#hold on its livable

[fagmegumi]

THEY FUCKING CANCELED TBOYS CLUB LMAOOOOOOOOO

[clarabowmp3]

HAHAHAHA NO I MEAN the ice cream guy outside the primary school 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ALSO WHAT???? i thought meals in school canteens were like 1-2 dollars ??? oh my god that’s such a huge rise

oh my god the day my mother told me about coes my mind was blown lmfao. we’ve never had a car so i didn’t know but like why is that even necessary 😭😭😭

BESTIE THANK GODDDD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i didnt have an ice cream guy outside my pri school (i think thats the exception tho, it was very weird, almost a gated community + surrounded by landed houses) but I had one outside my sec school but never got any from him LOL and i think the prices of the meals in my jc were like 3 ish dollars average? but it was worth it, they were full, hearty meals + fruit, it wasnt so bad (but still a substantial spike)

and yeaa teh coes thing is just the govt trying to get ppl to drive less for the env etc which yea noble intentions but also not entirely feasible for families like mine where my dad lives too far from his workplace to take public transport regularly. and at least we're fortunate enough to (somehow) afford it, else the alternative is just work urself to the bone till u die which is getting to be a very tiring rhetoric

[astraystayyh]

Israel doesn't want to repopulate Gaza, you loveable dummy

Seriously, find one Israeli on this site who'll say otherwise. And no, quoting Ben Gvir doesn't count (assuming you even know who that is) anymore than quoting, say, Rudy Giuliani would count for anything, even though he supposedly spoke for the president of the USA for a time.

Hamas has 136 hostages. Including women, and actual literal babies, assuming they're still alive, that is. This could all have ended weeks ago if they'd fucking returned them. Israeli society would physically march on Benjamin Netanyahu's home and remove him in a coup if the hostages were returned tonight. But as long as they have Israeli people, and are unwilling to negotiate their return, that's an ongoing war crime. Is Israel evil for being a bull in a China shop trying to get back a "mere" 136 innocent civilians? Maybe. But Hamas started this and they can end it, they just don't want to. Please, justify that.

Hello, since you asked for one Israeli, here, I'll give you multiple statements:

Hundreds of activists at an Ashdod gathering in late November called for the reestablishing of Jewish settlements. “Let it be known that you support the appeal to renew Jewish settlement throughout all of the Gaza Strip. The nation is waiting for you”— Yossi Dagan, head of the Samaria Regional Council.

Israel “should fully occupy the Gaza Strip”— Heritage Minister Amichai Eliyahu, of the far-right Otzma Yehudit party.

An Israeli real estate firm pushes to build settlements for Israelis in Gaza. “Wake up, a beach house is not a dream” reads the ad.

Israeli Knesset member Limor Son Har Melech posted a video of herself in a boat with other settlers off the coast of Gaza. “Settlement in every part of the Gaza Strip … A large, extensive settlement without fear, without hesitation, without humiliation. This land is the land that the creator of the world gave to us.”

Israeli Settler, Daniella Weiss says Palestinians who live in Gaza, have no right to stay in Gaza.

An Israeli soldier saying that Israelis should start “investing” in Khan Younis.

Also why would the words of Ben Gvir not count? He is an elected minister, his words hold weight and they expose Israel’s clear intent to make Gaza inhabitable for Palestinians so that Israelis could settle in there— by destroying the infrastructures, making the health system collapse entirely, bombing entire residential neighborhood, Israel is trying to ensure that Palestinians wouldn't be able to return back to their land, because there is nothing livable left there.

And I'm glad you bring up all of this ending if the hostages were returned— Hamas tried to strike up a deal for the return of ALL the hostages, in exchange of the release of all Palestinian prisoners. Israel refused. You know why? Because this has never been about hostages and their safety for Israel.

There is a reason why Israel shot its own hostages when it mistook them for Palestinian civilians, waving a white cloth. There is a reason why the IDF called to shoot indiscriminately on Oct. 7, knowing that it could kill some of the hostages too. Because Israel wants to kill Palestinians, to "thin out its population" (or maybe we shouldn't take into account the says and actions of Netanyahu too ://). This is why it targets schools and mosques and hospitals and ambulances and refugee camps. Israel knows that if it does get all its hostages back, then there would be nothing to “justify” its genocide in Gaza (although, as UN Secretary-General said : "Nothing can justify the collective punishment of the Palestinian people. The humanitarian situation in Gaza is beyond words")

Israel is the only reason why the hostages aren't fred yet. THEY are unwilling to negotiate the return because they don't want to stop this genocide. What good is a five days ceasefire only for the bombings to return? Do you even realize how psychologically traumatizing it is to have a countdown of when your massacre would resume? The only acceptable deal is for Israel to establish a permanent ceasefire, something that it refuses to do. The only one to blame is Israel.

And you say Israelis would instigate a coup to oust Netanyahu, that's nice, then what? Will you return the land to its rightful people? Will you give back Palestinians their rights unequivocally? Will you call for the dismantlement of Israel that was built on massacres? The reason why Israelis are angry at Netanyahu is rooted in the unresolved hostage situation. Just because you don't support Netanyahu doesn't mean that you aren't a zionist who finds the murder of more than twenty thousands Palestinians justifiable. A young girl had her leg amputated with no anesthesia on the kitchen counter of her home and you talk about “Israel being a bull in a China shop”? You consider the targeted attacks on civilians as careless actions by Israel? It actually astonishes me how inhumane some of you can be.

And here is what Dr. Refaat, who was targeted and murdered by the IDF btw, had to say about this matter:

Whether it's Netanyahu or someone else, it does not matter because Israel as a whole is an occupation, one built on the bloodshed of palestinians.

And it is funny how you choose to distort history whichever way you like it, to regard October 7th as an isolated instance that happened out of the blue. Hamas didn't start anything, Hamas was created in response to the indiscriminate and careless shooting of palestinian civilians in the first Intifada, that was decades ago. October 7th was a resistance to an ongoing colonization, Israel started this when it displaced and murdered palestinians on 1948. None of this would've happened if Israel did not colonize Palestine. It has been 100 days of this ongoing genocide, wake up and stop deluding yourself into a reality where Israel is the victim.

[fursasaida]

Hi! Just wanted to ask. How can I give my students assignments that are chat-gpt proof? Or that they won't just copy the answer without at least doing some editing?

Hi! So, I don't think anything is ChatGPT-proof. You fundamentally cannot stop people from using it to take a shortcut. You can't even stop them from copying the answer without editing it. However, I think you can work with this reality. So, you can do three things:

Don't be a cop about it.

If you make your objective "stop the children from using the thing to cheat," you are focusing on the wrong thing. You will be constantly scrutinizing every submission with suspicion, you will be accusing people of cheating--and some of them will not have cheated, and they will remember this forever--and you will be aiming at enforcement (which is trying to hold back the sea) instead of on inviting and supporting learning whenever and wherever possible. (I'll come back to this under item 2.)

Regarding why enforcement is holding back the sea: It is fundamentally rational for them to do this. We, who "love learning" (i.e. are good at what our academic system sees as learning, for various reasons have built our lives around that, happen to enjoy these activities), see everything they might cheat themselves of by doing it, because we know what we got out of doing this type of work. Many students, however--especially at the kind of school I teach at--are there to get the piece of paper that might, if they're lucky, allow them access to a relatively livable and stable income. The things that are wrong with this fact are structural and nothing to do with students' failings as people, or (tfuh) laziness, or whatever. We cannot make this not true (we can certainly try to push against it in certain ways, but that only goes so far). More pragmatically, chatgpt and similar are going to keep getting better, and detecting them is going to get harder, and your relationships with your students will be further and further damaged as you are forced to hound them more, suspect them more, falsely accuse more people, while also looking like an idiot because plenty of them will get away with it. A productive classroom requires trust. The trust goes both ways. Being a cop about this will destroy it in both directions.

So the first thing you have to do is really, truly accept that some of them are going to use it and you are not always going to know when they do. And when I say accept this, I mean you actually need to be ok with it. I find it helps to remember that the fact that a bot can produce writing to a standard that makes teachers worry means we have been teaching people to be shitty writers. I don't know that so much is lost if we devalue the 5-paragraph SAT essay and its brethren.

So the reason my policy is to say it's ok to use chatgpt or similar as long as you tell me so and give me some thinking about what you got from using it is that a) I am dropping the charade that we don't all know what's going on and thereby making it (pedagogical term) chill; b) I am modeling/suggesting that if you use it, it's a good idea to be critical about what it tells you (which I desperately want everyone to know in general, not just my students in a classroom); c) I am providing an invitation to learn from using chatgpt, rather than avoid learning by using it. Plenty of them won't take me up on that. That's fine (see item 3 below).

So ok, we have at least established the goal of coming at it from acceptance. Then what do you do at that point?

Think about what is unique to your class and your students and build assignments around that.

Assignments, of course, don't have to be simply "what did Author mean by Term" or "list the significant thingies." A prof I used to TA under gave students the option of interviewing a family member or friend about their experiences with public housing in the week we taught public housing. Someone I know who teaches a college biology class has an illustration-based assignment to draw in the artsier students who are in her class against their will. I used to have an extra-credit question that asked them to pick anything in the city that they thought might be some kind of clue about the past in that place, do some research about it, and tell me what they found out and how. (And that's how I learned how Canal St. got its name! Learning something you didn't know from a student's work is one of the greatest feelings there is.) One prompt I intend to use in this class will be something to the effect of, "Do you own anything--a t-shirt, a mug, a phone case--that has the outline of your city, state, or country on it? Why? How did you get it, and what does having this item with this symbol on it mean to you? Whether you personally have one or not, why do you think so many people own items like this?" (This is for political geography week, if anyone's wondering.)

These are all things that target students' personal interests and capabilities, the environments they live in, and their relationships within their communities. Chatgpt can fake that stuff, but not very well. My advisor intends to use prompts that refer directly to things he said in class or conversations that were had in class, rather than to a given reading, in hopes that that will also make it harder for chatgpt to fake well because it won't have the context. The more your class is designed around the specific institution you teach at and student body you serve, the easier that is to do. (Obviously, how possible that is is going to vary based on what you're teaching. When I taught Urban Studies using the city we all lived in as the example all through the semester, it was so easy to make everything very tailored to the students I had in that class that semester. That's not the same--or it doesn't work the same way--if you're teaching Shakespeare. But I know someone who performs monologues from the plays in class and has his students direct him and give him notes as a way of drawing them into the speech and its niceties of meaning. Chatgpt is never going to know what stage directions were given in that room. There are possibilities.) This is all, I guess, a long way of saying that you'll have a better time constructing assignments chatgpt will be bad at if you view your class as a particular situation, occurring only once (these people, this year), which is a situation that has the purpose of encouraging thought--rather than as an information-transfer mechanism. Of course information transfer happens, but that is not what I and my students are doing together here.

Now, they absolutely can plug this type of prompt into chatgpt. I've tried it myself. I asked it to give me a personal essay about the political geography prompt and a critical personal essay about the same thing. (I recommend doing this with your own prospective assignments! See what they'd get and whether it's something you'd grade highly. If it is, then change either the goal of the assignment or at least the prompt.) Both of them were decent if you are grading the miserable 5-paragraph essay. Both of them were garbage if you are looking for evidence of a person turning their attention for the first time to something they have taken for granted all their lives. Chatgpt has neither personality nor experiences, so it makes incredibly vague, general statements in the first person that are dull as dishwater and simply do not engage with what the prompt is really asking for. I already graded on "tell me what you think of this/how this relates to your life" in addition to "did you understand the reading," because what I care about is whether they're thinking. So students absolutely can and will plug that prompt into chatgpt and simply c/p the output. They just won't get high marks for it.

If they're fine with not getting high marks, then okay. For a lot of them this is an elective they're taking essentially at random to get that piece of paper; I'm not gonna knock the hustle, and (see item 1) I couldn't stop them if I wanted to. What I can do is try to make class time engaging, build relationships with them that make them feel good about telling me their thoughts, and present them with a variety of assignments that create opportunities for different strengths, points of interest, and ways into the material, in hopes of hooking as many different people in as many different ways as I can.

This brings me back to what I said about inviting learning. Because I have never yet in my life taught a course that was for people majoring in the subject, I long ago accepted that I cannot get everyone to engage with every concept, subject, or idea (or even most of them). All I can do is invite them to get interested in the thing at hand in every class, in every assignment, in every choice of reading, in every question I ask them. How frequently each person accepts these invitations (and which ones) is going to vary hugely. But I also accept that people often need to be invited more than once, and even if they don't want to go through the door I'm holding open for them right now, the fact that they were invited this time might make it more likely for them to go through it the next time it comes up, or the time after that. I'll never know what will come of all of these invitations, and that's great, actually. I don't want to make them care about everything I care about, or know everything I know. All I want is to offer them new ways to be curious.

Therefore: if they use chatgpt to refuse an invitation this week, fine. That would probably have happened anyway in a lot of cases even without chatgpt. But, just as before, I can snag some of those people's attention on one part of this module in class tomorrow. Some of them I'll get next time with a different type of assignment. Some of them I'll hook for a moment with a joke. I don't take the times that doesn't happen as failures. But the times that it does are all wins that are not diminished by the times it doesn't.

Actually try to think of ways to use chatgpt to promote learning.

I DREAM of the day I'm teaching something where it makes sense to have students edit an AI-written text. Editing is an incredible way to get better at writing. I could generate one in class and we could do it all together. I could give them a prompt, ask them to feed it into chatgpt, and ask them to turn in both what they got and some notes on how they think it could be better. I could give them a pretty traditional "In Text, Author says Thing. What did Author mean by that?" prompt, have them get an answer from chatgpt, and then ask them to fact-check it. Etc. All of these get them thinking about written communication and, incidentally, demonstrate the tool's limitations.

I'm sure there are and will be tons of much more creative ideas for how to incorporate chatgpt rather than fight it. (Once upon a time, the idea of letting students use calculators in math class was also scandalous to many teachers.) I have some geography-specific ideas for how to use image generation as well. When it comes specifically to teaching, I think it's a waste of time for us to be handwringing instead of applying ourselves to this question. I am well aware of the political and ethical problems with chatgpt, and that's something to discuss with, probably, more advanced students in a seminar setting. But we won't (per item 1) get very far simply insisting that Thing Bad and Thing Stupid. So how do we use it to invite learning? That's the question I'm interested in.

Finally, because tangential to your question: I think there's nothing wrong with bringing back more in-class writing and even oral exams (along with take-home assignments that appeal to strengths and interests other than expository writing as mentioned above). These assessments play to different strengths than written take-homes. For some students, that means they'll be harder or scarier; by the same token, for other students they'll be easier and more confidence-building. (Plus, "being able to think on your feet" is also a very good ~real-world skill~ to teach.) In the spirit of trying to offer as many ways in as possible, I think that kind of diversification in assignments is a perfectly good idea.

[sexsylexi]

His body heat

Arthur morgan x reader

Summary-In the midst of a harsh winter, the gang is low on supplies, prompting Dutch to send members out to hunt. One day, Arthur Morgan offers to accompany you on a hunting trip. After hours of unsuccessful hunting, a fierce storm hits, forcing you to seek shelter in an abandoned cabin. Inside, the cold is relentless, and Arthur, seeing you shiver, wraps you in his coat and holds you close for warmth. As you nestle into his embrace, Arthur reassures you with comforting words and a gentle kiss on your head, promising to always be there for you. Safe in his arms, you find peace amidst the storm.

