondered about it, your gaze never left him. You took in every little detail of this man called ‘Sukuna’. He probably realized your doubts as he made his way back into your proximity. His large hand came dangerously close to your face and his fingers gently held your chin. He forced you to look at him and his stupid smirk.

“What do I have to do to earn your trust? Hm? Tell me.” His voice was smooth… tempting. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you weak in the knees. 

You gulped. The solution to your internal conflict has appeared. It was right here, in the form of an aggravating man. All you had to do was say yes. You reasoned that—you didn’t necessarily have to work WITH him. You could use him instead. Set your boundaries, play the game, and reap your earnings. And above all, there was no need to put yourself at more risk.

Doesn’t sound so bad, right?

You gripped the wrist of the hand that held your chin and looked him dead in the eye. “Fine. I’ll work with you under one condition…”

...

“Everything is purely just work—absolutely no strings attached.”

Neither of you had to know things about each other and neither of you had the obligation to save each other's asses if it wasn't a threat to your shared goal. Work will just be work. Strictly.

Then you saw that wicked smile again. The same smile that tempted you, bewitched you.

“Consider it a done deal, baby.”

Likes, reblogs, and feedback would be appreciated <3

Interested in part 2? T_T

[am-i-interrupting]

Imagine Vox with an anarchist or communist reader. Because I imagine he falls first, and the reader just hates his guts because he is quite literally the embodiment of capitalism. I just think it'd be really fucking funny. Lol.

If you like what I’m doing consider tipping me for priority requests & access to characters I don’t usually write for such as Charlie, Valentino, Carmilla, and more.

Vox has a tendency. That tendency was pointed out by Valentino as the moth laughed in his face.

He has a tendency to fixate in people who want nothing to do with him at best and want to kill him at worst.

You were probably friends with Cherri Bomb and being friends with Cherri means being friends with Angel.

You met Vox face to face when you were picking Angel up from set as he couldn’t even stand but needed to leave.

Vox tried to introduce himself but you walked right past him, flipping him the finger.

Your hard expression went soft when you helped Angel up to his feet and let him lean all of his weight on you but it immediately fell into a glare when you saw Vox.

You left. Vox watched you drag Angel to your home but that is where his ability to spy on you ended. You had no Voxtech in your house which only spurred his curiosity about you.

Not even a week later his warehouse for his cameras (specifically cameras used for directing) went up in flames. He saw you coming out of the smoke.

That’s when he decided to sit down and have a talk with you.

It ended with you spitting literal fire his way along with curses and him being even more intrigued.

The time since Alastor had disappeared had been boring.

Adding a new rival in his life was exactly what he needed.

Thus began your little feud.

It wasn’t ever anything truly filled with hate on his side.

You’d blow up one of his buildings. He’d steal you away for a chat afterwards. You’d curse him out. He’d put on a big man act. That was that.

The first time you truly hurt him he was shocked but it was his fault.

He was doing the big man act, threatening to make your life hell but you were already there and nothing he could take would be worth keeping anyway. That is until he uttered Angel’s name.

You moved so quick he didn’t have time to process. His computers behind him went up in flames, equipment went everywhere, and you were standing in front of him with a knife at his throat.

“I’ve only sparred you so far because I don’t have the shit to start a war with three overlords right now but touch Angel and I may be going down but you can bet your ass that I will take you down with me. Do we understand each other?”

Stupidly, so stupidly, that was the moment Vox realized he was falling in love.

You stayed quiet for a while but he knew where you were. He watched you.

He watched you and as he saw your acts of kindness to a select few and your hostility towards just about everyone else, he slowly began to fall in love.

It was when you were at a club with Cherri and Angel, out on the dance floor and then pulling a demon into a sex room as he watched when he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

It was stupid.

So stupid.

Doing something similar is what ruined his relationship with Alastor and got him stuck in this cycle with Valentino but he was a man of habit even if he pretended otherwise.

He materialized in the room behind you and tutted.

“Thought you would get lucky tonight?” Vox asked the demon. “Don’t you know luck rarely sided with a gambler?”

Maybe that line was a bit personal and he threw the demon out of the room with more force than he normally would have but hey, it’s Vox. The demon’s lucky they weren’t killed.

“The fuck are you doing?!” “Red light if you want me to stop.” “What?!”

He shoved you against the wall.

“Red light if you want me to stop.”

The next time one of Vox’s buildings went up in smoke, the fire was green.

If you like what I’m doing consider commissioning me for canon/canon stories AND personalized canon/reader stories.

[romandaandromeda]

the amazing circus of not real episode 2:

[SPOILERS OF PARODIC NATURE AHEAD]

[buttonblossom shipping art at the end too in other news]

pomni: i am going to die a nobody because i [%$!#]ed up bad yesterday

ragatha: pomni

pomni:

ragatha: :(

caine: go to the candy place and catch some varmints

bubble: https://www.cs.cmu.edu/~biglou/resources/bad-words.txt

zooble: no

ragatha: pomni

pomni: uh

IN CANDY WORLD

everyone: this place looks awesome

[happy gangle dies]

princess loolilalu: hello youre all welcome here :)

ragatha: pomni (positive)

pomni: (negative)

ragatha: :(

princess loolilalu: you have to get our syrup back

ragatha: you got it

jax: i hope nothing but death and gore and violence and all that is unholy in the eyes of god happen today

