#As unlikely as that will be…I still hold out hope!

[yanadolls]

FORGET IT. ᯓ

||| FEATURING: NAGI SEISHIRO X READER (IMPLIED RELATIONSHIP)

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 302.

||| THEME: ANGST & FLUFF

||| SUMMARY: nagi returns to his normal life after being disqualified from bluelock, and while he tells himself it's all fine and that he should forget it..he can't suppress his feelings forever. after seeing some students playing soccer, he cracks.

-

"why didn't i try harder?"

"i should've just chased after them."

"i want to go back."

"i want to come back to that me.. but i can't."

for the first time in nagi's life, he was overwhelmed by his emotions. he wasn't used to feeling so sad. if you told his past self that he would be in the back of the classroom, crying about being kicked out of bluelock and not getting to play anymore, he would laugh at you.

but now..this was his reality.

he had never tried so hard at something, let alone felt so good about it. memories at bluelock were flooding through his mind, refusing to leave no matter how much he had tried to bury them. tears rolled down his cheeks as he sniffled, a despairing and unfamiliar look on his face. he refused to bring his head up. nagi didn't try to push away his feelings anymore, because he knew it wasn't okay and that he couldn't ever forget what he felt there. he enjoyed the hassle of soccer, he enjoyed scoring goals and putting in the effort. why didn't he try harder at the end..? was his talent really withered?

"seishiro..?"

a sudden voice pulled him out of his thoughts, his wounded heart dropping to his stomach. just what he needed right now- you walking in on him being emotional for the first time. nagi mentally berated himself for not holding back his tears till he got home.

"..y/n."

he spoke in a small voice, so unlike his normal one. nagi's head did not raise to meet your gaze. he remained still at the desk, not bothering to try to cover the fact he was crying. it was too exhausting. a knot formed in your tummy as you heard him sniffle a couple times, silently sobbing at the back of the empty classroom. it was rough seeing your boyfriend like this, and you knew what had caused it.

"seishiro, do you want a hug?"

you tried to ignore the way your own heart sunk at the sight as you slowly shut the classroom door, making your way over to where nagi was. you pushed a chair over beside his, before sitting down beside him. nagi didn't answer your question, rather, he slowly brought his head up to look at you, nodding a bit.

and when you saw your face, it was hard not to cry with him.

you have never seen nagi look so miserable, many liquids leaking from his face as he stared at you, bottom lip quivering. the former nonchalant boy was no where to be seen.

"oh, sei.."

a small whimper left his mouth as you tugged him into a gentle hug. he didn't wrap his arms around you at first, just letting you hold him. he did bury his face into your shoulder, however.

"i.. i should've tried harder."

his quiet voice cracked a bit as he took in air, trying not to completely break down. albeit, it was becoming impossible as his heart raced faster and faster, breathing quaking. neither of you expected him to vent his feelings out.

"i want to go back to bluelock, i want to go back to how i was in there.. b-but i can't. i don't want to feel this feeling.."

your one hand rubbed circles into his broad back, other hand moving to run through his hair. tears formed in your own eyes as you struggled to hold back a little choked sob.

"y-you don't know that, seishiro. maybe they'll-"

"no, y/n. it's over."

his voice cut you off quickly, not allowing you to put false hope into his mind. nagi knew ego wasn't that generous, especially after everything the man said about him. his time at bluelock had expired.

"please." he muttered, arms finally snaking around you, "just...don't leave me alone."

it broke your heart.

"sei, i-i would never!"

there was so much you wanted to tell him; you wanted to assure him that maybe, just maybe there would be some way back to bluelock, but that wasn't what he wanted to hear right now. he didn't want to hope for something that may not ever come, as it would crush him more. all nagi wanted right now..was you.

and so you stayed with him, letting him crumble in your embrace as he finally stopped fighting it. you shed a few tears of your own- how could you not? seeing nagi like this was utterly sickening. you didn't try to give him logical answers, instead, you just physically comforted him. it was quite a while before nagi's tears stopped coming out, leaving him with a headache and pure exhaustion.

"can we just go home?"

he muttered against your shoulder, breathing slowly stabilizing. you couldn't give less a fuck about the last period of school. your focus was your mentally tired boyfriend.

"of course, sei."

pushing the door to his small dormitory open, you were greeted with a dark room. nagi lazily trotted over, not even bothering to greet his cactus choki as he fell onto his bed, groaning into his pillow. you closed the door and crawled onto the bed with him, to which he immediately rolled onto his back and pulled you into his strong arms.

"m'sorry." he mumbled as he stared up at the ceiling, "shouldn't have acted like that in front of you. was totally lame."

you shook you head softly, stroking his hair soothingly before pressing a kiss to his forehead. a part of you was happy that he had.

"no, don't say sorry. i'm actually glad you were open with your feelings. it's..different than before. it's more healthy."

"what's healthy about ugly crying on you?"

there was a small pout on his face as his droopy eyes looked down at you. you couldn't help but let out a huff, a tiny smile coming to your lips.

"you're not even an ugly crier, baby. it's healthy that you're finally showing more emotions than, you know, boredom. you're changing a lot, becoming more emotional. it's good."

nagi was quiet for a moment, before groaning one more time. he turned on his side and buried his face in your hair.

"sounds like a pain. changing feels bad.. don't like feeling sad."

he paused for a second.

"but at least i still have you. can't take that away from me."

a bigger smile made its way onto your face. it was obvious that nagi was still very bummed about bluelock, and that wasn't going to change for a while. however, the fact that you were here was comforting his destroyed soul bit by bit. nagi wonders what he would be feeling if you weren't here.

"how about i order us some food and we watch a show for the rest of the night? i can sleep over."

by the way nagi's dull eyes finally lit up a bit, it seemed like he enjoyed that idea. his chapped lips pressed to your head.

"i'd like that. thank you."

you tilt your head up, giving him a small peck on the lips.

"of course, lovely."

there were a lot of things nagi would have to work through for the next couple weeks, but with you by his side, everything felt a bit less shittier. nagi had a small, rare smile on his face as he cuddled you for the night, letting his troubles and worries float away. your support made him feel like maybe..it wasn't the end of the world. maybe there were solutions.

maybe his soccer career wasn't over.