---------------------------------------------------

The biting chill of winter gnawed at every exposed bit of skin as the gang huddled around the meager campfire, its weak flames doing little to stave off the biting cold. Supplies were running low, and desperation began to seep into every conversation. Dutch, with his usual authoritative demeanor, had been sending out pairs of the gang to hunt and scavenge what they could. This morning, it was your turn.

You had been preparing yourself for the cold trek when Arthur approached, his breath visible in the frigid air. "Need some company?" he asked, his rugged features softened by a hint of concern.

You nodded, grateful for the company. Hunting alone in these conditions was not just difficult but dangerous. Arthur was not only an excellent hunter but also someone you trusted implicitly.

The two of you set out shortly after dawn, the ground crunching underfoot as you moved through the dense forest. The trees stood like skeletal sentinels, their branches heavy with snow. Every breath felt sharp, and the world was eerily silent, save for the occasional call of a distant bird.

Hours passed with little luck. The game was scarce, likely driven deep into hiding by the harsh weather. You tracked a few trails, but they all ended in disappointment. Arthur remained patient, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of movement.

As the day wore on, the sky began to darken ominously. "We should head back," Arthur suggested, his voice low but urgent. "Looks like a storm's brewing."

Just as you turned to make your way back to camp, the wind picked up fiercely, sending a flurry of snow around you. Within minutes, the gentle snowfall turned into a blinding blizzard. The path back disappeared under a blanket of white, and visibility was reduced to a mere few feet.

"We need to find shelter," Arthur shouted over the howling wind, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, teeth chattering, as the cold began to seep through your layers of clothing. Together, you trudged through the deepening snow, searching desperately for any form of shelter. After what felt like an eternity, you stumbled upon a small, abandoned cabin nestled among the trees.

Arthur pushed the door open with a grunt, and you both hurried inside, slamming it shut against the relentless storm. The interior was dark and musty, but it provided much-needed protection from the elements.

You both set about trying to make the space more livable. Arthur found some old, dry wood in a corner and managed to get a small fire going in the fireplace. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the shivering that had taken hold of your body.

"Come here," Arthur said gently, patting the spot next to him by the fire. His eyes were filled with concern as he watched you shiver. "You need to get warm."

You hesitated for a moment before moving closer. The fire's warmth was a welcome relief, but it wasn't enough to banish the deep cold that had settled in your bones. Arthur noticed and, without a word, draped his heavy coat over your shoulders.

"That won't be enough," he murmured, pulling you gently into his side. His arms wrapped around you, and you felt the solid warmth of his body against yours. "Body heat's the best way to stay warm."

You nestled closer, your head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady, comforting rhythm in your ear. The storm raged outside, but inside the cabin, a bubble of warmth and safety began to form. Arthur's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer still, and you felt the tension begin to drain from your body.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside. Arthur's presence was a balm to your frayed nerves, his warmth seeping into you and chasing away the chill.

"You'll be alright," he whispered, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "We'll get through this. Together."

His words were a promise, and you felt a surge of gratitude and something deeper, something you hadn't fully acknowledged before. Arthur's hand moved gently, his fingers threading through your hair in a soothing gesture. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips warm and reassuring.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"No need to thank me," he replied softly. "I'll always be here for you."

The storm continued to rage outside, but inside the cabin, wrapped in Arthur's arms, you felt a sense of peace and security. The world might be harsh and unforgiving, but with Arthur by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

You drifted off to sleep, cocooned in warmth and the comforting presence of the man beside you. As the fire crackled and the storm raged, you felt safe, knowing that Arthur would always be there to keep you warm.

[devnmon]

Hidden Comforts (Under the Covers)

Summary: Winter in the prison keeps Daryl awake for days, and it seems his only solution for rest is seeking you out in the dead of night.

a/n: yep. it’s me, devnmon, writing yet another daryl fic after months of not writing. here’s one of my favorite trope(s), tweaked a bit for the likes of this fic: the one bed trope. lots of cute pining from both sides, shyness and uncertainty for the like of the masses. i hope u guys will survive as this is the softest shit i’ve ever fucking wrote. enjoy <3 [credit 2 cafekitsune for dividers]

warnings: none

wc: 2k

Windows froze solid shook against the wind and ice raining down from the sky, along with inches upon inches of snow to make the prison courtyard a white frontier. The only thing this kind of weather helped was depleting the amount of walkers around, ones who hadn’t frozen solid against a tree or upright in the ice.

Among the cold walls of the prison, a shiver of slight wind continuously fled through the building. There were god knows how many cracks in the foundation, windows that were void of panes, not to mention the ginormous hole in one of the halls that had been sealed off from the otherwise livable quarters. All the rebuilding of your home, yet the frigid temperatures persisted.

It was cold enough outside, your group couldn’t help the breeze finding its way in above all they’ve done to patch the place up. There was no way of setting a fire for just a smidge of warmth, either. So, the remaining members of your group were left to the clothes on their backs, and whatever they’d scavenged from the cells to help fend off the frozen temperatures.

Outside, the wind rapped against windows and a shiver ran through your body. You’d been hunched over in your cell, layers upon layers of clothing attempted to clothe yourself from the weather. It did nothing to help the cold from seeping to your core. Your teeth chittered against one another, a hand wrapping around the wool blanket from your mattress to cover your body with it.

From a distance, you heard footsteps down the hall. Probably just Rick or Daryl making their rounds in the cell blocks to see how everyone was holding up during the storm. It was hard for everyone, especially the new people taken in from Woodbury and Judith, Rick’s infant daughter, to deal with this discomfort of winter.

Thudding of feet on the stone flooring became louder minute by minute, knowing now that it had to be one of the two men, now, leaders of your group of survivors you called family. You weren’t as advanced as Daryl was with his tracking, so you really couldn’t tell which one of the men it was. Though, as the steps became louder, it came to your attention the distinct sound of heeled boots, as well as metal clinking on his belt. It was only a moment before you heard the sound of the sheet blocking your cell doorway being pulled back.

“Hey. How you holdin’ up?”

Hesitating on movement at first, you sighed, then turned toward the southern voice in the doorway. Rick stood in the hallway, hand on his hip, the other holding the curtain back.

“Hey, Rick. I’m... hanging in there… best I can. Not much I can do to change how fucking cold it is but… how’s everyone else doing?”

You hear him respond from the hall, “They’re managing. Carl was askin’ about you though, wanted to make sure you were okay. He’s spending the night with Judith.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll check in with him later… or tomorrow. Whenever I’m not freezing my ass off..” Chuckling, you shift the blanket tighter around you.

“Right, well don’t freeze to death tonight, ‘kay? We need you,” He says, beginning to drop the curtain until he pulls it back open and says, “Daryl was askin’ about you earlier.”

“Daryl was? What- what did he say?” You double blinked in surprise at such an idea.

You had just recently become close with him, but it would be a lie if you said you weren’t holding back some teeny tiny feelings for him. A teeny tiny crush that made being in the mere presence of him overwhelming. Your palms always began sweating whenever he got close to you, making your voice shake and train of thought lost in the way he held himself. Daryl was intimidating, but you knew he was kind, and even quite funny amidst the struggles he’s been through.

“Somethin’ about him not being able to sleep in this cold. Was wondering the same about you. He’ll probably be up all night...” Rick scratched the back of his head.

“Poor guy... I mean I thought he was a night owl, but I couldn’t imagine not being able to sleep at all.” You stated, concern for him growing.

“He’s had it rough. But I don’t think he’ll put his head down even if he got within an inch of being tired. Would you check on him if you get the chance?”

“Sure. You should go get some rest yourself. You definitely need it.”

“Yeah, I’ll try. Have a good night.” You smile at him this time as he drops the sheet fully this time, the clicking of his heeled boots drifting away.

What kept you awake for the next half hour was the thought of what went on behind those pretty eyes of his, always considering everyone around him while not thinking of himself at all. You sigh, I wish I could make things better for you. Show you how much love you deserve. Fuck…

You drift off after that, succumbing to fatigue that had your eyelids feeling a hundred pounds heavy.

A couple hours pass before slight stirring outside your small room catches your observant ear. It was far past midnight yet, late enough for everyone with a normal sleep schedule to be out like a light.

You lay in bed, eyes still closed, thinking, who the hell is up at this hour?

The footsteps fade to nothing, thinking whoever it was went back to sleep, perhaps to use the bathroom or something. Then you heard someone clear their throat from the hall, sounding right outside your sheet. It’s then your eyes shot open, peering over to the entrance of the room. You’re about to call out, but remember the dozens of sleeping individuals in the other cells. So you wait.

Sure enough, you hear a sigh still outside of your room, patiently waiting for some, if any, response.

You hear a faint call out of your name, given by someone with a low, surly voice. It takes a minute to register in your head as to who it was, and then you remember what Rick told you earlier.

“Daryl? That you?” Rubbing your eyes from sleep, you sit up.

“Yeah, ‘s me.” You hear his faint footsteps approach slowly, his silhouette painting a dark figure against the white of your sheet. His hand lifts it, peering in with curiosity.

“Come- come in. You don’t have to stay out there.” You state, waving him into the cell, noticing his poncho thrown over his usual leather jacket and shirt. When he’s fully in the room, you notice the dark circles lingering under his blues, proving Rick’s knowledge of the man was true.

“I didn’t wake ya, did I? Shit- couldn’t sleep. Been up forever.”

Shaking your head, you give a small smile, “No, don’t worry. I got some sleep but the cold wasn’t really helping.”

He nods, chewing the inner side of his lip.

“What’s up, Daryl?”

“I just- Ya know this weather, there ain’t a smidge of heat in this damn prison. No matter how many blankets I got.” He half chuckles, but you can tell it’s more of a scoff. Daryl’s wringing his hands within each other and pacing across the floor.

“I know, feels like I’m wearing ten layers of clothes just to not freeze to death. It’s fucking awful. Like I’ve never seen…” You stop for a moment, taking in his stressed state before he glances at you, “Uh.. never seen Georgia of all places have harsh snow like this. Lived here all my life and it’s never been this bad.”

“Yeah, me too. Except that was when we had electricity, and fuckin- road pavers or some shit. I don’t fuckin’ know.” Daryl picks up the chuckle you let out at his words, and you’re nodding when he looks over again.

“Hey, listen. It’s late and I know you didn’t come all the way from the perch to talk to me about the weather.. so really, what’s on your mind?”

Daryl’s pacing halts abruptly, knowing you can read him like a book. It feels as though his stomach turns inside out when he thinks about what he really wants to say. “I uh… I’ve been up for probably two, no, three days now, haven’t been able to sleep since the cold. And… fuck.“

“You know you can tell me anything.” He huffs out a breath and nods to himself, almost like he’d been trying to hype himself up for wanted, no, needed to say. His hesitation had already made you anxious and you wanted to pick his brain to ease all his worries. But you stayed silent and let him speak.

“Okay, listen. I’m damn freezing… and uh, I know you run warm. Like a damn furnace in the summer. But I was wonderin’ if… You wouldn’t mind if I… um, lay with ya?”

You hold off on responding for a moment as his words turn the gears in your head. Daryl wanted to… lay in bed? With you? Just the idea of his body that close to you made your hands sweat. Your eyes darted around swiftly, before you responded.

“Like, in- in my bed? With me?”

“Uh, yeah. Feels like that’s the only way I’m gonna be able to get some shuteye.” His eyebrows furrowed, and you noticed his fidgeting hands. Your silence made him immediately think it was a shit idea and he should’ve just kept it to himself. Should’ve just suffered through the fatigue and gone back to his perch. He began to realize you were about to deny him. What was he thinking?

“Daryl, this bed is not big enough for the two of us.” You chuckled playfully and watched his stern face drop.

“Oh, alrigh’. Sorry t’bother ya.” He began to turn his broad shoulders toward the door.

“But…”

He froze in his steps, turning back.

“Your warmth and rest is more important to me. So, get your ass over here.” A small smile formed on your tired face, painting the tips of his ears red. Daryl kicked off his shoes by the doorway and padded over to your bed. Once you moved to lay down on your side, you lay your head on the edge of your pillow, inviting him to share the blanket with you, your arm out in a welcoming embrace.

Daryl, still caught off guard with the fact that you were letting him be this close to you, kept his poncho on and crawled in next to you on the creaky mattress. He wasn’t surprised at the warmth radiating off you once he fully laid down next to you. The second he looked up at your face, the realization that your faces were inches away made his eyes widen.

“Glad you’re not one to shy away in close quarters..” You giggle, gazing at his facial features for the first time, and this is as close as the two of you have ever been. A corner of his mouth quirks upwards, the smallest inkling of a smile on his face.

“This tiny ass bed is somehow more comfy than mine. Maybe ‘cause you’re here..” You could tell Daryl’s fatigue was catching up with him, as his words slurred, and his eyes began to flutter closed. A piece of his hair falls in front of his eyes, and you move your hand up to move it from covering his eyelids. Once your fingertip ghosts over his face, he flinched, only slightly for a moment and remembered you’re there. He knows you’d never hurt him, leaning into your movement, his shoulders easing up their tightness.

“Shh.. get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Your voice is low and soft, it right about lulls him to sleep.

“M’kay, sunshine.” Daryl scoots in, pressing an inch or so closer to you. You don’t realize at first, but his right hand lays directly on top of yours. His warm hand caresses your palm, slightly moving your fingers to intertwine in his. You cup his cheek, and lightly press a kiss to his forehead. He grumbles to himself a bit more, till you sense he’s fallen asleep, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as well.

He's warm and familiar, safe and closer than ever. You wanted to breathe in the scent of his leather jacket and never let go.

Seems like you were just what he needed for a good night’s rest.

[vase-of-lilies]

❀  Pairing: Dark!Mermaid!Wanda x Sailor!Reader

❀ Non-con, dubcon, Captivity, restraints, slight experimentation, shapeshifting! Wanda, the ocean, sailing on a boat, a storm, shipwreck, a little bit of violence, virgin!reader (she has never had a sexual encounter, period. So she is very innocent), Wanda doesn’t know human anatomy lol, oral (r receiving), forced orgasm, overstimulation, fingering, (this next part is major whump, so PLEASE heed the warnings) Sewing readers legs together for a punishment, holding reader under the water until they pass out, screaming, lots of screaming, making someone stay unconscious with telekinesis, quick acceptance, soft-ish wanda, some fluff, Stockholm syndrome, (if there is anything else PLEASE let me know!!)

❀ Disclaimer and Authors Note: The pictures only represent aesthetics and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. I hope you like this! The pictures go to their rightful owners on Pinterest, and the comic-style picture belongs to the beautiful artist Jenifer Prince. I also have a really big feeling that Mermaids' love language is gift-giving. Because… stuff is all they find lol!

This is for @eloquentreverie 's Dusk Till Dawn writing challenge! I chose the lines “All you are is a liar…” “My love for you is not a lie.”

Bright rays of sunshine reflect off the water, not one cloud in the sky.  The perfect conditions for sailing. You had been planning this trip for ages, and the perfect time has never been seen before now. Packing your bags was an easy task, all that was left was prepping your boat. Aphrodite is what you call her. The beautiful sailboat your father had left for you.

The sails are off-white, the texture of a canvas. In a way, this boat is its own form of art, and the beautiful name that your father picked fits perfectly. She was small, livable, and durable. It could withstand the fiercest of storms, waves, and monsters. Monsters, that you at least think are real. They were all just myths your mother told you about. 

Mermaids that left trinkets on the helm of each ship they came across, an octopus-like creature pushing the boats in the wrong direction, and even the ocean itself; a lively source of nature that will always lead the way when these malicious creatures have any form of malicious intentions. 

