#those books you see all the girls you went to university with putting on their goodreads tbr

[13eyond13]

wish I could reblog that post about how the only two genres that exist on booktube to choose from are classics and YA fantasy/romance bc god that's true

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[ineffablelunatics]

The Good Place and Crowley

A while ago, someone sent an ask to Gaiman. It went as follows, “In the book, ‘Golden Girls’ was Crowley’s favorite TV show. Is that slo TV Crowley’s favorite or does he have a current TV show that he prefers?” He answered, “I think he’d love the ‘The Good Place.’”

The Good Place is one of my favorite shows. I completely understand why Crowley would like it. It has some of the best debates of the philosophy and ethics of modern day society including the afterlife. It argues that people should not be defined as good and bad. It shows that people can improve. It tells us why and how they improve.

There’s two things about Crowley that really connect him to these thoughts. 1. Crowley does not like to be defined as good(or nice). Though we haven’t really seen that include bad, I would assume that it would be the similar thought. It also might have something to do with Aziraphale saying those things specifically, but that’s another post. 2. That people are not defined by what happened to them, and that means that anyone can improve.

Crowley fell from Heaven. He fell from grace which made him demon which means that for all intents and purposes, he should be evil. But he isn’t. Crowley doesn’t ever really commit truly evil acts. Any truly evil act that Hell thinks Crowley committed, humans committed. Crowley just took the credit. Crowley likes the thought that people can change. In Hell, he sees tons of people who are awful, but he also sees people who just made some mistakes. He sees demons who are like him who don’t find joy in treating people terribly. He’s seen angels causing harm happily, but others giving away joy like lollipops.

Those two things are fundamental in the show, The Good Place. I would argue Good Omens as well. If Adam had always been treated like he was evil, he probably would have never had friends who he genuinely cared about so much so that their fear pulled him out of his power drunken state. If Aziraphale had assumed the snake was evil(if he even saw him lol), then smited him, where would Crowley and humanity be? The demon with the imagination burned to ash and humanity living with almost decision-less whilst tucked neatly within Eden’s walls. If people couldn’t improve then Shadwell would have never been able to put aside his fears and foolishness so that he could love Madame Tracy and show it. Gabriel and Beelzebub would still be planning Armageddon 2.0 if they hadn’t moved on and fell in love instead.

The Good Place reminds us of the things time and time again. Each of the four main characters get reset, and every time, in the right circumstances, they always become better people. They are also never really defined as good and bad either. At times, others try to define Eleanor as a bad person, but every time, she reminds them that, yes, maybe, she shouldn’t be in the Good Place, but at the very least, she should be in her very own Middle Place. Every time, Chidi teaches her how to become a better person(which only works, because she wants to be one) and in the process, he becomes one too. Just like Gabriel and Beelzebub.

This was way longer than I expected it to be, but here are some quotes from The Good Place and where I think they would fit into Good Omens whether that be place and time or people and relationships.

“Sometimes, when you’re feeling helpless, the secret is to help someone else. Get out of your own head. Trust me. The next time someone asks for help, say yes.” This feels like the whole of S2, specially Aziraphale with Jim and then Maggie

“If you have bills to pay and shit to deal with you don;t have time or energy to become a better person.”  The Resurrectionists in 1827 with Elspeth and Wee Morag

“If there were an answer I could give you to how the universe works, it wouldn’t;t be special. It would just be machinery fulfilling its cosmic design. It would just be a big, dumb food processor. But since nothing seems to make sense, when find something or someone that does, it’s euphoria.” All the couples in GO, but that quote right there seems to be how Crowley and Aziraphale has been holding on for so long

“I guess all I can do is embrace the pandemonium find happiness in the unique insanity of being here, now.” Nina specially during The Ball

“People improve when they get external love and support. How can we hold it against them when they don’t?” Beelzebub and Gabriel

“We have no plan. No one’s coming to save us. So... I’m going to do it.” Aziraphale(specifically him at the end of S2 in my opinion)but also just everybody in S1 with Anathema, Agnus, the Them, Aziraphale and Crowley, just all trying their best

“If soulmates do exist, they’re not found. They’re made. People meet. They get a good feeling, and they get to work building a relationship.” All the couples, but especially Aziraphale and Crowley with the Agreement, they were working on their relationship before they knew they were even working on their relationship

“What matters isn’t if people are good or bad. What matters is if people are trying to be better today than they were yesterday. You asked me where my hope comes from? That’s my answer.” Crowley, because deep down, at the end of the line, we know that he’s an optimist

*reminder that all of this is my opinion, if there’s anymore quotes you would like to add, please do, some of the information might be incorrect

[huramuna]

the calico bastard - chapter 3.

 aemond targaryen x strong bastard oc (series) previous part | next part

summary: After his takeover of Harrenhal, Aemond encounters a dreamy-eyed, wistful bastard of House Strong, who piques his interest and changes the course of Westerosi history.

warnings: smut (eventually), angst, canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny, depictions & descriptions of death

wordcount: 3.4k

a/n: alys rivers doesn’t exist in this universe, alysanne takes her place somewhat. a/n 2: this is my first fic, i got the courage to post it -- please be nice n' leave a like if this interests you!

art by me of alysanne • an edit by me of alysanne as a child • aesthetic board

wuthering heights - kate bush • leave me for dead - GAYLE

Alysanne didn’t get much sleep that night, not after what she’d seen— the future and the present. 

She paced around her small room until the light trickled from the horizon. Aemond’s harrowing screams echoed in her ears, her chest heaving and falling. 

There had only been one time before she had such a violent vision. 

It was eight years before— Alysanne was only ten years of age, just an unloved bastard girl of Harrenhal. 

Except, she had one who loved her. The only one. 

“Pick me up, pick me up!” Alysanne cried gleefully, “Breakthbonthes, pick me up!” she held her arms up, her words whistling through the gap in her baby teeth— she’d yet to lose those last few teeth right at the front, causing an admittedly quite silly lisp. 

Ser Harwin Strong— her brother, or half-brother as it may be, had returned to Harrenhal after a long time away. 

Her father, too, had returned— but Alysanne could care less, they were indifferent to one another. 

But Harwin— Harwin was hers, her brother, the only person to ever treat her like a person, like she wasn’t lesser. 

She ran on bare feet out to the gates, jumping and waving her arms as she saw the procession arrive. The little girl would recognize the curly mop and mountainous build of her brother anywhere. 

“Ah, my little lilac!” Harwin boomed from atop his horse, spurring the stallion into the gates, “By the Seven, Alysanne, you’ve grown.” 

“The maesther says I’m too schmall for my age,” she grumbled, kicking up dirt. 

“Ahh, and what does he know, anyhow?” Harwin grinned, dismounting his horse and leaving the reins to the stablehand. “The poor sod can hardly see past those caterpillars of eyebrows atop his head, eh?” 

Alysanne giggled, putting her arms up once more, “Please pick me up— wanna be thall… t-tall,” she tried to correct, spitting a bit through her gapped teeth. 

Harwin chuckled— it was a rich, soothing sound. His whole body seemed to erupt with the joy he brought as he laughed, like a deep and generous clap of thunder before the skies opened up. 

Alysanne felt her heart rattle around in her chest at the noise. 

“Let me get this heavy armor off, lilac,” he hummed, “C’mon, tell me about what you’ve been up to.” 

Alysanne skipped and hopped alongside Harwin as they walked through the courtyard, where he left his armor at the smith to be polished. She babbled on about the books she read, the birds she saw, and any innocuous thing she could conjure up. 

Each thing, no matter how small, boring, or insignificant it may be, Harwin would respond, whether in agreement, asking a question, anything at all— anything to make Alysanne feel special. 

“Alright— c’mere, little lilac,” Harwin finally acquiesced, kneeling down slightly. 

Alysanne squealed in delight as he ran into his arms— only to be met with darkness. 

A cold, withering darkness. Usually, being encapsulated by Harwin was warm— warm and bright, like the sunniest summer day.

But she felt cold— cold like the North was, colder than anything she felt before, like after a flame had been extinguished. 

Then, her vision went red— red, orange, yellow, crackling fire— warm, warm, too warm. Hot, hot— it was smoldering, she was screaming, feeling the skin melt from her bones and char into ash— and she wasn’t the only one screaming. 

She heard the cries of men— two very familiar to her— 

Harwin, Harwin— open the door, open the door, brother, please! She screamed and clawed at the door until it melted before her into glowing lava, sizzling at her feet— and behind it, Harwin— his hand on the knob, no, fused to the knob. 

His hand wasn’t attached, snapped off like a charred piece of firewood, his body strewn across the floor. His face peeled from the muscle and sinew, popping and blistering against the heat. His mouth, now just a hole, was twisted into an everlasting scream—

And then she was back. Back to the warmth and brightness of Harwin’s arms. He was shaking her softly, jostling her shoulder as a small crowd was gathered. 

“Alysanne,” he murmured frantically, “Alysanne, wake up, my girl.” 

Her eyes fluttered open, filled with tears— they rolled down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a whimpering sob came out. 

“Shh, don’t speak, it's okay,” he cooed, turning her away from the prying eyes of the crowd, “I’ve got you.” 

Ser Harwin Strong and his father, Lord Lyonel Strong, perished that same night in a fire— a supposed accident.

But Alysanne— she had known. She saw it, and had said nothing. She hears Harwin’s ghost muttering to her at times, his warm and gentle voice now saddened by ash and smoke. 

She contemplated her life for days, months and years after— she had lost the only family she had— and she could’ve stopped it. 

Since then, she relented from touching people or being touched. She never wanted to have that power— she didn’t want to see their deaths, hear their screams and have their ghosts linger in her head for the rest of her life. 

Now, after seeing Aemond’s supposed death, she felt a responsibility to change it— not for herself, not for Aemond— but for Harwin. For what she could’ve done, should’ve done. 

She wiped an errant tear from her cheek as she dressed for the day. She forwent the corset— damn the thing— and dressed in another kirtle, a paisley color. 

Her hands moved deftly as she tied her curly hair up into two braids— nothing like Flora and Beth had done— but it did the job nonetheless. 

The rest of the keep wasn’t awake yet— or so she had thought. She walked out in the courtyard barefoot, as usual, and found it odd as she heard another pair of feet crunching gravel near her. 

Turning around, she came face to face with Aemond. He looked… exhausted. 

His brow perked, “What are you doing up this early?” he asked as he kept walking, a nod of his head in indication that he wished for her to follow. 

She let out a sniff, “I’m always awake,” she grumbled, “I need to tend to Banshee.” she trotted alongside Aemond, her short legs having to work double time to keep up with his long legged strides. 

“‘Banshee’? I know that Harrenhal has its fair share of ghosts, but I haven’t heard the wail of a banshee yet— and even so, how does one tend to a Banshee?” he prodded, putting on a pair of leather gloves as they walked. 

“… Banshee isn’t a ghost,” Alysanne said, a slight tinge of annoyance lacing her voice, “Banshee is my horse.” 

They stopped at the stable, which now housed more horses than usual on account of the soldier’s occupation. Alysanne slunk to the last paddock, which was in truth, not in good shape. It had its fair share of bite marks and hoof prints. 

Aemond watched as the strange little bastard lady stood on her tippy toes, clicking her tongue and holding out her hand over the top of the stall door. 

A rumbling snort was heard before an absolutely monstrous horse head dipped over the door. It had a gray spotted snout and a neatly trimmed forelock and mane. 

Alysanne hummed as she undid the lock and led out Banshee. He was a ginormous draught horse, built purely of muscle and power. He had a light gray coat with black dapples— as well as some long feathering near his hooves. He was easily taller than Aemond by a foot.

The gelding let out a snort as he looked at Aemond, then turned his focus back to Alysanne, nuzzling the top of her head, earning a small giggle from her.

Aemond Targaryen, rider of the largest dragon in the world, was slightly aghast at the size of this horse. He exhaled, “That has to be the biggest fucking horse I’ve ever seen,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. He looked back and forth between Alysanne and Banshee, “How do you even get on his back?” 

Alysanne looked at Aemond, slightly bewildered, “You ride Vhagar— how do you get on her back?” she countered as she led Banshee out into the courtyard. 

Aemond, fascinated by Alysanne and her monster horse, followed, “Well— a fair bit of climbing, and she has some rope rigging around her saddle.” 

Alysanne pat Banshee on his neck— at least, as far as she could reach. “Well, think of Banshee as a small Vhagar,” she hummed, “It isn’t graceful, but a fair bit of climbing,” she mimicked his tone, “does the job.” 

The prince was slightly amused by this. “Well then— go on,” he pressed, “Let’s see how the bastard fares getting atop her horse.” 

Alysanne let out something of a growl or a grumble in annoyance, clicking her tongue after. Banshee lowered himself slightly, to a point where she could snag onto his mane and scramble up his neck, sliding down onto his back. It was hardly graceful, and was comparable to how a bat scrambles upon walls before taking flight.

“No saddle? Reins?” he questioned further. 

Alysanne cocked her head, “No?” she snorted, as if it was the silliest question she’d ever heard.

The prince pinched his brow in what seemed to be frustration, “How silly of me— you don’t even wear shoes, of course you’d ride your beast without the proper tack.” 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything further. She murmured something to Banshee, who let out a whinny and began his walk— it was slow and bumpy, but Alysanne kept her composure. 

“Be here when I return, girl,” Aemond said before they got out of earshot, “I’ll have need of you.” 

Her brow furrowed. Need of her? For what? And where was he going? 

Alysanne and Banshee’s leisurely walk turned into a relaxed trot as they exited the gates of Harrenhal. They were half a mile away from the ancient castle before a thunderous roar was heard, and the rising sun was eclipsed by the gargantuan green beast known as Vhagar. 

Alysanne scratched Banshee as he got a bit fidgety as the dragon flew low in the sky, just above the treeline. “S’okay, my sweet boy,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck as far as she could reach, “You won’t die by a dragon— I’ve seen it.” 

As Vhagar began to disappear from sight, something clicked in Alysanne’s head. The dragon was riding towards the God’s Eye— which meant Aemond was as well. 

It… it felt like too soon— no, the battle couldn’t be today— but she had seen Harwin’s death just hours before it happened… 

She spurred Banshee into a full on gallop, pressing low to his back to hold on, “Please, please,” she whimpered, tears already forming in her eyes. 

As they approached the shore of the God’s Eye, she looked around, scanning the sky for any sign of the bloodwyrm— or even Vhagar. 

She slid off of Banshee’s back, letting him graze as she walked the pebbled beach of the lake. She paced back and forth until it was high noon, the sun rising in the sky to its apex. 

