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alohajix · 1 day ago

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𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐦

Description: [Y/N] signed her son up for soccer to help him feel a little braver. She didn’t expect it to feel like she was the one learning how to start over. And she definitely didn’t expect the coach to start feeling like home.

Warnings: single parenthood, child anxiety, parental guilt, emotional vulnerability, fear of abandonment, slow-burn romance, eventual consensual smut (soft to intense).

Word count: TBD.

author’s note: this little mini-story is actually part of something a bit bigger! if you enjoyed part one, i’m planning to share the four other parts exclusively on my patreon as i write them. there’s zero pressure, of course—just knowing you’re here reading already means the world to me. but if you’d like to support my work even more and follow this story as it continues, you’ll be able to find the rest over there when they’re ready. thank you so much for reading. i appreciate you more than you know! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

Warnings: child nervousness, social overwhelm, parental self-doubt, references to past social exclusion, emotional tension, fear of letting someone in.

Word count: 3,748.

The field is busier than I expected. Parents already staking their claims with fold-out chairs along the sidelines, sipping from oversized thermoses, shouting to each other over the hum of kids in matching jerseys sprinting across the grass like it's the World Cup. My stomach pulls tight as I kill the engine, my hands still wrapped around the steering wheel like I'm not entirely sure if we should even be here.

I glance into the rearview mirror, catching Archie in the back seat, small hands fidgeting with the hem of his jersey again. He's been doing that since we left the apartment—rolling the fabric between his fingers like it might unravel if he stops. It's bright red, way too big on him. He'd wanted it that way. Said the bigger one felt safer. Like armor, he told me, with the kind of serious little face only a six-year-old could pull off. But looking at him now, all I can think is how small he really looks in it.

I let out a slow breath and glance toward the field again, already feeling the weight of every other parent who looks like they've done this a hundred times before. Like they belong here. Like they belong together.

I climb out of the car, shut my door gently, and walk around to his side. He doesn't move when I open it, just looks up at me with those wide, worried eyes I know too well. The same eyes I've seen every time we try something new. I crouch down so we're level, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Alright, champ... you ready?"

His feet swing nervously over the edge of the seat. His voice is so soft I almost miss it.

"Do I have to go with them by myself?"

God, how many times have I heard that question in one form or another? First days of school, new babysitters, birthday parties where he doesn't know anyone but me. The same fear, every time. The same knot in my stomach when I have to lie just a little to make him believe this time will be different.

I reach for his hand, curling my fingers around his.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," I tell him quietly, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. "But remember what we said? About trying? About being brave enough to see if it feels a little better once you get started?"

He bites his lip hard enough to leave a mark, glancing toward the field. I follow his gaze, taking in the kids already spread out in messy clusters, parents shouting encouragement like this is the most important thing in the world. My throat feels tight just looking at it.

"I'll be right here," I add softly. "The whole time. You can look for me whenever you want."

His chin wobbles just a little, but after a second, he nods. It's barely there, but it's enough. I press a quick kiss to his temple, breathing him in like it might settle something in me, too. That familiar scent of shampoo and syrup and him. My safe place, even when I'm the one who's supposed to be his.

I hold out my hand.

"Come on. Let's go check it out."

He slips his hand into mine without saying another word, holding on tight. Tighter than usual. We start walking toward the noise. And even though I've already promised him it's going to be okay, I'm not sure I believe it yet.

The closer we get, the more it feels like my skin's been pulled too tight. Like every step drags me further into a place I'm not convinced we belong. Archie's fingers are sweaty in mine, small and tense, and I can feel the tiny tremble in them with every squeeze. He's walking slower now, half a step behind, like if he keeps dragging his feet long enough, maybe I'll turn us around and call the whole thing off.

I want to. God, I want to. But I don't.

We stop at the edge of the field, just shy of the first line of folding chairs. I shift my weight, standing tall enough to look like I know what I'm doing, even though the truth feels like it's unraveling by the second.

Parents are everywhere—chatting over the hum of thermoses being popped open, stretching their legs out toward the grass like they've claimed this territory a dozen times before. Some of them are wearing team hoodies. Some already know each other's kids by name. You can tell by the way they laugh like it's nothing new.

I tuck Archie in a little closer to my side, scanning the field until I find the group in red jerseys forming near the far goalpost. A man's standing in front of them, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose from his neck. His sleeves are already shoved up to his elbows, hands gesturing casually as he calls the group to attention.

"All right, Red Rockets, let's bring it in!"

The way he says it catches me off guard—not sharp, not impatient, not the way I expected someone to rally a group of six-year-olds on a cold Saturday morning. It's... soft. Confident, but not loud. Like he already knows they'll listen without needing to shout.

I feel Archie flinch just a little beside me, his body shrinking closer to mine like the sound spooked him. I glance down, smoothing my thumb across the back of his hand.

"It's okay," I whisper, even though I have no idea if that's true.

When I look back up, the man's moving. Walking toward the group of kids gathering into a loose circle in front of him. I catch the edge of his voice again—lower this time, more focused on the ones who haven't settled yet.

Archie stiffens all over again, frozen like he's deciding whether to bolt or hide. And all I can think is please don't shut down. Not yet.

I'm already running through my backup plan in my head—how to peel him off the sidelines gently if he refuses to move, how to keep my voice from cracking when I tell him it's okay, we can try again another week—when I catch movement from the corner of my eye. He's walking toward us. Steady. Unbothered. No clipboard this time, no whistle in his hand. Just easy steps like he's done this before. Like he's not in a rush to fix anything.

Archie stiffens even more, his little body locking up next to mine like he's bracing for impact. I lean down toward his ear, lowering my voice to that quiet, steady hum I've learned works better than anything else.

"It's okay, baby. Just breathe. I'm right here."

He stops a couple of steps away, leaving space like he knows better than to crowd us. His hands are loose in his jacket pockets, his mouth tipping into the kind of smile that feels... patient. The kind that makes it look like this isn't a problem to solve—it's just a moment to walk through.

"Hey there," he says, nodding once like it's the most normal thing in the world to approach strangers this way. "First day nerves?"

I shift my weight, pulling Archie a little closer to my side.

"Yeah," I answer softly, my voice rougher than I mean for it to sound. "We just moved here. Still trying to find our place."

He nods like that makes perfect sense. Like he's heard it before.

"'S a lot, isn't it?" he murmurs, glancing toward the field again like he remembers exactly what it feels like to stand on the outside of something. "Is that your little one, then? Number five?"

I look down at Archie, who's still clinging to me, eyes wide but curious now.

"Yeah. Archer. We... we call him Archie."

Harry crouches down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn't reach for Archie. Doesn't try to pull him out of hiding. He just lowers himself to his level and lets his voice drop even softer.

"Hiya, Archie. I'm Harry. Coach Harry, technically, but that feels a bit too serious for six-year-olds, don't you think?"

Archie doesn't answer, but his grip on my sweater loosens just a little. His eyes flick to Harry's shoes, then to his face, then back to me like he's checking if I'm still here. Harry keeps going, easy as anything.

"Y'know, we've got a job open today," he adds with a quiet grin. "Someone needs to help me set up all those cones over there before the team comes in. Think you might be able to help me with that?"

Archie shifts his weight, biting his lip, and for a second I'm sure he's going to shut down again. But then—so small I almost miss it—he nods. Just once. Harry doesn't make a big deal out of it. Doesn't whoop or cheer or make it a moment bigger than it needs to be. He just leans back on his heels, pushes to his feet, and tips his head toward the pile of cones on the grass.

"We'll just be over here," he says to me softly. "Promise I'll bring him right back."

I stay frozen where I am, arms wrapped tight around myself like I might actually fall apart if I move too fast.

Archie follows him. Slowly, yeah—but he follows. Two tiny steps at first. Then one more. He's a full body length behind, but he's moving. Moving toward something without me. My throat feels like it's closing up just watching it happen.

I hover at the edge of the chairs, not daring to sit down. My eyes flick to the other parents spread out along the sidelines, already swapping stories about school pickups and carpool schedules like this is just another weekend. Some of them aren't even watching the field. Some are already halfway through their second cup of coffee, shouting out names like they've done this a hundred times.

It's strange, standing here alone. My arms wrapped around myself like I'm bracing for something, like I'm waiting for a punch that never comes. I glance up at the sky for no reason at all, noting the gray clouds stretching low and heavy over the trees at the far end of the field. One gust of wind, and it'll probably rain.

Of course, I didn't bring an umbrella. I didn't think that far ahead. I'd been too busy worrying about Archie. About whether or not I could even get him this far.

I shift again, pressing my tongue to the back of my teeth to stop myself from calling Archie back. My fingers itch to reach for him, to pull him out of the spotlight and hide him somewhere safer. Somewhere smaller. Somewhere where he doesn't have to try so hard. But I don't. I stay planted. I watch Harry kneel beside the pile of cones, picking them up one by one and laying them out on the grass like he's got all the time in the world. He doesn't even glance back to see if Archie's still following. He just... waits.

Archie shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking back toward me like he's asking permission without saying it out loud. My chest tightens, but I nod once, small and steady, like I'm not terrified he's about to fall apart in front of everyone. And then he moves again. Steps right up to the pile and crouches awkwardly, his little fingers fumbling to grab a cone. Harry leans in a little, points to a spot on the field, and Archie starts walking toward it, arms stiff like he's afraid to drop it.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My throat stings with it. Like I've been holding that breath for longer than just today. It's small. So small. But it's more than I expected. I've seen people give up on him before. I've watched them get impatient when he freezes or takes too long to answer or hides behind me when they try to pull him out of his shell too fast. I've heard the tight, strained "it's okay, some kids just aren't social" more times than I can count. Always laced with that disappointed edge like they've already decided he's too much work.

I've seen the way they check their watches. The way they glance toward me with that half-frown, half-smile that really means "he's slowing us down." I've walked Archie back to the car more times than I can count with his head on my shoulder, whispering it's not his fault even when I know he doesn't believe me.

And every time it happens, I feel that weight in my chest. That bitter little voice in the back of my head that says see? This is why you keep your circle small. This is why you don't expect people to stay.

But Harry doesn't flinch. Doesn't push. He just lets Archie take his time, moving one cone at a time like there's nothing else to do today but wait for him to figure it out.

I glance down at the ground by my feet, kicking at the grass with the tip of my shoe like that might ground me somehow. It doesn't. All I can do is watch. All I can do is hope. I feel my heart catch in my throat because I already know I shouldn't let myself get used to that. He's just doing his job. And it's nothing. But the way it feels settling in my chest tells me I'm lying to myself already.

The rest of practice passes in a blur. I barely register what the other kids are doing. I don't hear a single word the parents around me say. I'm too locked in on Archie. On the way he stays close to Harry, watching every move like he's afraid he might miss something important.

And somehow, somehow, he stays. He doesn't run back to me. He doesn't shut down. He doesn't quit.

By the time Harry claps his hands together and calls the team in one last time, Archie's cheeks are flushed, curls sticking to his forehead, his little hands tugging on the bottom of his jersey again—but his shoulders aren't hunched the way they were when we got here. He's tired, but he's still standing.

I push off the fence and start toward the edge of the field, hugging my arms around myself again like it's going to hold me together for the next thirty seconds.

Harry crouches down to Archie's level again, says something low that makes Archie nod. Then he stands, turns toward me, and starts walking over with that same easy pace like we aren't two strangers standing on opposite sides of a life we haven't figured out yet.

"He did great," Harry says when he reaches us, nodding toward Archie like he means it. "Took a little warming up, but he stuck it out."

I swallow the knot in my throat, brushing Archie's hair off his forehead again.

"Thanks for being patient with him. I know he's... a lot sometimes."

Harry frowns a little—just for a second—like he doesn't like hearing that.

"He's not a lot," he says quietly, like it's a fact. "He's a kid. Kids move at their own pace."

And just like that, something in my chest pulls tight again. Because no one ever says it like that. Not without sounding like they're trying to convince themselves. But Harry says it like he actually believes it.

I shift my weight, blinking hard to keep my expression neutral. My mouth opens to thank him again, but nothing comes out. I chew the inside of my cheek instead, heat creeping up the back of my neck.

Before I can embarrass myself further, he clears his throat, rocking back on his heels.

"Listen, uh—would it be alright if I grabbed your number? Just in case we have to reschedule or... if Archie forgets anything?"

I freeze for a second longer than I probably should. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. That little voice in my head kicks in fast, warning me not to blur the lines. Not to give anyone even an inch closer than they need to be. But he's looking at me with that same steady patience I've watched him give to Archie all morning. Like I have a choice. Like he'll back off if I say no.

I nod. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, already unlocked to a blank contact screen. I take it carefully, fingers brushing his. His skin is warm. Calloused, like he works with his hands for real. I feel it all the way down to my wrist, like something I shouldn't notice but do anyway.

I stare at the screen longer than I need to. I could fake it. I could type a number off by one digit and let this stay exactly what it is. Professional. Detached. Easy to forget.

But my thumb moves before I can stop it. I type my real name—[Y/N]. My real number.

When I hand it back, Harry glances at the screen, then up at me again with that easy, unreadable smile.

"Perfect. Thanks [Y/N]." God help me, I don't trust myself not to read too much into it.

Archie shifts beside me, tugging lightly on the hem of my sleeve like he's working up to something. He's got that scrunched-up little look on his face—the one he gets when he's thinking too hard. His cheeks are still flushed from running around, curls sticking to his damp forehead, but his eyes are darting between me and Harry like he's trying to figure something out.

Harry tucks his phone back into his jacket pocket and gives Archie one last ruffle of his hair, starting to turn back toward the rest of the kids when Archie blurts it out—loud enough for half the field to hear.

"Mama... can Coach Harry come to dinner sometime?"

The words hit me like a slap to the chest. Quick. Sharp. Immediate. My stomach drops. My throat closes. I freeze.

Harry doesn't. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink, really. His smile doesn't falter for a second. He just crouches down to Archie's level again, his voice dropping low and soft, like it's just for him.

"Maybe one day, little man," Harry says, reaching out to tap two fingers lightly against Archie's tiny fist. "Gotta keep practicin' those kicks first, yeah? That's the deal."

Archie beams like he's just been promised Disneyland. I, on the other hand, feel like my face is on fire. My heart slams so hard I swear I can hear it in my ears. I glance around like I'm half-expecting someone to be standing there listening, but no one is. No one's paying attention to us at all.

Except me. Except Harry. Except Archie, who's already moved on like it's the most normal thing in the world to invite a complete stranger to dinner.

I clear my throat, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag.

"Alright, bud... let's grab your stuff."

Harry stands again, brushing his palms against his thighs like he's shaking off the grass. His eyes meet mine for one last second, and there's something there I can't quite name. Not teasing. Not pity. Just... something steady. Something that feels like he already knows I'm going to overthink this all night.

"See you next week?" I ask before I can stop myself, my voice tighter than I mean for it to be.

Harry nods, rocking back on his heels again.

"Wouldn't miss it."

And just like that, he's gone—turning back toward the pile of equipment like the last five minutes didn't knock the air clean out of my lungs.

Archie talks the whole walk back to the car. Little bursts of excitement tumbling over each other—how he kicked the ball once, how Coach Harry let him carry the cones, how next week he's going to run even faster. He's out of breath before we even make it across the parking lot, his tiny hand swinging in mine like all the fear from earlier never happened.

I keep nodding, making all the right noises, but it feels like my head is full of static. Like I can't get my feet back under me, no matter how many steps I take.

I get him buckled into his booster seat, double-check the straps even though I know they're fine. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his temple like I always do, breathing him in for just a second longer than necessary. He giggles, pushing at my face with one small hand.

"Mamaaa," he laughs, like I'm embarrassing him. Like it's funny. Like his heart isn't still tangled up in my hands the way mine is in his.

