#i love her so much she's like the amalgamation of the woman i wanted to become

[riewritten]

another entry for...

DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST if it was an OC-insert instead

[shrimpybbq]

you gotta believe me, baby

synopsis: when a stray bag of coke is found in rafe’s drawer, rafe’s fiancée grapples with its implications

The young woman trifled through Rafe’s desk, the pen he requested lost deep amongst his amalgamation of items. Frustratingly, she kept searching until her gaze landed on a small item strewn under a notebook, the clear bag reflecting in the light. Her heart felt as if it stopped beating. The small bag and its contents were instantly recognisable to the woman, her having seen her fiancé with it many a time. Except instead of keeping it hidden under a book, he would have the white powder diced and sorted into hefty lines on a table, a rolled up $50 set aside ready to help him snort it.

She remained still for a moment before tentatively reaching for the bag, as if it would suddenly change its contents if she waited long enough. And yet, as she picked the bag up it felt like a long forgotten truth was slapping her in the face. Of course it was coke. The woman pondered the situation for a moment for she was sure Rafe was clean - but then again, he had been under an increasing amount of stress lately. Cameron Development had been taking up all of his time, as had the move, so would it really be that far-fetched for him to start using again?

Soon, she began pacing around the room, her mind beginning to catastrophise the situation. It had been so hard to get through each day when Rafe was high, his constantly shifting mood and irritable personality making him intolerable to be around. Her mind flashed to the moments alone, trying to soothe a colicky baby that cried and cried alone in the guest room while Rafe spent his evenings getting high with Barry. She'd never felt so alone and isolated. She had no-one: Her parent's were a no-go, Ward and Rose could only help so much, and Sarah was busy being a teenager. Sometimes, it was as if Wheezie was her only friend, always loving to play with her nephew even if only for a moment. In those moments, she had wondered if any of it was worth it - maybe everyone would be better off if she left to the mainland to live with her aunt, removing her presence from Kildare completely. Rafe hadn’t wanted Charlie in the beginning, not really, and as she cried alone in tandem with her son, she felt it.

Rafe had called out his fiancée’s name three times by now, only to receive nothing in response. Initially assuming she had been sidetracked, it was only once he finally ambled over to his study did he realise the true cause of her silence. Rafe froze at the sight of the bag of white powder flung haphazardly atop his papers, his heart racing as a chill spread across his body. Shit shit shit.

Rafe’s panicked gaze met hers suddenly, each expressing a multitude of worries. Rafe watched as his sweet girl looked at him, so defeated and dejected, her shoulders slumped as she faced him. Initial words began to leave her mouth, only to be swiftly cut off by her partner,

“Baby, please, you gotta let me explain, ok?” Rafe was pleading with her, a tone he rarely utilised unless in the most dire of situations, “it’s not mine.”

Her eyes, once shifted towards the window, snapped back to his frame. “It’s in your desk Rafe! Whose else would it be?”

“Fuck, uh- fuck ok, well it is mine, but it’s not like I bought it last week. Shit, that sounds bad, I didn’t-” Rafe sputtered, his logical explanation getting muddled up as his anxiety grew. He could tell his fiancée didn’t believe it if the tears beginning to escape were any indication.

“Rafe, please, just tell me the truth. You owe me that much,” she pleaded. Rafe felt his heart shatter at the desperation she could not hold back.

“I had this desk moved from my dad’s office, ok? Whenever he used to catch me doing coke, he would lock my supply up in his desk in his attempt to get me clean - not that that ever fuckin’ worked,” he began to explain, “I never even properly cleaned out his desk, baby. I figured he would have something written down that would provide some of his infinite wisdom bullshit that would help me in the future, so I just didn’t touch anything.”

The young woman stared at the Cameron opposite her, feeling rooted to her spot as he answered her questions. Truthfully, she remembered Rafe’s occasional complaining about his dad’s attempts to control his drug habit. She could never truly comfort him properly when she silently thanked Ward, but his statement rang true in her mind. It was plausible that Rafe really hadn’t touched his dad’s things.

“Come on baby, you have to believe me! You really think I would throw all of this,” Rafe gestured, arms outstretched, “us, our family - away for a few fuckin’ ounces of coke? I got better and that’s because of you, because of you being there for me and the kids and - baby please, I’m telling the truth.”

As Rafe begged and pleaded, he had made his way to stand in front of her, taking her hands in his as his fingers gripped hers tightly. She looked up at him, tears still spilling down her cheeks. He had gotten better - ever since they arrived in Guadeloupe, she hadn’t seen him touch cocaine. Alcohol, sure, but even Topper offering him coke at a party had seemingly rolled off his back.

“You’re not lying to me? You swear it? On the kids lives?” She begged, needing to hear him say it again. She wanted to believe him so badly.

“I promise baby, I swear to god. I swear that I haven’t touched that shit in a year. Please, I’m telling the truth baby.”

With his final plea, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow, its return to normal allowing her to breathe properly once more. A large exhale left her body before she flung herself against Rafe, her arms wrapping around his torso. His arms immediately returned the gesture, comfortingly rubbing up and down her back.

“I can’t do that shit again, Rafe. Ok?” She muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt. He leaned down to gently stroke her hair before placing a tender kiss in her hair.

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore. I’m different now, for you and for our family. You can rely on me, ok? I’m always gonna be here for you,” Rafe stated firmly, his words filled with conviction. He felt a small smile tug at his lips as his fiancée nodded into his chest, her arms tightening around him further.

“I love you, Rafe. More than anything.”

“I love you too, baby. It’s you and me ‘till the end.”

As the pair stood in their embrace for a moment longer, they felt the tension seep away slowly and be replaced with tenderness. For such a rocky start to a relationship, the pair had watched each other grow and mature. Neither of them were perfect, but they would never give up on each other. Rafe didn’t believe in soulmates, but if he did, he was certain that the woman in his arms was his.

[msfantasy-anime]

No way! Luffy has a Wife?!

Monkey D. Luffy x Wife!Reader

Summary: an amalgamation of many requests on others finding out Luffy is married.

A/n: Thanks @matronofthevoid for the prompt of Boa Hancock and to the other anonymous DM’s requesting others

Part VII

After a few weeks of Monkey Y/n’s Wanted posters circulating, the world government has issued a retraction after being unable to locate the marriage certificate of Luffy and Y/n.

The marines have since issued new Wanted posters, removing the family name ‘Monkey’ followed by the following description.

‘Y/n, Wanted Dead or Alive for 200 million berries after assaulting a marine officer for insulting childhood friend Monkey D. Luffy. The bounty has been increased as Y/n is confirmed to be an official member of the strawhat pirates after eye-witness testify Y/n claiming allegiance to the strawhat captain in wholecake Island. The World Government would also like to retract any claims or statements of the marriage between the pair due to lack of evidence to support claim.’

Whilst it true the new posters and description have been issued- not everyone has received the new news.

Shanks - Receiving the original poster

“Hey captain! Check this out!” Yassop howls in laughter with Lucky Roux, throwing a newly issued bounty down into their captains lap.

Wanted Dead or Alive. Monkey. Y/n. 100m berries.

Shanks eyes widen slightly at the name.

“Luffy’s a grown man now, wife and all…” Shanks mutters, his eyes shining with pride before quickly faltering to horror. “That little twerp got married and didn’t even invite me?! Can you believe that?!”

Silvers Rayleigh - Receiving the original poster

Shakuyaku smirks down at the news paper below her, taking a good long drag from the cigarette sitting loosely between her fingers.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Rayleigh steals a glance at the papers. “Well would you look at that… the boys not completely hopeless after all.”

Boa Hancock - Receives the new posters

As all of the Kuja warriors suspected. Their beautiful loving Empress has been bedridden for weeks.

The wanted poster…

The description of Luffy’s marital status…

It was all far too much for the tender hearted empress.

But as soon as Gloriosa received the newest issue, she figuratively bolted to the empresses bed chamber. “I’ve come bearing great news!” Gloriosa announces, pulling the blanket off of the rotting figure that is Boa Hancock.

He matted hair remains tangled, her swollen eyes pinching together tighter at the exposure of light. “Leave at once you old hag! Leave me to my suffering!” Hancock wails, pulling weakly at the bedcovers.

“He isn’t married!” Gloriosa announces as Hancock sits up rapidly. “Luffy! He isn’t married- it was just a false report! They’re only childhood friends!” The angelic expression that follow was so blindingly beautiful, Gloriosa’s memory lapsed at the beauty that is her Empress.

“Luffy my love! I knew it! You shall be mine! No woman is qualified for his affections!” Hancock swoons.

Monkey D. Garp - Receives the new poster

“See Koby?! I knew it wasn’t true!” Helmeppo scrutinises the posters hung up on the wall.

‘Y/n Wanted Dead or Alive’

Koby shrugs indifferently. Whilst it might be true Luffy and Y/n aren’t married, is it really so crazy to believe Luffy has romantic interests? Well according to Helmeppo, such a statement is ridiculous.

“What are you two bickering about now?” Garp grumbles, shoving his hand into the bucket of popcorn and into his mouth by the fist fulls.

“Sir- you would know more than that Luffy couldn’t possibly be married.” Helmeppo guestures to Y/n’s new poster.

There was a moment of silence before Garp dropped his bucket of popcorn to the floor, snatching the poster as his eyes widen in horror. “Huh?! So that little brat went and became a pirate after all?! Does anyone listen to me?! First Ace, then my idiot grandson and now my angel?!” Storming to his desk, Garp continues to mutter to himself under his breath, riffling through the papers until he is able to extract a report pertaining to your bounty from the pile.

You were Garp’s one saving grace.

The one and only rambunctious child that didn’t go over to the dark side, but based off the report- it’s still his idiot grandsons fault.

If he didn’t become a pirate then you wouldn’t have gained a wanted poster defending his honour like the noble angel you are.

“Sir - you would know more than anyone. Is Luffy and Y/n married or not?” Koby asks, only for Garps eyes to remain dark and downcast in angst.

“Unofficially.” He mutters only for Helmeppo to cringe at the confirmation.

“So it’s true then?! Strawhat really does have a wife?!” Helmeppo shouts in horror, needing desperately for Garp to tell him the honest truth.

“Huh?” Garp picks his nose mindlessly as he thinks back. “That idiot has been claiming they’ve been married for years… guess he just finally wore her down.”

Bartolomeo - Receives the new poster

“And Y/n defended Sir Luffy by knocking that filthy marine out in one hard punch!” Bartolomeo praises, dabbing a moist tissue to his eyes. “It’s just so beautiful! Sir Luffy deserves nothing less than a devoted wife to defend his honour.” Bartolomeo throws himself onto the floor as he continues to sob hysterically. “And - to think- they’re childhood friends! Truely a romantic story for the ages!”

The crew begin to cry in unison. “How can people deny their marriage?!” Some sobbing crewman questions, blowing his nose into his own shirt.

“They don’t need no stink’in piece of paper! We will help sir Luffy by spreading their grand love story far and wide for all to hear!”

Y/n - Receives the new poster

“Hey have you guys seen Y/n?” Luffy questions, scratching his head absentmindedly.

Zoro points lazily towards the head of the Thousand Sunny where you appear to be sitting glumly. You begin to make the face you always do when you are sad.

“I’m sorry Luffy- I didn’t mean to upset her.” Chopper mutters sadly. But Zoro only drops his heavy hand on Choppers head. “Y/n’s bounty went up, I went to show her, but then she got really upset.“ Chopper holds up the newly issued Wanted poster of Y/n.

“Hey it’s not your fault, all you did was show her the new poster.” Zoro reassures but Choppers shoulders sink further.

Luffy snatches Nami’s pen from her hand and begins to scribble on the Wanted poster.

“Luffy! What the hell-“ Luffy tosses the pen back on the table and stalks back off towards his gloomy wife.

“Oi! Have you seen your new wanted poster? Looks like your bounty went up since you’re officially in my crew now.” Luffy announces ecstatically, shoving the wrinkly paper into your hands.

You begin to slouch into yourself. You knew it was silly but it was heart wrenching to finally have a family name only of it to be taken at a moments notice. ‘Monkey’ was not a last name you even earnt. But even so, it was nice to feeling like you belonged somewhere.

“Yeah, what about it?“ Your voice shrivels up on the spot.

Looking down at the wanted poster you see your name haphazardly scribbled ‘Monkey Y/n’

Tears threatened to well-up. Without you even admitting out loud - Luffy somehow knew exactly what upset you and how to fix it. “You’re so dumb sometimes ya’know?” Luffy states rhetorically, which only makes you begin to boom with laughter. “How many more times do I have to remind you? You’re my wife. You don’t need some piece of paper to give you a last name. Because I already gave you my last name.” You begin to grin at your sweet loveable doofus. “But if you need a piece of paper, then take that. I wrote it myself and everything- Kay?” He asks only for you to spring on top of Luffy, pulling him into a lethal tight hug.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

So was rewatching Othertale: Before the Hack (part 1) a few days ago and posting about it, which you can find here, and i was taking notes as i did.

You can also find the link to my analysis of the [caring] animation here, and my analysis of the [experiment] animation here and here.

And happy 9th birthday to both Othertale, and Color Sans!

“Undyne, or Ivory, comes from an AU called Othertale. She can play piano and has a nice sense of music, but can’t sing. She’s much weaker than her Undertale counterpart.

In this AU, Sans never existed (aside from a mysterious sock in the house that Undyne and Papyrus eventually move in to.)

And instead, Undyne—an orphaned street kid blind in one eye with her red hair in a braid—starts looking after an even younger orphaned kid named Papyrus from bullies and thieves. Before eventually, the two decide to stick together as siblings.

Due to being more focused on looking after and raising Papyrus, Undyne does not have any goals to join the Royal Guard or free the Underground or capture any humans.

She cares more about her little brother than anything, and even uses piano skills to eventually become something of a celebrity for the Underground while Papyrus goes on to become a math teacher.

Othertale Undyne grows up in a universe where Sans doesn’t exist, Papyrus is her younger adoptive brother, and she had to work to keep herself and her brother alive.

Using her skills in piano playing to perform concerts, she earns enough to get herself and her brother off the streets.

She seems to take this very seriously, such as being nervous and not sleeping, staying up all night practicing. Especially since she’s become so well know that even King Asgore and Gerson Head of the Royal Guard would be there.

Neither she nor Papyrus have plans to join the Royal Guard, so Gerson is still the captain of the Royal Guard.

Neither Papyrus nor Undyne have any official training, although Undyne and the Royal Scientist Alphys are still love interests—with Alpyhs being Papyrus’ Undernet friend, and appearing to have a celebrity crush on Undyne—even giving her a gift for her big concert.