AN: lowkey was SOO sad writing this, the new chapter broke my heart :< i'm praying that they don't just discard nagi's character, as i feel like this depressing arc for him could make him much stronger of a player. crossing my fingers tho !!

[alive-gh0st]

I love Afterglow so much! But would you care to indulge my curiosity? Do you imagine reader to be slightly older than Mark? I imagine to be in her mid- to early twenties bc of her expansive career in the medical field, though I'm only going by the impression that she only started working after graduating; unless she's been working for some time already? Idk how careers work ajkdshfldf

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

‎…..ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ…..

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

AHHH first of all—thank you so much for the love on ”Afterglow”!! This is such a fun ask, and I’m honestly so happy someone’s curious enough about something to dive into it with me.

You’re feeding my writer ego. I hope you’re proud of yourself.

So! Let’s talk canon real quick (I’m letting out my inner nerd rn):

In the comics, Mark starts out at 17 years old, but he ages pretty fast—and by the midpoint (around where ”Afterglow” would be happening, give or take), he’s roughly 19–20 , depending on how closely you track the arcs.

He’s been through it (emotionally unwell, physically worse), and is already working full-time with Cecil, so we’re definitely not dealing with “freshman bio class” energy anymore.

The man is seasoned. In trauma.

If we were going by the animated series, though—it’s a little fuzzier.

Season two makes it clear he’s just recently turned 18, so if you’re seeing ”Afterglow” through a show-only lens, Reader might come off as a bit older. But that’s kind of the fun of it, right?

Different interpretations work depending on what canon you’re leaning into. Especially since she’s employed, competent, and not trying to flirt while holding a scalpel backwards.

(Unlike a certain someone in goggles.)

Also! In ”Afterglow”, Mark is still wearing that iconic yellow-blue disaster suit, which firmly locks the timeline into late Season 2-ish // early Season 3 vibes if we were following the showverse.

As for Reader? Yes—I do personally imagine her to be a bit older. Not by decades or anything, but enough to feel the difference. Maybe 21–23ish, depending on how chaotic and accelerated you want her backstory to be.

Either she’s a prodigy who skipped grades and sprinted into the trauma field, or she’s just a few years older with a no-nonsense attitude and a résumé that could legally intimidate a superhero.

She’s sharp, capable, and absolutely not here to babysit—which just makes Mark being utterly down bad for her even funnier.

Regardless, I love the dynamic of “older, exhausted professional woman” × “younger, slightly feral man with devotion issues.”

BUT! While ”Afterglow” is loosely grounded in comic canon (especially in tone and timeline), it’s very much doing its own thing.

The plot, pacing, and character dynamics all live in their own little sandbox. Nothing’s rigid. It’s vibes first, logic second. As it should be.

Hope that answers the curiosity!! And seriously—thank you again for caring about this chaotic little universe enough to ask.

I’m legally required to write more now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: okay—not a new chapter (pause for dramatic disappointment), but if you’ve ever sat there wondering where exactly “afterglow” falls in the timeline or how old anyone even is while mark is out here catching feelings mid-shift… this one’s for you. huge shoutout to the anon who asked and accidentally unleashed my inner lore geek.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ongoing TAGLIST: @pickledsoda @f3r4lfr0gg3r @bakugouswh0r3 @katkirishima @delusionalalien @bellelamoon @monaekelis @feminii @sketchlove @lilacoaks @cathuggnbear @forgotten-moon94 @lalana1703 @smikitty @barbare2 @sleepyzzz3 @sunspl0tionjuice

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[alexanderlightweight]

absolutely adore the bitter trap of truth 'verse... can i request more of it whenever convenient?

<3 this took a bit but here is more and I hope you enjoy it! this verse is its normal trainwreck of suspicious adoration

<3 lumine

the bitter trap of truth

“Magnus! Magnus!”

Magnus looks up from his book, fear already turning his blood cold.  Alexander has never once sounded like that or called for him so loudly.  

Terrified, frightened, and worst of all, guilty.

It sparks back to life all the embers of fear he’s been slowly stamping out and Magnus portals through two rooms without realizing it before he’s in the laundry room.  

Alexander looks awful.

Magnus has never seen him so horrified, or so afraid and Magnus wonders just what kind of betrayal he’s committed that has him showing his emotions so openly.

“Magnus, I didn’t know.” Is the first thing that Alexander says when he sees him. He reaches out but for the first time, Alec is the one who hesitates and pulls back, Magnus hates it.

He also hates that he does nothing to stop it, just watches Alec carefully and coldly, his heart already shivering as if preparing to shatter.

“I’m sorry.”

Magnus still isn’t sure what Alec’s done but the first realization that it’s something very different than what Magnus assumed is when Alexander opens his mouth to speak and instead sniffles, though he tries to hide it with a cough.

Nothing about Alexander’s character shows that he’d use this kind of emotional manipulation tactic and while Magnus could be wrong about everything still, he’s willing to be slightly wrong about this. It’s possible that whatever Alexander’s done is truly an accident, it would explain why he called for Magnus so frantically.  Perhaps he’s even trying to fix it.  Which Magnus is amiable to, depending on the problem and why Alexander did whatever he did.

“I thought when you said they were waterproof, that meant they could go in the wash machine.” Alexander is speaking slowly, hesitation dripping from his words and he’s fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s the most uncomfortable Magnus has ever seen Alexander in Magnus’ own space and home and lair and he hates it.

“What did you think was waterproof?”

A notebook? One of Magnus spellbooks? The correspondence and data from the Labyrinth? None of which are things that Magnus thinks would be in the laundry room unless Alexander was sneaking through them and dropping them into the sink or washing machine by accident.  Unlikely, but currently the most plausible of options.

Magnus pauses as he sees Alexander actually slump, his shoulders folding in on himself and he looks as if he shrinks, his height no different but his presence diminishing.

Alexander looks at Magnus one last time, guilty and so wretched that Magnus wants to pull him into a kiss just to force the look off of his face.  Then he pulls up not one of Magnus’ priceless spellbooks, but a pair of custom and while not priceless, certainly expensive shoes from the sink. He then holds up a second pair, just as guiltily and Magnus understands exactly where the misunderstanding happened.

However he can’t do anything about it, because Alexander — his strong, brave and beautiful shadowhunter husband who is trying to love Magnus despite both their fears — thinks Magnus will be upset about shoes?