I shut the door quietly and lean back against the car, staring out at the emptying parking lot. Most of the families are gone already. The folding chairs are packed up, the chatter's faded, and the breeze is colder now than it was an hour ago. I wrap my arms around myself, digging my nails into my sleeves like that might stop the way my chest feels like it's caving in.

I don't know what I expected today to be. But it wasn't this. It wasn't the way Archie actually stayed. The way he looked—pink-cheeked and almost proud—for the first time in God knows how long. And it sure as hell wasn't the way Harry spoke to him. Or to me. Like we weren't some charity case. Like he wasn't performing patience for points. Like he actually... saw us. Both of us.

I shove my hand into my pocket, pulling out my phone before I can stop myself. My thumb hovers over the screen for half a breath too long before I swipe it open and scroll to my contacts.

Harry.

I lock the screen again and stuff it deep into my jacket like I can hide from it if I don't look too long.

"Okay," I whisper to myself, pushing off the car and moving toward the driver's side.

I'm already overthinking it.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839

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sunlight-shunlight · 2 days ago

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do you think solas personally tested the like. longevity of various fresco pigment/plaster formulations, by making a test batch of various types and then coming back every century or so to check on them to see if they got damaged...

#solas #immortal guy with very long lasting art medium is VERY funny to me somehow #actually i think this is a nightmare scenario #i personally hate anything i've drawn after about a month at most bc i think it looks Cringe and Flawed #it must be even worse if you're a zillion years old and the skill difference from one piece to another is proportionate to that #so can you imagine....... the psychological burden of having 32465 frescos scattered across thedas #and you don't even like most of them...#does being a pride spirit compensate for this effect bc i think it is very common in most artists #i feel like it has to exist otherwise you just stagnate and become rob liefeldcore #and that doesn't sound right #so i can only assume dai solas occasionally walks past some old ruin and the party goes ''oh what a cool mural fragment on the wall :)''#and he can barely restrain himself from going NO DON'T LOOK AT IT #this is a very serious post

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bullet-prooflove · 2 days ago

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The Incident: Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julessworldd @yousigned-upforthis @travelingmypassion @julius-ceasar

Summary: Frank's world is thrown into turmoil when he learns about your attack.

Companion piece to:

Ivy - Frank gets a tattoo to commerate the woman he loves.

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

At Your Alter - You discover Frank's tattoo when you undress him for the first time.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Slut (NSFW) - Frank gets a little bratty after a bad day.

Nightmare Fuel - Frank��s been waiting for the fall to come.

Boo Fucking Hoo - Your forced to defend yourself after you’re attacked outside the hospital.

Frank finds out about ‘the incident’ when he walks in on one of Gloria and Robby’s arguments in the corridor that leads to the ambulance bay. He’s on his way to meet you for a break when he almost slips on the smear of blood on the tiles, tuning into their conversation.

“You need to take Ivy’s fucking photo down from the website like I told you to when you decided to put the fucking things up. She’s the only SANE in this hospital and you just put a target on her back. It shouldn’t take two incidents for you to actually listen to me. This guy could have killed her.” Robby snarls at their Chief Medical Officer, his hands on his hips. “You are damn near lucky-”

And that’s when Robby sees Frank standing there, the colour draining from his face because that first incident, it still haunts Frank. It took him a long time and a lot of therapy to chase away the flashbacks of seeing you coming out of that stairwell, scrubs covered in blood, your whole body trembling as you begged for help.

He can’t describe how it feels to know that something so fucking horrible happened to someone you love. How helpless it makes you feel, how devastated, how angry.

“What the happened to Ivy?” He erupts, barging between the two of them, his voice edged with hysteria. “Tell me what the fuck happened to Ivy?”

Robby shoots Gloria a hostile look before his hand grips Frank’s shoulder, steering him towards one of the empty treatment bays.

The story he tells does nothing to put his mind at ease as he paces the confined space like an apex predator, stalking back and forth.

“She’s been taken upstairs for a head CT.” Robby says, his eyes following Frank’s motions, waiting for the moment he unravels. “She says she’s fine but she threw up a couple of minutes after I stitched the wound on the back of her head so we just wanna make sure there’s nothing else going on there.”

“What about Him?” Frank snarls, his furious gaze turning onto Robby as he rakes a hand through his dark hair. “What about the asshole that hurt her?”

Robby clasps his hands together behind his head before looking up at the ceiling as if he can see through the five floors above him.

“He is up in Urology having surgery to have one of his testicles removed. She managed to rupture it so badly they didn’t have a chance in hell of saving it.” Robby informs him. “Officer Underwood is in the waiting room up there, ready to read that son of a bitch his rights as soon as he wakes up. He says with the video it’ll be in his best interest to plead out so she won’t have to go to court.”

That had been the worst part last time, reliving it. As soon as you felt like you were putting it all behind you, the court date had come up and you’d had to face the man who tried to hurt you, the one that had stabbed Jesse three times in the abdomen for intervening. Your fellow nurse had lost a kidney and almost his life stopping that attack. You’d struggled to reconcile with it in the aftermath.

“Look.” Robby says, clasping Frank’s shoulder, stilling his movements. He ducks his head, making direct eye contact bringing Frank back here to the present. “This isn’t like the first time. I looked her over myself and she’s ok, I promise you.”

You’d been so fucking traumatised back then, the nightmares hadn’t stopped for months, not until you and Jesse had a heart to heart. You’d felt so damn guilty because you’d frozen when it happened.

It had started when the husband of the patient you’d been working with tried to kiss you on the stairwell. You’d told him it was inappropriate and it was like a switch had flipped. You hadn’t expected to jam his hand between your legs, to try to tug off your scrubs.

Jesse had interrupted the whole thing on his way back down from Psych, doing bed reconnaissance. He’d torn the son of a bitch off you and ended up being stabbed three times with a utility knife before being shoved down the stairs and left for dead. You’d tried to suppress the bleeding the best you could before you went for help.

“There’s three responses when something like that happens.” You had told Frank in the aftermath, your entire body vibrating against him as he cradled you close. “Fight, flight or freeze and I froze because it was the last thing I expected from the man who had just been told his wife may be paraplegic.”

Sexual assaults they’re all about power. That man was losing his so he decided to take yours. He’s now serving twenty years for his actions while his wife recovers in a rehabilitation facility Kiara helped set her up in.

“I know that this is hard.” Robby’s voice filters through Frank’s thoughts drawing his attention back to him. “But she’s really gonna need you to keep your shit together after something like this. She can’t be worrying that you’re about to go off the rails while she’s trying to process it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Don’t use this as an excuse to go on a bender.” Frank summarises as he catches a flash of that Medusa tattoo through the glass. “Yea got it.”

“Frank…” Robby begins but Frank’s already out the door, striding towards you. You’re standing in front of the screens depicting today’s patient lists, your arms folded tightly over your chest.

He takes up residence alongside of you like a sentry, standing close enough to be reassuring, to let you know that he’s there if you need him.

“Everything good?” He asks, tilting his head to study the profile of your features. His jaw tightens as he takes in the figure marks that blemish your throat, their dark stains bleeding into your skin.

“No brain injury or concussion, the vomiting was a reaction to being in that position again.” You inform him, your voice barely more than a rasp as you gesture towards your throat. “I sound like a phone sex operator.”

“Or like you smoke 80 a day.” He counters, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a strained smile. “You want me to take you home?”

“No.” You say shaking your head. “I wanna finish out my shift, return in a few days, do it all again.”

Frank gets it. It took you a month to come back to The Pitt last time and now you’re terrified of sliding back into that place, of letting the assholes win again. Your resilience, it astounds him, he feels like he’s falling to pieces and you’re still standing strong.

“You got any objections to working the rest of your shift with me?” He prompts, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“I’m okay Frank.” You assure him, tilting your face up to meet his tempestuous blue eyes.

“I know.” He says softly. “But I’m not.”

He needs to attend a meeting after this. He hates that Robby’s concerns back in the treatment room were valid. Something like this is the perfect excuse to pick up a couple of benzos to take the edge off, his fingers are already twitching thinking about it. Your hand slips into his and for the first time since he heard about ‘the incident’ it doesn’t feel like there’s an 18 wheeler slowly rolling over his chest.

“You'll be ok.” You promise him, squeezing his hand tightly. “Just like I will be too.”

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synthaphone · 3 days ago

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I love how Neopets draws water (ie. water PB pets) but when I try to copy them it always looks weird, do you have any advice on replicating it?

ooh, let me see- i've only ever tried to replicate it once, with the Water Centibyte:

my favorite water pets are the Kyrii and the Zafara, so those two were the ones I referenced most heavily when I was designing this!

I apologize in advance for not necessarily knowing how best to describe this, but in short, I think I'd recommend

laying down a base gradient for darker areas that you can then add hand-painted caustic detail over on a different layer

make extremities that you'd want to be clearly visible lighter/higher contrast (The Zafara and Kyrii both have lighter colored hands and feet, light colored tails and hair, and faces where you can make out the eyes and facial expression due to having contrasting areas of light and dark next to each other. I find it helpful sometimes to squint at what I'm working on to see if I can still roughly make out its shape, vs everything turning into a same colored blob)

consider keeping thinner pieces of a design like 'sheets' of hair lighter, and maybe visibly darker spots where you'd realistically 'see through' the sheet of water

Honestly I mostly was winging it + heavily referencing those two pets, but looking at irl photos of pools and ocean waves would probably be a good idea too- you can sort of build up a sense memory for how light interacts with water, that can make it easier to stylize or 'cheat' it.

If you want my long attempt to remember wtf my process was for the Centibyte in particular, i've put it under the cut :)

Water is a color that's pretty reliant on gradients, and where the shading and detail work on top of that base gradient really make it shine. Both of my reference pets have their darkest area around their neck and shoulders, and get lighter towards their extremities, so the first thing I did (after making my lineart edits to the hair to get the splashy effect, and recoloring the eyes to match the Kyrii and Zafara) was lay down some base gradients.

I believe i used the gradient tool first to establish main dark-to-light gradient from the head to the feet, and then later went in with a lasso tool to add smaller gradients to the ends of the arms, and probably used the soft brush to add that lighter marking to the face and to make the feet even lighter. (The belly marking I add later will cover up that jaggedy spot on the belly, so it didn't matter that it looks weird)

After that, I added simple gradients to the shell and belly markings too:

I have these on separate layers already, so it was relatively simple to lock the layers and throw more gradients over them.

After that I seem to have started to add stylized water caustic effects!

Note that I'm extremely inexperienced at painting or rendering water, so I was just sort of eyeballing how it looked on the two pets I was referencing, in addition to considering what looked good to me. I used a couple different low opacity multiply layers to do the darker markings on the body and the belly, and a 100% opaque normal layer to paint the lighter markings onto the feet (which also have a gradient on them, so that they'd match the gradient they were being drawn on top of)

After that I... seem to have just gone buckwild and started painting shit with the opaque hard brush.

I mimicked the hands on the Zafara being a less green shade of blue, and sort of gradiated that color out manually by painting on the lighter colors with a few blobby splashes and caustic patterns to make them feel blended. (I don't think anything I painted on these layers has an actual gradient, soft shading, or lowered opacity). I also added lighter outlines and a few bright white highlights to the arms, to give them that shiny jelly-like effect.

For the belly, I also just kind of went wild painting more caustic patterns- my main goal was feeling acceptably "watery" while also keeping the basic shape of the belly marking distinct from the background. The lighter blue marking in the middle of the belly (and at the bottom of it) is supposed to be underlighting that's reflecting back up.

For the lighter splashy 'hair' parts of the design, I tried to focus on getting the basic background colors in before worrying too much about where the highlights would go, knowing I could do those on a different layer afterwards. I tried to use the darkest blues at the spots where the curved hair shapes overlap each other, and also copied the head colors for the parts of the mohawk that would be thin and overlap the darker shell of the head.

I decided to sort of transition that darker shell part out 'early' instead of following it all the way through to that back antenna, so that the hair would stand out from the shell, and also because the antenna gets further away in perspective as it extends past the head.

Then I threw on a shadow layer for the shell, and then (confusingly) I made another layer on top where I added highlights AND obscured the last two segments of the tail and the knees with gradient layers. I think I felt that they didn't feel 'water' enough?

I added highlights and additional caustics for those elements on another layer afterward, with another opaque layer:

Then we have the spots and stripes markings + area specific colored lineart:

Aaaand some causticy-wavey lighting for the hair + blending of the head antennas into their hair, because it felt very abrupt for Water:

For the 'hair' highlights, I used a mix of pure white and very light blue- I probably could have made my life easier by doing a gradient on these areas, but for whatever reason I hand painted them. You'll notice in close ups that it can look a little sloppy, but if it looks decent at the size you intend the piece to be viewed at, this doesn't really matter.

And that's the finished piece! (identical to the one above, i just hid the refs)

No idea if this will be helpful, but I hope its at the very least interesting!! I viewed a lot of the more difficult Centibyte colors as challenges and puzzles to solve- its fun trying to reverse engineer very specific aesthetics I'd never tried to tackle before. I wish you luck and hope you have fun in the future with your watery neopets endeavors!!!

#neopets #centibyte #asks #water neopets #long post

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toxicrelief · 2 days ago

Text

Crawling Back to You

Chapter twelve

Synopsis: Rex just witnessed you turn into a human blood sprinkler, and Shapesmith is finally forced to reveal who he truly is.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Chapter: 12/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Mild Descriptions of Blood, Alcohol

Note: For the sake of the fics consistency, I am having the whole reveal of Shapesmith being a Martian happen during the three days while the reader is out. So that conversation happens before Mark gets back, and it explains why it took them a while to finally discuss the discrepancies with Killdeer. This chapter is also really long so buckle up. There is quite a bit of tie-ins with the actual show that I wanted to include for anyone who has not seen season 2 in a while. And it also helps for continuity in the story.

Rex sat with his hands held out in front of him. The blood had begun to dry at his fingertips where the liquid had been spread out more sparsely. If he turned his hand slightly, he would be able to see how it clung to the different grooves in his fingers and under his nails. His palms glistened with the slickness of it, the cup of his hand gathering it in such a way that the substance did not dry as rapidly there as the other areas of his hands.

It was odd seeing this much on his bare hands. If this had happened in some random mission, it would be coating his gloves. He wouldn’t have been able to feel the warmth of it as his knuckles dipped into the ever-growing mass. His hand clenched around the soft flesh underneath her jaw, trying to hold her head above it all. Rex had panicked; the only thing he could think about was her drowning, not even if she was still alive to drown.

Now he could feel how cold it was, like the life had been drained from it after it had already left her body. Once she had been extracted from the premises, it no longer felt real.

It must have only been seconds before Cecil’s agents arrived. It was as if they appeared out of thin air, or if they had just been standing by waiting the whole time. The room had practically erupted in a litany of loudly barked orders. One of the agents had roughly shoved Rex back, if he was capable of thinking straight for more than two seconds he would be upset. But in a flash, they all disappeared, and Killdeer with them. Now the only thing that remained as proof it had happened was the mess on the floor and the quickly drying crimson on his hands.

Now he was sitting with his back against the kitchen cabinets, with his arms resting on his knees. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off his hands. Maybe he didn’t want to see the gore that was in front of him again yet. He wasn’t sure.

“Rex?”

At this point, Rex had forgotten how he had frantically called for Rudy such a short time ago. The adrenaline was starting to wane, and now he could feel the slight tremor starting. He turned his head to look over his shoulder to see Rudy, who was assessing the scene with a creased brow.

“What is this?” He asked, the corner of his mouth slightly downturned.