jax: by the way gangle [%$!#] you

ELSEWHERE IN CANDY AUSTRALIA

gummygators: we gotta stop these guys from taking our rightful syrup

jax: i have a gun let’s kill these guys

gangle: lets not do th

jax: i have a gun let’s kill gangle

ragatha: pomni

jax: yeah pomni be useful for once

[he throws her out of the magical semitruck that i forgot to mention and gets wedged between the syrup truck and the semitruck, conflict ensues]

jax: i’ve really gotta let out my violence pomni be a dear and just keep cool

pomni: i hate you

[pomni gets unstretched]

jax: well look now i cant do my violence thing

gummygators: lets throw them off our trail

jax: lets kill them

[chase scene continues]

jax: lets kill them

ragatha: BUT POMNI

jax: gangle (specifically) lets kill them or i’ll blackmail you

gangle: 😃

[the gators freaking stab the semitruck and impale ragatha]

kinger: i will save the day and pomni

[he throws an anchor]

jax: :|

[the semitruck falls into chocolate river]

jax: you are responsible for every tragedy and atrocity ever committed in history i don’t know why anybody even trusts you anymore

gangle: :(

[pomni and gummigoo clip into the blue void of nonexistence]

IN THE BLUE VOID OF NONEXISTENCE

[gummigoo discovers he’s not real]

gummigoo: what is going on

pomni: uhm

gummigoo: what are we in the end

gummigoo: are we even real

gummigoo: what (philisophical)

BACK IN CANDY WORLD

[the gang are alright]

ragatha: i hope pomni’s okay

jax: could you literally shut up about pomni and focus on the now

the greedy from the 1977 raggedy ann movie: im gonna eat you

ragatha: dont actually

the greedy from the 1977 raggedy ann movie: oh man im sorry

jax: what the heck are you anyways

the greedy from the 1977 raggedy ann movie: im the fudge and i eat people which is why i got banished to this river

ragatha: dear god

jax: you’re actually the coolest thing i’ve ever experienced (ragatha you have licorice hair)

ragatha: >:(

jax: i’ll help you get back into the kingdom if you help us

[the 2 remaining gummygators fall right into the chocolate river]

BACK IN THE BLUE VOID OF NONEXISTENCE

[pomni attempts to get a truck moving]

pomni: are you alright

gummigoo: no i’m literally just a puppet

pomni: i feel you man

gummigoo: we’re fake things for your crew to stop every time

pomni: well you still have your crew up there and you care about them like they do you right

gummigoo: why does this matter

pomni: because nobody should go through this at any point

gummigoo: well then let’s get ourselves out of this mess

pomni: we gotta get the truck to glitch out again

[so they do exactly that and have a bit of a moment in the teapot zone]

BACK IN CANDY WORLD

jax: well this sucked

gangle: why

jax: i wanted to kill people

ragatha: so they’re just gone

the 2 remaining gummigators: yeah

ragatha: right

kinger: well caine could find her easily

ragatha: yeah but she could be suffering and she isn’t fond of me after what happened yesterday

kinger: dont let it get to you maybe she’s just adjusting to this word like you did when you were new

ragatha: true

kinger: huh

[pomni and gummigoo burst out of the ground and kill the greedy from the 1977 raggedy ann movie by landing at mach 1 on him]

ragatha: POMNI

pomni: hi and i made a friend

[both gangs agree on taking the two syrup trucks on their own ways]

jax: https://youtu.be/rPKN7-pTpCY?si=YtSnNuJD1hlICZ1G

ragatha: maybe next time

jax: shut the [%$!#] up maybe

pomni: btw this is gummigoo and he’s joining the circus

ragatha: sounds good to me

jax: SHUT UP

princess loolilalu: you saved our kingdom

princess loolilalu: have fun killing that gator

pomni: yeah (sarcastically)

[that scene when the tripod emerges in war of the worlds 05 but with the greedy from the 1977 raggedy ann movie happens off screen]

jax: hehe

ragatha: WHAT DID YOU DO

princess loolilalu: no seriously what did you do

jax: bye

BACK IN THE DIGITAL CIRCUS

caine: welcome back everyone

gummigoo: this place is nice

caine: oh

[gummigoo perishes]

caine: just a precaution

[pomni loses her mind]

caine: okay bye

zooble: good riddance

ragatha: well maybe he’ll return some day

[the gang without jax hold a funeral for kaufmo]

[genuinely a pretty emotional scene and pomni feels assured]

THE END

in summary for fellow buttonblossom shippers:

[crazylittlejester]

im back with a random headcanon... this time it might be a little angsty...

anyways, i may headcanon that warriors has a secret childish side to him.. a side that shows who he truly is underneath all the stoicism you know? i believe that the war took place when he was still quite young (16-17) and because of it and everything that transpired, he wasn't able to properly live out the rest of his teenage years and be the young boy he always wanted to be due to conflicts and the fact that he became the hero and quickly rose up the ranks and such.

it's kind of like, he's always trying to act proper and kept together under the guise of his fellow brothers and comrades but, once you look closer he can actually act very cheerful and way more fun and outgoing then one might expect. this happens because he longs for feeling like the child, the young man he could've been if none of the hero stuff ever happened, if he never signed up for the army, etc...

this is just something i wanted to share from my brain, i have many headcanons and thoughts so i figured i'd show off this idea of a headcanon haha

OH FOR SURE. i headcanon him to be like, 17-20 during the war (i headcanon it lasted 3 years) and 27 in the ‘present’, and that ain’t even old

Warriors deserves to be goofy and silly and ridiculous, and when I’m not giving him a breakdown I write him that way. In one of my favorite crack fics I’ve ever written I had him, Twilight, and Sky act like morons in a field and they ended up eating dandelions

ALSO WARS IS A YAPPER AND I’LL DIE ON THIS HILL. HES A YAPPER AND HE’S FRIENDLY, IF A BIT MISTRUSTFUL AND SKEPTICAL AT FIRST, BUT ONCE YOU GET TO KNOW HIM HE’S LIKE YOUR CRAZY BEST FRIEND

[aemonds-fire]

The Sapphire Spell Ghost Aemond x Female Reader Part Six - The Kinslayer Lives

Can a spell cast by Alys long ago bring Aemond Targaryen back to life centuries later in Westeros? When the remains of the Kinslayer are found and put on display in a Cabinet of Curiosities, the ghost of Aemond discovers the proprietor’s beautiful daughter is the only person who can see or hear him.