Because the six human souls also don’t exist in Othertale, breaking the barrier isn’t possible. Mettaton operates more like a living weapon than a star, and the amalgamates don’t exist either. Although Flowey still does.

In the present day of Othertale, many monsters have mysteriously been going missing; with the King himself having to speak on the issue.

It is unclear if Undyne is any concerned about this, given how she readily goes on walks alone with Alphys and was eager to explore an abandoned sentry station that showed up out of nowhere when she heard someone calling her name from it.

One day, however, Undyne is lured into the Void through a sentry station; she hears someone calling her name but no one else can hear it. She decides to immediately go exploring because she wants to have fun. She is rather pushy when Alphys is too scared to go in and explore, but ultimately doesn’t force the other woman to go in.

But inside she is confronted by Gaster and Sans/Color!Sans. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, but is knocked out by a magic fueled punch by Color that transfers some of Color’s “soul power” into her, which opened Undyne’s “blind eye.”

Ivory is not afraid to defend herself; not hesitant at all to summon one of her spears and point it at Gaster when he advances on her, warning him to stay back or else she will hurt him. Although she only does this when he attempts to make a move towards her.

She seems very very nervous about her concert, and she doesn’t seem to have been ready for the level of attention and popularity her skills brought her.

Due to her magic eye that Color unlocked, she seems able to immediately tell if there’s danger nearby; like a warning, perhaps from Color himself. She seems to trust her instincts a lot, immediately ditching her big concert and audience to follow her gut and run straight into danger.

When she finds Alphys injured, she’s furious and fiercely protective; demanding to know who did it in a low growling tone.

Once making sure Alphys is okay, her immediate concern after is her brother and his safety. But rather than immediately running off and abandoning Alphys, she expresses this to her—and after getting reassurance that the other woman is okay and understands, she gives Alphys a tight hug before running off after Papyrus.

As soon as she finds and protects Papyrus, she orders her brother to run and get help while she fights off against the other monster attacking him on her own.

She’s able to shortcut a lot like Sans is able to now. Her eye glows like Sans’ did, only yellow this time. Her fish ears/gills pin back when she’s scared.

When she gains her second form, her hair is chopped off to what appears to be about ear length. Her spears are stronger and longer, and she has her own Gaster Blasters.

She dresses like an Underfell Undyne in this form—and she wears a heart shaped golden necklace with the letter “f” on it.

We don’t know where she got it, what it means, who it came from—but it was said to be a gift from someone.”

^ the images I am referring to. (All art by superyoumna.)

This part is in reference to the [experiment] short, and the brother & sister comic.

Before Gaster jumped into the Core and Sans was forgotten in the Void to create Othertale, back when the universe was still Undertale—this universe seems to subscribe to the idea that both Sans and Undyne’s magical eyes were due to experiments by Dr. Gaster.

Sans says that Dr. Gaster made a mistake when giving him his eye, that it made Sans’ body extremely unstable and fragile—and possibly more, although Sans doesn’t seem to hold it against Gaster even when Gaster holds it against himself.

Sans reassures Undyne that Gaster won’t make that same mistake with her, but when the experiment finally works and Undyne is able to see from her fake eye, Gaster immediately tells Sans to remove the soul energy or it would damage Undyne’s body.

Undyne during this flashback seems to be around 5, while Papyrus is at most 1-2, and Sans seems to be in his late teens to early 20s. When Sans is pulled into the Void and the world is rewritten to forget Sans and make Othertale, Ivory’s eye is blind again and later needs to be reactivated by Color transferring his soul energy back to her.

All a part of Color and Shade’s plan to empower Ivory with knowledge and power so she can fight against the impending threat, since Color and Shade cannot leave the Void without the risk of dying.

Despite how Ivory and Shade’s meeting in Othertale’s Void is confronting and wary, in the past, child Undyne seemed to find comfort in Gaster and trusted him a lot—such as wanting him to share in her happiness, being worried about him when he leaves in frustration, and saying that the lab is spooky without him around.

As a child after Sans is forgotten, however, it appears little Ivory met little Sage sometime after an event just referred to as “the explosion.” And ever since then, Sage only ever sought Ivory out whenever the other children would steal from and bully him—and Ivory would beat up the bullies for him and get his stuff back.

One day, while searching for a rubix cube in the garbage dumps, a frantic and crying Sage runs up to Ivory to tell her that the others kids stole his toy car.

Ivory notes that he only ever comes to her when he needs protection. Sage immediately apologizes for this, but Ivory quickly corrects herself as that wasn’t what she meant—this is the moment where Ivory proposes that Sage stick with her instead of surviving on his own.

Sage is reluctant to accept because even though they are friends, they are still strangers. In answer to this, Ivory gives Sage her rubix cube and loudly states that they are neither friends nor strangers—instead they are siblings.

Sage immediately gets excited by this idea, and the two proudly and loudly declare that they are siblings—and Sage promises to always look up to her and support her as his big sister and as the “great Papyrus!”

[fleckcmscott]

Take a Step

Summary: Arthur and Y/N put away the mundane to create a memorable Valentine's Day.

Words: 4,785

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: A Valentine's story? In September? It's either really late or really early. ⏰ @jokerownsmysoul made this request over three years ago, the longest it has taken me to fulfill one. 🤯 That puts it in the really, really late category. 😂 Thank you so much for your patience! I hope you all like it!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Mint and sulfur straggled through the sterile air, an unpleasant mixture that tautened his thighs to tight ropes. Breath rushed through flared nostrils, like a bear wanting to be left the hell alone so he could go hibernate. Skip the dreary dread of winter right to spring. He pressed the crown of his head to the wall behind him.

How had she talked him into this. How had he let her talk him into this?

Arthur and the dental profession had never been friends. The last seven years had gone by without just fine, thank you very much. Gotham Dental School's discounted amalgam fillings remained intact. The hole left by his missing pre-molar was convenient, really. A good place to stick a straw.

This would be more of the same old, same old advice, all of which he'd ignore. Start flossing. Use alcohol free mouthwash for dry mouth. Chew sugar free gum after smoking - or better yet, quit that entirely. Now go pay the receptionist and pick a prize out of the treasure chest.

He supposed he should be happy to have a wife who took care of his appointments, who pushed him to take care of himself. Mostly he was. But Y/N had shoved him into this office with an appointment card and a kiss on the cheek. "Dr. Miles does good work," she'd said. "He'll keep that sunny smile sexy."

Compliments were a surefire way to talk him into this.

The memory was enough of a trapdoor to step through, a cubbyhole of comfort that slowed his pulse. In an attempt to ignore the whirr of the drill in the next room, he studied the blotted watercolor of a beach on the opposite wall. The pile of yellowed "What Does God Require of You?" tracts by the overgrown philodendron on the bookcase. Anything but the giant tooth model showing the stages of periodontal disease.

He rubbed the top of his legs to loosen them, crossed them at the knee. His foot bumped the round ottoman that doubled as a newspaper holder. A headline below the fold caught his eye: "Valentine's spending set to shatter records."

A sunny, sexy smile spread across his face.

As a child, the day had meant a break from schoolwork for cupcakes with pink frosting and valentines slipped into a decorated shoebox on each student's desk. Sure, he'd only received a handful. But that'd been enough. A nice change from the usual teasing. When puberty had possessed him, hair and sweat glands sprouting in new places, Valentine's Day had been his personal pining hell. Dates didn't happen. He'd misread basic politeness as flirting. No one invited him anywhere.

Adulthood had been more of the same.

Television was a reminder of what he couldn't have. Advertisements for housewares, for cars, for grape juice all featured couples. They all had an us. One had a pair playing tennis, scoring 40-Love and discussing Speed Stick for Him and Her. A man ran a palm along a woman's leg in another, a commercial for No Nonsense pantyhose.

When would he get to fondle a woman's leg, he'd wondered? When would he get to score Love?

Way back when, Arthur had imagined an imperfect but wonderful evening. An amalgamation of simple yearnings and being green. A homecooked meal with his beloved, a slow dance in the kitchen. The softness of her, the kindness of her. Beauty buttressed by kisses and the kind of infatuation found in storybooks. A break from the bitterness that lurked a heartbeat away.

Now that he had his special person to cook and dance with, it was a holiday to relish. On which to buy a gift for his one and only. To show her off and show off how much he loved her.

There were a million ways to say I love you. Perhaps he'd get her one of those cards edged in lace or a sateen box of gourmet chocolates. Not the Brach's brand from the drug store - those were dry and sour - but from Cane's Chocolatiers, filled with mousse.

He could write a bit for her, perform a private set over coffee and cake. They could stroll along the docklands and listen to the ocean. Watch the moon shine on the incoming tide and their wedding rings. He'd take her hand, lead her out onto the pier, where they'd dance, and her dress would billow in waves. Where he'd twirl her until fell into his arms. Where he'd slip eager fingertips through the slit at her-

"Mr. Fleck," called the dental hygienist from the doorway. Toothbrushes dotted her purple scrubs. "We're ready for your x-rays."

Blinking, he rose and straightened his cardigan. Once the hygienist rounded the corner, he snatched the paper, folded it into thirds, and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Y/N waited at Gotham Savings Bank, paycheck and checkbook in hand. With the line a twelve-person-deep swarm, it was doubtful her errands would fit into her lunch hour. She adjusted her purse. Bounced between toes and heels. She'd have to steal bits of an Italian Style Swanson over her typewriter.

As she advanced through waves of mumbling and murmurs, a buoyant post came into view. Pink as an orchid, covered in enough silver glitter to give the janitor a headache, it advertised the Valentine's Club, a special savings account just for the holiday. Perfect for a cruise on the Finger River, starting with a candlelight dinner and ending with an engagement ring. A flash of a smile ruffled the corner of her mouth.

Though a decade had passed since she'd last celebrated, the day was nothing new. In elementary school, the teachers had passed out candy and cards. "I think you're sharp," they'd said, or "You pass the test!" Beyond the chance to eat sweets and the peril of cooties, none of the six-year-olds had really understood what it'd meant.

Despite being serious and stuffy, not one for grand romantic gestures, her ex-husband Jeff had been good at Valentine's Day. He'd eschewed Boonville's diner, pharmacy soda fountain, and immortal dive bar Fogey's in favor of a reservation out of town. Pulled her chair out for her, placed a respectable kiss on the cheek. At the end of the night, he'd given her carnations in the privacy of their living room, even when they'd been too distant to share the depths of their hearts.

One year, he'd whisked her away for an overnight at the Windsor Hotel, a three-story joint on the outskirts of St. Louis that featured coin-operated vibrating beds and a heated pool. They'd been stuck in a single directly under the hotel bar, a place filled with lonely hearts on the hunt for Cupid. Every laugh and every sob had penetrated the popcorn ceiling. Each footstep a bass drum threatening to crash through.

They'd tried to distract themselves with a quickie, but the bed's whirring motor had added to the racket rather than drowned it out. A bath in the jacuzzi was the next attempt to salvage the evening. But when she'd turned on the jets, the pipes squeaked and squealed as if mice ran through them, sprinting towards an entire wheel of cheese. She and Jeff had barely gotten dressed before racing home.

Last year, Valentine's wasn't a priority. She and Arthur were so busy with his move, it hadn't been a blip on her radar. He hadn't exactly been comfortable living together. Not yet. Akin to an anxious guest, he'd hesitated to touch anything. To affect the space that was now his. And he hadn't had access to all of his medications, refusing to elaborate on the cost besides a discouraged, dismissive "expensive."

Arthur's face had been a mask of embarrassment when he'd apologized over evening dishes. "For once in my life, I have someone who needs me. And I- I didn't do anything."

"Did you sample my Stevie Wonder record?" she'd asked. An inner joy had sprung at the progress that represented.

Arthur had dried his three-tone brown mug, set it next to hers on a one shoulder shrug. "Yeah."

"We took a big step in our relationship." She'd scrubbed the frying pan with firm, circular motions. "We stepped towards each other. What could be more of a celebration than that?"

"Okay, but-"

She'd pressed a sudsy hand to his sternum. "I know you love me. I love you, too." She sought to brighten him, to lighten him, and settled on another track he might have heard. "Either way, Arthur, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours."

The sigh of his entire frame as he'd dropped the dish towel and gathered her to his chest had made her love him all the more.

A middle-aged man in a threadbare beret shuffled forward, making Y/N next in line. The teal and peach lovebirds riding his shoulders pooped streaks of white and brown down the back of his suede jacket. She stayed in her spot and stayed silent. Nothing in this city surprised her anymore. At least he sounded polite.

She eyed the poster anew. This being the first Valentine's Day since marrying Arthur gave it an air of distinction, of specialness she was happy to embrace. Especially for him, her romantic at heart. Maybe they could go ice skating in the park, or take a carriage ride through Gotham, replete with flannel blankets and hot chocolate.

She smiled at the way he conjured such images, how he'd taught her to enjoy the special gestures she hadn't thought necessary.

"Next, please!" From the teller on the right.

