#i just remembered about it it was a really deep repressed memory

[areazeroresearcher]

got off work early today does anyone wanna hear about the time I think I met arceus lol

[tarotwithlucien]

𝓨ou in the eyes of your future spouse | pick a pile

Hello everybody! Welcome to my first PAP on this account – it's also the first time I've done one about "future spouse", so I hope you like it and that it resonates with you! ♡

┈─★ Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only and shouldn't be taken seriously or used as a substitute for medical and professional advice. It's also a general reading, so it may or may not resonate with you.

┈─★ How to choose: Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the image that catches your attention the most – trust your intuition.

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ masterist | tip jar ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

── .✦ PILE 1

Shufflemancy: Moonlight/Sunrise - Rope and Ladder, It's Not The Same Anymore - Red Orange County, To - The Neighbourhood, Love Songs For The Haters - FLEECE & Maintain The Madness - The Jane Austin Argument.

Without a doubt your future spouse loves you – otherwise they wouldn't even marry you lol – and they are a protective partner towards you, so in general, they see you as someone they should protect and care for. Therefore, they can act as your knight in armor when you need it, as they are always ready to protect and defend you from all those who try to hurt you.

They also view your relationship dynamics as if you are the sun and the moon – for some of you reading this pile, you are more the moon and your future spouse is the sun or vice versa. Your future spouses see you as a beautiful and attractive person – as if you were a mermaid who mesmerizes them with your enchanting beauty. And one of the physical features they love most about you in general are your eyes because, in the eyes of your future partner, they shine in a way that they have never seen before with anyone. Not only do your eyes shine, but in your future partner's vision, you light up their entire life. Before you met and were together, they saw life in a gray way due to the adversities they faced on a daily basis and, thanks to you, they felt life gain more color, they felt love and it was as if their eyes open themselves up to everything they had never experienced before in their lives.

You probably met early and one of the things they love most is being able to look at old photos you took – whether it was when you first met, when you started dating or just photos of you together in general – and admire how you used to be and they probably compare themselves to the old version of themselves in the photo and it's really funny because you could be looking at your photos together and they laughs, points to their face in the photo and says something like “wow, I was weird ” and it’s a really cute moment between you two. They feels nostalgic in these moments and really misses that time, because unfortunately it doesn't come back and all that remains are memories – and fortunately they are good.

In the eyes of your future partner, you are going through a difficult time in your life. It's not just your partner who is a nostalgic person, you are too and you probably remember the times when your life was easier and compare it to the difficult life you have now – like when you were children, for example. They also see that you are tired and stressed about the way things in your life are – for example, you may work long hours at jobs you don't like just so you can pay the bills at the end of the month, you have to put up with people you hate and it even seems like you let people step on you so that problems don't occur (you can be people-pleasers too) and your biggest victory of the day is going home and sleeping, all while repressing what you're feeling and putting on a fake smile. Your future spouse is your family and they can tell when you are feeling bad and they think that you are being too hard on yourselves and that you may not want to admit it, but you need to seek professional help. So, if this is your case, don't be afraid or ashamed to ask for help! This is destroying your mental health, pile one, please take care of yourselves!! Stop bottling up your feelings, process them, let them go, and then stand back. Do this for yourself.

Your future spouse knows you better than you know yourself – they know what to do or say to make you feel good and are careful about what not to do or say to avoid hurting you or making you feel worse. In their view, sometimes you can end up projecting your problems onto them, but they continue to love you regardless of your flaws – just be careful that this doesn't become a toxic trait that will affect your relationship. They may have met many girls/boys before meeting you, but none of these people compare to you! This whole time in their lives, they never needed anyone, they never felt the need to have someone by their side – on the contrary, they used to be the type of person who went out to a party/bar and flirted with people just to feel good/attractive. But, from the moment they met you, things changed completely and seemed to turn upside down. Just being away from you makes your future partner's heart sink. You make them feel good.

That was all, pile one! I hope you enjoyed it and that this reading resonated with you. Don't forget to take care of yourself and seek professional help if you need it, otherwise your future partner will hit you lol

── .✦ PILE 2

Shufflemancy: Room - Ethan Tasch, Ode To a Conversation Stuck In Your Throath - Del Water Gap, Epiphany - Stained, 976-Evil - Deftones & Tulsa Jesus Freak - Lana Del Rey.

In the view of your future spouses, you are a person who doesn't like to fight in your relationship and who tends to avoid conflicts so as not to cause major problems. You may even end up staying quiet instead of taking a stand on something that bothered you and your future partners also think that you can't express yourself very well through words. It's okay not to want to fight in a relationship, because who does? But, you must understand that some conflicts are necessary and need to happen, so don't run away from them, position yourself and choose your battles well – you don't need to fight over stupid things either lol.

In the eyes of your future partner, you are a disorganized person – the type who leaves their clothes scattered all over the floor or easily forgets where their left their things because everything around them is just a mess – and they think this is just a reflection of how you are feeling inside and how your mind is going. In fact, they may think that your inability to communicate effectively in the relationship is due to problems such as depression or anxiety. Regardless of what your case may be, your future partners notice this and care about you, they accept you exactly as you are and they will not leave you in this difficult time. You may be facing mental health problems, which leave you tired and without energy to do basic tasks like tidying your room and that's okay, just don't forget to take good care of yourself and, if necessary, seek professional help as it will be very beneficial for you!

For some of you reading this pile, before you finally became a couple, you and your future partner were best friends and all this time they tried to convince themselves that you were just that, but deep down they wanted to be tying you to the bed 🤭. They really wanted you and things are no different now. You also seem to be a popular couple who attract the attention of other people wherever you go, as if you were a celebrity couple or just people who are very loved by others.

In general, your future spouse is very jealous and possessive of you, so they want to be the only ones who can touch you in this way and just imagining people other than them touching your body the way they love to touch you so much chills down their spine lol. Just like in pile one, one of the physical features they love most are your eyes and they love just looking at them. One of the activities they love to do with you is traveling – in fact, any time they can spend time with you makes them happy. Your future spouse is so cute, because in the moments when they notice you are down, they do everything they can to make you laugh or just smile. In their view, in moments when you're feeling bad, you tend to walk away just to calm down - and for some reading this pile, this could apply to your future partner.

That was all, pile two! I really hope you enjoyed this reading and that it resonated with you. Just like in pile one, don't forget to take care of yourself and seek professional help if necessary 😠

── .✦ PILE 3

Shufflemancy: White Roses - Greyson Chance, Nervous Young Inhumans - Car Seat Headrest, I'll Follow You Into The Dark - Miya Folick, Uzumaki - Softcut & Dancing In The Moonlight - alt-J

Your future spouse is totally devoted and blind with love for you, pile three! In the eyes of your future partner, they can't live without you and they can't even imagine what their life would be like if they didn't have you by their side. It seems like from the first moment you met, just by looking at you, they felt attracted and didn't waste any time, they went to ask you out on a date lol. Just like the future spouses in pile two, your future partners are also jealous, the only difference is that they seem to be more jealous than the partners in the previous pile, because just seeing you going out, having fun with your friends without them around your side already makes them jealous.

The future spouses in this pile think that you still don't know all sides of them even though you are together. They may have red flags that you haven't noticed or ignore, so it's good to be careful. They may have addictions like alcohol or drugs, they may have bad habits, they may be overly possessive/jealous, controlling, aggressive or end up giving you the silent treatment or distancing you from them when you fight or there is a problem going on in your life as a couple – and maybe that's why you feel the need to walk on eggshells in your relationship to try to prevent your partner from acting that way towards you, which isn't cool. If for any reason you are uncomfortable, they disrespect your boundaries or you simply no longer want to be in the relationship, don't be afraid to walk away!

Because of what I mentioned above, your future spouses see you as someone who doesn't raise their voice in a fight, who doesn't point the finger in their face when they're wrong - they see you as someone who basically never showed their bad side to them. In their view, you understand them. Your future partners may also be individualistic and not have a black and white view of life – that is, they do not follow concepts such as “good” and “bad” and usually only do what is beneficial for them. Furthermore, they usually give back to others what they first received or what they think others deserve. But when it comes to you, it's different. It seems like they control themselves and use the power they have to give you what is good – they know they can affect your life, so they choose to affect it in a positive way. In my opinion they are weird, ngl lol.

Even though I think they're weird lmao, they would be willing to go through hell with you if necessary. They would be with you in times when no one else would be and they would be your refuge, ready to hug you and comfort you.

That was all, pile three! I really hope you enjoyed it and that the reading resonated with you. Be careful with emotional dependence, don't be afraid to set boundaries and, if necessary, let go of relationships that no longer serve you! Until the next PAP ♡

© tarotwithlucien - don't copy, redistribute or edit my content | DIVIDERS

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

No Such Thing As Monsters

Summary: Dean is injured on a hunt and at first glance, appears to be fine. Quickly though, the reader and Sam learn something far more serious is going on...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language, injury

“Dean,” you said, shaking on his shoulder, his eyes flashing open, fist tightening around his angel blade. “You’re okay. Sam took care of the ghoul. How’re you doing?”

“I feel like I just went through a wall,” he said, shakily getting to his feet, cocking his head at the damaged sheetrock in front of him. “Looks like I did.”

“You sure you okay?” you asked, his head nodding. “Sam’s driving us home, just in case.”

“No arguments from me,” he said, giving Sam a nod when he showed up, following his brother the few blocks over to where you’d parked Baby. Dean grabbed the passenger door, slamming his hand on the roof.

“Dean...” said Sam. Dean scrunched up his face, placing a hand on his head. “Dean.”

“Take me to a hospital,” gritted out Dean, your eyes wide. “Now.”

“What’s wrong?” you said, shoving him in the backseat instead, climbing in beside him as Sam started gunning it for the closest one.

“My head. Something’s wrong. I don’t...just hurry.”

Eight Hours Later

Your excuse of Dean taking a hard fall worked with the doctors but you and Sam were staring at one another after finally getting to see Dean again.

“Let’s talk outside,” said the neurologist, Dean giving you a smile as you followed her out.

“What is wrong with my brother, Sally?” asked Sam the second the door to Dean’s room was shut. 

“Retrograde amnesia as far as I can tell. He remembers certain things like his name, date of birth, address when he was a child. You’re lucky I was on call tonight to take his case. Neuro patients are hard enough, especially one’s that are hunters and have to lie about everything,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Sally, amnesia...isn’t that supposed to fade after a few hours at most?” asked Sam.

“Normally,” she said, taking a deep breath. “My best guess is a combination of lasting amnesia which will be hard to recover from but we can help him...and then he’s repressing all the hunting without realizing. You guys have seen some serious crap I’m sure he’d rather forget.”

“What do you mean repressing?” you asked. 

“I mean, Dean thinks monsters are made up, creatures from stories. He doesn’t know they’re real,” she said. You raised an eyebrow, Sam shaking his head. “He doesn’t remember the ghoul, he doesn’t remember the Vamp you guys took care of for me years ago. Monsters aren’t real to him,” said Sally.

“He’s known monsters were real his whole life,” said Sam.

“Technically, since he was four, almost five,” said Sally. “There was a time when he didn’t think any of this was real so it is possible.”

“You’re telling me Dean thinks he’s five?” you said. “He’s in his thirties.”

“He doesn’t think he’s five. He just doesn’t remember certain things. Like he understands basic long term memories, who his parents are, who Sam is...more recent things he’s blocked out,” she said. “Either by choice or because he really can’t remember.”

“Does he remember me? I only started running with the guys about five years ago,” you said.

“He knows your name and that he loves you but that’s about it. The details are all fuzzy for him. Now Dean’s not exactly what I’d call a normal patient. He’ll get thrown in an institute if he starts remembering here in a hospital and God knows what’ll happen to him in there,” she said.

“What do we do then?” asked Sam, Sally sighing and grabbing a chart from the nurses station.

“He has no bleeding in his head, just a few minor cuts and bruises from his tussle. Take him home, try to get him to remember. Any problems and you guys call me. I’ll get you some materials that help sometimes,” she said.

“What if he doesn’t remember?” said Sam.

“Then he doesn’t. Either way, you need to be there for him. You guys gotta get going. The other neurologist starts his shift in an hour and he’s going to want to look at Dean if he’s still here.”

Dean was quiet on the way home, sitting in the backseat, leaning against the backdoor as he stared out the window. Sam simply went through the motions, making him dinner, sending him to bed after checking his bandages, Dean wearing a confused but happy smile the whole time. 

“Y/N,” said Sam, catching you sipping on a drink the library, stealing the bottle to pour himself some.

“What are we going to do Sam?” you asked. “He’s...”

“Do you remember when I saved you from that fire? You promised you’d do anything I wanted. Anything. I told you maybe someday I’d take you up on it. We both know I was never going to but this...I’m cashing that favor in, Y/N,” he said, taking a long swig.

“Using a spell to get his memories back might be dangerous, Sam,” you said, earning a head shake.

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that my big brother thinks the world is normal. The weight of it isn’t on his shoulders anymore. He’s so light and happy. You’re gonna pack up his stuff, pack up your stuff, and you’re going to take him to a little cabin that used to be Bobby’s. It’s not that far out in the boonies so you’ll have electricity and internet and then...you’re gonna help him get a job, get a job yourself and you two are going to get the hell out of this life,” he said.

“Sam that is not-”

“You’re doing this. If something comes after you, you can protect him. Try it for me. If he starts to remember on his own, come back but please, give it a try.”

Two Days Later

“I thought we lived at the bunker place?” asked Dean, sitting down at your new kitchen table, watching you whip up an easy dinner. 

“We live here now,” you said, stirring the pot, taking a deep breath. 

“What do we do now?” he asked with a smile. “Do I go to work?”

“We’ll find you a new job,” you said, Dean pursing his lips. “What is it Dean?”

“You’re not happy,” he said. “I want to fix it but I don’t remember how to do that.”

“We both have to get used to this new life,” you said, giving him a nod. “We will. I don’t want you to worry about me, Dean.”

“I love you though. Of course I worry about you,” he said with a smirk.

“You don’t even remember my birthday,” you said with a smile.

“I guess I get to learn everything I love about you all over again then,” he said. “I do know I love you. I definitely remember that.”

“I love you too Dean. Every version of you. We’ll get through this too.”

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝒜𝓈 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

CWs →  fluff, ANGST, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism, arranged marriage, descriptions of birth (not the reader), blood and mild gore (they don’t call it the dark ages for nothin!), one-sided pining

Wordcount: 5.1k

Note: Remember like three weeks ago when I lied to you all and said I’d have this out in a few days? I had to plan out a bit of the actual plot so that’s what took me so long. But I finally did it, so eat up! Also, I really do NOT know how medieval royal weddings worked but the shallow google searches I made weren’t good enough so let’s all hope this isn’t horribly inaccurate, though I’m sure it is. Do we care, chat?

