#once again coloured at work bc its. so. dead

[paimt]

loosely based on a true story

support my fast food addiction

[rebornofstars]

MY FAVOURITE PARTS OF THE UPDATE

BECAUSE THIS HAS BEEN MY FAVOURITE UPDATE EVER

all comic panels from crescent flame by @linkeduniverse. readmore bc its LONG

can we start with the gorgeous lighting please . like this has to be one of the absolute prettiest palettes i dont know how the colour wheel works but PLEASE im dying over this peach coloured light. and the camera angles??? absolute fire

and we already knew he had it but as far as i can remember this is the first time we've actually seen legend using his lantern????

somoene will have to help me (SOS 😭🙏) because ive lost the spreadsheet matching each item in the december art with its name & game of origin so FORGIVE ME IF IM WRONG BUT ISNT THIS THE SAME LAMP FROM LINK'S HOUSE AT THE BEGINNING OF ALTTP??? legend you sentimental freak (deeply affectionate). hes everything.

and!!!! rulie with the candle. i dont know why im going crazy about a candle but i AM. the fact that rulie uses a light method less modern than legend's old lamp is speaking to me and the inevitable conversation about legend's legacy and the gulf between their eras. this is canon and we've been talking about it for years but seeing them together in direct comparison like this is really hammering it into my skull. and of course jojo's attention to detail is once again UNPARALLELED

also the architecture in this dungeon is just gorgeous. jojo can u design my house pls??? 🥺🥺 i'm in love with all these zoomed out shots as well like holy shit. so effective in creating an atmosphere

PLEASE the fact that hyrule holds his candle right over it to look but then backs off a bit when legend comes over so he can light it with the lamp?????? WORDLESSLY??? i dont know if its just because he knew the lamp would do a better job but the TEAMWORK??? THE COOPERATION??? I LOVE THEM???? i used to think that downfall duo was mostly a fanon invention cause legend and hyrule didnt spend much one-on-one time in the comic but FUCK THAT I BELIEVE!!!! I SEE THE LGIHT!!!!! legend's little grin is telling me everything i need to know

his face im wheezing 😂😂😂😂 rule please how did u survive this long 😭😭😭

and then it doesnt even attack them it just runs away!!!!! accurate!!!! dfd (downfall duo? is this an acceptable acronym?) are TOO OP

im actually fucking dying over this panel u dont understand. strong contender for one of the panels of all time. four has STRUCK UP A POSE. nobody walks down stairs with their hands behind their head that boy is RECLINING DRAMATICALLY.

and WIND DOING HIS LITTLE LEAP. ITS TOTALLY UNECCESSARY. IM SO GLAD IT EXISTS. and time descending in the middle of the stairs staring straight ahead 😭😭😭 equally theatric in his own stupid way im wheezing this is too much. the drama kids. old man & the Youngsters

THE ARGUING ABOUT WHO GETS A TURN AT WHAT. SOOOO SIBLINGS CODED. IM DEAD ON THE FLOOR

wiat wait wait fuck. wait fuck HOW OLD IS FOUR. theyre thinking so furiously theyre gonna hurt their brains. recontextualising every single conversation theyve ever had with the smithy!! im actually sooo sooo happy abt this panel because cheekily mysterious four (especially about completely unecessary things like his AGE) is my kryptonite & i feel like this couldve come straight out of a crackfic. the chaos is unmatched. jojo is on our WAVELENGTH ‼️‼️‼️

they are soooo sooo comfortable with each other. hyrule sasses everyone its true BUT LEGEND IS TAKING HIS SASS AND RESPONDING TO IT. theyre having a debate. legend is expressing all his grumpy opinions and hyrule is like lmao ok i see ur point. ahgsjdbgsj

the way the games are baked into every panel and plot point of this comic.. im actually deceased. also legend's stance is cracking me up

ADORE the way this is framed. love love love

the MISCHIEF AND GLEE ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ WHAT IS A LINK IF NOT A DESTROYER OF POTS‼️‼️‼️ this whole page im obsessed with i read it like 3 times cause i couldnt believe my eyes. they ARE besties they ARE. theyre both being so playful & theyre both in their element & pairing them up was a gorgeous fantastic idea and i am SO here for it

in conclusion every update is getting better and better i am LIVING for this dungeon arc and i adore this comic to pieces. thank u for coming to my ted talk

[enthusiastic-cabbage]

Yo, Pinkshift good job stopping Jhariah from “offing themselves” for never being able to get over that One GM-less game I helped playtest, it was a great influence on my continued research, again problem is Racism is Institutional, the whole “reverse epilepsy” thing was Too True to believe, hence why all of Ankle Bracelet Girls ‘enjoyers’ are still ignoring y’all to Take Their Time Immortalising the Self Obessed Cunt.

What I’m doing I’d Different thanks you very much, hence what The Comicon Collective was making a point of bc My “light pink autistic futch” had a house deal going on up north and the Very Nice Dom knows I Accidentally Guessed which engine they were fixing the code for. Dysgraphia is different from Dyscalculia, I probably have both, but they’re commorbid, I’m not Fucking Joking about the ‘end of an era’ thing, not Psychic, Eidetic & Photographic Are Different.

Killian is legit my Personal Still Living Hero, because I thought once I’d started Getting Masc-er at least the Narcs (of all colours!!) would Stop Projecting Backwards at the very fucking least, but Nope!!

The 🌟&❄️ are not only Perfect Miracles to me, they’re the reason I’m Working Out the Pain “naturally”.

Eloy & Quinn absolutely have come to an understanding over protecting “the Reece family name”.

I am continuing to Protect not my self-worth but the Sensibilities of the Covert Transes & geniuses “on British Soil” who have also Given Up on pretending that many Cis Heterosexuals are refusing to pay them & hoping they die young so their can be another Wave of Nostalgia for your Insecure Self-Mythologising.

I am Anti-Establishment, I am Anti-Tumblr even, your “tenderqueer” sensibilities almost got Me Specifically Dead for Real. I am the inspiration for Harry Potter and I can and would kill She Who Must Not Be Named and consider my incarceration for Life a mercy for my cousin who has had to endure her Narcissistic Abuse & Gaslighting since the day they were born.

Trans Women are Actively Protecting me now Keaton. You don’t get to hide behind ‘pen names’ any longer.

My father hated women like you. Not ‘rich bitches’ but abusers. Yes, there is “evidence” of my own Kinky Leanings online, but I will continue to refute that The Police is the Right Fit for someone as Communist as I.

I have Jewish Friends Keaton, not Just black ones on Universal Credit.

You can’t hide behind your Mask anymore, your disabilities do not Excuse You from being a groomer and a psychopath.

This Cabbage will Never Stop hating you and your Generation for using your Bourgeois Sensibilities to (almost) destroy my sister & I’s relationship.

Kaigestu does have the Evidence to imprison Katie Hirst & put HER on the no fly list Forever.

She did that to Herself.

So did Ochoa & “A&J” for using Face Recognition & Astrology as a mask for their Psychotic Tendencies.

None of you have acted above the law or above the judgement of People In Reality, not just of The Proper Crazies like me & Myann who chose to Unmask in opposing directions.

Decode me if you want, crytype & hatestalk me forever, you are Not That Smart or Important you self obsessed Cunt. And there is a reason Muslims are protected under the same laws that protect me as someone with ASD and not registered Psychosis.

“My Abuser brought me meds” is what I said in my Cannabis Legalisation Interview. My Stalkers have been Quietly Waiting for you to Get The Message that you are not Only a White Suprematist & a Serial Abuser, you are the reason I got raped, not my Mised Race Friends who lied to protect me from the knowledge that you spend every opportunity to enable very Secret Zionist to Abuse Jewish people & Converts who do not support the ceaseless genocide that people like me & my Chosen Family are powerless to stop In Its Entirety.

But if I am Croydon’s new Anti-Racist Representative, then I assure you, I have indeed met the Family that you worked so hard to Mask your hatred of. They have indeed “withheld” my medical cannabis to prove to You Specifically that Immigration Laws & Hypervigillence are now Your Burdens to bear Keaton.

Clare is indeed “one of mine” now. And they are Not Enjoying themselves so much as realising the War on Drugs is not only Forfeit to the Mircodosers & Covert Racists & Transmedicalists of the world, but that homelessness is Indeed my Personal Next Target, whether you like it or not Rowling. I’m not dying anytime soon, and if you try to use the Word of the Law to continue to induce Partisan Thinking between racial groups due to Epistemological Differences I will continue to break those boundaries with the help of My Ployglots.

I may be you “perfect opposite” but I will Never look at you Kindly nor thank you for “helping” Mytholgise my Girlhood (which did not exist thanks to your transphobia).

You can forever Read Into my Punctuation on This Blog.

I will never support your actions.

[caruliaa]

zukka is kinda wild to me a little bit just bc like. atla has been ever for so *so* much longer than cs and yet a ship for it w minimal amnts of actual canon subtext outside one episode regularly takes up an insane amnt of my dashboard meanwhile carulia has like. the level of overt romantic subtext as a if a hypothetical different show had a relationship intended to be made officially romantic in the last season of a show only for that season to get botched somewhat due to quarantine and yet im the only one making content for it even semi regularly

[theaudacitytowrite]

Hi love! again congrats for hitting 1k bc you're deserved it! For the prompt I was thinking about 1 & 21 with almost heavy angst/comfort. I need something that ache my heart for a while lmao! Love you!!

Thank you so much 😊 I hope it's angsty enough for you! 💚

#1: "No... Don't leave. Please don't leave."

#21: "And you didn't tell me?"

“Hey, Lo, would you like to go on a double date wi-" you stumbled into his room as you saw him pack a bag frantically. "What are you up to?”

“I'm leaving,” he replied courtly.

“And you didn't tell me? Where are you going?” you asked curiously as your eyes roamed over his room. Something was off. His bookshelf was mostly empty, his desk messy. Normally Loki’s room was a pristine place where everything had its neat place.

“I don't know,” he muttered under his breath, never slowing on shoving his things into the bag.

“Oh, so a secret mission?” 

“No.”

“I don't think I can follow... why are you leaving then?” you started to get worried.

"Because.” he huffed cryptically.

“But why?” you slowly felt how panic arose in you.

“Because no one wants me here, Y/N. Because no one will accept me for what I have done.” Loki bellowed at you, taking you aback. He had never raised his voice against you until now.

“That’s not even true. We all know that it wasn't your fault back then.” you tried to calm him down and stay collected.

“Do they really? Maybe they know it but do they all really believe it too?” he snarled.

“I do.” you sternly replied, mirroring his grim gaze. Loki sighed, shaking his head upset as he rolled his eyes at you.

“I know. Still.”

“Still what?” you asked sharply, “Isn’t that enough?”

“I will never come to peace down here. I will never have redeemed myself for you humans.” Loki growled back.

“Don't say that. I know it must be frustrating especially since some of the others are giving you a hard time but they just need some more time.” you tried to swallow your anger and defuse the situation.