Y/N scanned the floor for white and brown splats. At the window, she straightened and said, "Hi, I'd like to deposit this into my checking account." She pushed her paycheck under the glass. But her current preoccupation with Arthur stalled her hand. "Actually, I have to correct the cash back form. I'll need an extra fifty."

~~~~~

A blizzard had rolled in Saturday, bringing Gotham to a standstill under twenty-six inches of snow. Most trains were back on schedule by Sunday evening, but on Monday all city parks remained closed. Waltzes on the pier and carriage rides would have to wait.

What they settled on was closer to Arthur's humble fantasies of yore. He was fine with that - it'd be easier to make reality match the movie in his mind. Gifts after breakfast that her office's delayed opening had turned into brunch and catching Singing in the Rain at the Monarch that night. A flick that guaranteed they'd wear themselves out laughing (or fooling around in the back row if the mood struck).

And an afternoon delivery, a cliché and a classic he prayed would work despite the frost.

Their home was tranquil, serene, the only sounds their hushed voices and gentle conversation. Court for the next three days was sure to be cancelled, so Y/N planned to review older cases, ensure their documents were in order. Arthur would head to the children's clinic with heart-shaped lollipops tomorrow. He'd salted the building's entranceway while she'd showered. ("I got out your boots," he told her. "It's slippery out there." "You take such good care of me," she said.)

The familiarity of their everyday discussions was a comfort, as cozy as a well-tended hearth. Yet, lovely though it was, he wanted less everyday, more play. Less work and chores, more Us.

He eyed the fruit plate. Fresh pears were new to him, and a lifelong dislike of canned made him skeptical. He went for the cantaloupe. "What was the first thing you noticed about me? When we met?"

Y/N munched at her cinnamon oatmeal. "Your hair."

"My hair?" People tended to comment on his laugh or skinniness, if they noticed him at all.

"There's a confidence to keeping it long. And it was obvious you used conditioner. That told me the rest of you was well kept, too." She wet her lips between each spoonful. "How about you? What did you notice about me?"

"That you blushed." He took a cautious nibble and frowned, a taste he could only describe as sweet garbage swamping his mouth. He laid the slice politely in his bowl. Cleared his throat, chugged the rest of his coffee. "Other woman don't do that around me."

"Well, they must be blind, Mr. Fleck, because you're gorgeous. That's the second thing I noticed."

Ducking his chin, he thumbed the handle of his mug. Fitting that she'd see beauty in him he hadn't realized existed.

A sudden anticipation seized him, the urge to shove his gift at her mid-bite. He excused himself, hurried to his desk. Retrieved the key from under the desk lamp. Pulled open the bottom drawer.

The bundle covered in red tissue paper dared him to do it.

He held it with both hands. Reverently, as if it could singe. He wasn't certain what had loaned him the panache to buy this. Maybe being a husband had made him a new and improved Arthur. This felt more daring than marrying her. Than sleeping with her. Solicitation shielded in scarlet.

She was scooping the last morsel of oatmeal in her mouth when he set it beside the fruit plate. Perched on the chair diagonal from her, he rubbed sweaty palms under the table.

Frantic tearing at the paper, her smile rounding to a pleased O. "Oh, Arthur…" She hooked her fingers through the babydoll's straps. A laugh bubbled up, fresh color flooding her cheeks. "I have to admit I'm surprised you got me something like this. But I'm happy you did. Come here." She leaned forward and grabbed his chin.

Deep satisfaction eased his nerves, while her firm, wet kiss sparked others anew. He held her forearm. Parted her lips with his own.

Quick as a flash, she broke away. "I'm gonna try it on," she said, and sprinted in the direction of the bedroom.

His gaze followed her until she was out of sight. A pleasing lightness coursed through him. Lifted him from his chair. Drove him to move, turn on one foot from the table to the sink to rinse their bowls.

Less than a minute later, she'd returned. "What do you think?"

He glanced towards the kitchen entrance, over his shoulder. Registered what he'd seen and glanced again. A knot rose in throat, that glance becoming a full-on stare.

Powder blue chiffon draped over her form, the hem floating below her hips in a soft sway. Dainty white flowers trimmed the v-neck, starting at her breasts, climbing along the halter straps that disappeared beneath her tresses and were tied in a bow at the nape of her neck. Brown aerolas were brazen pendants beneath the lingerie. The strip of mesh that ran under her bust drew his stare downward, to the outline of her comma shaped navel.

"You…" He gulped. Below was a silhouette of dusky hair, a demure triangle at the apex of her thighs. The nightie was more diaphanous than the sales catalog had led him to believe. He lowered the bowl like a man hypnotized. It met the bottom of the sink with a soft clink. "You're beautiful."

A giggle as she covered her face. "You make me feel beautiful."

She went to him, the air around her electrified, sparking with each footfall. She pulled a red envelope from behind her. "Happy Valentine's Day."

With the care of a curator of rare antiquities, he slid his fingertip under the flap. The lilac greeting card had a tic-tac-toe game in which the Xs had lost, and the Os were a horizontal line of three hearts. "You won my heart," it said. Y/N had added a short note in her rounded script: "(You made it a very easy game.)" He traced the letters, his chest swelling with pride. Inside, he found a perforated certificate, akin to an old movie ticket, where a couple tangoed across a black background and gold cursive declared, "Good for three lessons at Arthur Murray Dance Studios."

His fantasy of them on the pier flashed behind his eyes. Had she misread is mind? "But I don't need lessons."

"No," she said, and closed the gap between them. "But I do."

Tender adoration flooded his frame, a gooeyness starting in his scalp and ending in his toes. She was timid about dancing, insecure in the way he was about too many things. And here she stood, willing to take part in one of his passions. To be the center of attention. To get out there in front of everyone to learn to dance. With him. Simply because she loved him.

With a woman like her in his life, it was easy to be a new and improved Arthur.

Relaxing into a grin, he grabbed her hand and snatched her about the waist. She yelped, her palm flying to his bicep. A step forward with his left foot, a slide to the right with his right. He led her through the passthrough galley in a sort of jogging quickstep. His uneven shoulders shimmed, a happy tune behind his teeth.

"What are you humming?" Y/N asked.

"'You Were Meant for Me.'" A number from the flick they'd catch tonight. He lifted their arms above their heads, tried to ease her into a natural spin turn.

Her toes collided with his, her weight off balance as she floundered. She laughed a nervous laugh. "Even though I don't have your grace?"

"But you're the prettiest," he said, and bent to kiss her. His fingers splayed on the elegant curve of her back. "The sweetest." Her form pressed closer, soft curves on hard angles.

He traced a path down her arm, gaze falling to the slopes of her breasts. Fabric obscured the faint stretchmarks, her puffy aerolas now tight dots. Their steps slowed, their dance burgeoning to a dire need for friction. He guided her jaw upwards, his voice velvet edged. "The sexiest."

Her eyes softened, gleaming garnets worthy of song and Solomon. "I love you."

"Shameless," he rasped, thin lips claiming hers.

Her arms flew about his middle, mouths meeting and parting with languorous urgency. Stirring below his waistband swelled to an assertive ache in his abdomen. Heavy and full, he strained against the seam of his pajamas.

She writhed against it, ground her hips into his. Wanton fingers cupped him through the thin cotton. Squeezing, scorching, a fervent up and down. Clasping her upper arms, he walked her backwards, erection bobbing with each step.

When he lifted her onto the counter, lusty laughter filled her throat. Sultry, silky, a sound he longed to wrap himself in. To draw from her tongue. Her knees fell open at his hips. She scooted forward, away from the microwave and upper cabinets. Her breasts jostled with each movement. He cupped one, jiggled it until she snorted and dug her toes into his leg.

Gauzy fabric caught on her nipples. He drew one downward with his thumb, watched it spring back. Gently, he rolled it between his fingers. Pinched and groaned as it grew harder. On a choked cry, she arched into his touch. Reached to tug at the strap by her neck.

He caught her wrist. "Leave it on." Touching her directly was intoxicating, a liquor he preferred to wine. But something about her nightie separating them gave the encounter an illicit air, like he was privy to a secret. A green light of want that flashed only for him.

She leaned back a bit, just enough to loosen the tie of his pajama bottoms. Slide them past his pelvis. The thin cotton pooled at his skinny ankles. She whispered caresses along his ribs, teased the hollows of his hips. The hem of her nightie crept to her waist. He was fully aware of his cock brushing her inner thigh.

She grasped his shaft, ran the tip in a line along her slit. Smeared his arousal from her clit to her plump lips. Pleasure spiked through him. A flinch and a gasp as he sprang to his toes.

Her bedroom eyes met his. "Make love to me."

He breathed a shivering breath. This was more than he'd imagined, yet exactly what he'd yearned for.

He slid into her deliciously. She was fiery, like a furnace, heat radiating from each cell. From this angle, he could see every detail of her sex. The pretty pink, the glistening want of him, her creases and fleshy folds. It was incredible, exciting, and with a hungry grunt he filled her anew.

Peeking out from its hood, her bundle of nerves begged for his touch. He dragged the pad of his thumb across it. Did so once more. Nails biting his shoulders, she jolted, cried out. Another sweep and a canyon formed between her brows. She tossed back her head without a care-

Bang!

A yelp cut off her mewling. Arthur halted mid-thrust, hands hovering by her ears. "Are you okay?"

Laughter cracked out of her. She grabbed the crown of her head. "The cabinet is more dangerous than it looks."

He chuckled along with her and pecked her hair. Scooped her up by the waist and spun them around. The pajamas at his ankles forced his walk to a scuffing. He set her on the dinette table, on the side free from coffee mugs and sickly sweet melon.

Laying down, she stretched her arms out behind her, grasped the edge of the table. Diaphanous blue rode further upward. Gravity flattened her stomach. Her legs dangled over the side.

He rocked into her again, and she smiled his favorite kind of smile. Wide and open, built from love and delight. One hand ran from her shoulder, over her breast, to her hip. Then lower and lower still. Her fingertips quivered at her clit, short strokes that made her thighs twitch. "Just like that," she said, ending on a whine.

He plunged faster, her quickening fingers a guide. Strained to bring her to completion. She bucked lightly, a subtle circling that struck a vibrant chord within him. He bent forward, pressed a palm to her sternum. Urged her to take all that she needed. All that she wanted. All of him.

Ruddy patches bloomed across her chest, crept up her neck, tinged the shells of her ears. A heady moan slipped from her. The rise and fall of her ribs went herky-jerky, her head craned back. Her walls spasmed, clutching and groping him in a rhythm that doubled him over. Warm and nimble, the kind of dance she excelled at. The dance for which she'd taught him all the steps.

"You're so good at this," she purred once her shakes had abated.

A smug smile spreading wide. "Am I?" He flexed the muscles of his pubis, watched her eyes widen with delight.

Her hand went from her center to trail tickling fingers up his spine. "You fuck me like you mean it."

Bottomless contentment unfurled in him, enveloped the peaks and valleys of his soul. "I do mean it," he said, and rotated his pelvis into hers.

Arching to meet him, she tugged at his tousled curls. "Like I was meant for you."

Delving deeper and deeper with each push. "You were."

Managing to be tender and firm at the same time, he cupped her face with both hands. Today was a day for romance, and he wanted to kiss her when he came. The touch of her lips was a thousand-volt shock. His tempo quickened, breath emerging in short, desperate pants. A sudden burst within him, his whole being flooded with besotted bliss. His hips stuttered, every pulse a pierce of pleasure. Eyes screwing shut, he whimpered into her mouth.

Peaceful, warm, and tired, he slumped on top of her. Basked in her smooth skin. Her fingers in his hair, his arm pillowing her head, the sweaty press of their stomachs. He could've stayed in that naked reality forever, signed a lease and moved right in.

But Y/N kissed his shoulder and said, "I should get ready before Phil has to ask why I'm late to work." Her free hand felt around for the fruit plate.

Arthur groaned and propped himself on an elbow. Fumbled with a flower on her neckline. "Well, what would you have said?"

She took a bite of pear, munched thoughtfully before replying. "That my husband had me in flagrante delicto." She pressed the rest of the pear to his mouth. He closed his lips around her fingertips, took the juicy morsel with tongue and teeth. "That you caught me in the act," she said, brows arching twice. His belly tightened on a breathy laugh.

Combing through her bedhead, she scooted to stand. Pulled the nightie down to her hips. Arthur bunched up his pajamas and briefs, held them in front of his thighs. Just as she was about to exit the kitchen, she stopped and turned back. "You make me so happy, Arthur. There's no one else I'd rather have been meant for." A peck to his cheek and she left.

Say something, he thought. Say anything! But his mouth was a stubborn seam, and it was only after the bathroom door had shut that he could even move. That he could even breathe. He fell back against the counter, grasped the edge for purchase. Dropped his clothing and rubbed his hand over his heart.

This damned life had brought so much pain, but then it'd brought her. It was almost enough to forgive and forget all those wasted Valentines.

The rush of the faucet brought him back to the present. He marched to the phone and dialed. Even if he couldn't find the words, this was something he could do.

"Hi, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Is it too late to change the delivery for Y/N Fleck? At Dube and Ellis?" The phone cord curled around fidgeting knuckles. "Okay, good. Can I make it two dozen?"

~~~~~

"Could you fax that attention Y/N Fleck, please?" Y/N said into the phone. She hadn't gotten a chance to shower after this morning's impromptu rendezvous, but she'd run a washcloth over the vital parts and didn't seem to smell of sex. A pity, really. She wouldn't have minded a hint of her husband's piney scent as a private perfume. She'd nuzzle him tonight at the movies to make up for it.

Y/N, you're at work. Stop it.

She crossed her legs and ran a finger along her collar. "No, not Flick. Fleck. F-L-E-C-K."

Terry swaggered through the firm's door and in her direction, carrying a looming bouquet of roses and baby's breath in a fluted vase. Had he forgotten today? Was he on his way over to celebrate a last-minute victory?

"Yes." Again into the receiver. "Thanks a lot. You, too." Once she'd hung up, she relaxed into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You made it just under the wire," she told Terry. "I'm surprised there were any flowers left in the city. Your wife'll love them."

"Are you kidding? And risk my hide like that?" He stopped in front of her desk. "I made a reservation months ago. These are for you."

She squinted in confusion. "What?"

"At least, that's what I assume." He made an exaggerated show of reading the floral card. "'To my saucy and sweet Y/N.'"

"Oh my god." She shot upright, her head a fireball.

He surveyed the office. "I don't see any other Y/Ns around here."

"Give me that." She snatched the card from him.

A goofy snicker left Terry, a barrel of ha-has. "Now I know your secret." He squeezed the vase between her typewriter and coffee mug. "Remember that during fundraising season."

When he took off towards his desk, she called after him. "Bribery is illegal." He waved her off with a So Sue Me gesture.

Spicy floral caught her nose, not on par with Arthur's scent but lovely all the same. She traced a bloom, cupped one in her palm. After ensuring the coast was clear, she pulled the card away from her chest. She read the courier font, her smile soaring to an all-out beam:

To my saucy and sweet Y/N, Everyone should know we make a great pear. Your valentine, Arthur.

She made a soft sound, ran her thumb over his name. The salutation was corny and charming and embodied everything she'd come to appreciate about him. To love about him. A declaration as proud and plain as their wedding bands, the last name on her name plate, the photo on her desk.

One more example wouldn't hurt.

Careful not to a disturb a petal, Y/N stuck the card back in its holder. Stood and slid the vase to the outer corner of her L-shaped desk, a vibrant and happy display.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl

[legitalicat]

Too Sweet - Modern!Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

AN: Hello my beautiful people! I hope you enjoy this story. It started as a little love note to the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier because I feel it's very Aegon coded. It then became kind of an amalgamation of a few different stories. My own story and journey with alcoholism and recovery played a big part in this, and as I wrote it parts of my feelings about my older brother, who is in active addiction, came into play. Please know that this is not everyone's story. Recovery from addiction looks different for most everyone. I truly overcame my addiction through building community and connections. I know many people who have to work a program to succeed. I know a person who actually did get a degree after a near lifetime of addiction and now he does a lot of things to help our local community in treating addiction. So really, this is a love letter to people like me and my brother. There is hope and I believe in every one of you.