A few more hours passed until late afternoon, the sun beginning its descent back towards the earth. A temporary eclipse of Vhagar returning had Alysanne giving a small breath of relief— until the giant dragon turned, lowering down to find a spot to land.

Banshee strayed near the woodline, as far from the dragon as possible— Alysanne shared his unease, a deep pit settling in her gut. 

She ground her teeth as she approached the landing dragon, the powerful flaps of her wings actually causing Alysanne to fall over— which apparently earned a laugh from Aemond— a laugh? When had she heard him actually laugh? 

Watching as he gracefully slid from Vhagar’s saddle, not before unstrapping himself (earning Alysanne a breath), she got back to her feet, dusting off her dress. 

“I thought I spotted that elephant horse of yours,” he called out, walking towards her. 

She shrunk back, “What do you want?” 

As he got closer, his expression became more visible. He seemed… lighter. More elated. His hair was swept back from the wind and his mouth was crinkled in a small grin— not that of a predator like usual, but like that of someone who was… joyous?

It was a difference of night and day— his pained anguish the night before, and his almost boyish  demeanor now. 

It confused Alysanne— she hadn’t accounted for this, such a strong change in emotion from him. It settled the pit in her stomach ever so slightly. 

“What do I want?” he repeated with a questioning tone, “Nothing— I merely wished to see if your beast had bucked you off yet.” he stopped a few feet away from her, not getting too close. His arms were behind his back in their usual resting position. It seemed as if he was respecting her boundaries. 

“Banshee wouldn’t— not to me, atleast,” she picked up a smooth stone from below her idly, rolling it around in her palm, “He’s a killer, you know.” 

“A killer, hm?” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, “Stomped in a few men’s heads over the years— ones that tried to ride him, besides me.” 

Aemond’s lip curled slightly, “Seems he’s bonded with you as his sole rider, then. Dragons are much the same. They get to choose who they bond with— test their mettle, and find them worthy.” 

Alysanne looked towards him as they conversed— they began walking around the shore near each other and she hadn’t even noticed. He still kept his distance, to which she was grateful. “Vhagar finds you worthy,” she commented, “It must be an honor.” 

Aemond picked up a rock as well, weighing it in his palm, “It is. It’s the highest honor of any Targaryen’s life— to be chosen by a dragon.” 

She stopped at the lapping waves, dipping her feet in the water. With a swift movement of her hand, she sent the stone skidding across the surface. Once, twice, thrice. 

A few moments later, Aemond did the same. Once, twice, thrice. 

Alysanne gave a lopsided smile at that as she straightened back up. She felt at ease— like a leaf on a cooling breeze. Not only at ease, she felt brave. 

Slowly, she lifted her head, taking in the features of Aemond’s face before landing on his eye— which looked right back at her. 

She felt a rattling in her chest— like a caged bird flapping and ricocheting against her bones. A strange heat came to her cheeks. “We make up one pair of violet eyes, you and I,” she murmured suddenly, “One lilac between each of us…” she stared at his remaining eye, to which he stared back at her one, paired with the rich, earthy brown of her other eye.

His brow furrowed momentarily, “An interesting observation,” he picked up another rock and skipped it across the waves, “You remind me of someone, you know. My sister— Helaena, her grace, the queen,” he whispered, his voice taking on a softer note, “I feel like you two would have much to talk about.” 

“I’ve heard she is fond of insects,” Alysanne answered, walking from the shore to the grass, where she began picking plants from the soil, seemingly with purpose, “I quite like a good moth myself. They liken themselves to have false eyes on their wings, so they do not have to stare down predators.” 

Aemond didn’t comment— he just watched her pick plants. 

“Herbs,” she said, as if feeling his questioning stare on her back, “For my medicines.” 

“I didn’t know you were a maester as well as a bastard,” he said– more likely than not with a smug grin on his face.

“I may be odd in appearance, but you must be blind in both eyes if you think I resemble a smelly, mean old man.” she quipped back.

He didn’t say anything more, just setting his jaw in a hard line. This earned Alysanne a satisfied smile– the bird had silenced the dragon. 

In her joyful reverie, she went to pick a bundle of chamomile– but her hand plunged into a bush of stinging nettle. She let out a yelp like an injured animal, pulling her hand back and looking over it.

Apparently, her yelp had caused some concern from Aemond, who rushed over– he broke the boundary they had set, and even more, he reached out to her hand. “Let me see,” he grumbled.

“No, no–,” her cry was cut off as they touched, and her vision went black once more.

It was storming. Thunder rumbled the ancient stronghold– but they were not in Harrenhal. She couldn’t quite fixate where they were, until she heard the tumultuous crashing of waves against chiseled stone. Storm’s End– the seat of power for House Baratheon.

Why was she here– why… Aemond was here as well. He was stanced as usual, his hands behind his back.

Another boy was there, as well– brown, shaggy hair and brown eyes. Harwin? He looked like Harwin– he was turning away from Aemond, walking out.

“Wait,” Aemond called out, “My lord Strong,”

Strong? There were no more Strong Lords– and not a young boy like this. Who… was he? When was this?

“Did you really think you could fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne; at no cost?”

“I will not fight you– I came as a messenger, not a warrior,” the young boy spoke. Alysanne could see his body language– he was… afraid.

Aemond smirked, “A fight would be little challenge. No,” he said, putting his hand up to his eyepatch, taking off the leather and revealing his sapphire eye underneath, “I want you to put out your eye. It is payment for mine. One will serve,” the prince drew back his coat, throwing a dagger to the floor towards the boy, “I would not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.” 

The boy shivered, falling into himself inwardly for just a moment– then he took a breath, puffing out his chest, “No.” he declared, staring Aemond down.

“So you are craven, as well as a traitor.” Aemond hummed for a moment, the sound of Lord Baratheon’s cries to stop drowned out from blood pumping in his ears– hers as well.

Alysanne felt his contempt, felt his rage– bubbling, boiling right under the surface, just like the Fourteen Flames of Valyria. The madness in him was palpable, threatening to break his bones and turn him into a beast hewn of scale and wrath and tear this ‘Lord Strong’ apart brick by brick. 

She shivered; he truly was fire made flesh, an echo of a warrior long past– a god of War in his own right. 

“Give me your eye! Or I will take it, bastard!” Aemond exploded, advancing on the little Lord Strong like a predator–

Then they were in the sky, Aemond chanting taunts atop Vhagar– words that Alysanne didn’t inherently understand, but she felt it– in her bones, rattling around her chest and stomach.

It was a chase– a game of cat and mouse– or dragon and dragon as it may be. But Alysanne knew it was nothing of fairness. What was fair in a dragon of War, named after the Goddess of War, chasing a hatchling just large enough to carry a young boy? 

What was fair in that?

What was fair?

In her fairness, in her twisted justice– Vhagar’s massive jaws snapped the smaller dragon into pieces, along with Lord Strong, the remains of his existence scattered into the sea. 

The rage of Aemond quelled– quelled into a dull ache. It was replaced by a new feeling, mayhaps one Aemond hadn’t felt before.

Guilt. Remorse. 

Kinslayer. Accursed.

What had he done?

Her eyes opened– she wasn’t crying like usual, when she saw death. Usually it was impending death, something that perhaps she had a chance to change– but this… was the past, wasn’t it? Something she never could change, something that had already been lived and gone and was a done deal, sealed with the bow of death. She didn’t feel panicked, no– she felt hollow.

Aemond was holding her up again, cradling her like a delicate flower. He cleared his throat as he stared down at her. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. 

“Kinslayer.” she murmured in response, her voice broken.

[wc-confessions]

re: WC misogyny

This is solely to get my thoughts out abt this bc I’m probably not gonna be able to articulate this to the best of my ability but I feel like it’s incredibly important to say that these books are pretty damn misogynistic and so was the fanbase for the longest time.

Not saying that to be "throwing the word around without knowing what the word means", because misogyny is defined as a dislike/contempt against women. This can also absolutely be an unconscious bias (which is primarily what I see anyway!) I've seen far more people dismiss these characters while holding up male ones that do similar/worse things (i.e. Thistleclaw primarily but a lot of the MV characters to an extent)

The reason why discussion about sexism usually ends up against cats like Mapleshade, Squirrelflight, Frecklewish, and Nightcloud is primarily due to how the universe of the books is written to chastise these characters while their male counterparts go thru barely half of the shit thrown onto the girls.

Mapleshade gets her kids and herself exiled for breaking the code while Appledusk literally gets a slap on the wrist for breaking the same code she did? The Riverclan leader just tells him "well, you'll not do it again so you don't need to be punished" while Mapleshade doesn't even get to bury her kits. Even if she's the Warrior Cats evil woman that's still really fucked up!? And this goes to Frecklewish as well, who does not watch them drown oh my god. The flood that kills Maple's kits is incredibly loud--saying Freckle would have been able to do anything else OTHER than watch dismisses the fact going to the flooded stones was an idea doomed to fail (of which Mapleshade has a lot of in MV specifically.)

Frecklewish absolutely ended up in the Dark Forest over Oakstar or Ravenwing (who both condemned the kittens to their fate instead of?? idk punishing Maple and not the kits who didn't even know they were half clan?) because of the way the fandom perceived her at the time. Freckle's a lot like Squirrelflight where fandom opinion only recently shifted to people defending those characters--she's pretty awful for calling the same kits she doted on half-clan creatures! But I don't think she deserved to go to cat hell forever when the cat who actually caused those kittens to end up dead (and every other cat in MV!) ends up in Starclan without even so much of a trial.

Speaking of trials--Squirrelflight and Leafpool literally end up almost being sent to CAT HELL for following Starclan's orders. Leafpool ends up having forbidden kits but Starclan goes "it's okay!" until it isn't. Brambleclaw almost being involved in Firestar's fox trap murder never gets mentioned or brought up while both of the girls are questioned about if they even belong in Starclan because they "broke the code and lied"?? There's a pretty damn big bias towards the toms for doing bad/worse actions but Bramble never went to Starclan and had his ticket for heaven almost revoked. Oakstar didn't get put in the Dark Forest because he exiled 3 innocent kits.

I think it's important to note the fandom has a lot of say over how characters like these get interpreted (which is why Nightcloud ended up being hated a lot despite the fact Crowfeather is just. actually abusive to Breezepelt.) That's why I brought up unconscious biases, because I think generally a lot of WC content creators tend to stick to presenting the stories in a more radical/black and white way.

I think the discussion really should be that the books and the stories ARE pretty misogynistic but unconsciously so? A lot of the story beats I mentioned weren't written by just one person, and the Erins have different opinions on these cats than the fans do. That's not me stating an opinion, that's just me saying recognizing that it's very male-oriented IS an issue these books have.

Anyways this got way too wordy, Ashfur is one of my favorite villains so I don't even know why I typed all of this up /j.

[yanderecrazysie]

I actually love the idea of Haru being a kuudere yandere, can we get a shot about that?

Raeder tries to get along with him by talking to him and seeing as how he doesn't seem to mind her she went as far as venting to him. But when she started venting about specific people those people started vanishing. And when she talked to Haru about this, she got disturbed by how he somehow got colder and started talking like 'why do you care about them? didn't you say they bother you?' 'why are you so invested in that guy's disappearance? don't tell me you liked him back or something'

Giving her the sinking feeling, that there's seriously something wrong here and eventually stopped talking to him all together. But he wouldn't let her cut ties with him.

This plot is *chef’s kiss* mwah! I knew the perfect song for this too lol

Title: Jishu

Pairings: Nanase Haruka x Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, implied murder, swearing

Summary: You’re pretty sure there’s something dark inside your kuudere friend.

“Yes! I did it!

I dropped that girl into hell.

So? Is there a problem?

Everyone hated her, right?

はい！私がやりました！

あの子を奈落へ落としました

で？だから何か問題が？

だって皆あの子嫌いでしょ？”

- from “Jishu” by Roce

You felt like you could tell Haru anything.

Talking with Haru came easily, the words flowing from your mouth like the waterfalls he loves. You could talk about anything you wanted, and he’d sit there and listen attentively. You could talk about your day, talk on and on about your new favorite book series, or rant about things that went wrong or people that annoyed you.

If you were to be honest, you did a lot more ranting than anything else.

“...and she’s just so full of herself!” you finished, flinging your arms out in frustration. Haru barely blinked, watching you with those ocean-blue eyes.

“Does she bother you anymore?” Haru asked simply.

You took a moment to think about it. “Well, I think she’s home sick, so she hasn’t bothered me the past few days.”

Haru nodded seriously and said, “Good.”

You really should have put two and two together.

—------------------------------------------------------

“This guy just won’t stop flirting with me,” you said in disgust, stabbing your meal with your fork. 

Your bad-tempered attention on your food meant you missed the way Haru’s eyes darkened with anger. He laid down his chopsticks and looked down at his own meal, appetite gone.

“What’s his name?”

“Of course his name is Chad. Why wouldn’t it be?” you rolled your eyes, “He doesn’t have a big chin like the memes, but damn is his ego big.”

“Which class?” Haru asked, his voice suddenly sharper than before.

“We share History,” you snorted, “But you’d think it was sex-ed with the way he talks.”

Haru’s hand curled into a fist but he said nothing.

You continued to vent, completely unaware of Haru’s reaction. “I just wish he’d leave me alone,” you finished, “He can’t take a hint at all.”

Haru’s eyes met your own. The quiet boy took a moment to think before saying, “He’ll change his mind.”

You laughed, “If only it were that easy.”

Haru nodded and picked up his chopsticks again, eating in silence.

After that day, Chad vanished from your life. He no longer sat next to you in history, putting his lanky arm around your shoulder while you squirmed in disgust. He no longer lingered in the hallways, following you to your locker while boasting loudly. He no longer seemed to exist at all.

At first you were relieved, but worry started to sink in. It had been weeks since anyone had seen him and students were beginning to gossip about what had happened to the creep.

You found Haru swimming in the university pool and approached him, “Hey, Haru- have you heard anything about Chad? He went missing almost a month ago.”

Haru stared at you, his expression unreadable, “Why are you asking about him?” his voice was cold- harsher than usual, “I thought you didn’t like him.”

A chill shot down your spine, “I don’t… but it’s just weird that he’s gone. People are worrying, y’know?”

Haru climbed out of the pool, not breaking eye contact. His eyes narrowed, “Why do you care so much? He was bothering you, right?”

You swallowed dryly, “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want anything bad to happen to him. He’s still a human.”