Making your way down to the pier, you are stopped by a villager, an older woman who knew your father very well. “Y/n! Y/n! Come here, I have something for your travels!” You hear from her frail yet powerful voice. She gently grabs your hands and pulls you into her home, making you giggle softly as she sits you on her couch. 

“Now, I knew I would see you today because of the conditions out… there. I have this for you, wishing you safe travels and return.” She puts a dainty necklace in the palms of your hands. “It was a gift from your mother, she had told me to wait until you were older, and I think now would be the perfect time.” She smiles as you look at the beautiful oval-shaped locket. 

“My family and I really love you, Eleanor. Thank you for taking such good care of us.” You smile up at her, closing your fingers around the locket with a picture of both your mother and your father. “Thank you, really, for everything.” 

She shakes her head, “The only thing you owe me is a hug and a proper goodbye.” She says, opening her arms for you. You happily oblige, wrapping your arms around her hunched body. She was like a grandmother to you even when she was just a family friend, but you most definitely loved her as a grandmother. 

“I love you so much, and I will most definitely bring you some trinkets if mermaids ever leave anything for me.” She chuckles in response and waves you off, sending you on your way to uncertainty. 

Entering the deck of your boat was a feeling of freedom that you had longed to feel ever since the death of your parents. It was difficult to make it through the day without breaking down into your most vulnerable form; A sobbing, shaking mess. 

Standing at the helm brought mixed emotions. You were finally here. You were finally able to feel like the woman your mother described you as. “You are a brave, independent, beautiful girl Y/n. You will do amazing things one day. That may be tomorrow or ten years from now. But amazing things they will be.”

Those words stuck with you from the day she died. Those words were what drove you to sail alone after all these years. She told you that you were brave, and that was all it took to motivate you to learn, grow, and persevere in your passion for sailing. 

Now all you had to do was make sure you had enough food, water, and supplies in the cockpit, untie the sails, and mark the coordinates on your map. Once those subjects were taken care of, the last was to untie Aphrodite from the pier and raise the anchor and you are all good to go!

With the small gusts of winds every now and then, it would take about 6 to 7 hours for you to make it to your destination. That is if there is no storm, headwind, or pirates that you have to worry about. Crossing Captain Barnes is on your list of “most feared encounters” and you could not imagine getting stuck with him, let alone see him. Rumors say he lost his arm to the Kraken and used the gold from a found treasure to make a new arm. A much more dangerous one than he already had. 

The thought of seeing him gives you chills in of itself, so you decide to put your mind to something else. You begin to steer the boat in the direction of your destination, your blue navy-themed sailing dress your mother made you flowing in the wind. You smile as the smell of salt and cold water fills your nose, the ocean and wind guiding you in the right direction.

~~~~~~~~ 3 hours later ~~~~~~~~

The clouds had come out of nowhere, casting a large, dark shadow over Aphrodite. The wind was skin-biting and strong, the waves getting unruly as she becomes angry with something. What? You had no idea. You had prepared for this, but the worst thing that could happen happened. 

As you put on your dark blue cloak to keep warm, a large wave crashed over your boat. With much luck, Aphrodite held strong and pulled back up from the water. Raindrops soaked your clothes as well as waves that rolled over the surface of your boat. As you were pulling on the sails, you froze in fear. A colossal wave formed. Bigger than anything you have seen, towering over you. At this point, you knew your fate and you fully accepted it. 

As the wave crashed over your boat, the water engulfed you into a frigid and bitter hug. The sheer force of this wave cracked your beautiful boat in two, ripped the sails a part as if it was cut by scissors, and lastly shredded your near-perfect map to shreds. It was a saddening sight to see to anyone on the outside. 

As your vision fades to black, numbness takes over your system and you are finally at rest. 

Or so you thought. 

“Is she ok? She- Oh she’s breathing! She looks ok, just a little roughed up.” 

‘Squawk!’

“She’s a human! She’s beautiful, she looks so cute in this little dress of hers.”

‘Squawk!’

“Can we keep her?”

A pause…

“Let's bring her inside, but we have to make sure she doesn’t escape. Grab some of the rope from her boat, that will hold her.” 

“She scared? She scared?” The animal squawked. 

“For certain…”

The voices were faded and muffled, and you felt like you were held in a bubble. Everything was quiet. The voices were smooth, siren-like, minus the power. There was something dark in the woman’s voice that hovered over you. There was something in her voice that sounded almost… dark and evil. As if she had malicious intentions with you. 

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of waves crashing against the sand, but you were not on the beach anymore. You were in a cave, a dark, cold, dreary cave. With a pounding in your head, you moved your hand to your temple. Well, tried to. You look to your left, letting your eyes get used to the darkness and you see rings of rope around your wrist, holding you to a rusty bed frame. Looking to your right you see the same.

Struggling was your first instinct, but you were frozen in place. It was fear taking over your body and you didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t much you could do in your state. It was so cold, and you couldn’t find a way to get warm. 

“H-hello?” Your voice echoes in the abyss of the dark cave in front of you and you have yet to hear anything other than that. But moments later, other voices fill the cavern's echos. 

“I wonder when she will wake up, oh I sure hope it’s soon.” One voice said. Were they talking about me? You think to yourself. 

“Well, when she does, it will be quite the surprise don’t you think?” That voice, it was the voice that sounded evil… 

In an instant, the dark cave was filled with lowly lit torches. From what you could see was a room full of different trinkets, a makeshift vanity with a sea-glass mirror, shelf portions of the cave filled with sea shells, and lastly her.

A beautiful woman walks into the cave carrying what looks to be wood, sail rope, some canvas sails, and cloth. It took you a moment to realize that these were parts of Aphrodite. Your precious boat. 

“Ah, she’s awake.” The woman says to her accomplice, a parrot on her shoulder. 

“Awake! Awake! Awake! Awake!” The parrot responds, making the woman let out a soft chuckle. 

“Please, let me go!” You plead. 

“No, you are mine now and I get to do what I please,” She gives you a smug smile and sets her trinkets and shells down on her vanity. You watch her carefully, salty tears falling down your cheeks as you pull at the ropes around your wrists. “There is no coming out of those ropes, darling. I know how to tie a good knot” She emphasizes the ’t’, making you jump slightly in response. 

“Such a curious creature humans are. They move around on these water contraptions just to go see another piece of land. Can you imagine that?” She says, chuckling at her own question. “Well of course you can, you were doing just that!” She moves towards the makeshift seaweed and canvas bed and sits on the edge. 

“I have yet to see a real human up close and see what they are really like. How much pain and torture they can take, just like my sisters had to endure.” 

Her intentions scared you, and her smirk told you that she already knew that. “P-please don’t hur-” she cut you off with a laugh and a mockery of your fear. 

“Puh puh puh, please! Oh don’t be so cute, I love hearing screams of fear…” She leans close to your face, her tongue sliding against your cheek and picking up a tear. “Mmmm, tastes so good. I can’t wait to taste the rest of you.” You whimper as her eyes turn bright red and before you know it, the clothes are ripped from your body leaving you nude, cold, and exposed. You flail your feet attempting to kick her, but she quickly pins them down and wraps more rope around them, connecting them to the bed posts at the bottom.

She shakes her head at your action and gently slides her fingers over your now exposed belly, “Nuh uh, none of that. We don’t need anyone else to get hurt, right?” You shiver in response, making her smile grow even bigger. “Oh, so you feel me…” She realizes and she runs her fingers up your belly, and to the valley of your breasts. 

Your reactions are very minimal at first, but then she starts going in other directions. “Hmm, I have little buttons like these too, I wonder what yours do?” She moves and grazes her fingers over your nipple, making you shudder. A new feeling has come to you, and the woman takes note. “Ah, how interesting. This little bud of skin is much more sensitive than the skin over here…” She does the same motion of rolling her fingers but with just a small section of skin from your breast. 

“What if we do both?” She inquires, moving both her hands above your breasts. Taking both nipples in her fingers, she smiles at your reaction of curling in on yourself. The little noises you make are what set her off. “Wow, how amazing,” She whispers, smirking at your reaction. As you whine and shake your body slightly, you try to get her off of you, but she is just pulled towards you again. 

“Someone is a little feisty,” She slaps your breast harshly and you yelp in pain. She chuckles and stands up. “Now let me introduce myself. I am Wanda, and as you can see I take the shape of a human, like you. But I am nothing of the kind. I have morals.” She pauses, and moves between your spread-open legs. “When I got the ability to use my shapeshifting power, I first wanted to try to be human. Just to see what it feels like to walk and run. I liked it at first, but then came this feeling that I can’t describe. It is like a fire was lit right here,” she puts her hand just above your lower regions, goosebumps pebbling at the touch of her skin on yours.

“There was nothing I could do to put it out. So I explored down there… I have a button down there just like up here,” She rolls your nipples in her fingers once again, making you whine in protest. “Oh, my Poseidon… it felt heavenly when I rubbed it just right. I thought the feeling would never end! But then it did… it felt like I exploded. It was like getting caught in a wave, only to fall back down into warm water again.” She smiles down at you from her spot between your legs. 

“I want to see if you feel it too.” She smirks and you whimper as you pull at the restraints around your limbs. Dismissing you, her fingers spread your slick petals and she gently rubs around the top of your pussy. A soft moan emits from your mouth and she gasps. “Oh, I think I found your button too,” Wanda continues to rub your clit, loving every single reaction from your mouth. With curiosity, she pokes at your entrance with her fingers. When she enters her fingers into your wet cunt, the moan from your mouth is beautiful. 

“That was beautiful, I need to see more!” She exclaims and starts to move her fingers in and out of your hole while rubbing your clit. With never feeling these things before, you are like an exposed nerve and are oh, so, sensitive. 

You soon start to feel what she was describing, the fire, the riding up the wave, and after seconds, the falling from that wave and into warm water. As you cum, she smiles at the feeling of your walls clenching around her fingers. “It feels nice, doesn’t it…” she states, not addressing it as a question. You vigorously shake your head, denying her. She smirks, knowing deep down you absolutely love it. 

The ropes burn your limbs and you were tired. But Wanda was far from done. She had so much more planned as she was infatuated with your pussy and how it pulsed around her fingers. “Should we see how many more of these little episodes we can see today?” 

“N-no! No, please no more, I- I want to go home, please,” You beg, knowing deep down you most likely won’t make it out of here. Not without a fight. Already you were scheming how you could possibly escape her, but your thoughts were shut down as Wandas' fingers intruded your hole at a fast rate. Her fingers moved in and out of your cunt, a burning feeling bubbling inside of you once again. 

“Oh, you’re so wet down here, little one. I swear if I go too fast, there may be a tidal wave coming at me.” She smirks at her words, not slowing her pace as she curls her fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion. Your moans were music to her ears, like putting a sea shell to one's ear and hearing the beauty of the ocean on the other side. 

Failing miserably, you try to quiet your moans. But the feelings are just too intense for you to handle. She leans down as she continues to pump her fingers inside of you and smiles as she licks along your red, hot clit. Your legs jolt once a more sensitive wave of pleasure falls over you, her tongue moving expertly over your little bud. Your back arches as much as it can with the bonds keeping you down and you try to enjoy your current state under Wandas' domination. 

In a matter of seconds, you are crumbling at the feel of Wandas' three fingers inside of you as well as her tongue licking your clit over and over again. Cumming a second time was even more of an experience. You saw white as your orgasm came crashing over you once again. Whimpers come out of your mouth as tears are falling down your cheeks. It’s too much, and your cunt feels like it's on fire. 

Finally, Wanda has had enough, and she lets out a sigh as she looks down at your abused petals. “Aw, look how red you are. You must be so sensitive, hm?” She chuckles at your fucked out sounds as she grazes your clit with the back of a finger, your hips pulling away in retaliation. You whimper as she suddenly stands up, her other fingers leaving your hole in an instant. You shudder at the emptiness, letting out a sob as your emotions take control of your body again. 

“Sweetheart, don’t cry, we have just barely begun.” Her smile is malicious and full of evil. There is nothing welcoming about her smile, almost like the waxing gibbous, right before a full moon. Only a sliver of a smile of the night sky, then the werewolves come out. Her teeth were sharp but smooth enough to look human. But she was far from human.

You found out she was a mermaid while she let you roam the beach a little bit. All she gave you for clothing was a paper bag-type dress made out of the canvas of your sails, and a rope around your middle as a belt. She took the chains from the anchor of your boat and kept it around your ankle, the other end under a very heavy bolder that she moved with her powers. 

While you stayed on the beach, chained to the rock that gave you the shade you needed, Wanda was hunting. There was a little bit of forest above the cave you both took shelter in, but she warned you to never go in there. Well, not without her. You were curious as to know if there was danger, or if she just didn’t want you out of her sight. But it was easy to say, she did not want you going anywhere. 

Sitting on the beach was the little bit of freedom that you looked forward to every day. One hundred and eighty-two (182) days of being in Wandas' captivity. You learned on day seven (7) to never run away from her. She will make everything hurt. She will take everything away from you if you try to take yourself away from her. 

On day seven (7), you found a way to rub the chain links together and break the loop off of your foot. Making sure she was in the water, you made a run for it on the wet sand of the beach. Trying to go around the island and then out into the ocean was your goal. Wanda sensed you were gone the second the chain broke. It was no use trying to swim away from a mermaid. 

She caught up with you in a matter of seconds, her webbed tail making her swim much faster than you; A mere human. She grabbed your ankle from underneath the water, dragging you down to the ocean floor. Not too deep as she knows the pressure builds, but deep enough where you would not be able to escape. She smiled as you thrashed against her iron grip, your arms trying desperately to reach the surface, and the last few bubbles exited your mouth as you finally fell unconscious. 

Once you were out, she pulled you to the beach, getting the water from your lungs and making sure you are breathing again. She sent a wave of energy over your body, keeping you in an unconscious state. Picking you up, your head hung over her arm as your legs hung over her other arm. She looked at your sleeping face in slight disappointment as you were doing so good the few days before this. She knew that the time outside was going to be limited as part of the punishment she was going to give you. 

Laying you on the bed, she gathers a few trinkets she has found. Including a sewing kit. She looked over your body and stripped you of your canvas dress. She laced the rope around your arms and fastened them to the rusty bars above your head. Angrily, she stares, thinking of the things she is going to do to you when you wake up. She growls and pounces on top of you, grabbing your legs and putting them together. She takes more rope from your boat and wraps your thighs and ankles, rendering you unable to walk. 

Now comes the painful part; She threads the thread through the eye of the needle and pinches the skin of your thigh. Carefully she puts the needle through your skin, puncturing through the layers mercilessly. As she pulls the thread through the hole in your skin, she meticulously sews your legs together in an intricate zig-zag shape from your left leg to your right leg. Once she gets to just above the rope around your ankles she hums at her work, making sure that you won’t be able to pull the thread out of your legs, even if you tried as hard as you could. 

Waving her hand takes away the power keeping you unconscious, and she makes her way out of the cave, not wanting to hear your screams as you realize what she had done to you. Of course, she loved to hear you scream, but not in pain. It was never meant to be this way. If you had just listened and stayed where you were put, this never would have happened. As she transforms into her mermaid form, she dives into the ocean to cool off as she was much too angry to argue with you, worried she would kill you in the snap of a finger if you said the wrong thing to her. 

You started to come to, becoming more and more aware of your surroundings by the second. Once again, you tried to move, only to be stopped by the ropes around your wrists, but there was much more than what was done to you last time. You looked to the source of the tension of your legs and your panic set in. Screams of pain and horror echoed through the cave, tears and sobs were heard for miles outside of the cave, and Wanda was nowhere near where she could hear them. 