Link to the TED Talk mentioned.

TW: blatant talks of alcoholism and substance abuse, talks of rehab, family issues, abusive family subtext yet never explicitly stated, gonna say it's kinda angsty, FLUFF

Pairings: Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

Word count: almost 3k

The soft pads of her feet made barely any noise as she walked into his bedroom, carrying a mug in each hand and wearing nothing but his MCR tee-shirt. Technically, they should both be in a deep sleep by now. It was fast approaching four in the morning and neither of them had bothered to close their eyes once. It was all he could to not hold her close in bed and stare at her captivating beauty.

When Aegon first saw her, weeks ago, he was stunned. It was the first time he had gone to the new bar right down the road from his apartment and it just so happened it was karaoke night. He had been tempted to turn around when he heard a horrendous rendition of his favorite Hozier song. But then she took the mic from her drunken friend, and it was as if the heavens parted and the gods showed him the future Mrs. Aegon Targaryen.

“Your coffee, sir,” she said to him as she handed him a mug. “No worries, it’s as black as your soul,” she added with a teasing grin.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he said as he took the mug from her.

She was truly a lesson in divinity for him. Aegon didn’t truly believe she was the most gorgeous woman on the planet. There would be people who would think she was average looks, maybe even less than that, but he didn’t need her to be more beautiful than anyone else. He wanted her exactly as she was. Beautiful like a spring day, teeming with beauty in the most natural of ways. Like one would think of a cherry blossom tree, or their favorite flower. Simple and breathtaking, a reminder of life and truth on a fundamental level.

He knew it the moment they locked eyes in that bar. Her voice shook from nerves as she sang in front of the crowd of strangers. When she looked at him, and he at her, he felt joyful for the first time in years. All of the stupid shit with his family, the years of drowning his sorrows in whiskey and wine and any other drug, none of it mattered.

If he were honest, he couldn’t remember how he got so lucky. He knew he approached her once she was done singing and complimented her. By the end of the night she was nestled beside him in bed, and he’d be damned if he ever let her leave.

“Gods, you’re amazing,” he muttered as he watched her. He knew she was drinking hot chocolate, finding the taste of coffee much too bitter.

“What was that?” she asked him when she pulled the mug away from her face. She had a bit of whipped cream on her upper lip, making his heart feel like it was on the brim of exploding.

He leaned forward, just barely, and lifted his hand to wipe the cream away with his thumb. She gave him a cute little smile when it brushed against her lips, puckering them to press a kiss to his skin. When he pulled his hand away and sucked the cream off, he heard her giggle.

“This is why you’re so sweet. Where most people drink whiskey and coffee, you put sugar in your sugar and drink it until the sun comes up,” he told her. Of course, he was teasing her.

“Because unlike you, Mr. Listen to Sad Music Even When I’m Happy, I like to enjoy things. The good things. The sweet things, like whipped cream and hot chocolate and fruit loops in bed on Saturday mornings. I just think I live a better life than you,” she told him. She was grinning from ear to ear.

If Aegon wasn’t so afraid of rejection, he would tell her how he loved her. He loved that she wanted to eat sweets at all times. He loved that she teased him for listening to My Chemical Romance or Asking Alexandria, calling it all sad music, even when she would listen right alongside him. He loved that she would start crying at the Wonka movie near the end, unashamed about feeling overwhelmed by the backstory.

If he weren’t so afraid she didn’t love him, he would tell her. He knew it had only been a few weeks, that all logic points to love at first sight being nothing more than him just getting turned on by her appearance. But how could he not love her when she sat in bed with him like this after making him a cup of coffee before the sun had even risen? How could one resist the gentleness of her touch when they watched TV together and she insisted on holding his hand? How could he be expected to watch her hyper fixate on a book or a video game, talking about it for hours on end with so much passion she always ended up wound up and breathless?

“You’re too sweet for me,” he told her as he laid back against the head board. He gently pulled her into his side, wanting to have her as close as humanly possible.

His words were met with an amused chuckle. She didn’t fight his hold on her, instead melting into him as though it was where she had always been.

“Tell me about your family,” she said quietly. “I mean, I’ve not been further than ten feet from you for weeks and you haven’t said the first word about them.”

He could feel his jaw clench as she asked him. His family was a complicated and sensitive subject. Even though he wished he never had to speak to her about them, he knew he had to if he had any hopes of them becoming more than just a passion fueled fling.

“Not much to really say. Dad ran Draconic Industries. My older sister, Rhaenyra, is my dad’s daughter with his first wife. He made her next in line to take over the business. Me, my younger siblings, even my mom, we never really mattered much to dear old dad. He died when I was nineteen. I don’t really matter much to any of the rest of them,” he told her, tracing shapes on her bare thigh as he spoke.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said quickly.

“It is,” he told her without any uncertainty. “Helaena, my younger sister, hasn’t spoken to me in a few years either. I haven’t spoke to my youngest brother Daeron since we were kids. And my brother Aemond…he was the last to hold out hope for me and I burned that to the ground a long time ago. I think it’s been at least a year. My mom completely disowned me about four years ago, when I was around twenty-two, cause I refused to go to rehab again.”

She frowned softly but said nothing. He could only imagine what was going through her head at this point. If roles were reversed, he would probably be planning his exit strategy. All it felt like he told her was a sob story about a poor rich kid who can’t live off mommy and daddy anymore. He felt pathetic.

“What did you go to rehab for?” she asked him.

“Started partying when I was like twelve. Alcoholic by age fourteen. Lead to worse shit, as it does, and I overdosed when I was eighteen on some coke. My mom and grandfather checked me into rehab the following week. Have done two more stints since. Never really stuck, and I haven’t been sober for more than a few days since I was like fifteen.”

He was laying in all our there for her. He wanted her to know so she could decide if she thought he was worth the trouble. He couldn’t blame her if she ran away from him. Why would she stick around? All of his family had washed their hands of him and they were family. She was just someone he met in a bar a few weeks before.

She stayed quiet for a long time. Longer than he would’ve liked. The silence weighed on his heart like an elephant pressing against his chest. He wanted to beg her to say something, anything, just so he knew where her head was at.

Though, he noticed, she didn’t move away from him. She stayed right there, comfortable tucked into his side, occasionally sipping her hot chocolate. His own mug, still filled with coffee, had gone near forgotten in his hand. He was too focused on her.

“You know, the opposite of addiction is connection. Watched a TED Talk one time about it. They found when addicts are treated like people instead of criminals, integrating them into society instead of isolating them, they show less of a struggle with addictions. Allow their basic needs to be met, give them a community, and they thrive,” she said softly after several moments.

She sat up, her warmth leaving him. He felt lonely without her touching him even though she was still well within arm’s reach. She was all he wanted, all he needed.

“I’m not saying I can fix you. I’m not saying the cure to all your problems is me giving my heart to you. I am, however, telling you that I haven’t once seen you drunk or high or anything and we basically haven’t been apart in weeks. If you want to develop healthy connections, create a community, be a person, I am more than willing to be part of it,” she said.

His heart started beating rapidly against his chest. He knew she was right. Since being with her, he hadn’t really felt the need for anything. He had physical cravings, sure, but no mental desire. Aegon didn’t want a moment with her to be a hazy memory that he may be able to recall when he's older.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Because I love you,” she said.

The weeks and months following that night, Aegon really put in the work. Y/N had made it clear to him that she was not going to just give him everything. If he wanted this, it was on him. She was only helping him.

Together, they had found a group therapy program for him. It was ran by a man who had gotten his psychology degree a few years before, but had struggled with addiction for most of his life. That was the first step, a step Aegon felt proud he had taken once he realized he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

The next step, he decided on by himself. The group program was all well and good, but he felt a need to find a deeper explanation into himself. Once a week he found himself sitting in a therapist’s office, talking about everything and nothing all at once. They spoke about his family, his self imposed isolation from them and how that lead to them cutting off, his hopes and dreams for the future.

Through this, he found out about opportunities for volunteer work in the community. He realized he quite liked working at the local secondhand store that helped people in need. He even brought her with him on the Saturdays he worked a shift, turning it into something they enjoyed together.

Even at work, he began reaching out more. If the opposite of addiction was connection, then by the gods he was going to make connections. His coworkers were enough to give him a good laugh. All of them were extremely proud of the progress he made, always encouraging him. He found that little bit alone made it easier for him to be more himself. In the conversations he was able to have with his coworkers, he talked about shows, movies, and music he liked and became friends with a few of them.

It was with this progress, along with the support Y/N provided, that Aegon found himself at the door of his family’s estate. He hadn’t been here in years. He knew all of his younger siblings still lived here. Helaena’s bright yellow VW Beetle sat parked in the driveway, Aemond’s motorcycle probably laid in parts in the garage, and Daeron had always been more content taking a town car than actually driving himself anywhere.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Y/N told him as she held his hand tightly. He had asked her to come with him so she could at least meet them. They needed to see how he had changed.

“I do have to. If for no other reason than to show them I’m not who they remember me to be,” he told her.

“Did you talk to Dr. Wilson about this? I mean, I just, I don’t want you to,” she said, trying desperately to find the right words. He silenced her with a kiss to her forehead.

“And I love you for it,” he said to her, holding her hand as tightly as she held his. “I’m okay with whatever happens in there.”

He knocked hard on the door. It wasn’t long before his mother answered. The ever looming presence of Alicent Hightower, never Targaryen, filled the entire space of the door frame. Her auburn curls were tied neatly back into a bun, her brown eyes widened in surprise.

The woman before him, despite being in her forties, showed no true signs of aging. There were no gray hairs scattered around her head, no fine lines or wrinkles. The only indication of a less than flawless appearance were the almost invisible lines that came from the outer corners of her eyes, put there by the fact that just like Aegon, her eyes would always squint up whenever she smiled.

“Aegon,” she said quietly. She looked at him like she saw a ghost.

“Hi, mom. Can we come in?” he asked her, biting his lip. Y/N gave his hand a small squeeze as if to remind him she was with him. He had her support every step of the way.

Alicent nodded silently and stepped to the side, allowing them entrance. The house was the same as the last time he was here. All of the old family photos hung on the walls of the hallway to the living room. The air smelled of cedar wood and spiced apples, giving it the perpetual scent of fall. It was warm and inviting, the plush couch so comfortable beneath him it was almost indicative of how much money his mother spent on it.

In a lot of ways, the house felt like his family. It was the epitome of warmth and love on first glance. When you looked closer, you could see how some of the picture frames were void of glass, having been broken in one family argument or another. There was a coat the hung on the same rack, day in and day out, hiding the hole where his head went through the wall in a drunken stupor. The paint on the walls were beginning to chip away, revealing the yellowing walls that proved how much his dad had liked to smoke. It was haunted, irreversibly scarred by the past.

A maid came around and asked the three of them if they wanted a drink. Alicent requested a glass of wine. Aegon noticed how surprised she looked when he just asked for a soda, like Y/N was having. He also noticed how she kept looking at his hand that held Y/N’s.

“And who is this?” She asked, nodding her head to Y/N.

“This is the woman I’m going to marry, Y/N,” he said confidently.

They hadn’t spoken about it, there wasn’t a ring on her finger. But he had no doubt in his mind that he would marry her. He was certain that she was who he was made for. The gods had her in mind when they designed him, knowing how much he would love her. She truly was his soulmate.

“And so you came to show her how terrible we all are?” she asked him, eyebrow raised. “Or did you come for money? Because you’re not getting a dime.”

“Neither,” he said firmly. “I just wanted you to see me, mom. I wanted to see you.”

She was surprised at his words. The last time he had spoken to her, he had been begging for money. Crying, begging. When she refused, trying to help him in the best way she knew how, he screamed at her about all of her faults. The last words he spoke to her was how he could only hope that he had the courage to kill himself before he turned into her.

“I’m sorry for…for everything,” he told her. “It wasn’t fair of me to blame everything on you.” Y/N squeezed his hand again. He looked down at their hands and he knew he was okay. He would be okay. “I’m like, eight months sober from everything. Not a drop of booze, no drugs. I have a full time job, I volunteer on the weekends at a secondhand store. I’m doing good, mom.”

Tears flooded to her eyes as she looked at him. Her oldest son, the first person she ever truly loved in a selfless manner. She had thought he was completely lost to her. The vicious creature he had been when they last saw each other had melted away entirely.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked him. He could only wordlessly nod, allowing her the time to stand from her chair and walk over to him. She hugged him tighter than she ever had.

He looked over Alicent’s shoulder at Y/N. The woman he loved was watching him with tears of her own, a smile on his face. She was good, too good, for him. She had opened his eyes to a reality he had been scared to face. But she had never once made him face it alone.

And that made all the difference.

[glitchy-creations]

Update of this post!

I did all of the sketches for the character pairings I wanted to do for this ship dynamic and decided that I wanted to colour this one first! This one is with my Telemachus design and my oc Pyrrha!

I’m going to include more info about Pyrrha under the cut because it’s gonna be a lot and I don’t want to obscure y’all’s scrolling 👍🏻

Pyrrha info

To start, Pyrrha’s “original” name was also Ambrosia (I liked the irony of a demigod child of Hades having a name that mean “immortality”), I have since given her the nickname Pyrrha (based off her hair colour lol) to help differentiate her from my goddess oc of the name name!

Pyrrha originally started as a Percy Jackson oc from like my middle school days. Every now and again I allow myself one “Mary Sue” type character, and Pyrrha was that character for PJO. I have a hand full of other OC’s and Pyrrha is literally the only one who’s a child of the big three, I don’t even have a Roman demigod who’s one of the big three. Pyrrha was pretty much just an amalgamation of things i thought were cool about the universe; so she’s a demigod child of Hades and is a Hunter of Artemis who’s lived a rather long life. I was still wanting to keep close to canon lore as well even back then, so she’s always been way older than the other characters to adhere to the fact that Hades never broke the pact he made with his brothers about not having more demigod kids after WW2. She has since grown to be a more “Greek mythology media in general” oc like Ambrosia. With that in mind, her lore does tend to change based off the lore of whatever media she’s in!

Her General Lore;

In the past two years I think, I’ve decided that she’s originally from Ancient Greece, Sparta specifically.

Her mother was a mortal and came from a well off family though was a very independent woman. She was a “follows the beat of her own drum” kind of person.

While she never seemed interested in marriage (she actually never married) she was someone who valued fidelity. She was quite upset with Hades when she discovered that he was married while he was seeing her and was very sympathetic towards Persephone.

Despite that, she did love Pyrrha very much and the two were close when Pyrrha was young.