“How much time, Y/N? Another month, a year, a decade? How long am I supposed to wait for a change? Until they're dead?!” he raised his voice again but you could hear the hurt in his voice. His jaw was clenched, his eyes glassy as he glared at you.

“Loki.” you huffed affected and tried to reach out for him. You knew Loki still had problems with Tony and a few others but he had never confided how much it actually affected him.

“No Y/N.” he simply shook off your hand from his arm, closed his bag and grabbed another backpack that was sitting beside him.

"No... Don't leave. Please don't leave." you pleaded, your throat closing up.

“I’m sorry Y/N, but you will understand one day that there’s no other way.” Loki took a step back and you instantly knew what he was planning to do.

“But there is!” you sobbed angrily, “Does our relationship really mean so little to you that you’d simply leave me over a fight with Tony?”

“I’m sorry.” he simply shook his head as he took another step back, gripping his bags tightly and you could see his eyes light up green as he got ready to teleport.

"No!" you barked at him, "If you vanish like that I will never forgive you!”

Loki’s eyes faded back to their usual icy blue colour. He didn’t move a muscle as he stared at you emotionless.

“You can't just run away any time there is a problem! Don't you want to find peace for once, a home?” you approached him angrily at first. With every step, your anger turned into despair. You couldn’t lose Loki, not again. Tears were streaming down your face as you took a hold of Loki’s sleeves, trying to get any reaction from him.

“Please, I beg you. Don't leave like this... don't leave me,” you begged him one more time.

“I want a home.” he finally whispered.

“Then don’t throw away the foundation we have worked on so hard.” you cupped his cheek in your palm, "I love you more than anyone else in this world. Please don't give up on us.”

“I love you, too.” Loki hiccuped, “But sometimes I just want to just quit everything because I just don’t know how to deal with all of this anymore.”

“I understand you, Lo. You’re not the only one struggling with this. I feel like this almost all the time. But I don't quit, do you know why?"

"No." he softly shook his head.

"Because I have a wonderful support system of friends who help me through it, including you." you smiled at him with teary eyes, "And I want to be there for you just as you were for me so many times."

"And what if I'll never get used to this?"

"We'll figure it out, together. Ok?" Loki nodded slowly, his bags falling to the ground as he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into your hair.

"Ok." he huffed dolefully.

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @funsized-mimi @gaitwae @queenjosielaufeyson @1marvelnerd3000 @darkacademicfrom2021  @lostgreekgod @tendertalesmain @donttouchmylaevateinn @asgardianprincess1050 @msturi2u @high-functioning-lokipath @elius-learns-to-write @plainlo-inthemorning @kokinu09 @midnights-ramblings @donaweasley @itsreallyjustmeh @sititran  @lindsey-laufeyson @ethanshide @delaber  @anonymousfiction211 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @iamalinarose @xorpsbane @vbecker10 @limiworld @ilovefanfictions  @crazzycrackers04 @tinctureofmaddness @marvelfanfn2187a113 @cosplayingwitch @sylvies4ever @tanushreeg27 @kellatron55 @loveshineslikethesky @scram1326 @camerons-specialinterest @mooncat163 @leucoratia @acefeather2002  @mochie85 @usagishira @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @lokidbadguy @ozymdias  @lokisasgardianvampirequeen@evelyn-kingsley

[haruhey]

Mind If I Join You?

check out my masterlist!

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Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.  

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.  

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙ 

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired​ @phoenixblack89​

comment to be on my taglist!

[villa-kulla]

McWexler Musings

since there’s no Saul tonight, you’ll have to suffer through my CURRENT finale theory

But for real if we’re talking about BCS finale theories, more specifically what happens to KIM, at this point it’s clear that BCS has become, at its heart, a love story. And this is directly from GGG (the Gospel of Gilligan & Gould) not just my own McWexler obsessed heart. My Kim theories have varied WIDELY, with everything from death to prison to vacuum to scandal (and of course, the theory of Kim just being Claire’s employee next to Gene’s Cinnabon). And while I know that last one was a fandom joke, I could actually so see a return to humble Nebraska for Kim

They’ve made a point to remind us of Kim’s origins this season when we get the flashback to Kim shoplifting (especially the Nebraska license plate zoom). Whatever does happen to Kim - and I’ve 90% ruled out death these days although I’m knocking vigorously on wood - I could totally see an ultimate return to her roots. Whether they take a scandal route, disbarment route, vacuum vanisher route, or simply Kim just being unable to deal with the consequences of her choices and hightailing it, WHATEVER. But I see her ending up back in Nebraska, defeated by design, as some kind of bitter yet determined atonement. She lives out her predictions of what her life would have been like if she hadn’t left, and is working a dead-end job, maybe in a department store saying nothing about the kids who shoplift, possibly even working in a mail room somewhere for ~cruel irony~

breaking bad happens, yada yada yada

THEN. What if we jump to immediately post-BrBa??? This season opened not in black and white cinnamon world, but swirling colourful Saul world, with the police seizure of Saul’s effects. So what if IMMEDIATELY after that we get to see Jimmy actually being spirited off to Nebraska?? Nebraska where he KNOWS Kim is now??? And what if he shows up on her doorstep asking her to come away with him?? And it’s only been a couple years and she’s understandably still spooked from her own experiences like “I heard on the news. Just how deep into this did you get, Jimmy?”, and can’t get past Jimmy going from a friend of the cartel, to actually greasing the wheels for the cartel. Jimmy pleads, maybe she’s even tempted for a minute, almost goes with him, but then I don’t know, her gaze falls on a candle in her living room and she just CAN’T do it and throws Jimmy out, telling him to never contact her again. Jimmy and Kim resign themselves to hollow existences.

BUT THEN. TIME JUMP TO BLACK AND WHITE CINNAMON LAND. Jimmy has been MADE. Last season when he was recognized he was all “I’ll deal with this myself”. What if deling with it consists of him showing up one more time on Kim’s door as a final hail mary, like “You never have to see me again after this. OR you could come with me right now.” And she stands on her steps of whatever dingy aparment she’s living in, just ilke the one she grew up in. And they both look at each other freezing on the steps, more tired and lined than they once were, but something’s still there. And maybe it’s Kim’s need to self-sabotage and leave security behind, maybe it’s the love she still has for Jimmy, maybe it’s the innately Kim Wexler part of her that needs more. Whatever it is, she’s left Nebraska once, she can do it again. And without even packing a bag she steps into’s Jimmy’s car and they drive off. And now apply the Felina scipt notes for Jesse to them: “Grimly determined, fearing nothing, he speeds through the darkness. From here on, it’s up to us to say where he’s headed. I like to call it “something better,” and leave it at that.”

END SERIES.

so yeah, the downside is this theory has messy time jumping, and would be hard to streamline in 6 remaining episodes lmao. But on the plus side it has Jimmy and Kim driving off into the sunset and that’s kind of all I need in life so yeah.

ANYWAY.

Gilligan and Gould are beautiful twisted freaks and I will happily take whatever they give me, knowing it will be the best choice. But we know from BrBa that they believe in emotional closure, and if not happy endings, then bittersweet ones that don’t leave a bad taste in your mouth. Also they are....kinda huge saps AND McWexler shippers and honestly at this point I feel like they want McWexler end game as much as I do, so yeah, SPEAKING IT INTO EXISTENCE 👍 

[sluttylittlewaist]

New Aerois Coffee Shop AU Lore just dropped

This coffee shop is designed by lucius, modeled after his dead goth bf

All the staff have their pronouns on their name tags and Nova she/they, Lucius he/they, Quill he/him, Aila she/they, Sentry She/her 

They all have aprons in colours/prints of their choosing (Aila’s is her tartan, Nova’s has clouds on, Sentry’s is green and floral)

A lot of the staff have additional patches and pins on their aprons, Nova has the bigest collection including Nasa pins and bisexual pride pins 

Tiangong is Nova’s emotional support dog, blue pitbull, rescue ex fighting dog, big scar on one leg, also has a name tag on their jacket with “Tiangong they/them” 

Aila and Nova share a flat, Quill and Sentry share a flat and Lucius lives in the apartment above the coffee shop. When they get together Nova will move in with Thalia in her huge house and Quill and Lucius will get a house together, then maybe Aila and Sentry move in together??? 

Valla is Arval’s adopted daughter, they come in regularly, Valla uses the wifi to do school work 

The wifi password is pineapple, it is written on a chalkboard and they are happy for students and business people to sit in all day and work and only get 1 or 2 drinks. They have very fast wifi

As soon as Valla is old enough they give her a weekend job in the coffee shop and train her 

Obviously everyone is very well paid, allowed as many breaks as they like 

Lucius owns the place and is the manager, Oriya is 2nd in command but does most of the manager jobs, she will actually tell people to do their jobs instead of just standing around doing nothing

Aila is the security guard, spends a lot of time running around carrying big boxes of stock, she also made some of the furniture 

Sentry mostly baking cooking cleaning, sometimes on tills, when she has had too much coffee she gives very passionate friendly customer service, the shop is full of plants, sentry is the only one who waters them   

Quill loves gossiping and chatting to customers, gives his number and/or twitter handle out to a lot of customers. He helps lucius count stock and do paperwork 

Nova has a phd in astrophysics at the age of 20 and is using it to work full time in a coffee shop. She likes to take apart and upgrade all of the equipment, at least once a week she falls in love with an attractive customer 

Lucius has a fine art degree and painted all the art in the shop. He spends a lot of time standing around giggling with Quill, he runs social media for the shop and spends a lot of time making latte art and taking photos 

Lucius’ mom and dad are probably still alive 

Edea sometimes just walks in in full motorbike getup and makes herself a drink, she also sometimes sleeps in a camp bed in the stockroom 

The stockroom is in the basement and is often called “Lucius’ secret basement” 

Kyrie is half Thalia’s adopted daughter and half her house mate. She spends a lot of time in the record store next door, she runs a stan twitter account of the bands she likes. One day she will be brave enough to order her own drinks but only from Quill 

Big cat is a maine coon that Kyrie carries around in a big rucksack or on a lead, he gets on very well with Tiangong 

Yes obviously pets are allowed in the coffee shop, they even serve dog cookies sometimes 

Listening to the music here is like playing russian roulette because they made have massive a team collab playlist, one min its cave town (lucius’ pick) the next it’s five hours of raw bagpipes (Aila) and then it’s fall out boy (Nova)  

Nova’s mom’s cafe is just down the road, Nova often spends lunch there, often bringing back little packed lunches for her coworkers 

Howard is the only one technically qualified to be making food so he does most of the cooking and baking but he did train everyone pretty well. They tend to hire people based off of how much they like them rather than how qualified they are

Yes the whole stormchaser crew including all the wolf pack work here, there are usually about 6 people on shift at one time, lots of staff means everyone gets all the time off they want, the main officers usually put in more hours than anyone else tho 

Maximillion Taldross came in one time, Quill fell in love, gave him his number,he called once and then never heard from him again. Apparently he’s dating Valla’s biological dad now? No one knows what he does????