“Her.” Rex said after a few blinks, his attention turning finally back to the gore that lay in front of him. The bucket she had grabbed in the struggle had quickly overflowed, and the thick fluid had spread as far as it could, like waves flowing over the sand at high tide. Sparsely lying around were what looked like biological tissue of some type; a large piece was visible in the bucket, floating at the surface. It made Rex feel queasy.

Rudy remained silent, obviously having put together who it was, even without Rex uttering her name. After a few moments, the door opened again, the familiar sound of metal footsteps resounded off the flooring. An orange-hued mechanical figure walked past Rudy and immediately started to pick up the pieces of tissue.

“What-“ Rex suddenly felt the haze lift for a moment. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I am collecting samples. It is important that we test what exactly she is losing when this type of situation occurs. Is it fatty tissues? Muscle tissue? What is her body expelling? We have to work with what we have to figure out why.”

Rex watched Robot fish the sizable chunk out of the blood-filled bucket before turning his gaze back to Rudy. “Do you think…we should stop this?” Rudy cocked his head slightly at Rex’s new tone.

“Why?”

“Maybe this has gone far enough, and we should just leave her alone. She has proved herself in battle. I just watched her heal Bulletproof of a gash that would have taken weeks to heal naturally.” Rex’s eyebrows furrowed as he remembered their argument, how he had pushed her. Had he inadvertently caused this? “I just wonder when we will be satisfied.” He leaned his head back against the cabinets with a soft thud. “What is our goal?”

“You started this, Rex, are you trying to back out?” Rudy gave him a blank stare, and no comfort, not that Rex was expecting any comfort. “You would be satisfied letting someone whom you do not trust stay in the Guardians without taking the steps that are necessary to make sure they are trustworthy?”

“What difference does it make?” Rex sighed. “She gets results, better than some who have been in the field much longer than her.”

“And that sits right with you, Rex?”

Rex paused for a moment, closing his eyes. “I don’t fucking know.”

The mechanical Robot left the kitchen, trailing a few splatters of blood behind it, jarring the course of the conversation slightly.

“I am going to run some tests on the samples. I will keep you up to date unless you no longer want me to.” Rudy folded his arms and waited for a response.

“Keep me posted.” Rex finally said begrudgingly.

Rudy went to leave the kitchen in the trail of his robot. “You should clean this all up before anyone else sees it. It would just sew panic. Once I have all the data, we will show the rest of the team.”

He did not wait for an answer; the sound of the door shutting told Rex he was now alone. The adrenaline crash he was experiencing was still sending slight tremors through his body, but he stood up anyway.

Is it safe to pour this much human blood down the sink?

“Get up. Training session. Now.”

The sound of Immortal’s voice somehow always worked its way through the door like he was standing right next to you. Rex ran a hand over his face with no idea what time it was. Clean-up had taken much longer than he had expected. Even once he cleaned his hands and put on gloves, he still kept thinking he felt the sticky, warm texture seeping in underneath the latex. He did not even remember making it to bed, in his dreams he was still cleaning that damn floor.

He rolled onto his back to look at the ceiling for a moment, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He was more than tempted just to go back to sleep, ignoring the call. However, after a few moments of lying with his eyes shut, he realized he would rather be awake than return to the same imagery he had been seeing all night. Surprisingly, there was not a second call from Immortal. Which meant Rex intended to take his sweet time going down. His suit was laid crinkled up over the chair at his desk. There had been a time when Rex wondered how it got mended between missions, but everything seemed too busy now to worry about things as inconsequential as that.

It was different now that he was a Guardian. He could remember in the early days, before he felt comfortable asking Eve to mend it, how he would sit trying to sew holes shut himself. He could still feel the prick as he would accidentally go completely through the fabric. Who did it now?

He sat up in bed, glancing over the room for his goggles. His eyes rested for a moment on an empty bottle on the floor next to the desk. An empty bottle, with a crinkled yellow ribbon around the neck of it. The bottle Killdeer had brought as a peace offering. A peace offering for kicking his ass. He rubbed his chest absentmindedly. If he thought hard enough, he could feel the bruise still.

He was not sure how long he sat staring at that yellow ribbon, but eventually he managed to get up and pull his suit on.

Upon entering the training room, he saw they had started without him. Or they simply had not needed him yet. Even better, maybe they had factored in how long it would take him to arrive, and he was actually showing up on time. Either way, he could not seem to care.

Duplikate was fighting Monster Girl at the further end of the room. Rudy, Immortal, Bulletproof, and Shapesmith were spectating. As Rex journeyed forward to join the group, he felt his attention home in on Shapesmith. Something Killdeer had said resounded in his mind. “Shapesmith is clearly an alien of some sort and you’re more worried about me-” Why? Rex folded his arms, and he felt his jaw set tightly in a frown. Why was he so unbothered by Shapesmith? He didn’t like him; he told Shapesmith to his face that he unnerved him and that he did not like him. But why had he not set his interest on exposing him?

It had to be because all of them knew there was something off with Shapesmith. No one in the Guardians would be surprised if he opened his mouth right now to announce that Shapesmith was not from Earth. When it came to Killdeer, there were not a ton of happy feelings towards her, but recently, she was starting to feel like a real part of the team. Or at least to him she was. Why was this bothering him? Was he really that desperate to know the truth and seek justice? Or was it personal prejudice fed by Rudy’s technological backing?

“This is stupid! I can see in the dark!” Monster Girl’s gravelly voice took Rex out of his train of thought.

“That assumes you still have your eyes.” Immortal responded back almost immediately.

Duplikate took full advantage of her opponent’s blindness, attacking from multiple sides and eventually going straight for Monster Girl’s head. After some growling and grunting, Monster Girl stood centered between three duplicates of Kate.

“Time.” Immortal called out. “Monster Girl, Kate, shower off.”

How long had they been training for before he came down? Rex was starting to silently dread his upcoming turn; he was not in the mood nor the mindset for any of this.

“Bulletproof, Shapesmith, you’re up.” Well, that left Immortal himself and Rudy for Rex to practice with. He silently prayed that he would be paired with Rudy. Looking at him and Duplikate still put a bitter taste in his mouth.

Kate walked by with her eyes set very purposefully forward. Seems like she still felt the tensions as well. Amanda followed shortly behind her, and Rex could feel the gears turning in Rudy’s head. He never seemed to show emotion about anything except when it came to her. Part of Rex thought it was a little endearing, and then he remembered that Rudy stole his DNA to be able to date Amanda, and the fuzzy feelings stop abruptly. The whole situation was a little weird.

“Immortal, if I may have a moment, may I remind you that Monster Girl’s transformations cause her to age in reverse.”

“I know how my team’s powers work.” Immortal stated shortly. It almost made Rex scoff, as many issues as he might have at a given time with Rudy, he still couldn’t think of anyone else as the head of the Guardians but him.

“Then you must understand that this kind of training is hazardous for her. I’ve developed a simulation-” Rex watched out of the corner of his eye as Amanda stopped a few feet out, obviously listening in on the loud exchange.

“Hey, I can hear you, you know.” Amanda practically growled before returning to stand in front of the two.

“Amanda, I noticed the Immortal wasn’t tracking your transformations.” His tone was completely different when talking about her. It was almost hard to believe that the night before, he had casually selected pieces of biological matter from pools of blood without a single inflection entering his tone. And now he was stuttering even.

“It’s not his job to track my transformations.” Amanda pointed at Immortal and then extended her arm straight out to Rudy. “And it’s not yours, either.”

“But logically if there’s a way to mitigate your lost time-”

“If you get this controlling after one date, there’s not going to be another one.” Amanda glared back before turning to continue walking away.

This is ridiculous. “Oh no! Is eighth-grade prom cancelled?” Rex slid behind Rudy, considering what all about that whole interaction he could poke fun at. “Don’t tell me-” His jab was cut off by the sound of static right behind him, and before his eyes Cecil materialized, “Motherfucker!” He practically yelped, his heart jumping into his throat. It was the same sound that he had heard when the agents appeared to take Killdeer away. For a moment, he almost considered glancing behind Cecil to see if she was there. “Oh, fuck.” Rex panted, putting his hands on his knees for a second. “You know people try to kill us every single day, right? Just call, please!”

Cecil looked in no way impressed, his gaze immediately turning to Immortal. “We have a problem.”

A problem. Was this related to Killdeer? Rex felt his expression drop; would Cecil tell them about her if she was experiencing difficulties? Did Cecil know of Rex’s potential involvement in whatever had happened to her? He felt his heart rise to his throat again, this time not just because of Cecil’s unintentional jump scare.

“Well, what is it?” Rex tried to play it off as casual, but immediately felt his expression falter as Cecil’s eyes landed on him.

“Gather the rest of the team and meet us in the command area. I am going to talk to Immortal.”

“Seriously?” Rex gave a dramatic sigh, but Rudy immediately went to do as Cecil instructed. Shapesmith and Bulletproof following in Rudy’s footsteps.

Cecil stared Rex down, waiting for him to follow suit, eventually, he did, quietly grumbling to himself. If he was lucky, it would be some impending disaster rather than something directly related to him.

Impending disaster.

Rex looked up at the giant shimmering hologram of a Martian ship, the inner layers of it glowing red. Cecil explained that they had no way of making contact with whoever or whatever was on board. They all took a few steps forward to further analyze the diagram, leaving Shapesmith and Black Samson standing a few feet behind the others.

“Ship’s coming from Mars, huh? I wonder if there’s anyone here with insider knowledge of Mars.” Rex turned to see Black Samson’s gaze directed at Shapesmith.

Sure enough, Shapesmith was a Martian, which Cecil announced that they all knew. Rex was not about to correct him on that. Shapesmith began to tell his story about how he arrived from Mars to Earth, which he achieved by knocking someone out and practically stealing his identity. Which, on some level, impressed Rex; he didn’t think Shapesmith had it in him.

“Ah, okay, so we have god knows how many of those things headed here, they possessed the real Rus Livingston and they’re capable of possessing a million more of us. And it’s all your fault.” Cecil walked forward as he talked, ending directly in front of Shapesmith.

“Yes, you understand now…oh, that’s bad.”

“Hang on.” Bulletproof started, “We’re gonna believe this guy? He lied to us the whole time.”

Maybe Black Samson and Rex weren’t the only ones who did not know he was a Martian.

“No, before, I was lying. Now I’m telling the truth. It’s very different.” Shapesmith corrected.

“You left an American astronaut up there to die.” Immortal stepped in, leaning in so that Shapesmith had to lean back slightly away from him.

A small outburst of complaints resounded from the surrounding group as Rex turned his gaze back to the hologram. If these things could take control of humans, he had no chance against them in that confined of a space.

“Shut up, all of you.” Cecil stepped between Immortal and Shapesmith. “There will be consequences for this. But that ship cannot be allowed to reach Earth. And Shapesmith is the only source of intelligence we have.” Intelligence felt like too strong a word for Rex. “We need him. For now.”

“The team will be me, Bulletproof, Black Samson, Monster Girl and… Shapesmith. Rex, Shrinking Rae, Kate and Rudy, you’ll hold things down here.” Immortal said, immediately getting down to business.

Black Samson would probably be just as exposed as Rex would be, but he was not about to volunteer himself for this one. And maybe he had ulterior motives for wanting to stay behind. He glanced over at Cecil for a second, debating on if he should ask after Killdeer or not.

“It’s an alien spacecraft, so you’ll need my technical expertise. I’ll be protected in my suit.” Rudy added.

“Agreed. Rudy, you go too.” Cecil concurred.

“No, you don’t understand. There are millions of sequids on that ship. Maybe hundreds of millions. We won’t be enough.”

“Look-” Rex interjected before he fully finished that thought he was about to add. “I realize this is out of character, but I have an idea.”

“And that is?” Cecil raised a brow at Rex, folding his arms.

“Well, the obvious answer is Invincible and Eve, right?” Rex shrugged slightly.

“Invincible is not available right now.” Cecil said shortly.

“Well, fuck, when will he be?”

Cecil looked off to the side for a moment as if considering. “In a few days’ time maybe.”

“When is the carrier set to arrive at its destination?” Rudy asked.

“About two weeks, we attempted contact immediately after receiving notification of it leaving the Mar’s surface.”

“Then I will go talk to Eve tomorrow, and hopefully Invincible shows up in time.” Rex glanced back and forth between Immortal and Cecil, but neither of them seemed to have an instantaneous disagreement with his input.

The crowd slowly dispersed as each of them went in different directions, leaving Shapesmith, Cecil, Immortal, and Rex. Immortal seemed determined to squeeze more intel out of Shapesmith, bombarding him with questions. Rex turned his focus onto Cecil, who was watching them quietly.

What were the chances it was actually his fault? The question that had been resounding in his head since the evening before. Cecil seemed to always know everything, so even if he didn’t say anything, it was likely that he was not doing himself any favors on the suspicions side of things.

Cecil turned his attention to Rex as he stepped forward, the discourse between Immortal and Shapesmith fading into the background.

“Rex.” Cecil nodded in a partial greeting.

“So…I have a question.” Rex started, tapping his hands on his thighs absentmindedly.

“And I might have an answer.” Cecil gave him a mildly unimpressed look.

Fuck, why was this so hard to ask about? “Uh, Killdeer, is she-”

“She is fine.” Cecil said abruptly.

For an instant, Rex felt his shoulders relax at this. He had not watched her die after all. But after a moment more of consideration, he realized that this was not a satisfying answer.

“What the fuck happened? Is that normal?” Rex thought back to the footage Rudy had gained access to not that long ago. She has experienced this at least twice now. How often had this been happening? Was there lasting damage?

“We are still collecting all the details.” Cecil tilted his head slightly. “But, she is fine. Focus your energies on talking to Eve.”

Blue static engulfed him as he finished his statement, leaving Rex standing there staring at the wall behind him.

That sure was a way to share absolutely nothing at all.

“You know, it’s been like five years, and your parents still haven’t fixed the lock on your window.” Rex slid the office chair closer to Eve as she sat on her bed. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe they want you to be abducted.”

“I’m not in the mood Rex.” Eve muttered, her fingertips pressed to her temple.

“And I’m not here to make fun of you.” He was not sure what was happening to her to make her this sour, other than his surprise appearance. Actually, maybe that warranted it. But either way, with the past few days he was having, he was not really in the mood either.

Eve gave him a skeptical look. “Seriously.” When she maintained the look, he groaned. “Or to get in your pants. Or whatever you think I’m here to do. But when I heard you were back here, I knew something was wrong.”

Once Cecil had so abruptly left the day before, he had realized he had no clue where Eve was these days. He heard something about her having a treehouse, but that’s all. Eventually he sucked it up and asked Rudy, who told him she was back at her parents’ house. Something he considered as somewhat of a second hell for her. During their long period of dating, he had met her parents a few times, and none of those experiences yielded positive results.

“I don’t need your pity, Rex.” Eve crossed her arms.

“Since when do I do pity?” He laughed, and Eve sighed while lying back on her bed.

“Did you see what I did in Chicago? The park collapse?”

“I heard about it, yeah.” Kate had been poking fun about it one day before training to some other members, but he had not looked into it past that.

“Yeah, I messed up. People almost got hurt. And then I took it out on Killcannon and people did get hurt.” She sighs again, holding her hands up in frustration. “I try to help and all I do is cause more problems. My parents were right. Who do I think I am?”

“Everybody fucks up. To fuck up is human.” He’d be lying if he said he had not been waiting for a good moment to drop this line. “Shakespeare said that. The immortal. Black Samson. Freaking Robot, or Rudy or whatever he calls himself now.” For a moment, he thought back to how he had frantically called for Rudy while blood crept closer and closer to his shoes. His fingers holding her hair back as she retched. “They’ve all shit the bed at least once. Having powers isn’t easy, but we do our best.” He stood up and walked over to her dresser, pulling one of the drawers open. “Even assholes like me.” He hoped it was true. It was, right? All this pressure he had been putting on Killdeer was him doing his best. Wanting the best for the team. It had to be. “Just do the math, Eve. You are so far in the black that it’s stupid.”

