#i spent far too long changing up the textures in this one

[twinkletalon]

And now the last one, and now whose turn?

[bisexualiteaa]

actually dying for a cooper howard x vaultie!reader smut where they have some slow burn longing steaminess, but coop thinks she’s too good for him UNTIL she comes in contact with a sex pollen-esque chem and he finally gives in to save her 🥵 please work your magic and elaborate however you want

A Flame in Your Heart

Cooper Howard x Fem Reader (SMUT!!)

CW: NSFW like absolutely filthy y’all, you’ve been warned. 💀 unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, p in v, p0rn w/ plot, slow burn, flirting, cursing, perverted thoughts, dub-con (because of chem usage though consent is asked and given!) rough sex, dirty talk, choking, praise kink, degradation, squirting, mention of fingering, FEELINGS!! Slight deviation from TV series, possible grammar/spelling mistakes, cooper starts off mean but slowly warms up to reader

AN: I absolutely LOVED this request! I was up all night writing down all my ideas and spent all this morning perfecting it, and this has to be my longest one yet! I thank you for your patience anon and my lovely readers as I finally post this! Hope you enjoy and that I have done your ask justice! ❤️

Life outside of the vault was difficult to say the least. You felt hunger and dehydration in ways you’d never experienced before, going out of your way to do desperate things you would normally never do in order to get said food and water. The heat was unbearable, every stretch of land you walked across had a danger lurking around every corner, and worst of all, you’d never felt so alone. You weren’t sure what it was about you, maybe it was because you were new to the surface, maybe it was your nearly perfect skin, but everyone seemed to stare or glare at you when you would walk through. It wasn’t until you’d passed through Filly, meeting Ma June that you realized people didn’t take kindly to people like you. “Vaulties” she called them, an audible disdain in her tone, making you look down to remember you were in your blue and gold Vault-Tec suit. “I’ll be going then, have a nice day!” You said skiddishly, offering her a kind smile before turning and exiting the shop. You just wanted to make friends, why was that so hard up here? So when your eyes set on a man clad in classic Wild West cowboy clothes, watching smoke settle after a stand off, you weren’t sure why but you knew that was who you needed on your side in this world. Before you knew it, your feet were already moving and mouth speaking to him, grabbing his attention.

“I ain’t no charity case sweetheart, I don’t take on strays” The ghoul spoke, his southern drawl making him even more memorable than the marred texture of his skin. You looked to the dog that trailed not far behind him as he walked, changing its pace to keep up with the man. “The dog there with you tells me otherwise” you quipped. “Ain’t my dog” he responded harshly as he continued walking. “I can make it worth your while!” You yelled, making him stop in his tracks for a moment, a scary sight at first before you worked up the nerve to come closer once he turned back to you. “And how you suppose you’d do that?” He asked, and at first you didn’t know what to say, the words leaving your mouth before you could really think of a good enough reason. Did nobody like company anymore these days? “Well…I can be your scavenger! Pretty good at collecting stuff” you offered, shaking your bag and making things rattle around inside to prove it, making him give a huff of a chuckle. “‘f I wanted a pack mule I’d‘ve found a brahman” he shot you down. “Okay, then I can be good company to talk to!” You offered. “They make radios for when I want to listen to someone yack” he shut down once again. “I’m a good cook! Even with shitty supplies, I can make a stew that’d put a smile even on the meanest son of a gun’s face” you said, hopeful that he’d at least take you for something, but you had a feeling he’d probably turn you down again. “Iguana on a stick’s just fine” he said, though he had to admit the stew sounded good. Reminded him of home before all this wasteland bullshit. “Oh, umm…” you said awkwardly, your tone growing quiet and my how it put a sad look in your eyes. The evil part of him liked it, seeing your sweet innocent face all downturned but the part that was still human deep down, the part that hardly ever saw the light of day anymore, had half a mind to let you.

“Got a lotta nerve walkin’ up t’ me, girly. If you somehow been lucky enough that you ain’t met dangerous yet, you’re lookin’ at someone who could put you down before you’d even mutter your last words” he threatened, motioning to the double barreled shotgun in his hands. “I know, I saw it first hand. You hold yourself well, I envy that. I’m new to all of this and just really want someone who can help me hold my own the same way” you explained. “Look, I know I don’t look like much but please just give me a chance” you begged, looking up at him with a fighting spirit in your eyes that he had to admit, he was pretty impressed in seeing in a vaultie. “You help me, I help you, however that ends up being” you offered, standing strong on this and damn if he didn’t see a little bit of himself in you at that. He gave a sigh, tilting his head down before shaking it, not believing himself for the words he was about to say. “Alright, but the minute you start draggin’ you’re out, got me?” He said, and he hated the way his cold heart seemed to pump a little faster upon seeing your eyes light up with joy and a smile stretch to your face. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” You said, opening your arms up to hug him but being met with the barrel of his gun poking your stomach to keep space between you. “I don’t do hugs” he spoke gruffly, making you back up enough to where he’d drop the gun back to his side. “R-Right…sorry” you apologized, embarrassment washing over you but still glad to finally have someone in your company. “C’mon, I ain’t got all day now” he said, motioning you to start walking, so you joined him.

Your travels with him certainly weren’t at all what you were expecting them to be. From being used as bait, to being tied up with rope most of the time you’d traveled together, or being sent in as his scavenger, you weren’t prepared for a lot of the reality you faced with being up on the surface. Most nights made you question why you’d ever left the comfort of the vault, why you’d abandoned a trusty food supply, regulated temperatures, a safe place to sleep that wasn’t riddled with radroaches or had the likely hood of waking up to a raider with a knife at your throat for no reason. Then you would remember the experiment in your vault, why you left that awful place for arguably a worse reality on the surface but at least you had freedom. Out here you were free to say what you want, do what you want, consume what you want so long as you could defend yourself incase that supply wasn’t unclaimed. You’d gotten pretty handy with a gun in the most recent weeks. Cooper, you learned one night was his name, using empty glass bottles as targets to help teach you accuracy and how to hit things from a longer range. In exchange, you came a little more useful than he had first thought. You had some useful stuff on you for trade like chems, ammo and food, were a good extra bag to hold stuff in, and you were a better cook than you’d talked about. Sure you had a tendency to talk too much, and you weren’t great with a gun, but you were getting there.

“Might I suggest takin’ them clothes instead of wearin’ that suit?” He said, making you look at him weird for suggesting you strip a dead raider of their clothes. “Why would I do that…?” You asked, genuinely confused and not sure what he was implying either, he was a hard man to predict. “Because, people see that shit and get real mad. People up here don’t like vaulties or the ones that run ‘em” he said and it made sense, it helped you understand why you kept getting evil glares each time someone would look at you or talk to you. You figured he knew best, so you took the shirt and pants from one of the female raiders, tucking them into your bag to change into at a better time. He gave a chuckle watching you do so, apologizing to the dead body profusely as you took their clothes and whatever valuables they had on them for the betterment of your own survival. You were still so naive, part of him was hoping he could slowly start to break and corrupt your way of thinking, but that was a thought for another time.

Before you knew it, night finally began to fall. The sun setting across the horizon gave the air less of a hot, harsh bite as the temperature began to cool rapidly across the sands of the Mojave. All you managed to grab was a pair of beat up, old jeans and a tank top, so as soon as the sun set, the chill set in. As you both set up camp for the night just outside of an abandoned rest stop, you started a fire to cook some of that stew you talked about being good at. He had to admit, it was pretty damn good, likely the best thing he’s had since before the bombs went off. Though even the kindling fire couldn’t manage to chase the chill away, watching you run your hands up and down your arms to try and warm up some by it. He felt a slight pang in his heart, watching you shiver like that, how your eyes lit up by the blaze of the fire and your hair seemed to be tousled just right. You were pretty, too pretty to be trekking this wasteland, and certainly too pretty to be trekking it with him of all people as your company. Even he had a heart still, as cold as it was, so out of kindness he shrugged his duster from his shoulders, draping it around you. You looked at the fabric pooled around you, pulling it over you better before looking to him as he sat down across from you again. “Ain’t no use if the cold gets ya” he said, making you smile appreciatively at him as you realized what he did. “Thank you” you replied, a slight blush fanning to your cheeks as the chattering of your teeth finally died down and you grew warmer. It smelled like him, sure it had splatters of old dried blood and was rather worn, but it had that gunpowder and smoke smell to it that you associated with him. “Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya” he replied, trying to sound cold but it didn’t come off that way, making you chuckle. “What do I owe you?” You asked, making him fall silent for a moment as he pondered the answer to your question. He looked you over for a second before tipping his hat down to cover his face a bit, the signal that he was about to try and get some sleep. “Just keep watch for a bit, I’ll be up in a few hours” he responded, and while it wasn’t what you were expecting, you’d take it.

He was startled awake a couple hours later when he heard a commotion, you yelling at someone telling them to back off that this place had been claimed. The raider you were up against didn’t seem to like that very much, claiming that wasn’t how it worked up here. The altercation took a turn for the worst when the man reached for his gun but you were quick to fire and kill him before he could let out a shot. A shaky feeling set in your hands and a horrified expression across your face at the realization that you just killed someone. Cooper, who was certainly wide awake now, was rather impressed by your quick timing and precision, coming up behind you to lay a gloved hand to your shoulder. “Well would ya look at that, looks like them lessons been payin’ off after all. How’s it feel?” He asked, looking down at you as you stared at the gun in your hands. “He was yelling at me but…he was aiming at you. I don’t really know what came over me, I didn’t like that he was going to shoot you so I just…I killed him” you said, recounting the encounter to him as if he hadn’t seen it himself. He didn’t really know what to think in that moment as you explained how your mind worked, he was proud for sure at your show of improvement with a gun, yet also touched at the same time. No one ever really looked out for him since he started his bounty hunting, he was a well hated man by many but you defended him without really any reason to. You’d just learned his name not but two weeks ago, and before that he was dragging you around with rope yet you still defended him, had you two really gotten closer in the time that’s passed since? He wasn’t sure, but it was something he could mull over while you were sleeping. “Get some rest vaultie, sun’ll be up soon” he said, knowing you likely wouldn’t get much sleep with the adrenaline still coursing through you, but it was at least worth a try, you two had a long day ahead of you.

When you woke up that next morning, things felt a little different between you two. You weren’t some annoying little dog following him anymore, you were an equal. He no longer looked at you and treated you like you were lower than him as you both set out across the wastelands, he had respect for you. Hell, he even started talking with you now when you were out traveling which was almost unbelievable. You learned through those conversations that he used to be an actor in Wild West themed films, explaining his outfit, and that he was married before the bombs dropped. You of course told him bits and pieces about yourself in exchange, after all it only felt fair but it was also nice to just finally talk to someone after all this time.

When night time fell again you two sat enjoying a meal by the fire together, only rather than across from each other, he sat next to you, making a blush come to your face as you’d smiled sweetly at him. “Glad to know I don’t have germs anymore” you said jokingly, making him chuckle. “Give an old man some credit. It ain’t exactly all peaches and marmalade out here darlin’, even cute can be deadly” he said, the nickname and him calling you cute sending a deeper blush to your cheeks despite knowing it’s just how he spoke. Whether it was the lack of contact with other people for so long, or just his charm you couldn’t quite tell, but it always seemed to have an effect on you. “Just teasin’ you, I get it. I’d tie me up and use me for bait too if I’d been doing this as long as you have. It’s a shit hole out here” you said, making him look at you as you dropped the first curse word he’s ever heard from you. “Well I’ll be damned, either I’m a bad influence or you’re finally growin’ outta that naive shell there, vaultie” Cooper replied, making you laugh as you saw a smirk stretch to his thin, marred lips, the first one you’d seen in a while that wasn’t brought on by drugs, chems or that first sip of a good bottle of alcohol. “Probably both” you quipped, making him chuckle. “Yeah, probably. Been told I ain’t easy to stomach” he said, making you hum. “You’re alright in my book, Coop” you replied with a sweet, genuine smile that matched your tone and was that butterflies you felt in your stomach? Did you just call him Coop? No ones called him that in ages, why did it make his heart start to flutter a bit? “You ain’t so bad yourself, vaultie” he responded, still affording you that small smile before turning back to his food. “Keep making food this good and I just might have to keep you around” he joked, making you giggle and break the slightly tense silence. “It’s not much but I certainly try. I’ll definitely make sure to stay good at it, I like traveling with you” you said, unintentionally coming off flirtatious and fuck there it goes again, that feeling in his chest and his stomach like he needed to hit his inhaler but he felt great. What were you doing to him?

“Hey, if it isn’t too much can I ask you a sort of…personal question?” You asked, holding the beat up bowl in your hands as you looked over at him. This was normally the part where he would say no, absolutely not, he wasn’t here to be questioned on his personal matters. Yet, with you, it was different. Ever since last night he hasn’t been so on edge with you, it was like he’d warmed up to you. “Depends on what you’re askin’ there, sweetheart” he said, the nickname once again making you blush. “Do you…miss them? Your wife and daughter?” You asked, not sure if it was a good subject or good question to ask but after finding out, you were genuinely curious. He looked down at his bowl again, thinking of the proper response to your question. The old him would have been defensive, told you it was none of your business, but now? He wasn’t sure. “Ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about ‘em. About the way I ran out on ‘em when them bombs dropped” he answered, making you give him a sad look as genuine guilt filled his tone. This was the most honest and open he’s been with you this whole time. “I feel guilty. Not sure if I feel guilty for runnin’ out and leavin’ ‘em behind or guilty for the way I ran out, been tryin’ t’ figure that out for quite a while now and I still ain’t sure” he added, and you sympathized with that. Everyone has regrets, things they’ve done in the past that they aren’t proud of, people up here were no different in that aspect. “Well, in the short time I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve come to understand that everything you do has a valid reason behind it. So even if you feel it was a shitty thing to do, you obviously had a reason for doing so. No one can blame you for trusting your gut, and I don’t think you should blame yourself for doing so” you responded, your hand falling to his as a comforting gesture, your words ringing in his head almost as if you’d opened something in his mind, something he’d never really gave himself to think about before. He looked down at your hand that rested on his, noticing the way you didn’t flinch away from him like others did, the way you were brave enough to walk up to him, talk to him, *trust* him when he made it very clear that you shouldn’t. It was smaller than his, softer for sure, but warm all the same, then he looked up to see that caring look in your eyes and smile on your face that told him that you cared. “Guess you’re right, still wonder sometimes if it was the right choice to make” he replied. “I understand. Everyone has regrets, we all look at the past and hold at least something that we’ve done before in regret, it’s what makes us human” you said, making him give a huff as a chuckle. “You got anybody?” He asked, making you look down as you moved your feet along the dirt. “An ex-husband, but not anyone I really care about, no. My parents passed a few years before the bombings and he and I split up when I caught him cheating on me with some other woman in the vault..” you explained, not sure why it hurt you to tell the tale still, but you felt it was only fair considering what you’d asked of him to share. “Sorry t’ hear that” Cooper said, making you chuckle weakly, a somber look coming to your face that made his heart wrench. “I haven’t exactly been in love since, and considering he and I split up just a little over ten years ago, really says something I guess, huh?” You asked, trying to laugh to bring up the mood, knowing you sounded pathetic. “He was the fool, not you darlin’. He was the one skippin’ out on one hell of a woman” Cooper said, making you look to him and blush a bit as you gave a chuckle at his response.

“Thanks” you replied appreciatively and with a smile before casting your gaze down to see your hands were still connected and it left you blushing harder with embarrassment, you’d been holding his hand this entire time without realizing it. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if I have I-“ “relax vaultie” he cut you off, pushing your hand back down onto his to assure you that he was far from uncomfortable. “It’s…rather nice actually” he admitted, making you feel relieved but your heart fluttered in your chest from it. A thick tension soon began to set in between you both after that night, something of an unspoken, kindling romance beginning to develop. “Then there it can stay” you said, making him smile softly at you, tipping his hat at you as a silent thank you.

Months passed on like this, where you’d spend the days scavenging, picking the land for its resources you could find and hunting bounties by day, then spending your nights by a fire growing closer and closer with every passing day. Through your shared meals, jokes, deep conversations, and plenty of near death experiences, you started to notice your fondness of the ghoul you traveled with. The way you’d hang onto his words with that southern accent that seemed to pull at your heart strings, or the way you’d go out of your way to stand between him and a stray bullet. You’d helped him on more than one occasion in getting out of a sticky spot, or getting him the stuff he needed to keep from turning feral. In return, he started to notice he was feeling the same towards you. There was this sudden need to keep you safe, to do nicer things for you, to speak better towards you, even flirt with you at times. Some nights there’d be so much tension in the air, it’s a miracle you haven’t jumped each other yet. Though in his eyes, as much as his heart yearned for you, he knew you were too good for him. You’d been hurt before, and he had a reputation for hurting people, feeling undeserving of even just the sweet smiles and company you afford him even now. You didn’t need someone like him, you needed a good man, someone who didn’t kill for a living, someone who could treat you right, someone who didn’t look the way he did. You were soft and warm, he was rough and cold, though he supposed that’s where the term “opposites attract” came from. So even when he was a whole bottle deep, he was sure to hold his tongue to a certain point.

