#and over time that's mostly stayed the same

[majinael]

Kaiser, how we know him in the manga, absolutely does not know how to love and would never end up in a relationship or at least, a healthy one, so, I'll write here one of my most important works (that I'll probably refer to in a lot of my future writings), helping you guys understanding what I think is the most realistic way he could love anyone.

★TW : mentions of mental abuse, depression.

★1k words

✾ You absolutely fell in love first and stayed even after seeing him fail and witnessing the worst sides of him with your own eyes.

✾ Kaiser would eventually notice something special in you, something he didn’t see at first. As time passed, he couldn’t help being drawn to you because you saw through his facade—the ego, the arrogance—and treated him with both blunt honesty and quiet compassion.

✾ He desired you, though not in a romantic way at first. To him, you were someone he needed around, someone he didn’t want anyone else to have, almost as if you were an object to be kept.

✾ One day, you found enough courage to confess your feelings to him. To Kaiser, it was an opportunity to keep you tethered to him, to have control over you. He accepted, assuming you were the type to be so stupidly in love that you’d let anything slide—and you did.

✾ Even then, he tried to “love” you, though selfishly. He didn’t want you to leave, even if he didn’t truly know how to put you first or care for you in a way that wasn’t about his own gratification.

✾ You stayed because you saw glimpses of the person he could be, because you believed he deserved to be loved, and because you were far too attached to walk away.

✾ Over the years, however, the emotional weight of loving someone so broken—someone who was unwilling to change no matter how many arguments or breaks you endured—began to take its toll. His jealousy, his possessiveness, and his inability to communicate left you exhausted.

✾ “Why do you always forgive me, even when I don’t deserve it?” he asked one night, his frustration laced with disbelief. He thought you might have finally given up on him. You just smiled sadly and replied, “Because someone has to.”

✾ Eventually, your love alone wasn’t enough to hold you together. You left—not out of anger, but out of self-preservation. You were on the brink of losing yourself entirely.

✾ At first, Kaiser wasn’t overly concerned and was mostly in denial. He convinced himself you’d come back, just as you always had. When hours turned into days, he believed you felt the same need for him as he did for you. But as the days turned into weeks, the silence began to gnaw at him.

✾ He spiraled, masking his pain with his usual bravado—if not more exaggerated than ever. Yet when he was alone, he was consumed by thoughts of you being with someone else. The idea drove him mad, and for the first time, he felt true, raw heartbreak. He realized your leaving wasn’t an act of abandonment but a final act of love—giving him what he thought he wanted most from you towards the end: freedom.

✾ Kaiser wasn’t used to losing or feeling such despair paired with a complete loss of control. Refusing to accept the end, he did everything in his power to win you back—grand gestures, heartfelt confessions, and promises he’d never made to anyone before.

✾ Of course, you were deeply hurt and hesitant. “Words don’t mean much, Kaiser. You need to show me,” you said firmly.

✾ He offered you everything—luxury, security, anything money could buy—but you demanded something far more valuable: his willingness to change.

✾ One of your conditions for reconciliation was therapy, something Kaiser initially scoffed at. “You think talking to some stranger is going to fix me?” he said, incredulous, thinking he knew everything about psychology already.

✾ But he agreed, not just out of desperation but also because when he saw your tearful, pleading eyes filled with hope that this time it could change, he couldn’t refuse. For the first time, he understood that this was something he had to do—not even for you, but for himself.

✾ The sessions were slow and grueling, forcing him to confront parts of himself he’d buried for years—his insecurities, his fears, and his warped view of love.

✾ Over time, after almost two years, he began to heal. He learned to express his feelings in healthier ways, to apologize without deflecting, and to listen instead of always trying to be right. Winning you back wasn’t a quick process. It took years of effort, of proving he had changed—not just for you, but for himself.

✾ During this time, you were together but not entirely as close as most couples might be. You still needed proof that he had truly changed, even though you frequently told him, “I’m proud of you.”

✾ When you finally accepted him again, it was under the condition that he continued to grow. This time, he was willing to meet you halfway and love you in a way that didn’t destroy you. “You stayed when I didn’t deserve it,” he said one night. “Now it’s my turn to stay, no matter how long it takes to make things right.”

✾ You were the first person—the only person—who cared for him so deeply, who showed him what selfless, innocent, and unconditional love looked like.

✾ And, in turn, Kaiser became someone capable of deep, selfless love himself. He cherished you not as a possession but as an equal partner.

✾ The scars of your past together never fully faded, but they served as reminders of how far you had come. “You taught me how to love,” he told you one day, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve it.”

✾ For the first time, he said the words he never thought he could mean, the words he never expected to truly feel: “I love you.”

MK:"Someone beautiful, smart, and full of love."

[petersparkerrs]

stress remedy

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

- summary: after some stressful times with school, peter surprises his pretty girlfriend with some flowers

- warnings: basically nothing, just pure fluffy! some kissing + mentions of stress

- word count: 1.7k

- author’s note: hiii! my first tumblr fanfic ever. requests are open, i’ll be doing mostly peter parker and andrew garfield.

—————————————୨ৎ

Your boyfriend has a busy life, and you truly have no clue how he even manages. Balancing you, schoolwork, his internship at Oscorp, and being a fucking superhero?

Obviously, that’s far too much for many people. But Peter Parker isn’t just anyone — he’s your sweet boy, the one that does it all. Even with all of his duties, the poor guy still is the most perfect boyfriend in the world.

Between the stress of school and work and whatnot, each day is beginning to feel longer and longer. Days were dragging on into colder winter nights, rather than the fun nights in the summer where you and Peter had as much time as you could ever possibly want.

You almost had no time. Coming home from school or work, you’d go right down for a nap, wake up for dinner and homework, then go straight to bed. The only thing keeping you awake for the few dull hours was your wonderful boyfriend.

Tonight was the same: half asleep in bed, your cat cuddled up to your side by force and threatening to escape the cuddles. A few sheets of homework on the desk, obviously undone, the TV on instead.

Peter knows you’ve been having a tough time at school, he’s the most adorably observant person you’ve ever met. And even with all of his own seemingly never-ending issues, he managed to put you above them all.

Your cat finally wriggled out of your arms and leaped out of the bed, scrambling under it at the sound of a knock on the window: Peter’s signature knock, to be exact. Before you can react, the tiny double-tap knock is accompanied by a gorgeous — maybe just slightly crumpled — bouquet of flowers.

They’re strung up by an all too familiar web, dangling down off of the upstairs neighbors’ Juliet balcony.

You felt like such a princess whenever Peter gave you such a dramatic arrival, dangling flowers and snacks or swinging in to surprise you. Only to be more princess-like, you scampered over in your dainty pajama set to the window, opening it and resting your arms delicately on the chilled windowsill.

Your chin soon joined, settling down on top of your forearms adorably, the stupidest grin plastering across your face when Peter finally swings down and takes the flowers off the web.

“Hi, spidey.” You giggled and stood up, opening it further to pull him inside with no effort to be careful.

“Hi, sweet girl.” He beamed back and stumbled into the bedroom with a chuckle, that all too familiar boyish grin crossing his own pretty face.

In seconds, the two of you became a tangled mess of limbs. The flowers were quickly discarded onto the desk, a quick web shooting from his wrist to shut the window and stop the chilly breeze that was slowly infiltrating the room.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you right up into your favorite spot. Your body was suspended up into the air, rested so perfectly flush against his own.

With the quiet giggles and kisses exchanged, your sour and tired mood was forgotten faster than anything.

The familiar feeling of his cold hands traveling under your shirt and across your back was intoxicating as usual, making you want to melt right into him and stay there forever, to forget about all of your worries and just be with him.

Your mind was just Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter.

“Got you a gift. Thought you might need a little pick-me-up with that midterm you’ve got coming up.” He backed up to carefully set you on the edge of the soft bed. The feeling of your head tucked so deep into the crook of his neck and his scent going straight to your heart was quickly missed, but he’ll be back soon enough.

Peter grabbed the flowers off the desk and jumped right onto the bed, earning a playful giggle from you.

“Yeah? When’d you have time to pick those up?” You scramble the second he’s laid down, crawling up the bed to accompany him.

His hands glided up your waist like silk, squeezing your sides under the pretty little lace tank top you’d chosen for pajamas tonight. It was an instinctive behavior for Peter, and you were settled in his lap in no time. No matter how often he touched you like this, it’s always as equally electrifying.

“May or may not have stolen them on the way home from Oscorp tonight.”

Once you were cuddled up in his lap, his hands moved toward your head without thought to card through the locks of your hair, pulling you closer with a quiet, domestic hum.

His words earned a snort from you, exhaling heavily while you settled on top of his body, head instinctively finding its favorite spot in his neck.

“Wow, how special am I? My boyfriend steals me flowers.” You joke, pressing the softest kiss to that sweet spot behind his ear.

In return, his hands moved up your shirt, the tip of his thumbs just barely ghosting the bottom cup of your breasts.

“Shut up, I just wanted an excuse to see you. You’ve been so holed up recently at home.”

Your eyes roll and your arms tighten around his neck, scoffing and feigning annoyance.

“I have not been holed up, thank you very much. Just … studying?” You laugh and shift in his lap, reaching across his now warm body to grab hold of said stolen flowers.

They were pretty, just maybe slightly crumpled up. But that’s the Peter Parker charm: everything had to be a bit messy when it was coming from him.

“Yeah, studying. How’s that going?” He snickers back, running one strong hand up through the top of your hair to expose your face that he was so enamored with.

The feeling of a gentle kiss to your forehead melted your heart like usual, making you both soften up and quit with the teasing.

“Not good,” you sighed, slumping back down and going all limp on top of him, your nose faintly brushing his jawline. “I haven’t done any of my homework. I’m so burnt out.”

Peter’s own face softened at that, looking down at you and brushing more of that hair out of your face to get a proper look. To his suspicion, your faint eyebags looked … well, a little less faint.

“You’ve gotta get some rest, then, baby.” He sighed and brushed his own nose into your hair, pulling your head under his chin to rest there while one hand stroked down the base of your neck.

You opened your mouth to protest, but you knew fighting over things like this with Peter never gave you a win. As much as you love him, he’s so damn insistent — he won’t let you do anything if it’s not all beneficial for your mental health or whatever he’s going on about.

“Fine. I’m not gonna fight you tonight.”

Your hands quickly work down his body, tugging at his belt in an attempt to get it off. He helps you work it off quickly, climbing out of bed for a moment to discard his jeans and coat to get comfier.

You only whined a little bit when he got up. To be fair, both of you were awfully clingy, not just you.

“Good, you’re not touching that laptop again. Not after that essay you spent all of our time on the other day.” Peter says, and the second the clothing hits the floor you pull him back down with a quiet giggle.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He’s tugged nice and close quickly, so perfect against your body. The comfort of your bed has warmed his body up and he’s just in heaven with you wrapped up in his arms.