Dark Ghost Aemond x Female / Slow Build / Dark Romance

Word Count: 3329

Chapter Warnings: Angst

The Sapphire Spell Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

You’ve been in your room all day, sobbing, broken with grief and guilt.

When your father still hadn’t arisen past time for breakfast, your housekeeper knocked on his door to check if he was alright. Worried when she received no answer, she hesitantly entered the room and found him still in bed. Alarmed to find him with his eyes open but not breathing, the housekeeper immediately summoned your father's physician.

The physician determined angina pectoris to be the cause of death; in layman's terms, his heart failed. Why, he could not say for sure. Over exertion, mental strain, or possibly an unknown defect of the heart, he speculated.

But you thought you knew why. You had never seen him so angry as he was last night. Some of the servants heard him yelling at you; they knew you had done something terrible to enrage him like that. ‘This was your fault,’ you tell yourself.

Not wanting to face anyone, you stayed in your room, refusing to eat and suffering through bouts of heartbreaking sobbing.

You couldn’t even summon the will to go and see Aemond, though a part of you sorely wishes he could comfort you, wanting simply to be held while you cried out your sorrow.

You remember little of that first day without your father—just endless tears. Only when you learn that your father's solicitor is coming to discuss his affairs do you force yourself to get out of bed and dress.

The solicitor is a kind and soft-spoken man, as well as a longtime friend of your father's. Seeing your distraught state, he tries to console you by assuring you that arrangements according to your father’s wishes have already been made so you wouldn’t have the burden of making decisions. He informs you that the funeral will take place in two days.

Before leaving, he encourages you to rest and eat, promising to return to escort you to the funeral.

You still do not wish to face anyone, not even your beloved staff, some of whom you’ve known since childhood, choosing to remain in your room. You’ve stopped crying for now, feeling that you have no more tears and wishing for numbness to take over.

Only when it is past midnight and sleep continues to elude you do you quietly don a robe and shawl and slip over to the museum, desperately seeking solace.

Signs are posted on the doors, informing the public that the museum is closed until further notice. Walking through the collection, there seems to be a gloominess here, as if the items your father collected and treasured are aware of his loss. You wonder if this can ever be a happy place for you again.

Aemond is waiting for you at the top of the stairs, watching your approach with concern on his face. “I wanted to come looking for you. I’ve been worried.”

“Aemond, he’s gone” is all you can cry out; just speaking of it brings a fresh swell of tears.

Staying by your side, encouraging you to sit on a nearby bench, “I know. I…felt something. And I overheard some of the workers talking.” He stammers a bit with his half-truth, painfully aware that he is the true cause of your grief. “I am truly sorry.”

Barely able to look at him through your tears, you cry, “It’s all my fault.”

He lowers himself so that you are eye-to-eye. “Look at me. Do not blame yourself; it was not your fault,” he insists. “He was angry with me. He only wanted to protect you. If anyone is to blame, it is me.”

Yearning for any easing of your pain, you wish you could fall into a warm embrace, but all you can feel is his icy chill surrounding you as your tears continue to flow. He stays with you while you cry out your grief, murmuring reassurances to you. Eventually, your sobs wane, leaving you with tear-swollen eyes and an aching head.

“I’m sorry for going on like this. I just feel so alone right now,” you lament between sniffles, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“You are not alone, nor will you be,” he whispers to you. “I wish I could do more for you right now, but unfortunately I cannot in this state."

Nodding your head slightly, “I can bring the sapphire to you, but the next two days will be difficult for me. I will have to receive guests, and then there will be my father’s funeral.” You sigh as the thought of it fills you with sadness. “But I want to be here if you need my help.”

“Then we will wait until after the funeral,” he decides. "I've waited this long," he reassured you with a gentle smile. "I can wait a little longer."

The two of you quickly form a plan, settling on the evening after the funeral, when you have an excuse to give your household and museum staff time off to mourn, and you can plead tiredness and grief to give you time alone.

You feel grateful to have him with you. Despite how vehemently your father was against your trying to help Aemond, you are determined to aid him. You believe no one should have to suffer what he has. Though his legacy may paint him as a killer, you have spent hours with him, growing quite fond of him.

“Thank you; I do not wish to burden you any further,” he insists. “Now you should go and rest.”

Feeling exhausted, you only nod in agreement, though you wish you didn’t have to leave him.

As you head towards the staircase, Aemond says, “I am sorry for your pain, but everything will be alright.”

Thankfully, you do sleep through the night and wake up feeling a little stronger. It still feels like there is a hole in your heart, but you now believe you will somehow get through it. You let the housekeeper and cook fuss over you, trying to persuade you to eat breakfast. You manage to eat a little, though the food has no taste.