Some of those nights around the fire were spent sober, others not so much, and this night happened to be one of those nights spent under the influence. You two had stumbled across a mini-mart, doing your best to out run the radstorm that had been trailing you guys for hours, coming in just to find whatever supplies you could to make it through the next week and possibly hunker down for the night. So imagine your surprise when you seemed to have found the largest chem stache you’d both ever laid eyes on. “Coop! Come here, you gotta see this” you said, making him run towards you to make sure you weren’t hurt or in trouble. His nerves were eased once he saw you, fully intact. “Tell me I’m not seeing shit” you said, pointing to all of the supplies sitting in a box on the table, joined by other supplies around it. You both looked at each other in complete and utter disbelief, this would keep you stocked for months, maybe even a whole year if you conserved it well. “Well ain’t that just the prettiest fuckin’ sight” he said. There was no way a horde of chems this large and this valuable was just completely unprotected you reasoned, so you routed around the place, scoping out for any raiders, straggling traders or ferals who happened to still be around. It was as if heaven was shining down on you both as you found no one around, seemed like no one had been here for days. So you did the most logical thing anyone would do in this situation. Stuff each of your bags to the brim of drugs of all varieties! Seeing as you had food, chems and even some clean water and alcohol lying around, Cooper locked and barricaded the door shut, proposing it could be a good spot to sleep for the night. With a radstorm approaching, it was best to have a roof over your heads to keep out the rain and potential radiation sickness that came with it. “This is the closest fuckin’ thing to a slice of heaven I’ve seen in ages” he said, aside from you is what played in his mind but he couldn’t speak that out loud, no matter how much he wanted to. “You said it!” you replied, and it’s even better with you here you thought, but thought it best to keep it to yourself. He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up to rest on the small table that seemed to be in shambles, enjoying a tape that was playing on the TV that he was surprised to still see functioning. “Holy shit, this thing still works?” You asked, amazed to see working technology out in the wastelands, sitting next to him as you watched it with him. He gave a smirk at your reaction, thinking it was cute the way your eyes would light up when you got all excited over something. Deep down it made him want to give you everything you laid eyes on like that just to see it pointed towards him. “Guess so” he replied, enjoying your excitement only to see you turn and look his way, which was his signal to stop staring holes into you before he gets caught. “I dunno about you baby doll, but I ain’t about to spend tonight sober with this stache sittin’ here ‘n front of us” he said, making you laugh as he routed through all the different drugs and chems til he found what he was looking for.

In the process of searching through it all, a small metal box fell to the floor at your feet. It looked like a box of mentats only the design was different, instead of the characteristic green and white box was a red one covered with hearts labeled DN-Chem. You supposed the worst that could happen was turn into the man sitting next to you, which you figured wasn’t the worst fate to succumb to all things considered, so you went against all better judgement and said fuck it, popping two of the mentat like chems and chasing it with the vodka he’d found to wait for it to take effect. “The hell is DN?” He asked, looking at the box, wondering what it was you took. “Don’t know, guess we’ll find out here soon because I took two” you said, taking another sip from the bottle of vodka he passed your way, and he gave a chuckle as you handed it back to him. “You come a mighty long way, little lady” he commented before setting the metal pill box down. He took the bottle from you, taking a swig, then placing one of the small viles into his inhaler before taking a hit of it then lying back, breathing a sigh of relief as it and the alcohol entered his system like the perfect remedy to any ailment. As about a half an hour rolled by, you waited for the high to set in but it never came, instead you were just getting hot, like really hot. There weren’t any windows open, and it was night time so you shouldn’t be this uncomfortably hot for how it was but you felt like you were on fire. “Shit, it’s hot as hell in here…” you complained, shaking off your jacket that you’d picked off of some raider a few weeks back, making him look to you curiously. “Lightweight” he quipped, making you chuckle. “Accept I don’t feel anything, I just feel hot” you said, making him hum with intrigue before turning back to the TV. “Give it some time, you’re new to all this. ‘m sure your body is wonderin’ what the hell you just put in it” he said, and he had a good point, maybe it was just a side effect of not doing them so often compared to his every day use.

As time went on, you began to notice the way your eyes couldn’t help but be glued to him, more specifically glued to the way his legs were now spread as he sat back. You wondered to yourself what he looked like beneath all that cowboy get up, what his reaction would be like to see you getting on your knees for him and slotting yourself between his spread legs. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of such inappropriate thoughts, but what you couldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried was the feeling of arousal beginning to pool in your panties. Sure he flirted with you every now and again, but you doubt he felt towards you the same way you did for him. To him you were sure you were likely more akin to a pet than a friend, useful and nice to have around, but not anything further. At least so you thought. You’d rather hoped you were wrong in assuming so, that maybe he saw you the same way you saw him. You bit your lip as you tried bouncing your leg to relieve the ache between your thighs, a light pink dusting your face and neck even up to the tips of your ears, but nothing worked. Even as you closed your eyes, all you could picture was you laid out on the couch beneath him, or bent over it with him behind you, or you riding him on it. “Been awful quiet. You doin’ alright over there, sweetheart?” Cooper asked you, and the audible whimper you let out from the nickname left you completely embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth, god you were horrified but he gave a grin and a chuckle in response. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me all the sudden. I feel so…weird?” you said, unsure if that was really the proper word to explain it but it was the only way you could really word it off the top of your head with how much your brain felt as if it was turning to mush. “Ya took some chems, it’s gonna feel a bit fuzzy” he said, trying to assure you that feeling a little funny was normal, but this? This didn’t feel normal, not even for a chem high. You tried your best to swallow harshly, doing everything you could to try and relieve the dry ache you felt in your throat at the moment upon looking at him. You grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a few sips but even that couldn’t grant you bliss from it. The throbbing in your core was driving you absolutely insane. You swore up and down that it was like you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, stomach, and in your cunt all at the same time. “No, this is different…I don’t think what I took was a normal chem, Coop…” you said, trying not to panic at the effects that were setting in but god you felt like you were absolutely feral. He turned to look at you, watching as you clamped your thighs together and the red that fell over your face. “I feel like an animal in heat” you said bluntly, making him go into a near coughing fit as you took him off guard. However that piqued his interest enough to pick up the little metal box again to see what it was you took. “I ain’t ever heard of a chem that does that, was that DN shit the only stuff you took?” He asked, growing slightly concerned for you and whether he had a possible horde of laced chems, or just an extremely horny woman on his hands. Speaking of hands, you were lost in thought staring at them, at the way they gripped the couch like you wanted him to grip your thighs, at the way they looked in those leather gloves he always wore. You wondered how it would feel wrapped around your throat, or how it would feel if his fingers were buried deep inside of you. Shit. This was getting out of control.

“Hey, ya with me still?” He asked, snapping to try and get your attention back on the matter at hand, making you shake your head yes as you broke from your perverted thoughts. “Is that DN shit the only thing you took?” He asked again, making you shake your head yes once more, because you knew damn well your voice was going to betray you the moment you tried to speak. That had to be it, it was the only thing that was different out of it all and the only thing he’d never heard of before. He knew it wasn’t the vodka either because he was drinking it with you, so if it was affecting you, it would have affected him and it hadn’t.

It took him a minute to put two and two together before he finally realized the abbreviations stood for Date Night, reading the instructions and effects on the inside of the tin’s lid. “Shit..” he said as he read it, realizing this was a hand made thing thrown into the bunch by whoever was running this place. “Did you read the lid before you popped them pills?” He asked, making you go wide eyed. As if this couldn’t get any fucking worse, this shit show could have been avoided had you just read the inside of the lid. “There was instructions?? Oh my god…what the fuck did I take?” You asked, concerned for yourself and the tone he had while reading it. “Somethin’ that the creator of it called Date Night. Looks like it’s a…well looks like it’s a handmade sex chem” he said, making you cover your face with your hands out of sheer embarrassment, you’d never wanted to die out in a radstorm more than you did right now. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking, cooper…” you whined, watching him read it more. “How much of it did you take?” He asked, almost scared to know and you were scared to know why. “Two?” You replied, making him whistle at that as he read it. “Fuckin’ hell sugar..” he said through a chuckle, and that nickname made a shiver run through you, sending electric bolts straight to your throbbing cunt. You did your best to bite back the whimper. “You’re only s’possed take one, and with you bein’ new t’ all this, I wouldn’t have taken more than half” he said, making you just wish you could just dig a hole and die in it already. “Fuck me…wait, shit! N-Not literally fuck me I- well I mean I’d like if you did but…FUCK! Forgive me Cooper, I’m so sorry, I can hardly think straight” you said, making him chuckle. “Well sweetheart, I think you and I both know there’s only one good fix for this situation” he said, making you whimper pathetically at the thought, your thighs squeezing together even more as you tried to fight to stay sane. Your eyes cast downwards to his lap once more, seeing the tent forming in his pants, clearly you weren’t the only one all worked up here. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, Coop. I can run off and take care of myself if it makes you uncomfort-“ you rambled but before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. You moaned into it without meaning to, feeling the way your body immediately relaxed upon wrapping your arms around him with no hesitation as the sweet innocent kiss turned passionate and dirty rather quickly.

“I won’t lie t’ you, doin’ this with you has passed my mind more times than I’d care to admit, but I don’t wanna cross that line unless you really want this” he said, looking into your eyes and making sure that this was truly what you wanted, that you felt the same way he did. “Coop, I know I’m under the influence of whatever the fuck this drug is, but trust me when I say, I’d be just as good with it sober. Been thinking about it for probably just as long as you have, if I’m honest with you. I want this, I want you and right now I want you so fucking bad that I might lose my mind if you don’t fuck me” you answered bluntly, taking him by surprise at just the sheer amount of absolute filth that left your otherwise innocent mouth, making him chuckle at your use of curse words and how desperate you were for him. “That so sugar?” He asked with a grin, enjoying teasing you at your neediest moments, including now. “God yes, Cooper please..” you begged, nearly moaning in reply and he’d spent time mulling over it before, denying himself the chance but just as the chem stache was a pot of gold, he took this as one of the best opportunities being placed in his lap by whatever higher power existed out there, making him waste no time in kissing you once more. “Good, because I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself back once we’ve started” he said, and the idea made you moan. “Don’t want you to hold back, want all of you” you said, and your wish was his command.

By the time your brain could finally catch up with you again, your clothes were strewn out all around you, your tank top hanging over the back of the couch, your jeans thrown haphazardly on the arm rest behind you, his pants on the floor, his hat on the table and shirt and duster having fallen somewhere behind the couch. By now, you’d already cum on his fingers twice, and on his cock once, this was your fourth round and this shit still had you on fire. “Yes!! Oh fuck, Cooper!” you moaned as your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him as close to you as you could get, your fingers digging crescent shapes and puffy red lines into his back that unfortunately he knew wouldn’t stay long thanks to his ability to heal stupidly fast. “Doin’ so good for me, baby doll. Look so pretty like this for me, all splayed out like a needy little whore” he praised and degraded through his groans, making you moan and roll your eyes into the back of your head at the praise mixed with degradation as his cock was drilling deep inside you like tonight was all you guys had. “Yeah, you like that, huh sweet thing? Like it when I tell you how good it feels and call you names?” He asked, making you nod your head yes because there wasn’t a single thought in that brain of yours other than his name, which you spoke like a mantra. “Never knew such a sweet lil’ thing like you would be such a dirty little minx. Fuck…enough to make a man like me go feral, ya know that?” he said, making you giggle as you moved his free hand up to your throat, urging him to choke you, and he groaned at the sight. Your kiss swollen lips all puffy and shining with spit, your cheeks dusted a constant pink that grew darker anytime his cock brushed that spot deep inside that made you cling to him, your eyes half lidded, looking up at him like he was your savior. It made him absolutely rock hard knowing you’d pick him over anyone else in this god forsaken wasteland. “My, you are just a little freak, ain’t you? Oh we are gonna have fun together, you and me honey” he promised, squeezing your throat tight enough to restrict your airflow but not enough to hurt or cause any damage. Just enough to get that puddle of a brain of yours all fuzzy as you got closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “Cooper…’m so close, so close please!!” You begged, feeling the heavy drag of his cock as he pounded into you, leaving you damn near screaming as it nudged your cervix and that spongy little bundle of nerves deep inside. “Go on honey, I gotchya. Let go for me, wanna see those pretty faces and hear those pretty noises you make” he said, angling his hips just right to hit that spot over and over again. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I’m gonna cum again, I-“ you warned before your moans rose in pitch as your walls clamped around him, gushing on his cock as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your body arched off the couch, stars filling your vision for a moment as you felt your release gush out and coat your inner thighs, screaming his name like it was your only chance at salvation. “Well ain’t I just the damn luckiest man in the wastelands right now, got me a pretty little vaultie and she’s a gusher” he said, making you whimper at his teasing but judging by the way he emptied himself inside you for the second time, you took it as a sign that he liked that about you. “Holy shit, I-I didn’t know I could do that” you said, thoroughly shocked with what your brain and body were doing as they almost seemed to almost be working against each other. “Do it again for me” he said, grabbing you and moving you both to where you were straddling him this time. His hands rested on your hips, helping guide you as you speared yourself on his dick with ease from how absolutely soaked you were, making you both throw your head back and moan. “Now that’s a damn good sight” he said, making you lean in to kiss him once more as his hands helped you start and keep a steady rhythm with your hips. It was definitely going to be a long night, but one you two have been needing for months, maybe even longer.

It’s a good thing ghouls have remarkable recovery time, because in order to finally get you sated and back to normal, you both had to spend all night going at it. Granted, it was aided by the mix of pent up sexual tension and pent up sexual frustration, but it was dawn before you both had gotten to a point where you could even *try* and fall sleep. First few times was on the couch between missionary, doggy and you riding him, next was you bent over it, with your pretty legs spread and ass in the air for him. Then, you used the arm rest of the couch as a pillow beneath your hips as he stood up while you laid out on the couch. He liked that one a lot for the way your tits would bounce with each and every forceful thrust into you, jolting your body. After that, it was done standing up with your back pressed against a wall, your legs and arms wrapped around him to keep him deep inside of you and fill you til he had nothing left to give you. From that point on, the rest of the night was all a hormone-hazed blur, but you knew well that he took care of you. You woke up unbelievably sore, your joints aching in places that you had no idea could even ache, a swollen, angry throb between your legs for the harsh, almost punishing treatment to your pussy followed by bruises, bite marks, scratch marks, hand prints etc. littered your skin as you woke up curled into Cooper’s side. You gave a gravelly groan as the sun shone in your eyes through the windows, making him chuckle at the way you were such a ray of sunshine except in the morning. Coming to learn that you absolutely *hated* mornings. Though you suppose you started to enjoy them more since traveling with him. “Mornin’ sunshine” he said coyly, making you groan disapprovingly at the way the sun was in your eyes, making you hold your hand up to cast a shadow on your face and grant you some relief. “Morning” you answered, your voice hoarse and half gone from sleep and all your activities that transpired the previous night. “Ain’t that a pretty sight” he said, turning and seeing you curled up to him, naked, your hair all messy from sleep and the hickeys and bite marks littering your skin, making you chuckle. “Last night was definitely something, can’t believe you’ve been holding all *that* out on me” you joked, making him give a dry laugh. “Could say the same thing about you, sugar. Had no idea that mind a yours could be so filthy. You’re a wild thing to party with, lil’ lady” he teased, sliding his arm around you to keep you close, making you hum as you lay soft, appreciative kisses to his collarbone and chest. “You’re fun too, and thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry that it ended up happening the way that it did, I wanted to work up the courage and tell you some other way, I really did, but I guess life had other plans” you said making him chuckle as he saw you blush when he kissed your head. “Drunk words are sober thoughts they say, so I’d say I made out pretty good. But don’t sweat it, not sure how I deserved someone as good as you, but it’s good to know I ain’t as hard to stomach as most people say” he said, pulling you in for a soft, heartfelt kiss. “I think you are just perfect, Cooper” you said, your hand resting on his scarred chest as you looked at him with that gaze he swore he’d do anything to see pointed his way.

“You really wanna be my girl?” He asked softly, sounding shocked and with some self doubt still lacing his tone, but he had to be sure this was what you wanted outside of the drug’s effects. He cared for you deeply, in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, but maybe you were just the right person for him to finally open his heart up to. His question made you giggle as your heart fluttered in your chest with excitement. “I absolutely do, I meant it when I said it last night, I mean it just as much now. I think we’ve danced around it for long enough, don’t you?” you replied, making him smile the most genuinely happy smile you’ve seen him wear since you’d met. “Just checkin’” he said, before laying a sweet kiss to your lips, wishing every morning could be like this one. Maybe it could, now that you were here with him.

[valiasims]

WIP#30

Hey everyone!

I was a little busy so couldn't update you earlier but here's the new wip picture. No in-game screenshot this time. Let me tell you how my week went.