“No, don’t wanna go to bed.” Your face turns into a pout at his comment, stuffing right into his neck like always. “Let’s just talk. Get my mind off of school. Please?”

As convincing as you attempted to be, the yawn threatening to pull at your lips and the clingy nature you only fell into when you’re really tired gave you away.

“Baby, c’mon. Look at you. All pretty, but exhausted.” He cooed and chuckled, stroking the back of your hair to pull your head back under his chin the way he likes.

Quiet, protesting giggles escape your mouth, but when he keeps trying to pull you closer you’re on the verge of giving in.

At the sound of your constant stubborn whines at the simple thought of going to bed, Peter knows he’ll have to step it up.

“Come on. I’m not gonna be able to sleep myself if I know you’re stressed out. Let’s go to sleep, sweetheart.”

The gentle tone of his voice and slight puppy eyes urged you further and you truly can’t help it in that moment. A sigh escaped your mouth and you reluctantly moved closer, pulling the covers over the two of you.

“Fuck off. Fine.” You yawned once you finally allowed yourself to, letting your body go limp against him.

“There you go. Just close those pretty eyes, yeah? They look heavy.” He whispers, making sure the comforters are over you in every spot, not letting a sliver of skin exposed to the cold air when you could be snuggled with him.

Your protesting let up every time Peter whispered in your ear, the sweet words setting your mind right into a sleepy state. Little “love you’s” and “I’m right here’s” were so quick to ease your mind every time, even at your most stressed state.

“So easy to bribe.” He chuckles against your head once you’re asleep, pressing a last kiss to the top before shutting his own eyes. “G’night, baby. Love you. Always.”

[movingmusically]

Hi can I request an austin one shot where there is only domestic fluff

Author’s Note:

I decided to make this one a collection of sweet memories rather than flowing story.

Word Count: 4,596

Masterlist

The Little Things

The soft glow of the TV lit up the room as you nestled deeper into the sofa, your legs draped lazily over Austin’s lap. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat between you, mostly forgotten as his hand moved in slow, absent-minded circles on your calf. The movie—a romcom you’d picked—was nearing its predictable, heartwarming ending, but neither of you seemed to be paying much attention.

Instead, you let yourself sink into the quiet comfort of the moment. The warmth of his hand on your skin, the soft sound of his breathing blending with the faint hum of the TV—it all wrapped around you like a cocoon. You could see the subtle curve of his lips, the way his head tilted back as he absently traced patterns on your leg. The simplicity of it made your heart ache in the best way.

Your mind drifted to the smaller moments, the ones that didn’t make grand romantic gestures but settled in your heart all the same. It was those moments, more than anything, that made you realise just how deeply you loved him.

The first time Austin cooked for you felt like a glimpse into a part of him you hadn’t seen before. It was early in your relationship, it had been a casual invitation to his place—nothing fancy, he’d said—but when you arrived, the smell of cedar and herbs greeted you before he did. You found him in the backyard, standing near his prized wood-fired pizza oven, the flames dancing warmly behind him.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he’d said, flashing you that easy smile as he turned a cedar plank over in his hands, the fillet of salmon already resting on top. “Thought I’d keep it simple tonight—just some salt, pepper, and a little lemon. Let the wood do the work.”

You’d perched on a chair nearby, watching as he moved between the oven and the small outdoor prep station he’d set up. He worked with a careful ease, sprinkling fresh dill over the fish and checking the temperature inside the oven with practiced precision. It wasn’t just cooking; it was something closer to art.

“You’re really into this, huh?” you teased, trying to keep your voice light, though the sight of him so focused and content made your chest ache in the best way.

He glanced at you, that boyish grin creeping across his face. “It’s the smell,” he said, motioning to the oven. “The wood, the smokiness—it reminds me why I got this thing in the first place. Plus, it’s kind of a win-win. I like making it, and you get to eat it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “So selfless of you.”

When he finally set the plate in front of you, the dish was both simple and beautiful—a fillet of salmon, perfectly tender, paired with roasted vegetables he’d tossed with just the right amount of seasoning. You’d taken one bite and practically melted into your seat.

“This is incredible,” you said, meaning every word.

He leaned back in his chair, a look of quiet satisfaction settling on his face. “Good,” he said, his voice softer now. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

That night had stayed with you, not just because the food was delicious—though it absolutely was—but because of the way he’d shared it with you. The way he’d talked about the smoky cedar and the simplicity of salt and lemon, like it wasn’t just a meal but a piece of himself.

It became something of a tradition after that, his cedar-plank salmon making an appearance on birthdays, anniversaries, and lazy Sundays when he just wanted to do something special for you. But no matter how many times you’d had it since, nothing quite compared to that first night—watching him cook under the stars, the wood-smoke curling through the air, and the way his smile lingered, like he knew he’d made an impression you wouldn’t soon forget.

Another memory bloomed, soft and sweet, as if it were happening all over again. It had been at a small gathering—friends, music, and the low hum of conversation filling the room. You’d been sitting beside Austin, your hand resting on his knee, when someone mentioned party tricks.

“I don’t have one,” you’d said with a laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Unless embarrassing myself counts.”

Austin had grinned, that easy, mischievous smile you loved so much. “I’ve got one,” he’d said casually, reaching for a napkin from the table.

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You do?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied, already folding the napkin with practiced precision. His fingers moved quickly, twisting and creasing with a focus that drew the attention of everyone nearby. The group around you leaned in to watch as he shaped the plain napkin into something delicate and intricate.

By the time he finished, he held out a perfectly crafted rose, its petals soft and curved, the stem twisted just enough to look real. “Voilà,” he said, offering it to you with a little flourish.

You’d stared at it for a moment, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You’ve been hiding this from me?” you teased, taking the paper rose from his hand.

“I can’t give away all my secrets at once,” he said, his voice low and playful.

“Where did you even learn this?” you asked, holding the rose carefully like it was something fragile.

He leaned back with a grin, crossing his arms like he was about to tell a story he’d been waiting to share. “There was this kid at my sister’s high school—cool Brazilian guy, leather jacket, the whole vibe. He used to sit in the corner of the cafeteria making these for the girls. I was enamoured with him and begged him to teach me.”

You laughed at the image of teenage Austin, wide-eyed and determined to learn this one oddly specific skill. “And did it work? Did you impress anyone?”

His grin widened as he leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Well, you tell me.”

You couldn’t stop smiling, shaking your head. “Yeah, it worked.”

The rose from that night had been the first, but not the last. Over time, you’d quietly started saving them, stashing them in drawers, on shelves, even between the pages of books. There was a small collection now—each one a little different, depending on the material he’d had to work with, but all of them unmistakably his.

Every time you looked at them, you thought of moments like that night. The way he made something so simple feel special, the way his hands could turn an ordinary napkin into something extraordinary, and the way he always managed to make you feel like the most important person in the room.

From there, your thoughts drifted to the day you moved into your first place together. It had been chaos—boxes everywhere, carefully chosen vintage furniture waiting to find its place, and a list of things to do that seemed endless. But instead of feeling overwhelmed, the two of you had tackled it with a mix of determination and laughter.

“I think this couch is going to be perfect here,” you’d said, stepping back to admire the mid-century piece you’d hunted down at a vintage store.

Austin had tilted his head, considering it. “Yeah, but it’s missing something. Maybe a throw or a few pillows to make it feel less… serious.”

You’d grinned at his unexpected but very valid opinion. “Who knew you had such strong feelings about throw pillows?”

“I contain multitudes,” he’d replied with a smirk, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

The best part of that day, though, had been painting the walls. You’d insisted on doing it yourselves, ignoring the advice of friends who told you to hire professionals. Armed with rollers, brushes, and a playlist you’d both curated, you spent the afternoon covering the white walls in a warm, inviting shade that instantly made the space feel like home.

Austin, of course, couldn’t resist turning it into a competition. “I bet I can get my wall done faster than you,” he’d declared, already reaching for his roller.

“You’re on,” you’d replied, narrowing your eyes.

But your friendly rivalry quickly devolved into chaos when you “accidentally” flicked paint in his direction. He’d retaliated, and before long, you were both covered in streaks of colour, laughing so hard your sides hurt.

At one point, he’d grabbed you around the waist, smearing paint on your cheek as you tried—and failed—to wiggle free. “Guess this means I win,” he’d said, his voice low and teasing.

“You cheated,” you’d accused, breathless with laughter.

“You started it,” he’d replied, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple, leaving a faint smudge of paint behind.

When the walls were finally painted—more or less successfully—you stood together in the middle of the room, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the windows, bouncing off the still-drying paint and making the space feel alive.

“This is going to be amazing,” you’d said softly, slipping your hand into his.

“It already is,” he’d replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he glanced around the room. Then his eyes settled on you, his smile softening. “We make a good team.”

And in that moment, surrounded by your collective mess and the beginnings of what would become your home, it felt like everything was falling perfectly into place.

You shifted slightly against him, and his hand slid higher, resting lightly on your knee. His touch pulled you back to another memory, one that still made your heart ache in the best way.

The time you’d caught a nasty flu and spent days feeling miserable, wrapped in blankets on the couch. He’d insisted on looking after you, keeping your water glass full, bringing you soup, and tucking you in with the kind of gentleness that made you cry when he wasn’t looking. He never once complained, not even when you’d been at your worst.

You’d tried to tell him not to come over, insisting that you didn’t want him catching whatever awful bug had knocked you down. But Austin being Austin, he’d ignored you completely. He’d shown up at your door with a grocery bag in one hand and a determined look on his face, like this was a challenge he was more than ready to tackle.

“You’re supposed to be avoiding me,” you’d croaked, your voice hoarse and your face pale as you stood in the doorway, a tissue clutched in your hand.

“And you’re supposed to be resting,” he’d countered, breezing past you to deposit his bag on the kitchen counter. “Now sit your stubborn ass down and let me take care of you.”

It was hard to argue with someone who was already unpacking cartons of orange juice, a medley of medicines, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. You shuffled back to the couch, your blanket trailing behind you like a cape, and collapsed with a groan.

Over the next few days, he didn’t just look after you—he made it an art form. He was everywhere, refilling your water glass the moment it ran low, heating up soup (always homemade, never canned), and checking your temperature every few hours. When the coughs kept you up at night, he sat beside you, rubbing slow circles on your back until you finally fell asleep.

The first night, he’d perched on the edge of the couch, but by the second, he’d given up entirely and joined you under the mountain of blankets. “You’re already a mess,” he’d teased, tucking you in against his chest, “what’s a little more exposure?”

You’d felt awful—feverish, achy, and more than a little embarrassed that he was seeing you like this. But he never made you feel like a burden. If anything, he made it seem like taking care of you was exactly where he wanted to be.

