#if the person who caused me to write this sees this

[jjenthusee]

Delivery

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Lately your grocery list was looking a little small, your cleaning supplies were never running out, and you don’t remember buying these soaps? Who was the one refilling all your stuff?

Word Count: 1.5k

Something was off.

You were writing your list for your weekly shopping errands to refill any soap, groceries, or cleaning supplies running low, but nothing was empty. Half a bottle at best.

It had been bothering you that your large restocks that made you wince at the end of the month looking at the large receipt had minimized to five items at most.

How was this possible?

You didn’t cut down on spending or on using less items, but now that you look at your kitchen, everything was well stocked.

You counted the amount of extra paper towel rolls, the extra unopened cleaning spray that you do not remember buying, and the new bottle of cooking oil in your cabinet.

This was suspicious, very suspicious.

Call yourself the world’s second greatest detective because you narrowed down the culprit restocking your home.

“That red tin man…” You firmly looked over to the window, the shiny, newly replaced lock calling your name. “Let’s see how well your safety measures work.”

You shut the window, doubling the two locks installed by Jason himself, giving you a personal pep talk ensuring that no one is getting in. Not even him, especially him.

With some duct tape, you taped layers over the window seal. As you looked at your work, you thought to yourself…bookcase, yes. A large bookcase.

With heavy breaths, you pushed the bookcase in front of the window.

You were not letting in your not-an-actual-burglar tonight. Now you would wait.

—

Jason was off patrol, his muscles ached, his helmet felt heavy, but he was grappling his way to the small 24-hour mart that he has been cutting the cameras at.

As much as he wouldn’t be shopping with his gear on, the small store was enough for him for a quick shop and the cashier was a tired college student who couldn’t care less about who walked through the sliding doors.

He remembered you were running low on some hand soap in the kitchen and a replacement seasoning salt.

He hummed as he shopped, walking up to the counter to leave extra cash and disappearing before the cashier had time to turn back to give him back his change.

Jason softly landed on the fire escape outside your window. He waited to watch and listen for any movement inside your apartment.

The lights were off and you had to be asleep.

It was perfect for a quick look in, place the items, and go back to his safe house.

He gripped the window, gently trying to lift with the shopping bag on his arm. When it wouldn’t budge, he tried one more time with a little more force.

He put down the plastic bag and noticed you were using the lock he installed. It brought a small smirk to his face at the thought of you utilizing something he made himself.

When he looked closer, he realized the small sliver of light on the edge of the window, blurring from the curtain.

Something was blocking the light, your lights hadn’t been off at all.

As Jason was going to turn on his infrared lenses, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You: so you were my burglar

Jason held in his laugh, fully piecing the situation together.

Jason: but I haven’t stolen anything

You: so breaking and entering? This is illegal trespassing sir

Jason: glad the lock works, but have to deduct points for the duct tape

You: if it can hold cars together, it can hold my window shut, even better if it keeps vigilantes out of my home

Jason: but I still have your apartment keys

You: yes, jay, you do. So please use my front door cause you are welcome to use it

Jason reread the message. He held his eyes on the word “welcome,” feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Jason: let me change. Be back in 10

Jason felt like an idiot, realizing he had been caught. He pulled an ordinary T-shirt over his head. His matted hair slightly fraying to the movement.

He exhaled in exhaustion as he pulled a jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag from earlier.

How was he going to explain?

Hey, sorry, I’ve just been breaking in and refilling your groceries and anything that seems to be running low? I also got you some seasoning salt, you were running out.

Jason smacked the side of his head.

You had to be pissed because you locked the window and clearly barricaded it.

Jason got to your door, somehow, he felt his eye-bags deepen, his frown get stronger, and his hands felt colder.

With reluctance, he knocked three times. You had unlocked the door surprisingly fast, he figured you were waiting right there until he got to your apartment.

“Come in.” You left the door open for Jason, walking back to the kitchen to pour your tea.

Jason noticed how tired you looked. He felt even worse picturing you staying up until he attempted to open your window.

What if he hadn’t come by tonight?

He didn’t move from the door, watching from just outside your apartment.

“I just wanted to bring these over, I’ll leave now.” He tried to run. He needed to leave before you told him to never come back.

“Jay…” You walked over, grabbing onto his sleeve while guiding him inside. He was cold. “Shoes off. Sit on the couch.”

He immediately obeyed not wanting to anger you more.

You followed and sat next to him, your comfy clothes sinking into the cushion.