~~~~~~~

More than a few hours later, your sobs had calmed to nothing more than whimpers. Your legs were screaming in pain, blood dripping from each of the holes Wanda's needle had made, soaking the thread and keeping them together. You closed your eyes, hoping that someone would find you, help you, kill you. But your wishes were only met with more fear.

As Wanda entered the cave, she had a whole net of fish, more shells, and trinkets from the ocean floor, as well as the part of your ship you were going to miss the most: The picture of you, your father, and your mother. It was still in its gold-plated frame, the monotone black and white of the picture still prominent. “I brought you a couple things,” Wanda says, unapologetically. Setting the net down, she places a pink and coral-colored conch shell next to you on the bed, the picture, and what looks like a shell necklace that she put together herself. 

You did not acknowledge her in the slightest. From the moment she walked into the cave, to the moment she begged you to talk to her. She even untied your arms and helped you sit up, but you didn’t say a word. In a fit of rage, she throws your body against the bed, letting you curl against yourself as you try to undo the thread. 

“It's not going to come off. I put a spell on it, and until you talk to me, it will stay that way. Do you understand?” She holds your chin in her hands, her sharp nails digging into your soft, beautiful skin. You whimper in response, tears pooling in your eyes. A few fall, but Wanda is quick to wipe them away as you look up at her. She gives you a soft smile and your brows furrow. This smile is different, it's out of pity, and out of a different type of intent. “Please, say something…” She whispers, tears of her own filling her eyes.

“Wh-why did you do this to me?” You whimper, pulling your hands away from the thread and to your chest to cover yourself. 

“Because you ran away… I told you to stay here, and you disobeyed me. This never would have happened if you just stayed, and enjoyed the sun like I so generously allowed you!”

Her eyes close, and she covers them with her hand. As she removes her hand, she sits down on the bed and her eyes soften as she looks at you. “I never wanted this to happen, love. You are mine, but I never wanted to hurt you.” 

"All you are is a liar..." You respond, with no emotion in your voice, eyes, or heart. Wanda sighs and helps you sit up once again. 

“My love for you is not a lie.” She says, moving to the floor as your legs drape over the side of the bed. She unties your thighs and ankles, her hands glowing a soft red color. Your legs lose feeling for only a moment, and you watch in awe as the thread is removed without pain or discomfort. It floats out of your skin, and the holes where it once was were closed. “Please forgive me, my little human. I won’t do this unless you make me angry. You won’t be punished if you don’t do something punishable. Do you understand me?” 

You nod softly as the feeling returns to your legs. You stand up, as does Wanda. You stumble at first, but you slowly make your way out of the cave and over to the rock where your chain lay. You wrap the chain around your ankle and hold it up for Wanda to seal with her magic. She looks at you, confused. 

“What are you doing?” She asks. 

You sigh and you hold up your foot again. “Im showing you I can be good. That I can keep a promise of being good.” She understands and seals the lock over the two open links. You stand up again, and you make your way to the water. You have already accepted the fact that will rip the dress off of you when you get back inside anyway, so you stand in the sun, bathing in the warmth as you stand nude. You are grateful that the chain grants you the length to reach the water. 

The waves make you sway slightly, and you close your eyes. Your destiny has proven itself, and you were to stay captive with Wanda. 

Soon enough, day three hundred sixty-five (365) hits and you are smiling with Wanda. Happily letting her devour you every night to her heart's desire, as well as shower you with gifts and jewels she finds on her hunting trips. In a form of trust, you both agree to a collar around your neck. One that claims you as well as keeps you on the island when Wanda is away. It was a way for Wanda to make sure you were safe, and a way for you to feel secure in someone's watch. And if any pirates come to the island, it would notify Wanda if you were in danger. 

She loved to see you in the sun, the jewels around your neck shimmering in the bright sunlight above you. A bright ruby right at the center of your neck, represents the love that Wanda has gifted upon you. Every morning when you woke up in her arms, you felt safe and sound, and no longer in danger of her. Of course, you were never going to make it home to Eleanore, so you threw a bottle with a letter in it into the ocean hoping that it finds her well. 

Yours and Wandas' routine grew every day, her even letting you go for a swim. She would transform into her mermaid form, and you would hold onto her shoulders as she sped through the water at speeds you have never felt before. On other days, she would take you to the edge of the forest above her cave. She told you stories of the cannibals that lived among the trees but willingly agreed to keep on their side of the island and never venture past the river about a mile into the grove of trees. 

You would tell stories of when you sailed with your father and cooked with your mother. Wanda loved to hear about humans and the hobbies or skills you can acquire with the right supplies and practice. She was infatuated with humans just as she was with you. 

One of your favorite things to do with Wanda was lay out on the sand at night, a soft seaweed blanket underneath you both, the water reflecting the moon, and the stars shimmering above you. For every shooting star there was, you would point to it and give Wanda a soft kiss on her cheek, making her smile and return the kiss. That was a nightly ritual you both had and when the both of you had soaked up the moonlight for the perfect amount of time, she would take you inside and make love to you. She would worship you, and care for you. She gave you meaning in a world where you had no one else to be there for. 

She loved you.

Your keeper loves you, yet you love her too.

[naffeclipse]

I absolutely adore every AU you come up with, but I was actually curious if you had already or were considering writing a traditional DCAxReader? Hopefully I can kick this art block soon because there is so much fanart I want to draw of your stories :) Hope your week is going well! (besides the roof disaster ^^;;;)

On another note... AUs are my brainrot and I keep thinking about that post about the large bed... and spoopy ghosts. Clipgeist? No running away from something that can follow you to the ends of the Earth. Poor Y/Ns just can't catch a break lol

I have a few canon stories with the DCA x Reader on my Ao3 but nothing as grand or long as my AUs! I do have a 'canon' story plotted but I don't know when I'll write it. Hopefully one day!

Ah, that's so exciting! I hope you can chisel that art block down hehe 

It's going good (aside from the roof ;-;) I have this week of school before we go on break for Thanksgiving and it can't come soon enough!

Shaking your hand so hard rn!! I love AUs! And a spooky ghost one? Oh ho, I've always wanted to write a domestic monster scenario!

Perhaps Y/N moves into an old, old house with steep roofs, pointed arches above the windows and doors, and a lovely porch. It's two and a half stories tall (the half story is attic space under the roof rafters) with a four-story central spired tower! All dark wood and even darker interiors. You can't desire if it's Dracula's castle or a fairytale home for the happily ever-after-ed prince and princess. It's even got a secret underground tunnel! What more do you need when flipping a home? You love restoration and you intend to keep all its gothic charm while updating it to be, well, livable.

It's also incredibly cheap! Like, stupid cheap, for something that should be incredibly pricey for its prestige style and historical value. Not that you've ever looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even you have second thoughts before ultimately snatching up the house key.

The first night is always unsettling—maybe you hear a voice whisper in your ear despite it being dead silent and there's not a soul for miles, but you'll brush that off as getting spooked by old ghost stories your brain conjures up within the ornate decorated rooms.

From there, things get stranger and stranger still. Your paintbrush is moved and you know you didn't set it there because of the wet paint dripping onto the floor. The electricity is ever fickle, turning off at the most opportune moments during the night, like when you swear you saw a figure standing at the end of the hallway, all thin and scraggly with a ghostly smile and an inhuman head framed with wavering energy that almost seems to glow like embers in the dark!

Still, you continue your repairs and restorations, sometimes softly talking to yourself out loud and talking to the house like it's a wounded animal you intend to restore back to its fittest with all the love you can pour out of your heart. Places need love, too.

The most obnoxious thing is that you can't access the tower—the door is always locked, and no matter what key you try, it refuses to budge. You don't dare risk causing damage by prying it open, but you swear you'll get into that tower one day. There's got to be treasure inside with how mysteriously it stands, just out of your reach. Though, you've mostly put it aside for now. Whenever you jingle keys in the lock, you swear you hear a voice grow angry with you, and the hallway becomes so cold you can see your breath.

So, yeah, you're saving that for later.

The pivotal moment of you even considering a haunting is one night when you find yourself overwhelmed and stressed from the ever-growing list of chores and how everything is falling apart faster than you can fix it. You dissolve on the living room floor into thick tears. You're usually so put together, even when alone. You hate crying. There's no one to hold you together except yourself, so why fall apart in the first place?

Your little moment of getting it out is interrupted when a quilt falls over your shoulders. A soft, heavy quilt of midnight skies and dotted pale blue stars that was never in this room.

You leap to your feet, quilt falling away, and call out in classic horror victim fashion, "Who's there?" but no one answers. In frozen terror, you stare at the room, expecting something, anything to jump out or scream at you, but it's so, so quiet. All is still, like apologetic comfort.

That couldn't have happened. No draft, no forgetfulness could explain how a quilt was draped over you as if by a concerned friend.

You stare at the quilt and decide that you've had a long day. You go to your room, unable to relax even once you're under the covers, feeling something cold and misty above your bed.

When you wake in the morning, that starry quilt is draped over your lying form. You did not put it there.

Something or someone else tucked it around you.

[misscherry-26]

I saw you were taking requests for Bellamy Blake and I haddd to send one in!! Could you please write a lil spice fic, where they’re in the woods and get in a fight or sum n he js suddenly kissss her. Thank you twin!!

Unspoken Feelings

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for this!! My first request for Bellamy Blake. Oh the things I felt while working on this...👀 By the way I had to make a few changes, this is my most polished draft, haha. I'm so excited to share it, though I don't know how good I did with the spicy. I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting. ❤️

There could be grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

He really thinks he’s the leader, the king of the earth. Self-centered egoist of a man. He can go fuck himself. You think as you walk through the woods in search of the plant that Clarke needs for Finn, who was attached by the grounder that kidnapped Octavia.

They managed to get him to the ship, but now he was struggling for his life. The problem was that the knife he was stabbed with was infected. Bellamy and his group got the grounder and tortured him to get information. Of course he refused to give it, that until Octavia threatened him to harm herself with the poisoned knife. Finn would live, but Clark needed more medicinal plants for him.

But of course, Bellamy Blake had to give his ultimatum that no one would leave the camp, no after realizing that you aren’t the only survivors of earth. He could care less about saving people, but you for sure didn’t. You don’t know Finn completely but, he deserves to live.

Since the ship landed on Earth, You and Bellamy have been at each other’s throat every single moment. It’s like you are locked in a never-ending battle, a constant clash of wills. Every decision he makes seems to deliberately oppose yours, every step he takes is a challenge to your very presence. He thrives in the chaos, you can see it in the way he strides trough camp, shoulders squared, head held high, daring anyone to question him. His motto—whatever the hell we want—rings in your ears like a taunt, a reckless mantra you can’t ignore. He embodies it with every decision, with every command he gives without caring for the consequences.

When he encouraged the others to rip off their bracelets, you felt the sting of frustration burning through your veins. To him it was a bold declaration of independence from the Ark, but to you, it was a hasty move to those above thinking Earth wasn’t livable.

And then, there was the Grounder. The way he’d dragged the man into camp, beaten and bloodied, as if his very existence was a crime that needed punishing. You left the room when he ordered the torture, convinced that brute force was the only answer. The look in his eyes then—cold, calculating, determined—was a look that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’s always there, hiding on the edges of your vision, challenging you. It’s infuriating, the way he dismisses anything resembling compromise or collaboration as weakness, how he scoffs at your attempts to hold onto something resembling order or morality.

Yet, there’s something in his attitude —something in the way he glances at you, a flicker of underdetermination, a tension that thrums between you like a wire. It’s in the way he steps closer when you argue, his body taut, like he’s gearing up for a fight he both craves and dreads. You feel it too—the tightness in your chest, the burn of frustration that’s more than just anger, something deeper, more complicated. You don’t know whether you want to scream at him or—

But no, you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under your skin.

You take a look at the sky losing its light with each minute that it passes.

Taking a deep breath, you continue.

After what feels like hours of searching, you finally spot the familiar shape of the plant you’re looking for. You remember the details Clark gave you. Crouching down you carefully pull a small bag from your pocket. You work quickly, plucking the plants and stuffing them into the bag, your movements precise and purposeful.

But then—a sudden rustling, a low whisper of movement through the leaves nearby. Your heart stutters, and your breath catches in your throat.

Instinct takes over. You drop low, pressing yourself against the cold ground, hiding behind the broad leaves of the plant. Grounders, maybe.

They could be watching, waiting.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, listening for the sound of footsteps, for the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves that would betray their presence. But instead, you hear a low chuckle—soft, mocking, and far too familiar.

Your eyes snap open, and you whip around, breath catching in your chest.

There, arms on his waist, is Bellamy. His eyes, dark and sharp, are fixed on you like a predator who has found his prey. His brows are drawn together, the muscles in his neck tense, and there's a fire in his gaze that blazes hotter than any annoyance you've seen before.

“I see you like to test my patience, Princess.” His deep voice cuts through the silence, pulling your gaze upward. He's standing right in front of you.

You get up immediately, your breathing and muscles relaxing at the notice that you are not in danger.

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his previous comment, turning around and continuing on getting more plants.

“I remember telling everyone to not leave camp, and that includes you too, you know? There’s no special treatment here.” You hear him from behind.

“I wasn’t going to sit around. Clark needs this for Finn.”

“He’s stable enough; we don’t need anyone else getting hurt over this.” Bellamy insists, his tone sharp.

You clench your teeth and turn. “Look, I couldn’t care less what you think. I don’t go by your rules.”

Bellamy scoffs and grabs your arm. You let go of his grasp as soon as he starts walking.

“Don’t touch me!”

Bellamy watches you, wondering why you are being stubborn right now. Hell, he even wonders why he came here for the first place. Was he worried about you? Why did he come here? He questions himself. Bellamy’s mind races, battling with the tangled web of his feelings. He’s been fighting to keep everyone safe, to enforce rules that seem cold but necessary, and yet, here he is, breaking his own rule because of you.

Truth is, you have been nothing but a burden to him every single day since they put a foot on earth. Your defiance, your refusal to follow orders, your reckless bravery—all of it has been a thorn in his side. Every day, you challenged his authority and decisions, and yet, despite all the friction, despite the constant arguments and the resentment, there’s something about you that pulls at him.

He can’t quite distinguish it, but it’s there—a magnetic pull that makes him question his own motives and feelings. It’s in the way you stand up for what you believe in, even when it puts you at risk. It’s in the fire and determination in your eyes, something that resonates with him on a deeper level than he’s willing to admit.

The frustration he feels is braided with an unspoken admiration, a bittering respect that complicates his emotions even further. Bellamy is torn between his duty and the sudden impulses of something else—something he can’t easily define or control. It’s a vulnerability he hasn’t allowed himself to explore, and it confuses him.

All he knows is that despite the danger and the defiance, he can’t seem to turn his back on you. His frustration is laced with a deeper, more complex emotion that makes him question why he’s so determined to keep you safe.

He thought you would be this scared of everyone and everything type of girl, but you prove him all the opposite.

“Let’s go back—”

“I won’t.” You cut him off, not giving him a chance to say anything. You turn again and continue with your job.

Of course, you hoped that he would go and leave you alone. You hoped.

Next thing you know, your feet aren’t touching the ground and you are being lifted up by him. A few leaves escape your grasp, so you make sure to close the bag.

“Let me go!” You protest.

“Stop screaming, you are putting us in danger” He doesn’t listen to your request, instead he walks back to camp.

You scoff, moving frantically. “If you cared so much about safety, you wouldn’t be carrying me off like I’m just another pack to you!”