The next day and a half passes with you simply going through the motions of what is expected of you. You somehow manage to get through the funeral without breaking down and sobbing like a child, but the effort leaves you exhausted. You already informed your staff they could take the rest of the week off, with pay, to mourn. Despite their misgivings, they heed your plea for time alone. Your father's solicitor, who is also concerned about leaving you on your own, is the last to leave. Finally, you convince him that you simply need time.

Once you have the house to yourself, you gather a few items, including the sapphire, and make your way to the museum.

Filled with nervous trepidation, you meet Aemond near the glass casket holding his remains. You brought some of your father’s clothes and a blanket with you, which you set nearby. He and Aemond were about the same height, though your father was more burly in build.

“Aemond, do you have any idea of what will happen or how this might work?”

Still staring at his bones, he quietly says, “No, I do not.”

“I’m worried for you. What if it doesn't work, or something goes wrong?"

“You know I have to try."

Nodding your head, you accept the fact that he is determined to do this, despite the uncertainty or the risk. Your hands shake as you unlock the casket's lid to open it.

Aemond gives you a determined look before telling you, “Once you have placed the sapphire, I want you to leave. Go back to your home and stay there."

"No, I should stay here. What if you need my help?”

He now shakes his head at you and argues, "I don't know how this will work or what it might look like. I don’t know how long it might take.” Pleading with his eye, “Please go; if it works, I will come to you.”

You agree to do as he asks, not wanting your final time together to be an argument like it was with your father. But holding the sapphire in your trembling hand, you are suddenly overcome with apprehension. You cannot stop staring at him, thinking that you cannot lose someone else this soon and that there are so many things left unsaid between you.

As if he can read your mind, Aemond smiles and says, ”Do not worry. We will talk when this is done.”

After placing the bright blue gem in the eye socket of Prince Aemond Targaryen’s skull, you turn and reluctantly head back down the staircase.

It is still dark out when you wake up after dozing off on the couch in the parlor. When you check the time, you realize it's the middle of the night. Feeling stiff from sleeping awkwardly, you stand, trying to stretch the kinks out of your muscles.

After leaving the museum, you tried to occupy your mind while you waited, but it was no use. You worried and paced; you stopped yourself several times from going back to him. Even though neither one of you has any clue as to how long this may take, you are worried because it has been hours since you left him.

Unable to wait any longer, though fearful of what you might find, you climb the grand staircase to find Aemond. You gasp as you view his display, realizing that the glass case, which has housed his remains for months, is empty, and some of the clothes you brought lie scattered on the floor. When you see no sign of him, you call out his name.

A faint groan to your left gets your attention. Your eyes go wide with shock when you see a figure with long tousled hair, wrapped in a blanket, huddled against the wall. Crying out his name again, you rush to his side, kneeling on the floor next to him. Placing your hand on his shoulder, you feel flesh and bone beneath the blanket.

“Aemond, are you alright? You ask frantically, worried about finding him in this state.

“Yes, I’m alright.” His reply is weak, and his voice is raspy. Even turning his head toward you appears to be an effort for him. “I have no strength,” he murmurs.

Unable to stop yourself, you rest your palm against his sharp jawline while your eyes take in his face. The first thing you notice is the warmth of his skin instead of the chilling cold whenever you were near him. You can see the blue sapphire fitted in place of his missing eye, as well as the old scar that runs from his forehead down to his cheek.

When you brush a few locks of hair off his face, he gives you a soft smile. His hand reaches up to find yours, weakly wrapping his long fingers around your smaller, more delicate one. You are captivated by the sight of life in his eye, the pinkness of his lips against his pale skin, and his subtle masculine scent.

Stunned that the inconceivable has really happened, you can’t hold back the soft giggle of pure happiness that escapes your lips. “It worked. I can’t believe it,” you whisper in awe.

You hear him breathe a deep sigh, slightly nodding his head. “Thank the gods, it worked.”

“How do you feel?”

“I still feel weak, but I’m alright.”

With your shock wearing off a bit, more practical concerns come to mind. “We need to get you next door. Can you get up?”

Nodding yes, Aemond manages to get to his feet with your assistance, though he continues to lean against the wall for support. As he stands, the blanket slips down, revealing that he is bare-chested. Unaccustomed to seeing a man in any state of undress, you quickly try to avert your eyes, feeling flustered.

“My apologies; I tried to dress, but I felt so weak. I needed to rest for a moment.”

Hoping the warm flush you feel creeping across your skin isn’t too obvious, you try to reply lightly, “It’s alright; at least you managed to get the trousers on.” Risking a glance at him, trying to focus your eyes on his face, you ask, “Can you walk?”

Leaning on you, with his arm around your shoulders and your arm around his waist, the two of you slowly make your way to the residence. As he struggles with the exertion, you find yourself torn between fear of him falling and the sensation of his bare skin beneath your hand. Finally, when you make it to the parlor, you help him ease down on the couch and leave him to rest while you fetch a shirt and slippers for him to put on.

You help him put on the shirt, but not before taking in the soft-looking patch of blond hair in the center of his chest, faded old scars against the paleness of his skin, and his long, lean torso. With your ladylike manner becoming more ruffled by the sight of him, you hurry off to make him some tea.

When you return to the parlor, you have a tray with tea and a plate of food for him. Sitting on the couch with him, careful to maintain a proper distance, you pour two cups, and you feel the need to ask again, “How do you feel?”

He pauses for a moment before answering, running his fingers on the couch's velvet, fascinated by the texture. “Better, though I fear it may take some time for my strength to come back,” he answered distractedly. You watch him look around the room, then at you. “Everything looks so different. To be able to touch things..." He shakes his head, struggling to put his feelings into words.