Rex pulled out the photo of her and her ‘siblings’, holding it out to her as he reminded her of all the good she had done. Both in his life and others. No matter how many mistakes she had made, there were hundreds of exemplary things she had done too.

“So, dry your tears, tell your parents to go shove it up their asses, and get back out there, right?”

“All right.” Eve chuckles. “Thanks Rex. Now what do you want?”

“I am offended.” He does a mock gasp before continuing. “But yes, I do have a tiny favor to ask that involves a space rocket ship. Pew-pew-pew?”

“That small, huh?” Eve sighs. “Is this for Cecil?”

“Well, maybe.”

“Fate of the world?”

“Even heavier, maybe.”

“Ugh.” Eve lies back in the bed for a moment, her gaze on the ceiling. “I guess it would be good to actually do some good.”

“Great.” Rex said, sitting back slightly. But there was still a weighted silence around them.

“Is that all?” Eve asked after a few moments.

“No, not exactly.” He sighs, still internally debating if he should bring this up to her, but he has no one else to discuss this with. “This is less of a favor but more me asking you if I have been an incomprehensible ass.”

“The answer is yes.”

“Can I tell the story first?” He furrowed his brow.

“You can, but I am betting that it will still be a yes.”

“Ugh.” He ran a hand over his face, leaning forward more again in the chair while resting his elbows on the armrests. “I am not sure how to make this short and sweet, give me a second.”

“Oh boy.” She laughed.

“Shut up!” He bristled defensively. “Fine, there’s this new member on the Guardians. Killdeer, she fucking heals shit I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He said sourly.

“Okay? What about her?” She rose up slightly on her elbows. “You trying to sleep with her?”

“Jesus, is that all you think of me?”

“So that’s a yes?”

“No! It’s not a fucking yes. You know what, never mind.” He places his hands on the armrests, preparing to push himself up to go.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing. What’s going on?” Eve put her hand out to gesture for him to sit down again.

Rex grumbled but conceded, sitting back further while folding his hands together. “I don’t trust her.”

“Have you talked to anyone else on the team about this?”

“Robot. In fact, we have gathered quite a bit of evidence to prove that something is going on. We just don’t really know what.”

“Has Cecil looked into her?”

“Cecil brought her on himself. She was apparently working with him for months beforehand.” He sighed, tapping the pad of his left thumb on the point of his right thumb.

“So, what is the big deal?” Eve asked, raising a brow at him.

“I don’t fucking know!” He bursts, taking a moment, he closes his eyes, and calms down a little. “I don’t know.” He admits quieter. “She is fairly competent in battle and has been improving at astonishing rates. Too good of rates. And…” He hesitates for a moment, then continues. “Robot found footage of her. I am not even sure how to describe it. It was a blood bath-”

“She killed people?” Eve sat up completely at his, her hands set out behind her to prop her up.

“Not that we saw. The blood was hers. Started fucking pouring out of her eyes, ears everywhere. Freaky shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” He bites the inside of his lip, thinking further. “I wasn’t sure what to think, and then it happened in front of me. A few days ago.” He looked up at Eve. “I felt the warmth of her blood as it left her fucking body, Eve.”

“God.” Eve exclaimed softly. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” He repeated. “We were arguing beforehand, the usual stuff.”

“I’m not surprised there.”

Rex ignores her and continues. “She was fine, perfectly fine. She had just healed Rae and Bulletproof. And then I saw a drop run down her face. It was like a tear, but so obviously blood.” He started tapping his fingers lightly on the arm rests. “Once she was out, Cecil’s guys came and got her immediately. I asked Cecil about her, and he just said she was fine. She didn’t look fucking fine when I saw her.”

“Maybe it is some kind of side effect? Overextending her abilities?” Eve reasons.

“If it is, shouldn’t we as a team have been made aware that could happen?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Eve sighs, “But you know how Cecil is, if it’s not impertinent that we know, he doesn’t tell us. So, what, it’s not new.”

Rex groaned in frustration and leaned back, his gaze landing on her ceiling. She was right, this was not new. Why did he care so much?

“What is the real issue, Rex?”

“What if…” Rex studied the grooves of the ceiling for a moment before turning his focus back to Eve. “What if I did that to her? I’m sitting here talking to you about how all heroes make mistakes. Sometimes fucking big ones. What if I have been focusing my energies on this person for no reason? All based on a stupid hunch. And I have inadvertently cause injury?”

“Careful, Rex, you almost sound like you care.” Eve tried to joke, but when Rex remained looking serious, she continued. “Look, Cecil said she was fine. If you are really so concerned about it then why don’t you be a normal human being and apologize when you see her next.”

Rex hmphed, looking out the window over her shoulder as she continued. “And if you don’t want to do that, maybe just start leaving her alone.”

“What if I am right? And not looking into her further hurts the team?” Rex asked.

“You don’t care about the team, Rex.” Eve scoffs. “You care about being right. Question is, do you care more about being right, or how this one singular person views you?”

Rex ran a finger over the rim of his glass, his attention on a couple in the corner trying and failing to throw darts at the dartboard.

What a dumpster fire. Rudy obviously had no problem throwing him under the bus.

He could still see her in the elevator, the way her brow furrowed in genuine hatred. She had never pointed such an expression at him, even after all the shit he had given her. It shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t owe her anything. Even still, he found himself finishing off his glass and ushering the bartender for more at the thought of it.

You were a few blocks away. If he got up now, he could be there in ten minutes tops. That was his original intention. After some convincing, Rae had told him where your apartment was. She seemed satisfied with the idea of Rex trying to fix things, even if she was starting to have some doubts about Killdeer herself after Rudy’s display. She had given him Killdeer’s number too, which he had already tried to call and message. A multitude of times. Even for him.

He looked down at his phone, a string of messages only on the right side of the screen illuminating upwards.

-Hey, this is Rex, could we talk?

-Rex Splode btw.

-From the guardians.

-Rae gave me your number.

-Shrinking Rea.

-*Rae

-Please pick up.

Rex sighed heavily as the bartender put down his new glass, tracing his finger absentmindedly over the rim again. He watched as the phone rang once, then went straight to voicemail. Before typing “Can you fucking grow up? Answer!” His finger hovered over the send for a moment before dropping his hand to tap on the bar.

He looked over at the couple again, frowning slightly as they laughed. Immortal’s Martian team had left a few hours ago. It was a quiet night. If it were any other night at the bar, he would probably be completely wasted right now, without a single thought towards how hungover he would be in the morning.

He took a sip, his eyes returning to the screen again. His face felt a little warm, the buzz of his multiple drinks starting to haze his brain slightly. He deleted the message and typed out another along the lines of “Sorry if I have the wrong number, could you tell me if this is the wrong number?” After he hit send, he sent a slew of other messages, correcting his original spelling and reiterating again that this is Rex, Rex Splode…By the way.

He finished the rest of his drink, returning his gaze for a final time to the couple. They were standing at a cocktail table, laughing and talking obnoxiously close. The man reaching forward to curl a lock of the woman’s hair between his pointer and middle finger.

Oh brother. Rex rolled his eyes before asking the bartender for the bill. His attention snapped back to his phone as it vibrated against the side of his hand. His stomach clenched uncomfortably just for him to see that it was Rae asking how it was going. Get. A. Grip.

He stood up, grabbing his coat off the back of the barstool. Brushing past a few people to exit the bar. The ongoing rainfall immediately started seeping through his clothes, sending a chill down his spine and immediately ridding him of his buzz.

“Fuck.” He looked both ways before pulling his phone back out to look up her address.

He could practically hear the water cascade off his clothes as he stood outside your door, his hand hovering in a knocking position and his chest rising and falling rapidly. Maybe he shouldn’t have run those last few blocks. He was cold, and his fingers were numb as he typed out one last message before calling again. Voicemail.

His knuckles rapped softly against the door at first. If she did not respond, he would just leave. Don’t make this a whole thing.

Silence.

Maybe she didn’t hear him, that’s fine. He knocked again, a bit swifter, with more force.

“Who is it?” A voice sounded from deeper in the apartment.

“Rex.” He said without thinking, immediately wanting to slap himself when there was no further answer.

Fuck it. He’s already blown up her phone and shown up at her damn apartment, might as well commit.

His knuckles connected with the door repeatedly, almost desperately. He needed to see her; he was not sure what he would do after that, but why think further ahead?

“Go away!” Her voice rang out from somewhere closer to the door now.

He stopped for a moment. What was he doing? This was ridiculous. But still he knocked a few more times, quieter this time, leaning forward slightly as his head rested on the wood, it would have been cool against his skin if he wasn’t already on the brink of hypothermia. “Please…” He finally uttered softly.

Silence drew out for a little longer, but he heard a resigned sigh from right on the other side of the door. “Why, Rex.”

He was still trying to regulate his breathing, the shivers that ran over him forcing his breath out a little harsher. And something else, excitement? The sound of her voice. He didn’t want to think about it much further; it begged too many questions he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

“I…I have to talk to you. Fuck- Please Joy.” He closed his eyes sucking in a deep breath before quietly saying her actual name. He rarely used it; in fact, he avoided calling her anything most of the time, even nicknames. Maybe in a way, it helped to dehumanize her, make her into less of a real person who was affected by his actions.

There is a soft click he recognizes as the door unlocking, which has him standing up straight so that she does not open it with him leaning on it. He had seen her earlier, very briefly. But other than that, it had been days. The last time he had seen her ended with her passed out and him being shoved away by a GDA agent. He had not been able to just take her in fully during her outburst earlier at the Headquarters .

She did not look happy to see him, her gaze travelling over him with an unreadable expression he could only think must have been contempt. With every second that passed, he started to feel more and more awkward, but he was afraid to say anything that would cause her to close the door. He was surprisingly content just looking at her, seeing that she was unharmed.

He really wanted to ask her if this was a side effect. He had wondered since day one, but he was afraid of the idea that it wasn’t. He should ask Rae if she feels it. It would be better than asking Killdeer to her face.

“Can I come in?” He almost holds his breath as he can physically see the gears turning in her head. It is so obvious that she wants to say no, he can see her mouth forming around the word.

“Fine.” Oh.

Oh?

He steps into the apartment as she steps aside, his mind going completely blank. He hadn’t thought as far as her front door and definitely had not expected to be standing in her apartment.

“Did you walk here?”

“What? No.” He tried to shrug it off, his face feeling slightly warm at this. He started to look around her apartment, his eyes landing on a shelving unit with books on it. Some of them were mismatched. Most of them were actually. Their subjects ranged widely, from gardening to cooking to autobiographies. Somehow, he doubted all of these were to her tastes; they all looked like they had never been touched.

There were three books on the second shelf that immediately stood out. Their spines were cracked, and on the smallest one, the front cover was splitting off the book. Two of them were quite large, and easily could have been college-level textbooks. One was labelled Anatomy and Physiology, and the other was Neuroscience. The third had the name worn off of it, but it looked like a kid’s chapter book.

“You like the family tree?” He looked back at her to see her walking away, his attention returned to a collection of empty, connected frames. His gaze hardened slightly as he looked over it. He was not sure why, but it upset him slightly. Maybe it was still the slight buzz in his system.

“You’re making a mess everywhere.” She was holding a towel out to him. He took it after brief hesitation, before trying to dry off the ends of his pants and the sleeves of his jacket.

“I like your apartment, the interior design here is…” He paused, looking around, “nice.”

Dumbass.

“Oh, thanks?”

Dumbass.

“It actually came mostly furnished; I did not want to search for furniture while also trying to settle in with the Guardians, you know? Kinda…busy.”

DUMBASS.

“Oh.” He looked around again, it was still nice looking though. “Well, it’s nice.” He paused briefly, considering just leaving, nothing fruitful would come from this. He drank too much; he’d just tell her that. Maybe insult her, something.

“So-”

“Uh-”

“Oh sorry-”

“No, you go first.” What happened to insulting her and leaving? He could cringe if he wanted to be that self-aware for more than five seconds.

“Not to interrupt your sightseeing in my apartment, but what exactly do you want, Rex?”

God, he must seem like a creep. He suddenly blurted out: “You have to come back to the Guardians of the Globe-”

“No.” She responded immediately.

He furrowed his brow slightly, now turning to completely face her. It was time to stop being coy. “You’re a strong asset to the team-”

“Oh, do not give me that rehearsed bullshit. Is Cecil feeding that to you right now? Because that’s a new low for him.” She glared at him in return, the atmosphere immediately turning more tense.

“Fuck, Joy what do you want me to say?”

“I am not going back; you’re wasting your time. I am sure that you have better ways to spend your evening than being here beating a dead horse. Also, I am getting tired of you calling me that.” She placed her hand on the door handle after taking a step back.

“Half the Guardians just left on some bullshit expedition to Mars, only Rae, Kate, and I stayed behind. If anything happens-” He gritted his teeth, trying to weigh the chances of this making any difference. As confused as he was feeling, he was also starting to lose his very short patience with her. “At least wait until the others get back to go on this pity party.”

“Seriously? If you need back-up so bad ask Mark.”

“He left with them.”

“Honestly, Rex, I do not care. You’re a big boy, I think you can hero without me holding your hand for a little bit.”

He felt the corners of his mouth drop in a grimace before practically snarling, “What is your deal!” He was not going to get anywhere, acting like himself, he needed to take another approach. “I did not come here to fight or force you.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Alright, this has been fun, bye Rex!” She started to open the door, just for Rex, to push it closed again, the maneuver bringing him much closer to her than he had been before. Her eyes open slightly in shock, her hand letting go of the doorknob.

“Fuck, this isn’t-” He stopped, trying to form the words, what was the point he was even trying to make? Was he trying to get her to rejoin the Guardians or apologize? Or maybe neither? After his talk with Eve, he had considered apologizing, and somehow, he was further from that now that than he had been this morning. All he could do then was freeze up at the sight of her, unbloodied and alive.

“Rex, you’re drunk-”

Fuck, that’s what she thinks is happening right now? “No-”

“It is really late-”

“No-”

“I am tired, it’s been a really long day-”

He exclaimed her name in frustration, and after a brief pause, he spoke again. “You’re not listening. I’m not drunk.” He utters slowly, the words escaping from his gritted teeth.

“Do you need me to call a car to drive you back?” She finally says after a tense silence. Breaking the invisible line between them to go grab her phone.

The moment that car arrived, he would have to leave; he had to think. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to conceal his frustration. He was doing everything in his power to come across with some semblance of maturity, which was a very new feeling to him.

Killdeer was standing a few feet in front of him again; he could see the time estimation for when the car would arrive. It was going to be surprisingly soon. He had to talk.

“You did not really leave because of me, did you?” He finally let out.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say it wasn’t my fault.” He felt desperate, knew he probably sounded pathetic. Any time he ever had sounded like that was either with layers of sarcasm or an ulterior motive to get someone in bed with him. This time, he meant it. He wanted her to tell him that it was someone else’s fault. Rudy, Cecil, fucking Immortal, he didn’t care. He stepped towards her, his hand slightly outstretched towards her.

And she immediately took a step back. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Why would he expect anything else?

“Goddamn it.”

The rest was a blur to him. At some point, they left the apartment and entered the elevator. He could feel her eyes resting on him. Probably pitying him. Here he was, showing up to her apartment late at night, soaking wet and miserable looking. In the morning, he was going to feel embarrassed about this.

She had left him behind in the elevator to go talk to the driver. It was one of the GDA cars, he recognized it immediately. Not that he thought she would call him a random taxi, but somehow, still he was surprised. As he’s catching up, she goes to open the back seat for him. One last-ditch effort. His hand, less forcefully this time, lands on the frame of the door, stopping her from opening it.