Bellamy's jaw clenches, and he stops abruptly, eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

“You’re the one making noise,” he retorts, setting you down but not releasing his grip entirely. “Keep quiet or—”

You hear it then—a rustling of leaves, far too close, far too deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the wind. Bellamy stiffens beside you, his grip on your arm tightening reflexively.

For a split second, your eyes meet, and you both know: the Grounders.

“Run,” he whispers, urgency dripping from the word.

But there’s no time to argue. You both take off, feet pounding against the damp earth, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sounds behind you grow closer—footsteps, which makes your heart race even faster.

Up ahead, you spot a dark opening—a cave, half-hidden by foliage. You yank Bellamy toward it without thinking, and for once, he doesn’t resist. Both dive inside, pressing against the cold rock. The cave is narrow, suffocating, but it’s cover.

Outside, you hear the murmurs and footsteps of the Grounders drawing near. You hold your breath, every muscle tense. Bellamy’s hand is still around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse racing just as fast as yours.

“We’re not going anywhere until it clears. We need to stay inside.” he mutters, barely audible.

Bellamy presses a hand against the small of your back, steering you deeper into the cave, his touch firm, almost commanding. You feel the heat of his palm through your shirt, and it sends a jolt of anger through you.

“Get your hand off me.” You snap, jerking away from his touch. But the cave is too narrow, and he doesn't give you much space to maneuver.

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

You dig your heels in, resisting just to spite him. “I don’t need you to save my life, Bellamy.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it—just a sharp, bitter edge. “You think I want to be stuck here with you? Trust me, Princess, this is the last place I want to be.”

You whirl around, stepping closer, your chest brushing against his, both of you too angry to care. “Then why are you here?” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “Why do you always have to control everything? Who made you the boss of me?"

His hand, still on your back, clenches into a fist, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“Maybe because I’m trying to keep you alive!” he spits out, his face inches from yours, his breath hot. “You are always doing this—taking risks, getting in my way. Do you have a death wish?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger flaring into something more intense. “No, but maybe you do,” you whisper fiercely. “Coming out here, risking your life for someone you supposedly can’t stand. What is it, Bellamy? Why do you even care?”

He grits his teeth, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. “I don’t!” he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction, faltering on the last word.

“Liar,” you accuse, stepping even closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “If you didn’t care, you’d have let me go. You wouldn’t have come after me, wouldn’t have—”

His grip tightens on your arm, and his other hand moves to your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

You tilt your chin defiantly, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just admit it? All this, you’re not really angry. You’re scared. Scared of what might happen if you lose control. Scared of what it means if something happens to m—"

But he doesn’t let you finish. In the blink of an eye, he’s on you, lips crashing against yours with a force that takes your breath away. The kiss is rough, almost bruising, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something desperate. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, before the shock melts into anger again, and you shove against his chest.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses you harder against the cold, cave wall, his body flush against yours. His hands move up, one sliding to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth claims yours with a furious intensity, like he’s trying to silence every word, every protest.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess. You should push him away again, should shove him back and yell in his face, but instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt. It’s like all the anger, all the arguments have boiled over into this—this raw, heated clash of mouths and tongues.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are panting, breaths coming fast, and his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still dark with emotion.

“Why do you care?” you whisper again, but this time your voice is softer, less certain.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and his gaze is intense, almost searching. “I don’t know,” he mutters, but there’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that makes your heart ache even as your anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Maybe I’m frustrated…so damn frustrated because—” He hesitates, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “—because you’ve got a way of getting under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. But yeah, there it is. I’m worried. Happy?”

His lips are so close you can feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world has narrowed to just the two of you, trapped together in this cave, trapped by something you can’t name.

"Bell..." you start, but he silences you again, this time with a softer kiss, one that seems to ask for something instead of demand it.

His hands slips down to the curve of your waist pulling you even closer, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, heat pounding low in your belly.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers locking on his dark strands. The kids deepens, growing more urgent, desperate, as if both of you are trying to pour all this unspoken feelings into a single, shared breath.

And you know that whatever this is, you are not ready to stop it. Not yet.

[twistedwonderlandsimps]

Addams!Yuu

I'm just here to mix-and-match different kinds of Yuus with different kinds of personalities to see what monstrosity I can make. That being said,,, Addams!Yuu brainrot!

Don’t be surprised. There’s always gonna be that obligatory Addams Family fusion AU in every fandom and if there’s not then that’s clearly already a sign for you, my dear reader, to start writing one.

Anyway, Addams!Yuu, who doesn’t know about the Addams Family? If you don’t then that must mean I’m ancient (which is fair) and that you should start with the Addams Family 1991 movie.

Addams!Yuu who has the standard issue dark sense of humor, fascination for the weird and macabre, the love for the dark colors that all Addams seem to have and values family a lot. 

After Grim opens the coffin, sees Addams!Yuu in all their gothic glory, and then proceeding to threaten them, Addams!Yuu really just said: 

“Oh, what bliss! To have slept like the dead, woke up suffocating, and greeted by such sweet words in such a finely made coffin. Is this what it’s like to be courted? What am I getting courted by? A depraved stalker? A monstrous beast? *gasp* Perhaps… a demented serial killer?” [cue Yuu swooning, dramatically holding a hand over their forehead and lightly fanning themselves with their other hand]

Anyway, they don’t ignore Grim for long. Not when Grim keeps threatening them and spewing out fire.

Addams!Yuu immediately became delighted with Grim because, duh, a monster??? Who breathes fire??? With a massive ego??? Threatening to burn them alive???

That’s like the equivalent of someone complimenting them… Maybe even borderline flirting with them.

Still Grim and Addams!Yuu click with each other straight away. Addams!Yuu doesn’t hold back when complimenting Grim, even if the way they compliment someone is weird, and Grim gets a huge ego boost. 

These two are an iconic duo who just keep hyping and enabling each other.

“Great Grim, for such a terrifying creature such as yourself…surely you must have committed the most deplorable acts. Oh, you must tell me! How many buildings have you burned down? Were there people inside? How many survived? Oh, if only papà and mamà would let me do the same… They said I have to focus on school first and start small before I can put myself on the government watchlist. *sigh*”

Grim has no idea what Yuu’s saying but he does understand when he’s being complimented, his ego’s inflating and that’s all that really matters, honestly.

Anyway, since the two didn’t do a chase scene with Grim attempting to hurt Yuu (though Addams!Yuu would definitely appreciate this) since the two of them vibed immediately, it didn’t take long for Crowley to find them.

After being led to the Mirror Chambers, Yuu had to physically stop themselves from jumping in joy because:

“A cult! How chilling! I didn’t expect to be kidnapped by a cult! It’s been so long!”

And, “The last cult I joined didn’t seem to appreciate it when I sacrificed a goat on the altar. Apparently they weren’t actually a cult. The police were called and they ended up putting me in an asylum. T’was a lovely vacation.”

Crowley tried to tell Yuu that they weren’t a cult and that they were a well-known and respected establishment but Yuu ignored him (Ha! Get a taste of your own medicine, crowman!) in favor of admiring the surrounding aesthetics. 

NRC is the perfect aesthetic for Addams!Yuu. In fact, the Addams Family would definitely love it.

But you know what they’d love more? Ramshackle Dorm as it is.

Forget renovating it and fixing it up to make it livable to the common person, Yuu’s an Addams! Yuu’s just going to make Ramshackle even more dangerous than it already is with its lack of maintenance. 

Think spikes all around the property, deadly traps around every corner of the hallways, and maybe even a few sentient trees and carnivore plants here and there.

Where did Yuu even get those sentient floras? Shhhhh… They’re an Addams, don’t question it.

This version of Yuu… probably genuinely respects Crowley wholeheartedly. [The myuultiverse is quaking. A Yuu who actually considers Crowley a good guardian?]

Yuu at Crowley, somewhere in the future: “You are the most idle person anyone can ever hope to meet. A coward. Wastrel. Careless. Greedy and money-hungry… How admirable.”

Crowley’s constantly getting backhanded compliments and he can’t do anything about it because Yuu is an Addams and Addamses have a weird way of thinking.

As far as Addams!Yuu can tell, they’re completely normal and everyone else around them are weirdos but they’re too nice to say anything about it.

Now imagine putting Addams!Yuu and Kalim in the same room.

JK, the two may have different personalities but they’d probably be good friends… after some rocky situations here and there caused by some misunderstandings.

Yuu might think that Kalim’s being mean to them at first because the Scarabia Dorm Leader called them ‘nice and kind’ which, in Addams vocabulary, isn’t considered a compliment.

When Kalim learnt of this odd Addams culture, he tried to make an effort to speak words with negative connotations but he felt it was too mean so he just goes, “Yuu! You look nice! But… uh, in a dead way! And you’re fun and kind, but the opposite of that! Ahahaha!”

Kalim found a loophole and he’s going to take advantage of it. Yuu gets what he’s saying anyway so it all works out.

Anyway, overblots…

Yeah, you really think Yuu’s going to run away from it? Expect them to be watching from the sidelines (hecc, they might even actively head towards the overblot) and becoming Rook 2.0 with the way they compliment the overblotee.

Them just going:

“Ah, those strong emotions that you’ve withheld inside of you suddenly going off like an atomic bomb upon a dreary night sky. That rage in your expression, that despair in your eyes… You’ve forgotten your humanity and transformed yourself into a beast. How tragic, how beautiful. Tell me, how long have you been torturing yourself?”

Sevens forbid they actually meet Rook. Rook sees beauty in everything and he’s sharp so getting into Addams!Yuu’s grace alone by just words is as simple as taking candy from a baby.

I would type a dialogue with Rook and Addams!Yuu but I honestly don’t understand how Rook talks so just imagine it. Just Yuu and Rook continuously firing off compliments to each other until either one of them gets flustered to silence or the others pull the two away from each other.

Just imagine Rook sending a letter to Yuu via an arrow grazing their head and Yuu just swoons.

Out of everyone in NRC, I could see Rook being one of the three people who can immediately reel Yuu in with just their charms alone.

Anyway, Rook would probably fit in with the Addams. 

Yuu could literally just introduce him to their family and they’d assume he was a very distant cousin with how he is.

Yuu asks Vil for poison now and again (no one’s brave enough to ask what they’re doing with it) and likes the way he’s obsessed with being the most beautiful person.

“Your ambition to become the most beautiful person to the point of insanity is admirable, Vil Schoenheit. How long can your sanity hold on, I wonder?”

Imagine Yuu seeing Neige LeBlanche and getting mental damage from how bright and cheerful he is.

Yuu being like ‘aight, bet’ when witnessing Vil overblot and then planning on poisoning Neige.

Aside from Pomefiore, Yuu also spends most of their time on Diasomnia.

Diasomnia is literally the second peak Addams aesthetic out of all the dormitories. First being Ramshackle, obviously.

I feel Malleus and Yuu would get along quite well. They’re both elegant and have that certain vibe to them.

Malleus could just talk about gargoyle structure and lore and Yuu would probably listen to him all the way and similarly, Yuu could talk about the witch hunts their ancestor used to have and Malleus would listen just as intently.

You know what… Lilia’s food is probably a delicacy to them. 

That thing is a weapon of mass destruction and I refuse to believe that Addams!Yuu wouldn’t like it if a mere food can take down hundreds, if not thousands, of people when ingested.

Addams!Yuu also likes Silver because he ‘sleeps like the dead’. Though, his little critter friends should probably be wary about going near Yuu.

Oddly enough, I think Addams!Yuu would also like Sebek’s boisterous personality solely because of his passion and if it’s one thing I know about Addams, it’s that they’re passionate.

Sure, it may be passion about spreading Malleus’ name and glory all over the world like a missionary with a mission (duh), but it’s passion nevertheless.

Diasomnia aside, no one in Heartsalbyul asks for Yuu to help them with maintaining the plants because last time someone did, Yuu ended up cutting a good chunk of the roses off of the stems before they were stopped by both Ace and Deuce.

Of course Riddle got angry but after a few talks here and there and some communication (that’s character development) from both parties, Yuu realize that cutting the roses off of the bushes was a no-no and instead settles for painting the roses red when needed because it reminds them of the color of blood.

All in all Addams!Yuu would definitely fit right in with Night Raven College. 

It has the aesthetics and no one there is overly cheerful or colorful so it’s the perfect place for an Addams to reside at.

The overblots are just everyday routine for Yuu and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[heavenlymorals]

The Camp Girls: A Pedestal of Morality

Warning: This post contains the exploration of period-typical attitudes that can border on sexism, as well as spoilers for RDR2.

RDR2 is a game, that for the most part, values its historical setting in the sense that the setting actually matters to the story and the characters. The characters are not only reacting to the historical attitudes, but they are a part of it as well. Of course, Red Dead 2 is a bit more tame in some aspects of 1899 America, especially compared to RDR1, which makes SURE to remind you of the prejudices of 1911 America.

For this post, however, I want to talk about more domestic attitudes that were a part of the gang- to be more specific, I want to talk about the Cult of Domesticity or the Cult of Womanhood and how that idea relates back to Dutch's gang.

The Cult of Domesticity or the Cult of Womanhood was an idea that was popularized in the 19th century by the Victorian middle class that spread to America and explained, encouraged, and pushed specific gender roles and cultural ideas to the masses. As the name probably explained, this idea was pushed onto mainly women. There were two main aspects of it- the private sphere and the harbinger of morality.

The Private Sphere had everything to do with a woman's role in the house- hence the private sphere. The Private Sphere had everything to do with housekeeping, childrearing, being a good host, and overall creating a safe haven for the men in their lives. While the men had to deal with the public sphere, which was business, work, protection, etc., women took charge of the private sphere.

The morality aspect of it is about how women were expected to bring morals to the house. Men were expected to hold women in high regard and women provided sectors of emotional safety and humanity to men, as well as providing children with a moral code and instill them with manners.

This excerpt from usahistory.org explains it better than I can: "A TRUE MAN was concerned about success and moving up the social ladder. He was aggressive, competitive, and rational, and channeled all of his time and energy into his work. A TRUE WOMAN, on the other hand, was virtuous. Her four chief characteristics were piety, purity, submissiveness, and domesticity. She was the great civilizer who created order in the home in return for her husband's protection, financial security, and social status."

Of course, men perpetuated this idea, but a lot of women also supported this model of living, believing it to be the way it should be. Writers like Sarah Hale published magazines that explained what should be the behaviors of a proper lady. Women's magazines like Godey's Lady's Book sold 150,000 copies in a year. Catherine Beecher was an advocate for bringing the women's sphere to the classroom in order to instill a proper moral code into their students.

But why does this matter? I mean, the camp girls aren't exactly the moral standard of womanhood in the 1800s. Mary Beth is a thief. Karen is a scam artist. Tilly ran with gangs and murdered a man. Abigail was an ex-prostitute and a thief. Grimshaw was probably all of those things combined at one point or another.

Well, you could argue that because they live unconventional lives, morality was a bit greyer, but overall, the women of the camp still, in one way or another, adhered to this idea regarding the cult of domesticity.

The private sphere and the public sphere definitely existed in the gang, which is why there were so few missions with the camp girls. The girls were mostly resigned to the "house" or to the camp. They worked to make the camp a livable place for the men who gave them protection and financial security.

It is a common sight seeing Tilly washing clothes, or Mary Beth and Karen sewing something, or Abigail wiping down tables, same as Grimshaw. There are all very domestic roles- while in camp, the women are almost always working, except for Molly and Sadie, while the men are almost always lounging around- typical of the 1800s home.

The girls mention this as well through interactions.

Tilly mentions how much she hates washing and mending the men's laundry and how she wishes the men could do their own laundry.

Karen tells Grimshaw to shut up because Grimshaw isn't the one feeding her, so she won't take her bullying.