Pyrrha’s mother did, however, die when Pyrrha was young. She didn’t know her father outside of the stories of the gods and her maternal grandfather was always busy so Pyrrha grew up a very isolated and lonely childhood.

Pyrrha did seem to inherit her mother’s independence so she never seems bothered by the loneliness. She would usually keep to herself and entertain herself by learning to hunt and use a bow.

Pyrrha would later be sent to train under Chiron. I haven’t decided how this came to be, but I’d probably go with the idea that Hades had a hand in it. Maybe he saw her talent in archery and thought Chiron could help train her, or maybe he thought Chiron would offer a more stable, fatherly role for her.

She thrived under Chiron’s guidance and would excel in almost anything she did. Chiron would become a fatherly figure to Pyrrha and he was the one who gave her the nickname “Pyrrha” in the first place.

Note: I personally like this Reddit comment when I come to estimates ages of the characters in the Iliad so it’s what I have roughly based Pyrrha’s age on! She’s roughly three years younger than Odysseus.

Pyrrha met a young Achilles while with Chiron. She’s roughly eight years older than Achilles so ngl she thought he was a little bit of a brat (I like the idea of little Achilles having a little bit of an inflated ego because he’s a demigod, had a prophecy about him, or a little bit of both lol). The battiness did mellow out over the years 👍🏻

Despite their little “rivalry”, Pyrrha did see Achilles as something of a little brother for lack of a better word. She did care for him, he just annoyed her more often than not 😅

This is a common occurrence with Pyrrha mostly because she didn’t have a strong family unit before Chiron. She tends to apply familial titles to the people she’s close to and care for.

Pyrrha would train with Chiron for most of her early life, though she would occasionally travel if the urge struck her. This was especially common in her later teen years. She would occasionally travel to Ithaca or other closer city-states.

She met a younger Odysseus a couple of times when she would visit Ithaca, but they weren’t like best friends. It was more like “oh, there’s that quiet girl who’s surprisingly good with a bow who I bump into every once in a while.”

When Pyrrha was roughly 22 she tried twice to join the Trojan War. It was more out of a desire to bring Helen back home to Sparta than for glory or anything. She may not have lived in Sparta for many years, but there was still some loyalty there. Of course she was denied both times primarily because of her gender.

She met Artemis sometime after (perhaps a year or two later when Artemis was not helping Apollo and Troy) and devoted herself to Artemis (the nature of how the hunt works varies depending on the media). I should probably mention that Pyrrha is aroace, so she also has no desire to marry or have any sort of romantic/sexual relationship with anyone.

As I mentioned in the second image, Pyrrha met Telemachus when he was 10. I imagine he was like the embodiment of child like curiosity so when he saw this strange woman with red hair and a bow walking around Ithaca’s marketplace, he just sort of started following her (Telemachus honey….no…)

Long story short, Telemachus ended up growing on Pyrrha and she sort of just started teaching him archery. Of course Penelope knew what was going on (Pyrrha promptly brought back little Telemachus home when she realised she was being followed) and was okay with it as long as Telemachus wasn’t getting in trouble.

Again, as I mentioned in the second image, Pyrrha and Telemachus started to form a “mentor-student” type relationship over the next ten years. He was also the one to decide first that Pyrrha was kind of like a big sister or an aunt figure to him. She also had a very good relationship with Penelope.

Once Odysseus returned to Ithaca Pyrrha would become closer to Odysseus as well. It definitely would prompt her to visit more often.

Everything after that is kind of dependent on what media she’s being included in.

Lore that’s subject to change:

The nature of Artemis and her Hunt is one thing that’s subject to change. This also ties into Pyrrha and her apparent eternal youth or “immortality”.

I think most are familiar with how the hunt works in PJO; young women vow themselves to Artemis, reject romance in all forms, and are given semi-immortality as long as they keep their vows and aren’t killed in battle. As Pyrrha was originally a PJO oc, this was the original reason for her young appearance.

Outside of PJO, I generally think of the hunt as it was depicted in mythology. I think this Reddit post does a good job at kind of summarising/explaining the hunt in mythology. Pyrrha would absolutely devote herself to Artemis for life given she is aroace, it wouldn’t be a big life altering decision for her and would probably provide her another sense of community or familial support in her mind (she would see the other hunters as her sisters as they are sister in arms so to speak.)

This would then bring her semi-immortality into question. I feel like it would probably depend on the media’s lore, or it just wouldn’t be questioned. Perhaps Artemis gave it to her as a gift as she had sworn herself to Artemis for life. Perhaps she’s garnered the favour of another god or maybe her father had something to do with it. Idk, I kind of don’t want to make it too specific to where it can’t be a flexible detail.

Even her demigod status is something that is (very rarely) subject to change. This is mainly in reference to Blood of Zeus and maybe the Hades games when it comes to how/when she was conceived. I’m not sure if either media grants Artemis any kind of group of hunters (BoZ definitely hasn’t shown any evidence of one, though Artemis hasn’t been shown as a main focal character…yet).

This prompted a little discussion with me and a friend where I mentioned that if she was given god status at any point, she’d probably be a goddess of kinship; particularly if non blood related kinship. Obviously, this would be because she had a tendency to form familial bonds with close friends as such.

This point, however, hasn’t been fully fleshed out. BoZ hasn’t really explored the idea of a mortal becoming a god (not sure if it will be touched on in future season) and I’m not super familiar with the detailed lore of the Hades games. My biggest concern is keeping Pyrrha’s lore as close to the media’s canon lore as I can which is why these are flexible detail points.

I think that’s all I have for now! If you made it to the end, thanks for taking the time to at least skim my ramblings lol. I don’t want this to get any longer than it is, so if anyone has any suggestions feel free to ask me!

Also Pyrrha and her lore is not meant to be taken seriously as a part of actual Greek mythology. I have tried to keep as close to mythology as I can while having creative liberties for my of and her “universe”, obviously she’s not a real mythological figure and shouldn’t be treated as such! She was made just for fun! 💕

[thewriteone]

High Water

a/n: Sort of a part two to Hell. You don't have to read that to understand this.

Another piece of fanfiction for The Lonely Shore (@thelonelyshore-if). Please go check out the demo if you haven't already, it's amazing. You won't know what's going on in this fic if you don't, since it's. Y'know. Based on that.

This is the point where I move on from speculating about canon events and swerve into the unholy amalgamation of personal headcanon and whatever I make up because I think it makes for a good story. Kind of like an unsteady house of cards built on the table of canon. Or an AU.

Written from Willow's perspective. MC is not named, but is genderqueer (she/he/they pronouns). Who doesn't love a family reunion!

Word count: 1109

cw: cussing

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

It took an entire month of waiting before Willow could perform the ritual again. They hated it. Every minute, every second they were forced to spend waiting for the full moon to rise again was agony. It was then that they decided any magic that depended on moon phases was stupid, actually, and there should be an easier method to get what they want. …it was still kinda cool, though.

There was only one person in the world that Willow was willing to go through this for, and she was damn lucky for it. Their one and only older sibling, the person they were always reaching toward. The flame to Willow's moth. Oh, and how it burned each time they wondered if he loved them even half as much. They shook those thoughts from their head. Now was not the time.

Clouds rumbled overhead. It was a lucky break that a storm was brewing on the night of the full moon. Just like last time. They couldn't be sure what part of the interrupted ritual had led to their sibling being whisked away, so it was important to match every detail possible. As soon as the clock ticked over, they began.

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

Willow finally managed to drag themself ashore, dripping with unhappiness and lake water. The only thing keeping their mood from souring completely was the fact that it had worked. This was not their lake. Willow took a moment to wring out their clothing—based on what they knew about this side of the lake, the chances of their sibling disappearing on them was slim to none—before marching in the direction they were sure led to town.

Thankfully, they didn't have to go very far. While the fog obscuring their path wasn't thick, it still would've hindered them. They stopped in their tracks as a truck frantically pulled to a stop nearby, watching as who else but their beloved sibling burst forth from the passenger door. They scooped Willow up in a tight embrace.

"Oh my god, Willow, what are you doing here? How did you get here? Are you alright?" Willow relaxed in their sibling's arms, squeezing her back with the same fervor, and they couldn't help but laugh at her rapid-fire questions. Him worrying over them felt…reassuring.

"I should be asking you that! You've been missing for a month, you know." They pulled away and swatted Willow's shoulder.

"And just whose fault is that? This is the shit that happens when you go around doing wild and crazy magic without telling people!" Willow frowned briefly at her statement before smoothing their expression and shrugging. His tone had been light, but the note of accusation still stung.

"Technically yours for interrupting the ritual. And telling you wouldn't've helped. It's not like you would've believed me anyway." Their gaze drifted back to the vehicle now parked nearby, noticing their sibling did not arrive alone. A black woman with long braids and a gangly man with rectangular glasses stood next to the vehicle watching the family reunion happening before their eyes. The woman tried not to stare, glancing over at her companion from time to time, but the man scrutinized Willow with a piercing, near-black gaze. Like someone studying a bug under a microscope. They shuddered. Something about this guy was definitely off. They turned their focus back to their sibling.

"How is it my fault when I didn't even know what was going on? You could've at least told me something."

"Oh, yeah, because that would have gone over well! 'Don't worry, I'm just performing a magic ritual I've been researching. I know it will look concerning, but I promise I've got things handled.'"

"It would've been better than what actually happened! I had to watch my little sibling casually go for a stroll on the lake, before popping in for a dip. During a storm! Of course I jumped in!"

"You should've just trusted me! I'm not a helpless child! I knew what I was doing!"

"As entertaining as this has been, I don't think this is the best time or place for this argument," the man from earlier spoke up. His gaze was firmly set on the angry, dark rain clouds gathered overhead.

"Ravi's right. We should head back," the woman added in her two cents. Her voice softened as she spoke again. "I know your emotions are running high considering it's been a month since you last saw one another, but maybe it's best to revisit this conversation at a later time and with a clearer head." Willow glared at her. How dare this stranger act like she knew what was best for the two of them. Their sibling, however, felt differently.

"Jay's right," they started after taking a deep breath, running hand through their hair. "There's no use in arguing about this right now. Let's talk about this later, once we've calmed down." Willow deflated. They might be upset with her right now, but they still trusted her judgement. The two of them would just have to discuss it later. They huffed as their sibling introduced Ravi and Jay, greeting them mechanically. There was something about Ravi they really didn't like, his hand cold as they shook it. Jay seemed fine. Their sibling liked her, at least.

Out of all the things Willow had expected, an argument was not one of them. Feeling frustratingly like a scolded child, they buckled their seat belt and considered how best to reconcile while still getting him to see their perspective. They would fix it. They always have. Willow just had their work cut out for them, that's all.

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

Bonus: Alternate Ending

"How is it my fault when I didn't even know what was going on? You could've at least—y'know what, that doesn't matter right now. Willow, you knew about this place, at least more than I did. Why the fuck did you come here?"

"What, I can't be worried about my one and only big sibling?" Willow scoffed, watching as their sibling's expression softened.

"You're as reckless as always." He shook his head at them fondly. "Now we're both stuck here."

"For now." Confidence rolled off of them, almost as semi-tangible as the fog that was present. "And at least we're together."

Their sibling wrapped them in another hug, less frantic but no less loving than the last.

"C'mon," They said, pulling away to lead Willow toward the truck. "Let me introduce you to a few of my friends." Willow politely greeted her friends, and though they definitely didn't trust Ravi, they felt light. Here in this moment, with their sibling by their side, all was right once more.

[uchu-no-bashira]

The Cookout - Gyomei Head!Canon w/OC!Kiana

Authors note: This was a very self-indulgent Head canon that got waaay too long and was too much fun for me. The scenarios could have gone on and on, but I had to stop eventually lmfao. Enjoy, or don't. i know I did! LMFAO. Head Canon beneath the cut.

When they got married, Gyomei had no idea how different his life would be. That isn’t to say that it was in a negative way, but it was definitely something that he wasn’t used to. Needless to say, he was apprehensive about the four day stay at Kiana’s family home; they wanted to celebrate, with a cook-out, of course.

“Is… He crying?” Kiana’s sister would ask when he’s introduced, his prayer beads tightened in one hand while Kiana grips his other hand.

“He is! He’s tearful and sensitive in the best way.” She says, the smile on her face was so large that Gyomei could see it. But something about that grip on his hand, and the happiness in her words, made meeting her family a little more comforting.

Gyomei’s heart crumbles to bits when he feels a firm hand palm his bicep - he could tell from the imperishable grip that it had to be the hand of a father, or at least a very protective older brother.

He wasn’t expecting his height to be so cherished, loved, and made fun of all at the same time. It was a strange experience.

“Damn, Gyomei!"

He's startled when he bumps into a smaller body while walking through the door.

"You know ya ass can’t fit through the door with me!” Kiana’s sibling would giggle before immediately turning to him with a hand on his forearm and stating, “Just playin’.”

Gyomei was absolutely shocked when he was greeted warmly by everyone in the house when he walked in. Normally, it’s a pretty casual thing to say “I’m back” and receive a “Welcome back.” But Kiana’s family was different…

“Tadaima… Ah.” He remembers that none of them speak Japanese, and tears up.

Okaerimas!!” Kiana would shout, causing a few glances from the family.

Imagine his surprise when they took an interest in his language because of that one interaction.

Gyomei wasn’t expecting to feel so welcomed by a group of people that didn’t share the same culture as him. Even more shocked when they all tried to learn things to accommodate him. It was very polite.

Gyomei’s favorite thing is family functions. Something about his Kiana and her family getting together brought him a sense of joy.

“Who this lil’ Asian boy?~” Kiana’s grandma would ask with a lifted brow.

“Nana, this is my husband and his name is Gyomei..” Kiana would respond - respectfully of course. She ain't wanna get slapped in the mouth. Gyomei could sense that this woman was the progenitor, and that title held much weight. Silence was his only option.

“Ooookayy!~ He cute! Tall too! Mhm, and strong! You hit the lottery with this one!! Back in my day he coulda been used to hoe an acre-long field!....” She continues, causing an apologetic Kiana to whisper ‘I’m so sorry, honey.’

Gyomei couldn’t forget the way he was brought to life by the scent of food alone in the mornings. He’d never smelled such a combination of things…

“What are those, love?” He’d ask curiously, mouth practically watering.

“I’ll feed it to you and let you figure it out~” Kiana would whisper - poorly.

“AWWWWWWWW!~”

Gyomei never knew that biscuits and gravy could go so well together, or fish and grits, or chicken and waffles, watermelon with salt or sugar. What a variety of odd combinations to make an amalgamation of wonderful flavors.