He’s inches away from her, any thought he had immediately becomes harder to concentrate on as she looks up at him, rain trickling down her face.

Side effect of her powers or not, he was mesmerized by her. It took him weeks to admit to himself, but he was prepared to do it now. Water droplets glistening on her hair as she stood in silence, staring back up at him. There was no way she didn’t feel it; to him, it felt like a gravitational pull. Out of his control, but very present.

“The driver will take you to the headquarters.” Her eyes trail down to his shirt collar before slowly traveling back up to his face.

“Come with me.” He furrows his brow against the rain, he didn’t know what else to say to her, He just knew he did not want to leave her.

“No.” She said in a low tone, finally giving him a semblance of a real smile, obviously meant to soften the blow. And fuck if it didn’t make it worse.

And in that instant, he leaned slightly forward, the thought entering his head to close the distance between them. It would solve nothing, none of the issues he had with her or himself. But he wanted nothing more in the world than to know what she felt like, what her lips felt like. Maybe he was more inebriated than he thought. “Please.” It’s practically a beg.

“Goodnight, Rex.” She says after a few moments. Rex watches as her lips curl around his name, it makes him feel bitter to see it. But even then, she did not move, her eyes remained on him and for a moment he considered leaning in completely.

And then she stepped back.

Flickers of disappointment crossed his subconscious before he tried to push them away. He got in the car without saying another word, watching as she continued to stand in the rain to see the car leave.

“There is a situation Director Stedman wants the Guardians to attend to.” The driver interrupts the silence as soon as the car pulls out into the road. “He told me to tell you there is a nuclear threat.”

Rex groans, rubbing his temple, before taking off his jacket and shirt to reveal his suit. “Fill me in.”

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long for me to get around to! I really struggle with chapters that have a mix of dialogue from the show. But I made it extra long so you guys can eat well :3. I finally formatted out a large portion of the rest of the fic as well, and with how things are headed it is set to be over 100k words long 😭 good lordddd

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101

#invincible #rex splode x reader #enemies to lovers #no beta we die like rex splode apparently #slow burn #invincible season 3 #invincible rex splode #rex splode #rex sloan #rex sloan x reader #invincible fanfic #crawling back to you rexfic #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #yearning

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melonteee · 7 hours ago

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I am utterly fascinated by people that watch or read One Piece and come out thinking that there's nothing wrong with the marines or the world government like bruh are we seeing the same thing

My favourite ones are the ones that say "But overall the marines are doing more good than pirates" as if we haven't seen the marines take part in genocide while also protecting slave owners like ?? THIS is who you think is doing more good?? It's literally shown to be incredibly rare when a marine ACTUALLY wants to protect civilians, you'd think Smoker's introduction - with everyone worried he's about to get mad at a child - would set the landscape for how marines are seen by civilians in this world.

Not to mention when Law was a child, and after his whole town got burnt to the ground, he was quite literally terrified of marines! He hated them so much Corazon had to lie to him about being one, AND Corazon decided he had to quit the marines if he wanted to keep Law safe after Law had been cured (but he died lol rip to a baddie). Like oh geez hm I wonder why Law hates the marines? I wonder why this sick kid from a village that the government ordered to be burnt down hates the marines? Real head scratcher there!

The copaganda is crazy cause they claim pirates are the ones who are violent murderers who will just kill...AS IF WE HAVEN'T SEEN THE MARINES DO THAT?? But it's even WORSE when the marines do it because they believe any lives they take to be JUSTICE?? Like hey remember when the marines were trying to find a pregnant Rouge so they were running around an island terrorising and implied harming/killing pregnant women just to stop any possibility of Ace being born?? But yeah no the marines are the ones doing the most good in the one piece world ofc ofc

My other favourite ones are also the ones that hard separate the marines from the world government, as if the world government isn't the marines' boss. The marines are literally the world government's lap dog and tons of ppl don't want to acknowledge that so they're just on copium about it, hence you have people saying shit like "But SWORD is different it's only Marine controlled!!" as if an established military organisation with WG backing being totally free to do whatever it wants isn't the most terrifying thing ever?? Not to mention you have SWORD existing and the first thing they do is...help another marine. It's clear as day SWORD exists for the marines' benefit and not any civilians benefit yet people will still try to make SWORD it's own 'good' entity away from the world government or 'regular' marines because they just want the marines to be good so bad like don't make me LAFF!!!!!

The funniest part is, people want the marines to be for the benefit of innocent civilians so bad that they bend over backwards to try and reason why the marines actually exist for the good of the world and not just for their own benefit. But we DO have one organisation that genuinely DOES want to save people, who we have watched SAVE a near WHOLE ISLAND of people. We ALREADY have an organisation whose whole thing is existing for the benefit of innocent civilians, AND THAT'S... THE FUCKING REVOLUTIONARY ARMY LMAO.

Dragon is even an EX-MARINE who claims the marines did NOTHING that even remotely resembled JUSTICE, and you'd think the Revolutionary Army even EXISTING would make people realise just how little the marines ACTUALLY do, but they're so busy sucking the admirals off silly style THEY JUST IGNORE THE REVOLUTIONARY ARMY COMPLETELY!! RRRAAAAAHHH!!!!!

#ask #melonask

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vergess · 7 hours ago

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It's also very rare to come across a female hero who is a feminine subject rather than a feminized object.

Female protagonists in media are a nightmare hellscape of being neither feminine nor masculine, but rather consumable and attractive to a presumed white cishet audience.

Characters who choose femininity and revel in it are just as rare as ones who choose masculinity and revel in it, because female characters are never given the agency of choosing or reveling in anything.

For an example of a feminine subject in a mainstream media property, I end up having to reach back decades to things like The Devil Wears Prada, where the characters both look and behave in feminine ways. It's just really, really rare.

In most media, female heroes are assigned masculine behaviours and feminine appearance, and then made to denigrate any woman who exists outside that narrow bound. Which is all of them because the specific combinations of traits provided can only exist in fiction where the appearance of femininity is an innate and inborn magic rather than a carefully crafted piece of folk artistry, and so the character never has to do the grueling work of learning feminine skills.

The fact that feminine-looking women are presented positively everywhere in media doesn't change the reality that feminine-acting women, women who enjoy feminine hobbies and arts and careers, are extremely rare for anything more than set dressing. And when they do exist, they are insulted and derided for that femininity as surely as they would have been for masculinity.

What I'm trying to get at here is that these two claims seem like they are paradoxical and opposed.

But actually, the absence of masculine-looking women and the absence of feminine-behaving women are the same problem:

Women made as decoration for male audiences.

"Why not make female heroes more feminine so girls know you don't have to be masculine to save the world" is misguided. The target audience of heroic adventure genre is not children who actually save the world in a literal sense, it's children who want a cathartic outlet for the struggles and injustice they face. And one of the most common types of injustice that many girls and children assumed to be girls are subjected to is forced feminization.

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scarletqueenx · 2 days ago

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SEASONS OF LOVE

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When the world is finally safe and Dean gives up hunting, one winter morning, he shows up at your house, looking for a place to belong and a purpose for a future he never thought he could have.

Word Count: 4.4K

Tags/Warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff

A/N: This short series comes inspired by the moodboard made by @chevroletdean, who's celebrating her 500 followers with a writing challenge. Make sure to check the other stories in this challenge and the wonderful writers participating in it.

Also inspired by Seasons Of Love from the musical Rent.

PART 1 - WINTER

He arrived just before sunset. The roar of his car engine broke the quiet stillness of your lake house, startling your dogs and drawing the attention of a few of your cats.

Visitors were rare out here. So you knew immediately—it was him.

You hadn’t been expecting him. Not that day, at least.

You froze when you saw him on your porch, a duffel bag in one hand and a weight on his shoulders he’d been carrying long before you ever met him. But today, that weight felt different. Everything felt different.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” He admitted, after a barely audible “hi” slipped from his lips.

Two years ago, Dean had saved you from a wendigo that lived in the woods surrounding your home. He and his brother, Sam, stayed with you for a few days after you invited them in as thanks. You loved him from the moment you saw him. Something in your chest—a fire, a pull told you he was your soulmate. So you promised to wait.

Dean wouldn’t dare to believe you’d actually kept that promise. Not after two years. Not for someone like him. Because, deep down, he didn’t think he deserved it.

“It’s over.” He said when you still hadn’t moved. “Sam’s living with Eileen now. Cas…” His voice caught in his throat at the mention of his angel friend. Tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You stepped forward slowly, your hand resting on the doorframe like it might keep you grounded.

He looked older. Not just tired—worn in places that didn’t show in photos. The lines around his eyes were deeper.

“I was just making tea.” You said softly. “You hungry?”

Dean blinked. Like he didn’t expect you to ask that—like he was prepared for something colder. Maybe the door closing. Maybe silence.

But you stepped aside instead.

He hesitated only a second before crossing the threshold. One of your dogs sniffed at his boots while your littlest cat trailed behind him like it remembered him too.

He didn’t speak again until he sat at the kitchen table, staring at the steam rising from the mug you placed in front of him.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He murmured. “I thought when it was all over, I’d feel free. But all I feel is... gone. Like I don’t know where I fit anymore.”

You sat down across from him, hands wrapped around your own mug.

“You don’t have to know yet.” You said. “You shouldn't rush. You’re here now. You can stay as long as you want. Until you know exactly what you want from life.”

His gaze lifted to look at you. A soft look, almost hesitant, but far from guarded by possible danger. He had always felt safe in your home, with you.

“I don’t want to mess this up.” He said, voice rough—rougher than last time you spoke to him. “With you. I already feel like I’m made of all the wrong pieces.”

You reached across the table, fingertips brushing his hand. He didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to be fixed to be loved, Dean.” You whispered in a tender tone. “I said I would wait. And I did.”

There it was. The answer to the question he hadn't brought himself to ask.

“You shouldn’t have.” He shook his head, not really feeling deserving of your time or love.

“Well,” You said, pulling your hand away from his, making his skin grow cold. “That was my decision to make.”

A pause. Gentle. Firm.

“Staying is yours.”

A week goes by slowly for him. Too much silence and time to think and lose himself in his head's demons in that house so far away from civilization. It almost felt like being back in the bunker, but much nicer.

He sleeps in your guest room. You don't say anything, but every night you leave the door to your room slightly open in case he wants to sleep with you.

Your smaller, white-haired, blue-eyed cat follows him everywhere, shares his bed and looks at him with those watchful eyes—Dean almost felt like the cat could see right through him.

At first, Dean's dog, Miracle, wasn’t very accepting of this new companion who is so interested in his owner, but he quickly warms up to him, even letting him snuggle with him at Dean's feet every night.

One thing you had also noticed was the cup he used every morning. Always the same one. A mug you had gotten at a thrift store and almost forgot you had. Now it was his presence on your kitchen counter and the smell of fresh coffee that told you he was still there.

You hardly crossed paths during the day. Dean seemed absent, not only because he used to spend his days at the lake or in the woods, wandering around as if looking for a way out. But also emotionally. The distance between you ached and tightened in your chest, begging you to take the first step to get him to open up to you.

You knew you shouldn't. That it wasn't right. That you should give him space until he felt comfortable enough. But feeling his presence and not being able to talk to him tore you apart.

That was until one morning on his second weekend here.

He stood in the kitchen, watching the steam rise from his mug of coffee. A mug that now felt too familiar. He hated how something so simple could ground him. He hated that he felt like he had to hold onto those small moments for dear life.

The sound of the door opening behind him broke the silence.

“Morning.” You said, your voice warm but hesitant. You were surprised to see him there.

“Morning.” He replied, though his voice was rougher than he intended.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, watching him like you were waiting for him to say something else.

When he didn’t, you walked towards the fridge.

Dean didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know if he was supposed to.

“I don’t mean to seem like I’m shutting you out or ignoring you.” He began, rubbing his face. “I just don’t know how to be… well, normal anymore. Not after everything that’s happened.”

You turned to look at him. In your hand a carton of milk.

“It’s okay, Dean. I understand.” You said softly. “And you don’t have to be normal. Not here. Not with me. You just have to be you.”

Dean’s chest tightened. You had no idea how hard it was for him to let someone see the real him, even someone as kind as you.

The words hung in the air between you, simple and warm, but they cracked through something in his chest.

You just have to be you.

He looked down at the mug in his hands like it might offer him an answer. Like maybe it would tell him who that even was.

“I just don’t know if I can be what you need.” He admitted in a low voice, his gaze falling to the floor. “I’m not the guy you think I am.”

“I don’t need you to be someone else.” You said, voice steady. “I just need you to be here.”

He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to close himself off again. But for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe it. That maybe, just maybe, he could stay—and let himself be loved.

“What's with that mug, by the way?” You asked, trying to ease the tension.

Dean looked down at the mug in his hand, his brow creasing in confusion.

“You use the same one every day.”

“Dunno. Just feels right.” He shrugged, pretending he hadn't noticed. When really, that mug already felt like his.

You looked at him carefully before nodding. A smile creeping across your lips as you made your own breakfast at his side, filling your cup with the coffee he had prepared and grabbing a plate of freshly made bacon and eggs.

It felt natural. Familiar.

Errands day was approaching. Snow was beginning to cover the vast fields surrounding your house, the lake was freezing a little each day and winter was deepening.

You loved winter. Spending days at home, sitting by the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate, a good movie and your pets. You also loved the long walks in the snow, making angels and snowmen while your huskies rolled around in the snow.

This year you were nervous about Dean's presence. Most of them were good, exciting nerves. But part of you was still afraid that one morning you would wake up and his mug would no longer be on the counter. That he'd no longer be there.

Dean found you in the kitchen, preparing breakfast before he had fully awakened. With eyes still sleepy and messy hair, he watched you walk around the kitchen with special energy and happiness.

Without giving him time to say anything your eyes met his, your smile growing bigger as you saw him standing there.

“I’ve prepared pancakes. I hope you like them. I'm not as good at making coffee as you are, but... I've done my best.” You blurted out so quickly that he could barely process it all with his newly awakened mind.

“What's the hurry?” He frowned.

“It's errands day.” You replied as if it were a party. “It's the last one of the year. I have to pick up the animals' food, everything I need for the winter and restock the food pantry until February.”

“Until February?” Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise as he grabbed his mug and filled it with coffee, hoping it would wake him up.

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded. Your eyes catching the faint smile on his lips as he tasted the coffee. “It's a tradition in this house.”

“Need any help?” Dean turned to you. “I mean, it has to be a lot of food for the animals... that's got to be heavy and... Food for two. That's a lot for one person to do.”

“Well, I got the Jeep. I'm not carrying it all the way here.” You teased.

“Yeah, no. I know.” He answered a little flustered.

You smiled warmly, tilting your head as you placed some red gloves on your hands.

“I'll wait for you in the car. I'll feed the horses and dogs while you get ready.” You said, heading for the door. But with your hand on the knob you turned back to him. “Can you give the cats their food, though?” You asked with a little pout.

Dean smiled against his coffee mug before nodding.

“Thanks.”

An with that you were out of the house, leaving him with a warmth in his chest he hadn't felt before.

The engine of the Jeep rumbled to life as snow crunched under Dean’s boots. He climbed into the passenger seat, rubbing his gloved hands together and exhaling a cloud of steam.

You didn’t speak right away. You just handed him a thermos and gave him a quick, knowing smile. Like you’d always done things this way.

“What is this?” Dean looked at you curiously as you pulled the car out of the driveway.

“Hot chocolate.” You smiled. “Another tradition of the trip to town.”

“So many traditions.” He teased with a smile.

“That's what comes with living in one place for so long.” You shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And it was. But not for Dean.