In a world of espionage and suicidal spouses, Alexander thinks a few pairs of shoes is worth anything? Especially when Magnus had told him they were waterproof. He’d only meant that in a ‘no Alexander you don’t need to put your jacket on the ground, I can walk through a puddle myself’ kind of way, not a ‘this can go in the wash machine’ kind of way.

Really, Magnus is beginning to be concerned about which books from Magnus’ shelves Alexander is reading that his first instinct is to sacrifice a hunting grade jacket for magically sealed shoes.

Or be cleaning Magnus’ shoes as regularly as he tries. Just last week Alexander attempted to hand-polish some of Magnus’ demon leather boots. Just handling the material would have damaged his skin!

Magnus vaguely recognizes the feeling of the euphoria of his relief peak, the giddiness swelling up as he checks his wards and realizes that yes, his shoes going through the wash is truly what made his Alexander panic so badly.

—

Catarina portals at the first tug of magic, despite it not being frantic or in danger.  It’s too intense for her not to worry and it’s with concern that she pauses at Magnus' laundry room, confused.

First by the scene of Magnus laughing so hysterically he’s crying, magical makeup smeared with the effort of his tears and room is raining as a result. Magnus is only spared being drenched because the rain is turning to steam before it hits his skin. 

And secondly because Alec’s completely drenched and is currently watching Magnus with a level of panic that is keeping him from breathing. Which is probably why Magnus called for her, considering he looks like he’ll burst into flames if he doesn’t get all his laughter out.

“Here, it’s fine. Whatever happened Magnus wouldn’t be laughing like that if he was mad at you.” 

Cat can guess the gist of it. 

Not what’s happened, but what is terrifying Alec. Despite acting as if he belongs in Magnus’ lair, Catarina’s spent enough time watching him to know that he very carefully considers every move he makes in Magnus’ loft.  Not out of fear, but because he desperately wants to do the best he can do.  At first she’d thought that had been to trick Magnus, but now she realizes that whatever it is he wants is far more personal than a Clave mission.

“I broke his shoes.”

It comes out in a whispered whimper. A noise that Catarina would have never guessed could come from a shadowhunter, let alone a Lightwood. There’s such deep regret and agony in his voice and Cat has to close her eyes to push back her amusement. 

“Ah—” he’s panicking still and Catarina thinks she has a better picture, “were you worried about how he’d react?”  Magnus is still laughing and Catarina sees the shoes, very ruined indeed, on the floor.

“Magnus loves his shoes.”

While that is certainly true, none of Magnus shoes hold a single ounce of his emotions the way Alexander Gideon Bane does.

“Yes, but they are replaceable. And I don’t think you did it on purpose.” At Alec’s horrified look she clarifies, “I just meant that he’d only be upset if you’d ruined them on purpose. You clearly didn’t.”

“How do I fix it?”

Catarina blinks and then takes a look at a still laughing Magnus and takes the risk, grabbing Alec’s wrist.  He lets her, lets her pull him too. Acts like he’s as light as a feather, willing to go anywhere she pulls and she bets he is, for Magnus.

Though her trust hasn’t been given, she trusts her own instincts enough to know this much.

“First we’re going to put a salve on your face, otherwise Magnus won’t be able to take you seriously with how red your nose is. Also calm down, you’re acting like you murdered Ragnor, not Magnus’ shoes.” 

Alec’s glower would be more intimidating if it weren’t so mortified and while it’s sweet he cares so much, it’s also not going to help him or Magnus. They’re both too high-strung for this kind of ridiculousness. 

“Why did you even put them in the washer?”

“Because they were dirty? And he said they were waterproof.” Alec looks so confused by the question and traumatized by the fact that his innocent assumption went so wrong. “He got all huffy at me the last time I tried to clean his shoes by hand and used magic instead of letting me do it.”

“Where do you even come up with doing this stuff? I know you didn’t learn it as a nephilim.”

Catarina means it too, because none of this is normal shadowhunter behavior by any means.

“I try to think about what would be helpful and also I’ve been researching.” Alec looks and sounds so smug at the last bit that Catarina bites back another smile at how proud he is of learning things for Magnus. “Warlock courtship gestures, the Rites of Labor and Love. Where you do something for your partner that they could do with magic, because you want to ease their burden. Especially if it’s something important to them and because their is power in intent.”

Catarina tries very hard not to say or do anything that will give her surprise and shock away.  She hums, keeping her breathing calm and even because Alec’s the type to notice those things. “It’s a good book, if you get through the first part.”

It’s a test and it’s clear that Alec misses it, because his eyes light up, the last of his panic finally fading. 

“I really liked the first part, I think it was romantic about how deep of a connection different bonds can form.”

Catarina knows that Alec thinks he’s admitting to courting Magnus, which he is. However it’s clear that even he hasn’t yet learned the secret of the book.

Of consorts.

Cat smirks to herself as she helps Alec navigate Magnus’ wardrobe and politely doesn’t watch as he dresses.  If Alec is this invested in making it work, then she might help give an extra shove rather than just a nudge.

“This is the address of his favorite custom shop at the local night market. They'll open in a few nights. Just going and admiring him as he tries on shoes will make him happy, 

“I can buy them for him.” Alec is actually sulking, arms crossed and chin stubborn as his dark eyes meet her’s. “The Clave gives the married shadowhunters a stipend based on their rank. I might as well use it for something useful. I should, since I broke them.”

“Good luck getting Magnus to let you.” Cat doesn’t quite mean it as a challenge but from the glint in Alec’s eyes, he’s going to take it as one.

Good, Magnus deserves a little trouble sometimes.

But only in good ways, of course.

-

AN:

if either of these two were a little less dramatic they'd be so much further in their relationship, but alas. they're already married so it doesn't count as slowburn okay. I standby by my 'doesnt write slowburns' lol they're both gone on each other already too.

uh this kind of gives Magnus and Cat a glimpse into how invested Alec is in this house husband business he's got going on. before they've only really seen him competent or composed about it. like, it's even more suspicious because he's so composed. then this happens and he's like 'i've ruined everything!' and Magnus and cat are just like: are Shadowhunters supposed to be this dramatic? or did Magnus influence him unknowingly like partners sometimes do.

Alec's actually very upset because he hates being bad at things and also he finally has something good to use his money on. what do you mean he's not going to pay for the shoes, Catarina? of course he is.