And then there was the moment that really got to you. It was late, and you’d just had a coughing fit that left you red-faced and teary-eyed. He’d come back from the kitchen with a mug of honey-laced tea, his brow creased with worry as he knelt beside you.

“Hey,” he’d murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re okay, baby. Just sip this for me.”

It was the way he said it, soft and steady, like nothing else in the world mattered except you getting better. When he kissed your forehead, murmuring that you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. You’d turned your face into the pillow to hide them, but he’d noticed anyway, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, your voice thick with emotion. “Just… tired.”

“I know,” he’d said, settling beside you and pulling the blanket over both of you. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

And he had. Through the chills, the fever, and the endless rounds of tissues, he’d stayed. Even when you’d insisted he should go home and get some real rest, he never once wavered.

It wasn’t the grand gestures that had stayed with you—it was this. The quiet patience, the way he never flinched when you were at your most unlovable. The way he cared for you so selflessly, like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. It was then, as he sat beside you in the dim glow of the living room lamp, his hand resting on yours, that you’d realised you loved him more than you ever thought possible.

And then there was the music. It was one of your favourite things about him—how he could sit down at the piano or pick up his guitar and make the world feel quieter, softer, more whole. He didn’t just play; he felt the music, letting it flow from his hands like it was a language only he truly understood.

You’d seen him lost in those moments countless times, and each one made you fall a little harder. The way his brow would furrow in concentration, his fingers gliding over the keys or strings as if they were an extension of himself. He’d sometimes hum along, his voice low and warm, or glance over at you with a small, knowing smile, like he was sharing a secret meant just for you.

The first time he’d played for you, really played, was late one night when neither of you could sleep. You’d wandered into the living room, finding him at the piano, his fingers tracing a melody so soft and delicate it felt like a lullaby.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you’d asked, padding over to sit beside him on the bench.

He shook his head, his eyes still on the keys. “Thought I’d work some things out here instead.”

You’d leaned against his shoulder, listening as the notes filled the space between you. After a moment, he glanced at you and started playing something familiar—a love song you’d heard a hundred times but had never sounded quite like this. His voice joined the piano, raw and unpolished but filled with something that made your chest ache.

“Don’t stop,” you’d whispered when his hands paused on the keys.

He smiled softly and kept playing, the music wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Sitting beside him, your head against his shoulder, you’d felt something click into place—something you hadn’t even realised was missing.

Another memory surfaced, this one more chaotic but no less cherished. It was a lazy Sunday, one of those perfect, unhurried days where time seemed to stretch endlessly. Austin had picked up his guitar, settling on the couch with it balanced against his thigh. You’d sprawled out next to him, your head resting on the armrest as you watched his fingers pluck out a soft melody.

“What’s that?” you’d asked, your voice light and curious.

“Not sure yet,” he’d replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Just messing around.”

As he played, you started humming along, letting the music carry you. Emboldened by the ease of the moment, you started to sing—a brave but ill-advised decision given your complete lack of pitch.

Austin’s hands stilled, and he looked at you, his brows lifting in exaggerated surprise. “Well, that’s… something,” he teased, his grin widening as you smacked his arm.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, though you were laughing despite yourself.

“I’m not!” he insisted, his voice thick with mock seriousness. “It’s unique. One of a kind, really.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” you’d said, nudging him with your elbow as you tried to suppress your own giggles.

“Laugh? Never,” he said, his voice laced with exaggerated sincerity. “You’re… breathtaking.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he started playing again, you kept singing—off-key, out of rhythm, but with enough enthusiasm to make up for it. And despite—or maybe because of—how bad it was, he never stopped smiling.

Eventually, he’d set the guitar aside and pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re a terrible singer,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with affection. “But I love it anyway.”

You’d laughed, leaning into him as the room filled with the quiet hum of love and music and the kind of joy that only came from being completely, unabashedly yourselves. Even now, the memory of it made your chest feel warm, like you were still wrapped in his arms.

The memory made you smile, the warmth of it settling deep in your chest. Your legs were already draped across Austin’s lap, but when he caught the shift of your weight, he tugged you closer, his hands gently guiding your hips until you were nestled against his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the way his fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles on your thigh gave away his affection.

You shook your head slightly, not ready to share just yet. Instead, you leaned further into him, your hand resting on his chest as you let the steady rhythm of his breathing settle you. The quiet hum of the movie faded into the background, and your mind drifted to another moment, one filled with warmth and love, ready to unfurl like the pages of a favourite story.

The memory came to life so vividly that you could almost feel the warmth of the kitchen that day. You’d wanted to surprise him, determined to bake a cake from scratch despite your distinct lack of baking skills. The result had been… well, let’s just call it memorable. The cake was lopsided, leaning precariously to one side, and the icing—meant to be a smooth, glossy finish—looked more like it had been applied with a paintbrush by a distracted child.

But you’d worked so hard on it, painstakingly piping “Happy Birthday, Austin” across the top in wobbly letters that looked more like a first grader’s handwriting than your own. By the time he came home, the kitchen was a disaster zone—flour dusting every surface, chocolate smudges on your cheek, and a pile of discarded attempts at icing in the sink.

When he saw it, though, he’d grinned from ear to ear, like you’d given him the world. “Did you make this?” he’d asked, his voice full of awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d gone to the trouble.

“Well, I tried,” you’d admitted, your cheeks heating as you gestured to the cake. “It’s a bit of a mess, but—”

“It’s perfect,” he’d cut in, his hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you, ignoring the faint taste of sugar and flour on your lips.

That night, you’d sat across from him at the table, watching as he took his first bite. “This is amazing,” he’d declared, his blue eyes sparkling with sincerity. You knew it wasn’t—the cake was dense, and the icing a little too sweet—but he’d eaten every bite like it was a Michelin-star dessert.

After dinner, you’d put on one of his favourite songs, a soulful track that filled the space with a gentle rhythm, and grabbed his hand. “Dance with me,” you’d said, already pulling him toward the living room.

He’d let out a small laugh, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe you. “You baked me a cake and now you want to dance? You’re spoiling me,” he teased, but his hand was already sliding into yours.

The hardwood floor was cool under your bare feet as you stepped into him, his arms wrapping around your waist with an ease that made your heart flutter. He led you in slow, unhurried circles, the two of you moving in quiet synchrony as the music washed over you. There was no rush, no reason to impress—just the feel of his hands on your back and the warmth of his body close to yours.

At one point, he spun you out, his grip firm but gentle, and when you twirled back into his arms, your balance faltered just slightly. He caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping tighter around you as he grinned down at you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Can’t have you taking a tumble on my birthday.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “I wasn’t going to fall.”

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, his eyes bright with affection as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good thing I’ve got you.”

The two of you swayed together again, his hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulled you closer. The song shifted into its final notes, but neither of you moved to let go, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Best birthday ever,” he’d whispered into your hair, his lips brushing your ear as the music faded into silence. And you’d smiled, knowing that no gift, no cake, no grand gesture could ever mean as much as this.

The warmth of his hand on your thigh pulled you back to another moment, one of your favourites—those lazy mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

Austin had always been a perfectionist when it came to his coffee, treating it less like a beverage and more like an art form. The La Marzocco espresso maker he’d splurged on sat proudly in the corner of your kitchen, gleaming like a piece of fine machinery. You hadn’t understood the obsession at first—not until you saw the way he lit up when he started his ritual.

It usually began with him weighing out the beans, his brows furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the scale to the gram. “You’d think I was performing surgery,” he’d joke, but there was no denying the satisfaction on his face when he got it just right.

Then came the tamping, the careful precision of his movements as he pressed the coffee grounds into the portafilter. “You’ve got to get it evenly compressed,” he’d explained once, his tone entirely serious. “Otherwise, the water doesn’t extract it properly.”

You’d leaned against the counter, watching with equal parts fascination and amusement. “So you’re telling me there’s a wrong way to make coffee?”

“There’s a right way,” he’d corrected with a grin, reaching for the Minor Figures oat milk. “And trust me, this is worth it.”

The steam wand hissed as he frothed the milk, his hand steady as he tilted the pitcher just so. “Barista blend,” he’d said once, holding up the carton like it was a prized possession. “It froths better. Or so they tell us.”

You’d teased him mercilessly about his dedication, but secretly, you loved it. There was something oddly soothing about the whole process—watching him lose himself in the craft, his focus so intense it made your chest ache.

When he’d handed you your first latte, the artful swirl of a heart floating on top of the foam, you’d been stunned. “You’re kidding,” you’d said, cradling the mug like it was a masterpiece. “How did you even do that?”

He’d just shrugged, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Takes practice.”

It had become a tradition after that—Saturday mornings spent in the kitchen, him perfecting his craft while you lounged nearby, content to let him spoil you. Sometimes he’d try new designs, laughing when they turned out more like blobs than flowers, and other times, he’d pull you into the process, teaching you how to steam the milk or tamp the grounds just right. You weren’t nearly as skilled as he was, but you didn’t mind. The way he’d stand behind you, guiding your hands, made it impossible to care about anything else.

And then there were the quieter mornings, when he’d bring the coffee to you on the couch, his own mug cradled in one hand as he settled in beside you. “Perfect cup,” he’d say every time, even when the foam was less than ideal or the milk wasn’t quite as frothy. It wasn’t about the coffee, really—it was about the way he shared it with you, the way he made the simplest things feel like rituals worth treasuring.

The memory lingered, warm and comforting, as if you could still smell the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee hanging in the air. You let it settle in your chest for a moment longer before the sound of Austin’s soft chuckle pulled you back to the present.

The movie’s credits had started to roll, but neither of you made a move to get up. His fingers continued their lazy circles on your thigh, and his other hand reached for the now-empty popcorn bowl, setting it on the table without a word. You tilted your head to look at him, catching the soft, sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because words didn’t feel like enough to capture the depth of what you were feeling. Instead, you smiled and shifted closer, draping your arm across his chest and pressing your cheek to his shoulder.

“Just thinking about us,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

“Yeah?” His hand moved to rest on your back, his thumb brushing soothingly against your shoulder blade. “Good things, I hope.”

“The best,” you replied, your smile widening as you closed your eyes.

You felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. “You’re all I need, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you tightened your arm around him, your fingers curling slightly into the soft fabric of his shirt as you let the steady rhythm of his heartbeat guide you back into the quiet comfort of the moment.

The warmth of him, the ease of being wrapped up in his arms, and the soft glow of the TV fading into the background—it was everything you loved about him distilled into one perfect moment. And as your thoughts settled, you realised that no matter how many memories you’d made together, this one—this quiet, ordinary moment—might just be your favourite yet.

[esotericbluntbaby]

musician!hamzah x reader headcannons (sfw!)

-in the studio, you shower your boyfriend with immense support. in return, probably 75% of his earnings go to you. he isn't really a "serious" musician, just someone who decided to try it out just for shits and giggles. however, you treat him in the studio like he's the next drake or kendrick. expensive dates, perfumes, clothes, you name it; he got it for you. you deserve it for listening to so many takes of him saying the same thing over and over again.