Jason looked over to the bookcase you clearly moved not long ago.

“I didn’t realize I hired a delivery man. Actually, I’m more embarrassed I finally realized what you’ve been doing.” You sipped at your cup. “How long?”

Jason tilted his head at your question.

“How long, Jay?” You emphasized.

“Five months, 2 weeks.”

“Five months?!”

“I made sure to make it very subtle, but eventually I…got carried away.” Jason admitted, his body stiffening the more honest he became.

“Jay…I’m not mad.” You reached out to grab his hand, kneading warmth into his bruised knuckles. “Really. I just need you to tell me when you do this.”

“But the bookcase and the lock.” Jason subtly relaxed to your touch, but he was far from leaning into the couch comfortably.

“Okay, I was a little mad, but that was because I had only realized that I haven’t properly restocked anything in a while. I looked at my store apps and card history and I had nothing. Just snacks or last-minute purchases.” You sighed, signaling Jason to give you his other hand to warm.

“You were busy…and I thought I could get them for you. I made sure to get the right ones.” Jason watched your hands, refusing to look at you directly.

“I know. You did so well that I took so long to realize. But, I work. I can get these things and you can get me things too, but let me know, please. That would help me out a lot and so I can thank you.”

“But I don’t do it for your words. I like helping you. If it lessens your stress, I’ll do it for you.” Jason reasoned. He was stubbornly defending his actions because you were at the root of his mind.

You were at a loss for words.

“It did help me out a lot, but it also confused me when I had an unlimited bar of soap.” You chuckled.

The sound of your laugh eased Jason. His shoulders sunk a little lower at your tension easing.

“No more frowning.” You rubbed the edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. “I found out, you owe me dessert tomorrow, and you can get back your window privileges when you let me know when you buy me something.” You yawned.

“I said that I don’t do it to hear you thank me—“ He tried to remind you.

“I know, but I’m tired from trying to catch my burglar and I want to cuddle.” You opened your arms, waiting for Jason to ease into your embrace.

“I’m not a burglar.” Jason argued, taking off his jacket and laying into the couch, grabbing you to lay on top of him. “Did you also take another shift? You look exhausted.”

You rubbed Jason’s eye-bags when you settled comfortably. You were probably matching his raccoon eyes.

“Kiss me and I’ll go to sleep.” You smiled, sleepily touching Jason’s stubble with your hands.

He leaned into your hands, while gripping underneath your chin to bring his face to yours. The sweet touch of your lips was enough to get Jason to fully relax into you, to take in the moment and trust that you weren’t mad at him for what he was doing. It had been with good intentions, but he was just taking a different route.

“Go to bed.” Jason leaned your head onto his chest.

Your eyes got heavy, your breathing was starting to even out, but you had one last idea.

“If you tell me when you buy something, I’ll give you a kiss.” You faded into a deep sleep.

Jason had never forgot to tell you again, he even purposefully bought you extra things you didn’t need to buy.

You eventually had to start setting limits and unlocked your window for your favorite vigilante visits.

[atariakana]

I've seen lots of these types of posts lately and with the new year coming up, now seems like a good time to share a personal anecdote:

A few New Years ago--I don't remember exactly which, time is soup to me these days--I made a New Year's Resolution to leave at least one comment on every fic I finished. It is the only resolution I have ever kept for more than like, a month. I stopped commenting on every fic at some point, because some days my brain just Will Not cooperate and it was causing undue pressure for something that was supposed to be fun, but--for at least two years, I kept it up. Some of them were essay-comments, some of them were one sentence, some were just emojis. But I always found something to say, and do you know what? It was one of the best things I've ever done. Here are some reasons why:

1. I got better at expressing myself. At first it was hard to put all of my Big Complicated Feelings about a fic into words, but as I continued to leave comments pretty much daily, it obviously got easier. And this started to bleed into my regular life--it got so much easier to express gratitude, care, and love to my friends and family. The words didn't get stuck in my throat anymore, and it wasn't as hard to parse complex emotions. It genuinely made me a better communicator.

2. I got to make people happy for fast, easy, and free. Sometimes I would spend like 30 seconds just giving my honest thoughts and I would get a reply back that I made an author's week. Their entire week! For just saying what was on my mind! After they made my week by writing something beautiful about a thing I loved! It's, like, the world's best positive feedback loop. You get to TALK to the people making beautiful art and THEY TALK BACK. NOWEHERE else do you get that kind of direct connection, quite frankly. Revel in it.