“You eat like this at home, Gyo?” Nana would ask, giving him his nth serving of whatever it was he was eating.

“Mm-mm.” He responds, steadily placing more food in his mouth with more grace than anyone else, struggling to keep his demeanor calm as he tries not to shovel food in his mouth like Kiana.

“Kiana! Start feedin’ that baby! He can’t live off scraps!” She scolds with her hands on her hips, brow furrowed and lips curled.

From that point on, every other Sunday, Gyomei would perk up - anticipating his return to a family that showed him hospitality on a level he thought comfortable and familial.

“It’s nice being invited to the cook-out, ain't it babe?

With a blush, Gyomei nods once. He understood that being invited to "The cookout" was more than just the bringing of good food. It was the integration of him into a family that wanted him there.

[matsukaah]

•KimetsuOlymp AU

After so long cooking, here is my dish delivered to you. This is an AU (alternative universe) involving the Greek mythology of Olympus. I will remind you that the relationships between characters do not follow those of the gods of mythology 🤏🤓

I really liked it, it was fun and I hope it's to your liking, any mistake, spelling or coherence, I apologize ‼️

Maybe I'll write something about it, I just need time, I'm a born procrastinator

●How was it conceived? (and how he is Ume's brother)

(Purahahime is a name invented to refer to Gyutaro and Ume's mother)

The Purahahime was a woman of low status on Olympus, she could live her life without worries, but she craved too much to be praised by a good-looking God. She wanted to impress him anyway, she was nothing extraordinary, so she decided to have a child, even if it wasn't his, if it was strong enough it would definitely attract attention, that all the deities would know its name. She tried several times before Gyutaro began to be prepared, in better words, cursed, with the most diverse plagues so that his abilities would go to the limit, without thinking about what his body would end up looking like. The result of the various experiments, it was already a miracle that he was able to be born, but his appearance was deplorable, like a dark and soft amalgam.

Purahahime didn't see the value in him, she considered killing him, but he was too strong for her unhappiness (or happiness?). Not ending his life proved advantageous, as it worked, the man believed that the reason for Gyutaro's strength was his mother's womb, even if it was grotesque. Thus, Ume was conceived, unfortunately unlike her brother she was born stunning, even as a child deities stopped their work to appreciate her, but she was weak compared to her brother, which angered her parents, neglecting them both.

Eventually Purahahime was killed by the man she loved, he believed he had been tricked into blaming her for his daughter's weakness. Currently he has found other women, not bothering to look at any of the children. Gyutaro initially felt envious, surely if he had that smooth skin or that white hair he would be congratulated just for being born. But she won his heart, since they share the same cruel blue eyes (Gyutaro has them, but normally keeps his haunting eyes, with yellow sclera and green irises with red interior), they are miserable, just like her and him, so that he decided to take care of her.

•What type of role does he perform?

Gyutaro is the God of iron, he would be perfect for a guard due to his strength, but he preferred it this way. Being the most skilled craftsman Olympus has ever seen, his story of suffering, humiliation and hard work teaches that not all Greek gods had that gentle life on Olympus.

●What is his relationship with the others on Olympus?

He detests several people, especially Tengen, the God of wine and parties, he continually throws his festivities that for Gyutaro feel like the ground is shaking, his sensitive ears making his head pound in pain, making it impossible for him to work. Also due to envy, he is always surrounded by his three wives in addition to the countless number of nymphs and goddesses who aspire to the position of “wife number four”, in his words.

Tanjiro, the son of the Sun, just how he screams irritates him a lot, but he doesn't hate him, it's just unpleasant how he always manages to break the divine artifacts that Gyutaro prepares with so much care, the way Tanjiro is always friendly and always smiling is intimidating too , his eyes seem to stare into Gyutaro's soul, he would destroy him if Tanjiro's younger sister wasn't Ume's close friend.

Ume, she uses the pseudonym of several names, but Daki is the most used, she is considered the concept of beauty. Gyutaro loves his sister, but he can't help but think that she was drawn with care by the gods and looks like he was a sketch made by a boar with a brush in his hand. Raising her was a difficult task, but he made sure she lacked nothing, if she felt hungry, would he hunt, new clothes? he steals and sews until she feels satisfied. Even when she blossomed into the beautiful flower she is, she never left her brother out of her life, insisting that he accompany her to parties and speaking highly of him to everyone he interacts with, even if he feels anxious about the attention she brings. , usually hiding on benches behind the pillars, just enjoying wine.

Obanai and Mitsuri, they are always together since they date. Gyutaro likes Obanai, his hair full of snakes managed to make them identify with each other, in addition to the various types of exotic requests he makes, such as pure pure ornaments for his loved one. Mtsuri talks to him when Gyutaro visits Obanai, sometimes trying to marry him, which doesn't work, to the point where he started to reject her, but appreciates her good intentions.

He has some other relationships, but he doesn't keep in touch with them, as he doesn't usually leave his work area, which is also his home.

●How does his body work?

It seems difficult, but the parts harmonize complicatedly, curved horns like those of a buffalo, to protect its bat ears, which are super sensitive to sounds, but this makes its head weigh too much, having to cut them frequently until they grow back to the point of bothering him.

His ears accurately hear everything around him, especially the tinkling of metal, knowing whether or not it is of good quality, he has learned to recognize the sound of people and other creatures and differentiate them. Sometimes they turn them down to muffle the sound, partially working.

His eyes have this monstrous tone, despite having them normal, blue and white sclerae, but they are sensitive and do not see in the dark as he likes, his usual green and red eyes imitate those of reptiles and cats, he hates light, he feels like he is going go blind if you stay in the sun.

Legs are heavy, being mixtures of several types of animals, being fast and strong, but heavy, he avoids moving, as it leaves him exhausted and sore.

An amusing detail is that because of this large amount of blood mixture involving bovine animals, when he feels irritated he unconsciously drags his feet on the ground like a bull

He has a small snake tail, Chioi, a black snake with purple eyes, he has deceptive abilities, disturbing the senses of anyone who looks at him, he loves to pretend to have five heads like a hydra, people's look of terror makes them both laugh.

His blood has a corrosive poison, protect yourself under your fingernails, but if his blood is ingested it will have the same effect.

Gyutaro has a deformed body from birth, but he eats little of everything his body needs, leaving him weak. However, he eats “enough” to stay upright and working.

It's the same things said above, but in image form, I thought it was super cute and decided to keep it🫡‼️

and of course, my oc Matsu no au, they are my babies‼️‼️‼️

[aheathen-conceivably]

Ok so I read the post on your thoughts on Gio and the American Dream and I hate to say it … as an immigrant, I understand him.

I also come from a culture where women tend to their male partner's needs and I don't believe he wants to turn Jo into a subservient wife. He fell in love with a lively, free, and wild Jo and loves that aspect of her.

At the end of the day she loves him too so why would she leave? I understand she doesn't like to be dependent of him but where else would she go? There are no parties or glamour, which was her whole thing, anymore. At least the farm offers stability in the economic crisis.

Point is, I understand Gio as an immigrant, but don't understand Jo as a woman.

BABES! We’ve got another one…

(As in me being touched and having no other means to say how much I love y’all takes other than to give them a standing ovation in GIF form).

But you know…there’s a whole lot to break down here, friend, especially about Jo. I think you know what that means! Under the cut we go….

First and foremost, I very much appreciate you saying you understand that aspect of Gio. I did in part write him as a commentary on the immigrant experience in America (filtered through his own personality/character of course), and so to know that is relatable means a lot to me. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to tell y’all his journey is far from over, and you can already see the cracks in his outlook beginning to form. Whenever Jo is depressed he says this quite vividly:

Because you are very, very correct. This isn’t about molding Jo into some subservient housewife, or even eroding those exact qualities that he loves in her. This is about Gio attempting to square what he’s been taught/believes will bring his life happiness and meaning with his own experience and emotions. It’s about the myth of the American dream and the perfect housewife and the very real struggle of those things existing as actual, lived realities.

Because at the root of it, Gio is amalgamating an understanding of his own family unit and what he knows he doesn’t want in this country. He has seen another methods of “making it” in America, and so he thinks if only he can make the “right” choices, he can avoid that, and become the respected and happy man that he wants to be.

Now onto Jo, boy oh boy, Jo….

I think one of the core misunderstandings here is that Jo wants stability. This is kind of the crux built into her desire for control and her never-ending failure to achieve it. She wants to control her surroundings, to make sure nothing and no one can hurt her, but she also wants to feel in a way that is hard to find in a stable, heavily domesticated life. On the flip side, despite whatever imaginary dream Gio has, he’s the same way. They both want a life filled with excitement and new experiences, new people and rushes of emotions. This is one of the ways they differ heavily from Antoine and Zelda.

Now on one level, this is simply the way Josephine is. She’s high energy, fun loving, and insatiable. But on a deeper level, this is tied into her experiences not only as a woman, but as a daughter. She has a brief moment of clarity in that last post where she realizes:

Now I have chosen not to go too in-depth on Josephine’s trauma, but you can see her lay out the course of events here and also her deep hesitation to any of it here. Josephine is still only a teenager in that second post. Her mother not only told her things like that (“this is the weight that prejudice and expectation have placed upon us”) but also “what do you want to be then? Some glorified maid to a man?” (Which, frankly, I can write another Ted Talk about the juxtaposition here, but I think ya'll can pull some threads).

So when you see Josephine’s struggle with control, this is heavily rooted in bodily autonomy. Now all things considered, Josephine has managed to make great strides toward reclaiming this and reasserting not only her sexuality, but also her sense of self in her body. Gio knows this. We see him recognize and respect it quite clearly in that last post. He’s been part of that process for her, and that only adds another element of love, trust, and safety between them.

But on a fundamental level, neither Gio nor Josephine has made the connection between that trauma, her own personality, and why she hates her life now so much:

Here’s the issue right now: Josephine doesn’t feel like she’s living her own life. We have seen how she would like to live in the 20s not just in the parties and glamour, but when she was managing bands. She wants to be fulfilled professionally, through helping people/places she believes in and bettering her own life by bettering theirs. That’s how she gets her joy, and that’s what she would chose to do if given the chance.

And right now, she does not feel like she gets to chose. You’re correct in that part of that is coming from the current economic situation. Again, she sees that herself here. She knows what demons are waiting outside her window, and how easily poverty can make them rearise. That only makes it worse. It doesn’t make the smell of bread (domestic security) any better or more comforting. It makes it bitter, because she didn’t chose it. She was backed into a corner by circumstance (and, as she can sense, by the choices men made for her without telling her), and now she feels like she can’t say no. That’s her ultimate trigger.

Now whether or not that loss of control is simply perceived, or should be offset by how “lucky” she is to be in a stable position in such precarious economic times, we might all have different options on. Even more, I’m sure each of us would answer differently for ourselves in that situation. I know I would. But for Josephine? Not only is this a life she will never find joy in, because even without her trauma, she is an ambitious, restless, and outgoing person with different goals for herself; but that added memory and pain makes her reaction to it all the more volatile.

Perhaps most importantly, Jo feels as though her life is being controlled again, whether by Gio, the reality of the world outside her window, or by her own guilt/love that makes her feel beholden to the people around her (just like it did to her mother). Because you’re right, she does love him. She wouldn’t leave because she doesn’t. If she leaves now, it would leave because she panicked, because she feels like she’s lost all the autonomy she worked so hard to regain and she’ll never feel the fulfillment she felt when she was successfully independent ever again. That’s the element I hope we can understand, even if it’s not what we would do.

[melsimps]

Love Isn't Always On Time

Chapter 1: It's Not In The Way That Your Love Set Me Free

Peter Maximoff x female!oc (Amber Baudelaire)

Minors DNI, NSFW content below.

This fic has been posted to ao3, but I figured I'd start cross-posting this fic to here lol.

Also, yes, I am working on chapter three of the fic on ao3.

Valentines Day 1992 The day that Quicksilver and Electrum made an amalgam together. Or, Peter Maximoff fucks a random woman in a bar bathroom

February 14th. 1992.

It's a cold, bitter Friday night, valentines day. The clock ticks away, and a certain silver-haired speedster is itching for… something.

He's 35 - almost 36, damnit. And he's… really feeling it. 

Which is why… when so many people he cares about are coupling off and cozying up or… making plans, he's…

…alone. He's seeking answers at the bottom of a beer bottle that he's never gonna get.

He's 35 years old - and he's got… nothing to show for it. I mean, sure he's got his health, and… a killer bod, admittedly. A job he loves? Sure. A… name for himself? Yeah, but…

All of that? It just feels…

…empty.

And yeah, he has his friends, and… his mom and his sisters are great (and he's almost - almost - told Erik that he's his son) - but…

Peter sighs softly, taking another hearty glug of his drink. The bitter taste of beer travels down his throat.

There are times, he'll admit, that… yeah, he wishes he'd settled down. And one of those times is right now, as he thinks about it. What his life would've been like if he'd… found himself a nice girl and had a couple mini mutants of his own… maybe a house and a dog, to go with it…

…that'd be rad…

He finishes off the last dregs of his drink, not even remotely buzzed as he slams down another five dollar bill, telling the bartender to keep the change. 

He needs a change of pace, and hanging around a bar by himself on valentines day certainly isn't the way to go…

Peter stretches as he stands, grabbing the new bottle and making his way over to the pool tables.

Yeah… he could go for a couple solo rounds…

As he sips at his beer, one earbud plugged into his ear while he walks, it seems increasingly obvious to him on this cold Valentine's Day night that even his Walkman - his most prized possession and closest “friend” - is out to get him. 

The lyrics to Toto's “Hold the Line” blare through his skull, half silencing the idle chatter of his fellow bar patrons. 

“It's not in the way you hold me, it's not I the way you say you care”

He scoffs bitterly at that opening Line, knowing fully well that most of the girls on his long laundry list of exes are…

…well, when push came to shove, they… didn't really care.

Crystal got bored of him, and started playing around with anyone that would give her the slightest shred of affection.

Monet said he was too much for her, and that she wanted something stable.

Something that Peter couldn't really do…

…and still can't.

And as he reflects, he realises…

Damn…

Everyone else he'd dated and slept with either only wanted him for a night, or dipped on him after his issues became too much.

…not that Peter blames them, really.

He's… not even his biggest fan at the best of times. 

-

Clack-!

Another ball falls into another pocket. A small smile graces his face at this minute victory…

…and then it leaves just as quickly as he takes everything in. 

He's… the only one there, basically.

Or, well… the only guy by himself at least.

Other patrons are grouped together, huddled like tiny tribes over shared memories and drinks, reminiscing about their lives. 

…and he's an outsider to it all.