His shoulders tensed slightly at your words, his gaze dropping to the thermos that was now warming his cold hands as he got lost in thoughts.

You didn't realize it, though.

The road into town curved through thick woods and open fields dusted in white. The lake off to the side was frozen now, a sheet of glass stretching under a pale sky. You drove with one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the dial on the radio until you found some classic rock.

Dean raised a brow at the opening chords of Led Zeppelin.

“What?” You said innocently. “You think I don’t have taste?”

He gave a soft chuckle.

“No, I just… forgot what good mornings could sound like.”

You glanced at him, heart aching a little at that.

The Jeep bumped over the snow-covered roads, the tires cutting through the thick drifts with ease. As the trees thinned out, the small town came into view. The main street was quiet, a thin layer of snow covering the rooftops and sidewalk, the town square bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light.

You drove past familiar shops, each one a piece of your life here — the bakery on the corner, the local diner with the "Best Pancakes in Town" sign proudly hanging outside.

"Here we are.” You said, pulling into a parking spot near the animal shop. "The first stop on our list."

Dean didn’t say anything at first, just taking in the sight of the town. The familiarity of it all. The fact that you knew it like the back of your hand, like you’d always belonged here.

The bell above the animal shop door jingled as you stepped inside, bringing with you a gust of cold air and the smell of snow. The warmth hit instantly — along with the scent of cedar chips, hay, and something faintly sweet like cinnamon.

Dean followed close behind, glancing around as the cozy shop welcomed him in. Shelves of treats and toys lined the walls, and the soft chatter of a radio played low in the background. A gray tabby curled lazily on the front counter, unbothered by your arrival.

A woman’s voice floated from the back room. “Is that my girl I hear out there?”

“Morning, Hazel.” You smiled and leaned over the counter to scratch the cat’s chin.

From the storage door emerged a petite older woman with thick white curls and round glasses that made her eyes look even warmer. She lit up the moment she saw you.

“Oh, sweetheart!” She exclaimed, arms outstretched. “I was hoping to see you today.” She hugged you tightly.

Her eyes shifted to the man behind you, lingering on his broad shoulders and tired, handsome face.

“And who's your company?”

“Hazel, this is Dean. Dean, this is Hazel Burton. She and her husband own the oldest store in town. And my favorite place.” You introduced them.

“Oh, don't lie, girl.” Hazel spoke. “Your favorite place has always been that bar on the corner where they serve sweets and you take money from everyone who tries to play pool against you.”

“Not my fault they suck.” You raised your hands innocently, earning a smile from her.

“So you are the famous Dean.” The elder woman looked back at him.

“Famous?” Dean turned towards you with an amused smile on his lips.

“She talks about you like you’re a ghost story and a love song rolled into one.” Hazel’s eyes twinkled.

Dean laughed, a bit awkward. “That’s... flattering. I think.”

“Thanks, Hazel. Really needed him to know that.”

She smiled, amused by your sarcastic tone.

Before you could say anything else, a tall man in flannel emerged from a back room with a large shepherd mix at his heels. “Hey! Look who finally decided to stop by.” Frank called.

“Hi, Frank.” You smiled.

“And you must be Dean.” He looked at the man by your side.

Dean turned to you with a look — a mix of what the hell is this place and how do they know my name?

You gave a nonchalant shrug. “They’re like family.”

“We are family.” Frank corrected you.

“Do you have my pet food and cat litter or do I have to travel to the next town over to get it?” You narrowed your eyes. You weren't angry, and your tone didn't sound annoyed either, just familiar. As if bickering was your normal way of talking to him.

“Bold girl. Always in a hurry.” He grunted, disappearing back into the back room.

“Any abandoned pups or kittens lately?” You asked, turning your gaze back to Hazel.

“An older dog that Frank and I have decided to keep. And a couple of baby kittens are now in the vet's office. The Robinsons have decided to adopt them. But there's one more they found alone. You can stop by and take a look. I think Clara hasn't found a home for her yet.” She said walking behind the counter.

“We'll go.”

You assured, watching as Frank walked out of the back room once again.

“You have a shelf in the garage with your name on it. All in order.” He said. “Think you can carry all that?”

“I'll do it.” Dean spoke, gaining your attention. But his eyes met only yours. Meeting a questioning gaze asking him if he was sure.

He simply nodded.

“It's been a pleasure, Mr and Mrs Barton.” His green eyes turned to the elder couple.

“Oh, call us Frank and Hazel, boy. Her friends are our friends.” Said the man, pointing at you.

Dean nodded slightly before leaving the store to start packing up all the bags of food and litter.

“He's handsome.”

“Hazel!” You exclaimed, eyes widened.

“What? I'm old, not blind.” She said.

“At least you won't have to carry those damn bags alone anymore. More animals in that house every day, my God.” Frank said, returning to the back room.

You smiled with amusement as you handed Hazel the money for everything.

“See you in February, sweetie.” She smiled.

“See you in February, Haz”.

Dean slid the last bag into the back of the Jeep and shut the trunk with a soft grunt. His breath fogged in the cold air as he stood there for a second, hands on his hips, just… taking it in.

The quiet street. The way the snow muffled sound. The sight of you laughing through the shop window with Hazel, tucking your scarf tighter as you waved goodbye. Like this was just life—not something to fight through, not something to fix. Just life, warm and steady.

You opened the driver’s side door and climbed in, rubbing your gloved hands together and blowing warm air into them. “They didn’t scared you, did they?”

Dean chuckled as he got in beside you. “Define scared.”

You started the Jeep, pulling back onto the road. “Hazel meant well.”

“She said I was a ghost story and a love song.” He said, shaking his head. “What does that even mean?”

You smirked. “It means you haunt me in the most romantic way possible.”

Dean looked over at you, and for a split second, his usual walls faltered. He didn’t say anything, just gave you a look. Quiet. Soft. Like he was still figuring out how much of this was real, how much he was allowed to feel.

Then he cleared his throat and looked ahead. “So… next stop?”

“The market.” You said, driving past the diner. “They have the best honey and fresh bread. Plus, I need to restock.”

You turned onto a side street, where the local market sat nestled between an old bookstore and a barbershop. A hand-painted sign hung above the door: Granger’s Market.

Dean looked out the window, surprised when a couple of people waved—at you.

“You know everyone here, huh?” He said.

You parked and gave him a casual smile. “It’s a small town. People notice when you stick around.”

Dean stepped out of the Jeep, watching as an older man tipped his cap in your direction and a teenage girl greeted you by name as she passed.

And something settled in his chest—strange, but not unpleasant.

This was your world.

And somehow, he was becoming a part of it.

The market spread out with various stalls selling different types of food. Welcoming you was the bakery, with the smell of freshly baked sweets, and the cosmetics area, where women gathered to talk to the saleswoman. A little further away, the meat and fish shops, whose lines were the most noticeable.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look who the snow dragged in!” A woman with thick auburn hair and laugh lines around her eyes appeared from behind a display of oranges at your right side. “About time you came by, sweetheart. I was about to call and scold you.”

“Hi, Marlene.” You grinned. “I’ve been stuck up by the lake the past few days.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure. And who’s this tall drink of black coffee?” She asked, eyeing Dean with open curiosity but a friendly smile.

Dean offered a handshake. “Dean.”

“Marlene. I run this circus.” She replied. “Watch your wallet if she challenges you to darts.” She added, thumbing toward you with a smirk. “She hustled me out of three pies last month.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at you. “Huh. Pool and darts?”

“She’s a menace.” Marlene whispered, before waving you both toward the bakery. “Go on, go grab your bread and sweets before George sells out. He put some cupcakes aside just in case you showed.”

Dean followed you, watching as you waved past the few other customers. As you passed an old man stacking jars, he glanced up and gave you a toothy smile.

“Still puttin’ hot sauce on your eggs, girl?”

“Wouldn’t eat ‘em any other way, Leo.”

Dean raised his eyebrows again.

You shrugged. “I have a brand.”

At the bakery counter, a tall, stooped man with thick glasses held up a brown paper bag as you approached.

“Saved the last one for you, like always.” George said. “And Nancy brought in fresh goat cheese this morning—figured you’d want some.”

“You know me too well.” You said, accepting the bag.

Dean leaned in a little, voice low as he spoke next to your ear. “Are you secretly the mayor of this town?”

Your skin tickled under the touch of his breath.

You laughed under your breath. “No. Just loyal to my snacks.”

You paid while George added an extra honey jar ‘on the house’.

The sound of conversation floated through the aisles—greetings, laughter, a kid asking if they could get cookies. Dean slowed behind you, taking it all in.

A woman behind the cheese and charcuterie stand waved the moment she spotted you.

“Well, look who finally wandered out of the woods!”

“Hi, Nancy.” You waved back. “Tom.” You smiled at the man next to her.

He greeted you, stepping out from behind the counter. Dean watched as you pulled the Jeep keys out of your pocket and handed them to him.

“I think there's still room for the milk and the rest of the food in the trunk.” You told him before looking over your shoulder at Dean. “Right?”

“Ah-” Dean hesitated, still bewildered by the whole situation. “Yeah. There's room.

“Great, you'll have it all in five minutes.” Tom said. “By the way, have you seen the statue that the mayor wants to put in the square? It's awful.I saved a photo. Look.”

You paused to look, nodding in agreement with him, and introduced Dean. Tom gave him a firm handshake and a once-over like a protective brother sizing up the new boyfriend—not threatening, just curious.

Dean stood close as you kept walking through the market, watching the way you moved through the crowd like sunlight, known and loved in equal measure. He was used to being invisible in the places he passed through. But here? You were woven in.

At the meat counter, a young man in an apron did a double take. “Hey! Hey, I’ve got those cuts you asked for. The stew ones. And I saved the bones for your dogs.”

“You’re the best, Theo.”

Theo caught sight of Dean and gave him a head-nod. “Friend of hers?”

“Something like that.” Dean answered, unsure whether to feel amused or overwhelmed.

“You must be cool if she brought you here.” Theo said, wrapping the meat carefully.

By the time you reached the door to leave, your cheeks were flushed from conversation, laughter, and warmth.

Dean helped by carrying the heaviest bags, and the owner of the marked—Marlene— winked at him.

“She ever tell you she beat the mayor in the chili cook-off and refused to take the ribbon because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings?”

You groaned. “Why is that still going around?”

“Because we all saw it. You annihilated him.”

Dean laughed, low and genuine. “I’m starting to feel like I brought a local legend into town.”

You turned slightly toward him, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You didn’t bring me. I brought you.”

“Fair.” He murmured, eyes scanning the space once more—the people, the light, the easy rhythm of it all. “Feels like... a different planet.”

You smiled softly, waving goodbye to Marlene and taking the last of your bags.

“Not a bad one though, right?”

Dean shook his head.

“No. Not bad at all.”

As you stepped onto the cold, snow-covered street, a voice to your right caught your attention.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite troublemaker.” A middle-aged man in a heavy coat called out. “And with company!”

“Morning, Earl.” You replied, grinning as you pulled your hat lower over your ears. “This is Dean.”

Dean nodded, a bit unsure of himself.

Earl’s eyes twinkled.

“Dean.” He repeated, as if considering how the name sounded in his mouth.

“Don't.” You warned him when you saw the gleam of amusement appear in his eyes.

He laughed while Dean looked back at you with confusion.

“I wasn’t gonna said anything.” Earl assured you.

“Whatever.” You scoffed.

“Feisty.” Earl turned towards Dean.

“Very.” He replied with a smile. You rolled your eyes as you shoved the bags into the back of the Jeep.

Tom said his goodbyes, handing you back the keys to the vehicle.

“Let's go, we still have to pick up that kitten from the vet.”

“You're going to adopt it?”

“I don't want it to be homeless for Christmas.”

Dean smiled at your answer.

Your big heart and love for animals was one of the things he liked most about you. Your passion, love and altruism towards them. You had money for many comforts and luxuries, yet you used all that money to protect and care for animals while living a quiet life in that small town, getting to know almost everyone and making them love you.

Part 2- Spring (coming soon)

want to be tagged? here you have my tag list

series masterlist

main masterlist

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Tag List: @babygirldeansblog @mrswinchester3 @moria-readslovestories

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lochnessie · 2 days ago

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Thoughts on The Android (Animorphs #10) pt 2

Oh Erek is so cool actually what. Why did i dislike this book? Marco being marco? the ending of it? probly some of both i guess but it's not bad.

Oh that's why. Such 'intelligent' beings but they haven't yet figured out their definition of violence. I mean sure Erek isn't hurting the Yeerk in his head but he is stealing its memories and keeping it from living the life it intended to live, or any life at all. Like....that's a form of hurting/violence babe. I could think of a million ways the chee could help win this war without the fancy crystal, the first of which being running full defense. Go to a battle and just straight up be an animorph shield. no violence necessary beyond the enabling of it. Or be spies. Erek is already doing that and could be huge intelligence help for the animorphs. Could also probably set up communication with andalites or maybe other aliens to get allies in on this. like. come on. I know this needed to be a one off but like....seriously?

lmao okay have fun while it lasts kiddos

Lol Cassie you mean the Author? why in the world did you All have to do the wire maze? surely only one or two should have gone and then others could have stayed hugging the wall.

nothing to say really, that's just super fuckin cool. insane the damage marco took though. 'gorilla insides..my insides. My insides!' and getting stabbed in the heart only to barely morph out and still needing a shock to come back to life. Damn.

Rachel's tears. Fuck.

Okay i get why applegate included the paragraph about violence taking pieces of you and leaving scarred memories that never leave you or whatever but like. Erek you were a slave and have lived thousands of years. You've never been a war medic? Never saw the brutality of what a slave master would do? The tortures of the middle ages or whatever? That's gotta be fresh still too, and you rewrote your programming to be able to stop that from happening in your presence ever again. You're going to go back to nonconsensual pacifism without even a compromise because of 10 seconds of blood? And why haven't the Chee gone into politics? their definition of violence would allow for them to get in there and make for more peace all over the world? wtf have u guys been doing you assholes? ugh these guys make for too many plot holes.

see?! He could give them all untraceable cell phones they could call each other with! could probably bug a few yeerk ships and sharing meeting spots like. HELLO. chee spies!!

and those dogs who paddled out to leave the crystal in the ocean are just leaving it to wash up pretty soon. like that's not far enough for it to be gone for long but whatever. whatever man

#animorphs #animorphs book club #ani 10 #animorphs book 10 #animorphs the android #the android

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dancing-dawn · 3 days ago

Note

atsushi for the ask game 🙏

Oh my darling boy, my sweetest joy, oh, how this ask has brought the brightest smile upon my face. Hihi this is gonna be a long one, I tried my best to restrain myself, I swear!

Favourite thing

Boldsushi! SASSUSHI! I love how unapologetically cocky and no-bullshit he gets when surrounded by utter madness and at some (many) points he feels like the only reasonable person in the room. He is also literally the most unique and lovable (once you get to really know him) protagonist I've ever read. My boy is so complex and to me, out of the whole cast, he feels the most like a real person.

Least favourite thing

Atp I adore canon Atsushi so much, the only thing I dislike is his fanon perception. In particular - people who just do not get why he's a compelling protagonist and not a "weak pathetic crybaby." I am pointing knives at everyone who still dares to STILL utter those lies this after recent chapters.

Favourite line

*clears throat*

"Away with you... you fool."

...but! Considering that is not an original thought but a shamelessly stolen flirty dramatic ass pick-up line from our second best boy xD I'll give you another, the silly and the serious:

"All this cause of Dazai, well, Dazai, my ass!"

-> oh the amount of times I have rewided to hear this over and over, laughing hysterically every single time, oh dear

Ok now for the serious one:

"Akutagawaaaaaa!"

"People need to be told they're worthy of being alive by someone else or they can't go on."