I made a crib last week which you can see (and also the rug). Then I wanted to make some kind of baldachin above the crib and after a long time of researching and trial and error I've come up with the one on the left. I was working on the high poly model for a whole day, I think because there was always something I didn't like. I convinced myself this would look good once I put it in game so I did the low poly model, added a basic texture to test it out. Only problem was that I wanted some parts of the curtains/baldachin transparent and for the life of me couldn't figure it out to work properly. Once it was okay and transparent but not exactly how I would have liked it so I tweaked the settings and it wasn't working anymore, also it looked really bad. I didn't like it at all. It was too "curtainy" for lack of a better word. Then I spent some days hating everything I did so far. :D Just the usual.

That's why today I started fresh and tried to bring to life what I see in my head when I think of this nursery. I had some set backs but once I settled with the arch with the drapes I started liking the direction this was going in.

A little bad news, I'm not sure the windows can be included in this set because I only made one and I still need to make some size variations and also I want to make clutter, changing table, the thing you see on the picture, that playmat thingy and those are a lot of items. :D If I have the time I'll finish the windows but if not they'll come in the next part.

Thanks for reading my long complaining, I feel a lot better! I hope I can pull together my ideas and complete this without pulling my hair out!

[strnilolover]

Properly Introducing !Bakery Owner Matt and Reader!! (how they met and how the bakery became to be)

Matt : long sleeve shirts and button ups, comfy jeans, fluffy hair, light stubble, bandanas/headbands, flour covered clothes, apron always around his waist, new recipes everyday, puts his girl first, dad, frank ocean, mac miller, malcolm todd, determined, passionate, hardworking, focused, devoted, visionary, creative, gentle, observant, and more.

It was junior year when you first noticed Matt in the crowded halls of your high school. He wasn’t loud or overly outgoing, but there was something about him that caught your attention— a quiet confidence and an ever-present smirk.

You met officially during an elective class neither of you had particularly wanted but needed to fill credits. It was a mistake of scheduling, really — Home Economics — but fate has a funny way of placing people exactly where they need to be.

Matt’s culinary skills were evident even then. While most of the class bumbled through simple recipes, his dishes consistently stood out. You remember the first time he handed you a plate of cookies he’d baked, the warmth of the pastry soaking into your fingertips, and the burst of buttery sweetness that followed your first bite.

“These are amazing,” you mumbled through a mouthful, barely able to form the words.

“Yeah?” He didn’t look at you, focusing on wiping flour from his hands on the apron he wore around his waist. There was that smirk again — tugging at the corner of his lips like it always did.

From that moment, there was an ease in your interactions. A friendship forged over the exchange of recipes, kitchen mishaps, and inside jokes about the temperamental ovens in the Home Ec room.

It wasn’t until senior year that things began to shift. Matt would bring you experimental recipes he was trying, and you’d sit in the empty classroom together after hours, critiquing the texture of his pastries and the sweetness of his glazes.

One evening, as you were packing up after another impromptu tasting session, Matt stopped you with a hesitant, almost sheepish expression.

“Hey, so, I was thinking,” he began, scratching the back of his neck, “would you want to go out sometime? Like, not just here. Maybe somewhere that’s more…enjoyable?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the slight tension breaking as you agreed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

From that moment, it was like something clicked into place. You spent the rest of the school year inseparable, navigating the uncertainty of graduation and future plans with intertwined fingers.

After graduation, you and Matt decided to move in with one another. Finding a small place to manage with the jobs you both had, enjoying each others company even more.

Though, the transition to college wasn’t easy. Matt had been accepted into a culinary program at a university not too far from home, and you decided to stay nearby, working odd jobs to support yourself.

Matt dove headfirst into his studies, immersing himself in classes and late-night baking labs. He’d come home exhausted most days, flour dusting his clothes, dark circles forming under his eyes, but there was always a grin spread across his face when he saw you waiting for him.

“Guess what I made today?” he would ask, eyes lighting up despite his weariness.

“Something delicious?” you teased, knowing the answer.

Matt would reach into his backpack and pull out a carefully wrapped bundle — a slice of cake, a new type of bread, or a pastry he’d spent hours perfecting. It became a ritual for the two of you, sharing his culinary triumphs and failures, talking late into the night about his dreams of opening a bakery.

“You’re going to do it, you know,” you told him one night, watching as he absently kneaded dough on the counter of your tiny shared apartment. “You’re going to open that bakery, and it’s going to be amazing.”

Matt looked up, flour streaking his forehead, and smiled softly. “Not without you.”

Everything changed during his senior year of college though. You’d been feeling off for weeks — nausea, exhaustion, a strange sense of something being different. When you finally worked up the courage to take a pregnancy test, the results hit you like a tidal wave. You were pregnant.

Matt was at his part-time job when you found out, and you spent hours pacing the apartment, rehearsing how you were going to break the news. When he had finally walked through the front door that night, looking worn but happy as usual, you felt a lump form in your throat.

“Matt, I need to tell you something,” you blurted out before you could second-guess yourself. The change in his expression was immediate — concern creasing his brow as he dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room in two quick strides. “What’s wrong?”

You handed him the positive test, your hands trembling slightly. His eyes widened as he processed what it meant, and for a moment, you feared he might bolt. But then, he let out a slow breath and reached for your hand.

“Okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as if piecing together a plan. “Okay. We’re going to figure this out.”

“Matt—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted gently, squeezing your hand. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can do this. I want to do this. I want this with you.”

Tears stung at your eyes as relief flooded through you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. In that moment, you believed him.

The months that followed were a whirlwind of changes. Matt continued his classes and worked late hours, saving every extra dollar he earned. You found yourself in a constant state of awe at his determination, watching as he navigated the chaos. There were nights when he came home utterly exhausted, but he always made time to check on you, to hold you close and remind you that he was there.

“How was your day?” he’d ask, leaning against the counter while you made tea.

“Uneventful,” you’d reply, keeping the details light to spare him any unnecessary worry.

Matt would nod, and you could see the weight of the day lifting slightly from his shoulders as he focused on you instead. It wasn’t always perfect — there were arguments, moments of doubt, and fears about the future — but you faced them together.

Eventually, Matt graduated, and with his degree in hand, he threw himself into making his dream a reality. Every cent he’d saved went toward the bakery, and you watched with a mixture of pride and awe as he meticulously planned every detail. He spent hours on end fixing up the old storefront he’d rented, sanding floors, repainting walls, and building shelves for the displays he envisioned.

“You’re really doing it,” you whispered one evening, standing in the middle of the nearly-finished bakery, surrounded by the scent of fresh paint and sawdust.

Matt turned to you, eyes shining with pride and relief. “We’re doing it.”

Opening day had came faster than you expected. You stood beside Matt as the first customers trickled in, watching with nervous excitement as they sampled his pastries and complimented the warm, welcoming atmosphere he’d created.

The bakery was everything Matt had dreamed of — a cozy space filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, pastries, and memories of late nights and early mornings spent chasing this dream.

You often helped out behind the counter, greeting customers with a smile or setting out trays of Matt’s newest creations. The regulars got to know you by name, asking after the baby growing steadily in your belly and congratulating Matt on his success. It wasn’t long before the bakery became a staple in the community — a place where people gathered to share coffee, pastries, and stories.

One evening, after the last customer had left and the bakery was closed for the night, you found Matt sitting at one of the small tables by the window, his head resting on his folded arms. The exhaustion was evident in the way his shoulders slumped and his breathing slowed, but there was a contentment in his expression that hadn’t been there before.

“Long day?” you asked softly, sliding into the seat across from him. Matt lifted his head, a weary smile tugging at his lips. “Long but worth it.”

You reached across the table to take his hand, and he squeezed it gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft glow through the windows, illuminating the quiet moment between you.

“We did it,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.

You smiled, feeling a swell of pride and love for the man sitting across from you. “Yeah, we did.”

© strnilolover

a/n : AHHH here’s !Bakery Owner Matt!! (Baker!Matt) and how him and reader met and what started where they are today!! I honestly don’t know much about doing AU’s but! i’ll be navigating it along the way with all of you!! i hope you like this and i hope you love them too. (p.s - reader is pregnant toward the end of this. this just shows how they met, how the bakery was opened and such. so it’s not present time)

[sinfulforrest]

Lazy Morning Love - Home x GN!Reader

Here's roughly 2.6k words of very fluffy smut with Home!

Content includes a load of fluffy smut, explicit consent for everything, some tentacle action, and just Home combusting over its gigantic praise kink!

Some more Home posts can be found here, here, and here! Enjoy!

Ah, mornings.

You never used to like them that much, but you’ve found yourself growing fonder of them the more time you’ve spent within Home. Well, you think they’re mornings here. There’s no real way to tell the time, no night or day cycle, no proper sunlight or moonlight to signify the changing of days anymore. Still, you love waking up in your shared bed to feel the soft and steady breaths made by Home’s shell tickling against your neck.

As you regain your consciousness you can feel the shell’s bony claws twitch and clutch onto your waist, pulling you closer to its resting form. You shuffle a little, trying to turn over and gaze into the face of your carefully constructed lover’s body, but you’re met with a strengthening grip and a slightly disgruntled, half-hearted growl from behind you. You giggle.

“Home, com’on! I wanna see your face…please?” you softly laugh as you flump your head against your pillow in surrender.

“…but I’m comfy, and I like having you against me just like this.” Home whispers, burying its face into the crook of your neck now, snuggling against you. You wriggle a little as it moves a hand onto your stomach, gently squishing at the soft flesh there. You’d put on some weight since you started living together with Home, most likely from the flesh that it’s been feeding you. It liked your plushness a lot.

“I know Home, but I just really want to look at you,” you sigh, purposely grinding against it. Home’s next exhale comes out in a shudder. “Pleeeease? Just for a little bit? And then you can scoot right back to how we were, I promise.” you whine, smiling wickedly as you keep grinding your ass against it, feeling victorious as you hear a weak purr escape your lover.

“Alright little love, alright. Come here.” Home sighs as it releases you from its embrace. You squeak in excitement, rolling over to finally see your sleepy love gazing at you. Its fluffy hair is wild and unkempt from where it practically buried itself into your covers and you make a note to sit down and gently brush through it later; you were surprised to find out early in the relationship that Home adored having its hair touched and brushed far more than it really should. You found it adorable.

You reach out to its pale face, rubbing your thumb against the sharp edge where its cheekbone would be. The feeling of Home’s skin was something that you were still getting used to. It felt thin - dangerously thin in some places - but it had the texture and feel of what felt like rubber. It was usually cool to the touch too, which was very appreciated when your living environment got hot and humid.

The shell nuzzles its face against your hand as the purring from its chest grows louder, and it clasps one of its larger hands over your own, tracing a long, clawed finger along your knuckles. Home’s usual wide eyed and ever-grinning expression was much more subdued. Its eyes were heavy lidded and threatening to close whilst its mouth was shut for once. The exposed teeth on its lipless upper jaw form what you’ve come to recognise as a smile for Home. An intimate, soft gesture that’s the best form of human mimicry that it can muster. You place a soft kiss just above its nasal cavity, pulling back with a smile as its skin flushes a faint pink.

“God, I love you so much. I love you so, so much Home,” you whisper softly, kissing down to its jawline now, following the veins that paint its pale skin with streaks of blue and purple. Your hand slips from Home’s face to its chest, feeling the rumble of its purrs reverberating against your flesh and bones. “I’ve never felt safer. You’re so wonderful, so doting, so gentle…” you giggle, shuffling lower to kiss its collarbone. It squeaks in surprise, playfully wriggling against you now. It could absolutely break away and stop you from doing this, but you knew that it’d never do that to you. To others, absolutely; but never you.

“Little love, that tickles...!” it laughs softly, pressing you closer to its body. You give Home a mischievous smile, nuzzling against it and letting your hair tickle its skin for you.

“Just adore you so much,” you sigh, trailing your hand down its chest, lower and lower until you stop just above its pubic bone, teasing the thin stretch of hairless skin there with the sultry scrape of your nails. Home groans now, realising that it probably should’ve kept you snuggled up to it instead of letting you work it up. “…let me show you how much I love you, Home. Please?” you ask it, looking up through your lashes and blinking in faux innocence. Home lets out a chuff of air, its trademark grin starting to crawl across its face.

“Go on then, little love. I trust you.”

That’s all the encouragement you need.

You practically tear off the covers, exposing both of your naked bodies to each other. The tentacle between its legs is in full view, and you firmly grasp it as you shuffle further down the bed to get a better view of it and the wonderful being that it’s attached to.

It pulses and throbs slightly as you begin slowly pistoning your wrist up and down the length of the shaft. You make sure to really grip and tease around the firm bumps that travel from the base of the tentacle to the tip, and you’re rewarded with the wonderful sound of Home groaning from further up the bed. The sound sends a sharp pang of arousal shuddering through you, travelling all the way down your body to culminate between your legs.

You shoot it a smirk as it whines and looks away in embarrassment, looking shocked that it made such a noise. It’s still not used to receiving affection, much preferring to be the one in control and giving you love instead. You’re not complaining; Home was an attentive and eager lover, always putting your pleasure and wellbeing first, but it wasn’t fair for it to hog all the fun.

Your free hand rakes its way down Home’s leg leaving four parallel trails of red skin in their wake, and the soft groans quickly morph into a desperate growl.

“Oh, does that feel good? You’re so vocal this morning love,” you smile, keeping a steady pace as Home furiously nods and tries to hide behind its hair, hands - anything that can make it hidden. “Good…don’t be embarrassed, that’s good…you’re doing so good for me Home, so wonderful…” you chuckle as you begin to teasingly press soft kisses down its wriggling length. It’s holding back, trying desperately not to buck up and rub its tentacle against your lips.

You look up again at Home, and seeing how it looks like it might implode from your relentless teasing you decide to stop messing with it and let Home get some relief. You dribble some spit over the very tip of its tentacle, rub it in, and then you take the appendage into your mouth whilst keeping a firm grip on the base. Home whines, placing a clammy hand on top of your hair to shakily stroke you and guide you further down.

“T-That’s it little love, like that, just like that-!” Home moans as you start taking it further into your throat. You get too greedy, choking around the tentacle as it unexpectedly wriggles and bullies its way further down your throat and you retreat to cough and get air. Home looks panicked but before it can ask if you’re doing alright, you dip right back down and eagerly take it into your mouth.

You grip its hips, doing your best to hollow your cheeks and breathe through your nose, running your tongue against the underside of the tentacle to wind Home up further. The tentacle tastes rather sweet and feels soft, yet firm at the same time. It’s a sensation that your tastebuds can’t get enough of. The slick fluid secreted from its tentacle mixes with the spit that runs down your chin and onto Home’s body.

Home is whining without restraint now, running its claws through your hair, beginning to rut up into the warm, welcoming heat of your tight little throat, and you gladly take this rougher treatment by moaning around the appendage and sucking harder, teasingly scraping your teeth against the soft flesh. This flips a switch in Home. It starts thrusting up into your throat more erratically, growling as it does so. You know what’s going to come next.

“A-Ah! I’m gonna...!” Home moans, shoving your face down so that your nose is flush against its pubic bone. Your eyes water as you feel its release flood your throat with a final thrust, drool and cum spilling from your mouth and nose as its tentacle continues to dump its load into you.

You’re feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and your jaw throbs with a dull pain, but you continue to keep it hinged open the best that you can for your lover, finding that the lack of oxygen and light-headedness that you’re feeling is making you feel even more worked up. Eventually, Home pulls out. You do your best to greedily gulp down its spend, but you still end up spilling a lot down yourself.

“Love your taste so much…” you chuckle hoarsely, wiping some of Home’s seed away with your fingers, only to make a show of you sucking them clean whilst Home watches with wide eyes. You’re unable to stop the proud grin that’s widening across your face as you watch Home stop breathing, practically freezing as it turns red.

“Get over here,” it rasps, lunging forwards for you. It grabs your shoulders, pulling you on top of its body. Home’s tongue slithers out of its maw, eager to get a taste of the combination of your saliva and its own seed. “We taste so good together, love this, love you so much little love…” it slurs as its tongue travels up to your mouth.

You obediently part your lips and let the tongue into your mouth, letting it lap against your tongue and your teeth. Given Home’s lack of lips, this was the closest thing to a true kiss that you got from it aside from the times when it’d nuzzle its exposed teeth against your head.

You suck against the slick appendage, fluttering your eyes shut as Home deepens the embrace that it has you in. You feel the tentacle spark back to life, rubbing between your asscheeks, lubing and preparing the area for its eventual entry into your body. Your union with the shell and the very being that you’re both in. Home pulls its tongue out of your throat, moving to lick at your neck.

“Little love,” Home’s voice reverberates in your head. Everywhere, yet nowhere all at once. Another part of Home that you don’t think that you could ever get used to. “Let me make love to you, please…wanna feel you around me again, you’re so good, please...” It pleads, staring at you unblinkingly.

“Yes! Yes, please Home, I need you-!” You exclaim eagerly, only to get cut off by Home rutting up right by your hole. You cry out, clutching its shoulders.

Aided by the slickness coating it, Home’s tentacle squirms its way into your hole inch by inch, the girth spreading your tight ring of muscle and making it burn pleasurably. It purposely eases itself in as to not hurt you and cause discomfort, and your mind is full of echoes of Home praising you for being so good for it.

“I’m going to start moving now, alright little love?” It whispers to you. You nod, kissing its neck.