Thalia is a regular customer because she fancies Nova, she drives a silver people carrier she calls the twin star. She has a lot of money to spend on coffee and petrol, don’t ask where she gets it  

Arydan is the manager at the Starbucks in town Lucius will sometimes go to Starbucks (he says the its bc he likes the design on the cups but he's just there to look at arydan bc he fancies him) before work and then everyone will be like “welcome home cheater”

That's all for now but I will probably add to it. If anyone writes or draws anything in this I will come into their home and kiss them on the forehead, that's a threat.

[catboy-lover-archive]

Obey Me Romanian MC

idea inspired by @/harunayuuka2060 (too shy to tag them)

Nu ştiu ce inspirație supraomenească m-a lovit dar am început asta la 2 dimineața și am terminat-o la 6.30

Im sleep deprived bc I stayed up all night doing this, enjoy gagicile mele

[added translations]

(under the cut bc this bitch is long af)

Lucifer: Are you not enjoying your meal?

MC: This food isn't even good. Next time I'm bringing my bunica to make you guys sarmale best thing you ever tried 👩‍🍳👌😘 mwah

-

MC: I'm not gonna go out with Satan, Beel, Asmo or Belphie.

Asmo: Awww

Beel: :(

Belphie: What?!

Satan: Why?

MC: Why date a guy who's favorite color is not in romanian flag? 🤔🇷🇴

-

Asmo: But I thought you could-

MC: For the last time IM NOT A VAMPIRE I CAN'T HYPNOTIZE PEOPLE OR MAKE THEM FALL IN LOVE WITH ME

-

Levi: Ohhh!!!! So are you like familiar with Castlevania-

MC: We don't talk about that *cries in disappointed*

-

Solomon: What is this weird potion.

MC: *puts bottle of țuică (plum brandy) on the table*

MC: This is not a potion, but a solution to all of your problems gagica 💖

-

MC: *talking to Lucifer* Oh iubire (love), stop crying over Diavolo again. Why cry over guy who would wear vagabond everyday in my country?

MC: Tsch tsch tsch

Lucifer: What the fuck is Vagabond

MC: Only the worst of streetwear existent. Only f-boys use it

Lucifer: Fair enough

-

Beel: Why do you want to try out for the sports team?

MC: Because Steaua, my country's team, disappointed me 😔

-

MC: Mammon! Asmo! Let me show you guys a thing called ✨manele✨

-

(after the Belphie incident)

MC: Does anybody have a belt.... a belt so I can...no reason...papuci de casă (slippers) works too

-

MC: Hey Belphie! Did you enjoy your punishment? 😜

Belphie: My butt still hurts...

MC: Next time it's the lingură de lemn ♡ (wooden spoon)

-

*MC dancing to Braşoveanca*

Mammon: W-what's that???

Satan: Some sort of ritual I suppose

Asmo: *joining in* It's fun!

MC: Doi✌paşi🦵înainte➡️şi😱doi😩înapoi⬅️ (two steps forward two steps back)

-

MC: Who has summoned me?

Satan: Belphie isn't feeling well and the medicine didn't really do it's job.

MC: Everyone watch closely because I'm going to teach you guys a sacred ritual called ✨Frecție cu Oțet✨

Satan: You're just pouring vinegar on his wrist.

MC: Now here comes the fun part. *maggages his wrists*

Belphie: Someone please kill me this is unbearable

MC: Am I allowed to say Tatăl Nostru (Lord's prayer) or is that too....uhhh weird since yall are demons and stuff-

-

Barbatos: MC...

MC: I'm sorry but crossing myself after I finish a meal is implemented in my brain. It's in the default settings.

Barbatos: What happens if you don't cross yourself?

MC: Lingura de lemn (wooden spoon) *shivers*

-

Diavolo: Do you like my castle?

MC: Baby, Peleş puts you to shame.

MC: Also, too much current (swift). Close the damn windows

-

Lucifer, giving up on life: Oh not again...

MC: DA PĂ CIMPOI DA PĂ CIMPOI JOACĂ FETELE LA NOI 👉👈😳

MC: Real music here 😌

-

MC: There, there gacica (girlfriend). Don't cry. *pats him on the back*

Lucifer: Do you got any more țuică...

MC: That's the spirit!

-

MC: I know I technically didn't die, but can we please have a funeral??? There is this really tasty cake just for this special occasion called colivă. Beel is okay with it so- hey don't ignore me! wait guys this is important- wAIT!

-

Satan: I hate Lucifer because he is my father.

Belphie: I hate Lucifer because he sucks in general.

MC: I hate Lucifer because Favorite color is red which is COMMUNISM COLOUR 😡‼

-

Solomon: See?? MC likes my cooking!

MC: Piftie...Caltaboş...

MC: Solomon, you would make a very good romanian housewife. Say, have you ever considered getting a 701st wife...?

-

Beel: *munching happily on the food MC makes*

Lucifer: *getting a fucking break*

MC: *making grătar(barbeque) cu mici*

MC: Everybody loves 1 Mai!

-

MC: Beelphiiieee!!!! I have a spell for you 😊

Belphie: Please not the lingură de lemn-

MC: *boop on the nose* ✨du-te dracu✨ (go to hell)

-

Lucifer: How did you make everyone behave?

MC: *looking at the papuc de casă in hand*

MC: You either die a hero...or live enough to become the villain...

Lucifer: Interesting, can you teach me?

MC: The secret is to use your wrist-

-

MC, whispering: Psst! Mammon! How's the sarmale trading going?

Mammon: Its okay, but why can't you just give me the recipe?

MC: E din moşi strămoşi (it's from older generations) I can't give it to you

-

MC: Hey pisi, want a ride in my Dacia?

Simeon: ...what? :)

MC: Come on gagica(girlfriend)! We are going to visit my family they will love you!

MC: You can also bring Luke. Just uhhh don't let him drink from the "juicebox" ok? It's not- It's not juice in there

MC: But you can drink. I won't tell anyone.

-

Diavolo: MC you can't leave yet. Not even for a quick visit back home.

MC: Auzi, da du-te-n p- (well why don't you fuck yourself on my dic-)

-

MC: *sigh* Sometimes I wish Satan was wearing Vagabond instead of...whatever that is

Asmo: Ouch, but yeah I guess we are that desperate.

Satan: I'm never tutoring any of you again.

-

MC and Luke, just vibing honestly: ⬇️Intră-n👇apa🌊mării🐚şi🐋nu🐟te🙄teme😱ai😳să-nveți🤯să-noți🐠printre🤔sirene🧜‍♀️🧜‍♂️

(go in the sea's water and don't you be afraid you'll learn to swim among mermaids)

-

MC: No Asmo, I have a date to the ball he's right here *points at țuică bottle*

-

Belphie: *misbehaving*

MC: Vai, vai, vai. Sărumâna Belphie 😃 ( well, well, well good day Belphie)

MC: *grabs the papuc (slipper)*

-

MC: NO LUCIFER IT CAN NOT BE AN AN NOU FERICIT (happy new year) IF WE DO NOT DANCE THE HORĂ

-

MC and Luke, vibing yet again: POVEȘTI DIN FOLCLORUL MAGHIAR!!! (maghiar folklore stories!)

-

MC: Where is my țuică? :)

Everyone: *quiet*

MC: I won't get mad :)

MC:

MC: Foaie verse de trifoi~ *papuc reappears* Dați băi țuica înapoi (green leaf of clover, give the țuică back you fucker)

Everybody: *runs*

MC: Mândruțelor (girls), come back until I'll put this to good use

-

Levi: *exists*

MC: *in love with him bc his fav color is in the Romanian flag and not in the commie flag*

MC: Te las să te lingi cu mime în parcare la lidl (I'll let you french kiss me in the Lidl market parking lot)

-

MC: Lucifer you don't understand!

MC: Sandu Ciorbă cured my depression!

-

MC: Muie cretinii pământului (fuck y'all stupid asses) my țuică is back and I'm not sharing anymore

-

Asmo: We're doing hot girl shit tonight

MC: Ne curvim rău (we're hoeing)

-

MC: futu-ți cristelnița mătii (fuck your mother's font) Simeon you're the one that drank all my țuică

MC: I'll let it slide this once, if u take me for shaorma(shawarma) in Piața Victoriei (Victoria's market)

-

Solomon: Whoops, I accidentally messed up the sarmale recipe

MC: Aşadar războiu alesu l-ai (So you have chosen war)

-

Mammon: MC, how do you say "I hate you" in romanian?

MC: Dar eu sunt mândru că sunt twink. (I'm proud to be a twink)

Mammon, clueless: ok thanks

-

MC, to Belphie: I had such a rough day, please fute-mi una (fuck me over) and not the way I like

-

Mammon: What would be a quick way to make money?

MC: Gagica(girlfriend), listen. Culegător de sparanghel (asparagus picker) in Spain is your go-to.

-

Asmo: *blasting manele vechi (old manele).2006*

Asmo: Please love me!

MC: *already in wedding attire*

-

MC: Beel! Here, try this! Yeah yeah its completely fine!

MC: ...what do you mean it looks like Solomon's cooking?

MC: THIS IS PIFTIE AND YOU WILL LEARN TO APPRECIATE IT

-

MC: *dragging them all by the hand to therapy*

MC: Păi aşa-i hora pe la noi măi bade- (This is hora to us well my mans)

-

MC, talking to Lucifer: Măi omu lu dumnezeu îți fut una de nu te vezi (listen God's man I'll fuck you over that you'll not see again) if u lay a finger on my țuică again

MC: I don't care that you have daddy issues, this is MINE now thank you very much.

-

MC: Doamne cu ce ți-am greşit? (God, what have I done to you?)

MC: tanti Lilith, ia-mă cu tine gagicuțo milf ce ești (Miss Lilith, take me with you you milf girlfriend)

MC: Chiar și culesul de căpșuni din Spania era mai ok dacât (even strawberry picking in Spain is better than) Therapist Simulator hell edition

-

Diavolo: *exists*

MC: Vrei să-ți fiu a ta mireasă? (Do you want me to be your wife?)

-

Simeon: *exists*

MC: Vrei să-ți fiu Ileană Cosânzeană? ( Want me to be your fairy wife?)

-

Belphie: Every time I doze off they say this weird phrase...

MC: Dormeo(mattress company) ! Noapte bună! (good night!)

-

MC: What do you mean im not allowed to have a cross around my neck?