Magnus is not ignoring Alec's panic, it's why he got Cat also he was having like, a dissociative euphoric moment of hysterical relief. Alec is a bit in shock because 'he made Magnus so sad it rained? but also he's laughing? I did not ruin things?'

Cat just helps Alec not get lost in the deeper layers of Magnus' closet.

[boy222god]

Stuck on You.

"I still want you." | What's done is done, but feelings will always linger

➥ word count: 910 ✧ angst

Hollis's eyes noticed you before you even knew of his existence in the same room.

You were tucked into the edge of it— backlit, half-obscured, laughing with your whole face like the dull aching was something that never existed in your world. That smile, the one that folded near your eyes and softened the corners of your mouth; he used to chase that look like salvation. Though, when furthering the idea a bit longer than he should have, Hollis could still say he would... If you let him. The way the light caught in your hair made you look untouchable. Almost ethereal. As if you'd been dipped in something gold and warm, only to be pulled away from him again.

Everything about you looked divine and that was an issue. THE issue.

He should've left the second he laid eyes on you. Should've turned on his heel, found something stronger to drink, pretended the city you both shared hadn't forced you to become a ghost that would continuously haunt him. But instead, he stayed— arms folded, chest hollow, gaze locked like his ribs might collapse under the weight of rushing memories.

Someone bumped his shoulder as they passed. He didn't blink nor make the efforts to even make a sound to show displeasure in the lack of manners.

You still hadn't seen him. Not yet.

Something Hollis made note of a long time ago that you were good at doing— pretending him or anyone who brought dissatisfaction never existed. Complete strangers again. Although, with Hollis, he wondered how you could. Pretend that you never curled into him just to feel safe, never murmured his name like it meant something sacred in the dark.

And you laughed again.

Louder this time.

Like the air was lighter now that he wasn't apart of it.

God, he hated how it tore such a raw wound within...

"She's gonna kill you if you keep looking at her like that," Came the sound of Nate's voice, dry and quiet beside Hollis.

At first, he didn't answer. Continuing his burning gaze towards your direction, as if doing so could possibly make you notice or maybe, just maybe, freeze the lame afterparty's mid-breathe.

"She doesn't know," Nate added, a little softer now, "You can't hold her responsible for something you never said out loud."

"That's what makes it worse." Hollis muttered. A bitter truth that had been tucked so perfectly behind clenched teeth. Because you were never aware of how many versions of yourself that he had met in countless dreams. No clue that he still thinks of the way your voice dipped whenever you would say his name— like it was a secret yet a sin within one. Or that you lived in every space between every song, every silence that graced him, every stretch of time he tried to fill with anything that wasn't you nor tied to you.

"Then tell her."

Hollis wouldn't. He never does. He just... Waits. Not for hope, but for a crack in your facade. Something to suggest that you too do remember the moments shared in the past. And maybe, he did it out of ego. Pride? Something he wasn't entirely sure of or simply didn't want to acknowledge fully. Regardless, for a moment, he thinks the universe flinches.

Your soft gaze flickers across the room, landing on him. Barely. A glance. A pinprick of recognition. Maybe not. He tells himself it meant something just to stay upright.

Though, he did notice your smile wavering; almost imperceptibly. And then you're gone again. Swallowed whole by someone else's story.

Later, he finds you in the kitchen.

Half a drink in hand. Head bobbing slightly to the thud of music leaking from the living room. You looked... Peaceful. As if there wasn't a single part of you bracing to see him.

So unlike the version of you that used to trace the veins in his wrist with your thumb just to feel his pulse. Sometimes that lone, delicate finger of yours would find itself near his lips to which you never hesitated to trace the outline of that as well before leaning in to share such a kiss that he always found left him in shambles. That version is gone. He's aware. Still, he speaks:

"You always look like you're somewhere else."

You turn— a flicker of surprise at the sound of his voice. Once recognizing who was speaking, your facial expression eased into one of aiming to be careful. The one you wear like armor when it comes to him.

"Hollis."

His name, on your lips. Unsoft. Unrecognizable. It lands like a bruise.

"I still think about you." He shares. Not fragile nor forced. Just... Tired. "Still want you. And I can admit that it's exhausting."

Something shifts behind your eyes. Not enough to reach his attention. Not enough to undo anything that could patch what happened in the past up. But it's there— that slow, ghosting ache he used to read like a scripture on your skin.

You murmur, "I didn't know.". Almost like regret. Almost.

Hollis nods once, like that's enough even though you're aware it isn't

Before he can speak again, someone calls your name and like always... You go.

Disappearing into noise and warmth and everything that isn't him.

As for Hollis?

He stays in place— aching in all the places your absence now lives. Hoping, foolishly, you'd turn back.

But you don't.

You never do.

© boy222god 2025 all rights reserved - please do not repost my work on other platforms or translate.

[prettycalla]

|| fabula ||

Pairing: Caracalla/Reader

Summary: As easily distracted as he is prone to boredom, Caracalla seeks you out. The work of a scribe is no longer as quiet as you had once thought. (Prompt fill)

Word count: 2.4k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, reader is a scribe, Caracalla is a nuisance (affectionate), no use of Y/N.

(Will I ever stop describing Caracalla as the most beautiful thing on earth? No, next question. I've been struggling to get through my requests, but I'm almost there, I think!)

Masterlist || Taglist

It is difficult to concentrate on the task laid out before you. You are there to take notes of the ongoing Senate meeting, and translate them from the shorthand of your wax tablet to longhand on parchment, so they may then be archived. You are educated and have been trained well, this is not new to you.

And yet…

The meetings of the Senate often take many different forms. Some are smaller, with less in attendance, particularly when it involves a matter of lesser importance. When it is of great importance, however, every seat in the grand room is filled.

Including the thrones.

You have been in the presence of the Emperors a small handful of times in the past, but you have not been formally introduced. For this, you are grateful, as they are intimidating, to say the very least.

You have heard tales of Caracalla, of his sudden violent fits and bloodlust. Geta, however, is an enigma to you, and that somehow frightens you all the more, for you do not know what he is capable of.

You intend to focus on your work and leave as quickly and politely as you can once the meeting is brought to a close.

But alas, the Fates have a different path in store for you.