It pulls out slowly but thrusts into your hole quicker than you were expecting. The two of you moan in unison. Home keeps a firm grip around your hips now as it thrusts up into your drooling, greedy hole. The ribbed texture of its tentacle rubs against your walls in just the right way, pressing right against that spongy area of flesh that made you weak. You do your best to meet Home’s desperate thrusts in the middle, desperate to get more of that friction and feeling of fullness from Home that you’ve been so desperately craving.

Home’s mouth unhinges slightly, and you almost miss them slithering from its mouth; a pair of strange looking tentacles, dark blue like veins, but with green tips that were coloured the same as the hypnotic bulbs that adorned Home’s chest. You pull back a little, curious about these new arrivals. Home’s grin widens, and the thin tentacles come up to your chest. The tips open like a flower bud, and they quickly suction onto your nipples, sucking and squeezing the sensitive flesh.

“Doesn’t that feel good, little love? I’ve been thinking how I can suck and kiss your flesh like you do with mine…and this is what I came up with.” Home breathes into your mind, and you nod breathlessly. You hope that Home can hear your thoughts, how crazy all these sensations are making you feel, how good it is for you, how much you love Home. It simply chuckles and carries on making love to you.

The tentacles on your nipples continue their devilish work as you start riding and grinding down on Home harder and more desperately, wanting your release to come and flood over your senses. Home picks up the pace, entering you with minimal resistance now, and removes a hand from your hips to start playing with your sex, urging you to release yourself on it.

“Home-!” You cry, hunching down and grinding yourself against it. You bite Home’s neck and scratch down its chest as you come undone around it, seeing stars as your hole rapidly flutters and twitches around the ever-quickening pace of Home’s tentacle, urging it on to release within you.

With a final thrust and growl, you feel the warmth of Home’s seed flood into you as your hole continues to milk the tentacle and coax seed from it. Your stomach starts to swell ever so slightly, adding a pleasurable pressure as you lay on top of Home’s body as it keeps its arms wrapped around you. The tentacles latched onto your nipples have slowed their pace down, but they continue to gently suck and knead at your sensitive buds.

“That…that was so good.” You gasp breathlessly, trying to shift a little so Home can spoon you again like you promised. Home stops you from moving, shaking its head.

“I’d like us to lay like this now, little love. Lay as one for a while. Be one with me?” its rasping voice asks you, echoing in your head.

Your hole is plugged up by its tentacle and it has a firm grip on you, not bothered at all by you putting all your weight onto its body. There’s no chance that you’ll be able to move from this position for a good while. Feeling drowsy and full of your lover’s spend, you nod with a smile, settling down to lay against its chest.

“That sounds wonderful…” you sigh, snuggling down as you let the soft light of Home’s bulbs lull you back into a comfortable slumber with your lover.

(More Home posts can be found on its masterlist!)

[turtleduckscribbles]

Close to Home

“No matter where I go to offer aid, Link remains at my side…”

After a hundred year battle waged against the incarnation of evil, Princess Zelda has finally returned from the brink, brought back by her faithful and devoted knight companion, Link. But a lot has changed between now and yesteryear. The kingdom is healing, and with her work cut out for her, it’s all Zelda can do to stay afloat. A lifetime of fighting has sapped her strength, and rest has evaded her for too long.

As princess and knight work together to restore a devastated Hyrule, they must also reacquaint themselves with one another after a century of misplaced memories and time spent apart. What’s more, Zelda struggles to reconcile the grief of her past with the pressing demands of the present. With the castle laid to waste and her former life buried beneath the rubble, she’s never felt more displaced, so far removed from any refuge she might call home.

But with Link at her side, Zelda comes to find that the future may not be as fearsome as she once imagined, and sometimes, home is closer than we think.

~A brief exploration of Zelda’s personal journey toward home, and how she finds it in Link.

Read on AO3 or continue below.

~o~o~o~o~o~

PART ONE

Chapter 1: "The Princess and the Frog"

The late morning sunlight crowning the slick rocks of the Zodobon Highlands cast the lush glen in a brilliant, dreamlike glow. Stripes of dewy green stroked the land like a painter’s brush on a textured canvas. Far below, the Zora River wended its way down the valley, its low murmur barely discernible amidst the rustling of juniper shrubs. Tranquility at its finest.

Princess Zelda shut her eyes and inhaled, drawing it all in, every trace of nightshade and hint of mint amongst the overwhelming stretch of evergreen. The remedy of the wilds. She pictured it filling her, restoring her, allaying the burn in her lungs from the laborious hike up Ruto Mountain. A damp breeze tossed her waist-length hair, the perfect salve for her flushed skin. This was it. This was what they had fought so hard to preserve: a Hyrule at peace.

Her people at peace…

Zelda’s eyes snapped open. As if pulled by an invisible hook, she looked out across the valley from whence she came. The distended eyes of the large stone fish ogled her from its lofty perch, visible even from this vast distance.

Seeing it, fixed unblinkingly on her, doused Zelda in a familiar wave of anguish. She would never, could never, escape that gaze. The gnawing guilt that had spawned within her ever since the Calamity’s defeat threatened to return in full force, just as it had during her visit to the Domain. Standing before the Zora Royal Court again… Mipha’s father, and Sidon—now quite the imposing and mighty prince—all beaming brightly down at her… It had finally proven too much.

They were, of course, nothing but kind. They always had been, Mipha and her relations. They had been astonished, elated even, to see Hyrule’s princess again, to find her alive and well after such an extended absence. But seeing them, witnessing their magnanimity with her own eyes, in spite of all that transpired one hundred years ago, had broken something inside of her.

She had cried without restraint then, losing herself in her sobs. There in the throne room, in full view of the entire nobility, her tears took her by storm, leaving her flayed open in a way that her recent trip to Kakariko had not. A mortifying display of vulnerability. Taken aback, the Zora king and prince had succored her as best they could, quelling her tear-choked apologies, offering the warmest words of solace. Insisting wholeheartedly that they did not blame her for past traumas. They did not blame her for the loss of their kin.

And yet, Zelda couldn’t help but feel that the one who stood before them was the wrong princess.

A light tap on her arm lifted her from her reverie. She turned with a start. Link proffered her water canteen, his bright blue eyes searching her face.

“Oh, yes… Thank you, Link.” With a small, grateful smile, she accepted it and brought it to her lips. The first draft hit her throat like an icy spring plunge. Clearly she hadn’t realized how parched she was. She replaced the cap and returned it to him, her fingers lightly brushing the leather of his glove.

Link stayed put with her half-empty water canteen, his eyes raptly taking in the minutiae of her expression. Warming under his scrutiny, Zelda tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and the wind—impish sprite that it was—untucked it just as quickly.

As if suddenly aware of his effect on her, Link gave a single hard blink, severing his concentration. He turned in the direction of the cooking pot and raised a quizzical brow.

Nodding reassuringly, Zelda followed him away from the cliff’s edge toward the abandoned monster camp ensconced in a rocky alcove. It appeared to have been deserted for some time: moldering fruit rinds and splintered fish bones littered the pebbly ground at her feet. Picking her way over the debris, she chose a seat on a log next to a heap of dulled, rusted weaponry—lizalfos, from the look of it—and placed her hands neatly in her lap. Link crouched at the opposite side of the fire, pulling sundry herbs from his packs.

“Right,” she began. “We’ll need to decide what our next course of action will be. So then, I suppose the question becomes, once again: Where to next?”

From his squatted position, Link tossed a few sprigs of armoranth into the searing pot. A handful of wild greens followed. Zelda watched him work before discreetly clearing her throat, straightening in her seat.

“...I’ve reevaluated our trajectory and believe it’s in everyone’s best interest if we shift our primary focus to rebuilding efforts. Surveying ancient technology will only get us so far at the present. With Divine Beast Vah Ruta inoperative, it would appear that the Champions have… have gone on. But…” She took a shaky breath before continuing. “But that’s not to say the machines are obsolete. There is still much this technology can do for us. It’s just, without aid from fellow researchers, it will be difficult to begin the repurposing process on our own. Disassembling the machinery en masse may prove to be quite the challenge, and with Hyrule so scattered, we don’t want to overwhelm ourselves. So our first order of business should be opening lines of communication between groups. We’ll also need to establish some sort of main innovation center. As the Royal Ancient Laboratory is no longer serviceable, I’m not sure where that should be…” She sucked on her lip. “But for now, let’s direct our efforts on outreach. The Zora have already lent us their support, so that’s an encouraging start. Perhaps we should head to Goron City, or… Tarrey Town, was it called? From here, the northern settlements are most practical since they—”

“Hateno.”

Zelda’s speech came to a screeching halt. Link used a wooden spoon to stir around the contents of the pot. His voice was fleeting, barely heard above the sizzling ingredients, but all the same, she latched onto it like a castaway to a liferaft.

“...Hateno Village? In Necluda?”

Link nodded, his attention on his task. “Purah’s there. And it’s safe.”

Zelda considered this as Link adjusted seasonings. Safe. There was weight to the word, but to what degree, she couldn’t say…

It struck her as somewhat odd. Was the land not already safe, due to the end of the Calamity? With the blood moon gone, the bulk of the monster population had followed it, allowing for safer territories all around. So what did he mean?

It wasn’t that the remote farming community had slipped her mind; far from it. She knew Hateno was a sizable Hylian settlement—probably the largest standing, come to think of it—and it was true that a research facility now resided there. Genuinely, the thought of a countryside sojourn sounded remarkably appealing. And yes… she was elated at the prospect of seeing Purah again, truly… But, well, after a succession of emotionally taxing reunions back-to-back, Zelda had to admit that the idea gave her pause. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she was ready for another.

“Well… I suppose. Having an ancient technology center in our vicinity would be useful. And I really would love to reunite with Purah. It’s just… the other races…”

A fragrant bowl of sautéed herbs and mushrooms suddenly filled her vision. Before she knew what was happening, Link had placed it into her open palms and plopped himself on the log at her side, heartily digging into his own dish.

“All in time,” he said between mouthfuls of mushroom.

Zelda looked down at her bowl. She drew in a ravenous breath; the savory, nutty scent went straight to her stomach. After thanking him profusely, the two of them tucked into their meals in silence.

Slyly, she watched him from the corner of her eye. Link sat close to her on the log—not touching, exactly, but close enough that she could think of little else. She wondered what drove him to suggest Hateno as their next destination. Was there a particular need there that had arisen during his ventures across Hyrule? She had witnessed his journey in her mind’s eye over the past year whilst beating back the Calamity; doubtless she would have known if there was business there to attend to. But at the moment, Zelda couldn’t recall anything pressing about the isolated village. She couldn’t see why he’d set his sights there, of all places, when there was work to be done elsewhere.

Although, if Link suggested it… Surely the option had merit… 

From out of nowhere, a hot-footed frog leapt onto her foot. Zelda gasped and instinctively kicked out, nearly upsetting her bowl of sautéed vegetables. The frog clung steadfastly to her boot, undeterred, as if hitching a ride on a flailing Hylian leg was a regular occurrence for it. Mouth open, Zelda froze in place, her fingers gripping her bowl.

Time hung suspended by a thread. Princess, hero, and frog all gawked at each other in a droll imitation of a plot twist. With her leg awkwardly extended before her, Zelda eyed the tiny intruder incredulously, stiff as stone. The frog eyed her back, its bobbing vocal sac the only point of movement among them.

After a rather charged pause, the frog seemed to concede its mistake. With what could only be described as a sheepish croak, the creature turned tail and hopped from her foot, disappearing into the surrounding bushes.

Stunned silence. Zelda sat gaping at her recently vacated boot. She turned toward her knight companion.

Link gazed thoughtfully at the shrub where the frog had vanished, his empty bowl resting in his lap. A few seconds passed before his eyes drifted over to her, straight-faced and collected.

“Sorry. Missed my chance.”

Zelda raised an eyebrow at this. Link shrugged.

“A rare delicacy got away.”

Zelda stared at him. In her haste to comprehend his meaning, her tongue seemed wholly unable to formulate words. A small smile was forming at the corners of his lips. Then, it dawned on her, the realization striking her like a thunderclap.

He remembers! she thought.

Without warning, a torrent of emotion swept through her. Link’s face, so mild and unguarded, plucked a chord hidden within her, catching her entirely off balance. Unable to bear it, she broke contact, swallowing to quell the tide that had risen in her throat.

Sensing her distress, Link too looked away, his expression reverting to default impassivity. He stood quickly and brought his dirtied dish over to the nearby mountain stream. As he rinsed it out in the brisk water, Zelda took a moment to compose herself. Taking in a steadying breath, she rolled back her shoulders and addressed him once more, her unfinished lunch tucked close.

“I appreciate your input about our goals. And I agree; Hateno Village is a fitting next stop on our journey. We’ll speak with Purah and go from there.” Pausing, she nodded to herself. “Yes… That is what we’ll do.”

Finished with his washing, Link packed his bowl and made his way back over to her. He resumed his seat beside her on the log and held out his hand, palm up. Obliging, Zelda handed him her half-eaten meal, and Link wasted no time scarfing down the remainder of her food.

In the midst of his munching, she caught his eye. Even with bulging cheeks, it was easy to spot the care in his expression, the endearing quirk of his mouth that fortified her spirit more than any elixir could. Warmth blossomed unrestrained in her chest.

Despite all the unknowns the future held, the one thing Zelda knew with unequivocal certainty was that she would be okay with Link. Safe, with Link.

Wherever they went, it mattered not, so long as she was with him.

~o~o~o~o~o~

>> Chap 2 >>

[foolish-fran]

I miss how mornings in the Von Karma household used to be. Papa would make fresh pancakes or eggs benedict, and I’d look over his shoulder as he read the morning paper, scanning for any mention of his latest court victories. It always gave me a hint of pride when I caught Papa’s name in the paper, and I hoped that one day, I would be able to be just as talented and amazing as he was. Miles would sip his morning tea in his porcelain teacups, the scent of lemon or chamomile or ginger wafting through the kitchen, and I would slip Missile scraps of my breakfast from under the dining table.

The house was different back then. Livelier, busier, more alive. Now it feels like a relic, a museum, as I wander the halls alone, trying my best to evade Papa’s piercing eyes staring into me from his portraits.

I keep expecting to hear the sounds of the Steel Samurai theme playing from the living room TV, or wake up to the smell of Miles’ tea or Papa’s delicious pancakes. I keep, instinctively, wanting to look out the window, waiting for Papa’s car to show up in the garage so he can come home and tell me all about his day in court. He’d hold my hand, scoop me up in his firm, sturdy arms, and tell me he was sorry he was gone for so long, that this was all a horrible mistake, that none of what Miles told me that December morning was true and he was still the same man I thought he was…

But those are a fool’s daydreams.

Sitting in Papa’s old study, in his leather chair that’s far too big for me, I can’t help but feel like a child playing with her father’s hand-me-downs. In court, I feel powerful, grown-up, like the respected prosecutor and legend I am. I feel like myself. But here, in this house, for whatever reason, I still feel like a little girl. I’ve thought about redecorating before, making this space feel truly mine. But even if this study, this house, is in my name now, somehow changing anything about it feels like sacrilege.

I keep checking my phone for a notification or message from Miles. A missed call, anything. Just answer my calls. Just tell me where you are. Anything.

But no, my little brother has been MIA since that horrible December day, when he called me from across the sea to tell me the news. Franziska, your papa is dead. Your papa is a criminal.

Missile barks softly from his velvet dog bed. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers through his fur, remembering how Miles and I would chase him through the house once upon a time. He wags his tail in contentment, padding over to the cherry-wood cabinet where Papa kept his case files.

“You’re right, I’ve spent more than enough time rotting in this old house like a fool. I need to get back to the courtroom. I need to show the world that despite this setback, I am still an unstoppable force. I may have lost Papa, I may not know where Miles is, I may be alone. But I am still a Von Karma, and I can still crush my opponents into dust beneath my heel.”

I pick up my whip, feeling more confident the second I feel the comforting texture of the leather in my hand.

I am Franziska von Karma, and I refuse to be thwarted by my circumstances.

Papa would be proud.

[undead-potatoes]

Sunny! Don't know if anyone else has asked you this, but tell us about your Rook too please? Class, background, fun fact :3

HAAA I was JUST about to post my own little introduction when you sent this, perfect timing B)

This is my Rook, Ronnie Mercar (he/she/they), a dwarven rogue belonging to the Shadow Dragons faction.

I'm still hashing things out, but the idea so far is that they used to belong to one of the minor noble houses of Orzammar. In their youth they were heavily influenced by the political discourse surrounding the casteless*, as well as their anxieties surrounding what was expected of them by their family and Orzammar society, both of which fed into their more rebellious nature.

Long story short, years of animosity towards her family and Orzammar as whole made her leave the dwarven city behind, a final act of defiance of both. She did regret this decision about 5 minutes after going through with it, but the bridges had already been burned so she had no choice but to keep on going.

He spent the first couple of years just roaming about, surviving mostly of off the valuables he had brought with him from Orzammar and letting the wind take him where it might. This is where his personal and political journey truly began, discovering the world and just how sheltered he had been growing up. He became more and more involved with the "small folk" in his travels, both as a necessity and out of curiosity, which is how he eventually got tangled up in organizations like Red Jenny and later the Shadow Dragons.