- when he's producing, you're on his lap the entire time. he takes his thumb and rubs circles on your thigh as he creates, squeezing every now and then. he whispers in your ear asking for your opinion on the beat he just made.

"what's your thoughts, pretty?"

"i like it. i think you should add some more bass, though, maybe add it right after the adlib?"

"why are you so smart? my musical genius girlfriend over here is so smart. why didn't i think of that?" he says as he kisses the crevice where your neck meets your shoulder.

- you stay with him out of the booth as he's recording vocals, mostly bringing your schoolwork or a hobby of yours to do. he enjoys your company even when you can't be together in the same room. he stares as you through the window when there's a lyric that he wrote about you or reminds him of you, smirking a crooked grin as you blush.

- he writes you a couple love songs that are soft and gentle. he learned acoustic guitar, since half the time freddie dredd type beats don't match the vibe he wants to give off. he sees you as his angel and worships you like you're a higher being, so he wants the music he makes for you to be as soothing as you are to him. sometimes, you sit on his lap and strum the guitar as his fingers hold each chord. during the moment, hamzah wants your souls to intertwine during the vulnerability of playing music together.

"y'know, i think it's moments like this where i fall in love with you all over again."

"hamzah, i just fucked up the rhythm like 5 times."

"so? you look so focused; it's cute."

- though he writes you love songs just for you to listen, you're always mentioned in his songs that are released to the public. there's always something that his listeners simply know was about you, from him describing your hair or him mentioning a quirk of yours. you find it so endearing that his artistry will always have bits and pieces of you in it.

- if he has to focus on recording, you'll drop off lunch and eat with him before leaving to go do something of your own like errands or simply hanging out with friends. each time you come into the studio, especially when he's recording his vocals, his face immediately changes from a focused, stone expression to one of excitement and love.

- sometimes, he asks you to record some vocals that he can use as a backup vocals. even if it's just an adlib or a certain noise he asks you to create, he'll always have you do it. no matter who he's working with, he'll always like the way you add a little oomph to his track.

"hamz, i sound so stupid doing this. i've just been making the same noise for like 12 takes and it still doesn't sound right."

"nah, i got the final cut like 7 takes ago. i just wanted to see how long you'd do this for without realizing."

"literally fuck you," you joke, rolling your eyes and laughing.

he kisses your cheek, "i love you, baby!"

- whenever he performs live, even if it's just at a houseparty, you're always his biggest supporter. you'd stare at him from where you are, most likely hanging out with his friends as he raps, as your eyes glisten and gleam at your boyfriend. to which, he winks at you after realizing how cute his girlfriend is when she's supporting him. after he's done, he immediately ventures to find you, kissing you on the forehead and hugging you as soon as he spots you.

- you are his muse. simply looking at you allows him to create, which is why he loves you as much as he does.

--

authors note!

sigh musician!hamzah will be the death of me. can you tell i've been listening to six feet on repeat for the past like week? enjoy babes :p

[therealitiestraveler]

How I manifested my cat, my glow up, being accepted in my desired university, my best friend and friend group, a gym being built next to where I live

Initial note: My blog is mostly about reality shifting, but I also have my share of experiences with manifestation, so here is this post, I hope that this post can help and motivate you guys.

This is a long one so keep this one to read when you have time, good reading guys.

Contents

Method I used

My results

Context: At the time I wanted to manifest all this I was finishing highschool and in my country we have exams that we have to pass in order to be accepted in university and I was studying in the summer for those exams.

In that same year I was also highly focused on learning about manifestation. Initially I found subliminals and my first move was try them, they worked and then my first thought was “okay, this works, why does this work?” and then I went into the rabbit hole of manifestation and how reality works with the goal of understanding it, this from a metaphysical and spiritual perspective (I also had some background from my practice with witchcraft).

Around that time I heard a lot about law of assumption, so I decided to put that into practice, in the future I am planning to make a post explaining, or in other words, simplifying the law of assumption in simple terms + why it works (more often than not I found that, even though it is not necessary to understand it for it to work, when I understand the why’s it makes it easier for me to be confident with my manifestations and confidence can be quite important in manifestations).

At this time in my life I had recently discovered notion (organization app) and I was using it to organize my life, at the time I created a page for those specific manifestations and I started to write them down as if I already had them, it was something like this:

I am [insert description of my appearance]

I have a cat, that cat is [insert description of cat] and they are [insert cat personality]

I have been accepted in [insert university name] and I am currently studying there

I have my best friend, my best friend is [insert personality traits]

My friend group has [insert amount of people] and they are [insert people personality] my friend group is [insert friend group dynamic]

Etc. (you guys understand the concept)

I wrote that and after that I almost forgot about it, I ended up detaching from it in a way, mostly because I was busy at the time with my studies and with managing my social and academic life, now years later I realized that I ended up putting the law of detachment into action without being aware of it. I didn't think about it again, until my second year of college were I was reorganizing my notion for the new academic year and much to my surprise I found that page in deepest parts of my notion and I got even more surprised to find out that basically everything went according to what I wrote, basically everything because i’m gonna explain how it worked out in the end in the next part of this post.

Results

Cat: Ever since I was younger, I had always wanted a cat. However, my family didn’t want any pets, so it was almost a lost cause, yet I gave it a try. When I described my pet affirming that I had it, I actually described two cats, an orange cat and a white cat. I did this in summer, and my precious cat appeared in my house in early April of the next year.

He simply popped up on the front side of my house and decided he was gonna there, he was quite small at the time, probably he had been born in the previous months, he also was quite skinny and seemed to not be doing well, probably because he was young and a stray and was still trying to figure is own way in the world and trying to survive on the streets. So I slowly started to take care of him, he was already basically living in the garden of my house so it was easier for me at the time.

Over the course of time he eventually stayed there and got bolder, at some point he started to get inside the house and be with us. Later after my cat had been around I discovered that my family had tried to lead the cat away by guiding him away on the street by playing traces of food on the way and also tried to move him to other streets on my neighborhood, all of this while I was away in classes so that I wouldn't know (yes, I’m still bitter about it but anyways) however they were always unsuccessful, because as soon as they arrived back at home the cat was already there again, most of the times before them (I love my silly loyal little cat). So eventually they gave up, we took the cat to the veterinary and took care of everything and ever since then my cat has been with me.

And I can confidently say and my family often jokes that my cat presence was fate, because despite their failed attempts the cat decided that he was gonna stay here, apparently i’ve also became his favourite human, because out of everyone he spends more time with me and in my space, and gets along better with me than with anyone else in my family (I think that he’s still bitter with them too, understandable, I am too).

Remember that previously I said that the cats I wrote down were one orange and one white? Well that’s actually quite funny because my cat is orange and white.

Glow up: I described in detail and I have to confess the changes have been almost insane. I only noticed it because I went this year to more social activities because I finally had free time and most of the comments I received from people were about how much I’ve changed and my sudden glow up, and that lead me to actually search for pictures from the time I wrote that and I indeed noticed some major changes.

Some of these changes were a visible weight loss, more muscle mass, my hair is a lot more healthier, my metabolism is a lot faster now, my skin is a lot more healthy and clean, and something about my face that I can’t quite put into words also is a lot more different in a way that I am extremely grateful. I was surprised looking back at photos of me at the time I wrote it and the way I look now.

University acceptance: At the time I was choosing my university course I was concerned because I was applying for a course with not many university vacancies in my country, at least not many close to where I live and I knew I wanted to study in college but still be at home.

So I wrote it next to my manifestations there and guess what? That same day I went to apply for my desired university, I went to the secretary of the university to give my information and I gave them the documents we usually have to give, and on that same moment I was accepted into that university!! The happiness and disbelief I experienced that day was unimaginable and every day I am thankful for that, I literally stared at the man that was attending me for a couple of seconds that moment blinking as I processed the information and the man confused repeated himself again and I snapped out of it accepting it as a reality and proceed with the process, my reaction was as comical as it sounds.

Best friend and my friend group: When I was scripting my best friend and friend group I described them using typology (personality systems, one example of a typology system on the topic of personality would be for example mbti), and years later I’ve realized that indeed all the people in my friend group (the main one and the one where we hang out together the moat) have the exact typology I wrote that time.

I also met all of them in university as I planned too and the dynamic is also like I described and I am eternally thankful to have a friend group with the people I have.

Gym: The gym being built next to where I live (10 minutes away in walking distance if I am walking slow), I’ve always been physically active, however I never actually went to a gym because there weren’t that many close to where I live and with my lifestyle I have I would end up losing a lot of time on my way to the closest ones and I just couldn’t waste that time.

So imagine my surprise when less than a year after I’ve written those manifestations I happen to receive the news that people are building a gym less than 10 minutes away from my house? Nowadays it is already built and I often go there. This is the moment where I tell people that are often stressed to contemplate going to the gym or working out, it does magical wonders for one’s mood.

That’s all guys foe this post guys, I hope that this post is useful and motivates people, I always try to share some more details because it might help people get motivated and it can also be quite funny sometimes.

Good shifting and good manifestations everyone!!

[skyward-floored]

I’ve been in a Sky mood lately lol. So for prompts maybe something angsty with him? Like him getting used to life after being trapped on the island for years? Or one of the boys trying to reassure themselves that he’s actually back?

I saw this prompt and went HEHEHE I do enjoy me my angst. Especially Incredibles au Sky angst (sorry Sky bdhdbdbdhd)

I sort of mixed your two prompts together? It’s mostly the first one, but there’s hints of the second. And also a different thing entirely XD Enjoy!

(Also warning for a character getting a flashback. It’s seen from an outside perspective, but here’s your warning just in case.)

————————————————————

Sometimes Warriors still couldn’t believe Sky was back.

After over a year of trying to come to terms with his disappearance, wrestling with hope and denial and grief, going to his funeral for Hylia’s sake— having him suddenly come back was... earth-shattering. In a good way, of course, but sometimes Warriors caught himself falling into the pattern of endless questions on what had happened, and had to remind himself that he knew now.

Sky had been tricked, lured away, fought for survival while being hunted within an inch of his life, and then finally made it home alive. Though... not without scars.

Ones that sometimes caught Warriors off guard.

The afternoon it happened, Warriors had stopped at Sky’s to drop off some things he’d borrowed, and ended up staying and talking much longer than he’d intended. He wasn’t complaining though. After thinking he’d never get moments like this again, he’d spend every waking hour with his brother if he could.

“...So then Aryll told me she made a new friend, and asked me if I wanted to meet her, and of course I said yes. I should’ve known better, because five seconds later she whistles, and this huge vulture lands in front of me,” Sky said with a wave of his hand, and Warriors laughed. “I know! Where did she even meet a vulture?!”

“Probably the same place she met those geese that one time,” Warriors said with a grin, and Sky joined his laughter that time.