MC: My dead grandmother would kill me it's Sfântu Andrei for fucks sake

MC: The law is law we gotta put garlic and salt everywhere around the house

MC: This is what you get from taking my țuică away AGAIN

-

MC: I mean, at least i dont have to take the bacalaureat and face the woman-hating-Ion-Creangă-fucking-twink-looking-nightmare-inducing Eminescu so

MC: *drinks a Mona Spirt (rubbing alcohol) bottle in one go*

MC: that works wonders for me

[acdeaky]

lovin’ you, hatin’ you, wantin’ you

warning: fluff, angst

note: happy 800 @versdan ! not me (creating two storylines for one idea and only writing the one with the happy ending bc i’m a sucker for love), wrong bitch. i’m so so incredibly sorry for not posting for like a month! i've been busy with work and i’ve really missed writing, so i’m hoping i can do a bit more (at some point) and get more work out for you guys to read :))

word count: 1.9k

THEN

the field was soft and light that morning. the wheat had barely begun to grow and only touched your mid-calf, but it still itches whenever you passed it. the oranges and yellows in the sky made the mornings better. the fresh, crisp air of the open space made the mornings better. gwilym made the mornings better.

and he was there, just a few feet in front of you, guiding you through the wheat field, making a path for you. often, he glanced back, watching as you trudged and trekked over the terrain.

this morning, specifically, it was tough. the lack of a downpour in the late spring weather had caused warm nights and dry days, even drier mud which you almost tripped over everyday. the passage through the field was just a small consequence of having the best view of the mornings, and gwil; you’d keep him with you wherever you went.

the lake was already glistening when you made it to the opening. like always, gwil waited for you before stepping over the hill, offering you his hand - which you gladly accepted - for support. your other hand wrapped around his bicep as you made your way up and over the hill, finding your nestling spot easily enough after so many times.

and the sky was orange, and yellow, and all shades of happiness that you could think of. it reflected off of the lake and across the scenery, covering the trees and grass with colour.

without his knowledge, you always snuck a glance at gwilym. his light brown hair always fluttered in the wind, making what was usually a neat look, a disheveled one.

the sun looked good on him in the morning.

after years of seeing him like this, after coming to this spot almost every weekend of every year for ten years, it never got old; he only seemed to get better every year.

NOW

it was raining. a typical instance for london in the autumn. your usual outing on a friday night was hastly changed to a night in at yours. as always, gwilym brought the food and you the drinks. after he arrived, drenched down to the bone in water, his coat was hung up to dry, his sweater was changed into one that was permenantly at yours and both of you were settled on the sofa.

an age old film was playing in the background as you ate and later cleared away from dinner. it wasn’t long before boxes were thrown away and your places were taken on the sofa. gwil’s back was pressed against the back of the sofa, with your body tucked into his side as one of his hands idly drew patterns on your skin.

as the night grew older, you changed and went through a few episodes of a joint-favourite tv show and your eyes slowly began to close, leaving you asleep on gwil’s shoulder. almost your entire body was cradled into his side, your body turning subconsciously in your sleep to the welcoming warmth of him.

the next morning, you found yourself in your bed sheets, tucked up and away from the patter of rain from outside. it seemed the storm barely let up, keeping the weather steady throughout the night. only a few inches beside you, gwil was still in his slumber, the steady rise and fall of his body telling you he wouldn’t be awake for a while.

the urge to stay next to his warmth was strong, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to do that; it would be too much to add to a definition. a definition of your relationship that was most definitely not, but also was most definitely, defined.

so, instead, you pulled yourself away from what could be - once again - and began brewing some coffee and making breakfast, something completely undefinable.

THEN

the late summer evenings were always your favourite. it could be nine o’clock, but the sun would still be hovering in the sky, painting it with the most gorgeous shades of pink and yellow as the heat of the day had settled and remained, requiring only a thin hoodie to shield yourself from the natural coolness of the night air.

it was only yourself and gwil out at the moment, the others having retreated back into the house to either sleep or grab a drink. neither of you had realised that you were alone, only being interested in each other and your conversation at the time.

gwil was sat straight on the long sofa, his knees knocking into yours often as he swung his legs side to side. you were sat curled up, your body facing gwil and the others - being on the end allowed that - with your knees only ever centimetres away from him.

throughout the night, even before your friends began to leave, you two only seemed interested in each other, having little giggles and whispers to one another while the others conversed together.

during the few days you’d been away for the last couple of weeks of the summer before returning to university, your friends had placed bets on when something - anything - would happen between you and gwil. they kept it hidden, not letting anything slip of what they were up to.

nothing happened, though. you spent the rest of your time away as friends, having your little moments together several times a day.

it wasn’t until the sun had completely set and the pinks and yellows had faded into blues and blacks, with hints of purple, that you and gwil retreated back inside. the fire was left to burn out and the mess of the evening was left until morning.

NOW

with typical london weather, it was pouring. the storm had been growing slowly over the past hour or so and now showed no signs of stopping. the weather had perfectly captured your mood over the past few days; the consequence of ignoring gwilym in turn of sparing your own feelings.

but that would end soon. he was outside your door, his face flushed and cheeks warm, a coat, matching gloves and scarf, haphazardly thrown on, his knuckles rapping at the door. it pulled you from yourself, the TV’s job at drowning out the world with white noise had failed.

you barley even registered that he said your name. it came as a sweet whisper, not even making its way to you, rather past you, and through into your apartment. uninvited, which he was. you had thought the minimal messages and short responses had told him what you wanted to say. but he was here and he was-

“can i come in?” he asked, taking your blank expression and the ignoring of his first word as your continued ignoring of him. you could only nod, moving to the side a little to allow him room to get through the door, closing and locking it quickly after.

gwil had begun to pull of his gloves and scarf, his coat drenched in water. he left it over the back of one of your chairs, hoping by the time he left it would be drier, whenever that may be.

you watched as his methodically made himself comfortable, as he had done many times before. except, this time, he didn’t pour himself and drink or take his usual seat, he remained standing, his body stiff and hostile.

who to speak first, you thought. there were the differences; gwil had arrived at your apartment, but you had been disregarding his presence for the last few days, so it was debatable. and yet, it seemed gwil was in no mood to speak first, so you had too.

“gwil-”

“no,” he started, “please don’t start this bullshit on not being ready to talk, because at this rate i’ll be dead before you finally tell me anything.”

sparing your feelings meant ignoring gwil in hopes of forgetting how to love him so you could be friends again. but, in the short time, the distance had made you feel deeply for him. the disappearance of him during your daily, and weekly, activities you do together was noticeable and you really didn’t want to leave it any longer.

but you also didn’t want to be left heartbroken. so you did what you did, and now, you regret the very idea of it.

“i just don’t know how i’m feeling, okay?” you felt small. even in your house, his presence was so large, so overbearing, you felt like you didn’t belong, like you were the intruder.

there had been many times where you tried. it had been something unspoken between you two for years and you wished, with your entire heart and soul, that you could just finish being the coward and own up to how you feel. yet, your heart refused to work, refused to be compatible with your head and pushed the only person you’ve truly loved.

gwil sighed, hearing those words for what could have been the hundredth time; he’d lost count. but he refused to get angry, refused to be hurt and upset over something you can barely help. “just,,, let me know so I can stop second guessing whatever is going on between us, okay?”

it was soft, not at all what you thought it to be. paired with the way you can only imagine he’s feeling, that should have been a lot harsher, more strident. but that wasn’t gwil, and that wasn’t the way he was with you.

the next few minutes consisted of harsh glares, glancing away and silence which could be cut with a knife. it wasn’t pleasant. yet, you could think of nothing to say.

pained and desperate to end this, you crossed the space between you, so that you stood in front of him, trying to get him to see that you don’t want an argument. your feelings for him are here and there, but most certainly, there. you’d rather keep gwilym than let him go, as pitiful as it sounds. the preference of keeping him in the knowledge that he feels for you like you do him is too strong to let him go as a result of your childish exploits.

so you tell him, more show him. you’ve never felt your touch to be so soft before you held his face, cupping his cheeks into the palm of your hands while your thumbs lightly stroked the outgrown beard that littered his face. gwil hadn’t even registered your touch, thinking it was his imagination and that you hadn’t, after the days previous, just touched his with such softness and kindness.

but you had, and you leaned up towards him, his height being an extreme disadvantage in instigating a kiss. yet, you reached, allowing your lips to rest a top of his with the upmost gentleness.

you felt twelve again, running through the fields in the early morning, your hand barely touching gwil’s as his wide stride took him further away from you. you felt like you were back at that lake, the early morning sun causing the ripples to glisten as the soft pinks and purples kisses the scenery around you.

you felt nineteen again, sat among friends as you laughed together, your body being only inches from gwilym’s, so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his delicate breaths, and his knees as they knocked into your own. you felt the warmth of him and the fire and the remainder of the sun, setting, leaving the world once again with a reminder of purples and blues.

you felt whole and where you were supposed to be.

TAGLIST: @shes-over-bored @i-barely-go-on-online​ @sohoneyspreadyourwings @brian-maybe-not @deakysbabybooty​ @1001-yellow-daffodils​ @retromusicsalad @hardcoredisneynerd @painkiller80​ @goldhoran @scarecrowmax​ @mebeatlized @seesiderendezvous @alright-mrfahrenheit @someone-get-a-medic @miamideacon @chlobo6 @teenagepeterpan @spacedustmazzello @deakysgurl @forever-rogue @xcdelilahxc @keepsdrawings​ @igotsuckedintothevoid @kill4hqueen​ @supersonicfreddie @laedymoon​ @inthedayswhenlandswerefew​ @warriorteam1924 @painandpleasure86 @boomerangbassist @mamaskillerqueen​ @bhxrdy

[evergreen-dryad]

time capsules

3 - soulmate AU

the one where whatever you write to them is bound to find their way to them, one way or another —

so Nene’s letters make its way to Amane in 1969.

Amane finds a note scrawled in loopy handwriting one day in his capsule. I wonder if my soulmate will ever read this.

Huh? His mind at a blank. He's never seen this sort of variation in any of the papers that come flushing out, disappointingly, instead of a more interesting product.

He pockets it without a word, heart in his throat, hands sweating

And it looks real. Really written. Just a thumb over it and he can feel the indents of graphite, from a deliberate hand inking it straight in.

Perhaps from repeated etching. His index finger curls around it, scrunching it slightly. He breathes, and looks out of the corner of his eye.

Tsukasa hasn't noticed a thing. He's pouting at the machine, wide yellow eyes round and baleful as he jiggles it with careful, measured motions, aiming for the yellow capsule on the bottom most left.

Amane exhales shallowly, and loosens his hands. This is the weekly capsule he often finds himself idly spinning for while wandering back home, tagging slowly after Tsukasa to keep an eye on him. And Tsukasa almost always meanders to the sweetshop.

The granny who runs it is perhaps the kindest adult around to them, who doesn’t just shirk her eyes away when she sees them, as if afraid of catching an infectious disease. But then again, the granny is quite getting on in years — her bottle-cap glasses are thick and rounded, and Amane isn’t quite sure he’s ever seen her eyes widen beyond the perpetual squint.

Still. It is a good place, and while Tsukasa may play rough with the shop’s cat, the cat is no-nonsense enough to not tolerate him if he gets up to one of his nasty ideas.

Often, Amane has caught the cat hissing at Tsukasa, his arms put up placatingly, while its entire body fizzes up into a bottle-brush.

Today, Tsukasa spins his third capsule, unable to stop. “Third time’s the charm, right, right, Amane?”

That’s what you say for any number, Amane thinks to himself, resigned to waiting. He knows Tsukasa will not leave until his attention has spun its cycle.

He sits there under the flowering tree, sunning his face through the cracks of the late afternoon. It’s a clear day — perhaps it’ll keep for the night, and Amane can track Orion’s progress.

“Hey, hey, what did you get, Amane?”