Every day leading up to the wedding was a day that you saw red. Greeting your traitorous mother in the mornings made you see red, sharing a meal with your power-hungry father made you see red, and listening to the two of them prattle on about how you ought to behave once you were queen? That turned the world absolutely crimson. Each night, you crumpled up and clutched your skirts under the dinner table with shaking fists, creasing them with deep wrinkles that would take days to iron out, but all the while you continued to hold your head high, speaking only when spoken to just as you were taught as a girl. Your strained, thin-lipped smile was only let go of in the privacy of your own bedchambers, when it was replaced with a cold expression and even chillier disposition. Somehow, drifting apart from your family day by day wasn’t as painful as you had imagined it would be. It was easy, really, because there was nothing left for anyone to talk about. After all, your mother had always taught you that if you had nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. However, your sudden “demureness and obedience”, as they put it, did not go unnoticed. 

Your parents were positively delighted with your recent change, or “improvement,” in attitude. Your lady mother congratulated you for finally agreeing to fulfill your societal role as a subservient wife and mother– an aspect of life of which you had previously been a bit resentful– and your father perpetually reminded you how beneficial this marriage would be to the rest of your bloodline. Even your younger brothers seemed excited for you, constantly coming up with new questions to pester you with regarding life as royalty. The only thing keeping you sane was the knowledge that soon you’d be living far, far away from your conniving parents, free to do whatever you wished. Whichever benefits a royal connection brought them would be nothing compared to your own guaranteed lavish lifestyle. You’d soon have your own castle, your own servants, and even your own soldiers! Oh, and the husband, too. You kept forgetting about that part. 

In some ways, the fact that he was a leper was a great relief to you. That meant you’d most likely be spared many of the wifely duties you had so been dreading; mainly, consummating the marriage. At your age, only 14 years old yet, there was nothing that interested you about the male body, giving birth, or raising children. It was not so long ago that you had helped raise your own little brothers, and the idea of going through all of that again made you feel so trapped. Not to mention the fact that giving birth was extremely dangerous. And painful. And frightening. That thought caused a memory you had been repressing for years to resurface from the depths of your mind, like a buoy in the ocean. It was the tortured screams of your mother the night your youngest brother was born. Had you not known better, you might have thought she was being ripped in two, and the labor lasted for so many endless, terrible hours, which felt more like days. You remembered the midwives rushing around, and the maids leaving your mother’s room with armful after armful of blood-soaked sheets and sloshing buckets of burgundy water. As they passed the place where you were hugging your knees in the corridor, a drop fell at your feet and sunk slowly into the stone floor, leaving nothing but a small round stain. 

Once it was time to leave your family home for the castle, you said goodbye to the view from your window, which you had become well-accustomed to. It was probably the thing you’d miss most, besides your brothers. You closed your bedroom door for the last time and meandered down the familiar, dimly-lit corridor, taking note of the particular stone which was still adorned by that tiny dot of brownish red. A shiver ran down your spine. You opted out of doing a final sweep to make sure you’d packed all of your belongings, because soon enough, you’d have better things to replace them with, anyway. The knights they’d sent for you had loaded your bags onto their horses about an hour ago and set off for your new home. Now, the only thing left to transport was you. 

Another knight was waiting for you outside with a large white horse. He watched as you hugged your mother and father stiffly, pretending not to notice your mother’s tears as she kissed you on the forehead like she used to when you were younger. Before you were a lady. Before you were the queen of Jerusalem. Your father said nothing, but his somber expression and the distant look in his eyes and the loose grip he had on your hand as he kissed the top of it told you everything you needed to know. The knight helped you mount the horse and get comfortable sitting behind him, and you waved goodbye to your family as you were carried away, truly intending it to be for everything you had ever known. But whatever sadness you might have been feeling was overpowered by sheer determination. Now, at 14 years old, your life was finally beginning.  

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The knight who sat in front of you on the horse did not turn out to be a very good conversationalist. The only responses you could draw out of him were along the lines of “Yes, Your Majesty,” or “No, Your Majesty.” You were hoping for someone a bit more…engaging, perhaps, as you were feeling an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety that grew with each and every gallop towards Jerusalem. And anxiety always made you talkative. 

“Is it fun at all, being a knight?” You shouted over the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, breaking the long silence that you had been enduring since the beginning of the journey. 

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“You know, protecting the kingdom and such. Isn’t it exciting? I find the idea to be absolutely thrilling! Don’t you think so?” 

He paused for a moment, and then replied flatly, “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

You pursed your lips, waiting in silence for a few moments, expecting him to elaborate, but no such luck. Was it really so hard to share a gory battle tale or two to pass the time? You knew knights were known for having excellent integrity and virtuousness, meaning they would never say something that could potentially scare a lady, but couldn’t he humor you just this once, while you were alone? But maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, you thought, imagining how burdensome it must be to know the feeling of cutting someone’s head off. So, you graciously changed the subject and mentally patted yourself on the back for being so kind and just. It simply wouldn’t do, as future queen of Jerusalem, to force sensitive information out of this poor, traumatized knight for your own fleeting amusement. Maybe a few months earlier and it would have been acceptable, but alas. You sighed.

“This noble steed of yours is breathtaking. Does he have a name?” you questioned, admiring the animal’s snow-white pelt, entranced by the way its powerful muscles rippled beneath it.

“I do not know, Majesty. This horse belongs to the king. It is the only one His Majesty trusts, so he instructed me to collect you using it.” Another memory flashed through your mind, this time of your first meeting with your future husband. He had been riding this very horse that day, its stunning color matching that of his robes. Your heart fluttered at the idea that he’d cared so deeply for your safety, although it shouldn’t have surprised you. It was not as if he had parents forcing him into this marriage. He was accepting you in holy matrimony for some other reason, a reason entirely of his own. His own choice. A blush crept up the back of your neck, and you were suddenly thankful for the fact that the knight was facing away from you. You cleared your throat nervously. 

“Well, what’s it like, working for the king? Is he nice?” 

You felt the knight’s huge sigh before you heard it, your arms that were wrapped around his midsection rising and falling in tandem with the breath. 

“Yes, Your Majesty, the king is very…nice.”

“Is that all?” you muttered, rolling your eyes at his reservedness. You got the hint. You understood he didn’t want to talk, that much he had made very apparent, but that was just too damn bad. As queen of Jerusalem, you wanted to get to know your subjects, and who better to start with than the one sharing a horse with you? 

“Will I have my own chambers, or shall I share with the king?” You asked, holding back a giggle at the expression you were imagining the knight had on his face. 

“I am sure you will be provided with your own chambers, Your Majesty, but the choice of whether to use them or not will be entirely yours and your husband’s,” he replied, a hint of dry humor in his voice. You let out a loud laugh, which actually startled him a little, and then followed it up with another. 

“I wonder if he snores!” you said, between giggles. The knight smiled, shaking his head. After that, the journey to Jerusalem was easy. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The next time you laid eyes on the king was when you were getting married, standing opposite each other in an architectural marvel of a cathedral, both dressed in extravagant clothing and expensive jewelry. His silver mask had recently been polished, and it shone beautifully in the sun, but still not as beautifully as his blue eyes. They were as you remembered them, only a bit brighter. His gold-trimmed robes were as white as ever, freshly washed and perfumed for the occasion. Even the gloves on his hands looked new and clean. You admired them as the priest rambled on in front of you. If God was listening right now, you thought, he’d surely be bored to tears. There was one part of the day you had enjoyed, though, which was the preparation for the wedding. You had been doted on by countless maids all morning, lining your eyes with black powder and weaving your hair into an intricate, interlocking braid pattern. The gown was altered to fit you perfectly, and the large, bell-like sleeves fell around your arms like wings. You were finally beginning to feel like a real queen. 

The ceremony seemed to drag on forever, but you passed the time by maintaining eye contact with King Baldwin. You drowned out the rest of the world and focused only on him. When you smiled, he smiled back. You could only see the corners of his eyes crinkling, but you knew what that meant. You cocked your head to the side, trying to imagine what his smile really looked like. During that evening you spent with him, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see it. Just as soon as he had taken off the mask, he had to put it back on. The consequences of your parents seeing Baldwin’s face would have been disastrous, but thankfully, their loud footsteps and jovial voices had carried quite well down the corridor, warning you of their arrival. Regardless of how short they were, those few seconds you’d spent admiring his bare face were enough to conjure up a half-formed image of what his smile might look like. However, that image disappeared when you saw him cock his head to the side, too, just as you had. You blinked twice. 

He blinked twice, too. 

Was he copying you on purpose? 

You shifted your feet, and he mirrored you, his robes shimmering like the ocean as they fluttered around him. You bit back a giggle. He was. Flames of mischief danced in his eyes, and something else, too, ignited there when you grinned at him. 

“…that these rings shall forever remained blessed, O Merciful Lord. Amen,” said the priest, approaching the king with a book, two rings laid on top of it. Suddenly, Baldwin became very serious, plucking one of the rings between his slender, gloved fingers and holding it gently. You stared as it glistened in the sunlight, which was penetrating the stained glass windows and casting colorful shadows around the altar. He slowly stepped towards you, making your heart begin to beat faster. His head stayed bowed as he presented you with his open palm. You held your breath and lifted your left hand, gingerly brushing your fingertips against his palm, now understanding what was about to happen. He effortlessly glided the ring onto your fourth finger, where it rested beautifully. The diamond glittered like water, mesmerizingly. Baldwin wrapped his fingers around your hand, now holding it as gently as he could, and the priest was now presenting you with a ring. You followed Baldwin’s lead, pushing it onto his fourth finger, which was waiting outstretched for you patiently. You stood mere inches apart, fingers of your left hands interwoven as the priest finished the prayers. The ring, as breathtaking as it was, was somehow still only secondary to the cerulean eyes of your now-husband, which were like two rich sapphires lined with delicate blonde hairs. 

“…And may God bless, preserve, and keep you, that you may have life and love everlasting. I pronounce that you now be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The cathedral filled with polite claps and murmurs of “amen” as Baldwin released your hand and you turned to face the pews. Next to you, much to your surprise, he quickly dropped to his knees, his body angled towards you, clasping your fair hand between his. You gazed down at him through your lashes, suddenly feeling your cheeks burn. Boldly, Baldwin drew one hand up to his masked face, grasping it by the nose and swiftly pulling it to the side so that it was hiding his face from the crowd, but revealing it to you. He lifted your hand to his pink lips and pressed a searing kiss to it, liberally letting the physical contact linger, all the while maintaining eye contact with you from under his furrowed brow. You covered your mouth with your other hand to try and hide the toothy grin spreading across your face. He saw it anyway. The next thing you knew, he was grinning, too. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laughed. He laughed. You realized that you no longer had to imagine what his smile looked like. 

After the wedding ceremony, you were promptly bombarded by happy civilians wishing to congratulate you, or simply to catch a glimpse of their new queen, and Baldwin was whisked away by his mother, who seemed to be perpetually by his side. It seemed that she was not quite ready yet to surrender the role of Baldwin’s caretaker to you– but you had no gripes with that. You figured you’d grow into the role of loving, doting wife, as opposed to starting it right away, and unfortunately, the idea of changing his bandages each night before bed still made you shudder. In reality, his mother was not exactly thrilled about the marriage, either. She hadn’t found you or your family quite noble enough for her precious son. However, she was smart enough to see that it was unlikely that anyone else would ever volunteer their daughter to marry a leper, so she begrudgingly allowed the union. 

From the crowd, two plainly dressed women had introduced themselves to you as Matilda and Amelia, claiming that they were to be your servants. They would apparently be with you at all times, tending to your every whim and aiding you during your ascent to the throne, as well as bathing you and dressing you. Matilda was an older, more severe woman who had immediately intimidated you; her lips were drawn together thinly and permanently pursed, creating deep wrinkles around her mouth, and the rest of her face was an intricate web of creases and lines. Her graying hair was pulled back tightly, exposing her thinning hairline and sun-spotted forehead. Even her hands looked harsh, the skin rough and dry, cracking in some places, like mud that had been baking under the summer sun for too long. Amelia was quite the opposite; a timid, pretty young thing with wide brown eyes, fair hair, and a delicate frame. She’d barely had the courage to tell you her name, and rushed into the curtsey to avoid having to make eye contact with you for too long. She seemed to be around the same age as you, if not even younger.

After the attendees from the wedding had mostly dispersed, Matilda brought you back inside the castle to finally see your bedchamber, which you were to have all to yourself. She and Amelia led you through winding corridors and beautiful flowering courtyards, pointing out all the most significant landmarks along the way, such as the great hall, the kitchen, the maid’s chambers, the library, the chapel, the towers, the gardens, and the hundreds of guest bedrooms with conjoined washrooms. The last thing she showed you before your own room was the king’s quarters, which were directly across from yours. 

“Now, Amelia, go draw us a bath. There’s no need for two of us to be standing around here idly while the Queen inspect her chambers,” she ordered, and Amelia nodded, scurrying away to the washroom silently. 

As Matilda threw open the giant oak doors of your room, you couldn’t help but gasp, suddenly rooted to the spot. It was glorious. Taking up the majority of the room was a massive bed with four handsome posts, all carved with intricate floral patterns and stained a deep brown. The mattress was topped with overly-stuffed burgundy throw pillows and a comforter to match. Connecting to the four posts was a frame, from which wine-colored velvet curtains hung to give you some privacy. The same fabric was used to shroud the windows, which were floor-length and leaded. At the foot of the bed lay a pile of bags and wrapped items– all of your belongings from home! On the wall across from them was a large dressing table, covered in jewels and precious metals and bottles of fine-smelling oils. A small, round stool with a cushion on it sat underneath. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you couldn’t help but abandon Matilda in the doorway, running and throwing yourself face-first onto the bed, just like you used to at home. You giggled and kicked your feet up into the air, unsurprisingly beginning to sink into the plush mattress. Immediately, you felt your body melt against the malleable, pillowy surface, deciding that you definitely approved of its fine quality. Your bed from back home simply couldn’t compare. However, your glee was short-lived, because it was abruptly interrupted by a stern voice. 

“Your Majesty! You must cease this behavior at once and right yourself! That wedding gown is priceless, and you mustn’t risk causing it any damage!” Matilda scolded, pulling you up by the arm and frantically kneeling to check the delicate garment for any possible tears or imperfections. You winced and apologized quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your juvenile behavior. She was right. As a matter of fact, most things in the palace were probably priceless, and it wouldn’t do to act so impulsively, to be so unladylike. Even you, in your youth, knew better than that. You crossed your arms over your chest, beginning to feel rather insecure upon realizing just how much you had to learn about life as royalty. 

“Come, child, it is time to undress. You must be bathed and prepared for your wedding night,” Matilda called, holding out a hand, her voice much more soft and gentle this time.