“Oh I’m sure. She has plenty of bird connections,” he chuckled, leaning back with his wings stretched out on either side of himself. He picked up his glass of water and drank some of it before he continued. “I’m sure she’ll have quite the message system worked out when she’s older.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Warriors smirked. “Heck you won’t even need the mail service if she keeps up like this, just ask her to send letters via pigeon.”

“Hm that’s true... I’d never have to buy stamps again,” Sky said thoughtfully.

“Hey now, don’t forget those stamps help pay my salary,” Warriors grinned. A truck outside beeped as it backed up, and Warriors glanced out the window, before looking back inside. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying... Sky?”

Sky had completely frozen in place, his glass of water slipping from his hand.

Warriors quickly shot out a hand as it hit the floor, freezing the puddle before it could spread, then got off his chair and hurried to Sky’s side. The cup hadn’t broken so he left it where it was, and he looked worriedly at his brother.

“Sky? Are you okay?” he asked urgently, and a tremor wracked through Sky, his eyes glazing over. He’d been fine literal seconds ago, what was wrong? “...Sky?”

“We need to hide,” Sky whispered, his voice hoarse.

Warriors blinked. “What?”

Sky swallowed, shaking as he stared into the middle distance. “We need to hide, they’re coming,” he stressed in a croak, his breathing starting to pick up. “Guardians, they’re close.”

“Sky... there are no guardians here,” Warriors said in confusion, and Sky shook his head, ears twitching.

“There’s one right over there,” he gasped, his breath trembling. “We need to hide, it’s going to—”

“Sky, no there isn’t,” Warriors said slowly, sitting down beside his brother. “There’s nothing there.”

“B-but—” Sky stuttered, twisting his head around to look at the wall. A bead of sweat trailed down his brow. “Yes it is. It is, it’s coming, we need to hide now.”

Sky pulled his wings in close to his body, feathers puffing up, and Warriors looked at him in dismay, unsure of what to do. He knew enough to recognize Sky was having some sort of flashback, but he didn’t know how to help him out of it.

The truck outside beeped again, and Sky violently flinched, nearly falling off the couch as his feathers puffed out even more. Warriors looked between him and the window, then carefully stood and walked over to it, closing it and blocking out the sound. Sky didn’t visibly react to the quiet, and Warriors went back over to him, watching as he trembled in place.

“Sky, we’re not on the island,” Warriors began carefully as he sat back down. “You haven’t been there for weeks now. And I wasn’t ever on the island. How can I be here with you if we’re on the island?”

“I-I...” Sky stammered, his voice faltering. Then he suddenly snatched Warriors’ wrists, eyes huge. “Wars they got you too, you shouldn’t have come, it’s going to be like everyone else,” he choked out, still shaking. “We have to hide!”

Sky began tugging at his wrists, but Warriors resisted the movement, staying where he was. “Sky, there’s no danger.”

“Yes there is! I have a base right over there, we can get to it if we hurry, we can’t let him—”

“Sky, we’re not on the island,” Warriors repeated, slipping his wrists out of Sky’s hold and taking his hands instead. His skin felt clammy. “I promise you we’re not. We’re in your house. We’re safe.”

Sky kept shaking, but he didn’t argue the point, and Warriors felt a flicker of encouragement when he didn’t keep tugging on his hands.

“You’re not back there,” Warriors repeated, and Sky squeezed his eyes shut, another bead of sweat trailing down his brow. “You’re in your house, on the couch in your living room. Sun is at work, and Aryll is taking a nap. Nobody is in any danger.”

Sky trembled in his seat, his eyes still closed tight, and Warriors lightly squeezed his hands, waiting for him to come back. His eyes reopened, still looking glazed, but less so than before.

“Come on Link,” Warriors whispered, looking into Sky’s eyes. “You’re safe here, I promise. Nothing is trying to hurt you.”

Sky swallowed, and Warriors stayed beside him, watching as his feathers slowly began to smooth. Warriors repeated the reassurance that they weren’t on the island, and he kept it up as Sky’s frantic breathing started to even out, and his eyes gradually cleared.

It felt like a long time before Sky’s shoulders slumped, his wings falling limp as he took in a shaky breath. He was still trembling, but much more lightly, and Warriors studied his face.

“You back?” Warriors asked carefully, and Sky looked at his lap, shame coloring his face.

“I... I think so. Sorry,” Sky whispered.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Warriors said easily, but Sky kept looking at his lap, ears red.

Warriors looked at him worriedly, then lightly squeezed his hands, pulling back so he could deal with the frozen puddle on the floor. He easily pried it up and shaped it into a small ball, then set it on the table, looking back at Sky again.

“Hey. I mean it,” Warriors said when he saw his expression, lightly touching Sky’s shoulder, light enough that he could pull away if he wanted. Sky didn’t, and so Warriors held it a bit tighter. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.”

“I was the one stupid enough to go there,” Sky muttered under his breath, and Warriors frowned.

“Sky, you were tricked. You thought you were doing something good, it’s not your fault,” Warriors repeated, and Sky didn’t meet his eyes. Warriors sighed. “That looked pretty rough. Do you want some water?”

“I’d appreciate that,” Sky said quietly.

Warriors nodded and stood, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he grabbed Sky’s glass and headed to the kitchen to refill it. It only took him a moment, and when he returned, Sky hadn’t moved, still staring at his lap, faintly trembling, wings lightly wrapped around himself.

Warriors passed him the cup, and Sky silently took it, sipping without a word.

“You need anything else?” Warriors asked, and Sky shook his head. Warriors hummed in reply, then paused as he thought of something. It wasn’t Warriors’ go-to, but Sky usually appreciated physical contact much more than him, especially since he’d been back. “...maybe a hug?”

Sky finally looked up, still shaky and pale, and gave a tiny nod.

Warriors gave him a sad smile, then leaned in, wrapping his arms around his brother.

Sky was stiff for a moment, then practically melted into the touch, a wavering sigh coming from him. He pressed his face against Warriors’ shoulder, and Warriors lightly rubbed his back, feeling equally reassured by the touch. He knew Sky had been through a lot, but the blatant show of it had been a bit frightening.

Oh Sky.

“I’m such a disaster,” Sky said in a wobbly voice, and Warriors sighed.

“Anyone would be. Truth be told, I think most of us became disasters while you were gone, so you’re in good company.”

Sky let out a wet snort, and Warriors squeezed him, Sky still shaking just a little.

“Has this happened before?” Warriors asked after a minute, pulling back so he could see Sky’s face, and Sky shrugged.

“Not... to that extent,” he admitted quietly. “There’ve been... things, but not...”

He trailed off weakly, and Warriors nodded. That was about what he’d figured.

“Okay. We’ll figure this out. Just like old times, huh?” Warriors said with a faint smile, and Sky huffed.

“Yeah. Can’t say I miss that side of things,” he mumbled, and Warriors squeezed his arm again.

“I’ll stay until Sun comes back,” he reassured quietly, and Sky nodded, silently resting his head against Warriors’ shoulder again.

Neither of them said much else after that, and Warriors idly played with the piece of ice on the table, Sky watching him quietly as he shaped it into a small bird. Warriors added some ice to it, and worked on shaping it into a slightly bigger one.

Sky stayed silent as he leaned against him, and Warriors tried not to stare, worry clenching in his stomach. Nightmares were common enough between them, though they’d gotten better as the years had gone on. Warriors had practice with those, and panic attacks, and a small list of the other crap they all dealt with after their superhero careers, but this... felt way out of his league.

We’ll figure this out, he promised silently, adding small feathers to the bird he was shaping in his palms. Sky breathed out a weary sigh, and Warriors swallowed.

We will. We’ll figure it out.

[24-05txt]

Soap comes to and he's already walking. This on its own isn't entirely surprising because it's not the first time this has happened. There's just never enough time in the day. He finishes one thing, and then it's right onto the next; steadily marching from one task to another. When most of his life is spent walking, he learns to tune it out. Mental space better wasted on something else.

Present again in his own mind, he takes time for a perfunctory sit-rep. The skies are mostly clear, sparse clouds, and the forest around him is lush with foreign vegetation. He's traveling light, just basic gear and his firearm, a—

... hold on, he doesn't have a firearm. Scratch that, he doesn't have arms.

Soap stumbles, suddenly dizzy, and promptly trips over himself in a heap of new limbs, leaving his field of vision blocked by a wall of blue-grey that he has the horrifying realization is attached to him.

"What the fuck?" He starts, trying and failing to move his fingers or toes. "What the fuck?!"

He's echoed by Gaz somewhere behind and above him, a slightly higher-pitched "What the fuck?" And then, "Captain?!"

"Gaz?" Soap (lacking fingers or toes) wiggles a set of limbs, expecting arms and instead finds that he's stiltedly unfolding a set of wings he'd tangled himself in. He has wings. "Steaming fucking christ."

"Is that a fucking pegasus?" Asks Price, sounding far too calm for the situation at hand. It's quickly remedied when he adds, "Is that a unico—Fuck! What the fuck!" And, honestly, if the Captain is panicking then it's a very bad day indeed.

What seems like hours of shouting, swearing, and flailing pass in a slightly less than hysterical blur for all three of them before they're able to calm enough to take stock of the situation (beyond the well established fact that they all appear to be horses of some variation.)

"Why's Gaz the unicorn?" Soap asks, trying his damndest to distract himself from the very real stress of having two more legs and a total of four new limbs he's not used to. "That's Scotland's national animal, the fuck is a pegasus good for? It should have been me."

"Soap, Jesus Christ, Fuck off." Gaz doesn't look over at him, focused solely on his hooves, trying to stay upright without swaying. His fur (is it fur or hair on a horse? Soap never cared much for horses) is a deep violet, darkest along his spine, but his chest, belly, and legs below the knees are solid white. (Are those the knees? Or are those the ankles? Fuck, if he'd known this was in his future he'd've had a horse phase.) He is also, to Soap's irritation, a unicorn; the horn is the same color as his fur, and he has a little beard that matches his mane and tail, both tight and coily like his human hair.

"Don't think so hard about it," he advises, swallowing his own nausea from making the same mistake. Hypocrite, he is. Actually, he remembers hearing somewhere that horses can't vomit, and wonders dizzily if that applies to pegasi as well. "The movin', I mean. Y'ken what to do if you let your body do it."

"Muscle memory?" Gaz asks, incredulous and still a little hysterical. "How can I have fucking muscle memory when the body is brand new?"

Soap shrugs, then becomes hyper-aware of the fact that horses cannot shrug, despite the fact he just did, and is thrust head-long into another fit of nausea.

"Think am gonna boak."

"No, you're not," says Price, with all the authority of his station. (If your Captain says you're not going to throw up, then by God you better keep a lid on it.) "He's right, though. It's best not to think too hard about how to move, just move and keep your head screwed on while you do it." Despite the surety of his tone, Soap can hear him huffing out every breath through his nose, almost snorting.