A lonely mutant.

The great homo superior…

…all by himself.

Peter shakes his head, trying to push the thought out of his mind.

But he can't.

Not tonight.

Not on a night like this.

The pink paper hearts scattered lazily around the bar make him sick to his stomach. It's Valentine's Day, the one day dedicated to love…

…and he's celebrating it alone. In a dreary bar. Playing pool by himself.

He takes another long chug of his drink, and just starts to position his cue, when-

“...need a partner-?”

He looks up from his shot, and his eyes drag across a sight that…

…is more than welcome on a lonely night like this.

In front of him stands a woman - curvy, soft. Gorgeous, just his type. With messy curls that fall into golden frizzy ringlets and soft pouty lips.

His gaze flows across her body, taking in every inch of plush on her form, admiring the way her clothes hang off the and cling onto her body.

He smirks, shrugging his shoulders as he pulls himself back up to his full height - a little over a foot taller than the woman in front of him.

“Geez, I dunno…” he muses aloud, tapping his chin. “...does a pretty little thing like you really wanna be seen with some big, bad mutie like me?”

The blonde shrugs, a smirk growing on her lips. And he finally takes in her eyes. Gold. Not hazel, not brown. But gold. Properly gold, like melted down metal.

She chuckles.

“Relax, I'm like you, tin man,” she jokes, snapping her fingers -

-and there's a crackle of a spark that flies off of her digits. 

Oh. 

“Electricity?” He asks.

“Static,” she corrects, and he nods.

“Rad…” he whispers back, his smile widening.

“So, what can you do?” She asks, quirking a brow. “You… control… metal or something-?”

“What? Like, Magneto-?” He asks back, a soft smirk on his lips.

The woman nods, her expression intrigued.

She looks… cute, as she looks up at him like that.

Peter shakes his head, chuckling softly. 

“Nah, nothing like that…” he admits.

“Oh yeah-?” She counters. “Then show me…”

And in the blink of an eye, he's behind her, playfully tapping her shoulder, only to return to where he once stood as she turns back.

“I… how'd you do that-?” She asks, tilting her head playfully, dense curls flopping with her movement. “What, you teleport or something?”

He shakes his head.

“Just fast,” Peter promises. 

The woman hums softly.

They're silent for a moment, neither knowing what to say to the other. It's tense, wordlessly awkward agony. 

“So…” she starts, her voice cutting through the quiet. “...you want me to stay?”

…well…

…he certainly wasn't gonna turn down the company…

Peter smirks, tossing her a pool cue.

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”

The woman grabs it, giving him a small grin as they reset the balls in their rack once more. 

“I'm… I'm Peter, by the way,” he adds, giving a slight chuckle. “Maximoff…”

“Amber,” she introduces herself. “Baudelaire.”

And with that, they get to playing. 

They break the pyramid, and soon colours are decided as they talk and ramble to each other over their drinks.

With one shot, he speeds by, potting a ball perfectly… and then the next… and…

“Hey, no fair! No powers!” Amber exclaims, pointing at him accusingly.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at her playfully.

“All's fair in love and war,  Sunshine…” Peter teases, a smirk growing on his lips. 

Amber huffs, her hair frizzing up as static trails across her body. He can't help but chuckle at her cute little pout, and the way she folds her arms across her chest.

“Hey, don't hate the player,” he adds, holding his hands in mock surrender before he picks up his pool cue again. “Hate the…”

She pokes his shoulder, and-

“-damnit-!” Peter groans, missing the shot completely as a static shock courses through him. He frowns, turning back to her.

“No fair…” he points out.

Amber smirks back at him, her arms folded back across her chest once more.

“All's fair in love and war,” she murmurs back, biting her bottom lip. “And hey… Don't hate the player, hate the game…”

Oh.

So that's how it was…

…game on.

-

It all starts out so simply. A little poke here while someone's trying to take a shot. A tap on the shoulder there…

…and before they know it, things start heating up a little.

The first little sign of things getting more… intense between them is the way her hand rests against his chest.

“...Nice shot,” she murmurs breathily, despite her eyes having been nowhere near the pool table in some few minutes.

Peter hums softly, leaning back as she goes to take her own turn. She bends over the table, lining everything up, and-

-his lips press teasingly against her neck.

“Your form is awful, Sunshine…” he teases, nibbling on her earlobe.

She scoffs.

“You show me then…” Amber pouts, stepping back from the table.

“With pleasure…” he chuckles, cracking his knuckles softly and tilting his dead from side to side.

As Peter lines up his own shot, he can't help but smirk as the blonde sneaks behind him.

She must totally be checking him out…

…only, instead, she gives his ass a playful squeeze.

“Fuck-” he groans, missing it wide. He pulls himself back up, pointing at her accusingly. “You're a little brat, aren't you-?” 

Amber gasps, looking at him fake-innocently.

“Me-?” She asks, hand on her heart. “Why-! Mister Maximoff, I am a lady-!”

“-of the night?” He jokes, rolling his eyes.

Amber huffs, swatting his chest back in retaliation.

“-asshole!” She hisses, her cue smacking him this time instead. 

“-Ah!” He yelps, rubbing his chest. “The heck was that for?”

“Excuse you, Maximoff-!” Amber huffs. “I am a lady-!”

She pouts softly, looking up at him with her big, gold eyes. Peter hums, setting his cue down - and she does the same.

“Oh, really?” Peter teases. “A lady, huh? Well, do ladies squeeze random guys asses?”

He smirks. 

“...or is that something that brats do?”

Amber bites her bottom lip.

“...no comment…”

He grips at her hips, making her eyes widen – something awakening in her that she hadn't quite realised until then.

“You gonna stop being such a brat now-?” Peter whispers.

She giggles, hopping up onto the pool table.

“Happily,” Amber murmurs, her lips pressing against his for an eager, messy kiss.

Tongues travel across lips, and into mouths, twirling together teasingly. Hands traverse across bodies, with cues discarded on the table behind them for a moment, lost in the feeling of each other. However, ever the competitive spirit, Peter picks his cue up part way through their kiss. And with one hand on the table (the other woven through Amber's hair), he readies his next move.

Peter groans against her lips, one eye kept open as he tries to make the shot. He aims his cue at the ball, and-

-a gasp is forcibly ripped out of him as her hand slowly trails over his crotch.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Playing dirty, Sunshine?” He mutters, his free hand trailing down to knead at her ass. “Not so lady-like now, are we?

Amber hums softly, kissing him back as she lets out a soft, eager moan.

“Mmm, it is Valentine's Day, after all…” She murmurs back, grasping at him through his t-shirt.

“That it is…” his voice comes out breathlessly as she grasps at his shoulders. He kisses her again. And again. And- “bathroom-?”

Amber nods, looking up at him with a wide grin that is full of bad decisions. Her cheeks burn, lust and alcohol flooding through her veins.

“Bathroom,” she agrees, the taste of whatever sweet concoctions she'd been drinking still on her lips.

They fumble in together and find their way into the bathroom together.

He's already halfway hard, and she's just making him more ready for it. 

He hasn't gotten off with someone in… a while. And… he really needs this. Her. 

Someone… 

…anyone, really. 

It didn't have to be her, but… it was, and he was thankful for it.

She pulls out the headphones from his Walkman. The lyrics to “Poison” by Alice Cooper fill the room. Peter hums softly, pulling away in confusion, his brows furrowed.

“-What the hell are you-?”

“You don't want anyone to know what we're doing… do you-?” Amber murmurs against his neck, between her breathless kisses that leave him shaking.

Peter groans softly, his head swinging from side to side. He stuffs his earbuds back into his pocket, chuckling softly.

“Sunshine, from the way you've been looking at me all night, everyone in this bar knows exactly what we're  doing…” he whispers back, his voice a playful rasp as he slams his lips against hers.

She snakes her arms eagerly around his neck, kissing him back just as hungrily as he kisses her.

This is stupid. It's risky and… and… reckless, and… he really can't think clearly right now…

…but she's not pushing him away. If anything, she's inviting him in.

And she hasn't said anything, hasn't told him to stop, or… put on a condom, or (foolishly) asked him to pull out yet, so…

She wants it.

She wants him.

And he wants her, too. 

Their belts are unbuckled, jeans pushed down, and underwear along with it, lips too lazily stuck together to ever part, minds clouded by lust to do more than just get what they need out.

Peter's cock throbs as it presses against her, pearling and pulsing with need.

“You want it, baby-?” He asks, his forehead resting against hers.

Amber nods, one leg hitched up in his grip.

“...jump, baby…” he murmurs, and she does so, snaking her soft legs around him. 

They kiss once more, stuck together with need, guiding each other to where they're most needed. His tip presses slowly into her eager entrance and she gasps, melting softly at the feeling.

Peter shudders, sliding slowly into her welcoming warmth. He pulls back, eyes half-lidded as he watches how she squirms and shifts with every inch until he hilts himself inside her.

"God, you're so tight, baby," he groans, his voice strained and slurring.  "You feel incredible…”

Amber squeaks, her legs tightening around his waist once he pushes into her.

“Oh, god… Peter-!” She mewls, her face scrunching up tight, expression morphing into one of sheer pleasure.

Peter smirks, watching how her expression changes with every thrust.

“There's my pretty girl…” he groans out, bucking into her tight heat eagerly. With one arm still around her waist, his other dives low in search of her needy pearl. “...and… there it is…”

She gasps, letting out a moan as her thighs squeeze tighter against him. Amber bites her bottom lip, crackles of static falling off of her hands and onto his back.

Peter shudders, picking up his pace. His fingers work their magic, practically vibrating with how fast he rubs at her.

Amber moans wantonly, needily as the music from his Walkman blares around them, a feeble attempt at hiding their lustful acts.

“God, you really fucking need this, don't you-?”

“I… yeah-” Amber whines out, her back arching off the wall, pushing her chest flush against his. 

Her soft face is flushed, features contorting with lust and passion as he pushes her towards her release. She looks like something out of a porno, a wet dream that's come alive just for him. And fuck, is he loving it…

But all the while he bucks into her, he can't help but have a single thought playing through his head: this isn’t real.

This isn't someone he loves.

This isn't some… grand, romantic act. This isn't him making love to his wife (even if he wished it was…).

This is just a quickie.

A… cheap, meaningless fuck in a dive bar bathroom. And it's gonna mean nothing to her come tomorrow…

…but (he rationalises, as he paws at her ass), that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it…

She gasps as his tip bashes against a certain spot, making her curl and squeeze him tighter.

“Ooooh, fuck-!” Amber whines.

“Mmmh-?” Peter murmurs, burying his face into her neck. Experimentally, he repeats the act and she has the same reaction. “You like that, baby-?”

“Yes-!” 

Peter smirks.

“There-?” He asks, pushing against it once more.

She nods, needy tears of pleasure pricking her eyes.

“There-! Right there, right there-!” She squeals, her thighs shaking. “Fuck-right-there-!”

Peter smirks, continuing to bully that spot in particular with his thrusts.

“You got it, Sunshine…” he groans, her tight pussy squeezing him harder.

Amber moans louder, her cunt oozing around his eager, throbbing cock. Her eyes roll back, the pleasure pulling her towards her eventual release.

“Peter-!” Amber whines out, her voice breathless (a fact that Peter is taking a lot of pride in). "I... oh fuck-"

She squeals out, her legs tightening, impossibly moreso, around him as she cums. And she looks so beautiful, squirming and shaking, her face scrunching up tight. Amber trembles in his arms, her soft body going limp from her orgasm.

“Yes-!” Amber cries out, her nails digging into his back. Static keeps crackling off of her, sharply stinging his skin, driving Peter further into her. “Oh, fuck-! Baby!”

Amber keeps moaning for him, and it isn't fair. It feels too good. 

Crazy good.

“God-!” Peter rasps out, gripping her hip tighter as she arches off of the wall.

She's so eager, so responsive for him.

He loves it.

Peter groans softly, his mind a blur as his hips buck rapidly against hers. His tongue lolls lazily out of his mouth. He's panting like a dog, chasing his release like a fox. 

It's so close, so insanely close, he can feel it as he lets out a weak whimper. He can feel Jo's body becoming tight, taut with need.

“Fuck-!” Peter grunts out, her tight walls clasping around him greedily.

Smack smack smack smack smack-!

The sound of skin against skin echoes around the cramped bathroom, but they don't care.

Subtlety was never Peter's thing, anyway…

He's running on instinct, sweat pouring down his body, slicking his silver hair to his face.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck I'm gonna cum-” Peter groans, burying his face into the crook of her neck. And he feels himself fully unloading into her, a soft pant escaping his lips. “Fuuuuck, baby… oh my god-!”

They're both locked together, eyes blazing with need and desire. They take a moment, catching their breaths and letting our soft noises of exertion.

Peter pants shakily, pulling slowly out of her. His eyes drift down, and are immediately glued to her gaping, dripping pussy. His lips part softly, chest heaving as he takes in how his cum dribbles out of her.

Amber's feet land on the floor with a gentle thump.

“...careful,” he chuckles, helping her steady herself.

Amber giggles softly, shaking her head.

Wordlessly, the two of them fix their messed up clothes, neither sure of what to say as their bodies come down from the intensity of their releases.

As he fixes his belt, Peter stuffs his hand into his back pocket, trying to make sure his wallet hasn't fallen out.

“That'll be $10.76,” Amber says, stretching her hands above her head so her midriff shows off.

Peter blinks, staring back up at her.

“...what-?” 

“Kidding!” Amber snorts, shaking her head. “Relax, I'm not a… I'm not…”

She sighs, folding her arms across her chest. Peter chuckles softly, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Shame…” he admits, glancing through his wallet. “...because if you were a… y'know, and you did charge that much? You'd be underselling yourself, like… crazy!”

Amber giggles, biting her bottom lip at him.

“Thanks…” she whispers, her eyes glued to his.

Peter grabs something from one of the pockets on his wallet. A small white business card.

Amber's face scrunches up, glancing at the piece of card between his fingers.

“What's with the-?”

“Here.”

He slides the card into her hand, giving her a soft smile.

“I work at… at, like… a school for, y'know… people like us…”

Amber nods, her lips forming a soft circle in realisation.

“If… you ever need to reach out,” he explains. “I… just ask for Coach Maximoff, and…”

“I get it,” Amber promises, giving him a soft chuckle. 

“-unless that isn't… what you… want…” he adds, an awkward grin on his face.

She smiles at him, turning the card over in her hands.

“Thanks,” Amber chuckles, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. 

And after a few more moments of polite small-talk as they exit the bathroom together, the two of them part ways - with Peter regretting his decision to speed off back to Westchester the second he steps out of the bar.