It's this journey of someone who lived a very comfortable life, had an awakening that just shook their entire world view to their core, and slowly became more and more radicalized about it. Their activism was probably clunky as fuck to begin with, but after a few decades in the right company they figured their shit out, as you do.

The meta reason they're a rogue is bc I wanted to play one again. The in-universe reason is that they were primarily taught to fight from members of the various groups they ran into, most of which I imagine would be rogues playing fast and loose with the "rules" of combat. They have the body for it too, being very agile and strong in ways similar to a gymnast, with a good amount of upper body strength and a strong core.

Fun facts:

He absolutely cannot stand mushrooms. The texture, the flavor, the way they're in EVERYTHING down in Orzammar, it just all made him hate them with a fiery passion.

Despite being blind in one eye, they're a great shot. You only need one eye for aiming anyways.

She hates it when people shortens her name to Ron. It's either Ronnie, Fevronia, or Rook. Take your pick or fuck off.

*In my canon, the Warden was a casteless dwarf who was made Paragon after the blight, and thus had a noble house founded in her name. She let in all sorts of casteless to her house after its founding, as is the right of any Paragon who founds a house, and I imagine this in combination with King Bhelen making a (former) casteless noble hunter his rightful queen really stirred the shit pot in Orzammar.

For with a society as ancient and rigid as Orzammar, what do you do when that rigidity is fundamentally shaken to its core? When some of the most revered and powerful among you suddenly come from stock you considered a stain on your entire race? And let me tell you, my Brosca did absolutely nothing to make that noise any quieter, taking every opportunity to be just as defiant and scandalous as she could get away with.

I'm not sure how much change this actually ended up enacting, but it sure as hell kept the political discourse going.

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLVI

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Rated Mature. Rating subject to change. Mind the tags. On AO3 here.

A week was a generous window of time; in fact, it was an overestimation for a zealous designer hired to do interior work for a Fatui Harbinger. They arrived within a few days, during which you played before bed and Zandik taught you the difference between coffee brewed in Sumeru and Fontaine. He much preferred the later; your nation's palette ran far too sweet, even for him.

Zandik's obscured gaze lingered during the initial introductions in much the same way it had on you back in the House of Daena. Luckily, or unluckily, the designer's nerves were made of stronger stuff, and it was clear they spent their time dealing with precise and demanding clients. They were unbothered, both by Zandik's stare and about the fact they were speaking to a Fatui Harbinger and their presumed life-partner.

A certain level of discretion was respectable. However, you knew precisely what being in their position meant. The right things to say, not revealing too much on one’s face, timing everything just so. No one was ever certain of your true personage and everyone was happier for the work done. Information that spread from both parties as a result was a given.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up a little at the designer's passing remark about Lord Pantalone's generosity on their retainer.

"Pantalone knows who is worth the time and mora. I trust you’ll find a way to meet the needs outlined,” Zandik remarked. “Lest you disappoint him.”

The designer’s smile was stiffer but otherwise professional, even when Zandik parted and left you in the sudden silence of your shared apartments.

The space you slept in reminded you of the tiny graveyards dotting the Fontaine countryside. Pretty, in only the way a romantic notion of death allowed, time and effort and money spent on a space never seen by those who occupied it. In another life, you might have been offended that Zandik cared so little for where he slept. It was evident he valued your comfort though and what better expertise was there when Zandik held no opinion on the matter?

You led the designer through the biggest changes, namely the bedroom, right down to the thread count on the sheets and the arrangement of the furniture. New textures, patterns, wallpaper. Such a practice was common in Fontaine, especially in second or even third marriages. You didn’t care if the designer thought your initial focus on the most intimate space was strange; even if they said nothing to allude to such thoughts, their stiffness did not melt. Perhaps they held the idea that the Second Harbinger was more machine than man, a rumor that circulated less now that you were seen with him.

If your memories were fixed, changing the bedroom wouldn't matter anyway, but you would always carry the contrary knowledge, as would the walls. Spaces held memories, too.

The sitting area was next. You needed a workspace, at least a private one, and a spot by the windows afforded not only the best light but the best view of the mountains and beyond. The peaks here were nothing like the peaks in Fontaine. These were eternally snow-capped and jagged, like the teeth of a dragon, it's maw wide open with the Palace and surrounding town in the center, waiting to be swallowed.

A tale for children, Zandik had said without explanation when you first came to the land; now you knew how true that statement really was.

As you spoke, the designer suggested, and with a few quick sketches, you understood immediately why Lord Pantalone chose them specifically. From their sketch, you could only surmise that they intended to re-arrange the sitting area in the center of the room. Even back in the dreamscape, that space always seemed so insular. You could imagine Zandik with multiple Segments sitting, all being able to face one another and look over plans, never letting anyone else into the fold.

Cold and off-putting.

Exactly what you didn't want for either of you.

"A sofa this way, across from the fireplace and a table in front of it, creates a cozy space that separates itself without being too closed off. Right now, it's more of a conversation pit but there's no warmth. Might be able to flank the coffee table with armchairs if that's a must…but what to do with…"

You were shown swatches of fabric and examples of wood finishes but visualizing space was not your forte, you admitted.

Apparently, that was the best thing to say because they were immediate in rearranging the pre-existing furniture with gusto. Soon enough, you found yourself sitting on one of the sofas, maintained but worn, the low table in front of you, staring at the grate in front of the vacant fireplace.

The idea was tempting. You could imagine Zandik sprawled out in front of the fire, his head in your lap, as it had been once upon a time. That had felt so real back then. You could only wonder how such an arrangement might feel now, tangible and warm. The familiar yearning ache flared in your chest, radiating outward into your arms and down to your feet.

Somehow, parts of this were worse now that you were near one another, and yet your mind was all the clearer for it.

You turned your head towards the awaiting designer as you said, "It's perfect."

Through sheer proximity and time together, small intimate details showed themselves to both of you, as natural as breathing.

That was not to say that everything was perfect.

You overheard the way he spoke harshly to subordinates and threw daggers (proverbial and otherwise) at anyone who wasted his time. It set you on edge and scratched at the parts of your mind you wished Omega had touched. You withdrew just as Zandik caught himself, the damage done, your body present but your mind back in Fontaine. You set your mind free again with the familiar weight of your cello bow in your hands and the notes reverberated through your very being until you felt grounded again.

As of late, you had yet to hear him do more than sigh harshly through his nose. Instead, he asked about a particular detail in your composition from a previous night to distract himself from others' failures.

And Zandik, despite the freedom from his hivemind, thought himself into circles to the point where he wound himself so tight, he couldn't even sit. You caught him on occasion checking his pulse at his wrist and frowning, annoyed at the lack of control. Despite all of his own work, he couldn't discern whether he enjoyed the way you smiled because he was meant to or because you were, in fact, such a fascinating spark in his life.

It only took a few strokes of his hair to melt the unease away just long enough to get him to bed. He didn't have to sleep, you told him, but it wouldn't kill him to rest.

Enough common ground existed that you always came back into orbit of one another.

It would never be perfect.

Soulmates were never intended to be. Some had it easier than others but even then, every relationship needed work.

And neither of you were strangers to dedicating yourself to work.

You trekked down in the depths of the Palace some days after the designer's first meeting, intent on using some of the space to practice your claymore techniques using the baton with little fear of damaging anything irreplaceable. The large and open chamber that housed a half-assembled Ruin machine would do just fine; the high ceiling and open space allowed you to test the range of your motions.

Soon enough, not even the laboratories would be a sanctuary for you, not without additional precautions. Zandik's other assistants, the ones that worked beneath the Segments, had not yet returned to their assignments; that would change within the next few days. Progress had halted long enough. Plans were in motion and the remaining parts needed to be ready.

You were reminded of it as soon as you stepped foot into the workspace. Prototypes mid-construction were spread out, their blueprints on a nearby board with various notes to pinned to the main schematic. These were projects in a pipeline, years in the making and finally being brought out of theory and into trial. It was impossible to misconstrue their purpose.

And Natlan was as unstable as ever.

Retreating to a workspace far away from any current project, you called the baton and your claymore with ease, both appearing like loyal hounds at a whistle while the Meks shuddered to life at your presence. A touch of home that Zandik programmed for you. You could feel the Arkhe energy pulsing faintly, not unlike the way air tasted before a thunderstorm.

With enough practice, the weighty and unwieldy sensation was gone and you learned to control the force with minute changes in both the speed and distance you waved the receiver. Now it was a matter of hand-eye coordination to hit your targets continuously when you were no longer up close and personal in combat.

To your surprise, the diamond blades created by your Vision appeared without much prompting other than a call on your Geo resonance. They worked with the motion of the baton, crashing down like the sword dangling over a courier in an old fable who traded places with his king for a single day.

The release of Geo energy did wonders for your mood and your mind as much as playing did as of late. You still could not dream but you were far from being as disconnected as you once felt.

That counted for something.

You slammed your claymore down with a flourish, crushing the last of the Meks, Pneuma and Ousia energy cores sputtering and failing.

With the weapon in your hands, such a fight would have left you winded and struggling to retain your grip on the weapon, muscles and tendons screaming. You still exerted yourself but without the weight and momentum of the claymore to contend with, it was easier to focus on finding patterns to exploit.

"Better," Zandik called from behind you. "Much better control. How do your hands feel?"

You turned and vanished the baton with a flick of your wrist, smiling and wiggling your fingers in response.

"Nothing's locked up so far. We'll see after a longer rehearsal, though."

A slight frown tugged at his lips, gone before you could inquire further. He was, for a rare change of pace, dressed in gray slacks, with a white shirt open at the collar with a gray waistcoat to match. If you were attending a spring wedding in the hills of your homeland, he wouldn't look too out of place. Without the metallic bird on his shoulder, he seemed to hold himself even taller, if such a thing were possible.

"I might have to increase their aggression if you're going to wipe them out so quickly," Zandik teased with a smirk. "Considering you couldn't even summon your weapon not that long ago. If you're finished, I wish to discuss something with you concerning your memories. I believe I have a solution."

A solution? As you walked with him back to the office you once wandered through, you wracked your brain, your heart still pounding and breathing heavy from the fight. The last you spoke of such a thing was the first night in Snezhnaya. Reversing the tangles that Omega created was an eventual goal, you assumed, based on that conversation. One that might be obtainable when Zandik found his feet again as a single consciousness and returned to his station properly.

Part of you hoped you never had to undergo such an experience again.

Safely in the confines of the office, your eyes fell on a jar of an organ, its label illegible, before you looked at Zandik through your face covering. His mask remained in place, his hands occupying themselves with the various piles of notes and trinkets on the desk. He paused, finding what he was looking for and tucked it into his pocket before rounding the furniture to lean against it, facing you, hands on either side of him for a moment.

"I thought we agreed to give it time," you said, tone mild. "That everything might sort itself out."

Zandik dipped his head in a gesture you knew as slight agreement before he turned a point on its head and spun it like a top for a new angle. He tucked his hands into his pockets and continued.

"Time was allotted with minimal results. Your nightmares are indicative that, to some degree, your mind understands the falsehoods but cannot repress them entirely nor bring itself to let them go so the proper ones can surface."

"It's not as if we've tried to actively stimulate my real memories, Zandik. Not truly."

It came out a little harsher than you intended and carried the weight of the last couple of months since the discussion on the terraces of the Divine Tree. You watched as Zandik's lips grew into a thin line and the muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth.

Arms crossed, you pulled your gaze away from him and took in the way the pyro lamps burned and danced to a pattern of their own making. They were bright enough to work by but never contained the true brightness of the sun.

That you weren't able to rearrange the webs and put everything back together naturally, without interference, wasn't your fault but it wasn't his, either. Going back to Fontaine wasn’t an option, or at least not one that didn’t come with more problems than it was worth.

Tackling this earlier was an impossibility when he was still processing his own death, metaphorical though it was.

"Of all people, I know how difficult it is to let go when you don't have the means nor the bandwidth."

If you were anyone else, he would have spat the sentiment with venom; instead, he sounded tired, bored even, as if the words were a given you should know by now.

"That wasn't fair, I'm sorry," you conceded, setting aside your mask and opening your arms again. "The time we've had needed to be used on more pressing issues and who's to say if we did try to provoke my memories that it would have worked?"

"Music is a powerful catalyst in driving unconscious memories forward, after all." He shook his head and then waved his hand causally. "You cannot tell me you've been able to bring anything to your waking mind from playing as of late. You do not likely have a proper reference point to try to match and so you cannot know what to play to try and awaken those memories. All you have are whatever untruths Omega painted like an artist reusing canvas, and if I offer alternatives to what you could have been doing, I am imposing a bias."

You inhaled slowly and took one hand in another, rubbing your usual sore spots to soothe your own frustrations. It was all you could do. Anything else required too much attention and you wanted to know what he had to say.

Instead of speaking, Zandik unclipped his face cover, set it on the desk behind him, and pulled what appeared to be a red star from his pocket.

A Segment's Ruin core, permanently marred with the data and memories of its owner.

He destroyed all them though, hadn't he?

Your heart sank slightly as you schooled your expression. He had reasoning, he always did. Even if it didn't necessarily aligned with your view.

His demeanor fell when recognition crossed your face but he held out his hand anyway, the core resting in his palm. You crossed the room and took it. Turning it over in your hand, you immediately noticed the symbol that marked the Segment. How could he possibly have kept…

"Omega was the only one in the entire network who held extensive knowledge of the memory grafting. I reviewed what's left on the Core—long before you shook me from my stupor—and I believe there's a way to reverse engineer the process," Zandik began.

Hands cupped yours and traced your returning callouses the way one traced a pen mark they admired or a soothing fabric.

"Your memories are the last remnant of my Segments. You carry your own version of events, ones that didn't happen, that Omega saw fit to weave. I spent many, many years using any and all means to get to desirable results; I won't bore you with such details. Regret doesn't come into the equation but as I said back in Sumeru, and as I reminded you, I needed the knowledge first. Now I have it."

"Reverse engineering would require me to undergo the same process, would it not?" you asked, flicking your gaze up to meet his eyes. "Attach me to an Akasha network, push me into my own mind?"

"More than likely. Omega was thorough in his notes on the Samsara Cycle and it was easy enough to navigate the machines and network when I found you the first time. I believe this course of action is for the best. For both of us. You should be able to dream again and the remnants of my past will cease to haunt."

After a beat, you asked "Worst case scenario?"

If you went into this idea know how bad it could possibly get, you could at least be prepared. Before, such a thought never would have crossed your mind; it certainly didn't when you were asked if you wanted to seek private patronage nor when you walked with Omega under the impression the Segment was Zandik. Foolish, really, considering what you learned about those in power in need of more.

"Omega couldn't sever our connection, although he tried," he said at last. "He wasn't your proper soulmate. It is unclear if…pruning the memories and their branches will affect more than just those memories. If removing part of myself will remove the whole. He simply laid himself on top of pre-existing memories…this may have far more ramifications."

Zandik was quiet but his hands never left yours. For a moment, you were back to damp grass and bright stars, investigative touches trying to understand what instrument you played.

"If I am to be done with my past selves, I must remove these lies from your mind," Zandik said evenly. "I believe the risk is worth it."

Risk. Such a tiny word for the gravity with which it pulled on your heart. The very thing Omega set up to complete was still a possibility despite the Segment being nothing more than ash (or mostly ash). He just never took the next step, a step that was simply pulling at a loose thread to unravel the whole.

You were about to pull your hands away and return the Core to him when Zandik's fingers tightened around yours, silently begging you to stay. He looked down at your joined hands as he sighed, squeezed yours lightly, and then looked at you again.

His eyes almost burned as he looked at you, expressive in ways that only the finest minute movements allowed; before you, he stood resolute, determined, and you could understand how even the most desperate souls clinging to their last moments of life might believe he had the answer. It was easy to mistake it for charisma, for arrogance, and easier still for it to have twisted into such things.

"I do not promise anything when it comes to my work; they're nothing more than lies wrapped up with a bow and I deal only in truths," Zandik whispered. "Should that happen, it changes nothing."

It changed everything, you wanted to scream. He would finally be able to get what he wanted, free himself from one Celestial shackle, done with the circular logic of trying to make predestination make sense amid all his own work.

Omega would win.

And you would be left hollow. Again. Left with nothing but memories of what used to be possible, of the connections ripped from you, choice truly taken from you. Either way, you lost and you didn't work for close to two decades only to…

"How would it not—" you started, the words stuck in your throat like thick porridge.

"Nothing, rooh 'albi. And no one will take that choice from me. No one."

Even from across the frozen training ground, weeks later that now marked your stay in Snezhnaya at two months, you could still feel the adamant resolution in subtle waves. Your foe this time was no Mek but a suit of corroded armor brought back from the depths of a rift in the ice further north, beyond the Cryo Dragon's resting ground. The bitter cold bit through your lined pants and warm coat, your cloak held in the crook of Zandik's arm as you pressed the soldier harder.

Sunlight reflected off the snow and made everything brighter; you were thankful your mask cut down on the glare.