The meeting proceeds as expected: the Senators present their statements, and there are murmurs of agreement or debate amongst the crowd. From time to time, Geta will have his say, his voice low and commanding as he speaks.

You sneak a glance now and again. Geta is composed in how he holds himself, head held high as he addresses the court.

His brother, however…

Caracalla is restless, growing increasingly more frustrated in his boredom. He sits lazily, one hand propping his head up as he plucks absentmindedly at his robes. His demeanour is in every way in opposition to his brother’s. How very unlike an Emperor he appears. You cannot help but smile to yourself.

As you continue your work, you find yourself peeking more and more at the Emperors. Each time you do, Caracalla has moved again, and eventually, he has disappeared altogether. You assume he has slipped out on some other business and think little more of it. Though you do find yourself missing his entertaining presence.

“You are new,” a low voice murmurs close to your ear.

You cannot stop the yelp that escapes you at the sudden sound. The court is suddenly silenced, and you dare not raise your head, for fear that they may realise where the interruption had come from.

A beat of quiet follows, and things continue on as they were. You, however, have been entirely distracted. The source of the voice is still behind you; you can feel their breath on the back of your neck.

“Did I frighten you?” asks the voice, almost giddily.

A cold sweat breaks out over you as you realise.

“M-My Emperor,” you manage to stammer in greeting.

Caracalla laughs then, soft and almost hoarse. It sends a shiver through you; although it is not entirely unpleasant, you realise, with a flush rising to your cheeks.

"Caracalla."

Geta's voice echoes across the room, loud and demanding attention.

Caracalla lets out a theatrical sigh.

"My little game has been ruined, it seems," he mutters with an irritated click of his tongue.

You hear his footsteps recede as he returns to his throne. You look down at the wax tablet in front of you. You are entirely lost now. With a little sigh, you attempt to hastily recover your place, hoping that you have not missed much during Caracalla's interruption.

When you feel as though enough time has passed and you have sufficiently reoriented yourself, you chance a little look once more in the direction of the thrones.

Caracalla is looking directly at you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. You quickly dip your head back down to your work, and do not dare to move until you are dismissed for the day.

You take your time in gathering your belongings, in the hopes that the Emperors will have left long before you do.

How wrong you are.

You turn to find Caracalla standing behind you.

"My Emperor," you greet in a panic, swiftly bowing your head.

He laughs, clearly amused by how uneasy he has made you.

"Usually I am bored to tears in those stuffy meetings," he says, head tilted slightly to one side. "But I was not in the least bit bored today. Do you know why?"

His gaze is intense, almost hypnotic. You cannot bring yourself to look away.

"No, my Emperor," you reply politely.

Caracalla frowns then.

"Do not play at modesty. How it annoys me," he says, his tone almost scolding.

You bow your head again. "Apologies, my Emperor."

He giggles softly, and just like that, the little storm cloud that hovered over him has vanished.

"You certainly kept me entertained all afternoon," he says with a smile. "I must reward you for your hard work."

You open your mouth to say that you were only doing your duty, but remembering Caracalla's words, you think better of it.

"I am happy to serve, Emperor," you reply graciously.

Caracalla waves his hand dismissively.

"Enough of that," he demands. "My title. You will not use it."

You nod in reply. "Of course. What shall I say instead?"

He looks at you as if you are the most ridiculous creature he has ever met.

"My name, of course," he says, as if you should know better than to ask. "And you shall tell me yours."

You freeze for a moment. So much is happening so fast, surely you must be imagining it. Only this morning you were readying yourself for your daily duties, and now the Emperor of Rome stands before you, speaking as if you were friends.

"Well?" he prompts impatiently, tapping his foot. "What is it?"

You tell him your name, and he repeats it, again and once more, as if savouring how it feels. You find yourself blushing again.

Caracalla moves to the desk where you have been working. Or trying to work, you think to yourself. He lifts the tablet, turning it from side to side as he tries to decipher the strange symbols of your shorthand writing.

“Tell me, what else do you write?” he asks.

He has clearly had no luck, as he all but drops the tablet back onto the table with a clatter.

“What else?” you ask in turn. “I am unsure as to what you refer.”

“What I mean is, is it always this dull drivel?” he asks with a vague wave of his hand.

You try not to feel slighted by his words.

“Or do you, perhaps, indulge in things that are more…exciting?”

You fidget with the stylus in your hand as you consider how best to answer.

“I…occasionally write tales,” you reply after a moment.

Caracalla’s eyes widen slightly.

“Tales? Of what kind?”

“All sorts. Tales of the Gods, of creatures of the deep and above the clouds…”

You falter, embarrassment washing over you. Surely this will not interest him.

How wrong you are.

Caracalla suddenly shifts closer to you. You have caught his attention, it seems.

“You will show them to me,” he demands, excitement evident in his voice.

It takes every ounce of your willpower to stop yourself from blurting out a swift ‘no’ in reply.

Your tales are yours, you have never shown them to anyone.

As if he has read your very thoughts, Caracalla's eyes narrow.

"You will not allow me to read them?" he asks haughtily. "Very well. You will read them to me."

You look at him in horror. He lets out a giggle in response, before turning to the door.

"You will come to my chambers in the evening," he says as he leaves. "I will be expecting you."

You clasp your hands together tightly in front of you, sudden nerves causing them to tremble.

How on earth are you supposed to carry on with your day now?

It is a struggle to continue your tasks. As the day wears on, you grow only more anxious. Your stomach is in knots, and you dare not begin the task of translating your notes, as you know that you will only ruin the expensive parchment paper with your anxious hands, and then it will be your head.

As if your head was not already in danger, you think glumly.

The light of the day gradually begins to wane, and you know in your heart that you cannot avoid what lies ahead any longer.

Your gather your papyrus scrolls from your desk, where they always sit, in case an idea might suddenly strike in the midst of a break. With a long, deep breath, you make the journey to Caracalla's chambers. You have to stop several people along the way to ask for directions, only to be met with strange looks each time. You try to ignore them, but the uneasy feeling in your stomach only grows worse.

At last, you stand in front of a grand set of doors, each flanked by an Imperial guard. They have clearly been expecting you, as they allow you entry with no hassle at all.

You thank them quietly with a little bow of your head as you pass. The doors close behind you, seeming louder to your ears with your growing anxiety.