“A piece of paper.” He shrugs one shoulder.

“Aww… it’s one of those ‘Try Again’s huh… I hate those! I think I’ve got…” He counts rapidly on his fingers. “103 of them.”

“You’ve got them all labeled as usual then?” He humours. No, Tsukasa is the one who makes him count them with him. Tsukasa’s first reaction is usually to rip it into shreds or find a much more creative use for it. It pains him, but he lets it because they’re too small to be truly useful.

He wonders what he’ll do about this note. Too small, and the writing encompasses almost the entire strip. It looks like a line from an exercise book.

(Maybe they’re trying to do some schoolgirl love letter joke product.)

It nags at him, after they've gone through dinner and their mother's inquisition and are up in their room again, obediently folding their clothes for the next day.

Tsukasa does his sloppily all while humming the theme song from the radio, and peppering Amane with questions about what possible stars they'll see tonight.

Slowly, Amane smuggles the little note from the pocket of his trousers into the sleeve of his pyjamas, where it settles against his skin for the night

*

He finds the next one the same way: this time, it’s I dream of you everyday.

A little heart next to it, and a strange doodle. Amane thinks it might be a face, but he can't stare too long to find out. He casually slips it into his pocket again, with hopefully not too much of a beat in his movement.

Surely this is a prank. A not-very-funny one at that. It's a coincidence, nothing more than that. He rolled the dice and rolled this capsule out with a piece of paper with fortune nonsense on it, not his cosmic fate.

*

One two three four five, and Amane still hasn't answered. Yet he cradles these slips of paper close to heart, nestled together with the moon stone in his everyday pocket.

(He doesn’t know why. But he feels better about keeping them close on him, in a place he can reach out to touch for comfort.)

Little slips of paper through the capsules. Doodles unfurl in the corners of his notebooks, like his soulmate’s letting him in on secrets. He can almost hear the voice of the girl (it seems like a girl?) singing as she daydreams her way across the straight black lines with colourful pens. Highlighters of a shade he's never even imagined before.

(He finds himself liking the soft purple one best.)

*

And then the cat from the shop arrives with a letter round its collar.

.

// from this list of prompts here for August. this has been sitting in my drafts since Feb as well I think. It’s gotten really messy over time (*screams*), and frankly my main excuse for writing this is to include Showa Candy Shop 3 in it, and explore what Amane’s life was like back then.

Also: I thought it would be really, really embarrassing if whoever you dreamily doodled about could see them too. Once I panicked bcs I thought a crush might have seen what I’d written oh god

-did emoji exist back in the day i don’t think so boomer gen are extremely unlikely to understand kaomoji at first glance -Amane is a tactile bean look at canon Hanako -the shop still exists in Nene’s time, and it’s a descendant of the cat she entrusts her letters to. -losing them makes it easier for them to go where they need to go -post office works too when she can’t find the cat, though it’s much slower -guess amane gets to collect modern era stamps now -yep it’s a move away from capsules hmm -hand and notebook ‘texting’! -mild fix-it in some areas of Amane’s life? (the later parts of the draft have been about home life oof) -...I need to think about the time-travel consequences and what it changes

Obstacles include: Amane’s characterisation, and thus Tsukasa’s (now when I review over what I wrote, I feel like Amane avoids him too much? And sounds almost dead when he talks? hdajaj)

-changes in motivations (Amane)/timeline - what finally makes him respond? a) please stop doodling flowers over my very important star notebook pls and tq, b) tsukasa finds out/nearly with the cat Who knows what, how much do either of them know about what’s possible

-will there ever be any Nene POV. Include sparsely/flashback for poignancy?

[taziidcvil]

My Thoughts on RWBY’s new intro and chapter 1

This is going to be long so is there’s someone or something specific you want to read, I’d suggest using ctrl+f

WHITLEY

ngl i just want to start with my boy bc I’m so glad to see him back. Half of this is speculation and theorizing with no real merit ngl, but it’s something I’ve been thinking of for awhile

First of all this is a,,, very uncertain and conflicted look on his face here. He has his arm wrapped around his stomach and he looks very pensive. imo, Whitley’s going to be faced with a choice, one with no easy answer for him. And an answer that

might not bode well for the schnee family

Those clouds are, of course, Salem’s. Which makes me fear that Whitley may fuck up badly, and end up siding himself with the wrong people and it is likely going to be up to Weiss to bring him back.

Whitley isn’t a fighter. and if Whitley does cause the downfall of the Schnee family, he wont be at use for long. And once Whitley outlives his usefulness, there is no reason for her to keep him around.

But there’s a line that has been in my head for the last couple days. Namely Whitley’s line of ‘what could one huntsman do that an army cannot?’

Again, Whitley is no huntsman, but what it boils down to is ‘what can one person do?’ And I think Whitley is going to have to answer that question himself. 

I do think that Whitley is going to have to act at some point. Do something that puts him out for the greater good. I don’t expect him to suddenly join the fight, but I do think he will have his Pacifica moment. Where there’s something that he is physically capable of doing, but emotionally and psychologically it’s a mountain to him. Something only he can do, and Whitley will have to be the one person who changes the outcome of something dreadful. And most likely, i do believe it will involve Weiss

NORA & REN & RENORA (but mostly Nora)

ngl i am STOKED for this divide here

I love renora. it is one of my favourite ships. probably my third favourite i have to admit. 

what I don’t like is how its been going lately. while i do have the initial shipper reaction of ‘YES’ to the kiss, nora forcing it on ren sits wrong with me. Even more so their song last volume. It’s a bop of a song, true, but so much of it is nora telling ren to tell the truth only for her to tell him to love her. and while i’m sure he does love her, nora’s forcing it out of him and assuming is not healthy for either of them. Ren needs to come to terms with his own feelings, and these two need a wedge between them for a moment to develop separate from one another. 

and while i think ren will come to understand and accept how he feels

i think nora might give up on the pursuit and will put their mission above her feelings

But I do absolutely love the focus on Nora and I hope that’s a sign we are getting her backstory this volume. Nora is going to be a major piece in all of this and I personally cannot WAIT

I will say tho that I think her siding with Ruby’s plan is a little,,, strange to me. She was all gungho for protecting mantle last volume and i find it odd that she’s not on team ‘protect mantle first’. i get that she needs to be in that group because of what is shown in the trailer, but personally i would prefer her reluctantly forced into that group because of her usefulness. to keep the devive, that would mean ren would need to side with the ‘protect everyone’ but I don’t think it would have been that hard to spin his mindset that way

I’ve seen some talk about winter maiden nora and, while i personally would have preferred it, giving the power to penny only to give it to nora next volume is a little,,, cheap to me. ignoring the fact that it would likely mean penny would have to die and i am not about that life

i still think penny shooting lightning bolts at nora to power her up would be OP as FUCK tho

CLOVER

NO I AM NOT USING THE ONE SCREENCAP OF CLOVER THIS VOLUME YOU CAN’T MAKE ME

WARNING: Talk about dead bodies. Both fictional and real.

now i won’t lie, i am avoiding that shot like the fucking plague so I’m working mostly from memory here

I have seen bodies hours after someone has passed. Unless the body has something what effects the colour, here’s a greyness to the skin. Yes, this includes all skin colours. there’s also a distinct blue colour to the lips though clover doesn’t,,, exactly have distinctive lips. 

But seeing his body gave me the same nauseous and horrified sensation as seeing a long dead body. Of course not nearly as strong as he’s fictional and it’s animated, but it was the same. that sick greyness I’d expect from a body. ngl that shit,,, i wont say it triggered me, but it got damn close. it brought back memories and left me feeling very sick. It’s obvious he is very dead.

but even with that feeling, that didn’t stop me from being very fucking confused when I realised where the body was.

Now there’s a number of reasons that clover’s body would be there

They could have tried to save him and failed. They’re in a state of emergency and all the doctors are brought to one collective spot to deal with the potential rise of people needing medical attention. Maybe Atlas just works this way who the fuck knows. Most likely, they just wanted the Ace Ops to witness James and having Clover there just makes it easier to do that. but jfc if you’re going to have bodies in the medical area can you not install curtains??

ngl if i was at the hospital and they had a dead body uncovered and in full view of my room i would be 

I didn’t want to go back and see that image again, so i poked around the clover tag to see what people were saying in case i’m dumb and missed something. but i think if they were trying to bring clover back, they’d make it more obvious. and they sure as hell wouldn’t have coloured him that way. but I don’t blame people for being confused about if he’s dead or not when they literally put him in with people getting medical treatment and give him a patient number

but talking about Clover fuck i miss you so much brings me to

THE STAFF OF CREATION (with mentions of ‘that’ theory)

Ozpin: [mentions that using the staff will make Atlas fall]

Joanna: [talks about plans to move mantle citizens into atlas’ crater]

While it is debatable what the staff will be used on, I think we can all agree this bitch is coming down. Personally I think it’s how the volume will end. with the staff used, and atlas dropping. It’s a fantastic cliffhanger but fuck imma be so mad if that’s really where it ends. 

let me,,, get to that theory first. we all know which one i mean.

I’m not going to lie, i haven’t read much into it. mainly because i’d rather not get my hopes up and be pleasantly surprised than get my hopes up and be disappointed. Do i think it’s plausible? Well... after steven universe i think anything is possible. If it has even the slightest merit behind it I wont rule it out.

Do i think it will happen? debatable. i don’t think it was their plan but i also wouldn’t be surprised if they added it after the reaction to clover last year. but i’m not holding my breath. i’m leaning far closer to ‘no’ but i’m open to being wrong Do i want it to happen? god yes i fucking miss him okay i’m sorry i’m selfish i love my dumb fisherman himbo

the problem though is, if it can be done, there needs to be some form of payment. I know there’s been talk about a life for a life, and these are the options that come to mind: James: Don’t like this. James is a character rooted deep in the story and I think trading his life for Clover’s is,,, questionable. idk something about this doesn’t sit right. Especially when he has far more history with qrow than clover did. Tyrian: this feels cheap. trading a villain for a hero? that’s not even a payment, that’s hitting two birds with one stone. I do believe Tyrian wont survive the series, but this way is,,,, very cheap Qrow: pppppppppffffffttttt honestly this would just be a dick move that’s some monkey paw shit right there

either way, reviving clover would drop atlas and put both the people on atlas and under in danger. so the question is, is reviving clover worth it.

ethically, no. it’s not. one life will never outweigh thousands.  but would my selfish ass rather risk thousands of lives for one comfort character? you bet your sweet ass i would. it’s fiction, see if i care. storywise tho, we probably shouldn’t

But there’s nothing in the OP to suggest that Qrow is after the staff. and while it could be left for volume 9, i don’t see this volume lasting without dropping atlas after this volume started with the reminder that’s what would happen.

but ruby is shown reaching for it. (also is it just me or do those look like nuckelavee arms?) which makes me wonder just what she could want it for. Sure, she could be reaching to protect it, and that’s highly possible. but if we’re already talking about bringing characters back, i would not be too surprised if ruby considers the same idea. Namely with summer (though pyrrha is also an option). If she does consider that though, I don’t think she’ll succeed. and I doubt she’d really try if she knows atlas would fall. 

though if she wants to use it to save the world, if there’s something she can make with it that will stop salem, then i might believe she’d risk it. but even then i have a hard time believing she’d risk peoples lives.

but who else could and can get her hands on the staff?