“I’m sure it will take some time to get used to everything,” you tell him. You take a sip of your tea, trying to reign in your swirling emotions. You’ve sat and talked with Aemond as a ghost for hours, coming to feel quite comfortable in his presence. But being around him as a living, breathing man now makes you feel awkward and a bit on edge.

Aemond is quiet while he drinks his tea and tries some of the different foods on the plate. You weren't sure what to bring him, so you kept it simple, giving him some biscuits, cheeses, and fruit to start with. You can’t help but smile watching him savor the flavors and textures, and the light meal seems to be helping him.

When he’s finished with everything on the plate, he leans back with a satisfied smile on his face. “That was the most delicious food I’ve ever had.” When he turns to look at you, his smile turns into a happy grin.

You can’t help but chuckle at him. “I’m sure you’ve had far better than that, but I’m glad you enjoyed it."

“I’ve mostly forgotten the taste of food; it’s like I’m experiencing it for the first time. Everything feels new to me. I’m not sure if I am making any sense.”

Right now, it's easy to let his wonder and joy in life's simplest aspects sweep you away. And you try to push aside the thought that has creeped into your mind about your beloved father.

Aemond sees your face dim with your sorrow and extends his hand to you, not taking yours, but waiting for you to accept his overture.

You waver for a second before placing your hand in his, knowing that physical contact with him will stir more sentiments in your already tumultuous state, but still craving comfort from your pain.

“Forgive me, I haven’t thought to ask how you are doing with all of this.” His soft spoken voice sounding so soothing to your ears.

For a second, you wonder how the simple act of someone holding your hand can stir so many different feelings inside you.

“My sweet lady, tell me what you are thinking.”

His question unintentionally brings tears to your eyes. “I was imagining my father being here, seeing you alive. He would be inundating you with questions right now; his curiosity was endless.”

Your words are like a knife twisting in his gut. Seeing tears spill from your eyes, Aemond presses his lips together tightly, not trusting himself to speak. He cautiously eases closer to you in a silent offer of consolation.

You cannot resist the urge to lean upon him, resting your head against his shoulder and sobbing. Though you thought you had cried out all of your tears in the days prior, a new flood flows down your cheeks. Whether it’s your grief, the insanity of bringing a ghost back to life, or your growing attachment to him, you do not know or care at this point. You surrender to his embrace and cling to him desperately.

He patiently waits until your sobs subside before tilting your chin up to look at him. “I am with you now, and I will always be with you,” he murmurs before gently pressing his lips to your forehead, letting them linger there for a moment before pulling back with a sigh. “I think you need to rest now.”

Having been awake most of the night, you know your tiredness is playing a part in your very emotional state. Wiping your eyes, you reluctantly ease yourself from his arms.

“You are probably right. I should try to sleep for a bit,” you agree. “Will you be alright?”

“I will be fine. I am feeling stronger already,” he assures you.

Aemond insists on seeing you to your room. Along the way, you show him the guest bedroom, which will be his, and repeatedly ask if he needs anything before you lie down.

“I am no longer helpless, and I can manage on my own for a few hours,” he tells you with a smile as he sees you to the door of your bedroom. “Now please rest.”

After you are in your room, Aemond goes to his guest room. Though he feels stronger than he did, he knows he has not regained his full strength yet. He sits on the edge of the soft bed, looking around at the room's wooden furnishings. He runs his hands over the blankets, trying to remember the feeling of sleeping in a comfortable bed.

Now that he is alone, he allows himself to think of you and what he has done. ‘Hundreds of years later, and you are still the same impetuous boy,' he tells himself with a mirthless smile. ‘This feels like Luke all over again.’

Leaning forward, Aemond rests his head in his hands in frustration. It truly hurts him to see you grieving so much, and it hurts him even more to know that he took someone dear from you. Something he never had, a loving father.

But your father made one fatal mistake; he threatened the one thing that truly stoked terror in him.

“I swear by the Seven, I will have your bones crated up, put on a ship, and dropped into the Narrow Sea if I have to, to protect my daughter from you."

Years spent at the bottom of the lake, fully aware but helpless, was a fate worse than death, one he would not endure again.

When he made that threat, something snapped inside, just like when Luke came to Storm’s End. Then it was the first opportunity to collect payment on a debt owed, and he impulsively seized the chance to quell the rage that had long simmered in him.

Killing your father was just as impulsive and perhaps unnecessary. And now, it is a secret you must never know, because after centuries, he has finally been given the chance to rewrite his legacy, and he intends to have you by his side as his queen.

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter Nine

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: familial trauma, abortion, medical procedures, medical terminology, discussions of birth control, protesting.

A/N: this chapter is extremely dark and heavy. if you have any trauma regarding abortion or subjects tied to it, please message me and i will give you a TLDR. i swore i would never, ever write anything like this but you guys asked for drama, and now you’re getting it. Also huge shoutout to @melancholicmelanin for being my beta. My elite employee.

Grumbling quietly in the back of the Uber, Leah, with all the politeness she could muster, requested the driver to keep driving. She recognized the neighborhood's landmarks, recalling specific apartments and details from her recent walks with Vincent to and from her current destination. The driver, growing increasingly impatient with Leah's distracted directions, muttered frustrations in French, navigating the streets aimlessly as Leah anxiously scanned her surroundings, hoping for a familiar sight.

"Stop!" Leah's sudden command made the driver slam on the brakes.

Quickly exiting the vehicle, Leah made sure to proceed towards her due diligence of tipping the poor man. Tapping away at her phone in a hurry, she overpaid the driver before giving a forced smile through gritted teeth.