"Sir," he and Gaz acknowledge at the same time, and Soap even goes so far as to straighten his posture—solidly not thinking about what muscle groups he has to engage to do it. Just straighten up (and fly right—oh god.)

Soap doesn't know where to rest his gaze. Down, and he sees his hooves (upsetting), up and he sees Gaz and his Captain (also upsetting), too far up and he's just looking through the trees at a picturesque sky (not upsetting, but less than helpful).

"I'm gonna," he starts, then quickly falters, still lokking at the sky and unsure of what, exactly, he's gonna do. (Not vomit, that's for sure.) "Gonna... walk. Around. I'm gonna walk a perimeter." He sounds a little more steady as he realizes that's exactly the thing he needs right now—he needs to be alone for a moment, needs a minute to actually get his shit straight without being distracted by his teammates doing the same.

"Sergeant..." Price's warning tone is slightly strained, and though Soap is watching wind blow through the leaves, he doesn't hear any movement from the Captain's direction.

"I'm not an idiot, Captain, I won't be goin' far. Just need some air Gaz hasn't breathed first."

"Hey." The protest is weak, made more for a sense of routine than any real offense.

Soap obediently waits until he has the reluctant go-ahead from his Captain before he ducks off the beaten path and into the surrounding woodland.

It's easier to look around here, without the risk of catching a glance of some major discrepancy that'll make his stomach turn. He goes far enough that he can only catch glimpses of Gaz's purple coat through the trees before he turns and starts his perimeter.

It's slow-going. He’s trying to get used to looking down and seeing hooves instead of feet, and most his success comes from cataloging them like they belong to someone else, and not him. He notices they're cloven, like a cow's, and a blue so dark it's almost black. Further up, toward what he's decided to call his knees, his fur lightens to a mottled cerulean. Beyond that he's unsure—those observations had to be made in furtive glances because if he looked too long, he'd notice himself walking, and if he noticed himself walking he'd be sent stumbling and cursing into the underbrush.

He's able to notice other things about himself with detached curiosity; he doesn't have a horse's tail, and instead has large, wide tailfeathers, like a bird. When at rest, his wings settle snuggly against his sides, but if he properly relaxes them they droop toward the ground (this was another event that sent him stumbling into the underbrush. Moving naturally was one thing, but trying to single out a single set of limbs he hadn't been born with made him forget about his legs for a moment. The front set. Forelegs?)

Completing half his circuit finds him back on the dirt path, this time behind the Captain and Gaz, speaking in low tones as they put their heads together. Price's coat is a sort of green he doesn't quite know the name of, like the grass turf of a golf course after a bit of rain so there's some mud around the edges of everything. Like Gaz, his legs up to the knees are white, although he also has a diamond-shaped splotch over his shoulderblades. Lucky bastard seemed to be a normal horse, save for the fact his stupid mutton chops made it over somehow.

"If he can't have the hat, suppose it only makes sense he gets to keep his dick-tickler," Soap mutters as he crosses again from dirt path to dense foliage. It's only after a few seconds of no response that he realizes he was waiting for one at all.

Ghost.

Soap spins around, but the lieutenant isn't behind him (no other horses aside from himself, the Captain, and Gaz for that matter). He walks back out onto the path, but sees no sign of anyone or anything that could be Ghost, although Price turns around to give him a concerned look. (He's half convinced that he may be exaggerating the level of expressiveness his Captain has right now, but he's already committed to not thinking too hard about how his hindbrain interprets their situation.)

"Where's Ghost?" He already knows the answer, but Price's sudden look of alarm just confirms it.

They don't know.

[tarareindeer]

Hello pookie.

Since you're taking requests, I'm gonna shoot my shot.

How about something with Vander, where the Reader came into The Last Drop, perhaps they are like a friend/acquaintance of Babette's that had a rough confrontation with a rude client of the brothel earlier. And the client like also appears in the bar and some kind of brawl happens? Gender neutral reader if possible, maybe they're also like low-key sassy and strong. This is totally self indulgent not gonna lie.

Off topic, I love the Vander part 1 fic you wrote! The concept is so AAAAAAA FIRE to me. I can't wait to see what's going to happen next. I have so many assumptions in my head about events that might take place further on.

Also you're so real for the writing in English when it's not your first language, I'm the same.

thank u pooks,I'll do more in future give sum time to come up with the story :)

The Last Drop was as rowdy as ever, the kind of chaos that felt like home if you squinted hard enough. You stepped in, shaking off the leftover annoyance from earlier. Babette had convinced you to help out at the brothel for the night a solid mistake in hindsight. You were expecting the usual: side-eyeing greasy clients, keeping an ear out for any trouble, maybe breaking up a spat or two. What you didn’t expect was some wannabe top dog mouthing off like he owned the place.

And of course, now here he was.

You clocked him the moment you stepped into Vander’s bar. The same slimy guy with his oversized ego and cheap cologne, leaning over a table like he thought he was in a K-drama.

“Oh, hell no.” You muttered, weaving through the crowd. Your face must’ve been giving away your internal commentary because Vander caught sight of you from behind the bar, raising a brow.

“You alright there?” he asked, sliding a pint to another patron.

“Peachy,” you shot back, but your eyes were already locked on the dude. “Just peachy. Except for him.”

Vander followed your gaze and let out a low chuckle. “Guessing there’s a story here?”

“More like a Yelp review: one star, do not recommend, would fight again,” you said, rolling up your sleeves.

But apparently, karma was playing the long game, because there he was, right smack in the middle of the bar, holding court like he owned the place. You stopped dead, your jaw clenching.

“Don’t do it,” you muttered to yourself. “Not worth it. Be the bigger person.”

Then he spotted you, and his face lit up with a grin so smug it should’ve been illegal. “Well, if it isn’t Babette’s little errand runner,” he called out, loud enough to make the whole bar turn your way.

Oh, it was on.You grinned, all teeth, and took a step closer. “And yet, here I am. Living rent-free in that hollow skull of yours.”

You squared your shoulders and marched toward the counter, locking eyes with Vander. “Vodka,”

The guy stood up, all swagger and no substance. “Still salty from earlier, huh?” he sneered. “Thought you’d learned your place.”

“Yeah, I did,” you shot back, stepping closer. “It’s somewhere above you.”

The crowd ooh-ed, and Vander sighed, wiping a glass as though he hadn’t seen this exact situation play out a hundred times before. “You break it, you buy it,” he muttered under his breath.

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “Alright, bet.”

And with that, chaos erupted. Tables flipped, drinks spilled, and the poor bartender who tried to intervene got a swift “Stay out of it, Huck” from you. Vander didn’t step in until the dude was flat on his back, groaning like a broken accordion.

“That’s enough,” he said, grabbing the guy by the scruff of his neck and hauling him toward the door. “Out.”

Once the guy was gone, Vander turned to you, his arms crossed. “Feel better?”

“Immensely,” you said, brushing your hands off. “Also, sorry about the mess,"

“Yeah, but I’m the fun kind,” you said, grabbing your drink off the counter like you hadn’t just caused a small riot.

And just like that, the bar settled back into its usual rhythm. Well, mostly because now everyone was watching you like you were some kind of folk hero.

“Round’s on me,” Vander finally said, chuckling to himself. “Least I can do for the entertainment.”

[littlcdarlin]

dbf!Joel headcanons

warnings: big, though unspecified age gap, 18+ (as always)

note: Uni has been kicking my ass, so I’ve only had time for some headcanons lately. This Joel is very sweet, but I’m open to writing sleazy or dark Joel, too! If you have requests for any headcanons, I will be able to write them even during this stressful time. Full fics will take me a while longer. Enjoy reading, my loves <3 and feel free to add stuff!

He doesn’t really know how to cook well and mostly eats his faves every day but when you stay over more and more he makes an effort to learn and actually finds out he really likes it

Whatever pressure your parents put on you, he relieves it by accepting it rather than trying to fix it for you — you can just exist around him without expectation

He worries the age difference means you don’t have much to talk about, so he watches your favourite show that you mentioned and although it certainly wouldn’t have been his first pick, it lets him unwind. He likes watching something he knows you’ve watched and loved when you’re not around, it makes him feel closer to you

When he first starts looking at you differently he blue balls himself so as not to disrespect you — when he has sex with someone to relieve himself, he accidentally says your name to them

He keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet and cashiers wonder why he smiles at his debit card so much

He finds it hard to stay friends with your dad, because it makes him feel weird about this dynamic with you. He distances himself from your parents after they react badly to the news of your relationship, not because of guilt or cowardice, but because he doesn’t tolerate how they treat you

He thought he would hate the gossip after the two of you go public, but when you do, he finds himself imagining knocking you up just so everyone knows what he does to you. He opts for lots of hickeys until kids might be a possibility, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending you don’t have an IUD when he finishes inside of you

He loves when you wear his clothes, but when you forget your scarf at his place he wears it and enjoys that just as much — it smells like you and he likes the idea of people being able to tell it’s somebody else’s

When he figures out how much you like him talking to you during sex, he starts using the same voice/phrases in public to get you flustered & wet for him

He keeps everything that reminds him of you, like parking tickets etc. He doesn’t do anything with those things, doesn’t put them in a box, so they linger around his house, reminding him of you the way photographs would, except more privately

He starts “putting in an effort” for you when you start dating: styling his hair & wearing clothes he thinks you would prefer, until you tell him you like nothing more than his flannels and band tees and jeans, and although he doesn’t tell you, he’s beyond relieved. He realises you like him for him

When you tell your parents, Joel asks your father to hit him because “he knows he deserves it”. With time he learns he also deserves your kisses and smiles. Those things coexist within him, he thinks both are true

Despite completely supporting you in your pursuit of a degree & career, he likes when you’re on holiday, waiting around for him in his house wearing nothing but a pair of panties he bought for you & one of his hoodies. During those lazy weeks, he fucks you morning, afternoon, and night: before he leaves, when he gets home, and right before you go to sleep

He buys you a ring during the first week of dating because you mentioned how much you like it. He doesn’t give it to you until he knows you feel certain about him — he doesn’t want to freak you out. Still, even before that, he sometimes looks at it in its little black box and envisions it on your finger

During your first couple of “public dates” (neighbourhood barbecue where your parents are present etc.) he refrains from touching you much, although everyone knows about your relationship. You have to take his hand and initiate small touches for him to feel more comfortable

It takes him a short while, but then he loves being able to touch you in front of people: a hand on your lower back, an arm across your shoulder, his fingers lacing through yours, him pulling your back against his front and wrapping his arms around you. People stare sometimes (your Dad breaks one or two wine glasses in his hand), but Joel stops caring when he sees how happy it makes you

He tells you that you can change things about his home, that it should feel like your place, too and asks if you want to go shopping for “candles and stuff”, but you love being in a space that feels completely like him. It’s not how your apartment looks, but it makes you feel at ease, like you’re somehow living inside of him

Before he tells you he loves you, he whispers it in your ear when you’re sleeping, hoping your subconscious will somehow pick up on it. When he does tell you while you’re awake for the first time, it’s during breakfast. You stub your toe, and let out a string of curses you must have picked up on from him, and while he presses ice against your foot, kneeling in front of you, he smiles up and tells you: I love you.