“Is that all it is?” Haru’s voice was even colder and harsher now, spitting out each word as though they were venom, “You have feelings for him, don’t you?”

“Of course not!” you protested, “But-”

You fell silent when a chilling smile graced Haru’s face, “Then don’t worry. He won’t harm you again. No one will ever hurt you again.”

Your heart stopped, “Haru… did you do something to Chad?”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know, the near-demonic smile only adding fuel to your terror. “I need to go.”

Haru reached out, his hand brushing against your arm gently, “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.”

“What did you do?” you demanded.

Haru shook his head, “I wouldn’t want to worry you.”

You stepped away from him, heart pounding in your chest. This wasn’t the Haru you once knew. This was someone dangerous.

You did the only thing you could think of- you fled. You ran like a bat out of hell, all the way back to your dorm. Tears streaked down your face by the time you reached safety. 

Haru… your closest confidant… what had he done to those people?

You had doomed them by talking about them to him.

You couldn’t decide… did you really want to know what he did…?

Or did you want to live blissfully unaware?

[mymoodwriting]

Request for @heemingyu (Stalker Hyunjae) 4.2k, yandere, stalking, creep, paranoia, kidnapping, drugs, imprisonment, starvation, dehydration, needles, non-con, smut, penetration, hickeys (@starillusion13)

“Did you notice the guy staring at you?”

You were expecting stares. It was a costume party, and you were dressed like a fallen angel. You stood out with your torn up white dress, tilted halo, and ruffled wings. Although your friends told you that this particular person was interesting. You sneakily glanced over to see this scary clown mask staring in your direction. It didn’t mean they were staring at you, but your friends were certain. They had been hyping you up all night about your outfit, if anyone was gonna get stares tonight it was gonna be you.

“Well, I’m not really looking for anyone. I just came out to drink and have fun.”

“Amen girl.”

You didn’t pay much attention to those who were looking at you. Like you told your friends, you were here for a good time. So you danced and talked with others, drinking and snacking the night away. As morning began to creep up things died down, and you soon found yourself face to face, kinda, with the masked man.

“So, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“What?”

“I love your costume.”

“Oh, oh! Right, right, sorry, I’m a little tipsy.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay… so, how’s Earth?”

“What?”

“Sorry, just trying to flirt with an angel.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Maybe it was the alcohol, but this guy was a little funny. You spent some time talking, sharing vague things about one another. You were both university students, but didn’t specify which you attended. It was probably the same since you were both invited to this party, but still. You had different majors, so the chances of running into each other was slim.

“Y/n, you ready to go?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” You perked up. “It was nice talking with you, have a good rest of your day.”

“You too.”

You said your goodbyes and went with your friends, returning to the dorm. It was just another party night for you, and the next day it was back to normal life. You hadn’t had too much to drink so the morning headache wasn’t that bad. At least you wouldn’t have any issues with your job. You were a good student and managed your time well so you worked part time at your campus library, organizing the books, putting them back on the shelf, and answering student inquiries. You lived a simple life, but I guess everyone needs some excitement. 

You began to notice this boy was at the library everyday, or at least when you were always working. Of course a lot of people would be at the library, but what was strange was his seat choice. Only one table was near the front desk, and no one ever sat there since you’d be able to see them and immediately call out any inappropriate behavior. You tended to use it to organize books you needed to return to the shelf, so it was strange to see it occupied. Then again the student seemed to be very focused on their work, and could also be a freshman. That table would be guaranteed peace and quiet though, so it’s the best option for that. Exams were also right around the corner, maybe they’d disappear by then.

You paid them no mind though. They never spoke to you, and you never caught any lingering stares. As far as you could tell they were a good student. You figured the strangeness would end there, but then you began to see this person elsewhere. He seemed to be at this cafe you visited a lot, and then out in the halls between your classes. Now you were certainly convinced he was a freshman, or had changed majors recently. Still, you weren’t quite sure why you had suddenly noticed him. Most of the time he had his head down, so you rarely saw his face, and yet you always seemed to recognize him.

It could all really just be happenstance. Even if the university was huge, you’d be likely to run into certain faces over and over again as your routines would cause you to cross paths. There was really no reason to get so worked up about it, and it’s not like he was bothering you. As far as you knew, he had no idea you were around him so often, you’re just the weirdo for noticing him like some kind of stalker. So with that mentality you finally put those thoughts to rest, and let him fade back into the background. You focused on your own classes, and were so relieved exams were over. To celebrate you and your roommate decided to binge watch a show you both had wanted to see, getting some alcohol and ordering food. 

While you waited on your roommate to get back you peeked out the window, looking up at the moon. You really wished you could see the stars, but that wasn’t likely around here. Then you glanced down at the campus courtyard, hoping to see your roommate on the way. Instead you caught sight of someone with a camera, aiming it up at you. Immediately you stepped back, closing the curtain. Your mind was racing with what you had just witnessed, and you couldn’t bring yourself to peek out the curtains again. At that moment you heard the door unlock, hearing your roommate announce their return. You went over to them, asking them if they saw anyone suspicious in the courtyard, but according to them everything was fine.

“What’s up?”

“I… I think I saw someone with a camera outside, and they were pointing it at me.”

“Well, aren’t you the center of attention?”

“I’m serious, Misu.”

“Then let’s take a look.”

“What!? No! Don’t-”

You couldn’t stop Misu as she went over to the window and pulled the curtain open. She looked out at the courtyard, not seeing anything. You were carefully peeking over her shoulder, eventually seeing the same.

“See, there’s no one.” Misu commented. “Have you been watching scary movies?”

“What? No, not at all.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“No, I swear I saw someone there.” You remarked. “What if someone is watching me!”

“I think you’re being a little paranoid. So just take a deep breath and calm down.”

You glanced out the window again, not seeing the same figure as before. Maybe you were being paranoid and just jumping to conclusions. You decided to focus on the good things of the night. You both stayed up till early morning. Although in the coming days that feeling of being followed and watched came back. You noticed that person from before more and more, but you kept telling yourself you were just paranoid. It didn’t make it easy for you to go back to the dorm, so you decided to call up a friend. They had their own place off campus, and you asked if you could stay over the weekend just to calm your mind.

Thankfully they had no problem with it, and it put you at ease. You brought some clothes and your school stuff, intending to get some work done. Your friend trusted you, so they had no problem leaving you by yourself in the evening as they went out to work. You double checked the doors to make sure everything was locked, and glanced out the window too, but there was nothing. After getting your work done you figured you could unwind so you took the spare key and went out to get yourself some snacks.

You browsed the chip aisle, already having a few items in your basket. The night felt perfect for some instant ramen. As you made your way to the counter you accidentally bumped into someone. You apologized but they didn’t seem to care. You couldn’t see their face since their hood was up, but you figured they probably had some headphones in. You paid for your items and headed out, munching on some chips in the process. Although you began to get chills down your spine. You stopped and put the chips back in the bag, and out of the corner of your eye you noticed the hooded figure from the store.

You told yourself it was nothing, and continued to walk, but you were very much aware that they were going the same direction as you. Again you told yourself it was all in your head, so you made a wrong turn just to see, but they stayed behind you. When you stopped they stopped, when you sped up so did they. You didn’t know this place, so you had no idea where the nearest police station was. The best idea you had right now was to get back to back and call the police from there. You couldn’t stay calm for long though, instinctively breaking out into a run. You probably wouldn’t lose them but you needed to create some distance.

You didn’t dare look back, pushing yourself beyond your limits. If you could just make it everything would be fine, but then everything happened so fast. You felt a weight on your shoulder, followed by some pressure. You were yanked back, hitting something solid, and then there was something over your mouth. It had a weird texture and you soon realized it was some type of cloth. Although that didn’t help as you were breathing in this strange sense and starting to feel this weight dragging you down. Your efforts to free yourself were in vain, and ultimately you scummed to the darkness.

🖤

As you began to regain your senses you felt panic rising up. Even with your eyes open there was still darkness, and you felt some kind of cloth on your face, a blindfold. You removed it, but that didn’t make things any better for you. There was still an endless darkness around you, and when you moved you heard a chain.You began to feel something cold around your ankle, reaching down to feel a metal cuff connected to a chain.  You followed it to a wall, feeling the coldness of concrete, it was all around you. There had to be some way out. You tried to get the chain off, but the padlock told you that you’d need a key. 

Instead you opted for finding a door. You crawled around, going as far as the chain would let you, but you didn’t find much else besides two other walls, and no door. With no other option you began to scream, crying out for help. You didn’t know if anyone could hear you, but you had the slight hope that was the case. When you heard a door open a bit of hope sparked in you, then the lights came on. You had to shield your eyes and give them a moment to adjust, but once you could see your heart sank. A boy stood by the door, and you recognized him. He had the same hoodie from the store, except now you could see his face. The boy from the library, the one you saw everywhere. 

Then you noticed the wall in front of you, the one you couldn’t reach. It was covered in pictures of you. Some were lifted off your socials, but most were original. You weren’t looking at the camera, but you saw yourself in your costume party outfit, at the front desk of the library, ordering at your favorite cafe, and worst of all, staring up at the sky from your dorm window. You hadn’t been crazy that day, you hadn’t been crazy and paranoid from the start. He smiled at you and approached, causing you to scramble back till you hit the wall.

“…wa… what do you want from me…?”

“You don’t remember me?” The boy questioned. “That’s okay, I just want to take care of an angel.”

“An angel… what….” You thought for a moment and then realized what he meant. “The costume party… you were the one in the clown mask…”

“Oh, you do remember me, I’m touched.” He sat down in front of you. “I thought you were just being nice at the party, but I was so happy to learn you were single.”

“What?”

“I didn’t really know how to approach you, but this way I know you won’t leave.”

“This… this is kidnapping… this is wrong, you can’t just do this to someone…” You remarked. “I’m not some angel, you could have just approached me and said hello.”

“You weren’t interested in me though, you would have given me your number at the party if you were.”

“Well you could have taken off your mask to establish trust. I wasn’t gonna just hand out my number.”

“Still, it’s better this way.”

“No. Let me go.”

“I can’t do that. I put a lot of work into this and you’re the last piece I need to complete it.”

“I’m not some toy!”

“Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be okay.”

The boy got up and disappeared for a moment, returning with a good try. He happily sat back down, closer than before, sliding the tray over.

“Here you go. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

You glanced down at the food, not entirely sure you could trust it. Furthermore the smile on his face was unnerving, and you hated this whole situation. So you reached over and flipped the tray, spilling everything. He quickly got to his feet, glaring at you for a moment then taking a breath.

“You’ll come around.”

He cleaned up the mess you made and took back the tray and utensils, leaving you alone. Now that you had light you could better examine your surroundings. There wasn’t much though. The walls were bare except for the collage on the one in front of you. There was a pillow and blankets folded in the corner, and the chain on your ankle was hooked to the wall. You tried to tug on it but it was new and bolted down tightly. There wasn’t really anything you could do to help your situation.

You had no sense of time, so all you could do was wait. The only thing that happened was your hunger pains growing. You whimpered, hands around your stomach. At this point you knew you had been here for hours, and were slowly drifting off when the door suddenly opened. You jumped, now on alert and seeing your captor walk in with a bowl. He came to your side, setting it down to reveal water and grabbing the cloth draped over his shoulder. He intended to clean you up, and he even though you resisted he kept grabbing your limbs. Eventually you just let him be trying to see if anything on him you could use.

Instead your eyes drifted over to the bowl of water. You were hungry, but most of all thirsty. As he was distracted you reached over to the bowl, cupping your fingers together to get some water. Your hand was immediately grabbed and everything spilled over. He stared at you with a curious look, then your stomach betrayed you by growling. He laughed, asking if you were hungry but you denied it. So he merely told you to let him know when you wanted to eat. When he finished up he left you alone again. You tried holding out but the lack of food and water was weakening you. If you had any plans of escape you needed your strength, which meant you needed to eat.

The only problem you had was that you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t see any cameras in the room, yet he told you to let him know when you wanted to eat. You also had no idea what your captor’s name was, so all you could do was scream. Although considering your state it wasn’t long before you felt your voice go hoarse. A while after you couldn’t scream anymore they returned. They brought you some water, as well as some soup, feeding you. There was a chance something was in the food, but hunger would win out right now. 

“Do you feel better?”

“…”

“It’s okay, we’re making progress.”

He smiled softly and pet your head. He picked up the dishes and made his way out, but there was something you had to ask.

“You… your name…”

“My name is Hyunjae.”

Now that you were alone again you had nothing to do but stare at the wall, looking at all the pictures. You analyzed every picture over and over again, thinking back to the moments they showed. So many were far apart, different times of day, different days of the week. All you could see was admiration and dedication. He spent so much time on you, and you could see in all the pictures that there was care and love. It made your heart flutter when it shouldn’t. Yet all you could do was stare at those pictures and wonder. At some point you decided to sleep. You didn’t know for how long you slept, only waking up when you heard the door open. Hyunjae had returned, bringing what you assumed was breakfast.

You didn’t need his help this time around, so you ate like a normal person as he fondly watched. It was eerie, but you needed to eat so you did your best to ignore it. There was still so much running through your mind, and now that you could think clearly you figured you should try to get some answers. If you could understand this whole situation then you’d have a better chance of convincing him to let you go. He seemed to care about you, so that means to a degree his guard is down which you could use to your advantage. After eating you mumbled a soft thank you, getting a happy face from him.

“… why… why didn’t you approach me… after the party… was I not… good enough?”

“No! Absolutely not! It was me.” Hyunjae explained. “To me… you were an angel… so how could someone like me just say hello. I’m a sinner but you… I have to protect you, it’s my duty.”

“It’s not necessary. I lived my life just fine before I met you…”

“Which means you don’t know how cruel the world can truly be. I have to shield you from all of that.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I want to.”

“No. I don’t want you to.”

“It’s okay, I understand things must be confusing. Someone like you might not understand what you need, but I’ll take care of everything.”

You were honestly trying to reason with Hyunjae, but the more you talked to him the more you began to realize he was delusional. Kind words weren’t gonna work, so you needed to get your point across.

“I am not going to be your pet! So get that idea out of your head!”

“You’re not my pet.” Hyunjae leaned in close. “But my lover.”

To your surprise he kissed you, and you kissed back. His sudden actions were distracting, so you didn’t notice him reaching into his pocket for something, not until you felt a pinch in your neck. You moved away just as he pulled out the needle. You reached up to the puncture point, freaking out, but Hyunjae didn’t seem concerned.