PENNY

our sweet and dear penny, who has already suggested giving herself over to salem. and who is shown divided and framed opposing the team

While her being hacked is an option, and one i think james would consider letting watts do, from a story point I believe it’s far more interesting if penny is the one to decide this for herself.

Penny is a protector. And she wants to protect everyone. And one way she could possibly do that is by cooperating with salem. And with that gd whale having docking stations and a whole damn room inside it, penny going to salem fits with the whole ‘being eaten by a whale’. 

and if penny is the cause of atlas dropping, that girl is going to be dealing with even more guilt than she already has.

JAMES

me: okay, i know james shooting oscar was a big dick move, but james has done so many good things too. imo it’s questionable writing, but james’ stance is understandable. he’s still a good person-

listen. listen. listen. I... i don’t know what the fuck the writers are doing with this one. it would have been just as easy to arrest him but we just... gun happy i see. but james being gun happy makes me very nervous for qrow and that ‘if you were one of my men, i’d have you shot’. qrow’s out for james’ blood, but I don’t think qrow could ever actually kill him. and normally i don’t think james could try and kill qrow, but these are,,, not normal circumstances, and james has a semblance that will absolutely help him pull the trigger

i still love james. and i still understand both sides of the fight. and i still believe james is a good person. there’s so many good things james has done, but fuck if the writers aren’t trying their hardest to make the fandom hate him. and for the most part, it’s working. my gf already hates him lol

when all is said and done, there’s a lot that james is going to feel guilt for, but it’s guilt he’s willing to bare

while i understand the reason behind making james the bad guy, i will admit that i’m bitter about it. namely because in volumes 2 and 3 there were so many people expecting james to be bad, only for him to prove himself as a good person. and now the story is doing its best to take that back

THE ACE OPS

Again, one of the main reasons i think they put clover there and confused the fuck out of people. I think there’s going to be a divide in the ace ops, and i think we see which side people fall on here

harriet and vine are going to be harder to turn, but i think this moment just planted some uncertainty in elm and marrow. I dont think it’ll be an instant thing, but this isn’t something they’re going to forget. this is going to bother them for a good long while. yeah, the writers are trying to turn the fandom on james, but storywise it’s planting the seeds of betrayal and giving the ace ops a reason to switch sides. but i don’t think they’ll come into fruition until the end of the volume

And while we’re talking on betrayal, Winter is edging herself closer too. but while i think she’ll turn faster than the ops, i also think she’ll be the most understanding and caring of james of them all. 

Yang vs Ruby

pitting them together is honestly a good thing for yang’s character. they still love each other. they’d still fight for each other.

they may see things differently, and they may go their own paths, but there’s no animosity. they can work together and have each others backs, even when they don’t agree. 

and that’s something team rwby/ornj and friends and james/aceOPs need to work towards

Yang was never happy with Ruby keeping secrets, and personally i think it’s good for her to voice it and go a path she sees as right

Tyrian (and nuts and volts)

we’ve seen a lot of tyrian’s smiles. he is a very animated person who broadcasts his emotions. in fact, the only time he ever quiets down is in front of salem

this smile is the most ‘you bitch you’re lucky mum is here’ smile ive ever fucking seen on this man grhueiorfubgnjfroe

look, i don’t think tyrian and arthur are romantically involved. but i do think tyrian is fond of arthur. whether that’s romantic or platonic is up for debate, but tyrian has always spoken foldly of arthur. tyrian obviously does not like cinder or her crew, though he does love picking on them while i dont think he has that level of dislike for hazel, hazel is the sort of person to not like unnecessary killing, so i don’t see them getting close. Arthur crafted him his tail, and he organized a plan where tyrian got to murder often. out of the bunch, i think it’s rather obvious arthur is the person closest to him, and I also think he’s absolutely looking forward to seeing arthur again

Emerald/Mercury/Neo

first of all, FUCKING FINALLY! MY KIDS HAVE NEW OUTFITS! now there’s things i like and don’t like about mercury’s. personally, i like his old outfit better, but he NEEDED new clothes so i don’t miss it! Emerald is looking GOOD!! i don’t give a fuck what anyone says, she looking fine as hell

hazel tho, what the FUCK did they do to your hair?? who the fuck did this?? how DARE YOU

that’s all i have to say about hazel bc boy is quiet but WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?? while we talking about new looks, winter is looking FIIIIINE too

Neo is, very obviously, finding this whole situation fucked up. i know a vast majority of us thought Neo would turn on Cinder, but at this point i believe she was content with finding a new reason to live. but the more cinder brushes her aside, and the more she gets to know salem, she’s looking more and more disturbed and annoyed with it all. 

emerald is an obvious turn. with her whole Aladdin tale, i wont be surprised if she takes the lamp from salem and uses the last question. (i’ll admit though that i’m curious what salem’s question(s) is). now i still think neo will want to kill ruby, but i don’t see her staying sided with salem and cinder.  i will say tho that I find it fucking HILARIOUS that salem has no fucking idea who she is. how much of cinder’s plan did salem even know? did she know about roman? did she know about mercury and emerald before they went to pick up her silver eye’d ass? Salem cut Cinder down for ‘acting without salem’s say so’ but how much of that has cinder already been doing before now pffffttt

but mercury’s the only one that isn’t showing that much hint to turning. and personally, that makes sense. Mercury’s been shown plenty of times being disturbed by it all. he’s always stood beside emerald, equally frightened or distrusting. but if salem is calm and mercury’s in no real immediate danger, mercury has always tried to play with the big boys. he has a better poker face than emerald and neo, but he doesn’t belong there nearly as much as he pretends to.

but mr pokerface isn’t perfect. the moment he notices cinder, his attention goes back to emerald, and he watches her. he’s told her before that cinder doesn’t care for them. he’s tried to break that to her, and when they come to face cinder he’s not happy. less so when emerald instantly runs back to her. he knows emerald’s goiing to get hurt, and while he’d like to think he’d be the type to say ‘i told you so’, he’s not going to take pleasure in seeing her hurt

but one think about emerald is that she reminds me a lot of nora. they were both starved and homeless, and were ‘saved’ by someone else. but cinder is no lie ren, and emerald’s gone a very different path. not to mention her ‘saviour’ came much later in her life, and nora is on equal footing with ren and has saved him right back. but nora has been shown to empathise with mantle and its condition. which makes me wonder if emerald will too. she described the attack on vale as ‘sad’. So emerald, how will you feel when you take in the situation in mantle?

CINDER

i’ll be honest, i don’t like cinder. I’m sorry ;n; she just never interested me. she has a nice design, but other than that i just,,, never clicked with her. but i am happy we’re getting a backstory for her. mostly because it’s damn well due, and for her fans. y’all enjoy your food

that is,,, where i’m going to leave it. it’s late and i need to sleep. there’s probably things i missed, and if there is i’ll add to it in the morning. but these are the immediate thoughts that come to mind.

please feel free to discuss. and remember these are just personal opinions and thoughts, many of which probably will lead to nothing. 

[aceofjesters]

cringe culture is dead. fuck it post tma ponies

more info under the cut lol

avatars in general

-cutie marks extend past flank onto entire body, original colours sometimes change, magic colours will always change colour to suit their deity

jon

-got the web cutiemark after the mr spider incident and was unsure what it meant, obvs he later found out it was just a mark of the web

-after becoming an avatar of the eye his eyes/magic colour change to bright green, same as all his predecessors

-after the “open the door” incident, he becomes an alicorn

-as he becomes an avatar his web cutie mark grows and starts to grow eyes in random places

martin

-his original cutie mark is a heart and two hooves holding it up to signify how his caring is his best personality trait

-he becomes desaturated during the lonely and his cutie mark completely changes to the fog symbolic of the lonely

-post-lonely, he gains his saturated colours back but the hooves underneath his heart mark become fog clouds

sasha

-could also be a unicorn, i am unsure

-cutie mark is books just cus shes smart

tim

-originally only had the yellow happy face and ribbon on his cutie mark to show how he can always be happy in the face of adversity

-after the danny thing a blue sad face is added

daisy

-cutie mark was originally a daisy but changed subtly to the hunt icon after it infected her

-turns into a wolf in monster form, original i know

basira

-this made me think about ponies with headscarves

-because the point of headscarves is to hide hair, i thought it would make sense if ponies also hid their tails

-she gets a magnifying glass cutie mark because shes good at investigating/smart

georgie

-in case its unclear shes an earth pony

-i put too much thought into her cutie mark

-its a pool of water with a petal on it to show that the pool is calm showing her inability to feel fear idk lol

melanie

-ghost cutie mark for ghost hunting

-during the time shes got the bullet in her leg her colours become more saturated and angry and her cutie mark changes to look more demonic

-when someone isn’t an avatar of a deity but is affected their cutie mark changes more subtly, also happens with daisy

peter lukas

-fog cutie mark that extends over body bc hes an avatar

-before becoming a full avatar he still just had a fog cutie mark bc he was that into it

elias/jonah magnus

-eyes all over body as avatar-cutie mark

-dont know what elias’s original cutie mark was bc i dont know enough about him but once he turned into jonah it was taken over by the eye icon

michael & helen

-originally had the colours you can see on their body/hair

-spiral cutie mark extends over body and is multiple colours but always pink/blue/yellow

-jeez michael you stole pinkie pie’s colour scheme shes suing you now what u gonna do

gertrude

-SHES IN TWO PICTURES

-first pic is her as an old lady. colours are desaturated, hair has gone grey

-she has the green magic colour and a green eye that has covered her original cutie mark

-in the 2nd pic she is young, colours are saturated again, she is excited about her cutie mark which is a world, showing her supposed destiny to save the world

jurgen

-old man. his colours are not desaturated they were always like that

-book cutie mark because he collects books

gerry

-in 2 pictures as well

-first is baby gerry, he actually remained a blank flank for a very long time but his mother tattooed a book cutie mark on him to convince him it is his destiny/talent to work with her forever

-2nd pic shows him when jon burns his page, he gets his real cutie mark which is a book burning, showing his talent for destroying dangerous knowledge

agnes

-shes just cute i wanted to draw her as a pony

-as someone born to be an avatar she’s the first ever to be born with a cutie mark

-though her cutie mark is just flames all over her which was assumed to be a cutie mark because of the nature of avatars

-agnes wondered if she could get a “”real”” cutie mark and turns out! she could

-her new one is the heart with flames on it overlaid over her original mark

-because shes full of love!!

-i dont know why i love agnes so much ok

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas: Puppydog Tails

Also on AO3!

TL;DR: 

Izuku manifests his quirk, and watches his old life burn in front of him in a matter of months. Scared the villains that killed his mother will come after him, he uses his shape-shifting quirk to hide in plain sight as Katsuki's dog. They keep each other safe and sane throughout the years, a duo people become uses to seeing as they jog down the sidewalk each morning.