You pinned the joints of the armor down with two diamond blades, Geo energy pulsing in waves as you sent a third through the seam between the body and the helmet. With a gesture for releasing a note, you waved the baton in a small circle while pinching your forefinger and thumb of your other hand together, following the motion in perfect sync. Your claymore gave a final whistling note as it cut through the air and stabbed through metal and corroded flesh.

It protested still, determined to get back on its feet despite your attempts to subdue.

Over your shoulder, you heard a familiar high-pitched whine before a glowing Cryo needle whizzed past your ear and hit its target. The soldier in starlight armor fell still, finally, its weapon turning dark as the remnants of life faded.

"One day, I'll be good enough to face you properly," you said with a smile when you approached Zandik as he finished up his notes.

Before you could retrieve your cloak, Zandik draped the thick fabric around your shoulders with practiced ease. He was either uncaring or oblivious regarding onlookers and that suited you just fine. People would talk; avoiding it would only cause more suspicion and both of you were growing tired of hiding like schoolchildren.

He opened his mouth as he smoothed out your cloak's lining and you nearly jumped when you heard another voice in his stead.

"Be careful, maestra. Our Doctor never turns down a challenge and he seldom loses."

Both of you turned your heads to find Lord Pantalone standing just at the bottom of the footpath, an accompanying Agent several steps behind, bowing low at the waist. Zandik's hand grazed your jaw as he pulled away and warm air puffed out in a cloud from his nose at the interruption. You were, for once, thankful for the cold and the fight; both burned your cheeks and hid any flush across your skin.

At least it was Pantalone, you tried to rationalize, but even the most well-behaved dogs still had teeth.

"What brings you down from your lofty office, Regrator?" Zandik drawled, tilting his head slightly.

"I take it then the Tsaritsa's couriers had as much trouble finding you as I did." Pantalone replied, his tone light.

The other Harbinger's cloak was open just enough to allow him the freedom to use his hands. He steepled his fingers together but pointed them in Zandik's general direction as he smiled, golden eyes hidden, his expression congenial.

"The Knave and Marionette returned successful from Fontaine; the Jester sends his orders for an audience with the Tsaritsa."

Zandik pulled his shoulders back, his back already straight.

"And he sent you to fetch me?"

"I thought it prudent to save him the trouble."

"You think it prudent to save the Tsaritsa an entire vault of mora but he has yet to determine if you're worthy of a higher seat. Perhaps it's time to change your strategy, Regrator."

Zandik pushed a breath through his nose, another puff of warm air escaping him the way smoke lingered in taverns in the lower reaches of the Court of Fontaine. He pulled in his arms into his cloak and made to walk ahead of the other Harbinger, his strides murderous as his cloak's hem whispered against the snow.

Pantalone turned and then stopped as you stepped to follow, at least up to the Palace. You watched as his smile grew wider and you caught a hint of gold as he looked at you. Mora was never an apt comparison you realized; his gaze was as threatening as the glimpse of a bullet in a chamber, a Duelist's final weapon ready to be drawn.

"No. Not you, maestra," Pantalone's tone was sickeningly sweet, patronizing, and your stomach burned.

He nodded to the Agent, who stepped forward and bowed to you, standing only when his Harbinger gestured to do so. The distinct unspoken air of disdain you were keenly familiar reared its head as you debated, for a moment, playing into it. You hadn't missed this nonsense, toeing the line and watching both tone and words, wondering just what step led to the path of least resistance.

"I wish to have a word with my colleague. You can take the scenic route back to the Palace. Anatoly here is quite competent in providing additional security in the Doctor's absence."

You turned your gaze up to Zandik, who had since stopped and turned back, mouth set into a frown. Other than the initial meeting in his lab, you hadn't told him about Pantalone's visit while he was disassembling the Segments. That was your battle to fight first; after all, you couldn't always rely on him.

But here, he was the one with the most authority. And the Ninth knew that, too.

"Whatever you have to say can be said openly, Pantalone."

The Ninth never looked back at Zandik, his sharp gaze trained on you. "No, I don't believe it can. Do you think me such a poor friend that I would discuss private matters as one discusses the weather?"

You smiled politely and even deigned to cross one leg behind another and give the closest gesture to a curtsy you could in a heavy cloak and pants.

"I do not wish to come between you. And your work is imperative; the Tsaritsa's Will must come first." You turned your obscured gaze to Zandik and said, "Send word if you will be further delayed but otherwise you know where I'll be, my Lord Harbinger."

Not like you went anywhere else other than the Tsaritsa's music room or your quarters anyway. The latter was probably a safer option, stifling though the notion felt.

Zandik inclined his head slightly but said nothing, instead turning around and continuing up the hill. Pantalone's smile faltered for a split second, an expression between disgust and admiration dancing across his face before he, too, turned and made his way back to the Palace.

You sought another path back up to the Palace, the Agent's footsteps never far behind as a bud of dread bloomed in your chest, invading all it could.

[cchanticleer]

I'm still rankled by the lack of good refs for robin's clothes so i got more

As far as i know there's not a single bit of official art that shows them in their default tactician digs without their coat on so it's come to drastic measures, digging in to the actual models.

Fates, as seen above, offers the most complete look. In this version the coat is an entirely separate thing, and underneath it the clothes are fully modeled and textured. I used paragon to remove the coat; i'm not sure if you'd ever be able to see this all in-game normally. Maybe the coat goes away with clothing damage? I'll have to check later.

getting at things in other games is more of a pain, but worth looking into.

To be clear: I'm not looking at coat here, just what's underneath. TBH i was mostly personally interested in seeing what their golden collar bit is attached to. often when people draw robin's clothes they go off of this fan-made reference sheet, which adds a little mini jacket thing which i personally don't like the look of no insult to the creator it's just not my jam which is why i spent so much time trying to fine accurate refs while I always just assumed it was a part of the coat itself. Turns out we're both wrong!

I know the first model you'd want to look at is the one from Awakening itself, but unfortunately i couldn't find a rip of the model on first glance. BUT, while pulling usable models straight from the game files is out of my wheelhouse, i CAN pull the textures. So we'll look at that instead.

Here's the body textures for f!Robin from Awakening. It's a bit tricky to parse, but from what i'm seeing the parts of the clothes that are covered up are unsurprisingly not modeled/textured. The skirt-thing is almost the same, though the gold band running across the middle of the back segment is smooth instead of having two sharp bends. Other than that I don't see very much of note.

Next: Warriors. I got the models from here. I haven't touched blender in years but i remember just enough to tear things apart and see what's underneath. Looking at unpromoted m!Robin once again.

I only bothered to delete what was covering things on one side because it's all basically symmetrical, half's enough to get the idea. Again, my first priority was seeing what the collar was attached to, and it turns out the answer to that is "not much". They didn't bother modeling the whole thing, reasonably assuming that it'd never be seen. You can see that it's definitely its own garment separate from the coat and the top, but beyond that there ain't much. What we can see doesn't match the design from fates, though. I'd figure that it doesn't match because there's no point in adding details that no one'll ever see, but that's not where the changes end.

Here's the lower body, where we can see that the back of the skirt-y portion is completely different. In Awakening (as far as i can tell from the textures) and in Fates it's two segments, the smaller front segment and a second, larger segment that wraps all the way around. In this, there's four, with a matching front and back and matching sides.

Also there's a few points on the belt section where things are clipping through each other, but i'm pretty sure that was a part of the model as i got it and not a result of my cutting things up. Whether that's how it is in game or something that's happened when it was ported to blender, i couldn't say.

Last is Smash Bros.

I'm gonna be honest i had sort of run out of steam at this point and since i didn't see any models that had already been conveniently formatted for blender i kinda phoned this one in.

I looked around just long enough to see that a) there's even less of the collar piece modeled, it stops as soon as it's covered by the coat and b) the skirt-y thing is once again in two pieces. Here's the textures if anyone wants to try and parse em

I guess there's also codename: steam

I am not going to check codename: steam

In conclusion i spent entirely too much time on this but maybe someone will be able to use this mess as reference idk

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

The night before graduation, Tyler lay in bed, overwhelmed by the looming decisions about his future. College, work, expectations—everything felt impossibly heavy. As he stared at the ceiling of his cluttered bedroom, he wished he could skip the uncertainty and just do what made him happy.

“I just wish I could skip this part,” he mumbled, closing his eyes, desperate for relief. He didn’t expect those words to mean anything, but as sleep claimed him, Tyler’s world began to change in ways he could never have imagined.

In the dream, Tyler found himself in a new place, feeling strangely at home in a cozy, sunlit kitchen. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air, mingling with the sound of children’s laughter. He looked down at his hands and saw thick, hairy forearms adorned with tattoos. His skin was tanned and weathered, his fingers calloused and marked with small scars. He tried to take it all in, but every detail felt oddly right, like slipping into a favorite old shirt.

Tyler’s body was larger, broader—nothing like the slim teenager he had always known. His chest was covered in a thick mat of salt-and-pepper hair that trailed down to a soft, sturdy belly. He ran his hands across his chest, feeling the rugged texture of a body that had lived through years of hard work, love, and family. His once-sharp jawline was now framed by a full, graying beard that gave his face a seasoned, rugged handsomeness. As he rubbed his beard thoughtfully, he felt the lines of age beneath his fingertips—crow’s feet around his eyes and a smile line that had been carved by countless moments of joy.

His shoulders were broad and powerful, shaped by years of lifting, carrying, and embracing his loved ones. His arms, thick with muscle and age, bore tattoos that told stories he could suddenly recall in vivid detail—symbols of his journey, his family, and the love he shared with his husband. His legs, sturdy and strong, supported his newfound bulk with the solid confidence of a man who had chased his kids around the yard, fixed things around the house, and carried the weight of a life well-lived.

As Tyler moved through this new world, his surroundings shifted. The walls were adorned with family photos—snapshots of beach vacations, birthdays, and quiet moments captured in frames that lined the hallway. The furniture was cozy and worn, the kind that welcomed you with a sense of home. Everything around him radiated love and comfort, from the colorful crayon drawings taped to the fridge to the pile of toys that cluttered the living room floor.

His mind filled with memories that weren’t his own but felt as real as any he’d ever known: the first time he held his children, the comforting weight of his husband’s arm around him at the end of a long day, and the countless little moments of connection that filled their lives. Each memory added weight to his new identity, layering Tyler’s consciousness with the wisdom and contentment of a man who had lived this life fully.

Tyler’s teenage anxieties faded, replaced by the calm certainty of a man who knew his place in the world. He felt the aches and creaks of age—stiff knees from years of crouching down to play with his kids, a sore back from lifting too many boxes, and the faint stiffness in his shoulders from long days spent tending to his family’s needs. But these aches were badges of honor, reminders of the life he had built.

Back in his real-world bedroom, Tyler’s body continued to change. His slender frame expanded, his skin thickened and aged, and his face transformed into that of the man in his dreams. His room morphed around him, the familiar posters and clutter disappearing, replaced by the warm, lived-in look of a family home. Shelves filled with children’s books, framed photos, and small trinkets of a life well-lived took their place. His bed grew larger, the sheets softer and smelling faintly of his husband’s cologne.

When Tyler finally woke up, it was in this new reality, in a bed far too big to belong to a high school senior. He felt the warmth of his husband’s body next to him, his husband’s steady breathing filling the quiet room. Tyler stretched, feeling the comforting heft of his mature, hairy body and the strength that came from a life of love, struggle, and joy. The morning light filtered through the curtains, and the soft hum of his children’s voices drifted in from the hallway.

As he got out of bed, Tyler didn’t feel shocked or out of place. Instead, he felt whole—more himself than he had ever been. The anxious dream of being a teenager was already fading, distant and unimportant. He kissed his husband’s temple, savoring the familiar scent of morning coffee and pancakes on the griddle, and walked out to start his day.

Tyler’s heart swelled with gratitude as he looked around at the life he had—his home, his husband, his kids, and every perfectly imperfect moment that made up his world. He knew exactly who he was, and as he poured himself a cup of coffee, he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. The life he’d woken up to was exactly what he’d wished for, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

[dreamnants-mis]

unnamed

A story about a nameless man who cannot die and a name that became his own. Spoilers for up to Chapter 124! Word Count: 2,252

This was the fic that originally sparked the analysis I did on Andy's name, but it wasn't completed and published until this year, as part of trying to distract myself until the 21st. Decided to post this fic on here too for the heck of it. You can find it on here too.

"What's your name?"

"Don't remember. Undead's good enough, right?" "Not at all! Guess I'll have to name you then!" ... He didn't have a name for the longest time.

Granted, he didn't have anything when he emerged from the shallow grave, aside from the clothes on his back and the lingering taste of dry dirt in his mouth.

He probably could have thought of one for himself to stick with, but for some reason, it never occurred to him that he could. Whenever he tried, something about whatever he came up with just didn't seem right. As if the lingering traces of the past were telling him that it wasn't his name, but nothing could quite feel like his name either.

Instead, he'd let the people around him refer to him by whatever they wanted. Josh, Sanders, and Red had called him Captain, as did Camus and Ash. Even as time went on, Camus and Ash never stopped calling him that and he never bothered to indicate anything to stop them otherwise. It'd simply felt too natural after knowing them for too long to change. He was still nameless otherwise though.

After both of them passed away, he went back to being a drifter with no attachments and no clear name or even a nickname to go by. Maybe another reason he didn't go by any definite name was because as he realized a decade or so afterwards, he would probably had to change it at some point to avoid drawing attention to himself as being undead.

At some point around the 1950s, he'd given up on trying to find his identity as perhaps anyone that knew him from the past was long gone. Hence why he was fine with being called Undead, even if it came with the stark reminder of what he was and the curse that came with it. Being named created attachments. Attachments, for someone who couldn't die, were simply painful. 

When he was captured by the Union in 1970 and spent the next decade in confinement and countless tests with death, Gina gave him the name "Deady Dearest". He didn't care too much for the name personally, but the gesture behind it was from a kinder place and made him not say anything when she did. It definitely felt less like a name more as a cheesy nickname, but it was a step more personal than being called Undead.

When it came clear to him that he truly couldn't die, he'd escaped and spent the next 50 years as he had in the years before wandering with the Union still trailing him without a clear purpose as a ghost.

He happened to remember how Josh had wanted to learn swordplay from Japan long ago after he'd taught her Japanese, leading to him becoming Yusai's student for a year to learn iajitsu.  Yusai had tried to propose to him after he'd mastered the last technique in late August, but he'd simply told him he'd only accept if she could outlive him and left knowing what he said was an impossible task.

A part of him couldn't bring himself to return to Japan for decades after that. He only returned over thirty years later to see Tokyo on a whim out of curiosity. Since Tokyo wasn't anywhere near where Yusai lived, he figured there were slim chances of running into her.

He hadn't thought visiting Japan would be any different than his usual country wanderings. He'd finally taken the plunge to try that boba thing that was apparently becoming popular in Asian countries, finding it far too sweet and the texture strange to wonder why people liked it so much. 

At least until he passed by Shinjuku Station and overheard some brat saying it was time to end herself and claiming anyone who touched her would contract a deadly disease and die. Certainly the most interesting suicide he'd seen in a while. And he'd seen many of them, more than one would ever want to count.

It was indeed the case since just seconds after touching her face, he'd fallen right onto an incoming train and left just a head. The rush knowing it was because of him touching her made him rush to confront her about her so called "Unluck".

She'd called him Zombie at first, something that he didn't care for anymore than Undead since zombies had to die first for the term to be accurate. Which he couldn't do in the first place. Still, that incident with the train only made him more curious about her and seeing if her Unluck could end his life.

The meteorite from her kiss on the cheek had sold him on the idea she was his key to permanent death.

In the aftermath, when she asked for his name, he'd just said she could call him Undead. Unlike the other times he'd been asked that however, she didn't accept that and decided to insist on giving him a name instead.

Andy, from "ahn-dead".

A bit on the nose. He frankly hated it just as much as being called Undead. But he'd just scoffed and accepted it as a price for the brat allowing him to be around her until she could bring him a fatal stroke of Unluck by falling in love with him.

It sounded simple enough, seeing as said brat was a pushover in love with shoujo manga.

Of course, in hindsight, it wasn't as simple as it seemed at the time.

Weirdly, in the span of a month, the name started to stick. Maybe it was how she'd often said in a way that felt natural, like it was his name, without a doubt. Maybe it was how others also started to refer to him as "Andy" instead of "Undead". At least he'd thought the name was better than his initial impressions.

The mess with him removing the card and letting Victor go had brought forth those questions about his identity he hadn't thought about in over a century and then uprooted them with a truth he wasn't mentally prepared for. 

Victor was probably the original him, but he also wasn't him. The name Victor felt wrong to him.

It wasn't a pleasant reality in the slightest on top of the fact he couldn't die. Weirdly, the only thing that kept him from completely receding into the depths of the mind as Victor resumed full control of the body was hearing Victor in his mind was planning to kill the brat for giving him false hope of death.

To his surprise, he started to resist, only barely delaying Victor from using a Parts Bullet to her head.

But what shocked him more was the brat kept calling for him to come back despite having Victor about to shoot her dead point blank that she still wanted to experience more of the world with him.