You gulped, not wanting to think about that, preferring to cross that bridge when you got to it. She bustled over to the magnificent dressing table, pulling out the stool for you to sit on. You obliged, seating yourself in front of her and watching in the mirror as her spindly fingers deftly unwound your intricate braids. It was relaxing, the feeling of her experienced hands nimbly dancing around your scalp, so you let the buildup of tension from the day slowly seep out of your muscles, loosening up more and more every second that passed. Soon, she was finished, and helped you to your feet, ordering you to keep your arms out straight as she undressed you. She pulled out pins from here and there, untied laces all around, and in a matter of minutes you were ready for your bath. 

The water was warm and steaming as you stepped in, your skin breaking out into goosebumps at the feeling. Rose petals floated across the surface of the water, giving the entire washroom a fresh scent. As you expected, Amelia was waiting for you silently, brush in hand, ready to scrub you vigorously from head to toe. You braced yourself, expecting the rough bristles to be painful, but once she began working attentively, it wasn’t so bad at all. Yes, they were scratchy, but that’s exactly what you needed to get rid of all the dirt and dead skin. She lathered you in delicate smelling soap and added some more fragrant oils to the water, letting you soak until your skin had absorbed all the moisture it possibly could. Not a single inch of you was neglected by the time the water had grown cold, at which point you got out and were dried with a fluffy white towel. 

Next, you were ushered back into your chambers and changed into a pretty blue gown made of satin, which apparently “complimented the color of the kings’ eyes perfectly,” according to Matilda. You felt your gut twist at the mention of him, at the prospect of being alone in a room with him and that piercing gaze again. Now that you were man and wife, everything was different. You had a duty to fulfill, and it seemed to be unavoidable, despite how young and vulnerable you were. Despite how averse to it you might be. Your mother had told you all about it, about how it would only last a few minutes if you were lucky, and that you just had to breathe deeply and count the seconds until it was over. How it happened to every woman at some point in her life, and that what follows would be completely and utterly worth every second of endurance. How rewarding it was to raise a child, or two children, or as many as your womb could bear. But no matter how much you tried to reassure yourself, you were still scared. You didn’t want that yet. You were only 14. 

But before attending to your marital duties, first, there was dinner. You were seated at the complete opposite end of the table as Baldwin, as far as physically possible away from him, despite the fact that he was the only person there you had ever spoken to. You were too far away to be able to tell if he was even looking at you from under his mask. Next to him was his mother, who proceeded to shoot you sideways glances the entire night. The rest of the table was filled with noble men and women whom you did not recognize, their titles unfamiliar to you and the lands they hailed from even more obscure. You picked at your food and tried to stay as silent as possible to avoid making a mockery of yourself on your first night as Queen of Jerusalem. Sooner than you had hoped, dinner had concluded, and you were taken aside by Matilda, who pulled you into an empty corridor as the guests began filtering out of the castle. 

“Child, do you know what is expected of you on your wedding night?” She asked, her voice low so that nobody except the two of you could hear the subject matter at hand. You took a deep breath and straightened you back in an attempt to appear more mature, before replying, 

“Yes, I will lie down and be still and hope that I am blessed with a child.” 

The woman smiled at you and clasped your shoulder, seemingly approving of your answer. 

“Exactly right, my dear. The king will call on you when he is ready, so you may go back to your room and occupy your time with an activity of your choosing until you are collected.” 

You nodded solemnly and thanked her before slowly making your way back to your room, trying to take as long as possible in an attempt to actually slow down time. Upon deeper reflection during this walk, you came to the conclusion that it was not being alone with the king that you were afraid of, but rather the act of consummating the marriage, which was, of course, something he had every right to do with you that night. It was the correct course of action. It was what all newlyweds did, no matter how young and afraid they were. Did he know what he was doing, you wondered, or was he just as oblivious as you? You couldn’t imagine the young king being oblivious about much of anything, in all honesty. He was far too intelligent– something you had seen for yourself over that game of chess. 

Once you arrived at your room, Amelia was waiting at the door for you, an even more wide-eyed look on her face than usual. Uh oh, you thought to yourself. 

“His Majesty the King has requested your presence in his chambers, Your Highness,” she said quietly, bowing her head as she spoke. How did he get here so fast? You thought to yourself, terror rising in your chest. Amelia watched in half fear and half amusement as you frantically wiped your clammy hands on the bodice of your dress and ran your fingers through your hair, which was cascading down your shoulders freely. She was young, too, and unwed, and the idea of a wedding night was something that made her stomach churn as well, so she offered you a sympathetic look and watched as you dragged your feet across the hall, knocking on the imposing oak doors of the king’s bedchambers. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Baldwin had never been so jittery in his life. As he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for you to arrive, he fidgeted with his gloves, pulling them off by the fingers and then pulling them on again, over and over. All throughout dinner he had been gazing across the table at you, ignoring his mother’s neverending ranting as you stared down at your plate. Though you were only a blue blur with a vaguely maidenlike shape from where he was sitting, he was still completely enchanted, his heart beating in his throat every time you looked up in his general direction. He wondered if you could tell he was looking at you. Since the hour you were wed, he was able to think of nothing but you; your dazzling smile, your gorgeous hair, your playful sense of humor, the way the light in the cathedral illuminated your eyes. As the servants bathed him in strong-smelling medicinal herbs and wrapped the raw areas of skin with fresh bandages, he daydreamed about your voice, your laugh. And now, as he sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting your imminent arrival, he thought of practically everything except you. 

He panicked about the state of his body, the pressure of consummating a marriage, the burden of fathering a child at such a young age. He panicked about the weight of ruling an entire kingdom all by himself, no longer able to entrust the brunt of the work to Raymond, and of being a suitable husband. He panicked about how many years he might even have left, if his illness continued to progress. But every worry, every fear, every doubt left his mind as soon as he heard you knock on his door. 

He leapt to his feet, hastily pulling his left glove all the way back on and bounding over to the door, throwing it open wide with a grin on his face, to reveal… you, standing there, gaunt and sweating, looking like you had just suffered a bout of cholera. The smile on his face fell a bit, but it couldn’t be wiped completely clean. At least he could finally be with his bride, his love, his queen. 

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you murmured, your head bowed, pointing down at your shoes, as well as the freshly polished ones directly across from you. 

“Good evening, my Queen,” he breathed, heart beating quickly as you shuffled into his room. He closed the door behind you, letting it shut with a ‘click’ before following you over to the middle of the room, where you hovered like a ghost, still staring at the ground and clasping your hands tightly in front of you. A tense, silent moment passed, and still, you didn't move. Whatever was left of his smile faded from his unmasked face, and the panic from earlier began to return, crashing over him in icy waves. Why wouldn’t you look at him? He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

“Are you feeling very well tonight, my lady?” He asked tentatively, shuffling a bit closer. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly turned, stiltedly making your way over to the bed. 

“Let’s just get this started then, shall we?” You said tersely, laying down on your back on the plush covers and screwing your eyes shut tightly. 

“I am ready.” 

King Baldwin stared at you blankly, frozen in the middle of the room, and completely panicking. No, no, no, this was all wrong, this was not how he wanted it to go…he absolutely did not want to force you into it, to do anything you didn’t also want…and you clearly didn't want it. You were lying there, as stiff as a board. This was the final straw for him.

He wasn’t ready for it yet either, he decided. He would just have to lie to his mother. When she discovered that the queen was, in fact, not pregnant, he would blame it on his own body, claiming to be infertile. It was probably true, at any rate. He took a deep breath, feeling shame and embarrassment at not being able to consummate his own marriage rise to his cheeks, and spoke three words, 

“You may go,” 

And those were the last three words he spoke to you for the next three years. 

Note: I'll give you a kiss if you can count how many times I reference you being the "Queen of Jerusalem" in this chapter.

[weebsinstash]

They often say food can be a language of love, and one of the things that started driving Suguru into a deeper depression was eating curses that tasted horribly disgusting and then also not being able to eat normal food, so I was thinking about a story concept where Reader through whatever means can actually give Geto his sense of taste back and actually ease the discomfort he experiences when eating curses, and he forms a deep gratitude/obsession/love because of it

Obviously i publish yandere stuff but it doesn't mean up in Brain Land that I don't think of other ideas, action, adventure, what not, and recently I've been thinking of -also this was kind of for yandere purposes too actually lmao- Reader having a technique along the lines of "Cursed Memory Manipulation"

You can manipulate curses just like Geto, only you do it by affecting their memories into thinking you're an ally or friend or master or whatever gets them to obey. There are limits, but if it's some mindless creature, you're basically a Pokemon trainer. But I was thinking, can you imagine being his classmate who he has way too much depression to fully pay attention to, he's eating less, he's losing weight, losing sleep, and one day you're eating lunch near him and see he's struggling to keep food down, and he leaks vague details about how he keeps thinking about the taste of curses and how food doesn't taste the same.

Here you are, genuinely wanting to help him, just casually like, "well, what if I take a bite of this food, and then when you take a bite, I put my memory of what it tasted like in your head while we eat together" and it's some spur of the moment idea that he's too tired to argue against you about, so he does it to humor you and get it over with and. It works? It actually works??? He can taste and the world is beautiful again?

Oh sure, it starts off sharing lunches with him, but he's basically unable to normally eat without you, so, he all but glues himself to you at all times so you can eat all your meals together. At his worst, a yandere Geto would just immediately outright insist on if not demand marriage, because how ELSE are you two going to share every meal together? He may even force you to cook for him to make the meals you two eat all the more special. You're just his little Patron Saint of Snacks who can actually give him an appetite again

And I guess as a bonus, the idea I was originally tacking the concept of Cursed Memory Manipulation onto was, vague but, it was the idea of, what if Reader is losing a fight and is at genuine risk of being killed and you use your technique to fill your attacker with memories of you, and maybe you don't exactly have time to think and it turns out to be something really personal, something really intimate, whatever can get this person or creature or curse or whatever to stop attacking you. Sukuna suddenly remembering you as an old flame who he suddenly has too many fond memories of fucking to simply kill you. Mahito stops himself from slicing you open when he's suddenly recalling playing all kinds of games with you, running around as kids, memories of a childhood that didn't exist yet appeals to his young heart.

It's also totally different but I've also thought about 1. What if Sukuna gets in Itadori and finds out the young man isnt all there when it comes to you with Sukuna absorbing some of Yuuji's feelings for you, and then when he jumps to, his current host, HE ALSO had feelings for you, so now Sukuna is like secondhand driven mad with yandere fever and 2. What if after Kenjaku bodysnatches Geto, he runs into you again one day and all of Suguru's repressed and Strong STRONG feelings for you start surging forth and Kenjaku just HAS to keep you around as his new pet at the very least because he just can't shake all these new obsessive thoughts and the literal goosebumps he gets when he looks at you

[buckyalpine]

Let go

18+

Bucky x reader

My brain is truly like a toddler that doesn’t want to put on pants. Anyway. Now that this thought is in my brain and I envisioned it, I must get it out. sorry

Warnings: angst, smut

Imagine emotionally repressed and touch starved Bucky. 

He doesn’t really allow himself to cry. After a nightmare he tries to hurry away the sobs that wrack his body and pull himself together. He doesn’t think he deserve to feel sad after the things he’s done so he takes those nightmares like punishment's he deserves. He doesn’t talk about the pain he’s in because he doesn’t want to burden others with his problems. 

Even with you. There have been so many moments where his eyes sting, his throat tightens, he wants to curl up like a baby on your chest and cry but he can’t bring himself to. Sometimes when you hug him for a second longer, his lip trembles and he lets go. 

He’s touch starved in a way he doesn’t tell others; it’s not about people being too close or hugging him. He’s had plenty of bear hugs and drunken smooches on the cheek from nearly everyone on the team, especially after Tony’s parties. 

That’s different. 

He’s scared to let go. Scared to feel something so intense. He doesn’t even think he deserves that type of pleasure. He only has faint memories of what that type of intimacy felt like and he doesn’t feel ready to be vulnerable like that. His body looks different. His body is different; its pumped full of chemicals, all his senses are always dialed to a hundred. 

It scares him so much, he doesn’t even do anything about it for himself. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want it. When he sees you, he wants to touch you. He wants to feel every bit of your soft skin. He wants to feel your hands caress him wherever you want. But he never lets it happen, pushing it away for as long as he can. 

Until he can’t anymore.

The soft kisses between the sheets become more needy and he wants to feel all of you. Your quiet moans each time he touches you make him crave more, he wants to make you feel good. So good. He wants to feel every inch of your body, fuck he wants you to touch him. 

Touch him everywhere. 

Where he’s the most vulnerable. 

Where he’d moan for you.

Where he knows he’d be so sensitive, scared, shy, but no one else can have him like that, just you. 

Once you’re both bare, he can already feel so much.  Wanting your hands to stroke him, your lips to kiss him there softly. The need to be inside you. He wants to push himself inside you and stay like that forever, safe in your arms. He doesn’t tell you that this is basically his first time again; he can’t remember anything from before. He hopes you don’t realize he’s nervous, that you don’t hear the fast beating of his heart, his shuddered breaths when he feels your hand grasp him, giving him gentle strokes. 

“You okay Bucky?” You look at him with so much love and kindness and for a moment he wonders if he can do this, if he even has the right to make love to such a beautiful thing like you. But you play with his hair, kissing his skin, reassuring him you want this and he knows he wants it too. He needs it. 

You guide him to your soaked entrance, your thighs hugging his waist; this is already so much closer to you than he’d ever been before. He doesn’t realize his breaths are getting heavier, his heart racing even more, until he feels your hand cup his cheek, making him look at you to ground him. Your hand is rubbing up and down his chest, soothing his erratic heart, you just want the same as him; to be connected in a way you feel all of him. 

“It’s okay baby, just look at me” You whisper, your breath hitching when you feel the tip of his cock nudge your core. “Let me feel you Bucky” 

Keeping his eyes locked with yours, he pushes himself inside and he can’t help the deep moan that slips past his lips. Its almost euphoric. His body moves on its own, rolling his hips, chasing more of your warmth, his arms holding you close to him. Your hands are gripping onto him, moaning, telling him how good he’s making you feel, but he knows its nothing in comparison to the way he feels wrapped in your warmth. You would never have a clue how good you were making him feel. 

“Y/n...”

He can already feel it, the pleasure blooming through his body, he can’t stop it from creeping up his spine, flowing through his veins, he’s never felt something so good and he can’t hold it. 

“Fuck it feels good y/n”

You moan in response, loving the way he stretches you. His thrusts speed up craving more. 

“Baby, touch me?” He looks at you with pleading eyes, he wants to feel your body enveloped around his. “Pleases, please t-touch me y/n, I need it” 

You mark his neck with soft bruises, letting him feel your lips and teeth gently nip at his skin while your hands stroke up his arms before draping around his neck to hold him close to you. 

“Please baby” He knows he’s not going to last longer; he desperately wants to but you feel too good and he’s too sensitive, feeling everything at once, “Please, it feels good baby, its so good, y/n, angel, I-I need it so bad” 

You kiss his lips sweetly and the gentleness of your touch makes him melt. 