The first time you sleep over at his house after he spent the night in your apartment, two brand new bottles of the shampoo and conditioner you use are in his shower. You thank him and jokingly ask why he didn’t buy your shower gel, too. He kisses you and tells you he likes when you smell like him.

He likes making you come more times than you thought you could — something about moving in and out of you while you tell him you can’t do it again, that you’re done, and then watching you fall apart on his cock anyway, thrills him to the bone. It makes him feel powerful, but part of it is knowing you let him fuck you without expecting an orgasm, that him being inside of you is enough for you to feel good

He doesn’t tell you, but he adds your name to his car insurance, so that you can drive it whenever you want

When you figure it out you give him road head every time the two of you drive somewhere — until he almost crashes the car and he forbids you to tempt him while he’s behind the wheel

He’s so nervous he asks Tommy for help when picking out a birthday gift for you — Tommy goes overboard and the gift turns out to be something completely ridiculous like a pair of huge earrings you would never wear. You tell Joel you don’t need a big fuss to feel loved by him. At night, he gives you a present he’s been wanting to give you for a while: he plays you a song he wrote for you on his guitar. It’s quiet and simple and so perfect you cry for half an hour

He doesn’t sleep well when you’re not around, and loves being close to you at night. If he could, he’d sleep nestled inside of you after a round of lazy midnight sex every night

As much as Tommy annoys him, it makes him happy to see how well you two get along. When you become actual friends with Tommy and hang out with him on your own, he’s more than pleased: the two people he loves the most in the world have become close

He would never ask it of you, but when you tell him you have stopped masturbating because he fucks you so often, it pleases him deeply. He likes being the only source of your pleasure. When you are apart for a while because of work/collage etc., he buys you a toy he can control from his phone

He tells Tommy he thinks he’s going to marry you during the first month of dating, which you find out about only on your wedding day during Tommy’s speech

[grimestime27]

On Board

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: mostly fluff!!!

This was written on my phone don’t judge me 🤣

It was a hot summer day in Virginia. The group had decided to scavenge today for supplies for Alexandria. Life was better since you all had made it to Alexandria. There had been some hard times, but you all persevered and made it through.

Rick was now in charge after Deanna got bitten, succumbing to her injuries when the walkers attacked your safe haven. It took awhile to clean up the mess that was made but it was your all’s home. Life was finally feeling a little normal.

Some of your all’s group lived together. Rick, Michonne, Carl, Judith, Daryl, and you. In the other house was Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, Tara, and Sasha. Carol didn’t sleep much these days, her attitude changing from meek and quiet to strong and outspoken. Of course the lovebirds Maggie and Glenn stayed together.

Daryl, Rick, and Abraham were loading a vehicle, getting ready to go on a run. Michonne was joining them. You and Rosita would take turns going. You weren’t weak, but Rick had handed you Judith in the mean time to get your mind off things, trying to bring a little joy to your day.

Judith loved you. You watched her in your free time when there wasn’t scavenging or other work to be done. Rick insisted that you needed to watch her because she was very fond of you. It was a good feeling that your fearless leader trusted you with one of his most prized possessions, one of the people he was closest to.

“Hi Judith.”, you baby talked her, causing her to smile. “Whatcha doin’ sweet girl?”

You kissed the top of her head, holding her close. She rested her head on you, pacifier in her mouth. Michonne smiled at the sight, coming up beside you before she brushed her hand through Judith’s soft hair.

“Think you could get used to that?”

“This?”

Michonne nodded.

“Maybe.”

Daryl eyed you as he was loading up a vehicle. Truth be told, watching you with Judith was one of his many weaknesses. Hardly anything got to Daryl Dixon but this was one of those things. It almost made him want to have a child of his own with you. But he worried he wouldn’t be a good dad. His dad was shitty growing up. And his mom wasn’t much better. Merle and Daryl had a very hard upbringing.

“We just need to convince Daryl to get on board.”, Michonne smiled at Judith as you continued to hold her, shielding her from the sun.

“I don’t even know if I’m on board.”, you joked. “Even though Judith here does make it pretty convincing.”

Judith giggled lightly as you tickled her. It was beautiful to have a child around. She brought light back into your all’s lives. Even on the darkest days.

“Look Judith, it’s Uncle Daryl.”, you smirked at him as he came over to the both of you.

“Aw, what’s my pretty girl up t’?”, Daryl eyed her. “Want Uncle Daryl to hold ya?”

Judith reached out her small arms causing you to scoff playfully. “Really Daryl?”

“Sorry sweetheart. She’s made her choice.”

Daryl smirked. You rolled your eyes as Daryl took her out of your arms. Michonne watched for your reaction as Daryl interacted with Judith, causing her to smile and laugh. You couldn’t help but do the same, watching the man you love.

Daryl was hard and cold at first, but as you got to know him, that changed. He opened up to you and showed you the soft side of him you never knew was there under his hard exterior. Things changed, you lost people, and you all became closer.

So close that you all had began a relationship. This world was cold but he made it better. He was the first thing you woke up to and the last thing you kissed goodnight. As long as he was with you, the world would be tolerable. Things would be okay.

Michonne and Rick had began a romantic relationship, much to everyone’s surprise. Almost as surprising as when the group found out about you and Daryl. You watched Daryl bounce Judith, he was practically a natural. Rick and Michonne kissed, signaling their departure was near.

“Ready Daryl?”, Rick asked as Michonne climbed into the vehicle.

Daryl looked at Rick, this question bringing him out of his daze. “Yeah.”

Daryl came over to you, leaning over to kiss you with Judith still in his arms. The kiss was slow. You knew why Daryl did this but you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. He was afraid he wouldn’t come home. This could very well be your last kiss.

“I love ya, Y/N.”

“I love you, Daryl. Be safe, please.”

Daryl nodded. “D’ my best sweetheart.”

“Wrap it up Romeo.”, Abraham joked, laughing as Daryl glared back at him.

Daryl flipped him off, causing him to laugh even louder.

“Daryl,”, you scolded him softly. “Not in front of Judith.”

Daryl sighed, apologizing to Judith before kissing her on the head. She just smiled up at him.

“Alright pretty girl, time t’ go back to Aunt Y/N.”, Daryl moved closer, handing her off to you.

You all shared one more kiss and he told you he’d be home soon. Rick came over and kissed Judith goodbye, telling her the same thing. You helped her wave goodbye to her daddy and the rest of the group as Daryl took one last look at you before getting in the car. You watched the car pull out, stopping at the gates before someone unlocked it, a trail of dust following them.

Looking at Judith, you shifted your focus to her. “Just me and you Judith. Let’s go inside and take a nap.”

Carl stayed back to help keep Alexandria safe. He was in the house, grabbing some water. He greeted you with a hug and you told him you were going to try and put Judith down for a nap. You told him you’d make dinner in a few hours.

Being a typical teenage boy, he acknowledged you silently and left the house with his gun.

Hours passed and dusk began to set in as you tried to focus on anything other than Daryl and the group. A knock came to the door, throwing you off. Judith was playing in the floor with her toys. You quickly ran to open the door, finding Carol.

“Need some help with dinner?”

“That’d actually be great.”

Carol came in and began helping you make a casserole. She had became quite the cook since being at Alexandria. Once it was finished, you placed Judith in her high chair and called Carl to come eat. He had taken a huge interest in Enid, a teenage girl at Alexandria. Maybe love was in the air.

Once dinner was over, Carol helped you clean up. It was easy to get Judith to sleep after her bottle. She was out like a light.

“Well, I guess I’m going to be on my way. Need anything else Y/N?”

“I’m good Carol. Thank you.”

She waved it off, saying it was no problem. You sat in peaceful silence, feeling even better now that Carl was home. This was in stark contrast to being out on the road for so long. Tiredness was sitting in and before you had known it, you were fast asleep with Judith in your arms on the couch.

How many hours had passed? You weren’t sure.

“Sweetheart.”

You jumped easily, startling yourself out of your sleep and quickly opening your eyes to see Daryl standing above you.

“S’ alright, sweetheart. Just me.”

Judith barely stirred as you immediately relaxed your muscles.

“You scared me.”

“I know. ‘M sorry sweetheart.”

Daryl took in the sight of you sleepy and holding a sleeping Judith before he sat down beside you.

“Is everyone okay?”, you asked softly.

Daryl nodded. “All safe’n sound.”

“Thank God.”

“Want me to take Judith and put her to bed so we can lay down?”

“If you have to.”

Daryl chuckled softly. “You’re exhausted. What’d y’all do today?”

Gently, you let Daryl take Judith out of your arms. She barely moved, snuggling into Daryl’s chest.

“Napped, played, and made dinner.”

“Busy day.”

“What about you?”

“Killed some walkers, found lots of supplies. Just another day in paradise.” Daryl smirked, joking.

You nodded before he leaned in, kissing you.

“Can I ask ya somethin’?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Sure, what’s up?”

You were awake now, sitting up.

Daryl sighed, trying to muster up the courage to ask you. He was afraid of the answer but he needed to know. His perspective on life had changed lately. Maybe he could have a good life after all.

“I was wonderin’ “, he began, looking down at Judith before looking back up at you.

Your look begged him to continue.

“Would you ever want one of these?”, he motioned to Judith.

“A….baby?”, you question and he felt like he had fucked up.

“It’s silly, ain’t it? Nevermind.”, Daryl sighed, looking away.

You grabbed his chin softly, bringing his face to look up at you. “That’s not silly, Daryl.”

Daryl’s face relaxed. You ran your thumb over his stubble.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”, Daryl repeated, making sure he had heard you correctly.

“Yes.”, you confirmed.

“Sure, y’wanna a little Dixon runnin’ around?”

“I’d love nothing more.”, you whispered lightly before you and Daryl shared a kiss before Rick and Michonne walked in.

“Are we interrupting something?”, Rick laughed.

“Maybe we’re both on board.”

You knew Rick wouldn’t have any idea of what that meant but all Michonne could do was smile.

[not-poignant]

How much does money effect how and what you write? If money wasn't an issue would you write more or less? Or would you still write but go with different ideas?

As a professional artist myself I sometimes ponder what projects I'd choose to do if I wasn't worried about finances. Because sometimes the things we want to create aren't financially viable, and that can really put a limit on our creative freedom and potential. But it's sometimes nice to daydream right

Hi hi anon,

Tbh I don't know how to easily answer these questions, because I do need money to live, and that's tied into my writing, so it's hard to imagine exactly how things would change.