Abigail screams how the men aren't being men because they couldn't protect Jack from being kidnapped. She also critiques Dutch's philosophy because it doesn't feed them.

Mary Beth is yelled at for not working in the camp as she should by Grimshaw.

There are more examples of this, but we will be here all day if I have to go through all of them.

Grimshaw is kinda obvious. The girls have to work to please this fierce dragon, who is always working. Arthur mentions in the entering Valentine mission whether or not Miss Grimshaw could spare them, showing how the general priority of the girls in the camp is domestic work.

We also know that the girls doing men's work is generally rare due to this one interaction with Karen- "Not so long ago, I was a damsel in distress. Now they got me protecting the men."

The now implies that this isn't a normal routine and that protecting the men is not something that she usually has to do.

So that was just the domestic aspect of it, but there is also the morality part of it.

I think the biggest representation of this is the mini-therapy sessions with the girls, telling you to be better and offering advice to what might make Arthur a better man, with Arthur being more comfortable opening up to them BECAUSE they are women and because he expects their morality to keep them from using such information to hurt him, which is something he has to be careful with when it comes to the men in the camp. But there are more representations of this.

There is Abigail begging John to put his old ways behind and to be a better man, a real man. There is Hosea speaking about Bessie, talking about how while she is in heaven, he will be looking up at her from hell, implying that Bessie had the moral compass that Hosea did not (the interaction also probably destroys the fandom's interpretation of Bessie and Annabelle being very active members in the gang, when that is most likely not the case). Even Mary, though not a camp girl, still acts like a moral harbinger to Arthur, telling him to be a better man and stop being an outlaw.

John has a line in Undead Nightmare that is a complete reference to this thought process: "Abigail, teach the boy right from wrong."

So what am I getting at here? What is the point of all of this? It seems like I am just going off on old historical attitudes, but what does this ultimately mean?

What it means is that Dutch allows women into the gang in order to dignify his ambitions.

Dutch likes to differentiate himself from the other gangs that still roamed in America. While the other gangs stole and robbed for fortune, Dutch robbed for his romantic ideals and to be a western Robinhood. While the other gangs had many men, Dutch had a few strong men whom he knew personally and trusted. While the other gangs targeted innocents, Dutch's gang targeted only those whom they saw as committing the sin of avarice.

Dutch wants to see himself as morally superior to other gangs and other criminals, so what better way to do it than allowing women into the gang? Women who suffered great misfortune in their life and had no other place to go. With women being a pedestal of morality back in that time, Dutch having women in his camp as a way to differentiate himself from other gangs- a way to show people that he is better than them.

Every other gang encountered in the game has no women.

"We are what we are. A bunch of desperados on the run. But with the women, a change of clothes, we're a choir, or a gang of pilgrims, or something."

See, that one line from Guarma from Dutch basically explains the whole concept. Without the women, they are desperate criminals, clinging onto nothing, but with the women, they become virtuous by association. But someone like Micah doesn't care about this virtue or morality because he explains that he would rather just be a criminal and run with a few strong men, which is what he does in the end.

The concept of the private sphere and the public sphere of the camp can also show that Dutch wants to dignify his gang by giving it a sense of civilization to make it truly like a home or family.

What an interesting idea, don't you think?

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 6: Shoot

Ellie asks for help and Joel takes you shooting. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-5 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Past SA (vaguely described), past captivity, child loss. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 6.5k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It took until the door was closed and locked for the panic to kick in. 

The force of it caught you off guard as you shoved the heavy cedar chest in front of the door and turned off the light in the entryway. It was like your mind had been holding it at bay until you were alone, your heart shooting off like a rocket the second you were, gulping down air, head swimming. 

You made it to the kitchen and chugged a glass of water before opening a bottle of liquor with trembling fingers. You drank it straight from the bottle, wincing at the burn of it even though this was nothing new, and sank to your kitchen floor, pressing your head back against the cabinets as your arms clutched your knees to your chest. 

He’d been so close to you, so fucking close, because you’d let him. You’d walked up to him, stood right in front of him, close enough that you could feel his body heat and smell his skin - he smelled like the coat did, just stronger, and you’d wanted to be closer to him - and it was the closest you’d been to a man because you’d chosen it in years. 

And it was stupid. So stupid, so immensely stupid to be that close to him. It didn’t matter that Joel felt safe - or close to safe, anyway, you weren’t sure that anyone felt safe - he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. 

You didn’t know a damn thing about the man beyond the fact that he brought you into Jackson, he was estranged from Ellie - the only friend here you had - and that he was big. Big enough that, if he backed you into a corner, you wouldn’t have a say. And you’d been right next to him. And you were going to go shooting with him tomorrow. Your stomach churned. 

You drank more than you should have and moved to your living room, sitting against a speaker after you turned up the bass as high as you could go so you could feel the music inside you and drown out any sounds of your creaking house that set your whole body on edge. 

Eventually, you knew you had to sleep. There was work to be done at the stables in the morning, you’d have to be alert to shoot with Joel and you hadn’t slept well the night before, either. You had to sleep. 

So you went to bed. 

When you’d moved into this house, you’d done things to make it livable. Not that it wasn’t comfortable - it was certainly that. And you’d gotten lucky in that there was an incredible stereo and music collection. 

But the house was big. Three bedrooms, two of which you obviously didn’t need. Lots of windows - which were pretty but were also ways for people to get inside. The main bedroom was huge, with a vaulted ceiling and a king sized bed and it was too open for you to calm down enough to sleep in it. It took you just a day to drag one of the twin sized mattresses from one of the other bedrooms to the main floor and wedge it into the closet under the stairs. The space was small and enclosed, you could hear anything coming and going and it wouldn’t be the first place anyone would look for you if they tried to break in. 

It had gotten better since you’d been in Jackson. You’d felt more secure over time, eventually moved into the main bedroom and slept in the big bed - usually piled high with pillows - but you still defaulted to the closet when things were rough. 

It was going to be rough. You could feel it. 

You did everything you could to head off the worst of it. You got changed but not into pajamas, into a clean set of jeans and the one thing you’d had for more than 20 years - Justin’s shirt from the night of the outbreak. It still brought you comfort, even in its threadbare state. You put the coat back on - the smell still calming even though the coat’s original owner is what had made you panicky to begin with. You even put on pair of shoes you never wore outside the house so you could feel something on your feet, something that made you feel like you’d be ready to run if you had to. 

You tried to sleep and not think about life before Jackson, about what had you so afraid to begin with. 

You failed. 

October, 2025 

It was fall. You thought it was, anyway. It had been a while - months? - since you’d been outside and they kept the windows covered in old newspaper. Just enough to let some light through but not enough for you to see outside. But you were cold a lot now, which meant it had to be cold outside. 

It was hard to keep track of time, the only thing you really had to judge it by was when someone brought you food and water. That was twice a day. Besides the food drop offs, it had been at least three days since anyone had been to see you. 

Which was fine by you, but it was to the point that you were getting nervous. They only ever left you on your own this long when they were gone and they were only ever gone this long when shit didn’t go well. 

The main guys always went out on raids, leaving you and anyone else they were holding behind with a handful of low level muscle as security. Those pricks weren’t allowed to touch you, that much you knew. You belonged to Mitchum and him alone - though he was fine sharing you with the favorites of his band of assholes. But when shit didn’t go well, he took it out on you. And you were sure things weren’t going well. 

It was shitty enough for you when things were going well. They kept you chained to the wall by an ankle but there was enough slack that you could move around parts of the room. You found ways to pass the time. You did a lot of pushups and squats to make sure you could actually use your body if you ever made it out of there. You scratched a pattern into the floor with your thumbnail, tiny little lines worn into the wood until your finger bled. You closed your eyes, crossed your arms and pressed guitar chords into the flesh of your bicep, hearing the song in your head. You tapped out music on the mattress on the floor - the one piece of furniture in the room - either pretending you were playing drums or a piano, depending on how much you felt like hitting something. 

But mostly, you slept. Which didn’t help you differentiate the days and the weeks and the months and the seasons, either. You weren’t sure how long you’d been with them - a few years, at least. Definitely more than one winter, though it all blurred together now. Almost stubbornly surviving, much to your own frustration. 

It wasn’t that you’d tried to live through it, not after the first escape attempt landed you chained to the wall and branded, nothing more than property that had wandered off like errant livestock on your father’s ranch. It was just that your body didn’t seem to want to let you die. After a while, you gave up trying to fight with it and instead tried to make it so you might be able to get out. It had been a struggle at first, you’d hardly moved in months, let pain and despair swallow you whole. But you kept at it, something in you trying to survive. You weren’t sure where it came from, what the fuck was left out there to try to live for, but you were stuck living for it all the same. 

That, you were certain, was the only reason the raiders who had you had let you live as long as they had. Before they’d moved you to the camp you were at now, you’d shared a room with a rotating number of other women. They gave up so fast, either dying or going so numb that they didn’t respond and the men got bored. You envied them that, the ability to slip out of their body that way and just leave it behind. Instead, you were stuck here. 

There was a creak outside your door and you lifted your head to watch as it opened, your whole body stiff. 

“Hey, baby doll.” 

Baby doll. When Justin had called you that, it had been sweet. Now it was tainted. And what an apt name for you. Wasn’t like you were anything more than a toy to them. Worse, even. Children, at least, took care of their dolls.

You dropped your head back onto the mattress. At least it was Cody. If you had to pick a favorite monster of the monsters you were with, it’d be him. He didn’t like hurting you, anyway. He liked it best if you pretended to enjoy it, which was more work than zoning out but better than Mitchum, who got off on making you cry and scream in pain. It was a low bar but you took what you could get. 

“Hey,” you said, staring at the ceiling. 

“Sorry we were gone so long,” you didn’t need to look at him to know he was getting undressed. “Shit went south, Mitchum got shot…” 

Your head shot up off the mattress at that and he smirked as he pulled his shirt off. 

“He’s still alive, don’t look so excited about it.” 

“Oh.” You dropped your head back down. 

“Sit up, take off the shirt,” he ordered and you obeyed, holding out your wrist when you were done. You knew the drill. He took the cuff from your ankle and put it around your wrist and pulled your pants off, leaving you naked and exposed. You didn’t wait for him to tell you what to do, lying flat on your back. He nudged your legs apart and dropped to his knees between them, running his fingers over you and moaning. 

“You missed me,” he said. “I can tell.” 

You just hummed and hoped he interpreted it the way he wanted to. He usually did. Your body went loose as he took what he wanted and you stared at the ceiling over his shoulder. He kissed you when he finished and started getting dressed again, leaving you naked and cold with him leaking out of you. You folded your hands over your stomach and pressed your thighs together. He gave you back your pants and you pulled them on before holding out your wrist again. He moved the cuff back to your ankle and handed you your shirt. You pulled it on and sat with your back against the wall, your knees against your chest, and sighed. 

Cody liked to talk after. As though you were friends or lovers and you weren’t enslaved by his boss. He sat next to you, back against the wall, too. He took a deep, slow breath.

“I think I can get you out.” 

You looked at him so fast that your hair snagged on the rough wood of the wall behind you. 

“What?” You asked, frowning. 

“I think I can get you out,” he said again. 

You just blinked at him for a moment, not fully processing what he said. 

“It’s not right,” he shook his head. “What they… what we do to you. It’s not, I know it’s not and… Look, it might not seem like it but I do care about you. And I think I can get you out of here. If you can trust me. Can you trust me?” 

You looked at him for a second, tried to touch some part of you that knew how to connect with another person. You weren’t sure that part of you still existed. 

Instead, you thought of the worst case scenario. If it was a lie and he told Mitchum of your misdeeds or his plan failed, it likely wouldn’t get you much worse treatment than you already got. Or it would just get you killed, which had its own appeal. But getting out, having a life and a body that was your own again, being able to look for… 

“I can trust you,” you said quickly. “I’ll trust you. Just tell me what to do.” 

You got to the stables far earlier than you needed to be there. You’d hardly slept, phantom hands everywhere on your body every time you drifted off. The brand on your hip itched. Eventually, you gave up. At least the horses were good company, their bodies large and warm and safe. 

Animals you could trust. Yes, they might get you killed but it was never out of cruelty. They weren’t capable of that, not like humans. With so many people, the cruelty was the point of it all, the longing to rip and tear and unmake whatever they could reach just to prove their own power. Animals didn’t bother with that shit. 

You let yourself get lost in the work of getting the stables ready for the day and saddling up a handful of horses to go out on a small morning patrol that would be back in the evening. You rushed through the process of getting the horses out of the stable. It was too many people, they were too close, it made your skin crawl and your stomach turn but you had to get through it. When the patrol was gone, you got into Renaissance’s stall with her and pressed yourself against her side, listening to the thick, heavy sound of her heartbeat until you felt like you could breathe again. 

For a bit, you thought you were feeling close to normal. Until a clear, loud voice called through the stable in the late morning. 

“Bambi, I’m desperate!” 

You about jumped out of your skin, spinning to face the source of the sound, your heart in your throat. Ellie rolled her eyes. 

“When are you going to remember that I don’t bite?” She asked, dropping her bag next to Shimmer’s stall and perching on the half wall that separated the horse from the rest of the stable. 

“When I start believin’ that you don’t,” you said, setting the bucket you’d been holding down as your heart rate tried to return to normal. “What’s got you desperate, kid?” 

“I’m going to start this by saying I don’t expect you to actually know this,” she said. “But… I have basically no one else to ask so… do you know how to dance?” 

You blinked for a second, taken aback. 

“Dance.” 

“Yeah,” she winced. “Look, I don’t think you’ll know but there’s that dance next weekend and I was thinking about maybe seeing if I could go with someone and I don’t want to be a total fucking dumbass out there and I’m sure you don’t…” 

“I know how to dance, kid,” you laughed a little as Ellie’s eyes went wide. 

“Wait, for real?” She asked. 

“For real,” you nodded. “It’s been a while since I had to use any of that shit but it was drilled into me pretty hard when I was about your age…” 

“What the fuck for?” She gaped at you. You laughed. 

“My mama was what some might call a ‘society lady,’” you put the words in air quotes. 

“The fuck is that?” 

“Someone who is way too concerned with wealth and social status,” you smiled a little. “So she made me do cotillion when I turned 16…” 

“OK what the fuck is a cotillion?” Ellie asked. “I didn’t expect a vocabulary lesson here…” 

“A cotillion is where stuck up assholes introduce their daughters to the society world as glorified breeding stock,” you said. She looked surprised and like she was about to ask another question but you cut her off. “Sorry, that might be a little extreme… it’s a fancy party where, back in the olden days, girls formally entered society and boys could then try to court them to marry them. By the time I did it, it was a stuffy party for rich assholes with no real purpose. But there’s a dance and so I had to take dance lessons for months.” 

“So you like… wore a dress and shit.” 

“I wore a dress and shit. A white one. It looked a little like a wedding dress, actually.” 

“I can’t picture you in a dress,” Ellie crinkled her nose. “That’s just unnatural.” 

“Kid, my mama put me in beauty pageants when I was real little,” you said. “I got my hair done, glitter on my eyelids, wore a bright fuckin’ purple dress…” 

“Aw man!” She pouted a little. “See, now the worst thing about the outbreak is that there’s no way to get pictures of you dressed up liked that…” 

You laughed and jerked your head at her. 

“Hop on down,” you said. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to waltz. It’s the easiest dance.” 

She obeyed and you pointed for her to stand a few feet to your right. 

“You planning to lead or follow?” You asked. “Usually the boy leads but that’s bullshit, you can lead if you want. Don’t even have to dance with a boy.” 