"There you are!" Caracalla calls, all but rushing to greet you. "I was beginning to think you had run away."

You bow, not daring to meet his gaze as he laughs.

"Apologies, my- Caracalla," you force yourself to say, remembering what he had said earlier. "My work often keeps me long into the night."

"Oh. Well then, I suppose you are early," he replies with a smile, as if he has amused himself.

He turns then, making his way across the length of the grand room.

"Come, I do not wish to wait any longer," he says over his shoulder.

You scurry after him, trying not to become distracted by how beautiful Caracalla's chambers are. In spite of your nerves, you can already feel a little spark of inspiration coming to you for another tale. You shake your head slightly.

Perhaps now is not the time.

Caracalla drops lazily onto the lectus by the window, tucking a hand beneath his cheek to rest his head. He gestures towards a stool.

"You may sit there," he says, bright eyes watching you carefully.

You nod, carefully lifting the stool. It is rather unwieldy, and you struggle to place it down, much to Caracalla's evident amusement. You sit down, placing all but one of your scrolls gently on the floor next to you. Carefully, you unroll the one in your lap, trying not to think of the task that lies before you.

"While we are young," Caracalla says cheekily.

With a little breath, you steel your nerves, and begin to read. It is difficult at first, with how your voice trembles. Caracalla says nothing, and eventually, you become focused on your words, soon finding yourself pulled away into the worlds of your making. Of star-crossed lovers, fierce battles to the death, and the most incredible creatures that exist only in dreams.

You become completely immersed, growing more confident as your characters come to life through your voice. You find yourself growing quite breathless with excitement. How you adore what you do.

It is only when you reach the end of the scroll that you return to yourself, as if you have been roused from a daydream. Tentatively, you raise your head. Caracalla has since sat up, leaning forward with his hands clasped tightly in his lap as he watches you with rapt attention.

"What then?" he asks, his voice rough from lack of use.

"What then...?" you echo. "Oh. Well, I…have not written any more than that."

Caracalla frowns at your words. "Why ever not?" he demands.

"Well, I...I have not had the time," you admit. "With my work, I often find myself too busy or tired for my own writing."

Caracalla merely looks at you for a moment, before he shakes his head.

"Nonsense," he says, as if the very idea has offended him. "That will not do."

He stands then, stretching his arms over his head with a long sigh. He reminds you of a cat that has been napping in the sun.

"That will not do at all," he insists.

He leans forward, fingers gently drumming along the edge of the papyrus in your hands.

"I wish to hear more of this tale."

His eyes are focused so intently on you as he speaks. His hand reaches up to gently trace your chin, before dropping away as quickly again.

"And you will write it for me," he murmurs.

Before you can think to reply, he has moved again, leisurely pacing back and forth across the room with his hands neatly folded behind his back.

"Of course, I cannot have my scribe tired, so I will delegate much of your work to someone else," he says, as if in deep thought.

You must do something. You need the stipend that your work brings, you cannot afford to lose any of it.

You quietly clear your throat, readying yourself for what chaos your words may cause in their wake.

"And I will pay you handsomely, of course," Caracalla continues, and it is by some divine intervention that you do not choke.

He stops in his tracks, turning his attention back to you. He looks for you to speak.

"I...I do not know what to say," you manage to force out, your head still reeling.

"I believe 'thank you' is the most appropriate response," he replies, but there is a smile pulling at his lips.

"Thank you," you say immediately. "I am beyond grateful for such a generous offer. Truly I am."

Caracalla laughs, clapping his hands together in excitement. The bangles on his arms jingle melodically as he does so, and you cannot help but think that he paints such a beautiful picture as he stands, so vibrant and full of mirth.

“Wonderful!” he exclaims. “Starting tomorrow, you will continue this tale for me. And then begin work on many more!”

You nod enthusiastically as he lays himself across the lectus again.

“Now,” he starts, as he finds the most comfortable position for himself once more. “I see that you have more than one scroll with you. I wish to hear another.”

With trembling hands, you do as he asks, unfurling another scroll. It is no longer with nerves that you find yourself feeling unsteady; rather it is with excitement. Of the possibilities that now lay ahead of you.

With renewed resolve, you begin to read, allowing the two of you to fall into another world once more.

Taglist 💖: @glassbxttless @lover-rep-fanfic @punkrockmlchael @x-vadon @dubiousmetamorphosis @getaapologist @fandom-princess-forevermore @robinbuckleywife

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[aspeni-cody]

maybe giyuu and his s/o telling Kagaya Ubuyashiki and the other hashira they are expecting? pre muzan attacking? im not sure if thats your style, if not no worries!

I love this idea!!! Thank you so much for the request!!!!

“New Light in the Darkness”

Character(s): Giyuu Tomioka x Reader, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, the Hashira

Timeline: Pre-final battle, Demon Slayer Canon

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Family

Warnings: None

Summary: Before the final battle, you and Giyuu gather the Hashira and Ubuyashiki-sama to share unexpected news.

The wind blew gently through the gardens of the Ubuyashiki estate, carrying the scent of fresh earth and spring blossoms into the meeting room. The air was warm and still, the kind of day that made everything feel like it might hold just a little more hope than usual.

The Hashira were gathered in their usual formation, kneeling with calm reverence before Kagaya Ubuyashiki. His pale features were bathed in soft sunlight, a serene smile touching his lips as he welcomed them.

And you—seated just beside Giyuu—felt the weight of anticipation settle in your chest.

Giyuu’s fingers brushed yours subtly beneath the folds of your sleeves, his silent way of asking, Are you ready?

You took a quiet breath. Then, with a small nod, you gently pulled your hand away from his and stood.

The attention of the room shifted almost instantly. You didn’t speak often during these meetings, and certainly not before Ubuyashiki-sama himself. Giyuu turned his gaze to you, ever-stoic but undeniably present, ready to support you in whatever came next.

Kagaya’s soft voice broke the quiet. “You have something to share with us, don’t you?”

You bowed deeply. “Yes, Ubuyashiki-sama. With your permission… I’d like to speak.”

He gave a gentle nod. “Of course, dear one.”

You swallowed softly and turned your gaze across the room—at the warriors who had faced death more times than anyone should. They looked at you not with judgment, but curiosity. Trust.

You placed your hand over your lower abdomen, fingers trembling just slightly.