-> I love this one because of how blatantly wrong he is. And by wrong, I mean having an unhealthy mindset plagued by deep-rooted trauma, and this being the only way he's learned to cope. That's why he's a fascinating character. He's not saying this as a "lesson" or "moral" to the audience, nor as an objective truth - he's simply stating what he believes in and what drives him to keep going. Obviously this is an incredibly dangerous life policy to have because if you surround yourself by people who don't have your best interest in mind, and you rely on them to tell you what your worth is and why you're allowed to live - then you're just doomed, you're playing with the hazard of life and walking the thinnest line between hope and despair.

I can get into how this also connects to Akutagawa’s influence on Atsushi as he, subconsciously or not, helps him grow in the direction of living seperately from his past and abiding by his own ideals (something that is mirrored by Aku's own struggles), seeing his self-worth and taking action EVEN if faced with his biggest fear of being alone, even when the world is against him and there's no one there to pat him on the back and tell him he did a good job, even when everything and everyone has fought for is gone and he's left to pick up the pieces and he needs to believe his strength goes beyond the tiger's prowess, that he exists for a reason and he is enough, he is allowed to believe himself worthy of going on...

...but this wall of text is gonna have no end, so maybe another time!

brOTP

Kyouka & Atsushi. There is just no stronger familial relationship than those two and their influence on each other's lives is very sweet and very important. For me this hits especially hard in Beast and makes me tear up, just a bit (totally). I also regularly think about the crepe scene and it fills my heart with warmth and joy. Big brother Atsushi, my love, I will die for you (im almost starting to sound like yk who, jesus).

OTP

Ahem, *clears throat again*

*picks up the microphone* *leans down and whispers*

"Skin Soukoku."

*the crowd claps and cheers, showering me with bouquets of daisies and black roses* *i bow and take my leave, the faintest trace of a smile on my face*

nOTP

mmmm I actually don't have one, I think?? Even tho I will die on my sskk hill, I respect all ships with Atsushi because they're just wholesome and fun if you imagine then in an alternate universe (where Aku somehow doesn't exist *cough*) I guess if you're fooorcing me to choose, I will have to say Dazatsu because it just doesn't make sense to me, I cannot even see it making sense in any universe or scenario - for me they are simply mentor and mentee, barely even friends at max. The hierarchy gap here is just too large, I feel. But I enjoy some cute fanarts here and there for fun nonetheless <3

Random headcanon

He is absolutely ogling every single cutesy tiger-themed article of clothing and furniture he sees but needs to restrain himself due to the imaginary flies coming out of his wallet. Kyouka notices this someday and buys him a baby tiger plushie or some cartoony tiger bedsheets (*cough* which I may or may not have already written into my wip *cough*).

Unpopular opinion

Considering my only habitat is sskk circles with very insighful people who understand his character mmmm it's a bit hard for me to know what is unpopular. But I'm gonna say that his flashbacks to the orphanage are not reduntant at all, no matter how repetitive they get, because it honestly feels like how a real person would experience trauma. It's not sugar-coated or glorified for the interest of the story, it just feels genuine yk?

Song I associate with them

Lacy - Olivia Rodrigo, because of this gorgeous animatic by @piedpip3rrr

For the love of everything, please just drop everything for a minute and watch this, if you haven't already.

Everything about it is sheer perfection - the storytelling, the relation of the characters to the lyrics, the incredibly expressive and gorgeous drawings, the coloring (that has a storytelling of its own even!!), the subtle motions that just pull on your heartstrings with every single beat. I love this thing <3

Favourite picture

*pushes my sunglasses slightly over the bridge of my nose and slides this across our imaginary table*

*disappears into the shadows*

...

*feral shouting resonates through the aforementioned shadows*

Ok OK LIsteN. I think, and I am correct, that we as a fandom have failed spectacularly by getting over this panel WAY so soon. Yes, I have the "you fool" one printed out at my desk and I stare at it lovingly every half hour or so, but THIS ONE! Oh, this belongs in a museum. I would pay money if I had to, just to rest my gaze upon it for a mere second. I believe I need not express myself on why it's so magnificent... but I'm gonna do it anyway, becuz who's stopping me, my blog my rules woooo! :D

1. Peak of Harukawa's new art style. Hands down. The softness of his features. The tender look in his eyes. The composition is strikingly dynamic and just heartbreaking to take it all in. There is a dream-like quality to it that makes it feel ethereal, yet it depicts a living nightmare.

2. Oh, the hand reaching out for Aku. The way he turned his whole body to face him mid fall. As if he's seeking comfort because he's scared to die alone and he's scared of leaving his partner, no matter if he knows his strength and believes in him with his whole being. The way there is not an inkling of regret in his eyes, because he's finally done the right thing. It's his closure, his retribution, his response to a sacrifice in his own name that he didn't believe himself worthy of. But now he understands. Need I say more?

P.S. Link to the Aku sequel because they shall always come as a pair <3

#yelp #not sorry for this length of this teheee #ask game #bsd atsushi #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd atsushi nakajima #sskk #shin soukoku #because it's like a third of the post imao #bsd analysis #i love atsushi did yall notice #atsushi best protagonist in history change my mind #u cant

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pascaloverx · 13 hours ago

Text

SAFE & SOUND

summary:

Joel doesn't like you very much because you challenge him. Or at least that's what you think.

author's note: I have to admit that it never crossed my mind to have the courage to write a Joel Miller fanfic, but I wanted to dare to do it, out of pure desire. if it's not good, let's all pretend nothing happened. If this chapter doesn’t go well, I probably won’t continue writing this fanfic — so if you enjoy it, please like and leave a comment

PREVIEW

ONE

You must've lost your damn mind—it's the only explanation for what you're about to do. Logic must’ve taken a dive off the nearest roof because here you are, preparing to climb onto the shoulders of a much older man while the two of you try to finish patching up your house. Joel's been helping with repairs for almost two days now, and it’s finally looking like the end is in sight. But, of course, there’s one stubborn, loose board left to fix. And Joel can’t quite reach it.

“Remind me again why we’re doing… this,” you mutter as you hook your legs around his shoulders. He lets out a grunt—pain or effort, you can’t quite tell.

“Someone decided to hog the only ladder,” he grumbles, clearly straining a bit. You steady yourself, one hand braced against the wall, the other gripping the board as you begin to lift it into place, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you’re using Joel Miller like a human scaffold.

"Still doesn’t feel like a good enough reason to justify this—I mean, I could accidentally kill you doing this," you mutter, nervous, as you subtly try to steer Joel toward the spot where the loose board needs replacing.

"I’ve survived worse than having your legs wrapped around me, Y/N. Trust me, I’ll live," Joel replies, his voice steady as he moves where you need him to.

"Careful sounding that confident, Miller. I might be a deadlier threat than you think," you warn, tightening your thighs around his shoulders for balance. You manage to grab the loose board and yank it free, tossing it to the ground. It lands dangerously close to Joel's foot.

"Just so we’re clear—if I get hurt, you’re on your own," he says, glancing up at you with a wry look.

You look down to meet his gaze, and the moment your eyes lock with those warm brown eyes of his, you’re hit with a memory—one you’ve been doing your best to ignore. The last time you were this close to Joel Miller. And the last time it nearly unraveled everything.

Joel then reaches up to hand you the new piece of wood, along with a hammer and a couple of nails. You take them carefully, steadying yourself on his shoulders as best you can.

"Hold it flush against the beam—no, not like that. Higher. There. Good," Joel instructs from below, his tone hovering on the edge of impatience but still guiding you through it.

You manage to line it up just right and start hammering, the sound echoing through the quiet house. It's not perfect, but it’s sturdy—and more importantly, it holds. You glance down at him, expecting another correction, but instead he just mutters, “Not bad.” Which, coming from Joel, might as well be high praise.

“He actually looks better when he’s balancing on the edge of giving someone a compliment,” you murmur to yourself, more a thought slipping out than anything meant to be heard. But when you glance down, Joel is staring right up at you.

“You’ve got a… unique way of showing interest in someone,” he says, voice low, followed by a grunt as he shifts slightly beneath you. You instantly regret speaking at all.

“I’m coming down,” you say quickly, flustered. “Maybe focus more on helping me not crush you to death and less on what I say.” Joel raises his hands up, palms open, steady and waiting. “Grab on. One leg at a time,” he says, tone sharp with focus, all business.

Your hands tremble as you reach for him. You tell yourself it's just the blood rushing back after holding that awkward position for too long—but you know better. It’s Joel. And his quiet strength. And the way he’s always just a little too close without ever fully crossing a line. He notices. Of course he does.

“I’ve seen your hands steadier while you were shooting at infected,” he murmurs, a small edge of teasing hidden in the warmth of his voice. “No need to be scared. If anything goes wrong… I’ve got you.”

He tightens his grip on your hands, grounding you. Then he looks up—really looks at you—and your eyes lock for a breathless moment. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just that unwavering gaze, full of something you can’t quite name. And for a second, that feels like far more danger than falling ever could.

You swing one leg off Joel’s shoulder, managing just fine—until your eyes meet his. That single glance is enough to unravel your focus, and as you move your other leg, your balance shifts dangerously.

Joel reacts instantly. His hands snap to your waist, steady and sure, catching you before you fall. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

“Told you I’d catch you,” he says, voice low and calm. “You didn’t have to be so scared.”

Your eyes flutter open. His arms are firm around your waist, his breath warm against your face—and your heart feels like it’s about to punch through your ribs.

“The last time we were this close… you made a mistake,” you murmur, eyes locked on his face. You watch the slight grin of satisfaction from having caught you fade into something tighter, more guarded.

“I thought we agreed not to bring that up again,” Joel mutters, his tone shifting—defensive, gruff. You let out a dry laugh, and it only seems to agitate him more.

“Let’s be honest here—we don’t talk about anything. We’re avoiding it like it’s the goddamn infection,” you snap, stepping back from him, frustration bleeding into your voice.

"I figured that was just your way of moving on," Joel says plainly, as if he hadn’t meant to dredge any of it back up, that one mistake still hanging between you. “You kissed me, I kissed you. We were drunk, for God’s sake. And you went and ruined it by calling it a mistake—something done out of pity. What kind of woman wants to be kissed, only to hear afterward that the man did it because he felt sorry for her, because he—" You stop yourself, the memory too raw to put into words.

“—because I killed your mother,” Joel finishes, his voice quiet, his eyes heavy with regret.

“The woman you killed wasn’t my mother anymore,” you say firmly. “What you did saved my life. And for that, yes, I’m grateful—even if I do miss her. But this isn’t about who killed who, Joel. It’s about the fact that you kissed me and then called it a mistake. A kiss out of pity.”

"I might've called the kiss a mistake, but I never said it was out of pity," Joel says as he steps closer. There's a subtle shift in his voice—quieter, steadier—but something in it rings true, something honest.

"You didn’t have to say it," you reply, your voice trembling with restrained emotion. "It was in your eyes. The same look everyone in Jackson gives me—like I’m something fragile, something broken. Like they think they’re sparing me when all they do is make me feel useless. And you… you made me feel—"

You cut yourself off, your breath hitching as the words burn in your throat. You step toward him, trying to make him understand. Understand the storm that's been tearing you apart ever since that patrol—the frustration of knowing your mother had turned and you couldn’t pull the trigger. The helplessness of freezing while the infected woman who once raised you lunged toward you. If Joel hadn’t followed after you that day, hadn’t pulled that trigger when you couldn’t—you’d be dead. And the kiss, the one moment of warmth that came after, being reduced to a mistake... it only made the ache worse.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter how you made me feel,” you say, deciding not to show just how much all of this still gets to you. Maybe you should take a page out of Joel’s book—pretend you’re fine, even when it feels like the weight of the world is crushing your shoulders.

“I want to know,” he says softly, and the gentleness in his voice catches you off guard. “I want to know how I make you feel…” It’s strange, this sudden permission to be vulnerable.

“You make me feel angry, Miller,” you answer, locking eyes with him. You’re standing so close now, you can see the way his mouth twitches slightly, like he’s processing your words one by one.

“Is that why you’ve been encouraging Ellie to break the rules?” Joel asks, his tone shifting.

You stare at him, offended. “By that, you mean your rules?” you snap. “Sorry if I don’t think it’s wise to treat a girl learning to navigate adulthood in a post-apocalyptic world like she can’t make her own damn choices.” You’re already pulling away from him, your frustration growing.

“These rules are what’s keeping her alive, Y/N!” he says, raising his voice, his expression growing hard with irritation.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea—why don’t you put her in a glass cage and never let her out again? That way, you won’t have to worry at all,” you shoot back, losing your patience entirely. How can he even suggest that you’d push Ellie into danger just because you’ve got unresolved issues with him?

Before he can say another word, he presses a finger to his lips, signaling for you to be quiet. In the silence that follows, you both hear the faint murmurs of two voices approaching.

You open the door—almost instantly, Dina and Ellie appear in front of you. To be fair, they’re carrying the ladder that would’ve been very useful just a few minutes ago.

“We were gonna knock,” Dina says as she and Ellie try to collect themselves, clearly having walked in on more than just a quiet moment. They exchange a quick glance while you shoot them a look of mild judgment.

“Took both of you to bring one ladder?” you ask, just as you hear Joel gathering his things behind you.

“Actually, Dina came to ask if Joel’s ready for patrol,” Ellie says, not missing a beat. “I came to bring the ladder.”

The look she gives you says it all—there’s no doubt they overheard a good portion of your argument with Joel. Joel steps up beside you, about to speak, but you cut him off before he can get a word out.

“I’ll go on patrol in Joel’s place,” you say firmly. The room falls quiet again, everyone caught off guard. You haven’t been out on patrol since the incident with your mother.

“Negative,” Joel starts, but you glance at him with a calm sort of defiance.

“Don’t even try to argue. You’re not exactly in top form right now—believe me, I was just on top of you a moment ago,” you say, holding his gaze.

Joel lets out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. “You think that means I can’t do my job? I’ve gone on patrols with cracked ribs before.”

“Yeah, and that was a stupid decision,” you fire back without hesitation. “This is just a patrol, Joel. I can handle it.”

There’s a beat of silence as the tension between you builds. He seems ready to push back, but then something shifts in his expression. His shoulders drop slightly, and his eyes linger on yours—not with anger, but something quieter, heavier. Maybe it’s reluctance. Or maybe it’s trust, buried deep beneath the gruff exterior.

Before he can speak again, Ellie’s voice cuts in from behind you. “Wow,” she says under her breath, nudging Dina.

“Told you. That’s the tension I was talking about,” Dina murmurs, not even trying to hide the smirk pulling at her lips.

“If we’re done here, I’m ready for patrol,” you say, grabbing your weapon and fixing your hair, your tone final. Joel, Dina, and Ellie exchange uneasy glances by the doorway of your house.

“Then I guess I better get ready to go with you guys,” Ellie says, and you catch how Joel stiffens beside her, his entire body bristling with concern.

“Ellie…” he murmurs, low and warning, like he’s already imagining everything that could go wrong. He probably doesn’t trust you—not fully. Not with her.

“I don’t think Jesse’s gonna be thrilled with us switching up the patrol groups,” Dina offers, trying to defuse the growing tension as the four of you begin to move away from the house. “But… we can try.”

“I’ll talk to Jesse. You take Ellie, return the ladder, and meet us at the gate,” you reply, your tone decisive as you glance at the girls. Ellie and Dina exchange a look—and then bolt off, lugging the ladder between them.

“You’re bossy,” Joel mutters, falling into step beside you. You laugh, unable to ignore the irony of that coming from him. Hypocrisy looks good on him, though. You stop and turn to face him.