“It’s okay, there’s nothing to worry about.” Hyunjae explained. “Now that you’re in a better state I can properly start taking care of you. For one, I have some medicine for you.”

“What did you give me!”

“It’s just something to relax you so you don’t stress out so much, and it’ll make you happy.”

“You drugged me!”

“It’s medicine.”

“No… no you’re crazy…”

“I know it must seem scary but everything is going to be alright, trust me.”

You tried to move as far away as you could, but Hyunjae grabbed you and pulled you into his arms. You struggled, but you began to feel your strength drift away as this fog began to cloud your mind. Your breathing became steady, and Hyunjae’s embrace became a welcomed warmth. He was gently rocking you in his arms, leaning down to kiss your head.

“There, there, everything is okay.” He soothed. “Just take a deep breath and relax.”

You were trying to think, to understand your surroundings, but your eyes always landed on the wall of pictures. Hyunjae eventually followed your gaze.

“Ah, you must have so many questions. When I see all those pictures, I can’t help myself. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Hyunjae grabbed your chin and pulled you into a long kiss. He pulled away to breath before his lips began to trail down your body. His hands helped you slip out of your clothes, laying you down on the blanket you had set out. You shivered from the cold feeling, but Hyunjae assured he’d warm you up soon enough. You tried to push him off you, but your strength was nonexistent, so he didn’t notice anything. His hands began to explore your body, making you shake with every touch.

“Hyunjae…”

“Hm. It’s okay, I’ll take care of everything.”

You yelped when you felt a hand between your legs. His fingers moved diligently up and down, teasing you. It was creating this warm feeling down there, that was only growing. You were a virgin, despite what others might think. You had always been waiting on finding the right one, so you had no idea what to do in this situation. You tried closing your legs but Hyunjae only reached down to grab your thighs, massaging them a bit before spreading your legs. You whimpered, feeling so small.

“Sh, I got you.”

Hyunjae kissed you again, and when you felt his hand push aside your panties, making contact with your sensitive skin. You squirmed, which caused him to chuckle in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your body was trembling underneath his touch, moreso when his free hand moved to massage your breast.

“Hyunjae…”

“You must really like me.”

“Hm…”

“You’re still an angel, even like this.”

This warm feeling kept growing inside you, caused by Hyunjae’s touch. It was making your head swing with this tingly sensation. So when you felt Hyunjae pull away you whimpered, looking over at him to see him undressing. With your rose tinted vision you couldn’t help but smile, seeing how handsome he really was. He crawled on top of you and kissed you deeply. It was only right to kiss back, and give into his gentle touch. That is until you felt something between your legs, something big, and you got tense.

“Sh, easy, easy, it’ll feel good, I promise.”

His hands trailed your body to help relax you, and then you felt something pushing into you. Instinctively you tried to move away but Hyunjae grabbed your hips and held you in place. You whimpered and squirmed, feeling like you were being torn up from the inside. Yet just as it hurt, the feeling began to change. That warmth you had been feeling got a new spark of pleasure. You grabbed onto Hyunjae’s arms, trying to say something but nothing but incoherent babble escaped your lips. You thought this was it until Hyunjae began to start moving. The rhythm was like a wave washing over you with every thrust.

Every part of your body was on fire, and it felt good. You weren’t holding anything back and it was like a beautiful melody to Hyunjae’s ears. Something was building inside you, and to a degree you were fearful. Hyunjae noticed and told you once again that everything would be alright. It’s not like you could stop this, or him, so you just had to ride it out with him. One moment you were in this fiery pit pleasure, the next you were shaking as something new completely overpowered you. You were burning up as your whole body convulsed, this heat from inside finally exploding and taking you to new heights you never could have fathomed. You held onto Hyunjae tightly, his moments causing little static sparks to coarse through you, keeping this feeling going for as long as possible.

Hyunjae was losing rhythm as well, losing it as you squeezed him tightly. It wasn’t long before he reached his own climax. You felt a new type of warmth between your legs then, mewling as you laid there on cloud nine. Hyunjae peppered your body with kisses, picking a few spots to leave his mark on. As he caught his breath he examined your face, seeing how blissed out you were. It brought a smile to his face, hoping to see this face again and again. Never wanting to see sadness or pain in your eyes. He had been watching you long enough to know your struggles, and he knew he had to shield them from you.

After a moment he moved to lay beside you, wrapping you up in the blanket and keeping you in his arms. The warmth he felt was indescribable, but overall he was happy. You’d be mumbling again, but he knew you were out of it and your brain was just drifting in and out of focus. He found himself pressing soft kisses to your head, and then his eyes lingered over to his collage of pictures. He could still remember when he had taken each one, and the way he felt too. They were all so beautiful, but nothing compared to the real you. Now that he had you, he had to protect you and preserve your happiness just as he had done so with his pictures.

“We’re gonna be perfect together.”

[stevesbipanic]

Boy For All Seasons

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Ao3

While the snow began to melt in the weeks that followed new year's eve, Eddie's heart still felt cold and broken. He began to pull away from Steve, still wanting him in his life but needing enough distance to try and get over him. They didn't share a bed anymore, the first night it stopped Steve looked sad but understanding when Eddie said Wayne needed him at home. Ignoring the phone calls in the middle of the night hurt more.

Sometimes Eddie thought Steve was going to bring it up, but he was always quick to cover it up with a smile, his smiles looked faker these days. Eddie didn't understand, shouldn't Steve be happy that Eddie isn't clinging to him anymore, now Steve could find someone like him someone who wasn't different.

Eddie still visited Family Video, he liked Robin's company too, Wayne was happy he had friends outside of the band. She and Steve always seemed to be whispering about something these days. Maybe Robin had finally talked to that girl Vickie, but he's sure she would've told him the moment he'd stepped in the door. Eddie felt another stab at his heart, maybe Steve had met someone, maybe he knew Eddie was in love with him and didn't want to hurt his feelings.

With Spring Break only a few weeks away it was Eddie's new least favourite time of year, Valentine's Day. The halls at school decorated with pink hearts and flowers. Pretty girls hoping the football team were going to ask them to the dance. Even Family Video was getting ready for the day, plenty of couples looking for a movie they could ignore while making out.

If things had been different Eddie probably would've put together some ridiculous costume to impress Steve, make him blush the same soft pink as those hearts on the wall. Things weren't different though, this Valentine's Day Eddie will spend alone once again and Steve would take some sweet girl to the movies or the dance or anywhere other than around Eddie. Eddie slammed his locker shut, ridiculous holiday anyway.

"You good, Eddie?" Gareth said tentatively, the boys had been giving the storm cloud that was Eddie Munson a wide berth.

"Fine Gare, great even, I'll see you later."

"Hey Eddie wait!"

"What do you want, Henderson?"

"Are you going by Family Video after school?"

Eddie hadn't been planning to returning to the heart shaped hell but he had a weak spot for the boy.

"Maybe why?"

"Robin wants to borrow my DnD manuals, she's thinking of joining Hellfire."

Weird that Robin hadn't asked him but he supposed she knew Dustin longer, besides he could duck in give Robin the books and leave, wouldn't even need to see Steve.

"Sure, Birdie would be a great addition anyway."

"You're the best, thanks Eddie!"

When Eddie pulled up to the store, the carpark was surprisingly empty besides Steve's beemer.

"In, out, easy Munson."

When he stepped inside he let out a small sigh of relief seeing only Robin at the counter, for once the universe was on his side.

"Special delivery, Birdie!"

"Eddie! Are those Dustin's books? Great, just leave them here, oh before you go would you mind looking at the character sheet I drew up?"

Eddie wanted nothing more than to leave before Steve appeared from one of the shelves he was surely shelving, but he was weak for DnD and it would be really cool to play with Robin.

"Sure, but only quickly."

"It's just in the back, you wait here a minute."

Before Eddie had a chance to argue she was gone. Just then, the lights went out.

"Huh? Robin you good?"

Soft music started playing and a torch lit up the break room door. Eddie had seen a few strange things in his life but nothing prepared him for what appeared before him.

Steve stepped out from behind the door, and Eddie felt frozen in place. Steve was dressed in a white sheet wrapped as a toga, gold Laurel wreath in his hair, eerily similar to the costume Eddie wore that started all of this. The difference being the white feather wings and bow and arrow in his hands. If Eddie wasn't having a stroke already the blush and glitter dusting Steve's cheeks was about to cause one.

"Hi Eds," Steve said softly looking up at Eddie through his lashes.

"H-Hi Stevie."

"I thought it was my turn to dress up, do you like it?"

"Like it? Sweetheart you look beautiful."

Steve smiled shyly, ducking his head before returning his gaze to Eddie's.

"I was wondering if you had any plans tomorrow night? We can't go to the dance but maybe we could go to our diner? We haven't been in awhile."

Steve was right, they hadn't been in awhile, because Eddie had been dodging hanging out, because he had been avoiding Steve, because Steve didn't like him...right?

"Don't you want to take a nice girl out for dinner tomorrow?"

Steve shook his head, "Nope, just you."

Eddie couldn't help it, he didn't understand, "Why?"

A flash of worry crossed Steve's features, "Why not? I like you, like a lot. Do you...do you not like me?" The corners of Steve's eyes started to mist, he looked like he had begun to regret what he was doing.

"No! No I do, I really really do Stevie, but I thought you didn't like me, on new year's you told Robin we wouldn't work, that we were too different."

Steve's eyes widened, "Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Guilt crossed Eddie's face before nodding.

"Eddie," Steve reached out and took his hands between his, "I had gotten in my head that you wouldn't want me because we're too different, you're cool and fun and in a band and an adorable nerd and I'm just me."

Everything made sense now. "Sweetheart, you're not just you, you're loyal and funny and beautiful and kind, I would be crazy not to be in love with you." Eddie froze as he realised what he said.

"You love me?" The look in Steve's eyes melted away any doubt in Eddie's heart.

"Have for awhile, Stevie." Steve grinned widely at Eddie before taking his face in his hands. "I'd be crazy not to be in love with you too, Eddie."

Then, finally, after months of jokes and costumes and schemes and nightmares and hugs and comfort and crying and confessions and waiting, finally, two boys fell into each other sharing a soft kiss.

"Hey Eddie?"

"Hmm?"

"Not wearing anything under this one either?"

Eddie knew it back last March and he knew it now, Steve Harrington was going to be the death of him.

Tags: @zerokrox-blog @smallfrogpleasedtomeetyou @eboyawstenn @sharingisntkaren @goodolefashionedloverboi @the-redthread @steddie-there @questionablequeeries @liorereshkigal @mightbeasleep @carlyv @my2amgaythoughts @gregre369 @space-invading-pigeon @bisexualdisastersworld @epiclazershark @sherrylyn628 @raisedbylibrarians @swaghettoni @lololol-1234

[audrinawf]

The Identity Shift

so I’m writing this 5 months later than I expected but here it goes. this spring I decided to change my identity. I did some small changes but also some big ones. some changes I felt like were kind of unnecessary in the beginning but they proved to be just as important.

I’ve always used manifestation as a hack. which means that when I wanted to manifest something I would call it in using various manifestation techniques but something’s changed this year.

I delved into my spiritual path more than ever this year, I read so many books, I meditated more than ever and most importantly, I completely isolated myself for almost a whole year. complete hermit mode. and also…I did 🍄.

one of the consistent teachings I kept seeing in all the books and schools of thought I encountered was the concept of changing one’s identity.

and here’s the thing. the more you ascend wether that’s mentally or spiritually , you can even think if it as levels.let’s say you’re at level 5. once you get to level 6 a lot of things change in your physical reality. some people just completely disappear from your life. they didn’t die but they might as well. the people you used to run into on the streets are nowhere to be found, suddenly you’re seeing completely new people when you go to your usual spots.

it’s cause you’re at a completely different level of reality and consciousness. it’s like a game. and what I noticed is that if you don’t make the necessary changes yourself, you get put in situations where you are forced to change, the decisions is out of your hands.

this quite literally happened to me. as soon as I ascended I could no longer tolerate the foods I’ve been eating all of my life. sounds crazy right? I can’t even explain how or why.

I went from eating a very high carb diet to being completely unable to digest any gluten and basically forced to go in a carnivore diet. cause even when I tried to resist meat and only eat beans and lentils and nuts my body developed a allergy to all 3 of those foods.

why did this happen? cause I decided that I was going to be a fit person. I decided that I was going to be lean and always have abs. so now thanks to the diet I’m basically forced to have I do have abs. and mind you I was someone who insisted that I could never be fit cause I was South Asian and us South Asians can’t be fit cause our genetics is ruined thanks to colonialism. It’s a limiting mindset I had for years.

I decided that I was someone who never got cavities, well guess what? I literally couldn’t drink energy drinks or eat sour candy without getting sick. why? cause the acidity in those foods was rotting my teeth. so the universe literally forced me to stop.

I decided that I was someone who was surrounded by good people that only wanted good things for me. what happened? my best friend literally started acting so crazy out of nowhere that I had to cut her out of my life. well it’s turns out that she had been doing black magic on me for a long time and the moment I decided that I wanted quality friends over quantity, she was gone. the way our friendship even ended was out of my hands. all it took was one identity shift.

I realized now that my life has changed so much. It’s absolutely insane. my friend who I’ve literally grown up with since we were babies just disappeared from my life. and here’s the thing, she lived 30 seconds away from me, and we work together at the same company and I haven’t run into her at work or the grocery store, NOT EVEN ONCE. it’s like she doesn’t even exist in my reality.

all of a sudden I got 6 new friends, and now I have the type of friend group I’ve always wanted. We go out and eat, we travel together, they’re helping me plan my wedding and we meet up regularly. It truly feels like the friendship that the girls from the sex and the city have and that’s exactly the type of friendship I have tried to manifest and I got it the moment I changed my identity.

So how do we consciously change our identity?

you need to change every little thing about yourself even the things you think don’t matter. but they do.

if you want to you can even create an alter ego. I know Beyoncé does it when she’s on stage. she becomes Sasha Fierce. cause sometimes we have to be someone completely different to be able to break the habits of ourselves.

this is why so many people prefer to start fresh in a new town once they want to change their identity. so create a new identity and allow yourself to turn that identity on every day.

think about what characteristics you identify with and why? did someone call you shy and you just internalized it. maybe you’re not shy maybe you’re just someone who has boundaries and takes a longer time to trust other people. maybe you don’t think some people are worthy of knowing you so you keep that part of you reserved for your closest. whatever traits you identify with flip them and see them as positive.

once you’ve worked on the internal you can start changing things physically.