“I-I can’t-I’m gonna-hngggg-”

“Let go Bucky, cum for me baby” you whisper, your hands stroking his body as he nearly whimpers, burying his face into the crook if your neck, hot puffs of air hitting your skin. Your words throw him off the edge, his entire body weight on you, words can’t describe how good it feels. 

His first release. 

His body is feeling so much. 

Too much all at once. 

The feeling is now overwhelming, he feels open and vulnerable, his body still throbbing, shivering at the cool air touching his sweat covered skin. He’s panting against your skin, body weight on yours. You start to feel a dampness on your neck, confused. Were those tears? 

Then the first sob escapes his lips.

You’re terrified a boundary has been crossed or that a memory of his may have been triggered. Did you hurt him accidently? 

“Bucky?” You try to pull away to see his face but he shakes his head and buries himself deeper, clinging onto you. “Baby, you’re scaring me, what's wrong?” 

He can’t even tell you what’s wrong, crying harder and hugging you tighter, his body continues to feel, still wrapped in your warmth. He can’t even place where all his feelings are coming from; everything he’d been holding on the inside pouring out at once. 

“Bubba” You coo, rubbing his back, trying to rock him and calm him down but sobs continue to wrack his body. You manage to pull the covers up, protecting him in a cocoon of warmth while he lets everything out. You realize its the first time he’s cried in front of you. What you don’t know is it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to cry at all. 

“Its okay sweet heart, I’m right here James” Your lips brush against his forehead, stroking his hair. 

“S-sorry” He whimpers, feeling bad for spilling all his emotions onto you without warning, hardly lasting, feeling like an even bigger burden than before. You shake your head, cupping his cheek to wipe some of his tears away while he continues to hide away from you, keeping his face in your neck. 

“You can cry whenever you want to, I’m here to hold you. You can always cry baby, don’t hold it in” 

His cries soften as he thinks about how much he loves you. He’d never felt safer, he’s never let anyone touch him or hold him or comfort him like this. All those rights were reserved just for you, his safe haven. His doll who took care of him. 

“Shhhh” You soothe him as best as you can, kissing the top of his head, “You’re safe here bubba, I’m here” 

He nods against your chest, little sniffles and tears still streaming down his cheeks. 

“Y-you make me feel so good” He whispers, closing his eyes and clinging onto you. You giggle but Bucky shakes his head, pulling away from you and making you look at him. 

“No angel, you don’t understand. You make me feel so good in everyway. Y-You make me feel safe baby, you take care of me. You love me so much, you’re such an angel to me” His eyes leave your gaze for a moment, his cheeks blushing, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re my first since I’ve gotten a little bit of my life back. I know I don’t remember a lot but no one else has ever made me feel so good. Not like you” 

You kiss him deeply, the muscles in his body relaxing, allowing himself to get lost in you again. He groans into the kiss, letting his tongue explore your mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist, hugging him with your entire body. 

“You’re making this hard for me angel” Bucky stutters, feeling your walls flutter around his semi hard length, still buried in your heat. “I-I won’t last” You can practically feel the warmth radiating off his cheeks, your poor touch starved baby. 

“Just want to feel you” You whisper, your breath hitching when he starts to rock his hips again, making your moan. Your hands rub all over his body, your fingers carding through his hair, moving down to trace down his spine, your ankles locking around his waist. You kiss him and touch him in every way possible while he pants and moans above you. 

“Is this okay?” He asks timidly, his hand hesitantly cupping your breast, toying with your nipple his forehead resting on your again. 

“Touch me baby, anywhere” You moan out, while he grasps the soft flesh harder, dipping his head down to take your nipple in his mouth. The feel of your hands caressing his skin, your soft peaked bud on his tongue brings his release again, and he can’t stop himself, he chases it, his body trembling on top of you. 

He blushes, about to apologize again but you stop him, your thumb caressing his cheek, pressing a kiss onto his nose. 

“We have all night solider. All night” 

And he does just that. 

He spends all night having release after release. 

Until the bed is so messy, you have to take it to the showers. 

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[jayswhorex]

This is more of a ramble than request.

I don't know why but I can't imagine rough sex with Kyle. He’s so caring and gentle I just can't imagine it. I'm not saying he's against rough sex, sometimes there are days when he needs to let out all the repressed anger but I think he's more into gentle sex BUT I know he's very playful and teasing in bed and I know he's loud in bed, he doesn't even try to hide all the sounds in bed

Anyway, I need your thoughts on him because there is so little Kyle content that I can't even form my thoughts on what he's into in bed

i 100% agree with this because i could never seem like the type of guy to yearn for rough sex. and this actually reminds me of a panel from titans when he and donna run into each other and she's just going through a lot and he's trying to help her out because he still loves and worries about her!! like how could a man like that be rough and hurts even more knowing that he still loved her after they broke up and since she lost her memories, she died never remembering him.

but getting back on track, he's definitely the type of guy to hold you and whisper "i love you" into your ears a million times while deep inside you. if you asked him to be rough he wouldn't die for you, but he definitely prefers to be gentle with his partners. he's definitely the playful type but also “brings you breakfast” in bed just cause he can type. i see him as a really caring guy because of the way he was with donna, get me a man who loves me as much as kyle loved donna.

now i can see rough sex with him when he's pent up or having a bad day. or what about rough sex in the heat of the moment, where he just needs you?? like he's got you pressed up against the wall, holding you up by your hip with one of your legs around his waist while he's rough fucking you right there & then. and just can't stop because he needs you now and then and he'll feel so bad after, asking you if he was too rough even though you secretly loved it 😩

[nephilimbrute]

ur agents in particular FASCINATE me so so much i love your interpretations of them. could u tell us more about them and their stories? particularly 8, theyre so interesting!!! why do they hate marina? what happened between them and 3? what’s their relationship like with 4? anything you wanna say abt them, i’d love the infodump

omgosh....😇

a few days ago i wrote a thing that like. detailed stuff about major events with 8. i'll paste them here

agent 8 during the entire course of Octo Expansion was extremely shaken up. they couldn't think straight at all, leaving them vulnerable. sanitized cap3 wasn't much different too, she still had some control over herself and she never wanted to fight 8, making the battle between them long and confusing. eventually 8 gave up and walked up to her, ripping the sanitized goop right off her head (which, to cap3, felt like shoving a screwdriver into her eye)

during the inner agent 3 fight, was unconscious, so this was more like a a made-up battle. this 3 (dubbed enigma3) was formed out of cap3's repressed traits of herself and how 8 sees her, rather than being the 3 that 8 saw fight octavio. she's quiet, cold, confusing, and only wants to play mind games with 8. she never really left 8's conscience, but only appears when agent 8 is deathly worried about cap3

after the events of Octo Expansion, 8 absolutely adored marina. they were still a little shy though, so when marina wanted to talk to them they would kind of freak out. marina didn't mind though, and they were able to get to know each other somewhat, with 8 adapting some of marina's traits and behaviors. 8 had nowhere else to go other than sleeping behind crusty sean's food truck and park benches, so pearl let them stay with him and marina for 2 months. after those two months, pearl got in touch with agent 4 via marie (making him fawn all over meeting off the hook) and asked 4 if he could let 8 stay over (since pearl felt like they were watching him in his sleep) and fortunately, 4 said yes

after 8's mind finally clears up they start to question what's wrong with them and feel the weight of overthinking, which sends them spiraling down for the years to come (presumably the effects of tartar messing with their brain). 8 relentlessly questions cap3, rarely leaving her alone, and in turn it affects their relationship with cap3 in a negative way. when asked why they're so curious, 8 goes silent and refuses to answer

(small bit about cap3) cap3 feels like she's at fault for how 8 turned out since they started breaking after OE. she tries to make it up for them but she thinks she's only ruining them. her expectations for herself are set higher and higher, yet nothing she does is good enough. she won't give herself a break, beating herself up over every little detail and being highly critical to the point where she's stuck in a loop of self-destruction and loathing

8 slowly loses their trust in things and those they love, becoming scared and paranoid. it wasn't until side order that this was more prevalent.

in side order (AU), 8 has lost most of their memories, and the moments with the other agents and idols still remain but just barely. 8 is afraid of marina and has a deep dislike for her, but this was due to them not thinking for themself, instead listening to their gut. their brain fog is back more than ever, and whenever they try to walk for prolonged amounts of time they end up stumbling to their knees.

they can no longer tell the difference between reality and fiction. it's all a blur to them. they can feel marina's eyes everywhere. they can barely remember if who or what meant something, anything, to them. though having a deep dislike for marina, they want to be held by her. to be loved like a child. they never ask her of anything, instead just letting it burn into their brain until it breaks them completely. they want attention but they fear they'll be seen as needy and annoying. they want to apologize for everything and be forgiven. 8 doesn't know who is who, they've been copied so much they're just deemed a blank slate to be imprinted on. they watch everything disappear from their hands, unable to do anything about it. from being excited about what's to come in the near future, to being scared about losing the present and wanting to go back to the past

and then here's another little bit about 8 in side order: represents a crumbling mental state, begging for reassurance, desperately trying to hold on to fleeting memories. their trust is lost in everything but they want it all to return to normal, struggling to accept the fact that it never will

then about marina: represents a mother figure somewhat, but even she still fails to live up to that role fully. she distances herself from 8 who is always going after her just to be comforted, yet she denies it for them. she has the same goals as 8, clinging on to the present and never embracing change, but doing so only harms her and others and this behavior continues on and on

+ marina doesn't want to interact with 8 because she sees her younger self in them, she refuses to go back to that era of her life and 8 keeps promising her they'll be what she wanted to be. anything for them to be accepted, to be held in loving arms again. the lack of communication between them makes their relationship even more strained. but clearly marina still cares about 8, they were the only one to be let out of her mind control. she wanted to check on them and make sure they're okay, but what she got in return was someone that hated her

^^ their relationship is basically like this. constantly wanting to communicate with the other but being pushed away, they never fill each other's voids

onto agent 4 and 8... they have a relatively healthy relationship. 4 is 8 (and cap3)'s shoulder to cry on, he always tries his best to help them with whatever. since him and 8 both like off the hook, they'd talk about them non stop. 8 likes to give 4 details about how oth are off-stage since 8 frequently hangs out with them and stuff

4 appears as parallel canon in side order, but instead of other copies of himself, the other robots resemble agent 8 and cap3. they all circle 8 and mock them for forgetting everything about themself and their significant others, much like inner agent 3

nd i don't think i got anything else to say about those 3......that's all^_^ i'm soooo normal i'm normal

[working-dreamer]

The Person Within: An Analysis Of Professor Layton's Hidden Character Development

Spoilers for practically all of the Layton games!

Hershel Layton as a character is sometimes criticized outside of the fandom for having no personality other than his gentlemanly nature and taking the concept of enjoying puzzles to the extreme.

While I think this criticism shows a blatant misunderstanding to his character, I do think from a different angle that perspective makes Professor Layton more interesting.

Think about it. Most of his personality is taken from the tragedy of those around him. Randall was the one who was originally obsessed with archaeology and puzzles. Claire was the one who originally perceived Hershel as a gentleman (thus giving him the idea.) We don’t really see Layton take these aspects of his personality onto himself until tragedy strikes and these people are taken away from his life.

In the case of Randall's death, Hershel blamed himself for surviving and moved out of town because of his self-loathing and guilt. And when Claire disappeared Layton paused his studies for an unknown amount of time trying to find out what happened until he was beaten into a coma by a group of people associated with her death.

And yet instead of grieving like you’d normally expect from a person who lost his best friend and girlfriend, he internalized their interests and aspects of their personalities into himself. He wears their passions and dreams as his own to remember them. In a way, he’s always reminding himself that he couldn’t save them.

However one might wonder how Layton really feels about those things outside of his previous losses. Does Layton even enjoy archeology and puzzles? Or is it something he has grown to accept in his life simply because he is living out Randall’s dream? Does he feel like he has a choice in the matter?

I can easily imagine Layton having doubts deep within himself: Randall didn’t get to live and it’s my fault. His dreams should live on. I don’t deserve anything else.

Same with Claire. She saw him as a gentleman but he certainly didn’t feel like one after her disappearance if his memory of events is to be taken seriously. How long did it take for him to turn into the perfect gentleman? Especially if it's just a painful reminder of her loss?

It’s probably after waking up from his coma that he starts to really embrace the idea that he has to be the perfect gentleman because he knows he can never get her back. So all he can do is embrace what she thought of him before she died. So with all of this in mind is Layton’s gentlemanly persona genuine to who he is as a person? Or is it just a persona created in order to keep her memory alive?

Layton has kept the shadows of his lost loved ones close to his heart for years and probably would have always done so had he never gotten any closure. However, when Randall turned out to be alive Layton now has the opportunity to let go of that guilt. Claire came back in the future momentarily and Layton got to say goodbye. He no longer needs to keep their personal traits as his own.

So why does he still embody Randall's passion for archeology and puzzles and Claire's perspective that he's the perfect gentleman?

I think it's because Layton doesn't know who he is without these borrowed parts of his personality. Without those aspects that he adopted into himself… who is Hershel Layton? Deep down he is someone who has silently mourned his loved ones and repressed those emotions. And yet most of his life has been embodying said grief. It makes me wonder if Layton would ever look deep within himself and realize that he doesn’t have anything to claim as his own. His entire personality revolves around past guilt and trauma from people he loved and lost.

Shoot even his name isn’t his own! Hershel Layton was actually the name belonging to his brother and in a moment of sacrifice switched names so our Layton could be adopted. So our Layton loses the only family member he has left without even knowing who that is for the majority of his life!

So we have a man who feels guilt and remorse for the deaths of his best friend and his girlfriend so he doesn’t allow himself to develop his own interests and personality because he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be his own person. It's even implied that he believed for a time that he didn't deserve to be the one who survived the events that killed his best friend and girlfriend. And then adding to the fact that he never knew his real family so he most likely felt a different kind of loss by not knowing where he came from. All and all we find a man that feels alone and tries to make it right by embodying the traits of those he cared about.

We don’t get to see Layton develop his thoughts on all of this but we do see an interesting development later on. I’d like to think that Layton slowly began to heal after his adventures thanks to adopting Katrielle in the anime.

This is because, for the first time in Layton’s life, he had a family to look after. Someone who doesn't need a mystery-solving archeologist or a perfect gentleman detective. Someone who doesn't need the grand "Professor Layton." This little girl just needs someone to be her father and, while he tries his best, he doesn't really know how to do that.

Sure he had a familial relationship with Luke and Flora, but he never called himself their father. I don’t think he allowed himself that privilege because of all the self-loathing he had been dealing with before. When he adopts Kat it feels like it’s the first time we see Layton truly allowing himself to be a father figure. And yet he is still uncertain about if he should be the one in this role.

Layton feels like his adopted daughter should know where she came from (something he didn’t get to have) before he can start thinking of himself as a father. He’s scared that if he gets attached then it'll hurt worse when she eventually returns to her own family should she decide that is her wish. But if he finds her family first then he doesn’t have the go through that heartache. He wants to find them first so she can make an informed decision.