Izuku doesn't just use his quirk to help Katuski. His heroic spirit can't be crushed so easily. In his wanderings, he meets and helps countless people, from heroes to Katsuki's future classmates.

Let's just say Katsuki's first day of school is a wild one.

basically, izuku is a shapeshifter, but can only change into different mammals. he needs to know their internal organ structure perfectly or he's in trouble too.

he manifests his quirk and quickly goes about learning some common but practical animals like a small cat, greyhound, mouse, bat and rabbit

he and bakugo are friends

his good times dont last long though, his mother is killed for a connection to a villain she didnt know she had (probably dad for one) and the villain group is after izuku as well

they don't know his quirk, he honestly hadn't gotten it registered yet

inko tells izuku to run, hide and be safe, right before shes practically cremated where she stands by a powerful fire quirk. izuku runs, shifts into a small dog and goes the only place he can think: the park he and bakugo play in

now, mitsuki is frantic bc inko's house is on fire and they can't find inko or izuku

katsuki doesn't know whats happening though, and she sends him off to the park in case they start pulling bodies out of the building. katsuki is happy to go, asks if he can bring izuku. mitsuki says izukuis busy

katsuki goes to the park and hears a soft whining sound, he finds izuku, hidden behind a tree, smelling like ash

izuku shifts back to a human and explains that villains hurt his mama and they want to hurt him too

katsuki, crying, tells him to change back into a dog. he'll keep him safe from the villains. izuku agrees, only if he can look after katsuki in turn.

they don't tell mitsuki. izuku is worried she'll get hurt, and part of his is also worried she knew about the villains and said nothing.

Katsuki and dog!izuku run back to the house, only finding charred bones where his mother had been

they both sob

mitsuki finds her son, sobbing as he clutches a tiny dog to his chest, seeing a sight so horrific she herself wants to throw up. when he asks if they can keep the puppy later that night, it's not even a question in her mind. of course they can. Anything to keep that broken expression off her son’s face.

katsuki changes after that. his best friend and friends mother apparently dead, he gets angry, but he's scared to go out where there are lots of people. he's scared of the villains that killed izuku's mum, scared they'll hurt them like they hurt inko

he goes to therapy. they quickly work out the dog is helping him cope, so izuku is trained as a therapy dog. he does astoundingly well, unsurprisingly.

katsuki ends up bullied for his service dog, but the amount they help each other is enough for him to be willing to put up and shut up

the only time he ever explodes is when someone hurts his dog, 'deku' and it's not like izuku sits idly by while katsuki gets hurt either

anyway, izuku likes to wander, whenever katsuki doesn't have school or is feeling particularly good, he'll go on an adventure, normally as a different animal

every animal he shifts into is green, so katsuki sometimes sees him when he's out and smiles

izuku's heroic spirit is undying, even as an animal, which kinda leads to him sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and helping out kids he thinks need the help.

he hears shouting and crying from the foster home down the road, sees a child muzzled

he goes hero watching as a kitten, sees the small child standing too stoic on the front lines as endeavour fights. he follows him home, whistling songs to the kid when he cries, perching on his shoulder when he sees him

ochako remembers the fluffy puppy with its massive paws showing up at her door when the power went out during winter, keeping her warm with its curly green-black fur

aizawa knows of the kitten that ages too slowly and keeps bringing troubled children to him

iida remembers the rabbit that used to race him on the tracks. without his quirk its was honestly a challenge

kirishima knows about a dark colour fawn that would always come over to him when he was upset and let him bury his face in its fur and cry

mina remembers the little green bat that nested in her hair and clumsily copied her as she danced, its colour making her feel better about her own

Tsuyu would often see a little green and black tanuki when she’d take her siblings out. It always kept them safe and out of danger and never failed to make her smile on a bad day.

he earns shinsou's trust as a too-small kitten, along with aizawa's (just out of school, learning to be an underground hero) , until he can drag aizawa to the house during the shouting. shinsou gets out, aizawa gains a son

shouto's best memories from his childhood are of the little cat that always showed up when he felt his worst, who purred like an engine in his arms and was never afraid of him

he also remembers seeing it the day he dyes his hair. its licks his nose

Even heroes know about the little green dog that watches from the sidelines. They’ve seen it drag civilians from danger, look for people in buried rubble and comfort crying children. It doesn’t often approach them, but it tends to do a little happy dance if they pet it, wagging its tail 1000 miles an hour if a hero so much as looks at it.

They call it little green, seeing him basically becomes a good luck charm. Even All Might feels a little better when he sees the little dog catching from the crowd, knowing it’ll keep some too-brave civilians safe from attacks and falling rubble.

When Katsuki applies for UA, his class doesn’t cheer him on. They whisper about the kid so angry, unstable and scared he brings a puppy to class. Izuku leans against Katsuki’s leg in support, unable to do anything for his friend. The teacher pays it no mind.

He’s told not to apply. He’s not normal or sane enough to be any help to anyone, they say. Katsuki flips them off and puts UA in all three slots on his form.

He takes Izuku with him on the day of the entrance exam. He tells himself it’s so Izuku can see the school at least once, if he doesn’t get in. Deep down he knows it’s because he’s scared and doesn’t want to be alone. Izuku doesn’t mind either way, he’s just excited to cheer on his best friend and get to look at some heroes.

He does leave Izuku with the teachers. He can take care of himself, but the idea of dragging him into a situation where he might accidentally burn his only friend? It makes him feel sick. Izuku understands. He’d do anything for Katsuki, but he was still scared to enter the exam location. He never did get over his fear of fire.

Izuku ends up in the monitor room. The teachers are trying not to coo over the too smart, too nice puppy. It’s All Might that recognises him.

“Is that, is that little green? The dog who always shows up at hero fights?”

Nemuri is ecstatic

“It totally is! I love that little guy! Hey little cutie, did you know you were famous? All the heroes around here love you!”

Aizawa, Nezu and Present Mic all separately notice that the dog honestly… he honestly looks flustered. Excited, yes, but almost sheepish. Aizawa draws some internal connections to the green and overly brave ‘stray’ kitten he’s seen his whole career. Nezu looks at the fur colour and thinks “quirked, like me. But was he always an animal?”. Present Mic sees the humanity in those eyes.

All three of them say nothing, filling the information away for later.

Katsuki ends up in the arena with Iida and Uraraka. He recognises both of them from Izuku’s whisper descriptions in the rare moments he let himself slip into human form.

Tall, broad, clearly the younger brother of Ingenium; that’s the stiff boy Izuku raced as a rabbit, trying to get him to loosen up and connect with those around him.

Round-faced, bright cheeks, fierce eyes and a body a little too thin from too many hungry nights? That’s the girl Izuku looked for when it got too cold, just to make sure he heating was working. She’d moved away from home, apparently. Izuku had found her new house and gave it a once over – if he figured it was safe, Katsuki would believe him. Izuku was the most paranoid person he’d ever met.

He almost went to say something. But Iida’s stern glare curdled his nerves. He shot back a snarl and focused on getting ready.

Back in the viewing room, Nemuri and Yagi are not so subtly fighting over Izuku. They are both trying to call him over, offer little bits of food, give him a good pat. It’s a little funny for Aizawa to watch as the poor pup ties himself in knots trying to please the both of them. He notes vaguely that he doesn’t take the food bribes from either of them.

Yagi is winning slightly, on virtue of being All Might, but Nemuri is not above begging a dog. It works shockingly well, with Izuku not wanting to upset a hero. She sends smug look’s All Might’s way as she triumphantly pats Izuku.

Mic yells start, the student's flood into the arena. Katsuki makes short work of the robots, racking up a score of 50 in almost record time. The teachers watch as ‘Deku’ clearly tracks his charge across the screen, whining softly when he pushes himself a little too far or gets a little too close to the robots.

Then the zero pointer is released and all hell breaks loose.

Katsuki sees Uraraka, trapped. He can’t leave her; not one of Izuku’s people. He’d never forgive himself for letting someone important to Izuku get hurt ever again.

He doesn’t realise Izuku couldn’t stand seeing him hurt, either.

He blasts the rubble apart, shielding Uraraka with his body, preventing her from being hailed with slivers of rubble. Uraraka sees not another student, but a hero, saving her when she thought she might die, selflessly giving up time to save someone he didn’t know. She vows to make it up to him, somehow.

It’s not enough, the robot looms too close. Bracing himself as best he can, Katsuki lets out the largest explosion he can muster, uncaring of the damage it may do to his wrists. If he gets crushed, his wrists hardly matter, do they?

The robot shakes, then topples backwards, overbalanced by the blast. Katsuki drops to his knees, both wrists dislocated. He’s hissing swears under his breath.

Uraraka sees a lump of rock flying to him as he sits there, prone from the attack that saved her life. She leaps towards it, leaving it weightless before it can hit him. The action leaves her hand red raw from the force of the rock.

Time is called. They both collapse.

Izuku is off of the door the second the explosion sounds. It’s so big it rattles the monitors in their room. Nemuri tries to stop him, reaching for his collar, but his collar doesn’t fit a mouse. He shifts into the smaller form, scampering out the door upon where he shifts into a greyhound.

He takes off full tilt towards his friend's exam arena. He's panicked and scared – the flash of fire and the pained look in Katsuki’s eyes have totally fried his nerves.

The doors aren’t open yet. He doesn’t care, shifting into a bat until he can clear them, diving down as fast as he can. He shifts again into a greyhound, racing though the robots – broken and sparking.

He sees Katsuki, jaw grit tightly as he fights back tears of pain, and Izuku lets out a pathetic whine, running full tilt towards his best friend, before lingering nervously in front of him, unwilling to touch him lest he hurt him.

“Oh get over here, Deku.” There are tears in Katsuki’s eyes still, but he’s smiling softly. Izuku shifts once more, into the softest dog he can, pressing against his friend as his tail wags like mad.

Present Mic calls time. If he was a solid 30 seconds late as he tried to process the whirlwind of chaos that little,,, dog? Left, well no one was going to notice. Other than Nezu, obviously, but the maybe-rat seemed just a confused as him.

Uraraka turns to her hero, only to see the little dog that would warm her on cold nights. She turns to him, wide-eyed. Izuku sticks his head over Katsuki’s shoulder, making happy yips at her.

Iida stumbles over, confused as to how a dog got in, confuses as to how he clearly saw it change between two distinct dog breeds in its quest to reach the prickly boy he’d seen at the entrance, who had just seriously injured himself to save a stranger.

The dog looks at him, then perks up. It gives a quick snuggle into its owner's hair before trotting over to him. It wags its tail. Iida looks on, confused.

Before his eyes, he watches the dog shift into what is unmistakably the rabbit he remembers from his earlier childhood, the one that would race him around tracks until it’s little legs couldn’t race anymore and would bound over to him as happily was a rabbit could.

He stares.

Katsuki watches this and laughs.

“I see you’ve both met Deku.”

[serialreblogger]

Are there any good poetry books you've read? I'm trying to improve my own poetry

Hmm, I don’t know about poetry books bc I don’t really have the attention span to sit down and read a book of poetry cover to cover, but I can recommend some of my favourite poets! 