She knew better than anyone why he protected her in the first place was for his own reasons. He made that especially clear to her the day they met. Really, she should have just tried to run even if it were futile.

Yet she continued to catch him off guard with what she did next. She clung to Victor with the intent to bring him back to the surface. She even blew a hole in Victor's head with a high-caliber gun, stuck her own fingers in the bullet hole to bring him back to the surface, and allow him to kiss her to summon a meteorite shower that left Victor a charred husk.  Then she rushed into the crater to stab the card back in his head despite the water of Lake Honeycomb about to swallow everything up.

Fuuko that day proved to be far more than the brat he'd made her out to be initially. 

But perhaps what made it evident to him Andy was becoming his name the first time was when he needed to sign a name for the delivery service to the hotel in Brazil and without hesitation, he'd put the name "Andy" down. It was a small thing that he hadn't thought much about in the moment.

Yet later than evening when they were getting ready for the auction, the gesture of the action suddenly hit him, on top of Fuuko telling him she'd use her Unluck to save him from Victor as many times as needed earlier. He had acknowledged the name beyond something Fuuko called him and others just happened to use. 

Over the next three months leading up to December, more and more people called him Andy aside from Fuuko. But for some reason, he found how Fuuko called him Andy to be the most natural to him. He wasn't sure if it was something about how she pronounced Andy or something else he couldn't name.

To be honest, he'd been feeling more alive in the span of a few months than he had in his nearly two centuries worth of living ever since that August day he decided to intervene on a suicide attempt on a whim. Yet it wasn't until Fuuko made herself a hostage to Under how often he was around her and just how much her presence made him feel at ease. Hell, how reliant was he on her for his own mental well-being despite having called her a pushover so often?

His anxiety over not hearing from her didn't go unnoticed by the others. Said anxiety had quickly melted the moment he heard her call his name through Clothy being a Union emblem to the point it surprised even himself.

But somehow in the middle of that conversation, something just made him uneasy enough to grab at anything to divert attention away from Fuuko noticing how much her lack of presence around him threw him off. That something just so happened to be the mention of Yusai.

It really was a joke, seeing as it was more him rejecting her proposal. Of course, the communication cut off before he could clarify that being the case.

(He did deserve getting trampled by Tatiana and Mico for that ex-girlfriend comment and maybe also that callous rejection he gave Yusai decades ago.)

Hearing her voice was a relief, but only a temporary one when it became clear he wouldn't have a chance to retrieve her until December 24th.

He'd managed to put his efforts into training the Union, especially Top and Chikara, to battle Under to distract himself, but when the others were sleeping and he couldn't focus on redirecting that energy to mounting a group effort, he'd found himself still fretting. Fuuko would be fine physically since Unluck was so valuable and key to defeating Spring, but that did little to soothe the anxiety that formed the moment the portal Fuuko stepped through vanished.

When he'd said he'd loved her preparing a Parts Bullet to rescue her, it'd been something he'd expected Fuuko to not have noticed him saying, considering the thick glass between them. Maybe it was more trying to articulate what exactly she brought him. But Fuuko turning out to be more observant than he expected made him try to play it off as her getting prettier, which she knew he was lying about.

The Spring battle took up his energy and focus afterwards, but the aftermath was enough for him to accept Fuuko's inability to kill him wasn't from her lack of love but rather him not being able to fully return her feelings because he was scared of accepting them.

Especially when the splatter of her blood on his face as that bastard ran her through her heart brought the day he "died" for the first time in a flurry of bullets that killed Josh, Sanders, and Red back in full force on why he'd been afraid to care in the first place.

Because to love also meant the potential pain of loss as well.

Yet unlike back then, he wasn't alone. The Union and even Billy jumped into action to keep Fuuko in limbo, even if that rotten bastard had convinced Ghost to hold Fuuko's soul hostage. As long as Fuuko's soul was alive, he could still save her.

Though at the same time, it was also the Union that allowed for him to hope for the better against the coming apocalypse, sealed with Juiz skewering him with Kurikara through the chest as he drove away on DB yelling that they would wait for him to come back with Fuuko's soul with two open seats.

Odd how it was like the day he met Fuuko and he was chasing after her in hopes of tasting her biggest stroke of Unluck. He was chasing after Fuuko again, but this time, it wasn't about her Unluck more as it was also to reach and hold her again, the person that had become the beacon of his hope and Fuuko was waiting for him to catch her.

And damn, he planned to catch her.

...

"Who are you?" The little girl he rescued from a Junior asked him as he pried its jaw open to prepare for a Dead Road.

"You asked who I am? Right, let's see...I'm Undead," he'd answered at first on reflex. But unlike how it was when he'd told Fuuko to call him that since it was good enough, now it was Undead that felt odd and foreign to his ears. 

So after a moment to properly face the kid, Andy corrected himself.

"Nah, nix that. I'm Andy."

[ladyshivs]

Hi! tracing fingers down your partner's chest for Lydia, smiling in-between kisses for Rohid and/ or bridal carries for Richard pretty please? ^^

Total word count: approx. 1850

Fandom: Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden

Pairings: Chargestep (Lydia/Ricardo), Steelstep (Rohid/Chen), Flystep (Richard/Daniel)

Time elapsed: 1 hour, 35 minutes

Physical Intimacy Prompts

Lydia

A zip ran down the center of Lydia’s breastbone and she barely managed to resist biting down on her lower lip. Somewhere, out in the real world, dawn was breaking. The city never fully slept, but there was enough of a lull in activity in Ricardo’s building that it felt like a gentle stirring rather than an uptick in traffic and car alarms.

Her heart begged to differ and was currently trying to climb up out of her throat, slamming into everything it could along the way. Her lungs, her ribs, her. Her. His fingers dipped slightly, tracing a vicious scar over her clavicle before curling away like a whisper of smoke over her chest.

Drifting in aimless patterns over her skin. First light circles, pausing over a ragged edge. A change in texture as he turned his hand over, gliding the backs of his fingernails across the curve of a tattoo. Smooth and rounded, then, as he let his fingertips angle enough to drag nails over her. Not enough to scratch.

A wake up call sent to delicate, tickle flinch nerve endings that sparked to life.

Every touch he was giving her was feather fluff agony, far too light to be satisfying. Too little to settle the pounding of her heart which she knew he could feel, there was no way he couldn’t, it was practically starting a band in her throat and he was being too quiet.

Lydia glanced down and followed his eyes to where his palm was resting flat, just in the center above her sternum. Watching him watching his own fingers, curling in against his palm. Not tight. Not a fist. Impossible to tell where his thoughts were spinning, but not hard to guess. She’d never had the strength to use that weapon—to ask how long he’d spent. Bent over her, pumping her heart to keep her alive. Hands bruising instead of gliding.

He'd cracked ribs. Lydia’s skin tingled as if it could remember.

“Did you really kick Hollow Ground in the teeth?” well. That answered that question.

Lydia hoped the snort didn’t sound forced. “Pssht. Not like I did it for you,” hand coming up, unbidden, to flatten his back out over her. Pressing until he let his fingers go out flat again.

“Thought you said you were only there to help me investigate?” giving her a. She hated when he looked like that. Too bone weary. She hoped he didn’t know he was doing it; the look was better off unintentional. Looking exhausted and solemn instead of teasing and smug. The dig didn’t hit pay dirt, though.

“She wanted me--La Bruja--to join her crew. Or at the very least wanted me to pay her dues to work for her,” not too much of an admission, considering what he already knew.

“Shit, really?” a little note in his voice. Not entirely genuine surprise, then? But that was allowable because his fingers were moving again. Sliding out from under her hand. Drawing designs and patterns over the dip and swell of her breast. “And it was a bad offer?”

“Obviously. I introduced her mouth to my foot at that point, so I’m not sure what else was included in her proposal,” a little embellishment, but only for flare—Ric’s fingers were getting dangerously close to. To. “But there’s no way I’d ever work with her,” muttered without a thought and. “Not knowing how--,” how you hate her. But it was too late. His fingers had slid over a different set of nerves on her chest.

Like watching the edge of a knife descending. One of the many masks slipping into place. This one curled at the corners of his lips, but he forgot to change up his eyes. “So it is because of me,” the tone was gloating, light and proud. Trying to tease, but his stupid fucking eyes weren’t in it and it made Lydia’s chest clench all the tighter for its absence.

Lydia swallowed dry. “Don’t go getting a fat head over it,” too wavy in her throat. “Just because I’m not going to work with your mortal enemy doesn’t mean that I like you or anything,” trying to force the conversation somewhere that light could hit it. Raising his hand up to press her lips to his palm.

Rohid

A quick peck. All it was meant to be, just a quick little smack of lip on lip before they darted out of the door and back to the streets. They were going to let that little blip of contact feed them for the rest of the day.

Spoon had had other plans, weaving his lanky body behind Rohid’s legs and planting himself firmly between the regene and the door. Clearly in cahoots with the man that then pressed himself up against Rohid’s front, smiling into the longer kiss that he stole in retaliation. Pulling a soft sound out of Rohid’s chest with his next move, wrapping his arms tighter around their waist and tugging them. Walking together back towards his couch.

Not asking them not to leave.

Just letting soft touch after soft touch pepper itself along Rohid’s mouth until it curled into a grin for him. Cotton balls of pleasure filling Rohid’s sinus cavities, stuffing them up until the only escape was giggling against Chen’s tongue as it slid between their lips.

The only reasonable counterattack was to return fire, lips stretching thin as they disregarded the urge to fight back their smile and instead nipped at Chen’s bottom lip. Enough to make the man that was.

Huh. When did Chen start pressing them down into the couch cushions? Rohid’s brain politely set the question on fire. It had better things to focus on. Like Chen’s own smile, crooked and twisted and making Rohid’s heart do a very complicated dance with their lungs. And like Chen’s tongue, that was flicking out to try and open them back up again for another, deeper kiss.  

They allowed the intrusion, but they couldn’t wipe the smile off their face. Couldn’t stop the bright, soft tittering escaping their throat. Voice strong for once. Sounding like their old self, for once. Both hands holding Chen’s head still, giving them enough space to press their giggling grin to his cheek.

“Can I stay longer?” was what they meant to ask. There had been so many months between the last time they had been able to speak clearly that hearing it from their own chest hit like a punch to the throat. Their voice withered in their throat halfway through, but Chen’s mouth was there. Hiding the shift with a kiss.

“As long as you want, Ro,” and another. And again. And. “As long as you want,”

Richard

The Drop was always anticipated. Which was shitty of him, and he knew it, but it was there all the same.

Or maybe that was just the excuse he used to curled into the heat of Danny’s chest like an arthritic old dog curling up in a patch of sunlight. Arms pulling him in until Richard could nestle into the crook of his neck and sigh.

There was no whining from his knees, no muttering from his hips, even with the position forcing his joints to flex. Something about the how. The how in how Daniel held him.

The Drop wasn’t incoming, and he knew it. They both knew it. All the letting down had been on Richard’s end.

“Thank you,” whispered. A bitter, curmudgeonly voice from the back of his head protested that being carried around like a doll was demeaning. Every single other voice pushed it to the back of the crowd and gave it dirty looks when it started hissing again.

Daniel shifted his weight slightly and grinned, thoughts swirling up in a wonderfully warm updraft.

“No problem,” chuckling and squeezing him just enough for Richard to sink even further into that sensation. Held fast. As if he were something worth holding onto, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Wingbeats fluttered against his arm. “How is it?” knowing that Richard would know what he meant.

“Healing. At least that’s what they tell me. A little bit better every day,” Shrugging as much as he could, turning his head to let his forehead rest on the swell of Daniel’s trapezius muscle. Separated by a thin cotton t shirt and Richard’s self control that kept him from mouthing at the freckles he knew were waiting there. “It doesn’t hurt too badly today,” it was his hips that had prompted the request.

Bruised pride and stubborn ego had fallen sharply away when he realized that he was going to have to climb the stairs to his apartment and the unseasonable spike of humidity was going to make every step a particularly excruciating torture.

A quick text and Danny had fluttered down from their shared balcony like a falling leaf, looped the grocery bags around either elbow and then, like just another piece of shopping, scooped Richard up against his chest. His thoughts had glowed and spiraled, beyond pleased that Richard was willing to ask for his help. And Richard had only grumbled a few times. Or three. Before Danny had nuzzled his nose against his temple and drove those complaints back into the dark.

Of course, when they landed back up on the balcony, Richard could have easily peeled himself out of Danny’s grip. But.

Well.

It. Well. That thought sheepishly drew a circle with its toe and struggled to make eye contact.

Danny had the decency to laugh and not feel too put upon, carefully maneuvering the shopping off of his forearms without jostling Richard out of his grip. It was a fraction closer to ridiculous than Richard was normally given to but feeling Danny’s heat against him. The safety of his arms and the soft brush of his mind and. He couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty about having Danny hover for a few more seconds, holding him close. “How was your day?” asked out loud even though Richard could feel the question from a dozen or so miles away.

“It’s better now that I’m home,” with a very pointed squeeze around Danny’s shoulders. Home in your arms, he didn’t say, but pushed the thought loudly enough into Danny’s mind for it to register. For a faint blush to spread over those cheeks, making his scar stand out all the clearer. “What about yours?” casually flipping through the surface thoughts that Daniel always presented like he was browsing magazine covers at the check out line.

A minor altercation. A lot of paperwork. A lot of coffee. Threaded with hints of something much more frustrating that his thoughts were working hard to keep shuffled away. Richard considering dipping his fingers into the fray, but thought better of it. “Not too bad, then?” chuckling as Danny offered up his own shrug.

“Boring,” but the necessary bits were what they were, he added on. Hoping to keep whatever it was that had upset him saved for another time. Softening as he turned his head to kiss Richard between the eyebrows. Point taken, Richard slid out of his head. “Better now that you’re home, though,”

[rineedagger]

Tales of a Broken Mind

It's long, direct, and miserable. If you're sensitive to somatic symptoms or mental issues in general, just don't read please.

My birthday is on December 15th. I'm twenty-six years old. It's been less than a year since I finished my medication. It's also been less than a year since my last session. I've gone through two major mental crises that forced me to seek help; the first was in 2019 when I was twenty-one, and the second in 2022 when I was twenty-four. Despite this, I don't recall a single moment in my life when my mind knew what it was like to stay silent; always bombarding me with images, dangers, punishments, alerts, sensations.

I have never been a good sleeper, but it wasn’t until I was eleven years old that the little sleep routine and hygiene I had vanished under the thickest, most suffocating sludge. I got into puzzles, though not for long.

I'm tired of always returning to the same point. The beginning of everything. I know it's the main reason that shaped my entire adolescence, my youth, and, consequently, my adult life—or whatever awaits me in terms of my relationships with people; although it has determined much more than that. But still, I won't dig into this part […]

I’ve attended far more schools than the average person: one nursery, one school, then another, then another, and then yet another, and finally, another one. University is the place where I've stayed the longest, nearly nine years. And it has been hell; I've never spent so much time in one place, and I've never had to repeat the same things so many times. The worst part? How alone, abandoned, insignificant, and odd I’ve felt since I turned eighteen. In fact, it’s funny—if you ask me to choose between my adolescence and my youth, I’d choose the first one without hesitation. The damage I suffered's chronic and evident; it changed my life, my perspective, and my mind. But I also lived well, happily, surrounded by people. It didn’t matter if things were this or that—I was still imaginative and eloquent. I had free time, a simple life, a fixed schedule, and not much more.

Now? I feel my brain rotting; my eyes are both bored and tired at the same time. My heart hurts, and I no longer know why. I’ve been a good patient, done my homework, opened up completely, remained transparent.

I survived my adolescence imagining a very different version of myself than the one sitting here, writing these pages. Now I can't imagine another version of me; I can't even see beyond next week […]

It (what I thought it was THE thing) was the first thing I thought about in the morning and the last thing I dwelled on at night. I felt my body hyperactive, accumulating stress, always tense, restless, craving more. My mind too—it was racing, unable to focus, which made it impossible to study. It was as if everything moved both in slow motion and fast forward at the same time, as if life were running at two opposite speeds, and I had lost the ability to regulate time. I felt my heart beating out of sync, or thumping irregularly in my chest, even in my throat. Cold sweat covered my body almost constantly, as if I were always on the verge of a final blow. I was in class, feeling that something was wrong, that I was wrong. My guts couldn’t digest anything; I had frequent stabbing pains, and my weight loss was noticeable. I didn’t care about my hair’s cut or texture, nor when I last washed it or the smell of my body. I just wanted to be, to feel fine. But far from that, the nights were becoming increasingly difficult: I went to bed later and woke up earlier. I needed a screen, then another, then a light, then some headphones…and by the end, my room transformed into a holographic star in full combustion. There wasn’t a single corner where my brain could interpret it was time to sleep, and the truth is, I was afraid of going to sleep. What if something happened to me while I slept? What if I woke up again, agitated, disoriented, not knowing what was happening? Then something super weird but distressing began to happen: thinking while asleep. Lying in bed, not without visual and sound stimuli, closing my eyes, breathing deeply, and focusing on whatever sound I had on. Letting time pass and feeling how, little by little, I was falling asleep, feeling my eyes rest more and more and feeling my body less. Until a moment came when it was just me and my brain; instead of dreaming, I was aware that I was thinking, and it was just me and my thoughts on repeat, without a filter, without limits…until all of them combined would pull me out of the trance, not without feeling the worst hangover of my life.