Generally speaking, I'm quite a... rebellious writer, in the sense that I work hard to find readers who like what I do, vs. writing to market or writing for broad or wide audiences. The former would net me more money, faster. But I don't really do anything the 'right' way, I do it in the way that is the most fun for me.

So wherever possible, I am actually trying to do the things that best explore my creative freedom and potential. I tried writing more to market with Perth Shifters and while I don't regret writing those books, I don't love them like others do and I can't reread them, and didn't really enjoy the process. It actually taught me a lot about the costs of like... trying to do things the 'right way' because it makes more sense from a business perspective.

It didn't make more sense for me. Having unmedicated ADHD for so much of this was definitely a part of that!

Otherwise though, there are things that would change. For a start, I'd work less and take more breaks. I'd also have more nights to myself. I actually sacrifice a lot of evenings (particularly early evenings) to put up chapters in a timezone that's most user-friendly to the majority of people in the northern hemisphere. For many years that actually meant I could never go out and see friends or family on a Friday night.

Now it's Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday (not always, but at least always Thursdays). So when I'm organising cathcing up with people, there's a lot of 'I can't do it that day.'

I'd say money most effects how much I write. I wouldn't have a monthly word-count to hit, if this was just a hobby, for example. I definitely wouldn't write as much! But honestly, I already write less than I used to. Over time, I've realised the things I want/need the most are the things I should be working into my career anyway. Part of being your own boss is not being as much of a cunt to yourself as your other bosses were ;)

And I'm a pretty terrible boss to myself! I'm working on being less of that, lol.

I don't think I'd really write that many different ideas. I'd probably write more fanfiction.

I've been quite lucky, because in many respects, I have altered my writing career to suit me, instead of altering myself to suit a generic writing career. I think the latter is a really great path to permanent burnout, and I've been doing this for almost 10 years, and I feel like I'm figuring it out more and more as time goes by.

I write very self-indulgent stories! I didn't think Falling Falling Stars would be successful, anon. I thought people would hate me for it, I thought I'd lose money for it.

My writing career is running a line between 'I think this will earn money' and 'I think this won't but I'm so obsessed with this project I think others will get obsessed with it too so it might not be as big a risk as I fear it is.' If anything, anon, Mallory & Mount feels like probably the biggest risk, along with Vexteria, anything that isn't Fae Tales. But I'm going to take those risk/s, because I want to trust that they'll pay off.

I like to think that one of the reasons many of my readers trust me and my writing, is that they know I'm writing the stuff I love the most, in the way I love the most - hurt/comfort and trauma recovery and BDSM in serial format. I'm not forcing myself to be a more typical writer. The downside to that is I don't yet make a liveable income. The upside to that is that I make a steady income with readers who really get this writing, and who are wonderful people.

When I used to work as a professional artist, I pretty quickly started refusing commissions. I don't do writing commissions either. There's so many things I don't do that I could do purely for money. I've made a lot of choices for quality of life, keeping my health in mind, which means the only thing I'd really change anon is nothing really to do with the content, and everything to do with just the amount.

If I had a secure income, I'd write, but I'd write less. And a bit more of it might be fanfiction. But who knows! I hope you can find more ways to make the things that seem like financial dead-ends into something viable. Falling Falling Stars looks like a dead-end from the outside in, it's an 800k novel about a boy learning how to be nicer, and that's it. It has no huge epic plot, it has no especially dense worldbuilding, it's 9-10 times longer than a standard novel. It should never have been financially viable.

Yet it was one of the more successful things I've ever written, and plenty of newcomers into the fandom these days get here via Falling Falling Stars and not Game Theory. Isn't that wild?

Sometimes it's the thing that breaks the rules that still does well. I like to think that's a combination of me really loving the thing, and it having a lot of authenticity in it, which means there's a lot for other folks to resonate with and feel personally. And maybe some skill to pull it off!

I'm very lucky to be where I'm at. But I'm also pretty realistic that I don't think I could be successful if I only made 'financially smart choices' because I would have so little of my heart left in it, that I'd eventually just abandon it entirely.

And frankly, I think a lot of viewers / readers etc. can tell when someone doesn't love something. Or at least, some of them can. It's more fun when we all get to love the same thing together, vs. me writing stuff while thinking 'but I really wish I was writing this other stuff' and my readers loving something I don't. The latter is pretty crushing, and I can't do that. I'd rather work retail, instead of turning a creative career into that.

That's my biggest flaw as a creator, frankly, that I'm selfish enough and indulgent enough that it has to be very much on my terms, and therefore that only appeals to a narrow bandwidth of readers/folks. That doesn't mean I don't work really fucking hard, but I could only work this hard for something that feeds my soul and allows me creative freedom, I'm too sick (literally) to consider any other options.

And if 'money at the expense of creative freedom' was my actual goal, I would do literally any other job that guaranteed an income, because you can make way more consistently doing retail, than you can doing even 'commercially viable writing' in many cases!

[peace-hunter]

tfone au where OP is created as the last of the primes but way after them, a sparkling born at what were thought to be the last days of the war against the quintessons, the beginning of a new generation of peace after eons of war. a child meant to be loved and raised knowing nothing of war nor sacrifice.

he's kept mostly out of the spotlight by his siblings, who don't wish to expose him to everyone's optics so young, and want to wait until the war is done and over to properly introduce him to their people.

except of course the primes are betrayed and murdered by sentinel, the war is lost and everyone who knows and cared for the truth is either banished or outright killed in order to suppress it.

and the high guard, the ones the primes trusted the most, the ones that were supposed to protect them, the ones who failed in their most important duty, have to make a choice. to take the last prime, their last hope, with them to the surface, a hostile environment where there's little to no supplies and where they'll be hunted down by both sentinel and the quintessons as the biggest threat to their regimen.

or hide him in plain sight. place him where sentinel won't think to look for him. one more sparkling among many. and hope it will be enough to keep him alive. pray to primus that he'll protect his last child long enough for them to come back for him when it's safer (even if most of them have already lost their faith on him when he allowed the rest of his children to be massacred like that)

they almost lose their resolve when they realize they will have to take the little one's cog away in order to make him blend in with the rest of the newborns (and oh do they burn with murderous intent when they see what sentinel has done to their people but it's not the time yet-) but in the end they decide an impaired little prime is better than a dead one.

and so in the chaos of thirteen dead primes and a sudden energon crisis, a little sparkling who very few mechs really knew about and even fewer had seen completely vanishes. and in the depths of iacon a mech in charge of a new batch of newborns scratches their helm in confusion as they realize they must have miscounted the first time.

optimus prime is quietly erased from any official records by sentinel, written off as dead when they find a sparkling's frame mangled beyond recognition after an attack on the base of those rebels that insist on being a thorn on his side. killing the sparkling hadn't been precisely in his plans, he probably could've found some use for it after all, but he's not particularly upset about it either.

and orion pax grows up with an ache on his spark that tells him he's missing something far more important than a t-cog and dreams of gentle and loving hands, cradling him against the frames of mechs he cannot recall the faces of.

[creaturefeaster]

chickenstabs tattoos change like every time i draw him. i really need to make a solid. official. ref for them because it's getting ridic* at this point

*(short for ridiculous)

[ask-crow-aus]

<3 eh. Our followers are called cults because we’re not well known enough to be a real religion.. in most universes, anyways.

*Irony sits next to Celie, planning on learning from this as much as possible.*

{Soooooo.. what ya gonna teach us?}

<3 the basics. Let’s start easy. A deity’s power grows with their age. Once every ten centuries, either a new strength, power, or skill develops. Once you reach an age even remotely similar to mine or Irony’s, you kind of run out of things to develop, so the things developing start to strengthen. Hence why they can go incorporeal and are able to float, and totally manipulate the opacity, acidity, and weight of their mass. Most of mine are cosmetic or related to my.. subspecies, but they are always related to what we are in charge of. Once you reach a certain age, the power keeping you alive from your parents, or in some cases, your creation, will fade. Naga is just about at that age. When that happens, you need to form a cult, as most would call it, so you can feed off the devotion of your followers.

{Which is necessary for us to survive and maintain our power.}

<3 exactly. The bond between deity and follower is usually mostly one sided, as deities don’t tend to share the same emotion and devotion with their followers. I do. For the most part. Almost every Nirian is able to form a link with someone else. It’s something our bodies have naturally adapted to with the magic around us, a special type of communication typically reserved for mates, spouses, close friends, family, and tribe or clan members. It’s not uncommon for people to have four or more at any given time. Too many will make it harder to focus, though, since it spreads your magic so thin. I don’t think most people have that issue, but magic is required for most people of our nation to survive. Everything is rich with it, but the need to utilize it never became apparent until ancient dwellers, likely humans, elves, or a similar, precursor race, colonized Niria and were nearly driven to extinction from the monsters living there that had learned to consume the matter with as much of the magic as possible.

*he glanced around to make sure they were still paying attention.*

<3 With magic being so important in life, people learned how to cultivate it. It’s used in most things, now. From simple household chores that require more energy or to make food taste better. Some performers even use it to amplify their music, acting, or art. And while it can be weaponized, most people that use it in combat are aware that it has severe drawbacks, ranging from internal bleeding to organ damage to the breaking of bones. Death, in the worst cases. It’s not awful, if you don’t strain yourself constantly, but combative magic takes much more energy than other types. This is off topic, switching back to the bonds. There’s nothing inherently special about them, other than religion or closeness. They make communication easier and can be used to exchange magic, knowledge, and emotion. Like many powerful races, deities feed off of a very certain emotion. Devotion and belief. You’ll find similar behaviors in sentries who feed off fear, though they don’t need a bond for that, guardians who feed off the sense of security, or even more primal races that use it to locate prey or to stay connected over long distances as nomads.

<3 it’s nothing to scoff at, yes, but between deity and mortal, or even at times, deity and Demigod, deity and soul, it’s very natural and there’s really no strings attached. As for altars, they just make it easier to receive offerings and belief, acting as catalysts. They can be as small as a cleared off space with a rock on it. Didn’t that one church make one with a statue of you bigger than me in my eldritch form?

{A little smaller, and it was made with black marble. The detail was remarkable.}

<3 I prefer to not have altars, because I don’t really know what to do with the offerings. Irony made their receiving place for them a basin because people keep giving them blood.

{At least it’s something I can consume, I guess. I much prefer the Little rocks and charms that the little kids give me. They have more emotion behind them, and some of them even have little handmade drawings. The basin drains into a separate place to keep the blood moving, by the way. The dry stuff stays dry.}

[Celie wakes up in the morning, and stretches his arms. He's back to being a porcelain doll.]

*Irony is still standing over him.*

[icewindandboringhorror]

boy in silly sitting positions compilation

[shreddits-less-popular-opinions]

Real pretentious for rusties to call themselves burgundy…you don’t see any other caste arguing about what they’re called :////

}:0|