“I want you to know I’ll take care of Ellie,” you say seriously, stopping in front of Joel and holding his gaze. “Whatever you might think of me, I’m a woman with principles. My issues with you are ours alone.”

Joel takes a step closer, his expression softening as if something in him is finally giving way. His hand almost reaches for your face, but he stops short. You can see it—he’s on the edge of saying something he’s been holding back.

“I… I feel like I owe you an apology,” he begins, voice rough and low, the kind of tone he only uses when he's struggling to admit something. “For—” But Jesse’s voice cuts through the moment, calling your names from down the road, rallying the group for patrol.

“There’s no need,” you interrupt, stepping in closer to Joel and reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt with calm precision. “Let me help with the patrols… and I promise you won’t have to speak to me again.”

You finish straightening his collar, your hand lingering just a second longer than it should, then step back and walk toward Jesse without another word. Joel follows silently, whatever he meant to say now buried under the weight of everything unspoken.

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luvly-writer · 1 day ago

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Aretia: The importance of Light and Hope

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The night was still, the distant sounds of scouts patrolling and dragons breathing in their sleep just barely audible beyond the quiet crackle of the fire. Violet stood beside Brennan in one of the many balconies of Riorson House, her eyes catching on the flicker of movement near one of the stone walls.

Xaden was leaned back against it, dark cloak draped lazily around his shoulders. Y/n stood in front of him, laughing as she tried to fix the twisted braid in her hair, only to have Xaden reach forward and begin undoing and redoing it himself, his brows furrowed in concentration. Every so often, she’d laugh again—light and soft and so devastatingly human—and he’d glance at her like the sound alone could keep him breathing.

“They’re insufferably cute,” Violet muttered, sipping from her cup with a crooked grin.

Brennan smiled faintly beside her, but it was quieter, more thoughtful. “Do you see it?”

Violet looked at him. “See what?”

He nodded subtly toward the pair. “How she’s brought light back into him.” He paused, eyes distant with memory. “There was a time Xaden didn’t laugh. Not really. He did what needed to be done—always calculated, always commanding. And then… Y/n came along. And somehow, despite everything—despite death and war and that infernal weight he always carries—he’s warmer now. Lighter.”

Violet’s gaze softened, her heart pulling just a little.

Brennan glanced at her again. “You don’t realize how much that matters until you see what it does to the people around them. How it gives others permission to feel more than just fear or duty. She’s managed to bring a little light into the heart of all this darkness, Violet. And she did it just by loving him.”

Violet looked back toward them, and this time, she watched differently—saw the way Xaden tucked a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear with such gentleness, how her smile steadied him like an anchor in a storm.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah… I see it now.”

Later that night – Inside the Riorson Estate, after most have gone to sleep

Y/n had just finished tying her hair up, the Tyrrish silk from earlier now woven gently into the braid that rested over her shoulder. She was curled up in one of the cushioned window alcoves in the war room, a book open on her lap, soft candlelight painting her features in gold.

Violet walked in quietly, a blanket draped around her shoulders, her silver hair slightly tousled from the wind outside.

“You okay?” Y/n asked, offering a small smile as Violet settled across from her.

Violet nodded, then hesitated—eyes flickering over Y/n’s face as if trying to find the right words.

“Brennan said something earlier,” she finally said, voice soft. “About you.”

Y/n raised a brow, closing the book but keeping a finger between the pages. “Should I be worried?”

Violet laughed, shaking her head. “No. Quite the opposite, actually.” She paused again. “He said you’ve brought light into all this. Into Xaden. And… I think he’s right.”

Y/n blinked, surprise flickering across her features. “I—” she faltered, because that wasn’t something she’d ever aimed to do, not intentionally at least. “I just… love him.”

“I know,” Violet said. “And that’s the thing. You never made it about proving anything. You didn’t try to change him or fix him. You just… stood beside him. Kept showing up. Kept being you.” She gave a breath of a laugh. “And somehow, without trying, you’ve given him back pieces of himself he thought he’d buried.”

Y/n was quiet for a moment, heart tight in her chest. “He’s done the same for me,” she whispered.

“I believe that,” Violet said, smiling. “But I just wanted you to know—I admire you, Y/n. Truly. For your strength, your heart, the way you lead without even realizing it. You’ve become part of this rebellion in more ways than one.”

Y/n swallowed hard, the emotion hitting deeper than expected. “That means more than I can say.”

Violet reached forward and gently squeezed her hand. “You’re not just the girl who loves the brooding heir anymore. You’re the one the rest of us look to now, too.”

That night – Their shared room in Riorson Estate

The fire had died down to a soft glow. Xaden was already in bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on Y/n’s hip as she curled into his side. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along the scar on his chest, the silence between them warm and comfortable.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, voice low, barely breaking the stillness.

Y/n hummed, then tilted her head slightly so she could look up at him. “Violet said something earlier.”

“Should I be concerned?” he teased, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“No,” she said, smiling softly. “She told me Brennan said I bring light into all of this. That… I bring light into you.”

Xaden’s hand paused on her back, fingers flexing slightly before he exhaled through his nose, quiet. “Sounds like her brother’s been paying too much attention.”

She laughed softly and nudged his ribs with her elbow. “I’m serious. Violet said… she admires me. That I never tried to fix you, just stood beside you. And that without realizing it, I’ve helped give you back pieces of yourself.”

His throat worked as he turned toward her fully, brushing her curls back from her face. “That’s because you have,” he said quietly, almost reverent. “You didn’t just stand beside me, Y/n. You walked straight into my chaos and didn’t flinch. You’ve seen every dark, broken piece and loved me anyway.”

Her breath caught, and she pressed a hand to his cheek, thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw.

“I never thought I had to fix you,” she whispered. “You were never broken to me.”

Xaden leaned down, kissed her forehead, then her temple, then the edge of her mouth like he was memorizing her all over again.

“You are light, Y/n. And I’d be lost without it.”

She curled tighter into his chest, burying her face there as his arms wrapped securely around her. “You’d find your way back to it,” she murmured.

“Not if it’s you I’m trying to find,” he said against her hair. “Because then I’d never stop searching.”

She didn’t say anything else, just pressed a kiss to his skin, heartbeat steady against his, and slowly, slowly, they drifted off to sleep—safe, wrapped in each other, and seen.

A few days later...

Riorson Estate – Council meeting hall

The heavy doors creaked as they shut behind the king’s envoy, the last of the formalities sealed with the gilded stamp on parchment.

“By decree of the crown,” the envoy had said, “Xaden Riorson is to have his rightful title restored. Duke of Tyrrendor.”

There had been no celebration yet—just the weight of history settling on his shoulders. Centuries of Tyrrish pride, the ongoing rebellion, and ruin etched into the stone of the estate that now belonged, once again, to the rightful heir. He stood in silence, gaze flicking toward the tall windows overlooking the path into the village, already longing for the only thing that would make this moment mean something.

As if summoned by the ache in his chest—she appeared.

Y/n.

Walking through the open gates with the afternoon sun wrapped around her like a blessing. Her hair was braided in intricate Tyrrish knots, woven with threads of red and gold. Flowing crimson silk swept behind her, a traditional Tyrrish dress billowing gently in the breeze. Gold jewelry kissed her neck and wrists, and the sigils embroidered into her robes shimmered like runes of ancient power.

Xaden didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

Ridoc let out a low whistle. Bodhi actually clutched his chest. Garrick muttered a stunned, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The women of the squad just giggled, some whispering about how unfair it was for two people that attractive to exist in the same timeline.

And Xaden?

He just stared, absolutely ruined.

As she approached the steps, she looked up and spotted him—her expression softening with a smile that shattered him.

“You—” His voice caught, rough and reverent. “Gods, Y/n…”

She blinked, surprised. “What? Is everything alright?”

“You’re…” He stepped down the stairs toward her like a man in a trance. “You’re dressed like Tyrrish royalty.”

“I wasn’t going to wear it,” she murmured, tugging at the sleeves. “But the ladies insisted. Said I looked like a duchess and—”

He didn’t let her finish. He cupped her face gently and kissed her—deep and slow—like she was air in a room he hadn’t realized he’d been suffocating in.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.

“They were right,” he whispered. “You look like my duchess.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and she looked around. “Wait—did they…?”

Xaden nodded. “The king returned the title.” His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer. “But I don’t care about any of that unless you’re beside me when I carry it.”

Her smile was slow and glowing. “You’re stuck with me, Duke Riorson.”

From behind them, the squad groaned in unison.

“Too much,” Ridoc said, fake gagging.

Y/n just laughed and kissed Xaden’s cheek. “Let them suffer.”

Later that evening...

Riorson Estate – Xaden’s Chambers

The golden light of late afternoon filtered in through the tall windows, casting warm glows over the stone walls and catching in the red and gold threads of the robes she wore. Y/n stood in front of the mirror, fingers gently undoing the ornate pins in her hair, her expression unreadable—too quiet.

Xaden leaned in the doorway, watching her with that familiar, unshakable reverence. But as the last silk wrap slid from her shoulders and she stood there in the simple black undershift, he noticed it.

The tension in her shoulders. The way her jaw clenched, her brows furrowed. Something inside her was unravelling far faster than the gold silk on the floor.

She turned toward him slowly, arms folding across herself—not to tease, but to shield. Her voice was quiet. “I shouldn’t have worn any of that.”

Xaden’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “Because I’m not a duchess. I’m not royalty. I’m a second-year cadet from a coastal village in Navarre. A fighter. I’m supposed to be on the sparring mats, not letting old ladies braid my hair in silks while the world is burning.”

She looked away, eyes glassy with guilt she hadn’t voiced before. “And I know I haven’t missed a class or a session. Not one. But still—I feel like I shouldn’t enjoy this. Like I'm betraying the war by… breathing in moments like this.”

Xaden was in front of her before she could finish that thought.

His hands came to her face, gentle but firm, tilting her chin up until their eyes met. His voice was soft, but steady. “Y/n. You are allowed to hold joy and responsibility at the same time. You’re allowed to fight like hell and still let yourself live.”

She blinked rapidly, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You wearing this doesn’t make you any less of a warrior. Doesn’t make you any less the woman who’s bled and sweat beside me in every battle and training yard.” His thumb traced her cheek. “You are both, love. A girl from the coast who clawed her way here with steel, silk, and stubbornness. And the woman who’s won over every room she walks into, including this entire gods-damned providence.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her softly—slow, grounding.

“You didn’t choose this life for comfort. But you do deserve the moments that remind you what you're fighting for.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, pressing her forehead against his chest as his arms wrapped around her, anchoring her.

“Then don’t let me forget,” she whispered.

“Never,” he murmured into her hair. “You are the fiercest woman I’ve ever known, and that’s with the silk.”

The next day...

Riorson Estate – Inner Courtyard

The midday sun filtered gently over the estate’s gardens, where Y/n was seated on a stone bench, her hair half-done and her laugh soft as one of the older maids fussed over the silk ribbons she was weaving into it.

Around them, the gentle buzz of daily estate life carried on—guards training in the distance, dragons flying,cadets training, and the muffled clatter of a pot being stirred in the kitchen wing. But here, under the shade of climbing jasmine, it was peaceful.

“She’s nearly finished,” said Kaia, one of the estate’s longest-serving maids, eyes twinkling as she gently tied off the braid with a twist of vibrant gold and scarlet silk.

Y/n smiled at her in the mirror of the hand-polished silver plate on the bench beside them. “You’re spoiling me again.”

“Oh, darling,” Kaia said, voice warm and just a little teary as she adjusted the silk with the care of someone handling precious memories. “We should’ve spoiled you more. You come in here all sharp edges and fight-hardened eyes, and yet—yet you still smile at us like we matter. You say please and thank you. You smell like fruit and sunshine even when you’ve been training all morning. Your perfume? Like the summer harvest—pineapples and bananas and the sweet tang of island fruit. It follows you like your shadow, and even that’s become a comfort around here.”

Y/n’s cheeks warmed bashfully, but Kaia pressed on.

“You are everything a Rider must be—fierce, quick, clever with your blade. But you are also everything a girl is allowed to be. Your bows and ribbons. Your perfume. The way you paint your nails even if they sometimes chip after a sparring session. And now, you’ve let us tie Tyrrish silk into your hair and wear the old braids of our mothers without blinking, like you were born to carry them.”

She paused, her fingers grazing the final silk loop gently, reverently.

“I used to worry this house would never feel like home again—not after the apostasy. But then you came in, and suddenly there’s color in the hallways again. Laughter in the kitchens. And now—” Her voice cracked just a little. “Now I see the woman who will one day walk these halls as our duchess, and it makes me believe that maybe, maybe, we will survive this war. Because how can darkness win when someone like you stands against it?”

Y/n, who had remained quiet the whole time, reached out and squeezed Kaia’s hand.

“You’ve given me a home I never thought I’d have,” she said softly. “And I swear, I’ll protect it. All of you.”

Kaia just beamed, brushing a tear from her cheek before gently nudging her to stand. “Now go show that brooding man of yours how lucky he is.”

Y/n stood, braid trailing down her back like a banner of fire and silk, and laughed. “He already knows.”

Later that night... – Private Balcony off the War Room

Xaden stood with his hands braced on the balcony railing, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the Tyrrish cliffs, wind pulling through his hair. The weight of the rebellion’s planning still lingered in his tense shoulders, the recent meeting with Brennan filled with supply chain concerns, new strategy routes, and looming Venin movements.

But then he heard the softest of footsteps behind him—and the shift in the air that only she ever brought.

He turned.

Y/n stepped out, the braid trailing down her back wrapped in red and gold silks, lips painted with the faintest hue of red, and the wind catching the flow of her sleeves like something out of a myth. She looked radiant—his radiant light—and something in his chest loosened just at the sight of her.

“Gods,” he breathed, taking a slow step forward. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not yet.”

He reached for her waist and pulled her flush against him, his hand curling possessively over the silk at her hip. “What’s the occasion?”

She hesitated for just a beat. “The maids braided my hair and started talking. Said they love that I’m… that I’m both a fighter and feminine. That I smell like fruit and sunshine, that I smile even when the war feels heavy. One of them said that seeing me—like this—makes them believe they’ll survive this.”

Xaden stilled, hand tightening slightly.

“That’s what pretty much everyone see in you,” he murmured. “Your light. That hope.”

“I didn’t know how much I needed to hear it,” she said quietly, looking up at him, “until they said it.”

His thumb gently stroked her waist. “They’re right, you know. You’ve changed this place. You’ve changed me.”

Y/n leaned into him, letting her forehead rest against his chest. “I’m just me.”

He wrapped his arms fully around her and kissed the crown of her head. “Exactly. You. The girl who fights like a storm and still wears bows in her hair. Who smells like fruits and bleeds in war. You’re everything I never thought I’d be allowed to have, allowed myself to wish. Everything I didn’t realize I needed.”

She looked up at him, teasing now. “So you like the perfume?”

He smirked. “I’d bottle it and wear it as armor if I could.”

She laughed and kissed him softly, and Xaden melted into her like he always did—utterly, entirely.

And down in the courtyard, one of the maids peeking up through a window grinned and whispered, “Told you. Already the duchess of Tyrrendor.”

Author's note: Ugh! I adore these chapters so painfully. When writing this, I had the idea of making her his balance (light/shadow; sunshine/grumpy; soft/harsh), which inevitably progressed into making her the other half of leadership. Xaden is the protector, lieutenant, war minded, strategist, and prepared to fight constantly. Even if Y/n has that too, I wanted her to differentiate from Violet by making her walk amonst people. In the word's of President Snow, "Fear does not work as long as they have hope" and that is Y/n. A ruler who give hope, while her counterpart gives safety. She is still a fighter by all means, but she is sweet and light by nature. I don't know how many people will catch/ read this, but if you do, highly appreciated. They are literally yin and yang.

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