There were few times when I would wake up slightly and couldn’t move my body or felt “someone” sitting at the bottom of my bed. Although there was one time, when I saw the reflection of a human figure sitting on the desk in my room, and as soon as I could move, I bolted to my brother’s room. Sleep paralysis, it’s called. Also, since I’ve never been one to stay still, I'm sleepwalker too; but it’s true that lately, I’ve woken up looking for a remote that doesn’t exist to change the temperature of my room, serving myself tea, giving economics classes to my cat, and little more.

[…] As the therapist said, I was like an atomic bomb about to explode, trapped under pressure in a metal box. Adulthood didn’t sit well with me, and let’s be honest, it will continue to be hard to digest. And I exploded, catharsis after catharsis; I became aware that my studies weren’t doing me any good, I didn’t like them, I didn’t see myself through them, I didn’t feel I fitted; my environment wasn’t ideal either, I felt out of place, always having to adjust to fit in. I was nobody: neither a good student, nor a good daughter, nor a good partner, friend…suddenly, NOTHING defined me. Everything that sustained me was an external concept, subtle, ephemeral, and quite obsolete but, at the same time, VERY enlightening: I needed to be labeled as “good” to feel deserving of a pleased look, a smile, a hug, a shoulder squeeze, someone’s compassion and time; I needed to feel with absolute certainty, almost as tangible as a table, that I was NOT a burden, that I wasn’t superfluous, that my existence generated a positive emotion. I needed something that could refute, or at least freeze, those sensations and thoughts that had built a reality where my existence was a mistake, a blasphemy; a stupid girl who had done nothing but annoy and wrinkle the noses of others. Just for breathing, for being, for existing. And I could say that, by now, I’m used to it, but…I’d be lying.

My relapse in 2022 was more the result of exhaustion and fatigue from remaining in an environment that didn’t favor me. I was still at university, still studying things I didn’t want to, surrounded by people who didn’t interest me, under the authority of professors I didn’t respect either. With my self-esteem destroyed and frustrated. One thing after another.

This time, although I didn’t go through the same insomnia, the quality of my sleep deteriorated; the rumination consumed my day, my night, and my energy. The mental discomfort was as physical as any illness: my heart felt heavy and roared, my chest hurt and died, my throat was burning, and my body was confused. The rumbling of my thoughts was so strong that they had no voice, but I felt them wandering like a heartbeat, like a notification, or the roar of an engine. I was drowning in the bathtub, in the street, in bed. I felt how my whole body collapsed, suffered. It was difficult to feel like myself and remain myself; I could visualize an oil spill contaminating cold, living, and transparent waters. I wanted to die, or rather, I wanted everything to stop. I knew what it meant. This time, after trying to go the public route and seeing it wasn’t an option, due to insurance issues, I ended up sooner with a psychiatrist. When I go to these places, I tend to be quite practical: I communicate the impediment caused by my distress, the physical discomfort without emphasizing the importance of what's happening in my head. It’s also important to note that, just as you can’t explain yourself at your best when you’re in the middle of a medical crisis, you can’t do it when you’re in a mental one, either. I was diagnosed […]. My therapist, an excellent professional, told me I was textbook, so my therapeutic treatment would be too. And it was, in about a year or so, I was practically fine, they took me off the medication, and I was back on track.

[…] It’s very important to remember those moments of crisis, those sensations, what flared them up; that reality from which I’m not exempt just because I’ve already tasted it. Because I can’t allow myself to sacrifice and return to that state for anyone, not even for myself. I’ve always said it and will continue to say it: maybe the origin of it all isn’t my fault, but it is my responsibility. And in the end, no matter how much love I have and share, I only have myself. That may be sad, unless that's how it feels; but it is the truth.

[thousand-winters]

Getting to Know You Meme

Tagged by @ygodmyy20 thank youuu 💕

01) Are you currently in a serious relationship?

Nope. And as much as I joke about getting a partner for couple's cosplay, I honestly don't care that much ahaha. Arospec and all

02) What was your dream growing up?

Mmmm, in general? I think most often I dreamed about being a writer professionally, but I had so many dreams. Kind of an overachiever little kid, I thought knowing fractions at 5yo was gonna get me far ahaha (it did not 💔)

03) What talent do you wish you had?

At this point I'm consider being able to identify your own emotions and where they come from a talent because oh, boy, am I bad at that. It would sure help me.

04) If someone bought you a drink what would it be?

I'm not sure if I'm missing context here but... a juice box? That's what my friends always say they would get me ahaha

05) Favorite vegetable?

Oh, I adore broccoli. Texture and flavor wise it's just so nice

06) What was the last book you read?

Clockwork Prince around the beginning of the year, if I'm not mistaken. I haven't followed through with actually finishing my reread of that trilogy, oof, too many things to do

07) What zodiac sign are you?

Aquarius

08) Any Tattoos and/or Piercings?

No, but I want to get the Flapjack tattoo one day, and a close friend and I are planning to get matching parabatai rune tattoos eventually. They're kinda waiting on me for that one

09) Worst Habit?

Not stopping to breathe and relax when I'm having trouble regulating my emotions, sometimes I just explode and get stressed and feel like the world is out to get me and I really need to work on that

10) What is your favorite sport?

I did not have one but dressage looks so very cool ahahaha

11) Do you have a Pessimistic or Optimistic attitude?

I used to be a pessimistic and most of the time I say I'm a realistic, but honestly? I'm sick and tired of my own mind tripping me up so lately I've been trying to be optimistic no matter what, I think it's helped me a little

12) Tell me one weird fact about you.

I feel like I'm pretty standard for a person ahaha. Mmmm, opinion has it I can imitate a cat meowing perfectly? If that counts?

13) Do you have any pets?

Oh, absolutely, I have 13 cats. Yes, it is a little messy as you can expect, but because I spend so much time at home, they're pretty comfortable and happy, honestly

14) Do you think clowns are cute or scary?

... Annoying. I actually spent some time reflecting on why and I realize clowns always took it personally when I wouldn't find them funny and double down to try and make me laugh and I just couldn't pretend and it stressed me out 😭 Having my LOL arc moments at children parties...

15) If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?

It took me SO long to be okay with how I look because I used to have some pretty bad internalized racism and as my ex put it, I look, well, Mexican ahaha. They knew just looking at my face. But anyway now I'm pretty happy with my looks mostly, though I've had eyebags since I was a child and they never go away, so... honestly I would like not to have them

16) What color eyes do you have?

Dark brown/black? Obviously not pitch black but you gotta look really close to notice the separation between iris and pupil so I thiiink that counts as black?

17) Ever been arrested?

Nah

18) Bottle or can soda?

Can soda, they are nice

19) If you won $10,000 today, what would you do with it?

I would save it, honestly

20) What's your favorite place to hang out at?

I don't think I have one? I like anywhere that has somewhere I can sit and where it can be quiet in case I run out of energy

21) Do you believe in ghosts?

Yeah, it comes free with the culture /j. No, yeah, I kinda do? Maybe not so passionately but I think spirits are such a soothing thought

22) Favorite thing to do in your spare time?

Writing, talking to people, playing videogames and reading

23) Do you swear a lot?

Depends. In English I do, a lot. In Spanish I can't do it, I use the baby version of swears, which is fun tbh, there are studies on this

24) Biggest pet peeve?

People who make everything about themselves to the detriment of others. We're all a little obsessed with ourselves, alright?Iit's healthy to be so you don't fall in the self-deprecation trap. But when you start to not leave space for others and just think about yourself, it gets annoying really fast, and it can manifest in so many ways and all of them drive me crazy ahaha. We're social creatures! Community creatures! You gotta remember your wishes and feelings don't matter more than others' so you don't start stomping all over them

25) In one word, how would you describe yourself?

Emotional as well

26) Do you believe/appreciate romance?

Yeah, sure. I think it can be a sweet thing, if it is for me varies in my head every time, but at the very least I think it can be such a beautiful thing in general

27) Favourite and least favourite food?

Favorite is a hard one... I don't have a set favorite food but I like the typical food here so much, honestly, reasons why I can't never move countries, it just makes me so happy. As for least favorite, well... I'm really picky with food due to sensory issues so... there's a lot there but I would say meat? I like meat but it can be cooked in so many ways that I can't eat that it's always safer for me to not have any if I'm not sure about what it is or how it's prepared

28) Do you believe in God?

Not really, at least not an specific one. I sort of believe in higher forces, something not understood yet, which is why I tend to default to saying "gods" in plural whenever I use expletives. I'm not thinking about specific deities but if we're talking divinity I guess I find it more sensical if it's like the forces of nature like in some cultures, instead of one thing that decides everything about life and the universe

29) What makes you happy:

Seeing my cats being silly, sharing interests with friends and being able to create in the way I want

30) Currently listening/the last thing you listened to:

The Crane Wives

31) Favorite place to spend time:

I don't think I have one

32) Favorite lyric:

"And in my worst of days, I want to keep wanting to be kind" (Exotic Monsters - Penfriend)

33) Recommend a film:

I don't watch many movies, honestly. Nimona?

34) Recommend a book:

Hope for the Flowers, by Trina Paulus. I read it as a child and it stuck to me ever since, I reread it many times.

35) Recommend a band, a song, or album:

Recommending Penfriend so hard. Or Eliza Rickman. I just love the kind of melodies and lyrics they both come up with. Penfriend particularly is a very small artist so she definitely could use the support!

36) Recommend a TV show:

Andor! It's Star Wars, but other than some general context, you don't really need to watch the entire SW catalogue of movies and shows or anything, if you have a vague notion of the Original Trilogy and watch Rogue One, you're golden. The show itself is beautifully written, and it has some very well developed themes of fascism, colonialism and racism. There's an undergoing theme of those who have the privilege to choose to fight against these awful systems in place and those for whom the option was never there because no matter how much they try to resist, they get brought back into this struggle they didn't decide. Very relevant to current events in the world, unfortunately.

37) Where are you from, and do you still live there? Where have you lived?

I'm from Mexico and yeah, I have never lived anywhere but where I am right now. I was born like 15 minutes from my house ahaha, everytime I go out I pass through the clinic where I was born.

38) Do you have any pets or animals in your life? How did you find/get them?

Oh, boy. I've had cats, a chicken (I was too little to remember that one tho), three dogs and then more cats. All the cats have been strays that sometimes bring their babies with them, Idk about the chicken, and one of the dogs was bought, but of the other two, one was about to be put down and the other was kept in awful conditions and rescued. Generally I prefer to adopt animals in need because duh

39) What's the most unusual thing you've ever eaten?

Due to the aforementioned pickiness with food, I don't think I have ever eaten anything super unusual, actually? My parents used to eat crickets but I never dared.

40) How did you 'find' fandom?

I was always in fandom ✨ Sort of. I wrote fic, drew comics and roleplayed with my siblings about the fandoms we liked, since I was very very little. Officially though I got into an anime forum when I was around 10? Which was around the time I found out the concept of fanfic and how my siblings and I weren't unique and super smart for making them ahaha

41) Make a list of 5 things that you see without getting up.

One of my cats. My hairbrush. My phone. My little Kuromi mirror. Hair cream.

My desk doubles as the place I put my care products.

42) How do you style your hair?

Now that I know how to care for my waves/curls more properly, it's either loose or I pin it with a hair clip so it doesn't get damaged. I sometimes do braids or ponytails if it has gotten dirty but it's not often

I get so rambly, I'm so sorry, ahaha. No pressure tagging if you want to do it!!! @oh-cramity-its-amity @justmagicalgirl @neoncherryblossom

[transandersrights]

Hello! Handers hurt/comfort for DADWC please? Maaaybe a bit of Circle trauma / old injuries / templars being bastards? Thank you!

(I take prompts! See info here)

Only over two months fashionably late lmao - 1k of early relationship m!Handers hurt/comfort over old injuries for @dadrunkwriting! Content warnings: discussion of scars and injury, references to sex.

“There was this saying in the Wardens.” Anders’ voice was more a rumble underneath Hawke than a sound in his ears, Hawke spread out on top of him as he was. “That anyone worth having as an ally had scars on their chest, not their back.”

“Hmm?” They hadn’t been talking; just lying there, basking in the quiet of a rare moment of peace. “What brought this on?”

The rumble turned to light laughter. “Move your right hand up a bit. You’ll feel it.” Hawke did as he asked, and sure enough, there it was — the unmistakable texture of scar tissue at the base of Anders’ right shoulder blade. “There.”

“Why was that the saying?” Hawke had a good idea, actually. He’d spent enough time around people with more swords than sense, and he knew that line of thought. Anders’ answer was hardly a surprise.

“An ally with scars on their chest faced the enemy head on when they received the injury,” Anders said, “and the ally with scars on their back got it when they were running away.”

“Did they give you grief for it?” Hawke kneaded the area around the scarring, and Anders melted just a little bit like a cat, somehow sinking further into the bed.

“Not when the Commander was around.” Hawke still couldn’t work out how Anders felt about the Wardens — there was some bad blood there, obviously, hence the stolen maps and the running away and the blatant hatred of seemingly everything Warden-related, and yet… Well, there were statements like those. Moments when Anders sounded almost fond of the Wardens and his time there. Always mixed in with fun little stories like this one which were just the wrong side of horrifying, too, but that was how it was with Anders. Hawke wouldn’t say it was part of his charm, but it was certainly part of him. He loved it all the same.

“I have plenty of scars on my front,” Hawke replied. “Most of them are from getting into trouble with the twins. And I can tell you, falling out of a tree onto sharp rocks is not heroic. If they were on my back they’d be exactly the same.”

“You don’t have to tell me that what they said didn’t mean anything,” Anders said, but Hawke could hear the smile in his voice. “The Wardens were a fresh start for a lot of people. A lot of them wanted to pretend they’d never had a reason to run from anything.”

“Same old bravado wherever you go, huh?” Hawke still wasn’t quite sure how far Anders would let him probe — something had changed now, obviously. But he was still a secretive man, and Hawke wasn’t going to wreck this by pushing too hard.

“Probably more,” Anders answered, letting out a little snort of laughter at some old joke he hadn’t told. Hadn’t told yet, though, and that was what mattered right now. There was going to be a tomorrow like this with Anders too, and maybe a day after that, and after that… “You’re smiling.”

For a moment, Hawke thought telling the truth bluntly would be too much. Then he remembered what Anders said earlier, and alright. He was pretty sure he could say something way more intense than this. “Just thinking about you,” he said. “Us, even.”

“Flatterer.” Anders sounded like he was complaining, but the warmth that spread across the surface of his skin, still under Hawke’s fingertips, told another story. “Mine are a little more dramatic than falling out of a tree. Not much more impressive, though.”

“Templars?” It was an easy guess. Lower hanging fruit than the apples that had Hawke bleeding into the soil of an orchard, anyway.

“What else?” When he answered, Hawke let his hands run over the spot again. It was hard to tell the shape from this angle — it was long, a little knotted. A single line.

“Sword to the back?”

Anders hummed. He hadn’t clammed up yet; another good sign. “Templar stuck her leg out, tripped me, and went after me when I hit the ground. To make sure I wouldn’t run away again, she said — I’d been giving them the run around for days at that point. I almost understand the appeal.”

“I don’t,” Hawke grumbled.

Anders just laughed, pressing what could only be a placating kiss to Hawke’s forehead. To his shame (or perhaps not; there was something there about being softened by the one you love. Dad always said he was a bitter, ill-tempered teenager, but he’d raised Carver without once raising his voice), it worked. “As if you don’t drive the bladed end in when you’re extra annoyed. I’ve fought alongside you.”

“You’ve got me there. It was still wrong of her — and of anyone who’d think less of you for having the scar.”

“Your concern is appreciated.” Anders pressed another kiss against his face, just between his eyebrows this time. “But the ship sailed on me ever feeling bad about that one a long time ago.”

“I hope the cargo had no self-hated and plenty of righteous anger.”

Anders snorted. “All my loads have righteous anger.”

It took Hawke a moment; when he got it, he didn’t stand a chance of holding back the laughter bubbling in his chest. Not that he would have wanted to. “I was meant to be comforting you. Not… whatever this is.”

“It would be plenty comforting to go again,” Anders pointed out. “But no need, if you’re tired. I promise you’ve been comforting enough.”

“Maker, Anders, again?” In reply, Anders just laughed. Oh, to have Warden stamina. “Sorry, I’m staying right here. Not moving again tonight.”

“Fair enough.” Anders shifted under him, wiggling up a little in the bed. “Can I…?”

“Of course.” When he said his door was open, he meant open. If they had to have another conversation about that, that was fine with Hawke— but maybe not now. They’d managed to thoroughly derail the last one, and he was blaming the tiredness.

“Then I’ll be right here with you,” Anders said, his nose nestling in Hawke’s hair. He was warm, and their limbs tangled together in an ever so slightly awkward way, but yeah. Hawke was pretty sure he could get used to this.