Keats is, for me, the pinnacle of linguistic vividness--I like most of the romantic poets, because they’re all like that to a certain extent, but Keats is my favourite. Byron (mentally ill disaster bisexual extraordinaire, I relate to him on a spiritual level), Percy Bysshe Shelley (terrible human being but absolutely gorgeous poetry), and Samuel Taylor Coleridge are also up there on my ranking list, for sure, though Wordsworth is dead boring and doesn’t half match his peers for sheer beauty. (That’s too harsh. Plenty of people like Wordsworth. I myself still do appreciate “Daffodils,” I just find that he’s less to my taste than some of his compatriots. Like, “Michael”? w h y sir I am so bored)

Like, you can (I can, at least) practically taste the colours of Keats’ poetry, or Shelley’s, and Kubla Khan by Coleridge is exquisite (though literary elitists will argue over whether it really counts as “poetry” because it doesn’t profess to have some deep symbolic meaning--it’s just Coleridge trying to remember an opium dream he once had--but like?? It doesn’t have to?? It’s beautiful, isn’t that enough?). If you want specific poem recs, Shelley’s “Ozymandias,” “The Prisoner of Chillon” and “Darkness” by Byron, and Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” are all eerie and deeply unsettling in the best way; for something less haunting, try “Ode on a Grecian Urn” or “On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer” by Keats, “Ode to the West Wind” by Shelley, and “The Eolian Harp” by Coleridge (and, of course, “Kubla Khan” by Coleridge too).

I also love Gerard Manley Hopkins, even though it’s pretty much impossible to tell what he’s talking about on the first read-through of any given poem. But I mean, depending on how you feel re: religion/Christianity that may not be a bad thing, because he was one of those Catholics that are like “deeply tormented by the degree of my religious devotion (and how it plays into my undiagnosed depression and anxiety) but also trying to find comfort in that same religion” (...which may be a very specific description but like. young!me felt that). Regardless, though, even if you’re not comfy with that kind of Christianity, and even if you can’t figure out “as kingfishers catch fire” or “the windhover,” just--you don’t need to understand them? Like:

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; as tumbled over rim in roundy wells stones ring; as each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s  bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name, each mortal thing does one thing and the same...

That’s just gorgeous. At least, I think so, so I recommend Hopkins. He also has some really good depression poems, but those are more explicitly “tormented Catholic,” so like. I’m not saying don’t read his sonnets of suffering, because for me they’re more cathartic than triggering most times--but if you want to steer clear of that I recommend still reading “The Caged Skylark,” “The Windhover,” and if you’re ok with overt mentions of Christianity also “as kingfishers catch fire,” “Pied Beauty” and “God’s Grandeur.” This has been an unofficial Best of Hopkins playlist recommendation by Linden.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning is a name you might’ve heard, but she’s mostly known for “how do I love thee? let me count the ways,” which is an excellent poem but also a huge disservice to her as a poet. If you’re interested at all in 19th-century feminism, excellent poetry, and/or willing to slog through a long one, check out Aurora Leigh.

Also Christina Rosetti!! A very cool human being and “Goblin Market” is like, a cult classic among a sub-subcategory of english literary scholarship, because it’s so creative and gorgeous to read and also such a revolutionary (for her time) commentary on female value and sexuality. Also 19th century, so bear in mind that it’s,, well actually it’s probably still revolutionary for our time, a little bit, in some circles. But it shouldn’t be, and it’s still certainly bound by the limitations of 19th-century expectations of femininity, so like, I wouldn’t hold it up as an example of modern feminist ideals, it’s just a v cool exploration of feminine sexuality, transgression and redemption in a society that was very firmly of the “once spoiled, ever soiled” mentality. 

And finally we can’t forget Oscar Wilde. This is not strictly poetry but he had a similar gift for language as the Romantics--see if you can find a copy of De Profundis, the letter he wrote from prison. It’s, again, not poetry, but the way it reads will definitely help you develop your voice if you want to build in the direction of “vivid imagery without actually describing any images.” Oscar Wilde is an,, interesting human being to learn about, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t neurotypical; the way he saw the world was so unique, and sometimes that wasn’t a good thing re: how he treated people, but the way he thought and the way he described everything--it’s just. It may not always have been good, but it was always breathtakingly beautiful.

Sorry, this got quite long :P anyway I am always down to natter at length about 17th-19th century writers, and especially poets!! Unfortunately I don’t know much re: modern poetry, so if anyone wants to add more recent (or even, heaven forbid, still living) poets to this list please feel free to do so!!

**Also like!! I just realized some of this might come off as pretentious (“I can, at least”) and that is not at all my intention. If you don’t like these poets/don’t find their works as beautiful/vivid as I do you’re VALID poetry is highly subjective because it relies on minimal words to convey highly complex imagery and ideas, so depending on what associations individuals have with those words, every given poem has a different effect on different people. This is my personal taste but it might not be yours and that’s not a sign of superiority on either of our parts, it’s just how the English language and art as a whole works and that’s cool and okay!

[leepsheep]

Past the Point of No Return

•••

Gabriel opened his eyes to the rosy glow of the Miraculous Cure sweeping through the city of Paris once again. He stared hard put the window of his lair, watching the swarm of ladybugs that seemed to taunt him, reminding him of the young hero who thwarted his plans at every turn.

Flashes of the future shown to him by his akuma played back in his mind. His son, Emilie, the Miraculouses—he had lost. And still then, Ladybug stood over him, victorious once again. He clenched his fists.

“Mr. Agreste,” Nathalie said behind him. “Welcome back, I suppose.”

Gabriel stayed silent as Nathalie continued. “Another akuma defeated by Ladybug. Unsurprising, given all your last attempts, but those were never enough to stop you.” He could feel her eyes watching him, gaze pointed. “Maybe what this akuma showed you will finally change your mind.”

“No.” His answer was resolute, hanging heavy in the air.

Gabriel heard his assistant inhale sharply.

“What?”

Gabriel refused to acknowledge her, walking towards the window, more images playing back.

Gabriel saw red. Ladybug standing alone, fury clear in her eyes. A swarm of red butterflies blocking out the sun. Paris, but not as Hawkmoth had ever seen before; engulfed in flames, torn to the ground, russet clouds and skies stained crimson—red, red, red.

Red against green, fire in son’s eyes as he was revealed the truth. Red against white, soaking into the ground and his son’s clothes. Red against red, against the bodies of his son and his wife, the colour of his blood on the floor and her roses on her coffin. Red, red, red.

He’d given up so much already. He was in too deep. No going back.

“It’s not over, Nathalie. Not until the Miraculous are mine.”

“Gabriel, you saw what would happen. You’ve pushed it too far, it’s gone on long enough.”

“Too far?” He scoffed. “Ladybug has won again. Battle after battle, she continues to claim victory. I will not rest until I’ve won this war.”

Nathalie shook her head, scowling. “But your son—”

“If all goes according to plan he’ll never have to know,” he said.

“You promised Emilie,” she pressed on. “She would’ve wanted you to look after him.”

“He is looked after. He has everything he’d ever need.”

“He needs a father,” she insisted. “I am not his parent. Neither is his bodyguard. We shouldn’t be the ones who care for him, but we do. But Adrien doesn’t want an assistant, or a bodyguard, he wants you.” Nathalie glares at him. “I’ve tried to keep him happy for you, tell him you care, but you don’t, and I’ve built his hopes up for nothing.”

“You misled him,” Gabriel corrected. “I never asked you to do this. You’re the one who made promises to him I never intended to keep. You built him up, so I’m not the one at fault for letting him down.”

“What was I supposed to do?” She cried. “He is supposed to be your son! You’re supposed to care!”

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It is too late to change that now. There is work that needs to be done.”

Gabriel gestures for Nathalie to move closer, but she stayed put.

“What do you want from me?” She said, voice returning to cold and calculating.

“Look outside yourself, Nathalie.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

“Ladybug.” He looked to the Eiffel Tower, where Ladybug stood with his last akumatised victim. “She is the only thing that stands between me and my goal.” A smile began to creep its way onto his face. “But not for long.”

“I won’t help you take her down.” Gabriel turned to his assistant. “This isn’t the way. You won’t succeed.”

He glared at Nathalie. “Don’t be so sure. But fine—” he said, making his way to the memorial. “—I’ll do it by myself.”

Gabriel heard Nathalie’s heels click angrily behind him, clangs echoing in discord as they crossed the metal bridge.

“You can’t bring her back.” Nathalie tried. “She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Her boss continued walking. “I have to bring her back. I can’t stop everything now, not when I’m so close.”

“It’s been years, Gabriel. Just let her go.”

“No.”

“Why not?” She cried.

Gabriel stopped at Emilie’s memorial. He turned suddenly to face Nathalie. “I loved her, Nathalie. I know you loved her too. She was everything to me. I’m not giving up yet.”

“I’ve done everything I can to try to save her! And everything I can to bring her back! And you want me to throw it all away? Fine, side with Ladybug.” He spat the name out. “Abandon Emilie.”

“She’s gone, Gabriel!” Nathalie retorted. “She lived, and now she’s gone. She knew what she was doing, you both did, and she paid the price for it. And no matter how much I wish she was still here, nothing can change the fact she’s gone.” Nathalie looked at him. “She’s dead, Gabriel. You need to end this.”

“You knew too!” He accused. “She wasn’t the only one tampering with the Peacock. The Miraculous was yours before it was hers, Nathalie. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Her death was not my fault! You were the one pushing her farther!”

Gabriel growled. “If you don’t want to help, fine! But I will bring her back, and you can’t stop me.”

Nathalie didn’t back off. “Try, see what happens when you lose Adrien and Emilie a second time.”

“You would’ve been on my side.” Gabriel snapped. “Without Ladybug’s interference, you would’ve tried to bring her back too. Adrien could’ve been persuaded, we would’ve won.”

Nathalie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re insane if you think I would’ve helped you trick Adrien like that. He doesn’t know the price of a wish. He’d never want that and you know it.”

Gabriel turned back to Emilie, face smiling peacefully behind the glass. What was he willing to risk for her? What would he give up to get her back?

‘If losing my son means getting you back, then it’s worth it. I’ll burn down all of Paris to bring you back.’

He turned again to face Nathalie, finding her glaring at him.

“You won’t get away with this.”

He hummed. “We’ll see.”

He stalked past her, calling out the words to transform himself. He threw one more look over his shoulder. “The show’s about to start Nathalie.” He looked forward again and smirked.

“Ladybug won’t know what’s coming.”

•••

oh my gosh this is a lot.

how did I write this all in one sitting? I don’t know. But now I’m tired, I spent a lot of time on it and now it’s late. I honestly am not expecting this to get notes but whatever that’s fine

Nathalie is very ooc bc she’s a good(ish) person here instead of being an evil minion and in love w/ Gabriel. I just wanted to write her not agreeing with him.

This was very much inspired/influenced by/based on “interlude iv (showtime)” by Zach Callison

here it is if you want to listen: