#between me and the 'real' world left to build or burn down i think for some of us the deck is stacked and were fucked from the beginning

[endless-ineffabilities]

be young, be dope, be proud

dynasty heir Aemond x heiress reader

a/n: randomly and carelessly drafted after a night out, so don't even ask me what this is. title obvi from Lana. also, I feel like the setting here is an acquired taste. so, enjoy? 💁🏼‍♀️🤍

themes/warnings: spoiled rich assholes, New York/modern references, language, clichés galore, Targs are like the Kennedys if that whole family was pure evil and Rep, SMUT, angst between brats who clearly want each other, also—you're kind of a hypocrite

main masterlist

The estate reeks with old money: marble columns, ancestral portraits, and a long dining table loaded with crystal and silver. Chandeliers try to warm the place, but it's all cold opulence. Outside, the gardens are cut and tamed to show that even nature has a price.

Your father always brings the family along to stately dinners up there in Westchester, with the usual crowd in attendance—the Targaryens, the Velaryons, the Lannisters—the whole lot.

Between them, they could probably purchase every building in Manhattan without creating a single dent in the bank.

Hell, maybe they already have. Generational wealth truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

You've tried to distance yourself from it. From people whose words drip poisoned honey and condescension. Being waited on like new order royalty.

But who are you to talk, when your father's lineage traces back to the fucking Mayflower? You and them are one and the same—filthy rich and borderline insane.

It is nearly impossible to maintain a steady sense of self, to have ample room for personal growth, when everything, every single thing, is handed to you on a silver platter. There is no tension there, no struggle, no need to exert any effort.

Failed your courses? Your father donates a building to the university. Aemond gets several DUIs? His great-uncle is a Supreme Court Justice. Aegon nearly burns his friend's house down while throwing a bacchanal-themed party? Let's just say that friend is grounded. For a week. Oh, the horror. Their family had many other estates, in many other places anyway.

When there are no real repercussions to your actions, you will feel like you can do just about whatever you want.

Burn the world down, for all you care. You can just buy a new, better one.

Granted, not everyone in your circle is an entitled egotist. There's Helaena, who strangely enough, does not possess a single self-important bone in her body, unlike her aforementioned brothers. Jace, who spends most of his time getting involved in political activism, for the side that his magnate grandfather Viserys steadfastly opposes.

You'd always sit beside either of them in these dinners, for the sake of your sanity. Unfortunately, Aemond and Aegon are never far. Especially Aemond—who occassionally stares you down as he sits across the table. Aegon, seated to his left, whistles at you. "Hey. Hey so... are you still slumming it with the art crowd?"

"I'm sorry?" You narrow your eyes at him. He didn't even say hello or mind if I cut in? as Jace was telling you about attending the DNC rally.

Aemond watches you again, so closely it raises goosebumps along your arms. He's been stealing glances at you ever since you arrived with your family. And you've been openly shooting glares at him when you sense it. Him and that steely one-eyed gaze of his always gets under your skin.

Aegon sneers, and you think how it's so in character of him. "You still live in Brooklyn? Cosplaying as a normie?"

"Fuck off, Aegon."

You've been living in Brooklyn for the past year, trying to finish up your Masters from Barnard. You would never hear the end of how this is the most redundant and useless thing, especially from people like Aegon. It does seem contrived, daddy's little heiress playing at being a scholar at Columbia, but at least you are doing something.

Besides, you have no desire to take over your family's empire. If anything, you want to branch out, maybe take on Jace's proposal on starting a charity foundation together.

"Aegon! Do you know how messed up that sounds?" Jace comes to your rescue, but you know it'll be for nought. Aegon's brain is too warped, too silver-spoonfed, to recognise his folly. You used to feel sympathy for the guy—this life is all he's ever known, and it isn't as if the adults around him ever set a good example, so can you blame him?

Used to. Now, he just annoys you. You grew up the same, but you are not like him, aren't you? So did Hel and Jace. So did Aemond. And Aemond, while still an asshole, is at least someone you can tolerate. He's vicious when it comes to his ambition, but he's genuinely smart.

He's cold and aloof, but he is also capable of tenderness.

You would never readily admit to anyone how you know this about him.

And he's staring you down, once again. You immediately know it's him when you feel someone nudge your shin under the table.

You eye him warily. What do you want?

He raises his eyebrows. Nothing. Just missed you.

At least that's what you're picking up from him. Why wouldn't he miss you? You're probably the best thing in his life right now. He should be so grateful you're still giving him the time of day, especially after everything he's done.

Aemond nods ever so subtly, the gesture meant for only you. You already know what he's getting at, but you don't feel like caving just yet.

It's another long moment of tuning in and out of your conversation with Jace, but Aemond's unspoken question lingers. When you deign to look at him again, he tilts his head to the side. Let's go.

He knows to leave first, and he stands and excuses himself from the table. Barely anyone gives him any mind, the adults debating passionately at the farther end.

You wait one whole minute, your heels tapping impatiently under the table. Then you follow suit.

"I need some air. Might have a smoke or something," you mumble to Jace. He wouldn't want to tag along, the scrunch of his face revealing how much he loathes the habit.

"Just the one," he tuts, raising a finger.

You roll your eyes fondly. "Okay, dad."

Aemond has just lit a cigarette when he hears you come in. The door to the private library lets out a tiny creak then shuts without a sound. He faces the window, his back to you. But he knows it's you. He can almost hear the derision in your exhale. A hint of your unmistakeable Guerlain scent is present in the room.

When you draw closer, he sees the ghost of your reflection on the glass, a mirage perched atop his shoulder. He thinks of the age-old visual of having an angel and a devil on either side. You would be the angel, and the devil... would probably be his own self.

The side he fights to keep buried. He knows you see it, and hate it, but you want him anyway. You let him have you anyway. And these stolen moments with you are the only times when he is truly free.

Without a word, he offers a cigarette to you, his hand moving with a smooth, practiced form that makes it feel like he's not just offering you a smoke but issuing a silent challenge. He lifts his lighter, an intricate, expensive thing engraved with his family crest, flicking it open with a soft metallic click, then holding the flame steady as you lean in.

He can't help but admire how beautiful you are as the glow illuminates your face.

"Do you ever get bored?" you sneer, folding your arms as you lean against a shelf. "Sitting there all night with that smug, 'yes, I agree with all of this' look while your family drones on about the 'sanctity of tradition.' Like a good little heir."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, barely looking up from his cigarette as he takes a drag. You sure have a habit of getting right down to business. "Funny," he replies smoothly. "For someone who 'hates' tradition, you play the part of Daddy's obedient little princess pretty well. I saw you batting your eyes at every gray-haired councilman at that table."

"Oh, please." You roll your eyes, heat flaring in your cheeks, though whether from anger or the way his gaze always seems to pin you in place, despite your best efforts, you can't say. "I'm not doing it because I like it. I don't sit there pretending I'm better than the rest of the world."

"You don't?" He cocks his head, his lips quirking into a wry, infuriating smirk. "Could've fooled me, princess. All I ever hear from you in these dinners are 'Oh, absolutely' and 'Oh, that's so interesting'—like you'd just die if they didn't think you cared."

"Wow, okay, says the guy who spent twenty minutes nodding along while they debated the tax breaks for HNWIs. Planning to cut yourself some more slack there, hotshot?" You take a quick, sharp puff, the smoke billowing out of your lips as you continue your tirade. "You're a damn statue, Aemond. Most of the time, you don't even say a word, and yet somehow you sit there looking like everyone should be grateful you graced them with your presence."

He takes a step closer, and his voice drops. This is something only you can do—you get to him, you hit him where it matters. Or, you're the only one he allows the privilege of doing so. "And you hate it, don't you? You hate that I don't care what they think. That I'm not actually here to impress anyone."

Your laugh comes out bitter. "Please. You don't care because you're so convinced they already think you're perfect. You don't have to impress anyone because you're Aemond Targaryen, right? The perfect heir to a glowing legacy."

"Better that than playing the poor, tortured rebel." He's so close you can count the facets of the sapphire in his socket, a dangerous gleam flashing behind them—another outlandish, excessive thing only a billionaire's son would think to do. "At least I'm not pretending I want to burn it all down while running around in the same circles as everyone else. Tell me, do you actually care about the policies Jacaerys painstakingly explains to you? Or is it all just for show?"

"You don't know me, Aemond."

"Oh, but I do. In fact, I think I'm the only one who knows the real you."

You clench your jaw, craning your neck up to look at him. How ironic that he literally has to look down on you too. "Unlike you, I actually feel something about all this. You sit there like you're above it all, and it's pathetic."

"Pathetic?" He lets out a low, humorless laugh. "You want to talk about pathetic? The only thing pathetic is you standing there acting like a revolutionary when you're just like the rest of us."

"At least I want to get out. At least I want to make a goddamn difference and—"

"Then do it," he says, his tone mocking, as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your face. "Get out. Run off, make your big escape. Show everyone how different and special you are, princess."

"Oh, right," you shoot back, trying to regain some of your moxie after his unexpected retort. "And leave you to taint my image after then?"

He scoffs, the gesture dismissive, almost cruel. "You wouldn't be here if you actually had the guts to go through with it."

Aemond may be a pretentious asshole, but he's right, and you know it. "You know what, Aemond? What if... I tell you that I like it. The power, the status, all of it. Is that what you want to hear?"

He smirks. "You'd be adrift without it. You'd be lost without all this to complain about." His gaze drops to your mouth, as if he could already guess exactly how a rendezvous like this is going to end.

How it always ends.

You feel your breath hitch, your pulse racing even as you grit your teeth against the draw of him.

"Don't look at me like that," you snap, trying to keep the upper hand. You should leave. You know this, know you should storm out and leave him here with that damn arrogant smirk on his face.

Call it a truce, and do it all over again next time.

"What's wrong? Afraid you'll do something you'll regret?"

The challenge in his tone has you seething, heat blazing up your neck. "You're insufferable, you know that?” You try to sound as furious as you feel, but your voice wavers, and the corner of his mouth tilts in a dark, smug smile.

"Then leave, princess." His eyes flash, daring you, mocking you, yet he doesn't move back. "Go on. Show me that strength you keep talking about."

The words are meant to push you away, to test how much you can take, but they do something else instead. They push you over the edge, sending you surging forward before you even know what you're doing, fisting the front of his pristine shirt and yanking him down to you.

Your mouth meets his, all anger and fire, biting at his lips as he smirks against you, welcoming the aggression. His hands find your waist, pawing at your gown, pushing you back until you stumble against the bookshelf.

You try to hold onto the anger, to use it to keep yourself in control, but the way he kisses you—rough, possessive, familiar, with a hunger that seems to match yours—makes it impossible. His hands slip to your hips, fingers digging into you with a desire that you both pretend doesn't exist anywhere but here, in the dark corners of your little meeting places.

"Stop," you gasp for breath, pulling away for just a second, trying to steady yourself, but he follows, his mouth trailing down your jaw to your neck, biting down just enough to make you groan.

His fingers slip beneath the slit of your dress, finding bare skin. "Then tell me you don't want this."

Your head tilts back involuntarily, the blissed hitches in your breath becoming frequent. You should tell him to stop, but the words never come, not with his fingers tracing up your thigh, the pressure of his lean body against yours, the electric shiver that races through you as his mouth tongue dances with your own.

You give in, letting your anger melt into something messier, something that's been building between you both for so long you don't know how to unravel it. Your hands move to his white-blonde hair, pulling him closer. His hand slips higher, while the other is braced against the bookshelf behind you.

There's nothing careful about it—gone are the dynasty heirs who are unfailingly curated and perfect and genteel in the public eye. It's all frantic, hands grabbing, mouths clashing, neither of you willing to let the other take control but both of you giving in to the heat. He yanks your dress up, lifting you and positioning himself between your legs, his breathing rough as he makes quick work of his belt. Then he lets his trousers and underwear drop halfway down his thighs, and his cock springs free, pressing on the draped material of your gown, which you hurriedly bunch to the side.

It's like a sick power play when he takes two fingers and plunges them past your soaked entrance, right to his knuckles. All without breaking eye contact.

But neither has the upper hand. You and Aemond are one and the same.

"Seems like you're ready for me, princess."

"Mhmm, aghh—" He hooks his fingers inside you, hitting that damned spot. "Just fuck me already."

And when he does, his cock practically propping you up against the bookshelf, it's fast, chaotic, your movements nothing short of needy and desperate, as if you're both trying to prove something to the other. You don't care about the priceless first-edition books that rattle precariously behind you, nor about the way his fingers dig into your flesh that guarantee bruises that will show tomorrow. Right now, you're past caring, past pretending that you actually ever cared about anyone but yourself.

And maybe... Aemond.

His groans come out unrestrained against your neck, his tongue flicking over the droplets of sweat, as if he can't bear you being any less than perfect.

Only he can taint you, only he can see you broken in and fucked out like this, your lipstick smeared to the side of your mouth. That same shade of rouge littering his cheek, his jaw, the collar of his shirt.

No words are exchanged, as if they've been used up in your twisted version of foreplay from earlier.

All he offers is, "Fuck, baby, I'm close," as his hips continue in its assault, his hands buried in the softness of your arse, keeping you in place.

"So am I," you counter.

He falls apart inside you, his cock sputtering while lodged deep in your clenched walls. The near-animalistic growl he lets out brings you to your climax, your forehead falling against his as your entire body is rendered limp in his arms.

When you finally pull away, flushed, your heart still racing, he looks at you with that same arrogant smirk, and you can't help but feel the distaste rising back up.

"Still think I don't know you?" he murmurs, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

You glare at him, pulling your dress back down, refusing to let him have the last word even as his expression uncharacteristically softens as he gazes at you, making you want to pull him close and kiss him again. Gentler, this time.

"This can't happen again," you force out your usual lie.

"That's what you said last time, princess."

Vhagar taglist: @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @mrsmunson-harrington @romyfe06

[bloodbankzz]

ive been in a very questionable mental state recently

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[theroguequeen]

what I really liked about the fight between rhaenyra and daemon was how there were glimpses of their younger versions while showing that both have changed and that rhaenyra becomes more confident in herself.

Younger rhaenyra was trying to hold daemon close while deep down knowing that at that time he was not able to give her a stable relationship and older rhaenyra knows that she is still able to breathe and to function even when he is not there because she had to do it for years. Don't get me wrong, daemon loved rhaenyra back then, he always did but he struggled with his desires and wishes and everytime he would really have to commit to her he left, not because it was what he wanted to do but because not leaving would mean he would have to open up and I think most of the time it was easier for him to tell himself that the circumstances were just not right and that he maybe was scared of having something real to lose this time.

That man tried to escape, tried to drown the what if but still was haunted by it every day while rhaenyra feeled like he abdomend her all over again and tried to build something on her own, becoming a mother and stood up everytime she was pushed down. And with the time passing I think she was able to find some clarity for herself, becoming more confident in what she really wanted. After harwin death and the funeral she was very clear in her words to daemon and it was similar in the fight they had, she was straight forward and she was not afraid to speak up and show her anger and disappointment.

And even younger rhaenyra was not afraid to hold daemon accountable like she did when she came for the dragon egg or at the wedding night when she straight up was challenging daemon. Most people around daemon would never speak to him that way or dare to openly disagree with him but rhaenyra always knew how to approach him. Younger rhaenyra was already really direct and confronting and some of that was shining through when she said "you're pathetic" while still struggling with the memories of all the times daemon just left, abandoned her. Daemon on the other hand did leave after the fight but it's still different, not like when he was suddenly gone after the funeral or the times when left her in the brothel or at the wedding because this time he stayed long enough to really show what was going on in his mind and rhaenyra really hit his weak spot with questioning his loyalty and making clear that she is not trusting him fully even so I think that deep down she knows that he would never try to take her crown. She knows him like no one else does and she was clearly struggling with her memories of him leaving, of him not letting close enough to get behind the wall that he builds around him. This was not him leaving her and just going as far away as he can. He was leaving full of anger and grief and being hurt by her words but he straight up goes and gets his armor and doing everything he can to strengthen her claim. He is hurt and not able to verbally express all that his boiling inside him but he goes into action, fighting for his wife and family and in a way trying to show her with his actions what he right now can't show with his words: that he is worthy of her trust and that he would burn down the world for her. He is not abandoning her he is still there even if he is not right at her side and I would bet her words and her face are haunting him every minute of the day. Their fights were never about the love they have for each other. It was never a real question. It was always there.

This was a fight between two people who are deeply struggling to deal with the grief and the feeling of betrayal and daemon pushed this even more with the whole blood and cheese Desaster because he was so driven by the idea that if he does something quickly that maybe things would change and that he could do something to take some of rhaenyras pain. This fight was not a break up or cut to their bond. They were communicating and daemons does not do that often and you could still feel the love between them. Yes daemon was aggressive but still there was something soft in it when he touched her face and in the way the looked at each other. Daemon was desperately need to feel rhaenyra because he felt like she was slipping through his fingers and it seemed like he was fighting so hard with himself no to just kiss her or scream "Yes I know I fucked up but why don't you see how much i love you?"

Matt and emmas acting was absolutely phenomenal. And this is still daemon and rhaenyra and they were both in a way so vounerable and open and I would be more alarmed if they didn't had that fight because this showed they are still so connected with each other.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Second Chance Sorcerer

Chapter 1 - Phantom Tokyo

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: I can't believe I actually got around to writing this! *sobs*. I hope everyone does take the time to read it, and enjoys what I've created here. This will be a multi-chapter fic, quite different from the one-shots I've posted before. It was originally made with an OC, which can be read on my AO3 account, but all changes have been made to y/n here.

Thank you @actuallysaiyan for making the lovely title banner and for listening to me rant and giving me all the encouragement to finish this chapter. Everyone needs a cheerleader like you. 💜

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Nanami masterlist

“You’ve got it from here…Itadori kun.”

Those were the last words Nanami remembers saying before Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration fragmented his soul into smithereens. All he felt was pain, gut-wrenching pain as his soul collapsed and rearranged itself, piece after piece trying various combinations of alignment, trying to come back into some semblance of a whole, like chromosomes after being hit with a lethal dose of radiation.

His eyes squeeze shut, senses overloading as he prepares to meet whatever awaits him on the other side. Would it be a lovely afterlife like he’d hoped? Filled with long days on the beach, reading the backlog of books he’d been holding off on? Laying in the sun, no work, no obligations, just doing whatever he wanted to his heart’s content? He felt warmth against his chest, a bright light emanating from it, and for a split second, it felt like someone was calling out to him, a very familiar voice…

And all of a sudden it stops. With a thump, he crumples on something solid, his side colliding with the surface. Was this it? Was he in the afterlife? Nanami hesitantly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

At first, it appears like he’s landed on a sidewalk that wound deeply into a very gloomy and derelict-looking city. He could make out buildings, traffic lights, and little shops tucked away in between these larger structures, all of them looking abandoned or in various states of disuse. Not exactly what he’d hoped for. Was this actually the Great Beyond? 

Nanami pushes himself to his feet, relieved when he realizes he’s not in pain anymore. Had Mahito sent him to a separate contained domain? He squints, trying to find his bearings. There was no sunlight wherever he was, but the street lamps were lit along the length of the sidewalk, casting shadows along the way. He cautiously looks around. The place looks strangely familiar…

He grasps his weapon, the blade having still been in his hand when Mahito touched him, and advances down the road. As he walks, he realizes with a jolt that wherever he is appears to be a phantom of his neighborhood. He recognized this road now, as he had frequented it so often. Up ahead was the grocery store he would go to every Saturday. And right opposite it, a little cafe he would sometimes wander into for their lovely croissants and artisan coffee. The more he walked, the more he started piecing together a map of this area, astonished at what he was seeing. This certainly couldn’t be a domain expansion. There was far too much detail resembling the real world and, although the place gave a foreboding aura, seemed to be unoccupied except for himself. 

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, lowers his weapon, and tries to think. Logic was telling him Mahito had sent him somewhere, perhaps a sealed space, rather than kill him outright. But if that was the case, why was he healed? His entire left side which had been covered with fatal burns was gone, the skin healed over like new, his eye regenerated, hair grown back. His clothes and shoes had somehow been restored to their original condition, his glasses back to their position on his face. 

Things weren’t adding up. He continued to walk, then came upon a library he remembered passing by in the real world but had never really paid attention to before. Deciding this was as good a spot as any to glean information about his whereabouts, he enters, squinting through the darkness. Lines and lines of shelves stood neatly arranged in the building. Nanami walks between the rows, pausing in between sections for a brief moment before continuing his perusing. 

He rounds the corner, then quickly presses his back against a bookshelf as he senses an unusual energy signature fading away from him. So he wasn’t alone, and the thought wasn’t comforting. The energy didn’t match a human or a sorcerer, so he had to assume it was a special-grade curse. After his interactions with Jogo and Mahito, he didn’t know what to expect in terms of its abilities. He was tempted to escape but knew he had nowhere to go. If he was trapped in this domain what hope was there to escape this odd being he was sensing?

Raising the clothed blade with its polka dot pattern, he follows the energy steadily, not daring to breathe too loudly as he advances. It moves stealthily and silently, as though trying to elude him. This makes him immediately wary, sensing he could be getting lured into a trap. He follows at a distance, then stops as he comes to a reading section, the area cleared out and decorated with little chairs, poufs, and tables. Struggling to see in the dim light, he moves into the open, instincts screaming that he’s making a mistake. He pauses, trying to sense the energy again.

“It’s rude to chase one with a weapon you know.” A voice says from directly behind him. Nanami startles and spins around to face his pursuant, arms immediately coming before him to block an impending attack. Upon seeing the sight before him, his gaze fills with both fear and wonder, the being in front of him a vision of amazement. 

All he sees at first are a pair of piercing silver eyes that seem to probe the very depths of his soul. There’s a quiet insightfulness to them like he was looking into the eyes of an old friend, yet an unsettling intensity that made him feel apprehensive. The being appeared to lack a shape, but as Nanami took another step back, the light from the street lamps showed it to be made of wisps of black shadowy mist, neither fluid nor gas, swirling endlessly around it. 

Something within him tells him he shouldn’t fear this creature, yet all instincts were telling him to charge the attack before it got to him first. They stood, staring at each other through the dimness, before Nanami gathered his courage and asked, “What are you? A curse?”

The being huffs, as if it was an impertinent question. “What am I…Who am I…The question has been asked for centuries. Yet, even I do not have an appropriate answer…But I am most definitely not a curse.”

It glides silently over the floor, and Nanami instinctively raises his weapon. The being appears to look amused, based on the way those intense silver eyes glowed. “Put away your blade, Nanami Kento. The things I could have done to you once you entered my realm can’t be defended against by you, or even a special-grade sorcerer for that matter. I doubt even Ryomen Sukuna would stand a chance against me.” The smoky form billows, ebbing and flowing as it circles him. 

Not entirely reassured, Nanami puts his weapon back in the holder of his suspenders. There’s an odd feeling of reverence despite the eerie nature of the being. 

“I am what they call The Mediator, The One Before Death, or The Spectator.” It answers his question. 

“And where am I?” Nanami asks the shadow. 

“You are in between worlds, Nanami Kento.”

“In between worlds?” The blonde man repeated skeptically. Did such a thing exist? He had never given death much thought (beyond the dying part), and always assumed it was like being asleep one moment and waking up in paradise the next. To be in between worlds…had Mahito somehow just locked him away in another dimension that was a bleak version of his neighborhood? 

“So…am I…alive? But in another dimension?”

The Mediator looked at him thoughtfully, as though wondering how best to explain to him. “You are alive for now. But you definitely died, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up here in my realm.”

“I died, and came back to life?” The sorcerer frowned at the obscureness with which this said. “That makes no sense. People don’t just arbitrarily resurrect from the dead. I was severely weakened. My soul was unprotected. Mahito’s attack should have killed me.”

“It did. However, something at that moment reversed the attack and restored the various fragments your soul had shattered into.”

Disbelievingly, Nanami started running his hands over his torso as though trying to find evidence that he had died. It was just…fantastical…impossible…He had survived Mahito’s attack? What divine intervention could have possibly saved him from something so deadly? As his fingers near his wrist, they brush over a small chain, hidden under the cuff of his shirt. He quickly undoes the button and looks incredulously at the small charm, an Aum symbol, dangling from the chain. 

“Y/n…” he murmurs her name softly. His apprentice. He now remembers her fastening one of these to not just him but to Ino and Itadori as well before they were deployed to Shibuya. 

“That’s probably what saved you,” the being said evidently, interrupting Nanami’s thoughts. “Whatever that is, it was imbued with a heavy concentration of neutralized curse energy. So when you died from the attack, that charm activated and repaired your soul.”

Nanami absently fingered the charm, trying to think. Y/n’s ability to neutralize cursed energy had improved immensely under his tutelage, he knew that, but he hadn’t imagined it to this extent. Her other ability included being able to manipulate any cursed energy she neutralized into forms of heat, summoning flames on her palms that towered at least  20 feet tall. How she had imbued the energy into the charm was anyone’s guess. 

“And I’m in between worlds.” He repeats again, trying to make sure he’s not misunderstanding the conversation.

“Indeed. Think of this as your own personal purgatory.” Those silver eyes bore into him like moons against a black sky, waiting to see his reaction.

Purgatory. Nanami pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, unable to fathom how insane this sounded. “I thought purgatory was for people who needed to be redeemed.”

“It is usually. But in your case, it looks like the veil partitioning the worlds got confused, seeing as how you left one dead, and then suddenly became alive in another. Death probably couldn’t figure out what to do with you so it sent you here instead.”

“So I’m stuck here?”

Despite the miraculousness of it all, Nanami couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation. He had been prepared for death for several years now. So much to the point that he had a will drafted, signed, and sealed, declaring all his possessions to be donated to charity since he had no other family or next of kin. A copy of the keys to his house had been entrusted to the lawyer who had helped draft the will. He had all his affairs set in order with the expectation that his death would be sudden and he was unwilling to burden anyone to deal with the repercussions. 

He had known he would die in the line of duty. He had accepted his fate the moment Mahito had laid a hand on him in the underground, welcoming death as a tranquil friend. His whole life had been struggle after struggle, a gamble, clawing his way to stay alive. All he could say was that he had been lucky so far. There had to be a moment when that luck ran out. He had been dreaming of knowing peace and death seemed to be the only option for that. 

“Does it bother you, that you are alive?” The purgatory being asks him curiously, noting his less-than-happy expression. “Most would rejoice at this second chance for life.”

The question hits Nanami with a gravity he hadn’t been expecting. “Most people haven’t lived my life. I’ve done enough. I’m tired. I’ve earned the right to a peaceful death.”

“And yet, it looks like someone desperately wanted you to live.” Those hypnotic eyes wander over to the charm dangling on his wrist. “Is that not reason enough? To not want to die?”

Disturbed by the notion, Nanami grips the charm. Y/n’s energy had kept him alive, unwittingly preventing him from moving on into the afterlife. Whether that had been her intent was debatable. Her desperately wanting him to live? It just didn’t seem likely to him. Sure, perhaps she didn’t want him to die in the way that people didn’t want others to die in general. But beyond that? He couldn’t fathom her being so consumed by the thought of his death that she would create a charm that essentially kept him alive after having his soul damaged to what should have been a point beyond repair. 

Y/n had a late start in her career as a sorceress, and certain concepts about it seemed to stymie her, more typically seen in a younger student than someone her age. He had repeatedly told her to not worry about him when he took her on missions, to value her life more than his. He drilled it into her head when he taught her self-defense, that if there was an opportunity to escape she should take it, the hand-to-hand combat sometimes leaving bruises on her skin because she’d been unwilling to take a shot at him. It always pained him when that happened, marking her, leaving those unsavory blemishes on her but how else was she going to learn that fairness wasn’t something that existed in Jujutsu? Her willingness to get a little scuffed up if it meant protecting him from a curse irked him. She was rather like a kitten unwilling to be shooed away from a reluctant petter. His lips curled wryly as he imagined her expression if she ever heard that comparison out loud. 

‘Don’t be so cruel Nanami san!’ She’d probably say, those large (color) eyes looking at him reproachfully. And for a moment, his mind’s eye couldn’t picture anything else except that; those large (color) eyes, and the shock in them when he told her that he didn’t think he’d live very long. She hadn’t said anything to convince him his mindset was wrong, but she did look like he had betrayed her by expressing his very honest and logical opinion. As though he had broken an oath to her by not saying he wanted to live long and prosper. 

Nanami gives himself a mental shake. This wasn't the time to be thinking about Y/ni's opinion on his death. The bigger task at hand now was figuring out what to do about his imprisonment in purgatory. 

All the while, the shadow hadn’t wavered and had merely continued to look at him work through his inner monologue. Realizing that Nanami had reached a limit, it said, “No, you are not stuck here. At least, not for very long.”

The sorcerer’s head snaps up at those words, eyes narrowing behind the green glass of his frames. “What do you mean, not very long?”

“Well, the neutralized energy imbued into that charm? It’s not infinitely going to remain contained in that. The seal broke when it saved your life, and it’s essentially trickling out little particles of it. It will run out at some point, although it’s difficult to say when that is.”

“And when it does run out?”

“You’ll die.” The being says simply. “And move on into the next realm. That’s the way purgatory is supposed to work. Cleanse you to be fit to live in the realm of death.” 

“And it’s unknown when that will happen?”

The shadow appears to ponder his question before offering a hesitant guess. “A few days, maybe 4 or 5 at maximum, based on the energy intensity that it's currently emitting.”

“And what am I to do for 4 to 5 days here?” Nanami gestures around the gloomy library, obviously not impressed with this arrangement. These extra days before his impending death somehow made a vein pop in his forehead. It was like a pre-death before the actual one.

“Well, you must have noticed by now that this is the neighborhood you used to live in. You are free to wander around here and experience your old life one last time. You can visit your apartment, take the subway and wander around the Jujutsu High campus, or watch a movie in the theater.” The shadow suggested, sounding like a pleasant tour guide for the afterlife. “Think of it as a vacation before your death.”

It struck Nanami as a little absurd but he strokes his chin, considering. “And that’s my only option? To experience my old life before dying?”

“It’s not the only option. You could go back and live.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air at those words. Nanami’s eyes widen at the thought. He could go back to the land of the living? He hadn’t even considered that as an option. He only had death on his mind. Thoughts of living on a beach, days filled with no responsibility still flickered through his mind but at the same time…

“What is it about life that makes you so hesitant?” The purgatory being asks him inquisitively. 

Nanami opens his mouth but no words come out. Had he been thinking about how to escape his situation that all he had ever thought about was dying? It wasn’t unexpected of him. He had learned so long ago that life was mostly shit, with a few moments of relief folded in. At least it was for curse users. He remembers seeing all the people he knew die, how he had tried to escape from Jujutsu, only to be sucked back in because he knew he didn’t fit in anywhere else. When faced with the choice of remaining in a job of corporate greed, or one that endangered his life but was somewhat altruistic, the choice became apparent. He had returned to Jujutsu. Not entirely selflessly, but with the idea that it was the quicker way out of his misery. 

“Is there nothing you would like to return to?” The shadow presses. “Remember that you are a very rare case. Hardly anyone ends up in purgatory under your circumstances. I would hate to see a life go to waste because you don’t know what to do with it.”

A sudden memory comes into Nanami’s mind. A day of unexpected frivolity, when Y/n, Yuji, and Ino had convinced him to come along to an amusement park. It was an odd day but to his surprise, he hadn't hated it. Y/n had mostly stayed away from the roller-coasters, leaving it to Yuji and Ino, wandering with Nanami to the food stalls, closer in age to him than she was to the boys. It was a strange feeling of domesticity he had never experienced before, almost like they were a hodgepodge family of misfits. It was the closest thing he had experienced to a normal day in a long time. 

But days like that were rare. They were like sprinkles on top of ice cream. People could never have more sprinkles than ice cream. Life just didn't work that way. However, Nanami found himself contemplating his choices. Perhaps he had been so jaded that he thought life was wading through ice cream instead of appreciating the sprinkles? And here he was dreaming about sprinkles when he was stuck in purgatory. 

He sighs and shakes his head. “If I did go back, would it make a difference?” He asks doubtfully. 

The being’s eyes crinkle warmly, almost like it's smiling. “To one person, yes. And isn't that more than enough?”

The charm swings from his wrist like a pendulum. He considers the shadow’s words and feels his heart clench uncomfortably. The stakes almost felt too high, wagering his return to life on the chance that it would make a difference to Y/n. Well, maybe not just her. He frowns as he feels the energy in the trinket resonate for a brief moment when he thinks of her, as though it was trying to convince him to make the gamble. He had never quite paid attention to her energy signature before now, so concentrated within the tiny object; it felt like a warm cup of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning. He feels disconcerted that he could sense this now and it was making him want to change his mind about dying. He sighed deeply, feeling his resolve begin to solidify, even though it felt like he was making the wrong choice. 

“How do I get out of here?” 

The shadow has no features except its eyes, but if Nanami could assign it an expression, it would have to be triumph.  

“I’m so glad you asked.” It appraisingly looks at him, before continuing. “Perhaps you might want to let the lady know you’re alive.”

“Must I?” Nanami asks with a hint of exasperation. 

The shadow looks amused but continues in an even tone. “I’m afraid I must insist. It's better to give people a warning when you’re coming back from the dead. Prepares them for the prospect of seeing you again. Trust me, it’s better that way.”

“And how do I do that?” 

It merely continues to look at him with that amused expression and Nanami almost lets out a growl of frustration. “Listen. I died. Then I was told I wasn’t dead, but I’ll die soon. Then I changed my mind and decided I wanted to live. The least you can do is tell me how to get a message out of here.”

The purgatory being laughs; it’s an eerie noise, yet had all the comfort of a long-lost friend. “Very well 7:3 Sorcerer. It’s simple really. To send a message out of here, all you need to do is blend your cursed energy with the cursed energy of the person you’re thinking about going back to life for. Imbue this energy into a small object which will then find a way to its recipient.”

The elementary way this was said nearly cracks his temper. “Is that all?” He asks, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice. 

The shadow chuckles at this, adding to his ire. “It really is. Just try focusing on something other than your disappointment of not dying today.” 

Nanami takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose trying to keep his composure. “A small object…” His hand grips the handle of his blade and pulls it out, eyeing it carefully. The whole blade wouldn’t make it. He just automatically knew it. But he wanted to make sure Y/n would recognize the message was from him. He fidgets with the blade, thinking, and then by accident, the edge of it comes in contact with the Aum charm. 

The blend of energy that shoots through him was a shock; a mix of the warm coffee on Saturday mornings, coupled with the calculated preciseness of a seasoned Q-grader who assessed those coffee beans. The polka dots spattered all over the cloth wrapping the weapon glowed at the edges for a brief second before the blade lost contact with the charm. 

Nanami observed the whole process with fascination. Dormant instinct took over him, and he moved his hand so that the charm now swung over the blade. Focusing on that combined energy signature, he purposefully touches the charm to the blade. Y/n’s neutralized curse energy flows into the blade, and he feels his own beginning to fuse with it. He concentrates on his ratio technique, and with a flash, all the polka dots lift off the blade, glowing with a pale sea foam green aura. 

“Find her,” he whispers to the dots, and in a hazy glow, they vanish. 

Nanami watches, as though in a daze, unable to believe what had just happened. He turns to look at the purgatory being.

“Message sent. Now, how do I get out of here?”

The shadow being had been looking at the spot where the polka dots had vanished. It swirls around and looks at him in the eyes. 

“By facing your deepest regrets.”

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[cultofdixon]

It’s best to watch your mouth

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • An argument…lead to blood loss and fear…oh how the world has a funny way of showing you what you can lose with what you say • TW: Major Injuries / Blood Loss / Recovery / Scars

Requested by: Anon

A/N: Love posting an angst fic request on my birthday 💕

“…do you regret what you just said to me, Dixon?” He knew he fucked up by the use of his last name, but he meant what he said. He meant every word because she needs to understand that shit just happens whether you like it or not.

The silence was her answer, and it only made her feel worse.

As Y/N immediately left the home, slamming the front door in the process…Daryl had the urge to follow her but the way his fists clenched and anger build up inside of him. He would make things worse if he acted with those emotions.

Why does me wondering where the fuck you are piss you off so much?

Cuz you don’t have to fucking know! I tell yea every time I’ll come back

Last time you didn’t! You lost your crossbow and your bike—-

For fucks sake Y/N just SHUT UP

Oh really Daryl—-

I’m not some dumb fucking kid that doesn’t know his way around in the world that ends up getting himself killed in the process. Next time trust my fucking word.

Seriously.

You seriously had to bring him up Y/N frowns as the tears continue to burn her face even after she left the community. Telling Sasha who was on watch that she needed a breather.

It’s been a couple hours since that fight and Daryl didn’t think much of it when she didn’t come home. Hopefully she’d be at Carol’s or hiding out somewhere in Alexandria until the heat between them cools down.

The archer instantly turns to the door when Carol came through with a confused look on her face.

“I thought…uhm.”

“What?”

“Y/N…I thought she’d be with you…” Carol frowns before narrowing her attention on the man that suddenly revealed a more guilty expression. “What did you do, Dixon?”

“Seriously? Dixon now?” Oh he’s going to be in the dog house for a while.

“Y/N was supposed to help me with something and she didn’t turn up. It’s been hours, Dar. I know she doesn’t just disappear without a good reason, even if said good reason is actually a bad one”

“We got into a fight. Real bad one” The guiltless written itself on his face as he rises from the table. “Gonna ask Rick if he’s seen her”

“We’re not done” Carol glares at Daryl wanting to know more about this fight. “I’ll check with the people on watch. See if they’ve seen her”

Once the two separated, the anxiety started to eat at Daryl the more people he talked to. He checked with Rick and he didn’t see her since before they fought, so that was too early in the day. Carol asked the current watch person, Rosita if she’s seen Y/N and that was a no. Which led to her asking the previous person on watch, Sasha, who hasn’t seen her since she let her out.

“Anythin’?” Daryl met back up with Carol at the infirmary after she had asked Denise for any Y/N sightings but shook her head. “Fuck!”

“The fuck did you say to Y/N that made her leave like this?!”

“I already know it’s my goddamn fault Carol. Why must I—-“

“Because she could be doing a whole lot more than stepping out for some air”

That planted exactly what Carol implied in Daryl’s head. Which led to his anger being directed at himself as he tried not to shut down right in front of her. It was so hard to say—-

“I blamed her for her brother dyin’. When we all know he joined the wrong side and got himself killed.” Daryl frowns watching his best friend’s expression darken in anger as he started to avoid her eye contact. “All because she wants to know where I’m at”

“…You’re messing with me. You fought because she cares—-“

“Carol—-“

“SHE CARES ABOUT YOUR FUCKING DUMBASS BECAUSE YOU ARE RECKLESS AND THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH EVERYTHING WITHOUT ANYONE BATTING AN EYE” Carol snaps, regretting the flinch to pulled out of Daryl but it needed to be drawn out of him. “Her brother was reckless and she cared deeply about him. When she lost him because of the Governor’s manipulation and the first fight at the prison, we almost lost her. So when you tell her that she needs to back off about wondering where you are…after you got your bike and crossbow stolen…after you went missing for days…you’re the fucking asshole that should’ve watched his mouth”

“…What are we going to do Carol?”

“For right now, we are taking this as she needs a breather” Carol states. “If she doesn’t come back tomorrow…we’ll discuss our next option with Rick involved”

Daryl didn’t like the waiting and hated every second of it. His glooming form on the porch of the Grimes’ residence worried everyone and drew a few questions that Carol ultimately answered.

“I’m gonna go check on the snares outside” Rick tells Daryl as that triggered a thought in his mind making him get up and follow the man.

But when they reached the gates, he stopped him.

“What. Can’t go?”

“No, yea can’t. You’ve been squirrel-y” Rick scoffs.

“Y/N still ain’t back”

“From what Carol told me, you said some dumb fucking shit” He hissed, resting his hands on his hips the way he does. “You ain’t in the right head space to go on any sound searches without destroying whatever is in your way”

“Can’t I still just help with the snar—-“

“Nope!” Rick laughs on his way out of the gates after Eugene opened them for him.

Eugene looks deep into Daryl’s soul, or at least he always looks like that. It made Daryl uncomfortable enough to leave the gates heading back to the houses.

“Works every goddamn time” Eugene knew if he made the man uncomfortable that he wouldn’t try and sneak passed him.

Not like he thought about trying, but both Carol and Rick were on top of it. Telling their close family to keep an eye on the archer to avoid him from leaving the walls.

The late afternoon came around and Carol had talked to Rick and Michonne about searching for Y/N and kept Daryl out of it. But he lingered on the porch until he was informed.

“We’ll plan somethin’ in the morning. For now, the most yea can be is on watch” Rick tells Daryl as the two walked to the gates, mainly for the retired sheriff to make sure the archer didn’t get any ideas.

So the stubborn man stood in the watch post staring out into the dead forest not hearing anything. Then the smallest twig snapped and he readied the rifle he had aiming into the sound not seeing much of what it could be given the dark.

It’s just a walker Daryl thought watching the unknown form human-like stumble toward the gates and to the cars they had spikes on. Thinking it was dumb enough to impale itself, but his attention hasn’t left the person seeing them miss the spikes entirely.

The body slumped against the car with spikes only on the trunk, they slowly descended to the ground propped against this stilled vehicle.

Then it triggered Daryl.

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking GOD!” Daryl yells, making his way out of the post as his yell caught the attention of the nearest people. In this case Abraham and Maggie.

Abraham got the gates open with Daryl as he forced his way through while Maggie followed behind him with her weapon in case of walkers. Then she saw it for herself.

“Oh god. Y/N!” Maggie yells running over to her aid with Daryl as she was falling into an unconscious state the more she stilled. “Abraham! Get Denise and the gurney!”

All the archer heard was white noise…

Her head is bleeding…

She’s bruised everywhere…

Her right side is soaked with blood…

She was limping, she must’ve sprained or broken her ankle…

She’s…broken

A mess…

And it’s all my fault Daryl frowns trying not to let the tears spill but they did as he carried her body onto the gurney that Abraham and Denise brought out with more witnesses around.

The man was covered in her blood while he waited outside the infirmary in a frozen state with Glenn on one side of him rubbing circles on his back and Carol in front of him trying to get anything out of him that she might of said. But she passed out quickly…

“She’s going to be okay” Glenn states, about two hours later after checking on Y/N himself once Denise stepped out after she finished.

Daryl felt the tears come on strong as he held his head between his legs feeling like a beaten puppy. He fell apart and Glenn stuck with him the entire time even when Maggie came out after cleaning up telling him he was going back to the house. He stayed with his friend until Michonne came later with a change of clothes for both Daryl and Y/N. Giving him his clothes and going inside to help Denise during her hourly check to get Y/N sort of comfortable and not exposed.

The archer didn’t come into the infirmary until five days later…he was instructed for his mentality and for Y/N’s infection probability. She needed a least a day or two after having to insert a chest tube and also removing it once it did it’s job.

Daryl sat by her side noticing the bandage on her temple, the ace bandages around her torso, and her ankle also wrapped yet elevated. She had a few bandages scattered for small cuts and then obvious bruises. He tried once again not to cry, regretting everything he had said to her that led to her leaving and returning like this. He held her hand carefully, feeling his chest tighten at every negative thought.

Her wince startled him as he was going to release her hand when she squeezed his tightly.

“Ouch” Y/N groans trying to take a deep breath as Daryl carefully rises from his seat to look her in the eye when she tiredly opened hers. “Hey…”

“Hey…I’m so so sorry…” He broke once more as the tears roll off his cheeks seeing her go to a calm expression for someone as hurt as she was. “I should’ve never said that about your brother…never should’ve compared shit or say you shouldn’t worry about me…I—-“

“I’m really…really exhausted, love.” Y/N pouts feeling tears of her own spill. “You can’t yell at me like that again. You…you can’t question my f-fucking worry EVER!” She snaps that last part resulting in a painful wince to escape her as she held her side with her left hand. “…you mean so much to me that I…I can’t lose you”

“I can’t lose you either, sunshine.” Daryl brushes the hair out of her face, gently wiping away her tears still having his own. “I’m so fucking sorry I was an asshole…you’re my everything and it took long for my sake to get my head out of my ass”

“…please don’t leave me”

“I’m right here, I’m right here” Daryl gently rests his forehead against hers, still holding her hand as his anxiety still ate him alive.

Once she got cleared to recover in her own bed, Daryl never left her side again. Even when Rick came in a few times to ask what happened to her even if it was all a blur. One time he asked, Y/N had to reassure Daryl that what happened to her wasn’t his fault. She should’ve went out armed and shouldn’t have gone far as she did. The most she remembered was running into trouble and not knowing who the individuals were that hurt her.

“I’ve got watch this morning…” Daryl whispers to her after she was well enough for him to join her in the bed. Even if he was afraid to touch her.

“Don’t wanna piss off Rick” Y/N whispers back keeping her eyes closed given how early it was. “Come back soon though?” She turned her head toward him opening her eyes looking into his gorgeous blues.

“I don’t wanna go.” He frowns seeing her struggle to turn toward him as he tried to stop her but his hand got smacked away.

“I won’t disappear if you leave. Just come back once you’re done” Y/N leans into him pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose before getting comfortable again, watching the archer get out of the bed helping her sit up once more to put his pillow with hers.

The archer then fixed the blankets over her, got her ankle elevated again on a decorative pillow he took from the couch downstairs, and checked her bandages before kissing her forehead and getting dressed.

“Hey” Daryl stops at the door to her voice seeing that smile of hers that he missed.

“Yeah?”

“Be safe today, okay?”

“I promise, sunshine”

[txrasbae]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION

⋆·˚ ༘ *pairing⋆·˚ ༘ *- tara chamblerxfem!reader

‧₊˚ ⋅warnings* ‧₊ - none

*ੈ✩word count ‧₊˚ - 1,563

୨୧A/N - thank you to the server for forcing me to write this I'm actually very proud of it :3

my first idea of love was terrible. the first time i thought i knew what love was and how it should be, it was torn in half. only months before the apocalypse started, my parents got into a fight.

they always fought and i was used to the yelling. hell, i was even used to how aggressive my dad got. not this time. i couldn't do it anymore. it ended up with my parents getting a divorce.

all because i couldn't keep my mouth shut and my feelings inside.

ever since then, i swore to myself and to the future people I'd meet that i would never try to love someone or let anyone love me. they say you're parents are the draft for how you grow up to be. i didn't want to roll with that so i never fell in love. if i felt like i was going to? i'd just leave. cut whatever person i felt feelings for out.

then the breakout began, cities being taken out within the hour, buildings burning down from the mass bombing. both of my parents died quickly. my mom was taken out by a walker while we tried to make it back to my dad's place. i got there alone, only to find his rotting corpse.

to this day, all of it still feels like my fault. maybe if they weren't hating each other because of how stressed their fighting made me. maybe then they'd still be living together. maybe they would have little secret safety spots that they came up with together that we all could've hid out in. but no. it's not like that. now, i was sitting outside of a gated community. in this world, it felt like i was dreaming when they let me in. houses, baths, food, and even cattle. it was all real. after a couple of days of people warming up to me, i finally got my own home to live in.

so far i was only getting close with two people from the community, a man named glenn and a girl named tara. everyone else was just acquaintances.

glenn was caring, and extremely protective. i saw him as a brother but not the kind where he's always looking after me. he supported me and my decisions.

tara.

tara had the softest brown eyes. almost all of the time, her resting face was still so kind. she made me laugh all the time. her hair was growing long after i had been there for so long. she let me trim it sometimes which turned into me completely styling her hair in the silliest ways possible. i had even found some makeup in the drawers in my house and decided that tara would be a good model for me. anytime that i wasn't helping around the community i was with tara. she loved lightning moments when she could. she loves fist bumps and thinks they are a simple way of showing friendship. she loves having her hair up but lets it down around me. she prefers baggy clothing because it's not touching her skin as aggressively and skin-tight clothes. she likes the feeling when i sit over her lap while i draw on small hearts next to her eyes with eyeliner. "you should try it on both sides this time babe." she says with that same small giggle between every other word. i tilt my head to the side a bit before lifting my hand to hold onto her chin and turn it to the left.

i draw another heart and she smiles. her eyes were locked on mine and mine were staring at the crease of her eye. when i looked back to her pupils, they widened. expanded as if she were under the influence. both of our eyelids flutter a bit before i can't even think anymore because our lips are pressed together, melting against each other. it felt nice in the moment but my head started finding its track again and i stood up quickly. i was falling in love again.

every day, i would think about tara. her doe-like eyes. her pillowy pink lips. her hair. dry or when she comes out of the shower and puts on one of my t-shirts instead of hers. how couldn't i tell that i actually loved her? how did my brain not process that for so long?

i panicked in place for a second before rushing out of the room, leaving tara dumbfounded. she sat on the bed in silent confusion, now sat up with her arms supporting her as she stood up.

the bathroom door slammed shut as i stepped inside. at first, i tried to take deep breaths and shake away this dreading feeling of love but it didn't work. i just kept imagining her face and how nice her lips felt against mine. it was all too perfect and that was the exact issue. i was going to fall in love then it would be taken away from me in a blink of an eye. my back was pressed against the bathroom wall while i had my head in my hands. i quietly cursed at myself for letting this happen but quickly jumped at the soft knock from tara.

"y/n? you in there?" she totally knew i was in there. but that's how tara is, she's kind, compassionate, understanding, and patient.

i swallow a large lump in my throat and begin to speak. "yeah."

"could i...come in?" she said through the door, her voice slightly muffled but i could hear the affection and need in her words.

a long sigh left my mouth when i thought about her question. she stayed sitting outside of the door as i contemplated letting her in. it could lead to so many different things. i could confess my feelings for her and she would say that she felt the same. or i could confess and she could feel the complete opposite and all of my precautions and overthinking would be right.

i open the door with a small creak. i could see the saddened look in her eyes when she saw that i had been crying. she was the only person that had ever seen me cry like this. all she did was look at me with a caring expression. the corners of her lips were tugged down a bit and her eyes and eyebrows were dropped down.

"i know." she breathed out with a small huff. i snapped my head up from my gaze on the floor and met her eyes but i was still silent.

"i've known. when you first did my hair i could see it in your eyes." my eyes flutter a bit, a look of disbelief painted all over my face.

"you don't even have to say anything okay? i just know and i also know that i want more with you. i want more than little sleepovers as if we're kids. i want more than you doing my makeup. i want more than taking the mornings to ourselves to clean up the horse stables i want more than this. i just..." she takes in a large breath and lets it out while staring up at the ceiling. she then brought her head back down to look at me while small tears fell from my eyes.

"i want you."

part of me couldn't even process the words leaving her mouth. another part of me wanted to run away from this horrid feeling. this terrible terrible moment where i realized that this was it. then that last third part of me wanted to smash my lips against tara's. but i just stood and stared at her with pure worry in my eyes. imagine it was all a joke and she was fucking with my feelings.

of course, she wasn't.

"please say anythi-"

for the first time ever, i quickly wrapped my hands around the back of her head and pressed our lips together without tugging away to run. not a rushed kiss or a hungry kiss. just a kiss. a long one. i felt a small breath leave her lips, probably a gasp but my brain was fogged over so i couldn't tell. all i knew was that i couldn't go back after this. her hands linked together behind the small of my back and pulled my hips closer to hers, not for a second did she let our lips slip away from each other. we ended up stumbling all the way from the bathroom back to her room. she laid back down on her bed with me on her lap. her hands still held onto my waist while i wrapped mine around the very back of her neck. our lips sunk into each other like puzzle pieces. i could taste some sort of fruit juice on her lips.

eventually, her hands found their way into my hair. the sensation of her fingertips and slightly long nails against my scalp sent a chill up my back.

my throat and lungs were telling me to pull away to catch my breath but my hands, feeling her soft skin, said to stay. my nose, gently tapping right beneath her eye socket, said to stay. my hips, sat on top of hers without fear, said to stay. my entire body told me to stay. then tara pulled away.

"are you gonna stay?"

tags - @carlsangel @crxssbowcarl @aurasplanet @hiro--aoki @rositastara @deadgirlwalkingx

[oneshotnewbie]

how are you??

i was looking at your list and saw that you write for the walking dead and was wondering if you’d be willing to do a request on it for me? thank you!!

so it’s basically maggie greene (rhee) x teen!reader where reader is like a daughter or a younger sister to her. it’s nothing special or major, but maybe just a cute little story where reader gets sick or hurt and maggie takes care of her and is all motherly/big sister-like with reader?

also reader’s carl’s age, so i think about fourteen then? again, you can change the age if you need to, i don’t mind!

- 🍄 anon

Authors note: Hey, sweet mushroom. I am doing okay so far, I hope you are doing great! At the same time, I hope you like this little story ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The world was a shadowy landscape of ruined buildings, deserted streets and the faint echoes of past civilization. The earth, once vibrant with life, now lay in the grip of a post-apocalyptic silence.

In the middle of this desolate scenario, between rusty walls, lived Maggie with her small "family" - a group of survivors who had come together to survive in this unnatural world. Among them you, whose real name had long been lost in the turmoil of time.

It was the icy wind of a wintry morning that intensified the already bitter cold of the Forsaken Land as an ominous cough snaked its way through the silence of the house. Maggie sensed the icy breath of sickness beginning to spread through the ranks of the community. You, who had previously been a steadfast and indestructible pillar of the group, were among those affected and woke up with a feverish chill.

The symptoms appeared quickly: fever, chills and an exhausted look that bore the marks of suffering. But Maggie, a woman with an aura of determination and keen eye for your needs, recognized the gravity of your situation. Your body heavy, limbs aching, and eyes bloodshot from the fever that burned within you like a raging fire. "Hey, how are you feeling today kiddo?"

"Mags, I feel like I've been torn apart by a pack of wild dogs," you whispered, every movement making your body tremble as the older one approached your bed. Your voice, a faint breath in the gloomy silence, betrayed the exhaustion and weakness that the illness brought with it.

She sat down in an empty spot on your bed and gently placed a hand on your forehead. "You're literally burning. I have to see what I can find to help you. Otherwise the fever will kill you," she spoke with a look that told stories of loss and will to survive as her inner turmoil filled the air. "You want to leave me?"

"Just to get you and the others medicine,“ The group had hardly any remedies left to fight the disease. Medicines were in short supply, and the improvised teas offered no protection against the creeping germs. The post-apocalyptic world was not forgiving, and illnesses often became inescapable judgments. But the woman in front of you refused to just abandon you to your fate. Her connection to you was deeper than anyone else's. You had become like a little sister to her, someone she wanted and even needed to protect and support. "Carol will stay with you for the time I'm gone and take care of you. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. I promise."

With one last goodbye kiss, she left you in bed and set off with Daryl to do everything they could to bring you relief while, without her, time blurred into an endless succession of feverish hours and cough-ragged days.

The sun had long since hidden behind the toxic clouds in the sky when the search for medicine became a fight for survival in the shattered ruins of the buildings. The footsteps on broken glass and the constant gusts of wind blowing through the dilapidated shutters seemed to underscore the urgency of the mission.

She searched for medication in numerous abandoned pharmacies and barricaded doctor's offices. Her hands, battered by the cold and the endless digging through rubble, searched for the glimmer of hope amid the devastation until she finally came across locked cupboards, the only contents of which were a few bottles, expired medication and a few blankets. Maggie wasn't discouraged and took everything she could find. With a tenacity driven by her love for you, she returned to make use of what little she had found.

"Here, take this, sweetheart," she said, handing you a handful of expired medication. "It's not much, but it should at least bring down the fever a little." You smiled weakly and accepted the pills gratefully, barely getting into a sitting position. "Thanks. I don't know how I would do this without you."

She waved it off as if it were obvious. "In these times, we need to stick together. No one should wander alone in the dark. Especially not you," she helped you take the pills and then spread an extra blanket over you. "You're like my little sister, y/n. If something happened to you- I would never be happy again."

Over the next few days, your bedroom became a kind of makeshift hospital room and she began to care for you with a mix of old survival instincts and an unwavering caring nature. Blankets and hot water bottles became weapons in her fight against the invisible threat that took over your body.

The wind howled around the corners and an icy storm raged outside as the brunette spent the next few days cooking soups that she laced with fever-reducing drugs. She woke up by your side nightly, placing wet towels on your hot forehead and whispering soothing words into the darkness while you slept. The nights were long and quiet, interrupted only by the patients' wheezing and the crackling of their movements.

The group watched as the woman, who otherwise seemed so stoic and aloof, cared for you tenderly and self-sacrificingly. The others, who otherwise only knew the harsh reality of everyday life, witnessed a love between strangers that became family and that was more precious than any resource in these times.

Time crawled by and the disease tried to tighten its ugly claws. But Maggie's care and love proved to be powerful weapons. You fought against the disease, strengthened by their tireless help and solidarity support.

You lay weak, but your eyes still sparkled with life. In the quiet moments between feverish bouts, you and Maggie found time to talk quietly. "You have to stay strong, y/n. The world may have fallen apart, but we can't let it break us," she spoke as she cooled your forehead.

You smiled weakly, your eyes glassy with tiredness. "You're like a mother to me, Mags. I really can't imagine what it would be like without you."

Maggie just sighed quietly. "You are my family. I can't imagine what it would be like without you either."

The days passed and the illness slowly faded away like the side after a storm. You struggled back to your feet, strengthened by her unwavering belief in survival. The post-apocalyptic world may have been one of destruction and loss, but in this small corner of reality, humanity shone in its purest form, igniting a flame of hope for every survivor who walked the streets of Alexandria.

[randomperson99sworld]

Hope

~ Chapter 33 ~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmothers spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, will he ever? Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warning: Age gap, slow burn, SMUT finally lol, language, gore.

Word Count: 1,323

A/N: This is the only chapter I’m going to be able to do today more than likely. I have a very busy day today so I hope this chapter makes up for that lol The smut will get better tho I promise lol. Happy reading! ♥️

The drive back to Natalie's place was filled with quiet conversation and comfortable silences. The night had been unexpected in the best way, and for the first time in a while, Natalie felt lighter. As Dean parked outside her house, she turned to him, giving him that small smile that made his chest tighten just a little.

"You should stay," Natalie said as they got out of the car, "at least until I make some brownies.” Her smile widened into something playful.

Dean raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "You really think brownies are going to convince me to stick around?"

Natalie's laugh was soft but genuine. "Maybe not, but I have a feeling you'll stay anyway."

Dean couldn't help but chuckle. She wasn't wrong. Something about being around her made it harder to leave, and he'd do just about anything to see her smile like that again.

Natalie perched on the counter, her legs dangling as she stirred the brownie batter in a bowl. She was short—something Dean had always found adorable. Her feet kicked playfully as she mixed, and Dean leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a quiet smile.

She caught him staring and looked up, flashing him that bright smile again. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight," she said, her voice soft but sincere. "I was rotting away like a potato."

Dean pushed off the doorway, moving closer, his smirk still in place. "Yeah, well, someone had to make sure you didn't drink too much."

Natalie's laugh rang out, and it was warm, full of a shared memory from months ago. "I remember that," she said, grinning. "I wasn't that bad."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You called me your bestie in front of the bartender."

Natalie chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Okay, maybe I was that bad."

Dean moved closer, now standing directly in front of her. Their faces were inches apart, and the air between them seemed to thicken with something neither of them had acknowledged out loud until now.

"Anyways," Natalie continued, her voice a little quieter now, "I'm glad that someone was you."

Dean looked down at her, his smirk fading into something softer, something real. "Yeah, me too," he said, his voice lower, more serious.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. The space between them felt charged, like every unspoken word, every lingering glance over the past few months had led to this moment. Something shifted, something changed, and they both felt it.

Dean's eyes flickered down to her lips, and he moved closer, testing the waters, closing the gap between them. When his lips brushed against hers, it was soft at first—slow, careful. He waited for her to pull back, to hesitate. But she didn't.

Instead, Natalie responded, kissing him back, deepening the kiss as if all the tension that had been building between them finally broke loose. The air around them became electric as the kiss grew more intense, more hungry. It was as if the walls they'd both kept up for so long were suddenly gone, and all that was left was the desire that had been simmering between them for months.

Dean's hands found her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the counter, and Natalie instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. The intensity between them skyrocketed, and neither of them wanted to stop. He carried her down the hall, not breaking the kiss for a second, and the world around them seemed to blur.

He paused at the bedroom door, breaking the kiss just long enough to ask, his voice breathless, "Are you sure?"

Natalie answered him with another kiss, her hands gripping the back of his neck, pulling him closer. That was all the confirmation Dean needed.

What followed was a release of everything that had been simmering between them for so long—rough, passionate, raw. Clothes started coming off in a flurry of urgency, hands fumbling with buttons and fabric as they moved together toward the bed. Dean’s shirt was the first to hit the floor, followed by Natalie’s, and then the rest followed quickly after. There was no hesitation anymore, just need. Every single touch, every kiss was filled with a hunger neither of them could deny any longer.

Dean's hands roamed over her body as they tumbled onto the bed, his lips trailing down her neck, her skin hot under his touch. There was no holding back now, no pretense.

Dean pressed her down onto the mattress, his eyes dark with want as he hovered over her. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve as though he’d been waiting to do this for a lifetime. Natalie arched her back into his touch, her breath hitching as his fingers brushed against her sensitive skin.

He didn’t waste any more time. With a groan, he positioned himself over her, and in one smooth motion, he thrust into her, filling her completely. A gasp escaped her lips as she clutched onto him, her nails digging into his back. He paused for just a second, savoring the feeling of being inside her, before he began to move, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

The room filled with the sound of their bodies moving together, skin against skin, accompanied by the occasional moan or gasp. Dean was relentless, the tension that had been building between them for so long now exploding in a frenzy of passion. He was rough yet passionate, and Natalie met him every step of the way, urging him on with each breathless moan, each whispered plea for more.

Their movements became frantic, driven by the months of pent-up desire and unspoken feelings. Dean buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips grazing her skin as he panted against her. “God, you’re so tight,” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Natalie’s response was a soft moan, her body trembling beneath him as she clung to him, matching his rhythm. Every thrust drove her closer to the edge, the pleasure building inside her like a storm ready to break.

“Dean,” she gasped, her voice barely audible as she felt herself teetering on the brink of release. “I’m so close.”

He heard the urgency in her voice and responded by quickening his pace, driving into her harder, deeper, until neither of them could hold back any longer.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her in a flood of sensation. She cried out his name, her body shaking beneath him as she came apart in his arms. Dean followed moments later, his release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside her one last time, his body tensing before finally relaxing in the aftermath.

It wasn't just about the release—it was about them, about finding comfort in each other when they needed it the most.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, their breathing still heavy, the room quiet except for the sound of their heartbeats. Natalie rested her head against Dean's chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt... right.

Dean held her close, his hand absentmindedly brushing through her hair. Neither of them said anything, but they didn't need to. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that they had crossed a line tonight—one they weren't sure how to step back from.

But maybe... they didn't want to.

Dean pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his heart still racing but for different reasons now. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected any of it. But now that it had happened, he wasn't sure if he could go back to the way things were before.

As Natalie nestled closer against him, Dean knew one thing for sure.

Whatever happened next, he wasn't going anywhere.

[mayblossomss]

Whumptober Day 26: Nightmares

Glancing around the old, dusty church, Ponyboy was struck with an odd sense of familiarity, as though he'd been there before. Of course, that wasn't possible, the last time Pony had set foot in a church was when Steve had dropped a hymn book in the middle of a sermon and Two-Bit waved at the people who turned in their seats to glare.

So, this church shouldn't seem familiar, but for some reason, it made him think of something, like a buried memory of sorts. Shrugging it off, he slowly stepped through the church, an odd urge in the back of his mind telling him to call for Johnny. Was that why he was there: to look for Johnny? Pony couldn't seem to remember what he was doing there in the first place, so maybe.

"Johnny!" His voice echoed through the vacant building, carrying his cry through each room. "Johnnycakes?"

When his friend didn't respond, Ponyboy decided to call for his other friend. "Dally? Dal, are you here?" He didn't know why, but he could feel them, as though they were hiding just around the corner from him. Why would they do that?

All that answered him was his own repeating voice, so Ponyboy continued shuffling through the church, brushing spiderweb after spiderweb off of him as he carried on. Shards of glass and old cigarettes crunched beneath his old Converse with each step he took.

Nearing a large window which reflected a bright light into his eyes, Pony squinted and tried adjusting to the brightness. When he couldn't, he stumbled into the nearest room and sighed, rubbing his eyes and blinking away the shapes in his vision.

In front of him, with his back facing Ponyboy, was a boy clad in a madras top and tight-fighting pants. At once, Pony recognized him as Bob Sheldon, the world's biggest asshole. Clearing his throat, Ponyboy shifted from foot-to-foot, waiting for him to turn around and face him.

Slowly, Bob's turned his body toward Ponyboy, and all of the air left his lungs in a strangled gasp. Bob's madras top was stained with blood, a switchblade protruding from his side. The red liquid seeped from his lips as they twisted into a cocky grin.

"Get away from me," Ponyboy choked out, taking a shaky step away from Bob as he remembered the fountain. "You-- You're supposed to be dead!"

Bob laughed, dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "You think I'd rest after you killed me?"

"I didn't kill..." Pony's hands clenched into fists as fear overtook him. Why was he seeing a dead-boy-walking? "It's not my fault."

"It is your fault, grease," he sneered, striding forward and backing Ponyboy against the wall. "Everything's your fault. How can you live with yourself knowing you took my life away?"

"It wasn't me!"

"I had a family. Two parents who no longer have a son thanks to you."

Ponyboy tilted his head back to avoid Bob's warm, alcohol-tinted breath. He couldn't stop himself from shaking, and when a drop of hot, red blood fell onto his clothes, he winced. "Leave me alone."

"I'll never leave you alone, greaser. Not until you're as dead as I am--"

"You're not real!" Ponyboy shouted, pushing the boy away from him and shielding his face to prevent himself from seeing him anymore. When he peeked out from between his fingers, he let out a sigh of relief, realizing that Bob was nowhere to be seen.

Just as he let himself feel safe again, Ponyboy got a whiff of something that made his body go rigid with panic. Smoke. Why his body reacted so negatively to the burning smell seemed odd to Pony, but he pushed it down and scrambled to find an exit.

He rushed through the building before coming to a halt, eyes widening. Taking a slow step closer, Ponyboy spoke warmly, a smile on his face. "Johnny?"

Johnny didn't react for a moment, standing with his back to him as Bob had previously. Slowly, he turned his head around to face Ponyboy, revealing a copious amount of burn marks ranging from his head to his arms. Ponyboy let out a shaky gasp, eyes widening in horror at the sight. Why was Johnny covered in burns? What happened and why did he feel overwhelmingly guilty?

"Johnny! Golly, what happened?!"

He didn't respond for a moment, before slowly, and hoarsely, saying, "You did this to me."

"What?"

"You're the reason I got burned!" Johnny snapped, his voice carried by such an intense anger that Ponyboy had never heard from him before. "I'm dead because of you!"

Why was everyone saying that? Ponyboy's heart ached at the thought of his best friend blaming him. "No, no, this isn't real. You're not real!"

"He is," A gruff voice said from behind Pony, and even though he didn't want to, he turned around to face Dallas. He looked as dead as the others did, and walked toward Ponyboy as though he didn't have bullet holes in his chest. "It's all real, Ponyboy."

Ponyboy shook his head, stepping to the side to avoid the both of them. Tears pricked his eyes, but it was unclear if they were caused by his emotions or the rising smoke consuming them. "I'm sorry."

"It's too late to be sorry," Dallas mocked, sneering at him cruelly. "You made your choice, and ultimately killed us."

"I didn't ask for this!" Ponyboy defended, quivering as the internalized guilt he felt was finally being expressed. "It's... It isn't my fault!"

Johnny scoffed, dark eyes narrowing with distaste. "It is. It's useless to deny it."

Ponyboy fell backward, twisting his ankle as he tripped over an oddly placed plank. He cried out, looking down at his ankle, before glancing up at his friends. They looked down at him apathetically, save for hints of contempt.

"You should've died instead of Johnny," Dallas grunted, kicking gravel at him.

Johnny sighed, a twisted look of regret in his eyes. "I should've let Bob drown you."

Ponyboy shook his head, bringing his knees to his chest. "You don't mean that!"

"We do," They hummed, cold stares unyielding. "It's all your fault."

"No!" Ponyboy protested, his voice weak with defeat. Their voices, no matter how hard he tried to block them out with his hands, chanted loudly around him, forcing him to face his guilt. The fire grew hotter around him, melting his skin and forcing his lungs to tighten. The last thing he registered were the distant cries of children before someone was shaking him awake.

"Ponyboy!" The person shaking him shouted, switching to cup his face. "Pony, it's just a dream! Wake up!"

Pony's eyes blinked open, disoriented and teary as he took in his surroundings. He wasn't in that church, but his bed, naturally. He could never have been inside that church since it was now nothing more than a pile of burnt logs and ash. It's silly how your mind can make you forget even the simplest of facts while you're dreaming.

Looking up, he saw Darry and Soda staring down at him, eyes round with fear. Darry had his hands cupped around his cheeks while Soda stood behind him, a bit shaken.

"Are you okay?" Darry questioned, relaxing his grasp on his brother.

"I'm okay, just a bad dream," Ponyboy responded dryly, the taste of smoke still on his tongue. "What happened?"

"You were screaming bloody murder," Sodapop chimed in, brown eyes shimmering with distress. "Kept muttering stuff too."

Ponyboy wanted to pry for exactly what he had said, but decided maybe it was better not to acknowledge it. He wiped his damp eyes, sniffled, and adjusted so that he was no longer being held by Darry, but rather lying down against his pillow again. "Well, I'm fine now."

"Are... you sure?" Darry asked slowly, sharing a concerned look with Soda. He hummed, so Darry sighed and sat up, scratching the stubble growing on his chin. "Okay, then, if you say so."

Soda sat down beside him, smiling and brushing Pony's hair from his eyes. "Try getting some more sleep. No more bad dreams tonight, got it?"

Ponyboy nodded, closing his eyes and letting sleep take him once again. He knew that in the morning, his brothers would likely be expecting him to tell them what he was dreaming about, but he'd simply pull the "I can't remember" card. It's worked before, it will work again.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi Cat. I’m in need of Hero who doesn’t have guts to get rid of Villain, even though Villain would accomplish the very same task just well. So instead of a quick “happy end” Hero dooms themselves to emotional suffering and with that dooms Villain to humiliation and pain. Though, maybe, it can be changed…

The villain’s smile was soft.

“You haven’t changed one bit.”

And the hero, tears in their eyes, shaking hands gripping the gun desperately, tried their best not to sob. But it didn’t really matter. Both of them looked like a mess and the hero’s body language betrayed them, no matter how hard they tried to focus on this.

“You’re still the same scared kid,” the villain said. “So scared of what they’ll think. Monster. That’s what they’ll call you and you know it. The same name they gave to me all those years ago.”

Even though the tears were strolling down their cheeks, the hero refused to believe that they were actually crying. This wasn’t real. This was a bad dream.

But the blood on the villain’s chin, the cracked shoulders and the hero’s sprained ankles were real. All of this was so painfully, horribly real.

“I hate you,” the hero whispered, trying to convince themselves that this was just another day at work and above all, that they meant those words with their heart.

“Then shoot. Do it.” The villain seemed to be just as tired as the hero themselves. Fighting for a whole night was a bit more than strenuous and now that the sun was rising, the exhaustion washed over them like hard winter rain.

“Why didn’t you stay?” the hero asked. Their voice quivered, making them feel weak for the first time in their life.

They thought they were fine. They thought they could live with the things the villain had done to them, they thought they could move on. But they couldn’t.

In fear of seeing them, they’d gotten rid of their phone, thrown away their TV, smashed their radio. The hero had no clue what was going on in the world and all of that was just because they couldn’t stand to see the villain. Couldn’t stand to hear about what they were destroying now. Which hero they took a liking to.

They explicitly avoided fighting them.

And it was fine. It was good. Until the villain decided to build weapons of mass destruction and sell them.

“There was nothing left for me,” the villain said. They groaned as they tried to stabilise their shoulder clumsily. Funny, how both of them had the same wounds. After all these years, they still knew each other’s weak points and how to turn their strengths against each other.

“I was there,” the hero said. “I was always on your side. I knew you didn’t murder them. Why did you leave me?”

Slowly, the villain pushed themselves up and the pointed gun followed their movements shakily. Again, there was a smile on the villain’s lips. A small smile that was somewhere between regret and happiness.

“The difference between you and me, my dear, is that I don’t need you. I don’t want you anymore. I let go of our past a long time ago.” The hero wanted to sob. They wanted to hug the villain and apologise for their mistakes. They wanted to talk to them and tell them about their fears and their accomplishments, their day and their night. They wanted them back in their life oh so badly but when they looked into the villain’s eyes, there was not even a spark of those feelings inside.

“I’m sorry,” the hero said, not able to hold back the tears.

“That doesn’t change anything,” the villain said. “I loved you and when I needed you, you weren’t there for me. You may think you were, you may think you offered your help and that I was the one who didn’t come to you. But I noticed your growing resentment towards me. I noticed how you talked about me with others. So, I left.”

“I’m really sorry,” the hero said.

“I don’t care,” the villain answered. “I got out of the burning house soon enough. But you’re still in it and the fire is eating you up.”

This time, the villain’s smile was a bit cruel.

“And personally, I cannot wait to see your ashes scatter in the wind.”

[sitp-recs]

HI Liv, when you have time, could you please recommend fanfics that have the dynamic of Draco not knowing how to deal with his feelings for Harry, moving away from him and self-sabotaging due to his traumas and then him and Harry making it work?I went through something like this recently and I think reading something like this will bring me emotional comfort. Thank you anyway. Take care and have a good week.

Hello friend! I hope you’re taking good care of yourself 💗🫂 of course, I personally find these very comforting so hopefully they will work for you. Sending love! Happy holidays xo

Pride by @writcraft (E, 9k)

Harry and Draco form an unlikely friendship after the war. Even as the friendship becomes more, Draco is quick to push Harry away before they become too deeply involved. As Harry fights to save an iconic wizarding pub and gay safe-haven from being closed down, circumstances force Draco to confront his true feelings head on.

What Real Thing? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 12k)

They don’t cuddle, they don’t talk about their relationship (or lack thereof) and they certainly never fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Thickets, Anonymous (E, 17k)

When Draco returns to the UK after two decades of building his career as an internationally-renowned artist to look after his ailing, estranged father, he crosses paths with his former flame, Harry Potter, in the most unexpected way.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Better To Burn Than To Fade Away by Ren (E, 23k)

Harry Potter is a legend in the world of broomstick racing. He's won almost every cup, trophy, and bowl – except for the historical London-Nome which has been on hiatus for the past several years. Now the London-Nome is starting again, and Harry will do anything to pull off one last big win.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man. God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold) by @dictacontrion (E, 31k)

Draco never expected to see Harry doing that again. Especially with someone else, in a grainy photograph that's landed on his desk one Monday morning.

Potential Gravity by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 32k)

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

All Roads by @korlaena (M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out. Draco doesn’t want to face the truth about himself, but he’s stuck between Harry and his duty, and he’s out of options.

(We'll Call This Fixer-Upper) Home by @phdmama (E, 52k)

Draco Malfoy hasn’t set foot on English soil in ten years. After the war, he fled to America, where he found himself in a community, and healed himself through following his heart into music. He’s now the lead singer and songwriter for an internationally known band, who have come back to headline the Wiltshire Music Festival. But as Draco is about to learn, his past isn’t as far away as he might have believed, and his future may hold more than he ever could have dreamed.

Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish (E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Dwelling on Dreams by @the-sinking-ship (E, 135k)

Draco thought he could avoid Potter for the duration of his brief return to England. He’d stick to his schedule and be back home in Paris, where he belonged, in a few short months. No trouble at all. He had plenty to occupy him, what with the opening of the London branch of his successful apothecary, his innovative research, drinks with Pansy, a backlog of unread potions periodicals.

[thegigilwriter]

10 | “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

Summary: 26-year-old Lucy Asa Mitchell did not know what was in store for her when she first bumped into Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. After an instant mutual connection followed by a sweet whirlwind romance that swept both their feet, Lucy found herself being immersed deeper into Bradley’s world of the Navy, F-14s, and deployments. What she didn’t expect was finding was the answer to an elusive part of her past — the identity of her long-lost father.

Masterlist

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, Drama, serious burns

10 | The Hard Deck 🍺

August 13, 2023

Penny

It was a bustling Friday night and Penny was wiping down the counter, when from the corner of her eye, Rooster had entered the vicinity clad in his usual Hawaiian shirt and swoon-evoking grin. She had anticipated the usual hollers that indicated his entrance, but what she didnʼt expect was the small woman whom his large hand was on the curve of her waist. She was beautiful: with smiling eyes, transcending wavy locks of mahogany hair, a glowing olive complexion, and a pleasant laugh. She had donned on a cute lacy eggshell-colored top, dark wash denim shorts, and knee high cowboy boots. Penny was amused as Rooster kissed her cheek in front of all his friends and held her hand.

She watched as this exuberant stranger light up the faces in front of her as they conversed. When Phoenix entered a few minutes later, she embraced this new girl so warmly, one would have thought they were friends for years. Penny slipped out her phone from her pocket and began texting her beau.

To: Pete ♥

Come down here, thereʼs something you might wanna see.

“So Lucy, what do you do?ˮ Javy ‘Coyoteʼ Machado asked her, learning on his billard pole. Bradley had gone to get their drinks from Penny, and Lucy was left in their company.

“Iʼm a marine biologist,ˮ she replied. “I work at Umi.ˮ

“That pretty building up the coast?ˮ Mickey ‘Fanboyʼ Garcia followed up, after a strike.

“The very one,ˮ Lucy smiled.

“Heard itʼs exclusive,ˮ Reuben ‘Paybackʼ Fitch remarked. “One of my friends applied there — real smart guy — he got denied though.ˮ

“It is competitive,ˮ Lucy hummed.

“Sheʼs being humble. Itʼs like the Top Gun of marine research centers,ˮ Nat chimed in, as she cupped Lucyʼs shoulder. “That makes Angel here one of us.ˮ

Lucy blushed.

“Thatʼs a pretty callsign,ˮ Javy smirked. “Did Rooster give you that?ˮ

“Rooster did what now?ˮ Jake had entered the conversation smoothly, meeting eyes with Lucy and throwing a wink in her direction.

“Itʼs you,ˮ Lucy narrowed her eyes.

“Well if it isnʼt my sendoff proxy,ˮ Jake smirked, popping a toothpick in his mouth. “Now what brings you here?ˮ

“You two know each other?ˮ Phoenix looked between them quizzically.

“Iʼd like to know that too actually,ˮ Bradley stepped in handing Lucy a beer and surrounding her shoulders with his arm.

“Hangman,ˮ he acknowledged. “You look... good.ˮ

“I am good Rooster, Iʼm very good, ˮ Jake chuckled, his gaze alternating between him and Lucy. “And it seems that so are you.ˮ

“Lucy here was kind enough to send me off the last time we met, Rooster thatʼs all…ˮ Jake chuckled. “Isnʼt that right darlinʼ?ˮ

“I take it you two know each other quite well?ˮ Lucy looked to Bradley.

“Hangman?ˮ Bradley took a swig of his beer. “He and I go way back.ˮ

“Lucy Mitchell, if youʼll allow me this one request, I am absolutely dying to know how you got into such good graces with his rascal that he lets you drive his Bronco,ˮ Jake drawled. “I swear, I have never seen a man so desperate for the end of a deployment like he was.ˮ

“Got lucky I guess,ˮ Lucy shrugged. “One day I was bumping into him by the docks, and here we are now.ˮ

“Such a sweet gal you have Bradshaw,ˮ Jake remarked. “Didnʼt think they were your type.ˮ

Phoenix suddenly looked alarmed, eyes darting quickly between Bradley and Jake as they stared each other down. To her surprise, Lucy was the one who spoke first.

“I like to think that Bradley doesnʼt have a ‘typeʼ per se, but with me? I think heʼs finally set some standards,ˮ Lucy said coolly. “Maybe you can use some so you wouldnʼt need a proxy sendoff next time?ˮ

Reuben spit out his beer in mid-chug, Javy guffawed, and Mickey was just rubbing it into Jake like salt into a wound. Nat was straight up laughing like a lunatic and Bradley was astounded — proud, but astounded.

“Best of luck to you Bradshaw,ˮ Jake sighed. “Sheʼs sweet and spicy.ˮ

“Have I ever told you, that youʼre amazing?ˮ Bradley whispered to the shell of her ear.

“Youʼve implied that several times, but Iʼd like to be rewarded.ˮ Lucy grinned cheekily.

“Whatever you want, baby.ˮ He replied to her quietly.

The night treaded on and Bradley and Nat eventually joined in the game of billiards. Bob, arriving a little later than expected, was later in deep conversation with Lucy about her the nature of her work and her research. Later, Jake challenged Lucy to a game of darts and he found that he had finally met his match — their competitive bout ending in a stalemate. Bradley watched Lucy among his friends as they laughed about something that Reuben had said. He smiled, just observing how well she adjusted into his kind of people. She looked right being with them. Being with her felt right.

“Your friends are really fun,ˮ she told him as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Thank you for bringing me here.ˮ

“Iʼm just glad you enjoyed yourself Angel,ˮ Bradley replied as he kissed her forehead sweetly. “Iʼm so happy you feel comfortable around my friends. Theyʼre good people...ˮ

“I mean… Jakeʼa kind of an asshole sometimes,ˮ he quickly added as Lucy giggled. “But youʼll get used to him.ˮ

“I donʼt know... I think heʼs just lonely,ˮ Lucy smiled. “I think he just needs someone, like I am to you.ˮ

“Only God can help him with that now,ˮ Bradley chuckled.

“Hey, do you want some water?ˮ She asked him. “Youʼre hitting it pretty hard... unless you want me to drive?ˮ

“Letʼs get one thing right Angel,ˮ Bradley grunted. “Youʼre my passenger princess as long as Iʼm here, okay?ˮ

“Okay,ˮ Lucy giggled.

“And yes,ˮ he said. “I would really like some water, thank you baby.ˮ

Lucy made a beeline for the bar and behind it, she asked the pretty woman with crow lines and a magnetic stare for Bradleyʼs glass of water and another bottle of beer for her. As the bartender set off to complete her request, Lucy felt someone occupy the empty seat she stood next to.

“Never seen you around here before,ˮ the stranger uttered, taking a sip from her glass. “Got a name?ˮ

As Lucy turned to reply, she beheld this beautiful woman with long jet-black hair curled like a princess with strikingly green eyes. Her makeup was flawless, her perfume confidently exuding, and her nails well-maintained. Even in khakis, one could guess that she must have a perfect body — one that even models envy.

“Lucy,ˮ she told her, still gaping at her ethereal appearance.

“Aisling Akerman,ˮ the woman nodded, eyes grazing Lucy from head-to-toe. “But my callsignʼs Nova.ˮ

“Itʼs nice to meet you Nova,ˮ Lucy smiled and thanked the bartender wordlessly as she set down her beer and water. Aisling eyed them before her gaze settled on Lucy.

“You came here with a boyfriend, Lucy?ˮ Aisling asked her.

“Yes,ˮ she replied. “Heʼs a pilot too. Uh... callsign... Rooster?ˮ

“Good olʼ Rooster,ˮ Aisling chuckled as she swirled the contents her glass around. “You know, if you hadnʼt mentioned him by name, I would have never known...ˮ

Lucy looked at her perplexedly. It didnʼt take too long until the gears clicked and a light bulb took its shine. From afar, Nat nudged Bradley as he was about to take his turn, forcing him to avert towards the direction Nat had pointed to him. Jake followed suit, and his eyes widened slightly. Bradley was just about to approach the bar counter until Jake stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“What the hell, Hangman?ˮ Bradley hissed.

“Thatʼs Nova, ainʼt it?ˮ Jake clarified. “Give them a minute... I have a really good feeling about this.ˮ

“Hangman,ˮ Bradley enunciated as patiently as he could. “I am not putting Lucy in harmʼs way for your entertainment. If you donʼt step aside right now I will not hesitate to beat the living shi—“

“Oh would you just calm down?!ˮ Jake hissed back. “Have some faith in your girl, Rooster. Sheʼs got some fight in her... I can tell...ˮ

“Girl to girl Lucy, youʼre not exactly Bradleyʼs type,ˮ Aisling drank again. “Take it from me, heʼll just fuck around with you for a while until he dumps you for the next hot piece of ass. Itʼll be good for a while — I mean they call him Rooster for a reason, if you catch my drift? But youʼre a nice little girl, youʼre cute, and Iʼm sure youʼd make a nice little wife someday. But not with this one babe — this oneʼs for the bad girls... besides donʼt you think heʼs a little out of your league?ˮ

“Nova, is it?ˮ Lucy chuckled, staring out into the crowd with a smile. “You know I find it quite ingenious that aviatorsʼ callsigns are a subtle reference to their own temperaments. So I can only wonder to what yours alludes to — is it the unprecedented brightness of a newborn star or its inevitable death into the dark abscesses of cold space?ˮ

Lucy looked straight into her eyes.

“I know women like you,ˮ Lucy told her softly. “You draw men in and lavish in their attention. But when it becomes too much, you cast them out and disappear — and when you decide that you need them you simply do it all over again just because you can. So donʼt be mistaken Nova, I donʼt fear women like you, I pity you — because behind that bold red lip, that smoky eye, and all your extensions is a little girl whoʼs too afraid to know what real love could look like for herself. And between you and me, I donʼt think Iʼm that little girl.ˮ

Aisling stared right back at her, dumbstruck. She blinked her eyes rapidly and swallowed deeply before setting her drink down slowly. Their eyes met briefly before Aisling casted her gaze down in defeat and sliding off her seat and heading towards the exit.

“No fucking way...ˮ Mickey gaped at the slumped shell of Aisling ‘Novaʼ Akerman leaving the Hard deck.

“For the first time in history ladies and gentlemen,ˮ Javy announced comically. “The Nova has been contained.ˮ

“Would you look at that,ˮ Nat sighed with crossed arms. “Roosterʼs scot-free.ˮ

“The lucky son-of-a-bitch,ˮ Jake laughed.

Bradley was simply without words as he watched Penny come up to Lucy from behind the bar.

“That,ˮ Penny chuckled. “Is the most well-articulated comeback I have ever heard in this vicinity. Whatʼs your name, kid?ˮ

“Lucy,ˮ she told the bartender.

“Iʼm Penny,ˮ she replied. Just then, Lucy got a glance of the sign that hung over the bar that had said: ‘Disrespect a lady, the navy, or put your cellphone on my bar you buy a round.ʼ

“Looks like a roundʼs on me, huh?ˮ Lucy said to her. “I seem to have violated two out of three of your terms.ˮ

“Donʼt worry about it,ˮ Penny dismissed. “That one had a long time coming, trust me. And donʼt you dare start feeling bad about it now...ˮ

“Itʼs the default setting I guess,ˮ she shrugged.

“Well un-default it,ˮ Penny said to her. “You can be nice and a badass at the same time. Just own it.ˮ

Lucy smiled.

“And about the things she said back there,ˮ Penny began to say. “Roosterʼs a good guy, and believe it or not... Iʼve never seen him introduce a girl to his friends.ˮ

“I know,ˮ she nodded. “Thank you. I just... I harbor a very... intense disdain towards people who use other people for their own gain, you know?ˮ

“You have just done me the biggest favor,ˮ Penny shook her head, chuckling.

“Whatʼs that? Surely there are worser guests than Nova?ˮ

“No,ˮ Penny sighed. “But as his godmother of sorts youʼve put my mind at ease.ˮ

Lucy looked to Bradley from across the bar and he smiled upon meeting her gaze.

“Go to him,ˮ she gestured with her chin. “Your tabʼs on me tonight, Lucy. Welcome to the Hard Deck.ˮ

Lucy thanked Penny before heading over towards Bradley and the others with his water and her bottle of beer. Bradley secured an arm around her once more, kissing the top of her head.

“Hey Lucy,ˮ Mickey called out. “My ex Aubrey lives just a couple of blocks down the street. You mind talking to her for me?ˮ

A round of laughs resounded.

“Jesus Luce,ˮ Nat remarked. “What the hell did you say to her? Iʼve never seen that girl walking the walk of shame, much less runninʼ out of here with her tail between her legs!ˮ

“I told you Rooster,ˮ Jake mused. “You could learn a thing or two from your girl.ˮ

“Youʼre just full of surprises tonight, arenʼt you.ˮ Bradley teased her.

“Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandusˮ Lucy whispered.

“What does that mean?” He asked her.

“Never tickle a sleeping dragon,” she giggled.

Bradley chuckled, marveling at this new side of his girlfriend— the smart-mouthed, impulsive, and fiery persona veiled beneath her angelic appearances.

“Yeah?ˮ He replied. “Well right now Iʼve got an itching to do something Iʼve been thinking of for a long time...ˮ

“So do it, Rooster.ˮ Lucy whispered impishly. Striking a chord with her seductively irresistible gaze and the mention of his callsign, Bradley led Lucy towards the piano on the other side of the Hard Deck, pulling the plug on the jukebox secretly along the way. He sat down, fiddling with the piano keys before pulling her towards a seat on his lap. Nat, Javy, Reuben, Mickey, Bob, and even Jake followed a few moments later as a crowd began to gather around them— knowing exactly what was about to go down.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain Too much love drives a man insane

You broke my will

But what a thrill

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!“

“I laughed at love 'coz I thought it was funny

You came along and you moved me, honey I've changed my mind

This love is fine

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!ˮ

“Kiss me, babbbyy!ˮ

Lucy placed a quick kiss on Bradleyʼs cheek and he shivered animatedly as she half-laughed and half-sang along.

“Mmmmh, it feels good!

Hold me, baby —

Well, I'm off to love you like a lover should.ˮ

Bradley, not missing a beat nor key, met his loverʼs eyes as they passionately sung together, with their heads banging and their eyes smiling to the heavens.

“Oh! You're fine, so kind

Got to tell this world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine!

I chew my nails and then I twiddle my thumbs

I'm real nervous, but it sure is fun

Come on, baby

You drive me crazy

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!ˮ

As Bradley played the solo with practiced perfection and with Lucy as his muse, a new straggler stumbled into the bar still donned in his flight suit with unruly hair and basked in sweat. Even so, Penny had come right around the bar and gave him a kiss on the cheek and treaded her fingers through his locks.

“Hey lover,ˮ he smiled at her.

“Mav,ˮ Penny sighed. “You operate what is arguably the fastest thing on the planet, when do you think youʼll ever be on time?ˮ

“But weʼve got all this time babe,ˮ Pete grinned boyishly, setting his hands on her waist. “Whatʼs a few minutes here on the ground?ˮ

“Alright, alright.ˮ Penny conceded as they walked behind the counter and offered him a bottle after unsealing the cap.

“If my memory serves me right, there was something you wanted to show me?ˮ Pete whispered. Penny gestured towards Bradley and the roaring crowd. It took a while, but what Pete eventually saw made his eyes widen slightly and a smile tighten his lips.

“Is that... a girl on Roosterʼs lap?ˮ

Penny nodded enthusiastically.

“Has he... ever done that before?ˮ Pete asked her once more.

“No,ˮ Penny shook her head. “I think heʼs quite serious about this one. Sheʼs a nice kid. And oh! You know Nova, right?ˮ

“Come on babe,ˮ Pete looked at her. “I donʼt forget everything...ˮ

“I literally found your toothbrush in your coffee mug this morning, but thatʼs besides the point,ˮ Penny wrinkled her nose. “Lucy here sent her out the door crying. Crying, babe.ˮ

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?ˮ

“Iʼm telling you Pete, this girl — sheʼs a keeper...ˮ

Pete and Penny watched as Bradley concluded ‘Great Balls of Fireʼ with an astounding round of applause and hearty cheers just like he did every time. Except at the end of, he had a girl on his lap to kiss. As the crowd dissipated from its high and returned to its simmering presence, Pete and Penny surged forward towards the couple and met them by the piano bench. Lucy was still snug on Bradleyʼs thigh when he looked over his shoulder to meet someone.

“Hey, Mav!ˮ She heard Bradley say.

“Rooster!ˮ A man had replied. Bradley led Lucy unto her feet as they stood to face another stranger of the night. Lucy straightened her blouse and when she had finally turned to introduce herself... she stopped— a blank expression eclipsing her visage.

His hazel eyes.

The shape of his smile.

The broadness of his shoulders. Even the way he stood.

It can’t be… Ford?

On the other side of the conversation, Penny was dumbfounded as she tugged at Peteʼs flight suit — shaking him awake from some sort of temporary possession. In Pete Mitchellʼs eyes there was something so utterly fond and familiar about the girl in front of him. He suddenly felt the humidity on his back, whiffed a sea breeze, and heard the vocalizations of a song far into his memory. It had been a long time since he had uttered that name, and still, it came naturally from his tongue as it did all those years ago...

“Tala?ˮ He croaked, staring at Lucy.

Bradley and Penny were visibly confused by their wordless interaction, eyes darting between Pete and Lucy as they seemed to exchange an odd conversation of sorts.

“N-No,ˮ Lucy finally replied after feeling as if she was just hit by a train. “Iʼm Lucy —“

“Iʼm sorry,ˮ Pete sighed. “You just really looked like someone I used to kn—“

“Tala? Tala Adlawan?ˮ

Pete stopped and slowly nodded at her words. Lucy paused staring at him in disbelief.

“Thatʼs my mom,ˮ she said quietly. “Do you know... her?ˮ

“From a really long time ago,ˮ Pete breathed out.

“Angel,ˮ Bradley said to her. “This is Maverick — my godfather. He was my dadʼs best friend. Mav, this is Lucy, my girlfriend — but it seems that youʼre already.... acquainted?ˮ

“Pete youʼre staring,ˮ Penny chuckled.

“Iʼm sorry,ˮ Pete laughed lightly, looking back at Lucy. “Itʼs just so uncanny. You look exactly like her...ˮ

“Who is Tala, babe?ˮ Penny asked him.

“An...old friend,ˮ Pete said. “I met her back at Atsugi back in ‘96.ˮ

Lucyʼs eyes widened slightly, a sudden itch occupying her hands.

“Well you guys should come over for dinner!ˮ Penny suggested. “Weʼd love to get to know you a little more, Lucy. Bradleyʼs never officially introduced a girl to us, you just have to come!ˮ

“I would love to,ˮ Lucy smiled. The night at the Hard Deck concluded on that note as Lucy and Penny exchanged numbers and Rooster bid farewell to a still awestruck Maverick.

Just as Lucy was headed towards the parking lot, Bradley pulled her with him to the beach. They left footprints on the sand as they walked beneath the light of the moon and the distant outdoor lamps of the Hard Deck. They settled in a peaceful spot on the sand, not too near or far from the water and overlooking the horizon. Lucy was caged between his thighs and embraced in his arms. He kissed her cheek.

“Youʼre a little quiet,ˮ Bradley remarked. “Are you okay?ˮ

“Y-Yeah,ˮ Lucy smiled at him reassuringly as she grazed his cheek. “Iʼm more than okay Bradley, thank you.ˮ

“Mav seemed to have caught you by surprise back there,ˮ Bradley chuckled.

“You have no idea,ˮ Lucy sighed.

It was all too uncanny.

Could it really just be a coincidence?

A beat.

“Tala,ˮ Bradley repeated. “Your mom has a pretty name. Does it mean something?ˮ

“Tala is the name of a goddess in Filipino mythology,ˮ Lucy recalled. “She governs the stars.ˮ

“Huh,ˮ he mused. “Your mom is named after a star goddess and yours happens to mean ‘light.ʼ So, the star goddess and her light. One canʼt exist without the other — very poetic.ˮ

“Iʼve never seen it that way,ˮ she replied. “Iʼve always seen it from a perspective that... I can never... possibly measure up to a goddess — the one who creates the light.ˮ

“Hey, look at me.ˮ She met his kind, honeyed eyes and beheld his seriously handsome face with soft curls.

“On our first date, you told me that you were a poet,ˮ Bradley said. “But Angel, you have no idea how much of a star you are.ˮ

Lucy swallowed, tears beginning to balance on the line of her eyes.

“Donʼt you see how much gravity over people you have? How bright and beautiful you are? Iʼm the poet now Angel, and you are the sun.ˮ

“Bradley,ˮ Lucy whispered as he pressed his lips against hers. She loved how solid he was beneath her fingers — she could feel the strength reserved in his muscles and the warmth beneath his skin. She loved his coarse locks, the indents of his scars, and even the smell of his sweat. If she could be physically absorbed into this man, she would. They broke apart for air, lips numb and eyes glistening.

“This whole night...ˮ Lucy laughed. “Is just so... crazy...ˮ

“Crazy good?ˮ Bradley chuckled as he held her face in his big hands.

“Crazy good,ˮ she repeated.

“Itʼs a bit crazy too you know,ˮ he says. “That Mav happens to know your mom.ˮ

“Maverick is his call sign, right? Whatʼs his real name?ˮ

“Pete Mitchell.ˮ

Lucy was in her pajamas and her hair was wrapped in a towel as she dug a weathered, old box from her closet and set it by the floor of her bed. She swept the dust on the lid with a damp towel and opened the container. From it, she retrieved an old leather jacket, a couple of band shirts, some polaroids, a walkman, and some keys. Lucy jingled them fondly, before tucking it away expertly in her palm. She also fished some old journals and a bunch of old music compositions. At the very bottom of the box she, found a red biscuit tin with Chinese labeling. After popping it open with a bread knife because of all the rust that had accumulated in its rim, Lucy flipped through some old letters that she had read some years ago and finally saw what she had been looking for. It was a pair of aviators and on its side, a subtle inscription of the initials P.M.

She skimmed through the letters once more.

Dear Danger,

Love, Star

I miss you.

I love you.

Iʼm pregnant.

RETURN SENDER

Dear Star,

Love, Danger

...meet again.

new mission...

In love with you.

Miss you like crazy.

And just when Lucyʼs head was spinning from all these revelations, a patch fell on her lap — slipping after she had untucked a fold from another old letter. She had not seen it the last time she opened the tin box. It was as if it chose to reveal itself only in this moment. It was navy blue-colored rectangle, embroidered with bright red thread. It depicted wings with an anchor, and beneath it, something had been inscribed:

PETE MITCHELL

“MAVERICKˮ

Well— cat’s out of the bag 👀 Looks like we have a series of interesting events ahead of us, dear readers. The story is just beginning! See you at 11 | Dinner at Penny’s!

[rhetoricandlogic]

Review: The Stranger Times by C. K. McDonnell

A dark yet humorous urban fantasy, The Stranger Times is ready to report some of the weirdest and unrealistic stuff (or at least, that’s what they think) happening in our world at the moment. Based in Manchester, things are about to get eerie and the link between the real world and the fantasy world is starting to turn really vague.

McDonnell did an absolutely splendid job at telling the story from alternative perspectives, gradually revealing the darker forces that are happening in the alleyways of Great Manchester. An evil plan is hatching and possibly only the people at The Stranger Times are able to stop them.

Well, speaking of the people at The Stranger Times newspaper…they’re definitely not a peaceful bunch. They’re all such different people and one can only imagine the dynamics between them. What’s fascinating is that there isn’t one character who doesn’t have an interesting backstory, and they’re all written in a way that makes me feel like they’re just normal people like us, or perhaps people we encounter on an everyday basis.

Take Vincent Banecroft for example, the drunken editor of The Stranger Times, whose only hobbies are probably swearing all day long and shouting at anyone who speaks or tries to speak to him, but there is just something about him that you simply can’t hate. There’s so much more to him than his drunken appearance once you get to know his stories. Honestly, I am a bit disappointed that we didn’t really have much written from his perspective, it would be interesting as hell to see what’s going on in this fellow’s mind 24/7.

Then we have the new assistant editor, the ‘new Tina’, Hannah Willis. Poor girl left her husband and accidentally burned down their house after finding him cheating on her multiple times. She ended up becoming a new member of this crazy newspaper crew after making the decision to leave everything behind and start over again. Hannah has a lot of potential and it would be super encouraging and satisfying to see her transform even more.

Reggie and Ox definitely are the funniest pair, aren’t they? One determined to jump off the building every Monday and another who perhaps lack a bit of enthusiasm when attempting to persuade the other from jumping. And then we have Grace and Stella, a kind-hearted receptionist (I believe) and a girl with something more to her than meets the eye. We also have the nerdy teenager Simon, who dedicates his whole life trying to get Banecroft’s approval and become a member of The Stranger Times. Will he succeed eventually? Guess we’ll have to wait and find out.

Working together to produce some of the strangest news, they were quickly dragged into a series of investigations where weird things start to happen, and The Stranger Times newspaper might start to turn into that name literally…

McDonnell’s style of writing is whimsical, the dialogues are hilarious, and the characters are certainly entertaining enough, especially the guy who keeps trying to sell Hannah the story of him seeing a ghost for 10 grand, honestly dude, I’m very impressed with your persistency. Additionally, in between chapters, there are also short extracts from the newspaper with all sorts of strange things reported daily which makes it even more interesting to read.

This story contains a mixture of dark humour and fantasy elements, and you can always get a good laugh while reading it. It’s funny but not cringey and you could get hooked on right from the start. The next one in this series comes out next year and I certainly can’t wait to read more about the strange things that happen at The Stranger Times.

Get ready, for the weird things might just turn out to be real…

[gwemmieee]

We're in a transitional period in community politics. The struggle between Conservatism and Liberalism is dying out worldwide. It's overwhelmingly obvious that Liberalism is the winner. The left has to continue uniting in a combined coalition against the right, but that's not going to solve most of our problems--it's just going to keep some of them from becoming any more catastrophic.

So what's next? As Conservatism dies out, what will continue to obstruct progress and alienate people? I think I know the answer. It's doomerism.

Doomerism to me has come to be a catch-all term for everybody who just wants to spread negativity. If you don't feel marginalized, it looks like giving up on the idea that we'll ever be able to help the downtrodden because they're just too mean or incompetent. If you do feel marginalized, it looks like giving up on the idea that we'll ever be able to cooperate with society because it's just too problematic. Either way, a doomer is antisocial and committed to negativity. A doomer is somebody who actively looks for excuses to shrink their tribes and lash out at anyone and everyone in the process. A doomer is somebody who punches down and shamelessly hurts people who didn't have any power over them and/or who were actively trying to mediate and negotiate, in good faith, with real commitment. A doomer is somebody who thinks humans are the virus. A doomer is somebody who doubles down on harmful behavior even when it's obvious that people they care about need them to do better.

I dunno what we're gonna call everyone else who doesn't fit this description, but for now, I'll say I'm a builder. A builder is somebody who is actively trying to grow the tribe. Does that mean I let people walk all over me? Placate assholes? Excuse abuses of power? Of course not. Does that mean I volunteer myself or anyone else into situations that don't feel safe? Fuck no. Does that mean I always think every system is salvageable? Nope. Does that mean I don't think it's cathartic to burn down something that can be salvaged? No, that shit really is cathartic. But even all the way down here at the fringes, what separates me from doomers and causes me to struggle to feel safe even in most leftist spaces (because even these spaces, like every political space these days, are dominated by doomers), is the simple fact that I do not tolerate unnecessary harm. I do not judge anyone who is actively trying to avoid harm and build bridges, and I do judge anyone who does. I do not look for excuses to assume the worst. I do not engage with anyone in bad faith whenever I instead have the option to just fucking leave the situation.

This, I think, is the new huge rift between people who show any passion towards changing the world. It's a lot like Liberals vs Conservatives in that one side is objectively correct (Liberals and builders), and one side is usually dangerous to engage with at all (Conservatives and doomers), and neither side will ever benefit from being unnecessarily aggro at the other side. Which is exactly why there is no fast or comprehensive way to evolve as a species.

[benjaminalphabet]

i would drop everything if you called me tonight.

even though my bones know better, and so they do not reach for you. there is little communication between the vital parts of me, and my nervous system has not caught up. i still catch myself waiting at the door for you, like a domesticated house cat, well-fed yet at war with instinct. i long for the comfort of home, of a caretaker who knows me, loves me. i know the canaries and blue jays call for me from the treetops but i cannot bring myself to climb them, i wait for you to get home. when the sun goes down i will worry that you have abandoned me, that you are not coming back, that it was all a fantasy - after all, i am a wild animal, and it is my one job to hunt on my own for my means for survival.

lately, i turn the notifications off on my phone like i am some kind of magician in denial. this performance is not for you, although most of them are. this trick is one i play on myself, pretending that it does not matter if you reach for me in this dark. i have blindfolded myself, i am not watching. i only think about the logical things; i have so much work that needs to be done, i have so much that needs preparing for, i am too focused to think about how it aches. don't hesitate to distract me. if you feel the itch, scratch it. i wait for the slip and fall that leads me back to you. much like the audience after the sleight of hand, i cannot move forward. i replay every move in my mind over and over again. i remember the nights we spent playing pretend before you got restless and decided you needed something real. i don't blame you, you ran off in search of something that could sustain you, but i could have lived on the rationed scraps of us forever and never voiced a complaint.

i don't pretend to not understand you. i have lost myself in this blurry fog since you left where nothing feels real. this hunger inside of me is so white hot that i can see easily why you were searching other beds while i was cold, damp, distant. her and i are so similar, everyone always said so. i can see what you were looking for, and the truth is i hope you found it. nothing can bridge this gap between us, and yet nothing sits the same in this hole you used to fill. it has always been there, but you fit it so well i was almost convinced it had been made for you. the whole time, my whole life. i was always just waiting for you. could it be that i loved you for so long that you contorted even my shadows, my pain, and my grief? everything molded around you, the core, the center of gravity, and briefly you held all of me together in your orbit. everything was perfect when the world revolved around you. our glory days are painted neon in my head, you were halcyon, the light in the distance. i remember when every night led me back to your bedroom, even on accident, especially on accident. i'd known you for so long that when we finally stumbled into each other it just felt like a schoolgirl crush and a sleepover. in the dirtiest parts of it, you made me feel so innocent. curtains drawn, stifled sunlight, the sound of the fan and your slow breath on my bare skin, soft silk sheets, and orchestra music playing quietly from your stereo.

they always say to make friends with your lovers before you collapse into them, and it was good advice for me and you, but i cannot stomach it again. three years of building a house, seven minutes in heaven, two days to burn it down. i wonder why the destruction never lasts as long. the heat of the slow burn never rivals the feeling at the end. even now in the rubble and ash, sucking on ice, i would spend eternity falling out of love with you just for the sake of keeping you around. c'mon babe, put your hand in the hat, pull out an old fight and we can go at it one more time, for scarcity's sake. i don't think i ever got enough of you, even though for a moment i had all of you. your uncompromised stare, your undivided attention, your full weight on my hips and stomach, your head on my chest that night on the pullout couch. those brief, sweet moments we found alone haunt me like they're the priceless ghosts of all your dead heroes. Lennon stood in the doorway when you asked me if i was ever honest, begged me to tell you how i felt, told me i was killing you every time i said i was doing just fine; Cobain in the bed that night you held me like no one ever had before, cradling my head, fingers in my hair, when i told you how terrified i was to love you but i just couldn't help it; Warhol helping you pack your bags when you left, his loopholed handwriting giving you an out with the letter you left at my door. i know you're sorry, i'm sorry too.

if i was younger i would hate you, if i had not invested so much into loving you. if i knew less, was more naive, it would be so much easier to move on. if we had known even half the price of losing it, would we still have crashed so hard into love, into hope? someone told me you left your accomplice and they saw you in a bar downtown with someone who almost looked like me. i wonder what you are searching for in these phantoms of mine when you were the one that left me cold on the corner we met. i waste time with easier ghosts who are nothing like you at all, no chance for fooling myself, no risk i might call them by your unspeakable name. we might meet again in one of the usual places, on one of the usual streets but i try not to plan what i'd say. i already feel let down every time there's a full moon in the sky and you don't come running home.

they're lucky, but they don't know it, all those girls you spend your nights with trying to swallow your guilt. maybe that's the answer, why you couldn't stay with her in the end, you're covered in the shame of it all. i can't track your movements, it's like trying to follow the smoke in your breath all the way to the sky. i always get lost, too high up, and too afraid to look down. i make peace with the souvenirs i got from our honeymoon phase, but if i settle my debts then I'll have nothing left of you. so i move forward with this deficit, and all my shortcomings, well, they add up to you. i'll get out of town to get you out of my mind one more time before the summer ends. i'll fall in love somewhere in Albuquerque or Sante Fe. Salt Lake City has never let me down before, and the mountains are rooted in place, even in flames they can't leave me like you did. i've got my eye on a cowboy across the bar and he doesn't look anything like you. he's got two hands on the jukebox, and he's using big words, says he's read all the old poets, and he doesn't really love anything but the moon and the sun. he's got two feet on the ground in a way you never did when tells me he's godless but maybe not thoughtless. he drinks gin and he buys me rum. i say nothing back when he tells me he likes how i'm sweet, and he throws his head back and he just thinks i'm so funny. i can smell the residual heartbreak still on his denim jacket, and all the pieces start clicking into place again. i know how this goes, i know this routine. let's make a bet, babe, i give it three years until i'm telling him across county lines

i would drop everything if you called me tonight.