“If no one else knows how, I’d have to lead, right?” She frowned. “Shit, I didn’t think about that…” 

“It’s OK,” you said. “Waltz is in 3/4 time, you know what a time signature is?” 

“I’m not stupid,” she rolled her eyes. 

“OK,” you smiled a little and tried not to laugh. “Well, it’s real easy, alright? If you’re leading, you start feet together. Then, take a step forward on your left foot,” you demonstrated and Ellie followed suit. “Then step to the side on your right, bringing your foot up so it’s about parallel.” Ellie copied that, too. “Then just bring your left foot in to meet the right so your feet are back together. Then you just do it again but leading with your right foot and you go back and forth between the two.” 

“That’s it?” Ellie looked at you, incredulous. 

You laughed. 

“That’s the steps of it, yeah,” you said. “But there’s hand placement and shit and then the rise and fall that you do as you’re moving and shit. It’s not hard but it takes practice before it’s second nature which is what you want it to be.” You planted your feet again and Ellie copied you. “Alright, let’s do it again, a few times.” 

You counted and led the way. Her steps stuttered a bit at first, especially when she forgot what foot she was supposed to be leading with, but it wasn’t long before it was all flowing together. 

“See?” You smiled. “You got there.” 

“Can I try it like… with you?” She winced as she asked it. You just stared at her for a second. “It’s got to be different with a person, right? Please?” 

Your chest was tight. Dancing with someone meant touching them. But it was just Ellie, your friend who sometimes felt a little like a daughter. She wasn’t a threat. And you wanted to be able to touch her without it hurting, be able to hug her hello and goodbye or reassure her. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, OK.” 

You turned to face her and forced yourself to ignore the alarm bells ringing in your body that there was a person and they were too close to be safe. 

“So if you’re leading, your left hand goes up, about eye level,” you took her wrist and raised her hand, arranging her arm. “And your partner’s right hand goes on your left.” You put your hand on hers, your stomach tight. “Then your right hand will come around and go on my left shoulder blade…” Ellie obeyed. The fact that her hands were small was reassuring, keeping you from panicking too much. She wasn’t going to hurt you. You repeated it to yourself in your head again and again. “And your partner’s left hand will go on top of your shoulder and their arm will kinda cover yours, like this.” You set your hand on Ellie’s shoulder and she nodded, a serious look on her face. You relaxed a little bit more. It was Ellie. You could trust Ellie. “You lead and I’ll follow.” 

“What’s that mean?” She frowned, looking down at your feet. 

“Means I’ll be the one goin’ backward and you’re gonna be the one pointin’ me in the right direction,” you said. “Don’t worry about me, when I learned girls all had to follow so it’s what I know best anyhow. You go when you’re ready.” 

She nodded and took a deep breath before stepping forward and you followed her lead. She only stuttered once this time, when she forgot what foot was supposed to lead next, and before long she was smiling as she confidently waltzed through the stable. You showed her how to time the rise and fall and she was giggling - actually giggling, in a way that you’d never heard her do before, in a way that seemed like a teenaged girl should - when someone cleared their throat behind you. 

Your body reacted before your brain did, jumping between Ellie and the perceived threat, your arms flying behind you to cage her in and keep track of where she was, shielding her from whoever it was who just came in. 

Joel put his hands up, a rifle over his shoulder, frozen where he stood. 

“Sorry,” he said, voice gentle. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He leaned a little, trying to see around you. “Hey kiddo. Not sure what you were doing but it looked real good…” 

You relaxed a bit, your arms falling back to your sides. Ellie came and stood alongside you, her eyes narrowed. 

“Bambi was teaching me how to dance,” she said. “A waltz.” 

“Don’t know much about dancing,” he said. “But it looked like you were getting the hang of it…” 

“Yeah, well…” she just stood there for a second before she turned to hug you, catching you off guard. “Thanks for the lesson.” You froze for a second before you slowly, cautiously, hugged her back. 

“No problem.” 

She pulled away from you and got her bag, brushing past Joel on her way out. He watched her go before he turned back to you. 

“I really didn’t mean to scare you,” he said after a second. 

“I’m just real jumpy today.” 

“Right,” he nodded for a second, his hands in his pockets. “Ready to go shoot?” 

You looked at him for a second, your heart pounding against your ribs, tension running through your body. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run from him or run to him and you were rooted to the ground with the fear of it. 

“Ready.” 

***

Something had you on edge today. 

Not that Joel was going to pretend that he knew you well. He didn’t. He’d just spent half the night staring at his ceiling going back over every part of his conversation with you the day before. He’d memorized you like you were his favorite song or passage in a book, turning you over and over again in his mind and he knew - viscerally, intimately - that something had you scared today. 

You were back in that threadbare oversized shirt. The one he’d found you in, the one you’d worn when the council had given you the stable job. You hardly looked at him as you saddled up your horse and you kept your eyes almost stubbornly focused on the street in front of you as the two of you made your way out of town. 

“Can I have a gun?” You asked as you neared the gate, looking at Joel for the first time since Ellie had left. 

“When we get to the range,” he shrugged. 

“I mean now,” you said. “Going outside… I’d feel better if I were armed.” 

Joel frowned for a second. He wanted to believe that leaving Jackson was all the problem was but something told him that it wasn’t. 

“Here,” he pulled the pistol from the holster at his side and held it out to you. You reached forward, cautious and slow at first and then quick to snatch the weapon from him, settling back on Renaissance quickly. You checked the safety and tucked it in the back of the waistband of your jeans. 

“Thanks.” 

He watched you out of the corner of his eye. He tried to write it off as what he should be doing. He was, after all, out here to evaluate whether or not you’d be able to handle going on patrol. He was supposed to be watching you, keeping tabs on you. 

But that’s not why he was doing it. 

Something was off with you and he was desperate to know why. To try to help you with it because he wanted to carry some burden for you. For himself, too. Because it seemed like the odd draw he felt for you didn’t lessen after he spent time with you. No, it just grew, already to the point that he wasn’t sure what to do with it all. All of this wanting had to go somewhere and you were the only place for it. 

“You OK, Bambi?” He asked after the two of you had been riding for a few minutes, the sound of the town now quiet behind you. You frowned and looked at him. “Just seem… off.” 

You watched him for a moment. 

“Different from yesterday, I mean,” he said after he couldn’t take not saying something, needing to fill the silence. 

“I’m fine,” you said eventually before you shook your head slightly, like you were trying to clear your mind. “Actually, would you mind if I opened ‘er up? Been a long time since I got to really run on a horse for a bit. At least, when I wasn’t trying to bleed out, anyway. I’ll circle back around to you, won’t go anywhere…” 

“Don’t need my permission,” he smiled a little. 

You smiled a little back and adjusted your grip on the reins before nudging Renaissance forward. Joel watched as you took her into a trot, then a canter and eventually guided her into a gallop, your body moving with the horse’s in perfect rhythm. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything quite like it. Joel spent a lot of time with horses before making it to the QZ in Boston, plenty more since he’d come to Jackson. When he rode - when the people he worked with rode, too - the animal was a tool. Something that required care and had wants and needs but was a means to an end. 

You were different. 

You and Renaissance moved as one, anticipating each other’s actions

You couldn’t move like that with something that wasn’t an extension of you, something that you didn’t deeply know and understand. Almost like you were more an animal than you were a human being, the things you found kinship with wild and other. 

Joel understood that. Knew what it was like to feel so outside the thing you’d been born as. He’d been like that, too, for a while. More than a third of his life, really. The 20 years since the death of his daughter until he met Ellie were dark. He wasn’t sure what he was then but, if you’d asked him to identify what made him a person, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. In many ways, he felt like he had more in common with the bodies he burned in the QZ than he did with the people living in it. He’d been a person once, like those corpses. But that humanity had died with his daughter, he’d left himself behind with her body. Part of him wondered if he’d done it on purpose, so Sarah wouldn’t be alone. He’d have cut out his heart if it would have helped her, pried it out of his ribs with his own hands and offered it to her. It seemed small, abandoning something like himself when he’d lost something so monumentally huge. 

For years, he’d tried to take it out on whatever other person he seemed to come into contact with, hurting and taking what and when he wanted to. He wasn’t proud of that time. The QZ was different. He found someone else who was a ghost like him and they moved in tandem, scratching out a corner of existence that wasn’t meant for the people who could still take full breaths and feel something beyond their flesh. But it wasn’t human. It was other. 

You were other, too. But he didn’t think you’d left your humanity the way he had. He was able to find it again, to pick it back up after it was carried back to him in the form of a spitfire of a girl that he couldn’t deny even if he wanted to. Yours seemed stolen. The way you hung on the edges of Jackson with nothing to tether you to the place showed that you wanted it back. You were searching for it. You just weren’t sure where to find it. 

You looped around Joel’s horse, coming close enough to him that he could properly see your face as you rode and he caught a glimpse of your eyes as you passed. They were soft and open and deep, without the sharp protection that usually guarded your gaze. You were free like this, found something close to yourself again on the back of a horse that was allowed to run. 

Eventually, you rode back alongside Joel and slowed to match his easy pace, leaning forward on your mount, draping your arms around her neck and sighing contentedly, your cheek pressed against her mane. 

“Sorry,” you said, still leaning over the horse, watching him now. “It’s just…” 

“It’s OK,” he said, watching you back. You looked a little more like yourself now. Or who he’d seen you to be, anyway. 

You sat up and gave Renaissance a scratch. She chuffed and bobbed her head happily in response. 

“So,” you looked straight ahead again. “How’s this work?” 

“Shooting range ain’t far,” he said, nodding toward it. “Go there, see how you do with the rounds we got, I report back.” 

“It’s just target shooting then?” You asked, looking over at him again. Your eyes were closed off again. “Not like… I dunno, some obstacle course shit or something?” 

“No,” Joel laughed a little. “No, nothin’ that difficult. But we’ll see how you do with the rifle and the handgun, you’ll probably need to use both at some point.” 

“And you gotta test it out because you think I managed to survive the apocalypse for 20 years without knowin’ how to use a gun?” 

Joel laughed once. 

“Figure you know how to use a gun,” he said. “But not like I know shit about how you survived, Bambi. Haven’t told me. You can if you want…” 

“I’d rather not,” you cut him off, looking straight ahead again. 

It was quiet again for a few minutes before he glanced your way. 

“What part of Texas you from?” He asked. You frowned, your brows knitting together. 

“How’d you know?” 

“Accent,” he replied. “I know what home sounds like and I know you spotted me as a Texan already.” 

“Yeah,” you smirked a little. “I did. About an hour west of Fort Worth, near Mineral Wells. My daddy had a ranch out there. You?” 

“Arlington, originally,” he said. “Austin, eventually.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“Miss it?” You asked. 

“Miss a lot about what shit used to be,” Joel said after a moment. 

“Well yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “We all fuckin’ do. But I mean anything about the place in particular, not what humans made it be. Like this time of year, I always look for blue bonnets to start croppin’ up. Don’t matter that I haven’t seen a fuckin’ blue bonnet in almost 25 years, that’s what I look for. I miss that.” 

“Damn,” Joel shook his head. “Haven’t thought about blue bonnets in… Fuck, decades.” 

“The shit you forget,” you said. 

He led you to the shooting range and handed you the rifle. 

“You can shoot the targets however you’re comfortable,” he said. “Just get set and let me know when you’re ready.” 

“What percentage are you lookin’ for here?” You asked as you got down with the rifle, setting it atop the fallen tree that Joel used when he practiced out here. 

“Better than 60,” he said. “Don’t have to hit every target, Bambi.” 

You nodded once and got set with the rifle. Joel gave you this much, you knew how to set up the shot at least. You probably hadn’t learned on the fly after the outbreak, he realized, you’d been taught. 

“First few are gonna be shit until I get used to the sights,” you warned. You started shooting then, starting with just one and taking a moment to adjust before firing the next shot. You were at least hitting the outer edge of the targets. He’d seen worse. 

After the first four, you glanced over at him. 

“Now if they’re shit it’s on me.” 

“Fire away,” he smiled a little. 

You obeyed, shooting faster this time. You were a good shot, missing only every fourth shot or so, plenty good enough to be added to the rotation for patrols. But you frowned as you sat up. 

“I’m rusty,” you said, handing the gun back to Joel as you got to your feet. “Used to be better.” 

“Did great,” he said, taking the weapon from you and slinging it on his back. “Anyone patrolling with you will be lucky to have you with ‘em.” 

You shot a little worse with the hand gun, getting closer to the 60% mark but still passing. You flinched every time a bullet missed the target. 

“Always more of a sawed off shotgun girl,” you said, shaking your head after you exhausted the magazine. “Don’t got a lot of practice with a gun like this.” 

“Hopefully you won’t need one,” Joel said. “Most of the shit we take out on patrol is long range, bein’ good with a rifle is the more important skill, anyway.” 

“Well that’s good at least,” you sighed, tucking the handgun away again. “Rather not get my ass handed to me while on patrol because I couldn’t get a fuckin’ shot off.” 

Joel smiled a little. 

“Don’t think you need to be all that worried about that.” 

The ride back to Jackson was quiet but Joel caught you out of the corner of his eye looking like you were about to say something before you seemed to think better of it. 

He wished you’d say it. 

“How’d you learn to shoot?” He asked after you opened and then closed your moth for the fifth time. 

“My dad,” you said. “Grew up on a ranch and that means a lot of risks, animals that go after livestock so it’s good to know how to take them out. Plus I think he was convinced I’d always have a gun on me in case I ran into some boy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself…” 

“A father’s dream,” Joel smiled a little. 

You laughed. 

“Only ever used it for that once,” you said. “And the pest control turned a little different after the outbreak. But it’s good he taught me. I’d probably have dropped dead a lot sooner if he hadn’t. How about you?” 

“My dad, too,” he replied. “Went hunting with him when I was a kid. Then, after the outbreak, Tommy helped me get better. He was in the army, so…” 

You just nodded slowly. 

“It was nice of you,” he said after you’d been quiet for a bit again. “To teach Ellie to dance. Lord knows I’d have been useless…” 

“She’s…” You paused, a distant look on your face for a moment before you shook your head slightly. “She’s a good kid. Got a hell of a mouth on her, though.” 

“Yeah,” Joel laughed. “Yeah, she’s definitely got that.” 

Joel found himself wanting to linger in the stables after returning with you but Tommy got to him quickly, wanting help with a building project, so he said his polite goodbyes to you, expecting that to be the last time he saw you that day. 

But he was wrong. 

It was dusk and he was reading on his couch when Joel heard his porch squeak. He frowned as there was a soft, hesitant knock. You were there when he opened the door but you weren’t on his porch. Instead, you were standing on his front walk, your hands in your pockets, looking up at him. He came out and leaned against the railing of his porch. 

“Bambi,” he said, giving you a small nod. “Can I help you with…” 

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, closing your eyes and shaking your head. “I wanted to… I thought I could… I can’t, though. Sorry I bothered you, I…” 

You turned and walked so quickly away you were practically sprinting. Joel frowned, closing his door and following you, running for a moment to catch up, his hand taking your elbow without thinking. You yanked it back as though he’d burned you. 

“Don’t touch me,” your eyes were wide again. 

He stepped back quickly. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Not trying to… Are you OK?” 

“Fine,” you replied. “Just… Changed my mind. Goin’ home.” 

“Changed your mind about what?” He asked, still walking alongside you. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“Bambi…” 

“I wanted to borrow your damn guitar, OK?” You snapped, stopping in the street and turning to face him. Your hands were in the back pockets of your jeans. “But I had a shit night and I can’t… I thought I could but bein’ on your porch was different and I freaked out because I’m nuts, alright? So just leave it.” 