And he says this with the logic that he always had as “Professor Layton” with that calm and collected smile. Notice that he says "I want to solve this puzzle so that we can become a true family." He doesn't say "so that we will become a true family." It’s almost as if he is going to let Kat decide if she wants to stay with him or go back to her real parents and that choice will be up to her. However, it's somewhat implied that he already thinks that she would naturally choose her real parents if she had the opportunity.

Despite his wishes to be her father, he still seems to be internally preparing himself to say goodbye (hence why he disappeared for so long in the first place.) He just doesn’t want to get too close to another person only to lose them and suffer alone again.

It makes sense why he is distancing himself, but he’ll still solve the mystery. It's what “Professor Layton” would do and he’ll have to accept whatever happens once Kat learns the truth. He doubts that she would still see him as her dad if she could be with her real parents. He doesn't even know himself outside of the role of "Professor Layton" so how can he be a true father to her? She'll go away with her real family eventually anyway. Why would anyone choose him?

And yet when he sees her again Layton is surprised when she immediately cries out for him. She still calls him papa. She wants him to be her papa.

In a public display of overwhelming emotion, we see Layton openly weep for the first time. He is so overcome by these emotions and for once doesn't repress them. He's just so happy to see his daughter again (to truly call Kat his daughter again) and allows himself to fully express those feelings for perhaps the first time in decades.

If Layton from the original game trilogy saw himself like this he would have been mortified by this “un-gentlemanly” behavior. His mindset back then was that a gentleman never cries because he has trouble coming to terms with his emotions. He even chastised Luke in Unwound Future because “a gentleman never makes a scene in public.”

However, he was never a gentleman for himself. It was always for holding onto the guilt of losing his loved ones while trying to honor their memories at the same time. But he doesn’t have to hold himself to those impossible standards anymore. He no longer blames himself for their deaths, he found closure, and now he has found himself in a family who chooses to love him not because of those attributes “Professor Layton” embodied, but because she loves him for the person hidden under that persona. And that is enough for Layton to openly weep as he embraces his child.

I believe Kat's words here helped Layton more than she'll ever know.

So who is Hershel Layton if he’s not a gentleman or a fan of archeology?

The solution to that puzzle is really quite simple.

He is a caring person. And that’s all he ever needs to be.

[ghostlycheuwing]

The empty frame (which also became an incidental meta about portraits in Ghosts)

I find the establishing shot of the Captain reminiscing privately in Carpe Diem very meaningful.

We get this image with the music they used in Redding Weddy to introduce the flashbacks between the Captain and Havers. Interestingly, in that episode, we hear the violins twice and it's always in association with the letter addressed to William – the first time, the Captain is looking at the envelope in deep thoughts and hurriedly hides it as he bids Havers to come; the second, he looks at the envelope in deep thoughts and eventually throws it on top of the bomb (his metaphorical heart), intending to bury them forever (... or until it explodes, as it were. Of course, if you repress your feelings for too long, they tend to explode in your face).

When you hear the music, you immediately understand the Captain is thinking about Havers.

The framing (pun intended) is really interesting to me. The Captain has an expression of intense longing on his face. He seems to be in the same position as he was at the end of Redding Weddy, when he sees/remembers Havers' private goodbye from afar as he left for the front; sitting at the same window; turned the same way; a similar expression on his face; both hands on the stick again. Indeed, just after, we are shown the same view of the front gate, sans Havers. If you allow me another nod: the frame is empty.

I keep talking about frames, because I find the empty frame on the Captain's right very symbolic. The association with the next shot (the image of the front gate without Havers = an empty frame) makes it all the more poignant to me. Why is the Captain's frame empty?

Frames are shown to ornate several kinds of objects in the show:

Portraits of loved ones. Fanny's husband comes to mind. Interestingly, it is the portrait of a closeted homosexual man, whom Fanny eventually learns to accept for who he was and what society was through his portrait (while a gay wedding is about to take place).

Portraits of oneself. Humphrey and Fanny are prominent ones. I just realised that both portraits get torn during the show, which reflects their fragmented identities/sense of self. I love that Fanny's portrait gets repaired, albeit not perfectly, by Alison. I love that Fanny recognises that she is still the same girl underneath. (I love that Humphrey seems mildly disgruntled and resigned at the damage on his one? It's exactly his reactions towards his recalcitrant body, and it feels very much like his whole vibe; I adore him). Also, we shouldn't forget Thomas' portrait: slowly built until he overthinks it all, gets ahead of himself and rejects the piece before it is ready... a portrait which ends up being put aside by the woman he loves (a woman who feels slighted by his hasty words even if he only wanted to be honourable). If it doesn't parallel his relationship with Isabelle and his death, I don't know what does!

Mirrors. It is a recurring theme around the Captain of course: we see his reflection in the mirror in the intro; the picture on Alison's mirror has him reminiscing about dead seagulls and start the process of resolution which saves the day.

With that in mind, I find the symbol of the empty frame can work on several layers here:

Portrait of a loved one: the frame is empty, but not because there is no one (there is still a frame). It could symbolise an absent lover (Havers left the picture through that front gate)... or a love that never became official. No one could have taken Havers' portrait for the Captain. And Havers wouldn't have given him his picture, because everything was left unsaid. Not to mention the fact that it would have been incredibly damning and dangerous for the Captain to keep the image of the man he loved around him. It had to stay hidden, invisible. So no picture, and Havers is far away and out of reach, but he is still very much present in the Captain's mind and heart. He is able access the memory of Havers not through his portrait but through his secret memories.

Portrait of oneself: a portrait (one like Fanny's, Humphrey's and Thomas') is made with care. It takes a long time to complete and it cements the way you want to (or people want you to) be remembered through time. It is a reflection of who you are, but also the way others perceive you. Humphrey and Fanny had their portraits done because they were socially important and rich people; these are very official portraits. As I touched before, they are also a sign of their fragmented selves. Both characters want to be and get to be more than this unmoving piece of history. They both lost themselves in who they were supposed to be. Through death, they are allowed to show their own individuality. For his part, Thomas gets to pose like a romantic intellectual (or an intellectual romantic?), very much the way he wants to be seen and remembered. He has someone close to him who is willing to paint him.

Now, the empty frame could be a sign that the Captain was not considered important enough in his life or was not remembered fondly enough (by the troops, for example) to capture his image. We understand that he has never been on the front, and men like Cartwright sneer at him for that reason. In a room full of officers, the heroes whose memory the Captain never fails to honour, he is readily rejected. At that point in time, there is no place in history for the Captain to be remembered (and he believes it too: "I am no hero"). The empty frame could be a symbol of his lack of active role during the war (something that is obviously important in his own identity and the way he is perceived by people who "made history"). The absence of a portrait could also reflect the fact that no close one was there to take his picture. He was not fully seen by Havers, or, once again, it was not possible for them to carry a portrait of their loved one. It was even less possible for Havers to take the time to paint the Captain or be asked to take his picture (… although... one could dream. I mean, can you imagine Havers secretly, or not-so-secretly-but-the-Captain-is-oblivious, taking a picture of him, developing it on his own and frequently gazing at the portrait of the Captain, so focused on his image that he fails to see the seemingly judgemental old lady looking over the Cap's shoulder in the background. I love the idea of Fanny & James, the repressed siblings, having a photo taken of them together before they even got to know each other). To sum up: no official loved one to preserve the Captain's image, no place in history according to his society.

Mirrors: well, it's all about the reflection of the self, isn't it? We know the Captain has difficulties with his identity. He has carefully crafted his military persona and has played the role of the strict and efficient commanding officer for decades, repressing his more sentimental and less conventional side as much as he could. A crucial part of his arc is that he buried his heart and he has to learn to accept himself and express who he is without fear. I also love the idea of inversion in relation to the Captain: in a mirror, you're looking at the inverted image of yourself. "Inversion" was a synonym for homosexuality in the Victorian era (and was still in use in the 40s). Therefore, the recurring theme of mirrors makes a lot of sense around this character. Even his decorations (over his heart) are placed in an inverted way. The empty frame could represent the lingering issue around his identity. After this moment of introspection, and faced with his potentially impeding passing, he will finally tell the truth about who he is. The frame is empty right now, but he is about to leave that behind: he gets to accept who he is. He gets to share the truth about his past and his heart. He gets to be seen (and cherished) for who he is.

The Captain is gazing out of the window, but visually the empty frame is very much part of that window. Hence the Captain is metaphorically reflecting on this empty frame. A symbol for the absence of his loved one, the lack of place in history or remembrance for him, the lack of place in history and memories for his relationship with Havers, the sense of intense self-repression. (on that note, bear in mind that up until his confession, no one knew the Captain's name. It is after this deep introspection that James is able to be open about it all)

When he comes out of his reflection (... pun intended?), we can see how intense the process is for him. It is overwhelming and painful. But when he looks away from the window/empty frame, he faces forward. He turns his eyes to the room next to him - I believe it is the room where he's about to meet the ghosts, so the room where he's about to come out. This shift means that in the Captain's mind, it is not about then anymore: it is about now. Back then he couldn't be himself; he couldn't show his heart. Now, if he's brave enough, maybe he can exist as his true self.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy I started drafting this when it was Friday everyone! Can you believe there's just three weeks left to go before we're back with BEENADO?! Here's another round of the fic I've been reading this last fortnight to tide you over in the meantime. You can find previous rec lists here.

7 September 2024

Baking is a Science but I Studied the Arts by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels the reason why I'm late posting this week is that I opened up AO3 to start gathering links, realised this was completed, dropped everything and read it start to finish. Sugar Daddy Tommy is ready and willing to pamper Eddie with trips to Vegas, and Eddie is in need of a distraction from all his pining over his best friend. Buck's feeling a little envious of Eddie and Tommy's new friendship, but with an open line of communication Tommy's happy to introduce him to his bisexual awakening, and unlock a new level of kink along the way. But of course, there's crossed wires, and neither Buck or Eddie actually know who the other's mysterious new casual boyfriend is. Deliciously indulgent, sexy, and feel good polyamory with 9-1-1 what is your emergency levels of misunderstandings and self discovery along the way. Lincoln's buddietommy threeway fics just always hit the spot.

Summer's End by @dunnonorlly back on my Eddie's summer of introspection without Chris bullshit, with a wonderful self recommendation that I'm so glad was brought to my attention. I love fics which really showcase all the ways this ensemble love each other and there's such a gorgeous wealth of extended firefam offering support here, including a particularly impactful Eddie and Bobby dynamic, with his advice and experience shared, and deep understanding from Maddie. Talking things through with those he trusts, and some beautifully written gentle steps towards finding peace and embracing love with Buck at his side and his family reunited.

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr also recommended to me by dunnonorlly, this is an alternate take on season 7 written early on in the series, in which crucially Eddie has OCD, based on the author's own experiences and carefully woven into all the idiosyncricies that make up Eddie Diaz. It's a beautiful and painful character exploration that allows Eddie to examine his own past and present with fresh eyes, in the hopes of moving to a future without tripping up on all that's held him back. I particularly loved the backstory elements, and how his mental health and Catholic guilt create a maelstrom he's painstakingly riding through life. Such a moving fic. The same author also has a GORGEOUS anniversary Henren fic Up, and Down, and Around which sees Karen through Hen's eyes, with a rollercoaster of emotions.

about the present by @runawaymarbles if there's one thing you need to know about me it's that I LOVE me a timeloop narrative, and wow does this two parter The Scroll of Saint Barnabas and Theoretical Corpses, Laughing deliver. "The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now." In which Eddie absolutely has PTSD, but when you're caught in a timeloop where you see all of your loved ones picked off by a sniper, and every attempt you make to stop it just ripple effects someone else to be harmed, what do you even do? Plus along the way there are confessions they won't remember, secrets that are impossible to keep locked up forever, firsts that they'll be forced to forget, and overwhelming survivors guilt. An absolute masterclass in consequences, understanding, and healing together through the hurt.

Being Eddie by @cal-daisies-and-briars sticking with the timey-wimey theme, I also read this Being Erica inspired fic, in which a mysterious therapist grants Eddie the opportunity to go back in time to fix a list of his regrets, confronting repressed memories, and gaining an understanding of himself and the people in his life he feels like he's wronged along the way. Of course the butterfly effect is in full force, and sometimes changing the past means losing a future and a love you're growing to cherish.

like a river that doesn't know where it's flowing (i found where i'm going) by @queerdiazs VIVE LE MOUSTACHE! 'After coming out as gay, finally, Eddie has a well-deserved hot girl summer witnessed by his closest friends and family. Everyone is supportive and encouraging, except for Buck. What could that possibly mean?' Truly full throttle embracing the concept of latter in life coming out second pubity and slut era Eddie, this is so much fun, so delicious, and Buck is full on out not having a good time. Eddie can't help that the moustache makes him so irresistible! (I also had a great time with their fic no one else on earth because I love me some Eddie vs Josh).

Stay Until the Morning by @semperama oh my god, once again smacked in the face by my demiromantic Eddie and resulting emotional trauma feels. This is established (almost) buddie, written for the @summerofbuddie "breaking cliches" week. The author says it best: "The cliche that's broken here is that friends-to-lovers is as simple as two people realizing they love each other and then it's happily ever after. In this instance, things are a little more complicated!" I really really deeply appreciate this examination of simply finding your person doesn't magically fix all the things that have reinforced your emotional barriers and mental walls, and Eddie has a lot to unpack around how he's approached sex and relationships as does Buck. Small but mighty, this packed a punch.

suddenly the only thing i saw was you by @diazisms finally ending on a wonderful sapphic rarepair wildcard, this is a 5+1 fic featuring May Grant and Adriana Diaz! Bless you mysterious Diaz sisters for being such a rich fictional ground to play with - In this, Adriana is dropped off in LA for college, feeling out of place having taken a year to work. She bumps into May Grant, a beautiful stranger in a coffee shop. As they grow closer, they soon discover they have more in common than they thought. I loved this so much.

Okay that got long, but as usual insert call out for more henren fic here. Feel free to self rec! And please share and reblog :) See you next week, probably with HOTSHOTS recs bahaha!

BEES!

[waddles-ex-machina]

Hiiii! So, I just started interacting with the fandom I realized there's a lot of Johanna x Kaisa shippers (Sketchbook is the name ship?), and I wanted to know what's the appeal of the ship cus it never occurred to me to ship them lmao

Anyway, all in good faith! Thank you if you answer it, but it's fine if you don't!

Hello! Welcome to the fandom!