Like me for example I always wear my best jewelry even if I’m going to the grocer. I even bought so many different styles of engagement rings before I even met my fiancé cause I loved the idea of wearing a wedding ring one day. And guess what? I manifested the fattest engagement ring.

I decided that I was someone that had a high income side hustle so on the days I didn’t work I wake up early, got dressed as if I had an important day filled with meeting and then I got in my laptop and started working on my side hustle. If you saw me you’d think I was the CEO of a million dollar company. but you know what. the moment I got into this role and started playing this character, a thousand doors opened. It’s absolutely crazy how many opportunities came out of nowhere.

I didn’t have to work on marketing my business, I didn’t have to work extensively on perfecting my site. the moment I changed my energy, money started flowing to me and my business.

there’s so many ways to change your identity and it can be so much fun. I decided that I wasn’t someone who ate junk foods and sugar ever. So I don’t. That’s not who I am. I decided I was someone who was stylish so I started wearing my best outfits even when I “didn’t have a good enough reason to” I wore the pretty dresses that had been in my closet collecting dust cause I have a reason to show up as my hottest best self and that’s cause I’m an important person with a job and a business and I look good every day. and the more I dressed up the more events and parties I manifested. I literally became the person I was trying to magically manifest for years in just 5 months.

and I did it cause I knew that whatever I wanted would come to me. I didnnt have to know how cause the way would be revealed to me in the future. I just had to start. And so I did.

follow for more identity shifting tips 🩷

[writing-whump]

forgive my 200 ask at the minute, but my brain is on fire. I just love your babies, so much. Alright, so would u ever be up for writing a moment where Isaiah actually has to use his shadow on another wolf, where all his soft skills in the world fail him (the other pack/wolf won't hear him) and he's forced to let the Executioner out in front of Matt and Sel?

And not even in a bad lighting (ofc Sel will be spooked regardless), but really just a small reminder this man IS super capable and badass, even if his shadow is lowkey falling apart.

asking for a friend 🙈🙈🙈

I need you too much

Seline always felt like she had to beat the world back with a stick sometimes, to conserve her energy levels.

Everything tried to syphon her. Every class, every homework, every person, everything needed for work. And that was fine, that's why she made sure to enjoy all those things as much as she could. Careful selection.

But she still needed those precious days where she could just stay in her room and do nothing. Just her thoughts, her books, some writing done, music and daydreams. No obligations, no socialising or putting herself together.

She needed to just be with herself to recharge her batteries.

And she was careful about that time even with Isaiah and Matt. While she made an effort to be present with them, whole-heartedly and completely, to make traditions, to spend time together, there were moments that were untouchable and only hers.

But now the most terrible feeling came upon her.

She wanted to spend the entire weekend with Isaiah.

She couldn't sleep that night, thinking of how much she didn't want to go back to the house or to her room or to her books, if she could just be with him. One more day. An extra day of the week.

It wasn't a thing she felt like she could say out loud without sounding insane. Every girl in her shoes would logically want to spend all her time with her boyfriend.

But Isaiah wasn't just in the category "interesting" or "not exhausting". He was category "share every thought with", "read him the best passage on the page" and "childish kind of delight" at just seeing his face.

This was terrible. Out of control terrible, horrible.

So instead of enjoying the evening and hurrying home from class, she sat down at the park next to uni and watched the trams. Sun came and went, twilight came and went and she couldn't make herself move. Afraid to go home; afraid to completely lose herself in that irresistible desire to see that man.

Oh, this was so so bad.

Seline refused to give someone that much power over her. To hurt her, to control her. She wasn't going to depend on anyone and even less on a guy. Her thoughts were supposed to be enough to make her happy - she was enough to make herself happy.

The streets were clearing out. Vienna wasn't particularly calm at night, but the vicinity of the main university building sure missed its students in these hours.

Seline almost didn't notice, except the trams weren't coming that often and the wind was starting to howl emptily.

She should go home. This wasn't particularly secure anymore. Not that she needed anyone to feel secure. No way.

"Ah, look at that. Isn't that Seline?"

Seline blinked, getting herself back in the present.

The girl had long violet hair, a coat with spiraly patterns and long fale earrings shimmering in the steetlamp light. The other one she held around the waist had long brown curly hair and dark eyes and was considerably smaller in size.

"Hi, Violet," Seline muttered. "Bye, Violet."

Violet gave her a sly smile. "Oh you are not getting rid of me that easily. You know Seline, Cami? That's the witch that used to be in our coven."

Seline sighed, leaning back on the bench. Just the kind of theatrics she needed.

"You know why she got kicked out?"

"I left," Seline corrected, trying to not to let herself get baited into this. Violet was not worth the time to argue with.

"She believes," Violet continued, voice rising, "into the human system of work. Wants to waste her valuable magic and time for salary and live under explotative capitalist conditions. Some serious brainwashing, isn't it?"

Seline rolled her eyes. "It's called having interests outside of magic. And wanting to contribute something to the society."

"We are contributing. Our magic. A proper witch should get the freedom to develop her talents and arts."

"No, you just want somebody to take care of you just because you were born," Seline said, voice acidic. "If you can't find a wolf who would do so just cause you look pretty, then the state should do it for you. Cause food and electricity simply fall out of the sky and witches are too cool to work like normal mortals."

Violet frowned. "You just aren't skilled with magic so you look for something pathetic to fill the void."

"Yes, indeed, lot of pathetic people work at the university."

"I am at the university too."

"That's it, Violet. You are, you don't work. You just put stickers with communist ideas onto bathrooms and tables and feel important. Giving speeches about how everything should belong to everybody, because you shouldn't have to create anything of value, since you have a talent for magic."

"That's-"

"Magic," Seline interrupted, "that doesn't work on humans or for humans. It comes from wolf shadows and works only on them. Tell me Violet, what exactly is your problem? Can't find a job to your liking? Or can't be bothered to put in any effort or thought into one?"

"You should learn how to shut up," Violet was downright hissing. "So it doesn't cost you that precious job of yours."

"Are you pulling the strings now, Vi? If you at least read the crap you put on those stickers or actually went 50 kilometers to the east to see what your ideas looked like in practice in the Sowjet Union-"

"That you came from to steal our jobs and places at universities," Cami said, looking terribly proud of herself for pitching in. "Little Slavic refugee and a thief."

This is the EU, you idiot. I have every right to he here. Seline stood up, making a mocking motion as if she was tipping her head to the two witches, heart racing. "Your intelligence knows no bounds. Have a good evening, bitches."

She made to move behind the bench and to the other side of the park, when a tall figure suddenly appeared out of the shadow, blocking her way.

"If only you stayed a little bit longer, Sel," Violet said in the sweetest fake voice she could manage. "You might have had found a wolf to protect you."

...

"Isaiah, you are overreacting."

Isaiah didn't slow down at Matthew's protests as he hurried down the street, into the direction of Seline's last class.

"She should have been home hours ago."

"Yeah, maybe she found a bookshop on the way and forgot about time again."

"She is not answering me."

"Do I have to remind you of the speech she gave us both about being constantly available? She knows how to turn it off and all that crap." Despite his reassurances, Matthew jogged behind Isaiah at the same pace.

The streets were basically empty at 11 on Monday. Isaiah let his shadow up to have more senses to search with. His shadow eagerly consumed the darkness and the streets around, melting into it.

It sensed another intense eagerness just ahead of them.

Isaiah sped up into an outright run, Matthew close on his heels.

He didn't catch Seline's scent until he was almost there. They stood upwind with buildings all around, it was hard to track.

But it was Seline alright. Circled by a bunch of wolves who were throwing her around like a volleyball. Frozen solid in their grip, tyring not to show a reaction. Sign of fear or pleading would just rile a wolf up.

Wolves technically shouldn't harm witches. Witches had a powerful calming effect on them, making it very hard to be hostile to them.

But there were other witches present. Two altogether, standing a bit to the side but with good view. A wolf head over heels for a witch would be capable of many impossibilities.

The girls noticed them first, the one with blue-violet hair immediately positioning herself between them.

Matthew stopped at the sight, unsure. Wolf should not harm a witch. Not only was it physically uncomfortable, felt entirely wrong for a wolf to do so, it was strictly forbidden and looked-down upon.

A wolf should not touch a witch without her permission. Touch ment connection and connection meant magic.

Isaiah had not decided what to say yet, but he did not feel any qualms. "You let her go right now," he said quietly. "This is the only warning you will get."

The violet witch smiled widely as the wolves behind her looked up, sneering.

"I don't think you are paying attention, pal," one of the wolves said. "It's six of us. And it's only two of you. You really want to fight us?"

Might makes right kind of idiots? Fine with him.

Isaiah noticed Matthew's hesistant look, not seeing a way how to get to the wolves around the two witches he wasn't supposed to touch.

Isaiah didn't wait for him. His shadow was up and about in the darkness, covering the ground underneath them. One quick twist and they were all falling down, feet flying up as if he pulled the carpet underneath them.

The girl's smile turned into a surprised grimace.

Before anyone could move Isaiah used his shadow to sweep over the wolves, rolling their shadows one by one with smoothness of years of experience.

He stepped closer, pushing the two witches out of the way as they yelped, looking down. His shadow didn't need a straight path. And he had enough control not to touch Seline in the midst of them.

She was standing upright in the middle with a stony expression. But her arms were wrapped around her, her hair was sticking in all directions. He scanned her for any signs of blood or injury.

Not finding any didn't really quell his anger.

"I thought you wanted to fight," Isaiah said, turning back to the wolves crawling and moaning on the ground. Three were shivering without their shadows, one was curled up holding his head, one was even passed out. Rolling a shadow was never pleasant.

The last one, the one who spoke, was crawling away. Isaiah quickly closed the distance between them, kicking him into the stomach. And then in the face for good measure.

He took him by the collar, easily lifting him with one hand. "You come after my girl again, I'll rip your arms off, you hear?"

The wolf shook violently than nodded.

Isaiah turned around, his shadow riding around in satisfaction, brimming with happy aggressive energy. It wanted to make good on his threat right away, wanted to rip them to little pieces along with the witches.

Isaiah looked back at Seline and down, suddenly self-conscious of how much of those desires she could read from his expression.

Seline said nothing, retrieving her bag from the ground.

She did not take his hand, when he offered it.

...

Isaiah was sure he had fucked things up spectacularly. He went all scary in front of Seline, did not even wait for Matt to back him up. He just rushed into it with killing intent.

The way Seline got scared from Matthew's shadow, how she cried and shut him down for weeks to come was fresh in his mind, making his chest tight and dread pool in his stomach.

Seline said nothing on their ride back home and didn't look at any of them. He wasn't sure how to interpret it, she was very hard to read, when she didn't want some kind of emotion to show. But it must have been fear. What else could it have been?

Fear from what just happened and from him and from being involved with wolves in general...

When they arrived at their apartment, she went upstairs immediately. Clear signal she wanted space.

"This is going to be a problem," Isaiah said quietly, staring at the staircase.

Matthew bumped into his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at her! She is terrified of me!" He turned around to lean his forehead against the wall.

There was angry stomping on the floor above them. Then a slam of the door.

"Yeah, I don't think fear is what we are talking about," Matthew said dryly. "She looks pissed to me."

"Huh?" Isaiah said intelligently. His brain was short-circuiting at how he just went all Executioner in front of his girlfriend.

"Yep. Stop making guesses and go talk it out. No point worrying about something that might not be true."

"But- Did you not see-"

"I saw fine. It was plenty cool, if you ask me," Matthew said with a smirk. "Shoo."

Isaiah shook his head in exasperation, but went up.

Seline was in the process of changing and getting ready for bed. She slammed the cupboards violently behind her, the doors creaking painfully as she threw them open and then shut again.

Isaiah slipped inside her room, a little stunned by the display. He couldn't remember if he had seen Seline like this before.

"Ehhh...are you okay?"

She gave him an indignant look. "I'm fine! Perfectly fine!"

Isaiah watched her as she glared at her discarded jeans and shirt on the bed, in her PJs already, suddenly grateful Seline's affinity was water and not fire.

"Why didn't- you could have called me, you know?" He said tentatively into the silence. "I would have come sooner."

"I didn't need you to come."

Isaiah's eyebrows knitted together. "Well, then you could have at least called Matthew or messaged us where you were, so if something happened, we would know to look for you."

"I don't need-"

"You message your mother when you go to school and arrive home, why the hell can't you do the same for your pack?" Isaiah interjected, voice jumping up. "If you don't want to see me, fine, if you- at least let us know you are okay. Not to mention you weren't-"

"If those cows didn't bring their wolves, I would have been alright," she said, turning back to him, her chin up.

"I don't doubt that, but they had wolves around and it's my duty as your packmember and packleader-" Why was he defending his desire to protect her again?

He knew it was the wrong thing to say by the furious look in her eyes.

"Look," he said, pressing the bridge of his nose. "Wolves are dangerous, the city is dangerous and I just want to keep you safe. You can at least make sure of that, right? If you need a break from-from me or if you are disgusted or scared of me right now- there are still ways how to-"

"What are you going on about?"

"You didn't answer my messages or my calls all day," Isaiah said. "I thought something was wrong or that you were upset with me."

Seline watched him silently as if that wasn't all.

"And...right now...That must have been scary, right? I don't blame you for-"

She gave a dramatic sight. "I was upset. But not with you."

Seline approached. Isaiah suppressed the urge to back away, keeping the space he had drawn around her in his head untouched.

Seline's eyes widened at something, then she took the last three steps between them to stand right in front of him. "I'm not scared of you. That was actually...really nice of you. To defend me like that."

"Yeah?" He rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. "I don't want you to see-"

"I have never been scared of you. Wolves, sometimes, and yelling maybe, but not you. You would never do anything to hurt me." She took his face between her hands to make him look at her.

Isaiah let out a relieved breath, putting his hands over hers on his cheeks. "Okay. That's good, I'm glad. So what were you...upset about before?"

He watched her face intently, and his heart jumped into his throat where there were suddenly tears spilling over her cheeks.

"Sel?"

"I don't-" she broke off with a shuddering breath, ducking her head. "I don't want to need you this much."

"I'm sorry - what?"

"It's like I depend on you to protect me, and-and I'm doing it all wrong. I'm not supposed to tell you stuff like this, but I wanted- I want to be with you too much." She let go of his face, hugging herself.

Isaiah had the distinct feeling he was missing something. "And that's bad how?"

She looked up at him, her eyes even bluer from the tears.

"Isn't that kind of why we are together?"

Her blond eyebrows met in the center of her forehead in annoyance. "Don't you understand how bad this is? You...you are better than my solitude."