You turned to leave but he put his hands in his pockets, too. 

“Not nuts,” he said gently. “You can change your mind about whatever you want with me. Really. S’OK.” 

You looked at his shoes and he felt it again, the drive to want to touch you, hold you, take your problems into himself so you weren’t carrying them on your own anymore. 

“I’m trying,” you said quietly. “With this whole place, I really am, I just…” 

Your voice trailed off and you kicked a patch of dirt in the road. 

“Don’t have to try with me if you don’t want,” he said. Your eyes came up from the ground and met his. “Don’t need you to try, just need you to be. OK sweetheart?” 

He hadn’t meant to call you that. Fuck, why had he called you that? 

Your eyes drifted to his lips for a moment before going back to meet his own. 

“OK.”  Next Chapter

A/N: Bambi is making progress, I promise! And she is going to get a guitar in her hands soon. She'll talk herself into it eventually.

Thank you, as always, for being here and for reading. It means so much that you spend your time with these stories.

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Thank you thank you thank you! Love you!

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[kaitokitty19]

Pandora AU: Home pt.1

Snippet written for my Pandora AU where Kaito became immortal and he travels around with Hakuba. In the following part, Hakuba’s around his 40s.

———

"Don't you ever want to settle down somewhere?"

Right now, Kaito was curled up next to Saguru's body, which always generates heat like a furnace. It's chilling despite the heater. Kaito instinctively moved closer to the heat source.

In response, Hakuba only petted his hair absent-mindedly and gave a distracted hum. He was busy perusing the file marked "URGENT" Interpol had forwarded earlier that evening, interrupting their dinner. The file had been printed out into a thick stack of paper – getting along in his 40s, long screen time had started to tire Saguru's eyes out quicker; they’re always red and watery after staring at his monitor for a long case, hence the printing.

Always bringing murders and terrorists and whatnot horror into their bed, that bastard. But Kaito could hardly find it in him to complain; not when Saguru is this dastardly handsome with all his fine lines and glasses and laser focus. His juvenile cockiness might have dulled somewhat in age, but his eyes remained as sharp as ever. Kaito imagined he could be cut through with a look. God, he wish he could age with him.

"I already am."

"Huh?" Kaito startled, forgetting that it was him who asked.

"I said ‘I already am’," Saguru reiterated, eyes still glued to inked black and white and free hand waving vaguely around as if that alone should make sense, "settled, that is."

Kaito followed the directions of his wild gestures. Yes, their apartment is nice and all: a tasteful cream-colored motif, delicate plaster ceiling rose, high windows and ceilings, spacious, with a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. The Hakuba Corp spared no expense in making sure its young master was happy, and this was no exception. From the most cutting-edge technology to the most beautiful antique furniture, everything seamlessly pieced together in a coherent harmony of livable space. Everything was at his fingertips. Kaito could spend all day mopping around the place without feeling an ounce of claustrophobia. And he did, occasionally - on which days Kaito felt more like a spoiled cat than an actual person. That Hakuba would come home from whatever businesses he tended to, shrug off his trench coat and shoes before bending over the sofa and spoil him with indulgent kisses certainly didn't help the case.

Even if he were to nitpick, there was nothing to bemoan about. But they had scantly been there 5 months. Kaito was sure there were suitcases at the bottom of their closet that had yet been unpacked. 'Settling down' wouldn't be how he would describe it. Nor would it apply to any of their previous many relocations.

"That's not... I mean, don’t you get tired, of moving around like this? Hardly get to see your friends and family? Never allow yourself to take root somewhere? Isn't it suffocating building your life around me?"

This had Saguru's attention. He lowered the case file and turned those keen eyes onto Kaito. The way Kaito's breath hitched was completely involuntary.

"Does it bother you?"

"It doesn't matter, does it? I don't have a choice." There was no use talking around it. With Pandora, Kaito could hardly stay anywhere longer than a handful of years before his unchanging appearance raised a few eyebrows. "But you do. Wouldn't you rather have a home to come back to instead of hotel rooms and new fancy penthouses every other year?"

They were already getting looks as they were, from the way master Hakuba always had a young twenty-something draping over his arm. There had been hushes and whispers that Kaito knew that Saguru feigned oblivion to, only to quietly have them moved within the week.

He hadn't noticed he had been fidgeting until Saguru took hold of his restless fingers, the warmth of his hand effectively stopped his anxious tingle from spreading from his fingertips.

"Kaito," Hakuba sighed, exasperated but firm, like he had said what he was going to say next a thousand times before and had absolute faith in it. And maybe he had. Kaito just couldn't quite bring himself to believe him, "as long as I am with you, I'm already home."

[bluevaractyl]

Thoughts on the Triforce

Having the mark of the Triforce is not synonymous with possessing the Triforce, but shows one is worthy of it. Some of the Links had the mark appear during their adventures, some were born with it, and some don't appear to have it at all.

The mark appears on Sky's hand as he tempers himself and the Master Sword. He later obtains the full Triforce. After it is used, it is hidden away again.

Four doesn't seem to have the mark or the Triforce of Courage, perhaps because he does not need it. Instead, his era(s) make use of the Light Force. Its exact relation to the Triforce is unknown, but one theory is that it is the sealing power Hylia's descendants carry, and is essentially Hylia's version of the Golden Goddesses' Triforce. She couldn't use it as a goddess, so she became Zelda.

Time gets Courage when the Triforce splits, and the mark appears when he is in the presence of the other two pieces. He leaves Courage behind when he travels back to his childhood.

Twilight is born with the mark and with Courage, which protects him from the Twilight. No idea if he still has it.

Wind has to collect the pieces of Courage that shattered when Time left that timeline. The mark appears when he completes Courage. After the King uses the full Triforce, it is left behind at the bottom of the Great Sea.

Legend obtains and uses the full Triforce after Ganon stole it. It returns to the Royal Family's care. He gets the mark sometime around the beginning of the Oracle games, perhaps after being called to by the spirit of the Triforce. The Triforce splits at the end of the Oracle games, and Legend gets Courage during ALBW. At the end of ALBW, they wish on the full Triforce, and it is once again in the Royal Family's possession.

By Hyrule's time, the Triforce of Courage has been hidden in the Great Palace by the old king, and the Triforce of Wisdom has been shattered and the pieces hidden in dungeons by Zelda (the more recent). Ganon has stolen Power. Hyrule collects and obtains Wisdom; uses it to defeat Ganon, thus obtaining Power; has the mark appear on his hand, marking him as worthy; obtains Courage; and uses the united Triforce to wake up Zelda I and bring hope to Hyrule.

After that, we delve into headcanon territory. For the purposes of LU, I don't think everything was immediately fixed in Hyrule's Hyrule. While the Triforce could theoretically solve all their problems and make Hyrule lush and livable again, that really doesn't match up with the image in my head. That's not what they wished for. I imagine restoring Hyrule takes work, and it's still a work in progress when hints of the Shadow's efforts start appearing, sending Link on this adventure. With this in mind, I tentatively hold with the idea that Hyrule's era is still too dangerous to hide the Triforce with the Royal Family; instead, Hyrule still has it, but it is dormant and probably won't be used again in his lifetime. His violent death would more or less spell the end of his world anyway, so he's already got plenty of motivation to stay out of the hands of monsters. Because the mark of the Triforce does not necessarily indicate holding the Triforce, I headcanon that Hyrule's bracers are hiding the mark not because he is hiding the fact that he holds the Triforce, but because it gives away his identity as the hero.

Warriors has the mark appear and already possesses Courage. Cia takes it, then gives it back, then Ganon takes it, then uses the united Triforce. Link et al use the full Triforce to seal Ganon away. The Triforce may end up in the possession of Lana, or else she just watches over it from afar, wherever it is now.

Wild's time apparently knows nothing about the Triforce, but they are concerned with Zelda's sealing power. Either Zelda possesses part or all of the Triforce from birth and needs to activate it, or she has the Light Force. I lean toward the Light Force theory. The Light Force is canonically passed down through the royal daughters and used to bless the Master Sword with its ability to seal evil. Either way, Wild does not seem to have the mark or the Triforce of Courage.

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

hii, ⏳️ here!! I saw your other asks about how swifties say that taylor could be killed for speaking up, as if other ppl who are not as rich as her aren't facing a lot worse, as if her life matters more, and stuff... and that is just the mindset most, if not all, swifties have. They literally think her life matters more than others.

They use this safety argument for her carbon emissions, too, saying that she could never fly economy she'd get killed 0.001 secs into the airport. She has 2 jets (last I checked, she "quietly" sold one of em and quietly bought another just after). Like. I'm so sure that the safety concern being that big is not true, first off. Secondly, can't she fly in first class?? I might be wrong, obv, but most of the ppl flying in first class are extremely rich ppl and isn't the first class mostly empty cuz no one takes it? Also, she has her entourage of bodyguards, be so fr. Also, it's up to her and her team to find a sustainable solution, not us common folks like tf.

But more importantly, even if it were completely impossible for her to travel in the same plane as us poors, without endangering her safety, swifties basically sound like "taylor swift>lives of other ppl".

Like, the top 1% and companies (which she is also a part of, btw) are mostly responsible for climate issues and global warming. They are also the ONLY ppl who have enough resources to protect themselves from any climate issue they create. They INTENTIONALLY make mistakes, and 90% of the world have to face the consequences. According to swifties, not only is that okay, but the lives of literally 8 billion ppl don't matter. Her's matters more than everyone else's, and thus, to protect taylor swift from possibly getting an inconvenience during her flight, we (and all other creatures on earth) have to pay for it with our lives.

(and before anyone says it's not that deep, it is. global warming, climate change, the state of the literal planet we live on, which is also the ONLY livable planet in the entire universe, IS that deep. It's airport security for her, disease, and death for us)

(also, I'm gonna send the link of the Palestinian woman getting doxxed by swifties once I find it)

-⏳️

I love how Swifties are going full mask off and openly admitting her life matters more than the millions of Palestinians. I understand there are #SwiftiesforPalestine actively posting online and even holding IRL protests, but when we live in this late stage capitalist world, the best protest is to divest, divest, divest, and if swifties continue to purchase her content regardless, then their protests are useless. It’s performative and they want her to perform too.

Well, the private jet controversy is more complicated than what she flies on. A lot of celebrities use private planes, either their own or rented from others, to travel so they can avoid the excess security measures and be spared harassment from public transportation sites.

What is controversial about Taylor Swift’s private jet usage is how excessive and unnecessary she is. She took a 13 minute flight from Cahokia, IL to St. Louis, MO, which would’ve been a 30 minute drive. During her US/North American leg of the tour, she would take red eye flights from tour location to known locations of her purchased homes, such as Beverly Hills, Nashville, Rhode Island (? idk where), instead of staying in a local hotel. Her flight usage is excessive and wasteful and actively endangers us through the CO2 emissions she produces by herself. Like you said: she is actively making us pay for her climate change crimes with our lives.

When New Delhi is experiencing heat waves that are pushing the brink of human survivability, its imperative that now more than ever we resist and push back against uber wealthy individuals Taylor Swift and major CO2 producers ie companies who actively accelerate contribute to irreversible climate change damage.

So yeah, if you’d rather defend the life of one woman who produces 1000x CO2 emissions of the average European, you’re telling everyone that you find the lives of billions of people in the global south, who have no infrastructure in place to protect them from climate change, that you would actively sacrifice their lives for the comfort of someone you don’t even know, and will never care about you.

[amitytaylor]

I truly think the writing of MHA is superior. Full stop.

But why do i think so? Let’s get into a part of it. The bubbly atmosphere that hides the “ugly/evil/dark” and just how twisted this story truly is.

Let’s start with the doctor.

the fact that the doctor Garaki (a play on the name Shigaraki that was originally AFOs) says this

we see in Dabis flashbacks that they had MULTIPLE children they were grooming to be AFO heir.

Think about that again : the demon lord, a man who can live twice as long as another man (due to Garakis quirk) had this DOCTOR(who we know of as being a pediatrician bc of Izuku) KIDNAP CHILDREN AND HOLD THEM HOSTAGE TO CAPATALIZE ON THEIR TRAUMAS AND TURN THEM INTO A HOST BODY FOR AFO. They had a whole ass hide out where multiple children lived and were told to make it their own home. They didn’t even have names! CHILDREN!!!

That in an of itself, in reality in the modern world, is HORRIFIC! Imagine if today we learned that a pediatrician was kidnapping, grooming, and holding these children to make them “child soldiers” basically or an even better way to put it is toys for the powerful to do with as they please. WHAT THE FUCKING EVIL INCARNATE RIGHT?

NOW! think back to the two children that followed baby bakugo around and the wing quirk that was stolen. While simultaneously thinking about Kurogiri and the fact that Garaki was actually “hoping to get his hands on erasure” - so how did they get their hands on Kurogiri original body? Did they set up a situation where they knew one of the UA children who get hurt/killed and then waited to take advantage of the deceased?

I mean if we think about it, Giraki is quite literally ravaging these children’s bodies. VIOLATION ON EVERH LEVEL. and for what? for AFO? to get hands on quirks? for one person?

How far do you think they were willing to go to create the Nomu? If they are willing to use deceased children’s bodies who’s to say they hadn’t use live children’s bodies? ESPECIALLY BEFORE AFO WAS CAUGHT. WE SAW THEY USED LIVING ADULTS BEFORE?! is it that far of a stretch for them to try it on children? absolutely not.

MHA is dynamic. It’s about hope and friendship and love and family trauma and societal trauma and it’s also the most vile shit i’ve ever read. The way Bones studio portrays a bright blue sky is both irritating when not following the manga but also a HUGE FUCKING POINT! BECAUSE - we have all these amazing things we see, hero’s, quirks, friendship, family love, all the typical shonen stuff. That to me is the bright blue sky. WHILE COMPLETELY OVERRUNING THE FACT THAT ITS ALL BUILT ON BLOOD.

We know the big theme between Deku and Tenko is about the shit that’s pushed under the rug to make society livable for 75% of the population while 25% is left to suffer. (% is probably off). but if you really take a look at this theme and follow it along the path of the manga it’s TERRIFYING.

As a person who lives in the USA where our country is quite literally based in the suffering of the many for the luxury of the few it is CHILLING TO SAY THE LEAST.

NOT TO MENTION THAT AFO (if my theory he gave Tenko the quirk is correct) PREYED ON THE MOST VULNERABLE GROUP OF PEOPLE - THE QUIRKLESS AND CHILDREN

Izuku, Aoyama, and Tenko were all quirkless.

The writing makes it seem like it all just happened, but it didn’t. AFO meticulously planned every step out like he’s mentioned before but to AN UNNERVING ASS DEGREE BRO.

All For One needed a persons body who could still FEEL THINGS. BECAUSE HE CANT ANYMORE. or could ever? He has no real will of his own or real emotions or feelings. he is the true embodiment of “psychopath” (outdated term but helps to paint the picture)

I wouldn’t even think it’s a stretch to believe that AFO played a role in Kotaro abusing Tenko with what we just saw in the latest chapter. I mean they were like best friends? and it’s confirmed afo is the same person who dropped tenko off at home.

The sinister feeling of this manga as we continue to go forth is incredulous.

I didn’t even TOUCH ON the Dabi and AFO issue. I mean, how did he know Toya was on that peak? How did he know he would be there thst day? How did he know he would likely burn himself alive? How did he know about the abuse going on within the Todoroki family?

FUCK MY BRAIN THE CONNECTIONS ITS EVERYWHERE 😭