"Thank you," she called out while crossing the street, "Uh, merci!"

Spotting a familiar figure smoking on the terrace above, beckoning her like an old friend, Leah hastened towards the door. Joan, draped in a silk robe, welcomed her inside with an understanding gaze.

"I had nowhere else to go," Leah confessed.

"Come inside," Joan ushered Leah through the foyer and into a cozy sitting room that Leah hadn't noticed during the party.

"What happened?" Joan asked, her concern evident. "Is Vincent okay? Are you okay?"

She sat down, gesturing for Leah to take a seat.

"Yeah," Leah shook her head, "No, I don't know?"

She sighed, "I, uh, left the restaurant in a rush after I saw, uh, well, Vincent and Sandra clearly having a moment. I left my bag with all its contents, and I didn't have anywhere else to go," she explained. "I'm sorry for ambushing you."

“A moment?,” Joan questioned, “What do you mean?”

Leah sighed heavily again. “He was holding her and caressing her,” Leah, visibly upset, said while wringing her hands, “And she touched his face, caressing his cheeks, and they just stared at one another.”

Leah’s voice cracked as she continued, “And I know that type of look,” Leah stopped long enough to wipe her tear stained cheeks, “I’ve been on the receiving end of that look.”

"I feared this would happen," Joan paused to grab a cigarette from the case on the coffee table and lit it. "History repeating itself."

Leah shrugged and sank back into the couch. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Joan nonchalantly flicked her ashes into a chic ashtray on the side table. "Do you want some tea?"

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Leah nodded.

"How do you take it?" Joan inquired.

Leah chuckled wryly. "I never drank tea until I came here, so however Vincent makes it is how I've been taking it."

“Black tea with honey and milk, I think?” Leah suggested, “That’s how he taught me.”

_______________________________________

An hour passed as Leah and Joan delved into discussions about what Leah should have done, could have done, and would do.

"You kept Vincent from his father, and yet, you're telling me that I should be honest with Vincent, disregarding everything I saw back at the restaurant," Leah sighed, closing her eyes. "Are you telling me to be honest with him because you have an emotional stake in this or because you think it's the right thing to do?"

"Vincent's father was a pickpocket by trade and a drunk by hobby," Joan explained. "I was twenty when I had Vincent, and I went back to Ireland to tell him about Vincent a year or so later, only to find out he'd knocked up the bartender at the local bar." Joan continued, "For months, we robbed, partied, and lived off Guinness until we were finally caught. I was arrested, deported, and found to be pregnant at the very last minute."

Joan lit a cigarette and pointed a finger at Leah. "So don't draw comparisons from me."

"But it's hard not to when you're telling me all these things," Leah said. "The only difference is I'm thirty-two, Vincent is forty-two, and I live on an entirely different continent," Leah stated, continuing, "We're old enough and established enough to have a child, but that doesn't necessarily mean we should."

"It's your right to choose," Joan said, “Even Vincent will tell you that.”

Joan lit another cigarette and pointed at Leah. "It's not my place to tell him about the child, nor is it my burden to bear," she continued. "But keep in mind that he is not some fly-by-night, piece of shit who's going to move on and pick up the pieces when you fly out of here." She ashed the cigarette, and Leah made a mental note that this is where Vincent must have inherited his chain-smoking gene. "He is going to be right where you left him, loving you all the same."

"See, the thing is," Joan inhaled sharply. "Sandra never loved Vincent back," she explained. "Maybe platonically, sure, but he fell hard, and I think he is now seeing what he lost but also what he has gained. You love him back. That’s the difference."

Leah shook her head, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "But is that enough?"

Joan smiled sadly at her. "Is anything ever enough, lovely Leah?"

_________________________________________

For an hour, Vincent walked around Paris with an overpriced Prada bag in his grip. Leah had felt guilty the day she bought it, telling him about the people starving and the wars being fought around them. She expressed how selfish and materialistic she felt, but she didn't plan on being the richest person in the cemetery when she died. She intended to spend what she could while she still had a pulse. Vincent liked the way she rationalized the purchase and stood happily behind her with his hands clasped behind his back as the attendant took her on a guided trip through the store.

On this particular night, Vincent longed for the simplicity of those first few weeks they'd spent together. As he searched the streets of Paris as if she might jump out and surprise him around any corner, like the entire thing was one big joke, he wished he had never met her. Quickly banishing that thought from his mind, he realized it was a blatant lie. Convinced she had moved on in New York City, perhaps with the old flame she had mentioned weeks ago in a wine-fueled confession during one of their many midnight chats, he wondered why he continued to want her the way he did.

Then, as his phone vibrated and he squinted to read the brightened screen, a text from his mother read, "She's with me. Go home."

“Why is she there?” He texted back, walking aimlessly in the direction he had been going.

His phone vibrated again and he quickly opened the chat, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Vincent scoffed, forever humbled by his mother, and headed in the direction of her apartment.

_________________________________________

"Vincent, don't come in here to start an argument," his mother warned as she opened the door and gestured for him to enter. "And wipe that smirk off your face."

He complied silently, knowing well that his mother was not one to be swayed in an argument.

She closed the door behind him, tightening her robe around her before pointing a finger at his chest. "Do not wake her up."

He took a step back, raising his eyebrows. "She's at my mother's house."

Joan nodded firmly. "My house, my rules." With that, she turned and walked away, throwing a final warning over her shoulder. "You better not wake me or Tim."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as his mother disappeared from view.