Isaiah frowned until he remembered the quote she meant. It was one of the quote books that they read in the evening to each other, sometimes to discuss them. My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.

His heart was fluttering in his chest at the proclamation as he understood what this meant.

Not needing more reassurance than that, he scooped her up from her feet, hugging her to him. No way he was allowing his girlfriend to feel so sad about caring about him so much.

He dragged her into the bed, arms wrapped snuggly around her, and she reciprocated, hugging him just as tight around the waist. Like she couldn't get close enough.

„Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within," he said into her ear, nose in her hair. "You know that one? Cause that's how it feels to be with you."

Her breath hitched against him, her face buried in his chest he wondered how she could even breathe. But he couldn't make himself let her go.

He wondered how he ever could again.

[graycats-arcane-blog]

Lightcannon Week, day 5 fic!

Prompt: Rebound

Title: By the End of the Week

Rating: T

Length: 2.7k

AO3: link

@lightcannonweek

Synopsis:

“So, how long do you think the rebound will last?”

“Oh, they’ll be broken up by the end of the week. Did you see Garen dragging Lux off? I bet he’s chewing her out right now, reminding her what a red flag looks like.”

. . .

Freshman Year of College, Fall Break

Two months after they fell hard and fast into a whirlwind relationship, Lux invited Jinx to spend a week in Demacia. They arrived at the Crownguard Estate to find that Lux’s family had arranged a welcome-back party, but Jinx didn’t feel very welcome as Garen dragged Lux away and left Jinx to wander...

 

“Have you seen that girl she brought home?”

The Crownguards' massive-fucking-house had a proportionally massive-fucking-restroom, big enough for a small clique of women to touch up their makeup together inside. At least, that’s what Jinx inferred from the multiple voices chattering behind the closed door. All she wanted to do was take a leak, but Jinx had to wait for these chicks to clear out before she could claim the space. Leaning back against some of the fanciest floral wallpaper she’d ever touched, Jinx sighed, crossed her arms over her chest, and settled in to wait.

There was a highly-polished grandfather clock tick-tick-ticking at the end of the hall. The clock was about two feet taller than her and probably worth more than her childhood home. Tapping a finger against her arm to the pace of the ticking, Jinx entertained herself by perusing the details of the intricate woodwork. However, she swiftly grew bored of this observation and rerouted her attention to the bathroom gossip.

“I know, right! I’ve been waiting for someone to bring her up!”

“When Lux said she’d found someone abroad, I thought she’d bring home a Piltovan gentleman. Maybe a doctorate student with a tweed suit and a designer watch collection! But her…”

“I know, right!”

Jinx’s finger, still subconsciously tapping, slowed and went still.

Those chicks were talking about her, weren’t they?

“Where do you even think she found that girl?” The voice paused briefly, and Jinx heard a click like a compact closing. “She can’t be a university student. She looks more like… I dunno… someone you’d find at a cheap club, dancing to something crass.”

“Maybe that’s how they met?” another voice suggested. “After the breakup, I bet Lux was looking for some fun to take her mind off things…”

“… So she got drunk at a club and let the first person who pounced on her take her home!” The prior voice exclaimed.

Another woman snorted derisively. “What a way to pick a rebound,” she scoffed in a high, scathing voice that reminded Jinx of a pissed-off sump mosquito. “Speaking of which, did Jarvan ever say why he broke up with her?”

“I haven't heard anything…”

Conversation briefly petered off as the women waited for anyone to step forward with information. When it was clear that this line of inquiry would go nowhere, one of them posed an easier topic of gossip.

“So, how long do you think the rebound will last?”

“Ha! They’ll be broken up by the end of the week," the woman with the annoying mosquito-voice declared confidently. "Did you see how Garen dragged Lux off the moment she walked through the door? I bet he’s chewing her out right now, reminding her what a red flag looks like.”

“Yeah, he’ll set her straight,” one of her cronies agreed. “I almost feel sorry for that girl. It’ll be awkward for her here once Lux dumps her.”

“Lux is pretty nice, so she’ll probably book her an early plane ticket back instead of keeping her here for the full break,” another suggested.

Jinx curled her lip. What a bunch of slime-brained, maggot-ridden dummies. They’d barely seen Lux and Jinx interact, but they thought they knew enough to put an expiration date on Jinx’s romance?

… And, yeah, sure, they’d made a lucky guess about Lux meeting Jinx at a club instead of on campus. But Jinx was a student, just like Lux, and they were making plenty of not-club-related memories together!

One of the women sighed. “I can still barely believe it,” she mused in a tone that sounded genuinely confused. “I get that the breakup was rough for her, and we all know she was feeling rebellious when she chose to go to Piltover for school, but bringing a girl like that home?”

“You’re one to talk,” said mosquito-voice snidely. “Remember when Keith dumped you in high school, and a week later you were caught making out with the vagabond who sold weed in the parking lot?”

“Nooo!” the woman wailed. “Urgh, you just had to remind me! I was trying to forget about that!”

"We’re all just glad you came to your senses,” one of her friends said more kindly. “What happened to that guy, anyway?”

“Hmm? Oh, I have no idea. This is the first time I’ve thought of him in years.”

“I think I read about him getting imprisoned,” mosquito-voice snipped.

“Well, that makes sense for him,” the other woman sighed. “This is a depressing topic… Hey, we should think of a nice guy to set Lux up with once she pulls herself together!”

“Yeah,” one of her friends agreed. “Just because she’s going through a phase doesn’t mean we should give up on her! Tess, you have a single brother, right? Is he hot?”

Gritting her teeth, Jinx shoved herself off of the wall and stomped down the hall.

There’s gotta be a bathroom in this massive-fucking-house that isn’t full of buzzing little sump-bugs.

 

. . .

 

Long after she’d left the gossip-room behind, located another piss-bowl in that maze of a house, and gotten her business dealt with, Jinx felt like she could still hear that grandfather clock tick-tick-ticking in the back of her mind. It felt like a timer, as if some part of Jinx were counting down to a moment of truth.

Tick-tick-tick-tick…

“Ha! They’ll be broken up by the end of the week.”

“Shut up,” Jinx muttered to no one in particular under her breath.

Rather than returning to the ballroom – an entire fucking ballroom! Who even had those anymore? – where the welcome-back-party was trundling on in boring splendor, Jinx wandered the halls without direction, working out her nervous energy through pacing legs. In one corridor, she found herself walking under another tick-tick-ticking clock...

"Did you see how Garen dragged Lux off the moment she walked through the door? I bet he’s chewing her out right now, reminding her what a red flag looks like.”

Lux’s brother had looked grim when he’d dragged Lux away. His eyes had narrowed with distrust when he’d looked at Jinx.

Balling her hands, Jinx shoved them deep into her pockets. That was the only safe place to keep her hands, considering how much she suddenly itched to punch a clock. Or a mirror. Or maybe someone’s face.

Would Lux be upset if Jinx smashed one of her friends or family’s faces in? Was a tendency to smash faces one of those red flags Garen was warning Lux about? Would Lux break up with Jinx immediately after the face-smashing, then send her back to Piltover alone, and then forget about Jinx in a couple of months after one of her friends set her up with someone’s brother? What then? Would Lux even think about Jinx after that, or would Jinx become a rare afterthought?

"Jinx? Oh, I remember her. Knowing what she was like, I'd guess she's in prison for arson or something like that right now. Honestly, I haven't kept up with her at all. It's for the best. That was such a weird part of my life; I'm just glad it's over!”

Tick-tick-tick, sang a very punchable clock from somewhere around the next corner.

Jinx flexed her pale, wiry hands, drawing them tensely out of her pockets. Zoning in on the ticking noise, she stormed down the hall, picking up her pace as she rounded the corner, and…

… ran face-first into Lux’s chest.

“Oh!” A pair of pale, tender hands gently grasped Jinx’s shoulders to steady her. Jinx’s brain felt stuck as she tipped her head back to meet shining, sky-blue eyes and a warm, summery smile. “There you are,” Lux said joyfully, her smile stretching beautifully wider as she gave Jinx's shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “I’ve been looking for you!”

“… Hey,” Jinx replied halfheartedly after a moment of lag-time.

Lux leaned down to press a lingering kiss to Jinx’s forehead. Although she craved more contact, hungry to cling and keep, Jinx didn’t chase Lux as she took a short step back and offered Jinx a rueful expression. “I’m sorry about the surprise party,” she said with a sigh. “I know you wanted some alone-time to relax after the airport.”

Jinx shrugged, shoving her hands back into her pockets. “The party’s stupid, but it’s fine,” she grumbled.

Lux’s grin wilted. As her eyes flicked slowly over Jinx’s face, Jinx felt like a germ getting studied under a miscroscope – a sick, dying germ. Lux’s brows pinched together with concern, and her lips parted to voice a question.

Rather than giving Lux the chance to point out her mopiness, Jinx cut in, “What did the big guy wanna talk with you about?”

Lux blinked, perhaps startled as Jinx’s question derailed her from her own. Then, a bitter, irate expresion clouded her face. “Nothing important,” she huffed. “I love my brother, but I hate when he tells me how to live my life. Garen would prefer if I let him make all my decisions for me.” Shooting Jinx a wry grin, she traced a fingertip under Jinx's chin, sending a faint shiver through Jinx's body, and added in a purr, “It’s a good thing you’ve been giving me lessons in autonomy. It’s been nice to make some decisions he wouldn’t approve of.”

Lux looked enraptured as she grinned at Jinx, like someone under a spell. Her attention was flattering, enticing even, but... spells weren't meant to last, were they?

“… we all know she was feeling rebellious when she chose to go to Piltover for school…”

“… going through a phase…”

Tick, tick, tick…

Jinx folded her arms, clasping her twitching fingers tightly over her biceps, and nervously turned her head away.

Lux looked closely at Jinx again. This time, she voiced her question before Jinx could cut her off. “Hey, are you feeling alright?”

Jinx dug her nails into her skin. “I’m fine.”

“Jinx.”

Fuck. Damn it. That was Lux’s I-know-there’s-something-you’re-not-saying-and-if-you-don’t-tell-me-what-it-is-I’m-going-to-be-cross tone. Jinx bit her lip for a long moment, not meeting Lux’s eyes.

Then, hesitantly, Jinx posed a question.

“Lux… what do you like about me? Aside from the fact that I piss your brother off?”

If Lux was surprised by the question, she didn’t show it. She reached forward, gently tucked a flyaway of Jinx’s bangs behind her ear, and said, “You’re cute, creative, and by far the most fun person I’ve ever met. I feel good when I'm with you. I feel free.”

When Lux’s hand lingered by her face, Jinx dared to lean her cheek against it, savoring her touch. Lux's hand felt far more grounding than Jinx's own restless legs, so anxious to pace-pace-pace to the tempo of a ticking clock. “Do you think you would’ve been interested in me if we’d met before you and your ex split?” Jinx followed up.

Lux grinned coyly. “If you and I had met earlier, my previous relationship would've ended much sooner.” With a tilt of her head, she added, “Now, I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what brought these questions on?”

“… Just overheard some gossip,” Jinx admitted, turning her head so that she could hide her grimace and half-muffle her voice against Lux’s hand. “Your old pals were yakking about how I’m your rebound. How you only picked me ‘cause you were feelin’ rough after your ex dumped you. They were making bets on whether we’d last the week, now that big brother's around to 'set you straight.'”

“…”

After a long moment’s silence, Jinx cautiously met Lux’s eyes again.

Oh, fuck, she looked mad!

“Who said that to you,” Lux asked in a low, dangerous voice. “Who called you a rebound?”

Damn, that tone did funny things to Jinx's insides. The sight of Lux getting angry on her behalf did make Jinx feel a little better, in a tingly, guy-twisting way. Reassured by Lux’s passion, she said with feigned dismissiveness, “They didn’t say it to me directly. I think there were four or five of ‘em crammed into one of the restrooms. One of them had a kind of high, whiny voice, but I didn’t stick around to see them.”

Lux let out a long breath. “I’ll find them and deal with them later,” she promised darkly in a way that made Jinx feel a pinch of giddiness despite the night’s insecurities. “But for now… First of all, I want you to know that my ex didn’t break up with me. I dumped him, and my mind felt clearer that day than it had felt in years. The only reason we'd gotten together in the first place was because my brother asked me to give him a chance, but I knew I couldn't live by Garen's suggestions anymore if I was ever going to be free.” From the pride in Lux’s voice, Jinx could have no doubt that what she said was true. “Second… I would’ve hoped that the care I’ve given you in these past few weeks would be enough to show you that you’re not just a rebound to me, Jinx.”

At Lux's dour tone, a wave of guilt washed over Jinx. Was Lux disappointed in Jinx for not having more faith in her? Did she feel slighted by the way Jinx had clearly been affected by the gossip she’d overheard?

Jinx hadn’t meant to get all gloomy about it! She didn’t want to feel like her relationship was on a timer! She just…

… she just wasn’t very secure about these sorts of things, considering how many friends and family members had left her behind.

Jinx winced when Lux leaned forward again, not wanting to see disappointment on her partner’s face. However, Lux kissed her forehead again, slowly and gently, and said in a soft, sad whisper, “I’ll try harder to show you what you are to me. I’m sorry I’ve let you feel this way.”

What? Lux felt sorry? Lux shouldn’t feel sorry! “You’ve been great, Sunshine!” Jinx quickly insisted. “The best! I just…" Jinx hesitated. She hadn’t explored her past with Lux yet, aside from some very brief anecdotes about people she used to know. Jinx had preferred to stay in the moment, to try and enjoy being with Lux instead of drowning in the ghosts that haunted the back of her mind, but this relationship wouldn’t last if she couldn’t open up, would it? "... I’ve always had trouble with keeping people I care about around. It’s… It’s really easy to believe that people are gonna leave, even when I’ve got someone awesome like you sayin’ that you care.”

“Oh, Jinx…”

Now Lux looked even sadder!

Way to go, Jinx!

Maybe this hadn’t been the right time to allude to her depressing past.

However, Lux’s gaze softened as she murmured, “Thank you for being honest with me. I always want you to feel safe telling me when you feel insecure. Is there anything I can do to help?”

… huh. Maybe depressing honesty didn’t completely suck.

“It’d be kinda nice if we could ditch this party and cuddle in your room,” Jinx suggested hesitantly. “And maybe we could... talk about stuff more?”

Rather than being bummed out at the notion of leaving her parent’s houseparty, Lux graced Jinx with a smile that shone like the sun. “I think that sounds like a perfect way to spend the evening.”