“Giyuu and I…” You paused, the words catching in your throat, not from fear but from the weight of them. “We’re expecting. A child.”

The silence that followed was unlike any other. Not heavy. Not tense.

Just quiet—soft, sacred.

For a moment, no one moved. Then—

Mitsuri gasped, her eyes already brimming with tears. “You’re going to have a baby? That’s the cutest thing ever! Oh my gosh—congratulations!!”

She leapt up and nearly ran toward you, only to remember where she was and sit back down, hands clasped over her chest as she practically vibrated with joy.

Kyojuro beamed, his eyes shining like a sunrise. “What a glorious thing! A new life is the greatest celebration of all! Truly, this child will be a symbol of hope!”

Shinobu chuckled behind her hand. “I must say, I didn’t expect to hear this at today’s meeting. You’re full of surprises, Giyuu.”

Giyuu, still seated, let out a small sigh through his nose. “I’m not hiding anything,” he muttered. “Just… wasn’t the time until now.”

“You dog,” Tengen drawled, smirking. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Quiet types always throw us off.”

Even Obanai blinked once in surprise, and Muichiro—usually lost in thought—had actually turned to look at you with curiosity.

Sanemi scoffed, crossing his arms. “Hah. Never thought you’d be the first among us to start a family. You’re so damn serious all the time.”

Giyuu rose to his feet beside you at that point, his expression unreadable to most, but his hand found yours again.

“I wanted to tell you all before the battle,” he said. “In case… something happens.”

At that, the room stilled again. The reality of war hung in the air, just beneath the surface. You knew every single person here had accepted that risk long ago. And you had too.

But Kagaya smiled again, his calm breaking through the storm you all carried.

“This is a beautiful gift,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, yet it filled the entire room. “Thank you both for sharing it. New life is not a distraction from our mission—it is the reason for it. Your child represents the future we fight to protect.”

You bowed again, emotion thick in your throat. “Thank you, Ubuyashiki-sama.”

Kagaya’s eyes, though veiled in their own pain, softened even further. “May this child come into a world made brighter by your strength and your love.”

As the wind rustled the trees outside and the sunlight dappled across the wooden floor, the Hashira sat in stillness—not for war, not for orders, not for duty.

But for joy.

Just for a moment.

And as Giyuu’s fingers gently threaded with yours, you knew: this was the reason you both had survived this long.

A new light in the darkness.

[kolachaiii]

BUDDIE— 8b thoughts (pre 8x18)

thinking about the story they’ve been telling this season how i’ve perceived buddie’s dynamic. 8b is the first time we see these two interact in this way. they have normally been quite good at communicating with one another and now we’ve had two intense fights in half a season.

buck is normally the very emotional one and is not afraid to show his emotions. eddie is the opposite. i do think eddie feels things deeply but i think it takes him longer to understand them and struggles expressing them until he’s reached capacity.

i think this dynamic has somewhat flipped in this half of the season where buck is closing himself off because he is really hurt but he knows eddie has to go. he still has a small outburst in voices but i think that was to show us, he is still hiding these things and in that moment when he was overwhelmed, he couldn’t hold back like he had been doing. this pattern of behaviour is what he reverts to after bobby’s death and shows that this is how he is coping with painful emotions.

parallel to that, we have eddie’s storyline which has been centred around three important details. chris, buck and joy. i think eddie’s struggle to allow himself to feel joy, is actually bigger than that. i don’t think he allows himself to feel a lot of emotions. in sob stories and voices, i don’t think he’s allowing himself to properly feel the pain it’s causing him to leave because in his mind it’s his fault he’s in the position he’s in anyway. and i think buck is especially pissing him off because he’s making that hurt unavoidable by just being himself and reminding eddie how much he will miss him.

eddie’s texas arc felt underdeveloped but i think its purpose was to show eddie learning to process and express his feelings and his journey in doing that is what eventually led to him getting chris back.

onto the kitchen scene, now they’re in a position where they’re both hurting again. eddie is mad that buck is doing the same thing he did in sob stories. shutting him out, spiralling out, analysing everyone’s feelings instead of just talking to them. and now it matters.

so he actually tells buck what he’s thinking and feeling. and i think it speaks volumes that he let himself be quite harsh with him because especially for a character like eddie who tends to hide their feelings, it means he feels safe enough around buck to do that. probably also because buck has done the same to him in the past.

i think the kitchen scene is for eddie to express his frustrations but also to see the extent of how much buck is struggling. because buck is just so quiet which is so unlike him, but as i said earlier, i think he’s falling deeper into repressing his emotions and just trying to push through them instead of addressing them because it hurts him too much.

in sob stories, buck makes up for his behaviour by subletting eddie’s place so eddie can go be with chris. after the fight in the last episode, eddie makes up for it by doing the same thing for buck, bringing chris home. i think eddie is sharing his joy with buck and also realising that buck is part of that joy.

eddie is realising and i think he will be the first to admit his feelings because this season is just buck repeatedly repressing his emotions and eddie learning to communicate them.

apologies for the essay but i hope someone out there gets me <3

[notyourmamasdeerbat]

WIP Weekday!

Thank you, @spinfins for the tag. Lovely to hear from you, as always, I'm afraid I have very little to show except some of the ending of Chapter 5 of Carry the Dagger! It's almost there. I swear it. I'm coughing blood and it's punching my lights out but by the Maker if I don't crank this fucker out by the end of the week. Rook lore, mild angst and messy handwriting under the cut!

“A message for you, dweller.” The Caretaker appeared in a flurry of blue light, disappearing as quickly as it had come as it handed Rook a thin stack of folded vellum. 

Neve took one look at the correspondence and its traces of leaf rot and colorful ink and turned on her heel. “Goodnight, Rook. Try to get some rest.” 

“You too,” the Veil Jumper murmured absently, frowning as they fanned out the missives in their hands as if to sort their unmarked exteriors. 

Lucanis lingered for a moment in the shadow of the sanctum's stairwell, frowning. Rook cast him a slight smile. “Go. Rest. I appreciate your help today. If it is good news, you'll be the first to know.” 

The assassin nodded once, gaze stalling hopefully first on the papers, then on Rook’s face, before his shoulders unwound and he flitted out the double doors into the courtyard. 

Rook slumped into the tattered armchair by the shelf, the ruined artifact above casting shards of too bright light through the shadows around. They exhaled roughly, bracing themself, and began to read. 