That’s a totally fair question, I’ve been a sketchbook shipper for years so to be honest shipping them is just second nature to me now, but let me uhhh try and remember some of my (and the rest of the fandom’s) reasoning. gonna put this under a cut bc it got kind of long I’m sorry 😭

Soo my favourite reason and the thing I never shut up about is that Johanna and Kaisa fulfill VASTLY different roles in Hilda’s life and in the show itself - Johanna is coded to be this very safe stable character for Hilda who isn't all that into her adventures (I know she breaks out of this image later in the show, but it’s still a big part of her character. like. for the most part she just wants some peace at home with a cup of tea please) and Kaisa is there specifically to enable Hilda’s adventures and point her at the dangerous thing. and character dynamic-wise, this is just. very funny. POV you’re a single mother just trying to see her child to the next birthday and the weird lady at the library keeps giving her books that can raise the dead. they’re at such odds by design that it sets up a ton of potential for how they could start off on the wrong foot (enemies to lovers babeyy) or have to try and meet each-other in the middle. and they’re both involved enough in Hilda’s life that it really feels like only a matter of time til they get thrown together by one of Hilda’s shenanigans

also, design and personality-wise they have an “opposites attract” kind of vibe I think? for instance Johanna is outwardly very friendly and a bit of a people-pleaser, but takes absolutely no shit when Hilda is in danger, and Kaisa puts up this dark mysterious persona, but deep down is quite insecure and anxious (and also more caring than she lets on - you can tell she’s also got a bit of a soft spot for Hilda when the kid isn’t actively trying to steal swords) so it’s fun to imagine how Johanna and Kaisa’s personalities could play off each-other when they have such different outward appearances but are more similar deep-down.

Theres also some fun angst reasons off the top of my head:

Johanna has had absolutely nothing but bad experiences with magic and Kaisa is an actual witch, and is partially responsible for some of those experiences (tide mice, etc). you can spin like 1 million scenarios out of this and people already have and it's great bdhsgdjh

Johanna has spent most of her life being abandoned by the people she trusts (her parents, Anders) and Kaisa has been shown to (unwillingly) shut people out and withdraw for fear of not being good enough. You could read them as both having difficulty trusting and maybe being able to help eachother through their insecurities together

to steal a very good point I saw @the-hilda-librarians-wife make a while ago, they’re both outcasts in their respective communities - Johanna struggles to fit in with the other parents and isn’t shown really having any friends in the show, and Kaisa gave up being a ‘proper’ witch to be the keeper of the books, and the other witches clearly look down on her as a result. They lead vastly different lives, but do have similarities that they could connect over and support each-other through.

ALSO - now we know Johanna is also magical and lost a part of herself from having her memory wiped - there is that potential for them to find the things that they’ve been missing in eachother. Kaisa deals with all kinds of magic shenanigans as her day job and could arguably do with some peace and someone to lean on, but she isn’t shy about magic/danger/any other weirdness. Johanna has an adventurous side that was repressed along with her childhood memories for years that still feels very distant to her. They could help bring these things out in each-other and bring a bit of balance to each-other’s lives.

And, coming back to what I said about them having different roles in the show, it’s just very fun to picture them as a co-parenting duo for Hilda. normal mom & chaotic mom. Hilda would be absolutely unstoppable

Finally, imo Kaisa is absolutely a lesbian (years ago I made a joke post on here saying smth like “did the Hilda team know they were making a wlw icon here” and someone from the team replied with “yes” JDKHSJ) and I’ve been in the fandom long enough to know the effect that Johanna has on those, I rest my case 😌

I hope that explains it kind of!! also if anyone else has any other points to make for why they like the ship feel free to add on!!

[retiredkat]

Red-UK Magazine Raising the Stakes interview with Jacob Anderson

Must give email address to read the full article

“Jacob Anderson has a very sweet tooth. ‘I’m, like, addicted to sweetness, ever since being in America,’ he says, sipping tea with a sheepish smile. Having come to meet me in North London after dropping his daughter at nursery, the 34-year-old star of AMC’s hit series Interview With The Vampire is sitting with his face towards the morning sunshine, a move unlike the supernatural being he plays. ‘It’s good to have everything in moderation,’ he muses, opening a sachet of sweetener. ‘But the minute you start paying too much attention to quantities of things…’ he pauses, ‘it’s like sucking the joy out.’

It’s an apt metaphor for the show we’re meeting to discuss. Based on Anne Rice’s 1976 novel, the lavish revamp sees Anderson play the brooding vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac as he recounts a life of eternal love and bloodlust to journalist Daniel Molloy (Eric Bogosian). In an era when television feels increasingly bland, the show pulls off theatrical magic with its epic, queer reinvention of Rice’s work. ‘You don’t really get weird stories with scale,’ notes Anderson. ‘And I feel like this show has managed to hit the sweet spot of scale and oddness.’

Having attempted to despatch his paramour Lestat de Lioncourt (Sam Reid) and then moved to Paris with his adopted daughter Claudia (Delainey Hayles), Louis works to untangle his manipulated memories in the second season. ‘There’s a lot of tension building,’ says Anderson. ‘In episode one, in particular, I remember thinking Louis has a tension headache for years. It affects his decision-making, and his outbursts. And he makes a lot of poor decisions in season two.’ There’s a great deal of unresolved trauma, he observes, ‘Louis is very emotionally constipated in that way. I think he’s not quite able to embrace his grief, embrace his first 30 years of vampirism. He’s also unravelling in the present; all of that suppression and repression is coming back to get him.

Therapy is the place where Anderson goes to figure things out. ‘I don’t want to be like a ball of confusion and contradiction. I have two daughters to raise,’ he smiles. ‘I don’t want to be another angry man, because they’re gonna meet a lot of angry, oppressed men in their lives.’ Since playing Louis, though, he suspects the boundaries between fiction and real life have become blurred. ‘There are things about Louis that I justify, like, “I understand this decision, and therefore we’re the same.”’ he laughs. Getting deep into character, I suggest, must lend itself to overthinking. ‘Yeah, I’m a huge overthinker,’ he says emphatically. ‘Sitting here, I just noticed my own body language, and my brain is firing off.’

Despite having been in the public eye for most of his life (both on TV and in his music, which he records under the name Raleigh Ritchie), Anderson keeps a low profile. ‘I’m quite a private person,’ he chuckles. He largely avoids social media, as he has an ‘internal compass’ that guides him towards negative criticism. ‘I think it would be unhealthy to spend too much time indulging in how other people are looking at me,’ he says. ‘I feel like I’d lose my sense of self; the sense of self that I’ve been trying to build up all this time.’

As a child, he was always waiting for adulthood to begin. He moved to London at the age of 17, not specifically to pursue a career in acting, but mainly to leave his home city of Bristol. ‘I have a really healthy relationship with my home city now,’ he says, ‘but at the time, I just wanted to escape.’ He was always resourceful in his pursuit of opportunities. ‘In the beginning, I would get coaches up to London at four in the morning to get to an audition at nine. And I would do that a few times a week. And then if I stayed over for some reason, I’d stay at like a backpacker’s hostel for £19.’ Since that point, he’s worked solidly. ‘I think I have a bit of a work thing,’ he confesses. ‘I really feel like myself when I’m working. I feel like I can key into the version of myself that I most want to be, and it gives me a real sense of purpose.’

Playing the stoic Unsullied warrior Grey Worm in HBO’s Game Of Thrones was an ‘emotionally taxing’ experience at times. ‘The challenging bit was giving myself something to do sometimes, like, keeping myself alive in the scene,’ he recalls. ‘Trying to stay present was a real challenge.’ But it also proved to be a valuable learning curve. ‘You don’t need lines, you don’t need words to tell your part of the story. You can do it with your face. You can do it with your body language. So I learned a lot from doing that. But I was ready for it to be over.’

When he finished the show in 2018, he felt burnt out. ‘That last year was so brutal. It was an amazing experience in lots of ways, but I was also very low and so I just took a break for a bit.’ He considered giving up acting. ‘I was just losing my love a little bit,’ he says. The thing that inspired him again was playing recurring character Vinder in Doctor Who, a show that he aspired to be on as a child. ‘That gave me back my play. It re-energised me.’

He certainly wasn’t prepared for the phenomenon that Thrones would become. ‘It was really surprising,’ he recalls. ‘Whenever we went through the press for it, it felt like being in The Beatles or something. But when we were making it, it was really intimate.’ In any case, he isn’t driven by conventional measures of success. ‘The processes are really important. I’ve really learned that, for me, it doesn’t matter if the thing is good. If making it isn’t a pleasant experience, or joyful in some way, fulfilling or cathartic, then it wasn’t worth it. I don’t really care if something is, like, quote unquote, a hit or success, if making it was miserable, you know?’

What really drives Anderson, is creating work that helps people feel seen; and the enthusiastic response to Interview With The Vampire (plus an early season three renewal) has proved that it’s resonating with audiences on a deep level. ‘To be a part of something that people take into their hearts so much is really special,’ he says. ��Through music and films and TV was how I learned how to be a human, you know?’ He pauses, looking deep in thought. ‘To see that I’ve contributed in some way to something that does that for other people gives me a sense of “it’s the right thing to do”. Like, I’m still doing this for the reason that I got into it.’ He smiles, ‘So yeah, it’s lovely.’”

[wwane]

1.7 ch 6 brain dump

cognac has been cogged and nacked, beef jerky as been beefed and jerked; let's get these thoughts in order

spoilers for 1.7 main story and a minor one from 1.9

i have not played isolde's story yet so these are my impressions purely from the main story

so isolde is repressed repressed, like WOW

the little details i picked up in dialogue and descriptions paint the picture of an anxiety-ridden girl, walking on eggshells all day long, forcing herself to play her part perfectly, always one little thing away from a nervous breakdown or panic attack. at this point i think her corset is literally the only thing holding her up and keeping her from collapsing in on herself

the detail about how corsets aren't really in fashion anymore but she still wears them with a few more 'in-fashion' jewelry pieces: she's old money but she can't look like old news - she has to keep up with the trends otherwise the audience will leave

her whole life has been about repressing herself and shaping herself into what other wanted:

1) the bit about her remembering what it felt like to balance books atop her head to force a straight posture bc that's how people expect a noble lady to act, that's how people expect a Dittarsdorf should act (until they go crazy) 2) her mother snapped and killed her father and everyone else in the room and she's gotta carry that because she's the only one left - the one responsible one left 3) her sister died in childhood and she buried the pain and turmoil so deep inside her that she repressed the memory. if she remembers her sister dying, she'll remember that she's likely also going to end the same way, if not like her mother and she cannot allow herself to end up like her mother

which all leads to her hidden resentment of theopil and the way it leaked more and more as the story progressed. based off isolde's descriptions of him and marcus's 'reading' of his burnt paintings theophil comes off as an artsy fuckboy. whereas isolde is snapping herself in two to give off old-school noble gentlewoman vibes, theophil goes where he pleases and does what (and who) he wants.

personal theory is that isolde is a closeted, repressed lesbian who hates that her irresponsible brother is out mingling and seducing beautiful women in the way she won't allow herself to want. she's got stronger arcanum them him, she's a singer and a more talented artist, what does he have on her other than the fact that he's a man. and a 'man' at the time and place should be growing mustaches and challenging duels and joining the army and he won't even do that.

sweet songbird in a cage that hates the world around her so much. what has the world ever given her other than pain and loss and the reminder that she's next if she slips up. she's perfectly fine burning it down as long as she has her cavaradossi

there's so! much! about class disparity in here too! the difference in social hierarchy between: 1) old money isolde: still lives at the whims of human-ran society but can get away with it because she has money and connections like karl; 2) middle class kakania: whose family started out as small-time merchants but managed to attain enough wealth to send her to college but doesn't have the social-backing like isolde to avoid arrest; 3) lower class illich: street peddler and orphan with no way to climb up the social ladder. the story explicitly shows that even with her money and social network, at the end of the day isolde, kakania, and illich are essentially the same (there are other nuances though, since this is just about the 3 levels in a human society. in an arcanist society like the manus, they still care about separating between pureblooded and mixed-blood arcanists, ie: the way manus is perfectly fine with using illich and other poor arcanists as cannon fodder for chaos and leaving them to die in the storm)

kakania! i thought she was going to my fave but isolde stole the damn show. still love this baby idealist though. i love the speech she gave isolde at the end of their therapy session (ignoring the fallout of that lmaoooo) because it shows that she's genuinely wants to make the world a better place. i especially love the little bite of cynicism in her.

1) the trails grandma who describes what seems to be kakania's early circle days where she was describing her ideals and trying to get support has a line that's like, kakania is grinning and bearing through it even as she's aware her supporters are patronizing her and seemingly only there for entertainment rather than actually listening to what she's saying 2) her describing the origin of her alias to marcus and part of her speech to isolde has her revealing that she hates the hypocrisy that makes up their society: the freedom of expression and art and progressiveness all the while there are the underclass comprised of immigrants and poor arcanists forcibly kept out of sight. how much she hates prejudice hidden behind bureaucracy. she hates it but she wants to make it better!

i love that she admits when she's hypocritical!!!! kakania wanted a revolution because she knows things as they are aren't great, but when a revolution does happen and it doesn't happen in the way she wants, her beliefs are shaken. granted this is because of manus machinations and is one of the worst ways of changing their current society but still. the point being, UNLIKE HEINRICH: whose thing is that he hated how his friends were forced to fight in wwi and suffered immensely so he wants to erase wwi from existence by making it so the timeline never gets to wwi and if he's gotta have the current world as collateral damage so be it uwu.

other people have spoken more and better about greta and marcus so the only thing i'll add is i absolutely love marcus's voice-acting, especially after shit hits the fan. actually, all our mains (greta, marcus, kakania, isolde, heinrich, even karl - i had to listen to his 'oh. tragic.' line so many times lmao) are excellent!! i think this chapter has my favorite voice-acting and while the rest of the game is also phenomenal, the fact this chapter only had a few noticeable typos and grammar awkwardness kept from hindering the voice work. (also i think the 1.6 survey specifically had a translation question lol, bluepoch is learning)

speaking of heinrich: if i am to understand it correctly, he was recruited by the manus in the same storm that greta recruited marcus from. he got to live in the future for a bit, learned about the fate of his friends, and then returned to his era with the current storm. in essence, he got to see people who already died. (you following me here?) now the question is: if a storm happens to take us to before 1929, is there a chance to see schneider again? or, because heinrich's friends died in wwi he can see them but because schneider was sifted by the storm, she's gone no matter how far we go back?

additional thots:

i'm loving the idea of a kakania vs mesmer jr showdown. therapist who needs a therapist vs therapist who needs a therapist. need them to have tea and passive aggressively psychoanalyze each other.

so we know kakania started the circle and theophil and heinrich and others were part of it. did isolde join the circle herself or is this a 'theophil joined and brought his little sister to the hangout and she keeps showing up so now she's unofficially part of it too' situation?

so part of isolde's character is that she's hidden behind layers of repression and ghosts and playing the part of what her audience wants. is the sad lonely girl isolde just an act because that's what kakania wanted? because kakania wanted to prove her methods work, and isolde wanted kakania, this was the way to have her?

i love mesmer jr but i love putting her situations: i know realistically vertin would not put isolde and kakania's rooms anywhere near each other but i love the thought of mesmer's room being between isolde and kakania.