 

. . .

 

Later that knight, after they'd cuddled and chatted in the security of Lux's room, Jinx felt closer to her partner in more ways than one as she rested in a sleeping Lux's arms. 

Lux had been adamant in telling Jinx how much she cared about her, damn the suggestions of her family and recommendations of her friends. They'd fallen fast, but they were good together, weren't they? They had fun. They were happy. 

But they were so, so different too, the nasty voice in the back of Jinx's head relentlessly reminded her. This is just the beginning of a week that will remind Lux what world she came from, and how little you fit in here.

Somewhere in the room, a clock was tick-tick-ticking. 

Placing a hand over one ear, Jinx nestled more firmly into Lux's side and, slowly, drifted into a fitful sleep.

[kit-williams]

Moral Support

Male Lead: Perturabo Female Lead: Faustina Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/D&D au Canon Status: Yeah just made me realize something

Note: This has made me realize I need to rework my D&D headcanons and maybe rewrite them in a way that I'm more comfortable writing.

Perturabo paused his tinkering as he could hear both Martel and Faustina talking rapidly... quite loudly too. Martel was mad... and a young woman from Zazzal... which were considered a passionate people... an analytical type of people who could almost out contract a devil if they tried.

"I WISH I WAS NEVER BORN!" He could hear his daughter yell before storming off.

His ears could pick up the soft sighs from Faustina.

Martel was very much like her elder brothers Piero and Ignazio as they all followed in his footsteps of tinkering and experimenting and other artistic pursuits. Piero was proof that he could make Astartes if he wanted to as the extensive alchemical sciences and surgeries on both of his eldest two boys mixed with the magical armor they were able to forge and they were a close approximation. Strong enough to handle threats that would pop up in such a city.

However... Perturabo wasn't willing to put Martel through all of what her brothers went through... as well as his thoughts on what an Astartes is suppose to be and do and give up. Perhaps he had fibbed a bit... he really didn't know if what he engineered would be rejected by her body. He wasn't willing to do that to Faustina and take away all their children to be proof of his genius. Piero was enough... Ignazio wanted to go through it as well... and so did Martel.

He rubs his forehead as Faustina sets a plate down next to him with some food. "She is unhappy with what I've said." He says plainly as he sets down his tools.

"Have you seen her log book?" She simply says.

"Yes she has been working on plans for her armor."

"Working on it for years now. They would make a good suit." He says looking at his beloved.

Faustina sighs, "I don't like seeing her so upset. I just was trying..."

Perturabo just grabs her hands and gives her one of his rare smiles as he kisses her knuckles, "I know you were. But Martel is your daughter and is passionate."

"Oh please Perty she takes after your stubbornness and drive and she just couldn't handle not..."

"Succeeding?" Perturabo says having the ghost of a feeling of that bitterness bubble up when he was snubbed by Father so... many... times... He tries his best to let his children know how proud he is of them but it is hard to express it at times... he's gotten better of course and praised for his ability to do better than his father.

"Perty?" Faustina says looking at him stand up as he looks to the door.

"I'm going to go talk to Martel."

-----

He could see the stewing Twelve year old girl with his signature scowl on her face as she was hugging her knees tightly just looking at the fish in the waterway near their villa.

"Calliphone." He says as he prefers to use their 'business' or middle name given that they honor people he actually cares about.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you." At least she didn't bottle it up like he tended to do.

Perturabo chuckles as he walks closer, "Really last I remember you proclaimed that you were my favorite child."

"No that is clearly Rogal and Vulkan are." He could hear her start to sniffle as he walks over and sits besides the small willowy child.

"Calliphone..."

She looked up at him with her brow furrowed but tears threatening to flow out of her eyes as she scowled at him... her bottom lip still quivering as her cheeks were red and he could see her knuckles were white as she shook her tiny fists in this rage against a universe that seemed to deny her what her tiny heart desired... his continued approval. "N-no I'm mad at you."

He holds up an open hand and feels her tiny fists punch his palm. He couldn't feel her tiny strikes of rage as those tears flowed down her cheek and chin, "I want to be Iron! I wanna be Iron! Wanna be Ibron." She soon dissolves into crying as her words turn into unintelligible sobbing all slurring together.

He tilts his head as he pulls her against him with a small smile as he pets her head. "Who told you that you wouldn't be Iron?"

He waits for her to calm down a bit to coherently reply as he draws shapes on her shoulder distracting her, "No one..." She finally replies after a minute.

"Did Rogal or Vulkan tell you that?"

"Noooo." She sniffles hard wiping her nose.

"So who would dare go against what the Lord of the fourth... the Lord of Iron has decreed?" He says poking her forehead looking at her green eyes with his own blue green ones as her blonde hair is a start contrast to the black of her brothers.

"Me..." She sits on his knee as she wipes her eyes.

"You? My princess of the fourth? Why would you go against my decree?" He pulls her into a hug lying back as he has gotten better at comforting his children... Faustina has helped him so much... going with what feels right hardly steers him wrong.

"Because I can't be an Iron Warrior."

"Do you know who I named you after?" He sees her shake her head, "My adopted sister. I loved her dearly and... I might have had a few regrets on being a terrible brother to her." He pauses as a violent memory flashes behind his eyes and he hugs his daughter tighter. "She was so strong. And you my Calliphone will be strong."

"Thank you papa." She smiles

------- (10 years later)------

Perturabo lumbers into the training yard as he was in his full regalia and at his full height. He could hear his nieces and nephews cheering her on as he could see Perio and Ignazio standing besides mother as Fabrizio holding her skirt and she holding Andrea.

"Tell me the Litany." Perturabo's voice booms out.

From Iron Cometh Strength... From Strength Cometh Will... From Will Cometh Faith... From Faith Cometh Honor... From Honor Cometh Iron... This is the Unbreakable Litany. May it forever be so!

Martel shouts back to her father as she pours magic into her war hammer making it larger and lightning crackles about the head. "Show me your skills Calliphone!"

"IRON WITHIN IRON WITHOUT!" She shouts as her magical armor slides over her form.

Though the helmet was on hiding his face but Perturabo was smiling and proud of his little girl. He could see the craftsmanship in her armor as each piece was made by her hands in the style of his warriors. She was an Iron Warrior... she was Iron... and he knows his sister would have loved to have meet her. He did his best to make up for his sins against her by being a good father.

He watches her rush towards him as the hammer rushes at him in a healthy arc. He smiles looking at her handywork up close it will be a shame that he will have to put her in her place. She was only just a Princess of the Fourth for a reason while he was the Lord.

taglist (SORRY FOR FORGETTING YOU GUYS I DIDNT MEAN IT BABY NEARLY YEETED HIMSELF OUT OF HIS BASSINET) @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

[rbinsgf]

Gold Rush

Eddie Munson was loosing a fight against his very own demons.

Eddie Munson was proud of who he was. What he stood for. What he was capable to create and imagine, may it be guitar riffs or fantasy stories. He was unapologetically and so loudly himself that everyone thought that man was an open book. One look at the guy and you could probably guess five true things about him. But Eddie Munson had a secret. A secret so big that even his best friend Gareth and his uncle Wayne didn’t know about it.

Eddie cares about his aesthetic, his style and which vibes he gives off. He also cares about specific values and what he called the "Munson’s rules of the universe". And this secret went against everything cited just before. This secret would ruin his reputation at so many level he would have to move to Canada or something.

Eddie Munson had a crush. On a boy. That last part isn’t the main problem which is an insane thing to say when that whole situation takes place in Hawkins, Indiana in 1984. No no you see, the actual problem here is that Eddie Munson has a crush on the enemy. His arc nemesis. His natural opposite. The bane of his existence.

Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington.

Eddie wants to crack his skull open on the nearest sharp corner at hand every time he see Harrington ridiculous coiffe in the school’s hallway. He wants to bite down on his locker whenever he hears Harrington’s laugh. Eddie would rather witness his DND set, Ozzy poster AND his sweetheart burn down before him than admit to anyone that shameful secret.

Eddie may be dramatic, but if you ask him, actually passing out cold when his brain processed that crush, was a very normal and legitimate reaction.

But Eddie loved to go against the rules, even his apparently.

So now he just sits here, looking at the fallen King of Hawkins High out of the corner of his eyes. Eddie loved his hair, even more now as it hides him as he spies on a miserable looking Harrington.

The King had "fallen" from the top of the food chain following the arrival of one annoying Billy Hargrove. Eddie hated that wannabe metalhead poser and regularly tried to explose him with his mind.

Now, as Eddie waits at the usual lunch table for his hellfire friends to join him, he watches as Steve’s eating alone. Stripped from his status, faced completely bashed in (rumors has it was Hargrove’s work), looking like a kicked puppy but still. Even in this state, everyone at Hawkins High still worshipped him. Eddie saw how some guys still looked up to him for validation or how others envied him still. Eddie couldn’t ignore the girls all fawning over him as he strolled down the hallways, head always held high.

And Eddie was part of all three of those categories of idiots and he loathed himself for it.

He was mad at himself for crushing on Steve Harrington like every other teenage girls and repressed boy around him.

Everyone wants Steve Harrington. And how could they not right ? Between the puffy hair, shiny big eyes, his overall nonchalant swagger. Eddie could wax poetry about the guy all day everyday if he wasn’t to busy being disappointed in himself.

One thing Eddie also prided himself with was his observation skills. And with that came a kin interest in analyzing and understanding other human beings. It’s not that he thinks he is better than everyone around him at this very instant for what he notices about Harrington, but he kinda does thinks he is better than everyone surrounding him.

See, Steve hadn’t been eating anything, he was just moving the food around in his plate but what he has been doing was writing in a beat up notebook. Always looking warily around him before doing so.

Eddie had put those two information in a very classified folder of his mind as his friends appeared around him. Happy to finally be distracted from his self inflicted torture, he lets himself delve in the sounds of Jeff complaining about Mrs.Click class and Gareth snorting every so often at his friend’s dramatics.

Eddie glanced to the side as some movements caught his attention. Steve was getting up to leave, shouldering his backpack and taking his tray towards the trash. He glanced up briefly and his eyes caught Eddie’s, who quickly looked away.

Eddie didn’t see Steve leaving the cafeteria. He didn’t see Steve looking back at him several times too. He tried to listen to Gareth talking about how some Buckley girl nearly poked his eye out with a pen earlier, but his mind wasn’t cooperating at all.

No you see, Eddie’s mind definitely hated him as it couldn’t move away from that worn out notebook and what was written in it.

Eddie Munson will have to wait 2 more years, survivre some fried wizard from another dimension, an army of bats and attend a pool party to see that notebook again. It was just laying there on top of Steve’s desk sometimes during May 1986 at one of the party’s gatherings. Eddie was hiding in Steve’s room trying to flee an angry Dustin Henderson (the guy was serious about that never ending story song). Eddie’s curiosity took the best of him and he opened it, and he didn’t know what exactly he was hoping for but it was certainly not that.

The pages were filled with entries dated from the fall of 1984 until recently. Every days that had passed since then was written down with some quick summary of what had happened each day. Some parts were highlighted and some pages were marked in what seemed to be a color code with degree of importance of the information written. Some pages seemed to have been ripped. And some were blank.

One page caught his attention as it was the only one marked by a red sticky note slightly poking out. It took him to the entry of some day in fall of 1984, under the date was a short sentence about school and basketball practice but also another short phrase about a set of dark eyes, a mane of curly hair and a leather jacket across the cafeteria.

Eddie’s eyebrows were furrowed as his mind was going a few thousand miles an hour.

He knew Steve had memory problems due to all the time he got beaten up but he hadn’t realized how early it had all manifested.

Also, the thought of Steve wanting to remember 1984 Eddie sent all the man in question’s blood straight to his face.

That’s why Steve ended up finding Eddie, red faced, cursing and stomping around his room about how stupid the universe was and hyping himself up to finally make a move now that he actually may have a chance with his embarrassing high school crush.

"You had a crush on me in High School ? Wasn’t it too mainstream for mister anti-conformity ?"

Eddie spluttered as he turned around.

"You better wipe that smugness off your face Harrington I swear to god !"

"Why don’t you come here and do it yourself Munson ?"

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Here you go gang with a little steddie ficlet !

I love the hc that Steve has memory problems (since I do have some too) and Eddie being frustrated with his crush is also one of my fav trope.

Hope you enjoyed it and don’t hesitate comment and give me some feedbacks !

Love you 🫶🏼🧡

[multi-fandom-bi]

6, 16, 25, and 26 for the soc asks!

Thanks for the ask!!

6. There are a lot of things that I would have liked to get more attention but most of all I wanna know about the crows' lives before shit went down, like the little details that don't really matter in the long run. Obviously we know quite a lot about Inej and Kaz but there are aspects of their lives that we don't know and also: what about the other crows? How was Wylan's relationship with his father befor Van Dick found out he can't read? How did Jesper manage to get into Ketterdam University and what was he studying? What about Matthias's and Nina's childhoods before the shipwreck? How did Inej experience girl hood before it was taken from her? Did Kaz help around the farm when he was little? I could go on and on about this but you get the idea

16. You have opened Padora's box with this one, love. I have several hills I would climb and die on gladly, but I would pick the one that truly makes me mad: Jesper is a great character that is more than the loveable comic relief. I mean my guy got into Ketterdam University and we are told this is a rich-ass institution that you have to be really good to get into and Jesper just did it. His chapters are dumbed down to his jokes by the fandom and everyone glimpses over the internal turmoil he has: when he sees the "trophies" that the Fjerdans keep from fallen Grisha, when he is outted as a Grisha to everyone, when he talks about his infatuation with Kaz. Jesper is as well rounded as all the others and some ppl need to understand that. I also think the same about Matthias (how he is more than Nina's love interess) and Wylan (about how he's not the baby that the fandom makes him out to be), but I think I will make a separate post on those two.

25. What I like most about the duology are the characters. Like they're all interesting and fun to read about on their own and as a group. I love the complex relationships everyone has and that they all have a goal that they want to achieve outside of the main heist. They all experience the same things/similar things but have varied responses (ex: when Inej was kidnapped) and that makes them feel more like actual ppl than book characters. One thing I wasn't so fond of however was probably the Jesper-Wylan-Kuwei situation but I think that just because I am an avid hater of love triangles that don't end in polyamory so, yeah. I'm not too mad about that but it still irks me.

26. There were a lot of points in the books that caught me off guard when I first read them but the one that shocked me the most was – prepare for a Basic bitch answer – "He was just Wylan. He told them everything". I know most of the fandom will say this but honestly that's for a good reason, I had to phisically put the book down and beat my fist into my bed when I read that and that doesn't happen very often for me. I was ready to defend Wylan till I died at that moment.