Rook- 

I am sorry. Never before have I encountered possession as you have described. I do not know how to help your assassin. Keep vigilant. These things so seldom last long, and even rarer still do they end happily. 

It is however gratifying to hold your words in hand. I can only wish you luck, and beg for your unerring support as it has been given us many times before. I will continue my studies when I have the time. I will consult with the spirits, the sylvans and the Lady Morrigan. Perhaps some kernel of knowledge remains unearthed. 

Yours in hope, health, and deepest condolences,

Irelin

Rook’s heart clenched itself in a giant, nauseous fist. Bad news all around. Condolences. Rook didn't want condolences. 

They turned the letter over. In a rough, sharp hand, there was more in paler ink. Like it had been left out in the sun for a time before being sent. The parchment rustled. 

Rook. Don't do anything stupid.

-Strife

The Veil Jumper smiled grimly. It was unlike Strife to be so emotional. Affectionate, even. Rolling their eyes, they set aside the sheet of vellum to reveal the hastily sealed paper underneath. They pulled its edges upward until the thin layer of beeswax cracked, revealing the familiar flowing scrawl of red ink that made their stomach churn and their heart soar in tandem. 

Hey Rook (I like the name. Suits you. Old dwarf had taste), 

Thanks for checking in. Don't worry about me, I keep busy. Please for the love of the Maker, Andraste and whatever gods aren't actively trying to fuck us all collectively in the ass– be safe. Don't take risks for your possessed friend. (Don't be prickly, Irelin told me) Be cautious. Be careful, or I swear on the void I'll hop the next fucking ship to the Fade and beat your ass myself. Watch the skies for whatever dragon nonsense is happening. The world is not ready for another archdemon, but shit if we won't have to be. I'm ready. I think. For whatever's coming, my bow is drawn. I'm tired of waiting.

You seem to be running with the right crowd (still not sure. A possessed Antivan Crow? Really? Mythal'enaste, why can't you be normal?) Your detective sounds lovely, like she's got a good head on her shoulders. Listen to her. 

Again, DON'T TAKE ANY STUPID RISKS. 

Yes, I can hear you say it. “you're one to talk, lethallin”. Living Gods, shut up, would you? 

And now you'll laugh. 

And Rook did, just a little. 

I'm safe here. Don't worry about me. I know I said it twice, but I want to drill it into your brain. Do not. Come looking. For me. It's just trouble, and I'm never working with Strife anymore anyway. They need your help more than I do. You were never great at transcribing. I've got Damari here. I know what we're both feeling, but in a pinch he'll have my back. He's an asshole, but he doesn't want me dead. Or you. Teresa says hello. Kassa misses you, even if she won't admit it. 

Just don't I love you. Don't forget it. Be as strong as I know you can be. DON'T FORGET TO CALIBRATE ANY REFRACTION LENSES YOU FIND. You still suck at that. Ask Lutare for help. Tell her she's my hero. And tell Harding I said hello, and if she dies I'll fucking kill her. If you die I'll fucking kill her. I don't know, I'm doing a lot of killing lately. It helps. 

Compassion keeps wandering where your tent used to be. It's been upset for days. Damari is working on it (ironic, I know. Prick.) 

Keep me updated. You're in my prayers. The ones that work, anyway. Dareth shiral.

Your brother, until the end of days,

Revas. 

Rook blinked away the tears gathering like molten glass in the corners of their eyes and cleared their throat, that familiar wound in their chest scraped raw and bloody. They set down the letters in their lap, taking a deep breath and closing their eyes to keep the tears from falling. 

Ahahahaa it's fiiine. Don't ask questions! I won't give you any answers! :D (Genuinely your guess is as good as mine at this point) Soft tags for beloveds! Whatcha guys up to?

@draco-illius-noctis @andthekitchensinkao3 @fenrelmercar @nananarc @nevarrantorte @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @hedwigoprah @jenn2d2 @sunny374940 🫶

[lissafaye]

America hates women. Full stop. We can elect a man of color. But not a woman. Or a woman of color. This just speaks volumes about the country I live in. I knew my state was a conservative cesspool. But my country is truly garbage.

[plan-3-tmars]

thinking about how in kazui's first birthday timeline he tells haruka that he enjoys his birthday because it gives him a good excuse to start a conversation with friends he hasn't seen in a while,,

"Hey, it feels like it's been a while, doesn't it? /

Oh, by the way, it's my birthday today. / Want to have a smoke together?

- 2023 Bday Timeline with Shidou

"Well, come over if you feel like it. Staying alone all the time will make you feel down. I can keep you company if you need to relieve some stress."

- 2024 Bday Timeline with Mikoto

[sisterdivinium]

Rich and arrogant and combative and blasphemous, Jillian Salvius would surely live in a den of iniquity where her girls would be tempted enough to abandon their mission — so Mother Superion thought.

But Jillian Salvius' table, however generous, was not one set for waste: gracious as a host, meals at her house were varied but not excessive, alcohol present but not overindulged in; if more kindly, her conduct was as correct as that of any strict Christian such as Superion herself.

And, through daily contact, sharing in that their deadly conflict, Mother Superion found that she could admire her — charmed.

[rainbowpufflez]

Fine, I’ll admit that I like Lysandre 😔

[radiaking]

I’ve seen multiple posts/heard multiple ppl say that coop will die in fallout and like….i mean. Yeah probably tbh. and i think that absolutely makes sense. This man lived an entire life before the bombs. he was ready to retire early to a ranch and raise his daughter and spend the rest of his life with his family and just. Fucking chilling tbh. he was good. He was happy. he was ready to just ride that happiness out until he died of old age.

his goals now are to find out what happened to his kid and dismantle the system/corporations that blew up everything he and everyone else had or could have had. and then he’s done.

[frederikvesti]

i guess i’ll be hoping for a graham/rinus/linus lineup at RLL

[ikkaku-of-heart]

NEW ITA BAG!!!!

Gotta show off my Heart Pirate pins and Keychains at the con this weekend. And of course Ikkaku is front and center. Hella excited to cosplay her, but that also means I'll be lurking at best until Sunday night while I'm away.

[sadgirlautumn]

Watching pll: original sin and I hate when white men apologize and think that it undoes all the bad things they’ve done