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

All The Kings [Joel Miller] 01

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

a/n: my first Joel Miller fic. It was never my intention to write it, but the other day, I just sat down and started writing, and voila, this came out. this is also the first part of two. please, read and enjoy, and feedback is very welcome in every shape and form. cheers! the title and inspiration for the story comes from one of my favorite songs All The Kings by Editors. big thanks to @avastrasposts for inspiring me to post this.

wordcount: 4.5K

warnings: as it is mainly angst, there are some hints about readers mental health, memory repression, mentions of loneliness, death in family and isolation.

You don’t really remember much from those other, happier times, when the world around you was alive, vibrant and overflowing with promises that no longer were. The memories of those days have faded, turnimg into mere echoes, like bits and pieces of a dream slipping through your fingers upon waking up, leaving you lost in a sea of confusion. 

Yet, sometimes—if you focus hard enough, that is—some of the fragments of memories flutter back to life. 

Rays of sunlight filtering through the branches and casting patterns on the sidewalk in front of your family home. Fleeting images of friends laughing. Sneaking out through the window. Scraped knees. Trampled grass. Silly crushes, and kisses stolen when no one was watching. First taste of alcohol. 

There were family gatherings and family trips, soda cans, plastic bags and coffee cups, brimming and steaming. 

There was a smell of bread fresh from the oven, burnt mouths, brain-freezes and ice cream melting between your fingers—an universe that was stitched in a mosaic of flower-adorned dresses and white, scuffed sneakers. 

There was the warmth of your mother’s embrace, your brother’s beaten-up car, and his mock impatience as he waited to give you a lift to school.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, and with your eyes still shut tight, you let your head fall forward, resting heavily on the unsteady surface of your old dining table. 

You didn’t like to think about those other, happier times, because going back meant more than reminiscing. It meant yearning. Wishing that things were different. Same as they used to be. It meant longing for a life when everything felt right. Life that was so unlike the one you lived now. 

Most of the time, you simply locked those thoughts away in your chest with a key you pretend to have lost, burying it deep within, hoping perhaps that out of sight would also mean out of mind. 

It rarely did, though—

A brisk rap at the door shattered the silence, echoing briefly before fading as swiftly as the curse you muttered under your breath. You straightened up, surprise and curiosity melding together and knitting your brows as you paused — a moment of hesitation visible in the slight scrunch of your nose.

For a brief second, you remained still, caught in the unexpected interruption. Then, with a fluid motion born of a mix of alarm and intrigue, you rose to your feet. The floorboards groaned, protesting the sudden movement as you navigated toward the door — confusion clouded your thoughts about who it might be.

Guests had become a rarity these days, becoming just an echo of a time when the outside world hadn't yet forgotten the path to your doorstep.

Oh.

Your reaction, a mix of surprise and inquiry, hung in the air as you faced the unexpected visitor—a man whose presence seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of your isolated existence. As he took a hesitant step up to your porch, your gaze involuntarily dropped to the frayed doormat beneath your feet.

The irony of having a doormat in the first place was laughable, considering everything. But once one’s life gets stripped bare of comfort, every sad attempt at homeliness makes a difference. 

“Hi!” Tommy started, his voice threaded with a note of uncertainty as he absentmindedly fiddled with his moustache. His other hand was buried in the pocket of his sherpa jacket, seemingly searching for the right words.

You observed him for a brief moment — the silence weaving its weight around you both.

Tommy Miller was a known figure in town, yet not someone you knew intimately. An influential presence, always at the forefront of community meetings and patrols — his voice resonating with a confidence that had long since ebbed from your own life.

“Can I help you with something?" your question finally broke through, tinged with doubt.

Tommy nodded, his gaze briefly shifting away before locking back onto yours. 

“Yes,” he began, pausing as if to collect his thoughts. Then, with a half-smile that wove together threads of embarrassment and sincerity, he dove straight into his request. “I was hoping you’d consider cooking for a small get-together we’re having.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, adding, “Maria’s hands are full with the baby, and she didn’t want to cancel the plans. We both remembered how amazing that meatloaf you made for the town meeting was, back when you first moved here.”

His words, earnest and slightly rushed, seemed to hang in the air between you, taking you aback. As you stood there, blinking in surprise, memories of that time—a chapter from what now felt like another life—began to resurface.

Jackson was supposed to be a beacon of hope, a place to start anew, filled with the promise of stability after a life spent drifting. It was supposed to be your slice of normalcy, a dare to dream of piecing together a life from the remnants of what once was. 

However, dreams—and people—are fragile, easily shattered in a world that often leaves very little room for them. 

That’s why you had found it so hard to try and fit into the Jackson community — a place so different from any you’d known before. And despite throwing yourself wholeheartedly into trying to meld with the locals, the sense of belonging you so deeply had craved had remained perpetually beyond your grasp.

Polite smiles and courteous small talk had come in abundance, but the deeper, more genuine relationships—the feeling of truly being part of something—always slipped through your fingers. And as friendships and social circles solidified without you, you found yourself on the periphery, like a shadow lingering just beyond the light, always observing but never participating.

So, eventually, you stopped trying, settling into a solitary existence that was often too heavy to carry, yet oddly comforting in its own way.

Tommy’s earnest appeal snapped you back to the moment. “It would mean a lot to us if you could help out. We can’t offer much, but you’re welcome to use whatever supplies we have.” 

As his words settled in the air, you paused, blinking away the remnants of a daydream before responding, “Sorry, but you want me to cook… for your gathering?” There was no sharpness in your voice, only a hint of bemusement mixed with a trace of optimism, long buried under layers of solitude. “I wasn’t sure anyone even remembered that I used to bring food.”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I definitely haven’t forgotten,” Tommy said, his laughter tinged with a self-deprecating note, as if he were recalling culinary attempts that were perhaps better left in the past. “That meatloaf of yours—every time I try my hand at cooking, it comes to mind. And your carrot cake? I still can’t figure out how you—”

His rant was abruptly sliced by a sharp voice, one that hadn't been part of the conversation until now.

"—Tommy, you done yet?"

The sudden interruption made you realise Tommy hadn't come alone. Your gaze shifted, trailing past him to land on an imposing figure leaned against Tommy’s truck, parked against the curb. 

Arms crossed over a broad chest, stretching the fabric of his jacket, stood Joel Miller—another face you recognized but didn’t really know. A man as intimidating as he was enigmatic.

With a resigned sigh, Tommy glanced back, his voice carrying a mix of irritation and patience. "Just a minute, Joel!" he exclaimed, louder than before, before turning back to you with an apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that. You know how Joel can be," he said, his grin sheepish as he acknowledged Joel's stubbornness.

You responded with a shake of your head, your tone laced with a playful curiosity. "Can't say that I do, but I'll take your word for it." 

Your words seemed to ignite a spark of realisation in Tommy, his expression shifting as if a new awareness had dawned on him. He paused, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than expected, perhaps reconsidering the extent of your interactions with the townsfolk. And then, as if your exchange had unveiled something previously unseen, Tommy turned around to face his brother.

"Joel, get over here," he urged, his command softened by a newfound understanding. "Come say hello, don’t be rude." 

You smiled a small and tentative smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. It was a mask worn too often, a shield against the realization of your own isolation, now reflected in Tommy’s eyes.

Joel Miller’s approach was measured, his posture shifting from the one of guarded stance to a more relaxed one as his arms fell to his sides. Crossing the distance, he cut an imposing figure that effortlessly dominated the space around him with his mere presence. As he neared, you managed only to offer him a muted greeting — your eyes having difficulties to hold his gaze. 

Still, he responded with a nod that was brief and somewhat brusque, offering a slight hint of recognition but little in the way of warmth. Stopping just short of the porch stairs, he tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans before looking around.

You observed, almost in spite of yourself, as Joel’s attention methodically surveyed your surroundings, taking in details: from the neighboring houses shadowed in the dimming light to the promise of growth in your greenhouse, where the early shoots of peppers and tomatoes promised a future harvest. His scrutiny paused there, a silent acknowledgment of the small life burgeoning under your care, before shifting to the pile of wood designated for chopping, a chore left in anticipation of winter's departure.

When his eyes met yours again, they were piercing, unsettling in their intensity, almost as if he could see through the facade everyone else seemed to accept. This moment of connection, fleeting as it was, coupled with the fact that Joel Miller was undeniably an attractive man, sent an involuntary shiver through you. 

Thus, you quickly looked away, striving for composure— Joel’s eyes still locked onto you.

"Seems a bit chilly out here for standin' around, don't it? She’s probably cold, Tommy.” Joel's voice cut through the quiet, his statement more an observation than a question.

"Just a bit," you answered, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. “But it’s alright,” you quickly added, offering a dismissive half-smile to downplay your discomfort.

Joel then turned his attention to Tommy, his tone suggesting a mild impatience. “Think it’s about time you wrapped this up?” 

Tommy seemed caught off guard, his gaze flitting from Joel to you, as if weighing his next move. “I ain’t quite done here, Joel,” he responded after a brief pause, his attention momentarily shifting to a folded piece of paper he pulled from his jacket, scanning what appeared to be a list or some hastily jotted notes.

The air was growing heavier with silence; the kind that filled the gaps of unfinished conversation, and before you could stop yourself or second-guess your decisions, you ventured, “Why don’t you come in for a bit then? It’s warmer inside.”

Tommy seemed to be very eager to agree — his legs already moving forward in agreement, but Joel paused, a clear reluctance written across his features. He then opened his mouth, perhaps to voice his objections, but the look Tommy gave him—a mix of brotherly insistence and mild warning—cut him off. 

Despite his imposing stature, Joel navigated the threshold with a grace that seemed at odds with his size, deftly avoiding the door frame with a practiced ease.His shoulders came perilously close to the frame, yet he avoided it without seeming to try. There was a deliberate, almost respectful manner in the way he occupied the space, a silent recognition of his own bulk in the small, crammed interior.

Feeling a need to anchor yourself in the sudden closeness of the room, you rolled your shoulders, gently closing the door behind them. With a gesture towards the kitchen table, you offered a wordless invitation for them to sit, and Tommy, with a nod of thanks, took the seat you’d vacated as you pulled a chair next to him.

Joel, however, hesitated. Stood there for a moment, taking in the room with a thoughtful look, as if assessing its every corner and crevice. “I reckon I’ll stand, if you don’t mind,” he voiced when you shot him with a questioning look, his tone carrying a tone of politeness. “Don’t feel right settlin’ in when we won’t be staying long.” 

The moment he declined your offer to sit, Joel's attention wandered through the room — his focus soon zeroing in on a kitchen cabinet, its door slightly askew, betraying a battle with gravity and time. With a careful approach, he scrutinized the misaligned hinge, his touch deliberate yet tender, as if to reassure the inanimate object of his intention to do no further damage. 

Amidst this, you found yourself caught between two points of focus. Next to you, Tommy was speaking while going over the list, scribbled on sepia-toned paper, yet you couldn’t help but be drawn to Joel. His interaction with your lived-in kitchen space added a layer of warmth to its familiarity, making the room feel even more enclosed, more personal. 

Tommy, catching the shift in your attention, sighed—a sound tinged with resignation—and resettled in his seat, the wooden frame protesting with a creak.

"Joel, with your knee acting up, maybe you could lend a hand with these hinges instead of walking the beat?" Tommy suddenly suggested, glancing between you and Joel, a half-smile forming. “Seems like a fair exchange for a good meal, don’t you think?”

Your reaction was instinctive, fueled by a blend of pride and a deeply ingrained sense of independence. "Oh, that's not necessary at all," you found yourself saying quickly, the words laced with the kind of stubborn reluctance born from a long-held reluctance to depend on others.

Joel, a man whose economy of words often spoke volumes, didn't pause in his inspection of the cabinet. "I suppose I could swing by next week,” he responded gruffly. He didn't frame it as a question, but rather as a quiet declaration of intent, a commitment made without waiting for your consent. Turning to look back at you, his brown eyes searched for yours. "If you're up for it, that is."

You didn’t reply, just nodded, your gaze drifting back to the paper.

—

In the days after Joel and Tommy Miller's visit, time seemed to meld together, distinguishable only by the gentle shift from dawn to dusk and the routine movement of a red plastic marker across the grid of your wall calendar.

However, despite the blur of days, you found a way to push through, each task serving as a mere interlude to the anticipation of the weekend. And while Saturday had nothing particularly exciting to it, it was usually a day when you ventured out into town for supplies, this time not only for your own needs but also for Tommy’s get-together. 

Navigating the last icy patches on the sidewalks with a practiced ease, you turned onto your street where the familiar sight of Mrs. Clarke leaning against the fence her husband was mending greeted you. None of them was someone you interacted with, but you still offered a quick nod and a half-hearted smile, which Mr. Clarke returned with a courteous nod of his own, while Mrs. Clarke's eyes narrowed slightly in your direction as if you were a stranger. Which, in all fairness, you still were.

With your focus fixed ahead and the weight of the grocery bags shifting on your shoulder, you pressed on—only to come to an abrupt halt at the unexpected sight of Joel Miller in front of your home. Busy with an axe, he was rhythmically cutting the firewood you diligently ignored — the sizable, well-organized pile beside him signalling that he had been at it for quite some time before you arrived.

"Joel?" you called out, your voice a mixture of surprise and a faint nervousness. "Wasn't expecting you today."

Or at all, to be entirely honest.

He stopped his work, placing the axe against the ground as he turned to you. There was a moment of awkwardness flickering in his posture at your evident surprise, but he covered it up with a clear of his throat. 

"Yeah, well, was just passin' through," he replied, his voice a deep, familiar rumble, softened slightly by that southern lilt that seemed to ease the harshness of his appearance. "Thought I'd check on those kitchen cabinets for you."

His offer, made a week ago, had seemed inconsequential at the time. Yet, seeing him there, ready to help, only reinforced the idea that Joel was a man more of action than words.

Approaching him, the bags suddenly felt heavier, anchoring you to the ground. "You really didn't have to do this," you admitted, your voice revealing the turmoil within. "I had planned to deal with it later today, actually."

Joel leaned back against the axe handle, his gaze locking with yours. "Don't worry 'bout it," he offered. “Ain't no trouble at all, and I like stayin' busy. It’ll give you time to focus on other things."

You swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, and it was only when Joel returned the axe to its resting place against the log pile and straightened up that you blinked back to reality, motioning for him to follow you. As he ascended the few steps to your porch and trailed after you inside, his shadow stretched over you, and for a second you found yourself wondering about just how tall and broad was he, really?

Once inside, you went straight to the kitchen table, setting the bags atop of it—eyes widening at the sight of a mess of blankets, pillows, and clutter around the room that had accumulated over the few days — an inevitable result of your habit of living most of your life in one room to conserve wood.

The panic rose inside of you, and you quickly moved in front of the small couch you called your bed, as if your frame itself would cover the chaos of your existence. 