Wow this post got out of hand quick. If anyone wants to send me some more soc asks, go ahead and do so!

[cajon-desastre]

What a night

It was an unexpected gift, appreciated and enjoyed.

On the life of me I can assure you that I never believed that I would become part of the events of yesterday.

The rest I put behind the cut, it's too long and in case anyone wants to scroll and ignore my ramblings 😉

It all started by contacting another fan and meeting to see the atmosphere, curiosity mainly due to the fact that it was the first time that this event with Sam was held in Spain and, specifically, in Madrid, in my city. And I had another fan giving me virtual spanks if she didn't at least come look. The surprise was arriving at the building where it was going to be held and my friend telling me that she had gotten a double invitation and that I was her guest.

At that point my zen attitude went down the drain lol.🤣

During the waiting time at the entrance we observed the people who were queuing to enter, we assume that everyone had an invitation and the joy of the people was already noticeable, some came from Glasgow, London, Paris,…Honestly, I have always considered myself fan but not fanatic and it is a universe that surprised me by the amount of time and money that people can dedicate to their idol. Of course everyone is free to enjoy it in their own way.

It also gave us time to see the organization and it was disturbing to see that there were no fences, a bad thing when there are certain fans who have no limits and it could be a security problem.

In that time I also learned about the micro universe that is fan groups, their sections and their leaders. Not only was I already warned of what I was going to find, but it is worrying how these people become the "best fans" with the right to direct/say what to do and try to get noticed by all possible means. I think these women are not aware of the image they project, for me it was really creepy.

Once the gates opened, and we took up positions in the best places we could find, we had to wait a long time. The group I met with made funny comments, photos, selfies, and we watched people do the exact same thing. I saw solidarity and good gestures. Next to me was a girl with an older person who turned out to be her grandmother, because the young girl was accompanying her, the fan was her grandmother! hahaha. 🤣 The average age? The truth is that I saw everything but there were younger people than I expected, also some boys although fewer.

And we keep waiting. With the music on loop and there was nothing happening. They warned that the doors were going to be closed and people would not be able to go in or out and we stayed like that for a good half hour in which the mobile phones were on, focused on the doors waiting for the great appearance but the people from backstage were joking opening a door and then another. My phone battery was going to die if I kept waiting like that. Lack of foresight on my part because I had not expected to see myself in that situation a few hours before.

Until the master of ceremonies arrived dressed in a kilt and began to make jokes and cheer the audience. Now I know that, during that waiting time and the appearance of the emcee, Sam arrived and spent those minutes taking photos and signing the cards and books that would then be drawn at the end.

Yes, there was a raffle at the end, but I'll get to that.

And the big moment arrived and with it the madness, well, you'll be tired of watching videos of the grand entrance. Luckily for me he entered through the door closest to where he was sitting and I could see it in his full height.

And with him I also noticed two bodyguards who were part of the entourage that accompanied him to the stage.

The panel does not deserve that I tell you much more than what has been seen, it is there for those who want to see it in the usual places. Correct, funny and affable with the translator (thank goodness, I thought I wasn't going to find out anything), the interview was about what we already know or have seen in other events or interviews.

My shipper side was happy. Cait is always present in one way or another. At first he said that he practiced Spanish with her on set when he found out that he was coming to Spain (something unnecessary to say when the event was about him) and then, watching the scene at the printing press when he said that she shined . 🥰

The magical moment, for me, was when they aired the wedding clip, Jamie Fraser introducing himself to Claire with his full name. A chorus of voices recited the long Scotsman's name at once, myself included.

That was the moment, it is when you feel part of a community.

But there were also uncomfortable moments for women who do not know the limits of decorum and knowing how to be. Yelling things at Sam that would make him feel uncomfortable. The moderator had to divert the conversation on a couple of occasions. I will only put, for example, that they shouted insisting that they put on the wedding, the wedding night. Or comparing Sam to Jamie and asking how they were alike and yelling that it was her body. Sam deflected saying that was a body double.

That is the problem that I see in these meetings, the objectification and only considering it a piece of meat. And the liberties that certain fans want to take.

And as he arrived, he left, surrounded by security and with the phones taking photos and videos to save the last memory.

The doors were closed again and they wouldn't let people out…because there was going to be a raffle.

Then I understood Movistar's strategy in this event, intelligent and that made security very good. All the people were held in their places until Sam left, the same as when he arrived. Thus, complicated situations were avoided. No fences were needed at the entrance for that reason, it was never the intention to let Sam get close to people.

It may have been something that disappointed many, but it was much better that way.

And with the raffle came moments of embarrassment, because the bottle of water from which he had drunk was even raffled… anyway.🙄

The fun thing about the raffle is that there were signed books, Scottish cushions, cards with his autograph,… but do you know what really drove people crazy? The fan that he had used and he got a girl from our group hahaha.

Photos? I did a few but they weren't very good and I knew much better photos would be posted and videos too, I preferred to look at the stage and enjoy.

I will remember being able to be in the right place at the right time, thanks to the great generosity of my fan friend. Without her this would not have been possible and neither would I have been able to share my experience with you.

Will I repeat if the occasion arises again? I don't know, honestly. It has been magical because it was unique in Spain and that is why it is already special. When the time comes, if it comes, I'll think about it.

For that, thank you, thank you, thank you for doing the impossible so that I could enter the event. My little, jovial and nervous Fairy Godmother 🥰

Thank you, also to those enthusiastic girls who accompanied her and to whom I was able to put a face to several of them.

And thanks to Sam for having been encouraged to finally come to my country.

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

Hazformers-Ship CherriShock: The Nerd-Buck & Party-Girl (2024)

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[Note: Do NOT Reblog Without Permission...]

Credit for Hazformers AU goes to Blitzy-Blitzwing

Credit for Transformers goes to Hasbro & Takara

Credit for Transformers Animated goes to Sam Register & Matt Youngberg

Credit for Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss goes to Vivienne “Vivziepop” Medrano

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depending on how one can look at the ship of these two,

it can be like platonic or romantic, and be a bit like how Cherri and Pentious relationship started.

so far I came up with three ship names for Cherri & Shockwave...

the ship names are of course seen in the drawing, are ShockBomb, Cherriwave and CherriShock.

CherriShock might be my favorite one as Cherri & Shockwave's Platonic & Romantic Ship name.

I think Cherri would end up calling Shockwave a "Nerd" if they ever met...

she might also be a bit disrespectful to even Ratchet, maybe calling him "Grandpa" and even asking "who let him out of the home for the grumpy goats..."

I am speaking of a theoretical and hypothetical way, on what I believe could happen if Cherri ended up meeting Ratchet...

is it weird that Sera kinda reminds me of White Diamond of Steven Universe, like when you don't really hate her but she seems like a really bossy Mom and Matriarch who is stuck in the old ways of running things and thinks that "questioning" when it is needed, is bad and not a "good thing to do"...

Lilith, Charlie's Mom...could remind me of a bit of Pink Diamond but before she became a bit better and became Rose Quartz...

Lute could be a bit like Yellow Diamond and Jasper...

and Adam would possibly be like Blue Diamond, Spinel and Pink-Pearl.

Adam possibly went through a very bad depression because of Lilith and Lucifer, and he only ended up turning into a type of "Bad Boy" because those two had hurt him, like REALLY hurt him...in a emotional way.

even if he is full of himself and puts himself in a very high pedestal of importance, but for all we know...deep down, he is just a emotionally hurt soul who hides it and lets the worst parts of himself show instead of the parts of himself that he keeps hidden inside.

in theory, while there are different versions of Lilith in the Multiverse of the Fictional Dimension, the Lilith from the Hazbin Hotel's Main Timeline, might not be as sweet and loving to her family as she appears to be in the Fanon Timelines...

the book that tells the story about the Garden Of Eden, likely has half-truths and half-lies in it that Lilith may have wrote herself to make herself seem good in her daughter's eyes.

but at times there is more to a story than meets the eye.

just like how there is more than meets the eye when when it comes to who is a "good guy" and who's a "bad guy" when it comes to the Autobots and Decepticons...

like "If The Allspark is forever, Then Cybertron must be a lie."

being like a parody of "If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie."

I think that Shockwave would be taller than Cherri, like I know he is a bit shorter in his demon form but still taller than most...

but I think that he would be a bit more taller than Cherri.

Cherri could be like a "Agent Of Anarchy" and if hypothetically, Shockwave were to go even more wild and cut loose, it could be from Cherri getting him throw those Cherry-Bombs all over the Pentagram of the Pride Ring...

and yeah the tags for this drawing having the whole "opposites attract" has to do with CherriShock, and the whole "nerd boy" has to do with Shockwave and party gal has to do with Cherri.

and I guess Shockwave in this drawing, allowing Cherri to touch him would be a shock to anyone...

Cherri might end up being a bad influence on Bumblebee if those two ever met, like Cherri could become protective of Bumblebee and see him as that annoying little brother who you can't let leave your sight or else they might get into trouble, even if Cherri is all for trouble...cause she tends to get in a lot of it with Angel, but it could be different when Bumblebee is just too naive and innocent for his own good.

so like how Angel & Niffty is like my favorite pair in a "I Fam it" way, because of how Angel is so protective of Niffty, and acts like a helicopter Dad to her.

Husk is more like the tired Dad, and Blitzwing would be like the Fun Dad...I'm pretty sure that Niffty would be shorter than Bumblebee in his Anthropomorphic Bee Demon form.

like picture Bumblebee getting startled by Niffty. XD

Prowl may have been a Bad Boy before he started to train with Yoketron...so imagine Niffty calling Prowl a "Bad Boy" in front of everyone, knowing his dirty secret...

Niffty probably has a "Bad Boy Radar" even if it might be off at times, and those she thought was a bad boy, turns out not to be...much to her disappointment...

anyway, once again this drawing can be seen as both a platonic and romantic ship, which is why I'm using both the tags "platonic ship" and "romantic ship" for this drawing.

I think sometime when I'm able to, I will do another ship drawing of Megatron x Carmilla Carmine, and maybe sometime do another drawing of CherriShock.

yeah I know it is possible that CherriShock and Megamilla wont become a thing in the main stories of Hazformer, and I'm okay with that.

besides I can always OTP ship CherriShock and Megamilla in that story that has to do with Sari Sumdac at the age of 23 being the Main Character...the story is still on hiatus, but at some point I do plan to have Sari become 24 years old in the story that I'm working on over at Quotev, but I'm going to take my time with it...

also in theory, is weird to think if they did make another Season of TFA on TV and not just the fan type way...

would it be possible that Blitzwing would of picked a third alternate mode like a speed boat...?

like he can be a Jet and a Tank, for both the Sky and Land...

so why not a Boat for the Water...?

if he could scan a third mode, he probably wouldn't of figured that out until much later on...so it could be possible that Blitzwing could of been able to turn into not just a Jet and Tank, but also a Boat as well.

anyway back to whole CherriShock drawing...

I guess this could be a bit of a odd couple and crackship.

also even if the drawing itself isn't like "super mature", but I still want to use the "mature audiences only" tag, because of reasons...

and no matter what Toxic-Religious Jerk of Man Thinks, Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, is NOT for kids and is for a Mature Audiences...

I think I forgot the name of that Toxic-Religious Jerk, who dared call Hazbin Hotel a "Kids Show" or "Kids Cartoon" whichever it was that I might not 100% remember which, but I know that Toxic-Religious Jerk had peeved me off...

I probably wasn't the only one that jerk had peeved off, but anyway when you have Mature Content it might be important to give the Warning that the content is Mature and 18+ at the very start of a story of a book or like episode of a show, and maybe even in a video game...

because some parents will possibly scapegoat instead of blaming themselves for making sure the little kids don't view something they aren't suppose to until they are the proper age to view it.

it ain't the Mature Content that is the problem, it's the parents and those who are suppose to be watching the little kids and making sure they do NOT view certain Mature Content until they are at the right age to view it...

if I can call out the whole "Antichrist wanting to pull that two wrongs don't make a right" Sugar Honey Ice Tea, then I'm gonna point out that some parents need to stop that messed up scapegoating on mature content, that was NEVER suppose to be for little kids and are for mature audiences from 16 to 18+ and it can depend on the mature content.....it also might be possible that only some parents have some logical sense to not pull that scapegoating sugar honey ice tea. so there is still some hope...

also it's fine that not everyone read that whole post I wrote that had my thoughts about the Antichrist, and how if they go through with that whole messed up stuff they may want to do, it will prove they are no better than the Ancient Christians from the past when that whole dethroning of The Goddess and Divine Feminine Happen...but those who did that mess were only partly successful...

which is why I'm calling what the Antichrist wants to possibly do as "two wrongs that don't make a right"...and well it's fine that not many end up reading that post anyway, even if it does talk a bit of other stuff as well and reading it is optional. and not all Christians are the same, same goes for any other people who are part of different religions, and most of my Ancestors had different type of Religions they were a part of...one of them being Jewish...I still need to think over about if I want to go by "Neo-Christian" or not or just stick with just "Neo-Spiritual"...

anyway that aside, I am interested in seeing that new Transformers One Movie, I can't wait to watch...

is it weird I might feel at times, like I want to glomp Megatron from that Movie...?

although it is possible that in theory, some people who saw how Megatron was in that trailer, have the higher and extreme feelings of wanting to glomp him...

anyway once again, going to have the whole "mature audiences only" tag for this...and well even if those two might not even meet at all in the Hazformers stories by Blitzy-Blitzwing, and that's okay and I can still like the concept of those two being ship as CherriShock.

plus I can try to have CherriShock become a thing in the story that I'm working on where Sari is the Main Character, but at first she wasn't originally going to be the Main Character, a different character was but some ideas started to change slightly, so the original main character had become that type of Faux-Heroine that shows up first before the True-Heroine of the story...and yeah, that was the idea I decided to go with when some ideas started to change a little...

I also want to say that even if I might think that Cherri and Shockwave might never meet, but then again maybe they will...who knows maybe they could end up meeting but not really interact very much.

anyway it's okay that not everyone likes the whole CherriShock ship idea, and it's fine that only a few end up liking the idea of it.

also when I'm able to, I will do another CherriShock drawing...but it might not be right away and might be a while, maybe a few days or so before I start on the next drawing of Cherri & Shockwave...and this is both a Hazformers Fanart, as well as a Crossover Fanart and Ship between two characters who are possibly very opposite from each other...