[the-everqueen]

Wondering your thoughts on something I’ve noticed a lot in the Sandman fandom - namely, that every fanart or fanfic involving Daniel (based on the show!!) always portrays/describes him as white, despite the fact that show!Danny’s dad is a black man…

i think there's a few factors at work. first (and foremost) people trying to incorporate bits of the comix in the absence of "official" casting (almost every fanart and a lot of fanfics defaulted to Destruction as a white, red-haired man before the actor was announced). Danny in the comix is a blonde baby and then a sort of...ghostly amalgam of a young man who never existed and Morpheus as we knew him (disheveled hair, gaunt figure, sharp cheekbones, dark eyes). what would that look like in the show? i don't know! i'm hoping there's at least a nod to Daniel's human parentage (he's blonde in the comix BECAUSE he's Lyta Hall's son, and in the comix she's blonde), but i think there are a few ways that it could be cast. Danny!Dream as mixed, light-skinned, and/or racially ambiguous could be both really tragic and really compelling: the erasure of where he came from as metaphor for his personal losses (of family, of childhood, of "personhood" in a human sense), and the insistence on some reminder of his parents, his past, as a counter to his "function." i'd love to see that explored in fic! (as someone who also defaults to comix!Daniel - though there IS a reasoning behind this choice in the LA guard dog universe and non-Dreaming aus.)

at the same time, i think it's partially a function of fans getting attached to Tom Sturridge's portrayal of Dream. when s1 came out, i saw some discourse circulating about how already people weren't ready to "lose" him (and i think some of this filtered into the whole "retired" Dream headcanons, though that's another discussion). and i get that if someone else is cast as Danny, there's going to be a...reaction to both the actor figured as a "replacement" for Tom and the character as a "replacement" for the Dream that fans became attached to. which then becomes a possible burden on the actor. Rose's actor, Vanesu Samunyai, got significant backlash for being a Black woman to play a character who was white and blonde in the comix, and i could see that kind of racism seeping into people's reactions to Daniel. (also a fan grief/sadness at the tragic ending used as a "justification" for racism.) it's not clear to me how much support nonwhite actors like Vanesu get when they're cast in these roles where fans might "expect" a white actor. (like...Riordan told Leah Jeffries in the new PJO series not to listen to the haters because he chose her, which is great and all, but...is production working to ensure that she has someone she can safely process her experiences with, is she given reasonable accommodations, is someone else moderating her socials so she doesn't have to deal with trolls?) so that's another consideration.

(obviously the "solution" isn't to never cast nonwhite actors, but there's been an increase in "diverse representation" in media without a discussion of how these predominantly white spaces have material impact on nonwhite creatives.)

last thing is just that i've noticed the sandman fandom generally seems...more reluctant to engage in alt. casting than say, musical theater fandoms, where there's an expectation that the principal actor won't always be in a role or present when you witness the performance. there's this automatic turn toward finding someone who fits, for example, Delirium from the comix in the absence of an official show casting, rather than playing around with the uncertainty. (personally i'm out here championing Bailey Bass as my Delirium face cast, and tbh if they cast the rest of the Endless sibs as white, she and Stephanie Hsu will remain my primary Del references.) which i think is common in fandoms that rely on a visual "text" for reference, and even more so for Neilman tv fandoms, where fans seem to want/expect "word of god" affirmation. again, another discussion, but i'll just say for now i think the fandom suffers for it.

[sad-sapphic-sisyphus]

I am Sisyphus

Occasionally I wish I could cleave out my heart and see why it still beats for her. I’m in love with a wisp of a woman and as an idealist I refuse to give up hope that not only will we end up in a relationship but that she truely likes me back.

It doesn’t even have to be as much as I love her, but I’d drive myself nuts asking what’s wrong with me if she doesn’t, rather than ever confront the idea that we aren’t meant to be.

I am an amalgamation of love and loss and hurt. And I’m still not learning the world doesn’t love as much as I do because I want to believe it can, I will continue to throw myself at the brick and mortar surrounding her heart and not even flinch at the bruises and cuts it cause me because I LOVE, fiercely; and maybe that’s what love is. Because if grief is just love persevering then loving must just be grieving what’s to come.

And I do nothing if not grieve.

If loving someone is never wrong than why does it hurt so fucking much when you love openly and are just greeted with open blank air; nothing that is openly abrasive but there’s only so much space you can give someone before they disappear from your line of sight.

The worst thing is I know this but if she asked me out tomorrow I’d probably say yes.

Staring at her is like looking at carrot hanging over my head that I’ve already taken a bite of but I still yearn for the rest of it.

I’m Sisyphus.

I’m Daedalus.

I’m a perpetual motion machine set to break in a few years.

And yet when I stare into her eyes all I feel is love and loss.

Sisyphus.

[notquitejiraiya]

I just finished reading GM from start to finish, couldn't put it down! It's brilliant and I'm so invested in the world you've built. What was your inspiration for it?

Thank you so so much! 🥹 ♥️ Hearing you enjoyed it means the absolute world, thank you! And thanks also for asking about what inspired it — although, be warned: you’ve just opened a can of worms I’m not sure how to re-seal haha.

My inspirations for GM are an amalgamation of things more than I can even begin to put down on paper without writing thousands of words. But I’ll try to be concise, first, and ramble later, to spare you the time.

A very brief overview:

The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

Chess (1984)

Judit Polgár — arguably the strongest female chess player to ever live

Obsession and love, and how perfectly that ties in with sport and competition

the lovely @unioncolours, for a thousand different reasons

If you’d like details, see below. You’ve been warned: it’s long and rambly, but I love my fic and I love to talk about it so… without further ado:

When it comes to the world and time setting of GM, I owe a lot to The Darjeeling Limited. That film inspired me to write Strangers, which in turn inspired me to write GM. When writing Strangers, all I had in mind was that Temari and her husband needed to have a lot of money and be public figures of some kind to fund this trip and fuel Kankuro’s annoyances with her. To fulfil that, it made sense to me for Shikamaru to be a chess player and a very good one at that. I’ve discussed this before, so I’ll link the post where I better explained it, but from then on, it just made sense to me that she was also in the same profession, albeit a different type of player. When I thought of it, I thought of her like Judit Polgár, aggressive and unafraid, groundbreaking and leaps and bounds above all other women at her time.

GM kind of came about because I wanted to reason with myself why Temari was the way she was in Strangers. In that fic, I tried to evenly distribute the focus on all three siblings, but I do feel that more attention went to her brothers than her, especially Kankuro. Strangers gave some indication as to why he didn’t like her then, but not necessarily the other way around, and much of his dislike stemmed from the man who “took her away from him.” So, I started to think about how this woman, who is so stubborn and protective of her brothers, might find herself in this situation in the first place. How did she come to feel so lonely and separate from them? How did she combat that loneliness, if she ever did?

With story itself, I had an endpoint I had to reach. Strangers begins a few years after GM is set, at which point a few details about her life as a chess player were mentioned and both her familial and romantic relationships are firmly established. I set myself two jobs in writing GM: firstly, show how Temari could become the sort of person she is in Strangers; and secondly, show how her relationships with her family, namely Rasa and Kankuro, could reach what they are there.

Suffice it to say, GM is more about her than about ShikaTema, but Shikamaru’s role in her life is intrinsically linked to who she becomes. Shikamaru being a (somewhat forced) rival turned friend to Temari came to me kind of without thought. He is canonically a lot more intelligent, but she is a stubborn fighter, and to play at the top level of any sport, you have to be obsessive.

I myself I’m not a very good chess player, but I've studied them enough to know how desperately they want to win. I know how obsessive one has to be to reach the top of any sport and I found it hard to believe that Temari could be obsessive only about chess — I felt it would dip over into other aspects of her life. If she fell into chess as an escape, it made sense that she would initially find him as one too; she lost herself in a game to avoid what was going on around her as a child, then lost herself in this game she plays with Shikamaru, this constant back-and-forth they find themselves in when chess itself lost its spark for her.

I love stories that explore obsession vs love, and humanising someone who one looks up to. I don’t like to impose themes on things, but I wanted to incorporate that if I could. I wanted Shikamaru to go from this untouchable wunderkind to just any other guy, and one she could genuinely trust and feel safe with in a way she could with very few (if any) other people.

I just saw a comment that you left on the most recent chapter (thank you so so much for your kind words; I appreciate them endlessly) in which you mentioned the musical Chess. It’s been a huge inspiration to me since I first started writing fanfiction altogether, and it definitely inspired the relationship between ShikaTema in this fic. I don’t think there’s a direct comparison to be made of any character or relationship in Chess to any character or relationship in GM (besides the fact I literally named one of the Russians ‘Molokov’), but it’s definitely got a general vibe, if you will.

There are scenes in GM that I wanted to feel like Mountain Duet (one of the most beautiful duets ever, in my opinion) and scenes that I wanted to feel like Argument, and the storyline runs with the same sort of themes as Where I Want To Be and Pity the Child. Pity the Child is a very direct inspiration as I’m sure you can tell if you know the song. The name of this series of fics even comes from that song; it is one of the greatest inspirations for it all.

(If you haven't seen or heard the musical, I recommend both the original and 2008 recordings. I just linked my personal favourite versions. Also this stellar version I found on Youtube this morning.)

Finally, when it comes to how GM is written and its focus being solely on Temari, a lot of the credit has to go to my stunning friend @unioncolours. Bex has written so many wonderful stories, my favourites of which are those that are Temari-centric. I will use this as yet another opportunity to direct everyone towards ‘no one cries for unknown soldiers’ — it is my favourite Shikatema fic ever, and I insist you read it. Reading her stories, especially that one, feels like travelling both through time and space and doing so alongside one particular character has a strength to it that I found phenomenal. I really wanted to do something like that. I never had before. Bex is an inspiration to how I write in so many ways, and so I have her to thank for so much ♥️

I’ll spare you the ins and out of inspiration for names, nationalities and place settings etc unless I’m asked about them directly. Because that would be another essay nobody asked for and this is already way too long.

Anyway, thank you for asking me and for inspiring me to ramble about what’s basically been my baby for the last 2 years. I apologise if this was not what you were after when you asked but… hopefully it still serves as some kind of answer!

Thank you for your time, your kindness, and your support. I hope you have the most spectacular day ♥️

[fushsiaelectrica]

Why The Brain that Wouldn't Die (1962) Is secretly a feminist film

I don’t think The Brain That Wouldn’t Die was intentionally meant to have a feminist message. It was meant to be just another B movie written in an era with many serious biases against women. But it’s the character arch of the titular Brain, Jan. (Or Jan in the Pan as she’s more commonly known.) As well as some well-placed story elements and character choices that give this film a distinct feminist feel. Allowing us to interpret it as such all these decades later.  

For starters, I think the entire concept of a woman's brain alone living on without a body subtly represented how little women were valued for anything outside of their bodies in the 20th century. They were either sex objects or baby-makers. Not only is it stressed over and over how much of monster she is now that she’s just a head.  

“Like all quantities horror has its ultimate, and I am that.” The Brain that wouldn’t die (1962) 

But when her doctor fiancee goes to find her a new body. We see how he lures over the forms of still-living woman like he's shopping for a new car. An example of the male gaze taken to the highest possible extreme. Most of his would-be victims consist of showgirls, beauty pageant contestants, and models.  

He doesn’t care who these women are, and he doesn’t really want Jan back.

He just wants to frankenstein together his version of the “perfect woman”. A quiet, domestic housewife’s brain with a seductress's body.  

But the woman who wanted nothing more than to be his wife is gone. She didn’t die in the crash. She died when she realized she was completely trapped by a man who she thought loved her. (Which eventually might have happened either way) 

Jan is being kept alive against her will. She is horrified with what he’s turned her into and possibly in an insane amount of pain. She wants to die, then repeats it over and over, but her plea falls on deaf ears. He’s a controlling monster who has ignored her will in favor of his own. Once she realizes this there’s a shift in her personality. She goes from terrified and pleading to enraged and vengeful! 

“He had no right to bring me back to this.” The Brain that wouldn’t die (1962) 

She has nobody. So she uses the only thing she has left to fight back, her mind. Her true source of power, quite literally at this point. There’s some kind of creature that’s been locked in the basement with her. An amalgamation of the doctor’s mad experiences with flesh and tissue. Think Reanimator 2 meets Frankenstein. Being hooked up to the same rejuvenation formula has given her a psychic link to the mindless creature allowing her to control it. 

She bides her time with the creature while also trying to manipulate the doctor’s assistant. Trying to get him to turn on the doctor and see him for the monster he is. 

“Him keeping me alive has given me a power he didn’t count on.”  The Brain that wouldn’t die (1962) 

But what I believe truly makes this a feminist piece is how the women always save each other. 

The first woman the doctor goes after is a stripper at a nightclub. She was eager to go with him until a second stripper got between them trying to steal him away. This might have been an act of catty pettiness on the surface. They even end up in a cliche catfight but the woman unknowingly saved her coworker from a murderer.  

His second one is an old former intern. It’s as inappropriate as it sounds. She’s about to drive off with him when another friend of hers walks by and asks to come with her. Another potential witness, putting a kink in his plans and she didn’t even know it.   

His final victim is, perhaps, the most tragic. Doris is an art model whose body is supposedly perfect. But half her face is badly scarred from some horrible assault. She says she hates all men because of it. It’s only when he offers to fix her scar for free that she goes with him. Granted her turnaround time still feels a bit rushed.  

But imagine how much it must have taken for her to learn to trust again. Only for him to drug her. The amount of trauma she must have had to deal with afterward is unimaginable.  

Anyway, it’s when Doris is on the operating table that Jan finally makes her move with the creature! She commands it not only to attack the doctor, but save his would-be victim! The lab catches on fire and she commands it to carry her far away to safety. 

She doesn’t see her as some seductive rival or some sexual deviant getting what’s coming to her like they usually play it in these kinds of films. She sees her as another one of his victims. It might be too late for Jan, but Doris she can save! 

None of the women are shown as deserving of this terrible fate for their promiscuity. 

All the women, no matter who they are and even if they don’t realize it, work together to protect each other. A telling example of how vital it is for women to stick together in a world full of potentially deceptive, dangerous, and controlling men. 

In short, this is a movie about a woman held prisoner by a man. Who uses her mind to take back her power and save another woman from being murdered by her captor. 

They might not have meant it to be. But to me, that’s a pretty solid feminist empowerment flick. Who knows, maybe it was just a happy little accident, or maybe the writers really were aware of what they were doing. It free on a ton of platforms so give it a watch and see what you think for yourself!  

@rhetthammersmith