Taking a deep breath, he navigated through the dimly lit apartment, finally reaching the sitting room where Leah lay curled up on the couch. He let her bag slip out of his grip, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the silence. Leah jolted awake, gasping, her eyes darting around the room in a panic as she struggled to orient herself.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one mad here," she remarked, sitting up and pulling a throw blanket around her shoulders.

"You chose to come here?" He inquired, a mix of confusion and frustration in his voice. "Why?"

Leah shrugged, a hint of defiance in her demeanor as she shook her head. "Where else was I supposed to go?" she retorted, her tone sharp.

"Leah, you should have gone home," He ran a flustered hand through his hair, turning to face her. "You shouldn't have run away from me," he chastised.

"Home is over three thousand miles away, Vincent," she retorted sharply. "What did you expect me to do?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Stay and watch that? Put yourself in my shoes for once."

He shook his head, starting to pace. "What you witnessed was two people closing a chapter and moving on."

She scoffed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Sure, call it that," she said, rolling her eyes as she locked eyes with him. "Maybe next week I'll walk into your apartment and find you fucking her, and we can label it as 'grief therapy.'"

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. "What happened to you in New York?" He inquired once more.

She abruptly rose from the couch, pulling the throw tighter around her shoulders.

"I finally came to my senses," she declared, her eyes fixed on the Parisian street beyond the sliding glass door.

"Do you mind sharing, because I can't read your mind?" he asked, moving to stand beside her, both looking out onto the same street.

Leah met his gaze, tears welling up in her eyes. "That you're in love with her," she confessed, her voice trembling. "And I'm in love with you." Wiping away the tears hastily, she continued, "I came here to explore international law, to step out of my comfort zone, but I can't even tell you a single thing about French law because all I've been is a puppet on a string. I've played second fiddle to the ice queen of the Alps because you're so deeply in love with her, Vincent." A sob escaped her, and she quickly muffled it, torn between shame and fear of waking Vincent's mother.

"I don't even know you," she shook her head, a sense of resignation washing over her. "This should never have gone this far," she admitted, closing her eyes. "And I don't share. I refuse to play second fiddle to anyone," she declared.

Vincent chuckled incredulously. "There it is, that American brashness, always rearing its head when things don't go your way."

She let out a sarcastic laugh. "It seems to be a recurring theme, doesn't it? You never miss a chance to remind me of my Americanness." She tilted her head and met his gaze. "You'll eventually scold me for not learning French, one of us will jump out of a window, and history will repeat itself."

"What are you even talking about?" Vincent's face registered bewilderment as he spoke softly, mindful not to disturb his sleeping mother. "Have you thought this through? What's gotten into you?" he inquired.

"It's hard not to dwell on it after what I heard during the case," she sniffled, her voice tinged with distress. "That USB file is haunting me in the most unsettling ways."

"I may be many things," he reached out to touch Leah's shoulder, gently turning her to face him, "But I am not Samuel, and you are not Sandra," he reassured her. "You could speak an alien language, and I would still be in love with you just the same."

She nodded, resting her heavy head in the space between Vincent's shoulder and neck, surrendering, if only for one night.

_________________________________________

Leah had made up her mind before she had actually made up her mind. It was a familiar pattern, reminiscent of her second year of law school when she found herself with two different guys, rotating between them over a span of six months. She walked quietly into the Joan Malin Health Center, the same place that had been the center of protests the week before, causing chaos in the already bustling streets of Brooklyn. With Kate beside her, she completed the necessary paperwork, underwent an exam and ultrasound that they both averted their gazes from, and with a swift IV placement, she drifted off into unconsciousness. Sometime later, she awoke in a sterile, brightly lit room with Kate faithfully by her side. On the way home, Kate grabbed some pizza for both of them, a decision they both wholeheartedly agreed was the best choice, including the one Leah had made earlier in the day. Maybe it had been more emotionally charged that day, Leah couldn’t recall in the moment. Had it been that easy? Had she not felt anything?

It had been about eight years since that day, Leah estimated, as the Uber dropped her off in the sixth arrondissement, her former residence before moving in with Vincent. She pondered whether she would have even made the trip to Paris if she had become a mother back then. Would she have pursued a career in law? Pushing aside these thoughts, she relied on Google Maps to navigate the streets, drawing closer to the address provided by an associate of Le Planning Familial. The associate had promptly responded to her email late at night, providing her with a list of names and locations, allowing her the autonomy to choose where she wished to seek treatment.

Upon her arrival, she took a deep breath before entering the multilevel practice. After riding the elevator to the correct floor, she promptly checked in, grateful that the receptionist spoke English. She didn't want any additional challenges that morning, so she chose a seat far away from the other women waiting to be seen.

It seemed like hours had passed before her name was called, and she was ushered into what appeared to be a doctor's office. They meticulously reviewed her medical history, discussed the procedure, and outlined the pre- and post-procedure protocols. He recommended contraceptive devices to her, to which Leah declined for obvious reasons, not thinking of any sort of future outside of this building, this room. Adoption, she explained, wasn’t even an option to put on the table. Dr. Shah, as he introduced himself, noticed Leah's nervousness as he sighed and leaned on both elbows, studying her.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he offered sympathetically.

"It's not that," Leah shook her head. "I'm just trying not to vomit all over your desk." She placed her shaking hands under her thighs.

“Here,” he stood up and guided Leah out into the hallway, leading her to an exam room down the hall. Opening the door and flicking on the lights, Leah blinked a few times at their harshness.

“Get on the table and make yourself comfortable,” he requested.

Feeling cautious, Leah followed his instructions and settled onto the table, accepting the blanket he offered her.