Luckily, Joel didn’t seem to notice any of it. Or at least, he was gentleman enough to ignore it.

"Where do you need me to start?" He broke the silence easily as you nervously scratched your forehead before pointing to the cabinets hanging slightly askew, the wood swollen from years of neglect and moisture.

"Those have been giving me trouble the most. At some point I should probably tear everything down, but for now, it’s as good as it gets.”

Joel nodded, setting his tool bag down with a clunk, before beginning to inspect the cabinets — his fingers tracing along the wood, assessing each hinge and panel.

Folding your bedding, you walked to a small storage chest to Joel's left, setting it inside before closing it gently with a glance towards Joel.

"Would you like some coffee?" You asked, hoping to dispel the growing silence, but much to your disappointment, there was no answer.

Joel had already zeroed in on the cabinet, his focus entirely on the stubborn hinge.

Despite the lingering, unanswered offer and the faint echo of rejection, ringing inside your head, you went ahead with brewing the coffee, despite often preferring tea.

You didn’t dislike coffee, but you knew how scarce and difficult it was to source it.

Soon enough, the rich, comforting scent filled the kitchen, and without much effort, you poured the steaming dark brew into two mugs before walking over and quietly setting one of the mugs next to him. There was a second where you simply hovered around, like a fly on wall, observing as his gaze shifted with a momentary glance towards the warm beverage before his attention was pulled back to the cabinet. Though he didn’t say a word, the brief pause and a barely noticeable nod served as his silent gratitude.

Not wanting to dwell too much on his silence, you turned your attention to the groceries — the clicking of cans and jars, creating a rhythmic backdrop to the occasional squeak of hinges being expertly tended to.

Then, out of the blue, Joel’s gruff voice cut through the silence, causing you to startle slightly.

“So, what's it gonna be?” he asked, still not looking at you—face contorted in concentration as he tightened a screw with practiced precision.

“Huh?”

“Tommy’s and Maria’s party. What are you cookin’ up?” he clarified as he opened and closed the cabinet door, testing his work.

“Oh,” you breathed out, rolling your shoulders in a nervous gesture. “Supplies aren’t too plentiful, what with winter and all. I’m thinking a stew and nice bread would do,” you replied, then added with a hint of uncertainty and a quick glance towards him. “Still not sure about the dessert though.”

For a moment or two, you hoped that he would say something, give his input, but when he didn’t, you nodded to yourself, finding a loose piece of yarn on your pullover before wrapping it around your index finger.

Joel worked for another few minutes before straightening up and stepping back to inspect his handwork, wiping his hands on his jeans — a look of satisfaction briefly crossing his features.

Clearing your throat, you decided to break the silence, yet again, “Looks like you´ve fixed it. Thank you.”

“No problem at all,” he replied smoothly. “Just need a bit of tweakin’, is all.”

Before you could stop yourself, you spoke again. “Care for a refill?” you asked, lifting the pot with a somewhat trembling hand, not expecting to see Joel nod. Filling up his mug, you hesitated for a moment before speaking again, “Perhaps you’d like to sit down for a bit?”

Joel’s silent agreement and decision to sit down took you by surprise. His long legs stretched out slightly, relaxed in their posture as he got comfortable. You, on the other hand, was all but relaxed—posture ever so rigid, cradling your coffee mug on your lap so tight that you thought you’d break it.

An awkward silence filled the space between you as you scolded yourself mentally. You had invited him to sit, yet now, faced with his quiet presence, you were at a loss for words.

The quiet stretched to the point that it felt like it was the third person, sitting between you, until Joel shooed it away with a question, “You live alone?”

His gaze was steady as he watched you over the rim of his mug, taking a sip.

“Yeah,” you replied, feeling slightly exposed under his straightforward question.

“Any family?” he prodded gently.

You hesitated, feeling the bitterness lace your tongue before the words even left your mouth. “Had a mother and an older brother. They both passed away, ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he responded, his voice softening, infused with empathy.

It wasn’t solely the memory of your family that stirred emotions within you, but also the unexpected warmth in his words. Attempting to stifle this feeling, you shrugged, uncertain how to accept his condolences or the surprising familiarity of his tone.

So, you kept sipping your coffee, your mind struggling to find the right words, but only for a while because Joel suddenly continued.

“Life's been full of tough turns. Lost my folks young, too, around the time everything changed… you know, with the outbreak and all.” As he spoke, his gaze seemed to drift to a place far away, and you suddenly remembered the fleeting stories you’ve heard in passing, some weeks after Joel made his appearance in Jackson.

“At least we’re here and still alive.”

Joel hummed in agreement. “And what did you say, how long have you been in Jackson?”

The question hung in the air as you looked at him, both of you aware that you hadn’t mentioned it before, but his curiosity seemed genuine. So, with a glance at the calendar next to the door, you did a quick mental maths. “It was four years last week,” you responded.

“Four years?” Joel echoed, his voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. “Somehow, I don’t remember seeing you around much before.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t remember seeing me either, so it's okay," you replied—lips curling into a faint smile before continuing, “I tend to keep to myself,” you admitted quietly, not quite ready to venture into the reasons behind that decision.

Joel nodded slowly. “Guess that makes two of us then,” he said with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was aware of how handsome he was when he was smiling.

His appearance, much like his demeanor, was rugged and weathered but there was a certain kind of comfort in it. His eyes, a soft brown, held a depth that suggested that he was someone who had seen much and lost more.

Startled and ever so ashamed by your own wandering thoughts, you looked away as you placed your mug on the table, instead reaching for a torn kitchen towel before proceeding to fold it in your lap.

And it was only when you felt a weight in the air shift subtly that you looked up only to find his eyes on you.

He was observing you—gaze intense and searching, as if trying to read you, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nervousness wash over you.

The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, yet there was gentleness there; a quiet understanding that seemed to reach out to you. His broad shoulders, the result of years of physical labor and survival only added to his imposing presence.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze, you shifted in your seat — the kitchen towel in your hands now a convenient excuse to look away.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying the unease his attention had sparked in you.

“No, nothin’s wrong,” he answered in a reassuring tone — the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, softening his rugged features. “Just thinkin’, is all.”

The nervousness that was building up on the inside, suddenly resurfaced, pushing you to your feet in an abrupt, restless motion that seemed to bring Joel back from his thoughts—his eyes tracking your movements as you began to fuss over a spotless table with your kitchen towel.

Without much ado, he also rose from his chair—the action effortless despite his solid build that quickly filled the small kitchen. “Well, I think I should be headin’ off,” he said in a low, even tone.

You nodded briskly, following after him as he made his way to the door — the floorboards creaking under your steps.

"Thanks again, for the wood chopping and fixing the cabinet," you said, once Joel stepped out on the dimly lit porch.

He gave you a nonchalant wave, dismissing the thanks with an ease. "It was nothin'," he assured you. Then, after a short pause, he added, "Might want to keep warm inside. Nights are still cold."

His concern, lightly voiced but sincere, brought a small, involuntary smile to your face. You nodded, feeling a warmth that had little to do with the temperature. "Will do. Take care, Joel.".

He acknowledged your words with a quiet nod and turned away, disappearing into the evening shadows. You lingered for a moment, watching his retreating figure before stepping back into the warmth of your home, closing the door gently behind you.

[writing-till-i-am-dead]

The Sun Says Hello - Omori fanfic - Part 2

(Essentially an Omori fanfic where the events are told from Kel’s POV. Some changes to the story for the sake of me wanting to make this a Suntan fanfic 🧡🖤)

Part 1

Kel took in a deep breath. He’s tried knocking on Sunny’s door many times before. He was always ignored. And he was emotionally preparing himself to handle the rejection again. 

He knocked on the door a couple of times before resting his closed fist on the door, taking a deep gulp and praying that Sunny will answer. 

But he was used to the rejection. 

He was used to being ignored. 

He was used to getting his hopes up…

But, what he wasn’t used to.. was a response. 

The door slowly creaked open and the moon finally became a crescent. 

…

Upon seeing Sunny, Kel was in shock. He was here. In front of him. This was really happening! Kel felt like he was dreaming. 

He took a second to look at Sunny. He was wearing very simple clothes, but surprisingly.. formal? More formal than what you would wear if you were lounging around the house all the time. 

Actually, now that he thought about it, the outfit looked a lot like the clothes Sunny had laid out for him to wear to the recital…

Kel quickly shook those thoughts out of his brain. 

He looked at Sunny’s face. Had he.. always been that pale? And were his cheeks always so sunken in? And the hollows in his eyes… and he was so skinny and frail.. and.. and the bandages on his arms…

“Sunny!” Kel quickly said, doing everything he can to not scare him off. Don’t ask about his appearance.. it’ll scare him off. I just got him back.. “You actually came out!” he exclaimed and wanted to slap himself for how rude that sounded. “Er, I mean.. uh.. ok, I’m, uh.. going to be honest with you, Sunny. I.. really didn’t expect you to come out.. so I don’t really have a game plan here.” It was embarrassing. But after having all of his prayers ignored, Sunny actually coming out sounded something straight out of a dream. 

Sunny was already beginning to retreat behind the door, so in a desperate attempt to keep him from leaving again, Kel says, “Hey, I know! Let’s go to Hobeez!” Seriously, Kel?! He hasn’t been outside in 4 years and your idea of a fun hangout is Hobeez?!

“Um, uh.. you remember the way there, right?” he said, attempting to remain smiley and cheerful. 

Sunny hesitated, gripping the doorknob and glanced back into his house. 

Please don’t go back inside.. I haven’t seen you in so long.. I can’t let you leave without spending at least one day with me.. please… please… 

Obviously, he said none of that outloud. He couldn’t.. that would make him sound embarrassingly desperate. 

So when Sunny stepped out of his doorway, Kel felt his heart skip a beat and he felt like he was on cloud nine. 

“All right! Let’s head on over there!”

He let Sunny lead the way. They walked past the park and Sunny stopped for a moment to observe his surroundings, squinting constantly as his eyes tried to readjust to the sunlight. 

He is so pale. I need to help him get some vitamin c. 

Sunny kept pausing on the sidewalk, staring into nothingness, as if he saw a ghost, before taking a deep breath and continuing to walk. 

But what really caught Kel off guard was when Sunny scooped up a pile of trash. At first, Kel though Sunny was just being a good citizen and throwing away litter, but before he even had a chance to pat him on the back for his good deed, Sunny held it up like he just won a prize and stuffed the garbage into his pockets. 

Kel really felt like he should’ve said something then. Maybe ask him what was going through that head of his. But, of course, he didn’t. 

I don’t want to scare him off.. I can’t scare him off. I just got him back.. but.. WHAT THE HECK IS HE THINKING?!

It frustrated him to no end to have no idea. To only be left guessing. Sunny is.. was his best friend. He used to be able to read him like a book. What’s changed?!

…Oh ya..

Kel always blocked that memory from his brain. Repressed it with lock and key. 

He glanced at Sunny and felt like a flash of light shine through his eyes and his brain as he remembered that day. 

“S-Sunny..” Kel choked out as he crawled to his friend, wet, dew covered grass staining his skin and clothes. “Don’t.. don’t cry. This is all just a bad dream…”

Aubrey was sobbing after having just throwing up, Hero was standing in place with a blank, stiff expression, and Basil was shaking like a leaf. 

Kel’s main concern right now was to comfort Sunny. 

“That’s not Mari…” Kel whispered, trying to remain hopeful. “That’s no one.. it’s just a prank.. a really, really… bad.. prank..” Kel did everything he could to not break into tears. Hero was usually the strong one, but he’s shut down. So Kel will step into that position. “You’re going to b-be ok, Sunny…”

Sunny looked up slowly. He didn’t even look sad. Just.. guilty. 

“There’s Something behind you..” he whispered. 

And Kel turned to see what he meant. 

And then he really saw her. He really absorbed in the view of her hanging like a tire swing, the wind in her Raven black hair as it hung over her dull eyes. 

He tightly clutched Sunny’s shoulder and choked. And he screamed. 

The sun did not shine that day. 

Kel shook the memory from his head. 

Just don’t think about it, Kel! he thought. Focus on the now! Sunny is here, with you, in Hobeez! And after so many years!

“Maybe we can go to the park after this!” Kel offered. “Sound fun? We can even maybe go to our old hangout spot and see if it’s still there!”

Sunny looked down, as if he really wasn’t sure. Kel crossed his fingers and, to his luck, Sunny nodded ‘yes’. 

“Yay!” Kel exclaimed joyfully. “I-I mean.. great! Let’s go!”

He let Sunny lead the way again. He wanted to let him have some form of control. After.. everything, he could imagine that Sunny probably needed that type of feeling, even if it was something as simple as leading the way. Kel didn’t know.. he just wanted to make Sunny comfortable and happy..

They stopped at the park and Kel breathed in the smell of the grass and trees. “Love this place!” he exclaimed before turning to Sunny. “You missed this place?” he asked. 

Sunny shrugged slightly and Kel smiled sympathetically. “Ya, well.. I missed hanging out with you here!” Kel said, slinging an arm around Sunny’s shoulders. 

“Now, let’s see..” he spotted a couple of people he recognized, including one of his classmates. 

“You wanna play basketball with me?” he asked. 

Kel laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, man. I’m hanging out with my childhood friend, Sunny!”

He noticed from the corner of his eyes that Sunny seemed ever so slightly embarrassed. Almost guilty. Kel clenched his fists and made a mental note to make sure that Sunny always feels included to avoid having Sunny feeling guilty that Kel is spending time with him. 

Kel’s thoughts were put to a halt, however, when he heard a loud scream of someone yelling, “Please stop!”

Kel, someone who believes in Justice, immediately ran toward the noise and saw her. 

Of all people.. he was really hoping Sunny wouldn’t have to see what she has become. 

“Aubrey..” whimpered a boy that Aubrey and her gang was surrounding. “Please go away..”

Kel’s heart dropped when he realized who it was. 

“Basil!” he exclaimed. He turned to Aubrey with a sharp glare. “Leave him alone, Aubrey!”

She turned to him, her bright blue contacts glowing like cat eyes. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

She glanced over at the figure looming behind Kel and her eyebrows shot up. 

“Sunny?!” Aubrey yelled. Her friends looked at her, confused, and she quickly composed herself. “I mean.. look who actually decided to come outside..” she said, crossing her arms. “Never thought I’d see you again.” She tilted her head to the side and smirked. “Thought you may have died or something..”

Kel took a protective step forward. “Knock it off, Aubrey.”

She rolled her eyes and put her hand on her hip as she threw her nailed baseball bat over her shoulder. “Shut up, Kel.”

“Why are you like this? We used to be friends!”

Kel has been asking her this question for years. And she answered with the usual response. 

“People change, Kel. And note the words ‘used to be’.”

He growled and tried to step in between her and her friends. “Just let Basil go.”

“Ha! I don’t think so.”

“Aubrey…”

She glowered at him and lunged forward to attack. 

A fight has started.