As he exited the room, Leah took a moment to observe her surroundings. She glanced out the window, taking in the view of the city, and noticed the various pieces of art adorning the walls. Among them, she spotted delicate peonies painted to blend in with the earth-toned decor. If they were placed there for relaxation purposes, they most definitely were not working in Leah’s favor.

Leah picked up her phone and quickly FaceTimed Kate, whose blurred face came into focus after a few rings.

"Was I normal the day I had my abortion?" Leah asked without preamble.

"Leah," Kate began, looking around, "No warning at all?"

Looking past Leah, she asked, "Where are you?"

Leah sighed, "I'm at a clinic in France."

Leah watched as she walked into her office, sighing heavily as Kate sat at her desk, her numerous accolades and photos scattered on the shelves behind her. "What the fuck? I told you to come home, and we would take care of it."

"Was I normal that day?" Leah asked again.

"No," Kate shook her head. "You were shaking like a leaf the entire time, throwing up multiple times, and could barely sit still in that dirty waiting room."

"And those protesters," Kate rolled her eyes, "Their pamphlets were everywhere in the lobby."

Leah let out a shaky breath. "Why don't I remember any of that?"

"Because memory is tricky," Kate offered. "Come home, sissy cat, and we will take care of this."

A nurse knocked on the door and entered the room, carrying materials and a tablet. Leah motioned for Kate to wait, placing the phone beside her. The nurse offered Leah a kind smile, urging her to sit up as she tied a tourniquet around her arm. Nervously, Leah pulled back. "I'm not ready for the procedure, and I don't want general anesthesia. I have no one that can be here with me to take me home.”

"Not yet," the nurse comforted her. "I'm just going to start an IV filled with saline, give you some nausea medication, and medication for anxiety."

"I'll take it all," Leah relaxed and allowed the nurse to do her job. Within minutes, she felt calmer, a little lighter than she had in weeks. Following the nurse's instructions to undress from the waist down, a challenging task that Leah managed one-handed due to the IV placement.

"Are you okay?" Kate questioned as Leah picked up the phone again.

Leah shook her head. "Yes, no, maybe?" She closed her eyes. "I messed up big time, Kate."

"I gotta go, I can hear them discussing my case outside the door," Leah rushed out.

"I love you, sissy cat, and I'll love any little baby you have." Kate blew her a kiss and hung up the phone.

The doctor entered a few minutes later, wheeling an ultrasound cart in behind him. “Feeling better?” He asked, and Leah nodded. “As best as I can, given the situation.”

A few quiet moments passed between them as he set up the machine and had Leah lie back. The same song and dance as before: feet in the stirrups, the cold probe, warm gel, deep pressure. Leah wanted to make a joke about the French being prickly, about how kind and attentive they had been to her, but she quickly realized that was expected of people in their field.

"Once again, an IUD would be a great choice for you. I just want you to know all your options," Dr. Shah said, glancing up at Leah before turning back to the monitor.

"I know it looks like I'm a dumbass American who came to France for fun and got more than she bargained for," Leah sat up and locked eyes with the doctor, "but I took a Plan B and started birth control and still ended up in this situation."

The nurse placed a reassuring hand on Leah's shoulder. "We don't judge here."

“Mesure environ six semaines et cinq jours,” The doctor spoke to the nurse, who tapped on the tablet, nodding as he continued the exam.

And there it was: the steady beat of a drum, the galloping of horse hooves, the steady ticking of a wristwatch under a pillow. Leah thrummed her fingers along the exam table, keeping time with the rhythm, finding comfort in it as she closed her eyes, immersing herself in it.

The doctor looked up at her, his eyes on her dancing fingers, then back to her face. “Are you sure you want to proceed?”

Taglist:

@weakling-grace

@bibistatic

[engazed]

i’m reading through 10 days and slash man all over again- as they’re maybe my favorite piece of work i’ve ever come across. this might be my third or fourth time, and they’re just as good as the first. i just wanted to let you know you still have people going back through and admiring your work, it’s fantastic 💜 hope you are well and dandy, and am excited to read through blackbird fly with the first two stories fresh in my noggin.

Thank you so very much, my friend. I am blessed to have people like you read my work! You give me reasons to keep writing, despite setbacks and disappointments. Both Ten Days and The Slash Man are quite old now, as far as Sherlock fanfic goes, so I am very touched to hear that people still read and enjoy them! The next chapter is not far from being posted.

[arthur-r]

testosterone meeting complete?!?!?!?!???!!!

[wikipediary]

Don’t wanna be ‘friends’ (using this term extremely loosely) with this one girl i’m in the same cohort/course with…her belief system + the way she perceives other people and the world is so…i cannot think of a better word so: SHUDDERING. but she’s friends with my circle of cohort/friends so she’ll always be in my circle…?

[little-shiny-sharpies]

*through gritted teeth* don’t trust how you feel about your life after 9 pm or during your monthly hell, don’t trust how you feel about your life after 9 pm or during your-

[iloveyoumorethansoup]

Oh by the way. Life update cause I’ve said absolutely nothing recently

[sesamestreep]

perhaps nothing better represents the feelings of isolation I’ve been experiencing lately while trying to stay connected or make new connections with people online than logging onto tumblr to find a notification for a new message, feeling approximately 3 seconds of joy and excitement before I open the message and it turns out to be from a pornbot

[urlocalmagicalcat]

nothing will ever describe my life and how I view it as much as Will Stetson’s cover of Unknown Mother Goose

[reenaria]

currently having a queer identity crisis on this accursed holiday