3. Extra lore drops/easter eggs/explanations for things. I love lore so much and when people construct complex little universes or paragraphs worth of justification for like one (1) throwaway mechanic or trope I eat that shit up. And all of that doesn't always make it into the fic, however, sometimes if you ask for it. The author will just. Tell you. And sometimes, you don't even have to ask, you just talk about an aspect you liked and the author will be like "funny you should mention that" and tell you background you didn't even know existed. Again I say: where else do you get this so easily. Revel!

4. The joy of receiving AO3 emails. This one may sound silly but honestly when most of what I get are promo emails and correspondence I Do Not want to deal with, the little spark of happiness I get from seeing "reply to your comment on..." in my inbox is such a blessing. Between chapter updates and comment replies, there was a period when I was getting like a dozen AO3 emails a week. Do not underestimate the serotonin boost receiving a dozen AO3 emails in a week can give you.

Most of the people I interact with/have interacted with regularly have been in fandom for a good ten years, at least, and so are part of an older fandom culture. But I have gotten glimpses, through posts like this, of a changing climate. People seem to have mistakenly constructed a divide between the Artist and the Consumer. This is a divide that exists, perhaps, for big time actors and pop stars, who are doing a job and getting paid for their work, and who have large numbers of fans who want their attention. But the relationship between fic authors and fic readers is not that of Artists and Consumers--we are a community. Nobody here has legions of fans, we are the fans, and the reason we post anything is in the hopes of connecting with someone over the things that we love. We are doing this for eachother. AO3 comments are not the same as writing a letter to your favorite youtuber or whatever, they are engaging with your community. And engaging with a community is one of the most rewarding things you can do.

So tl;dr: leave comments! It's fun I promise!

someone I follow on the bird app just announced they’re starting a very exclusive private fic server because they and a bunch of other people want to talk about how much they love the fics they’re reading, and as an author can I just say that a really great place to talk about a fic you love is in the comments for that fic

I understand that people are trying to create safe spaces, but as the number of comments that I get on my fics dwindles with each passing year, knowing these spaces exist where my fics are being discussed, places that I am excluded from, makes me want to write fic LESS

I mean I guess who cares, right, because if I stop writing, there’s 10,000 other people that will continue…but if you participate in a fic “book club” server and you say nice things there about a fic you loved, maybe copy and paste that into a comment on AO3?

the only thing fanfic writers are asking for in return for hours of hard work is attention. please don’t rob us of the one thing that we hope for when we hit “post”

[v6quewrlds]

❝ kiss me, m. mount. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: being friends with mason mount means being there with takeout and open ears after his breakups. with his latest locker room bet, he has a lot of time to think about why he's so bad at relationships. and the reason might be you.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: loved writing this, so so cute <3 day eleven of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends to lovers.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mason mount x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.6k.

You sat cross-legged on Mason's couch. The room smelled faintly of your favorite takeout, a mix of jerk chicken and rice and peas that filled your stomachs and warmed the air. Despite the comfort of your shared laughter, you could feel the tension coiled in Mason's demeanor, the result of a tough match and an even tougher breakup.

“So, what happened?” you asked, your voice gentle and curious.

Mason sighed, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “It was like pulling teeth. She didn't get why I had to end it. Kept saying we could work through it.”

“But you've both been miserable for weeks,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. “I thought she'd be relieved.”

Mason's eyes darted around the room before landing on his phone. “I don't know, she just... didn't take it well.”

You leaned over and plucked the phone from his hand. “Come on, spill it. What did she say?”

Mason's cheeks flushed as he recounted the teary conversation. “She said I'd never find someone who loves me like she does. It was all a bit dramatic, really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Classic breakup line.”

Mason snorted, a half-hearted smile playing on his lips. “I know, right? But it still stings a bit 'cause I know I'm the problem, not her.”

You put down your takeout container, leaning closer to him. “Mase, what do you mean?”

Mason rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I guess I'm not ready to be in a real relationship, you know? Just something I've gotta work on.”

You studied him, your brown eyes searching his. “You're not giving yourself enough credit. You're a catch, Mason. A bit of a knobhead at times,” she teased, “but you've got a heart of gold.”

Mason chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Cheers, love. Breakup came at a good time though, 'cause I've got this bet with the United lads.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow. “What bet?”

Mason's grin grew shy. “No Nut November. You know, the challenge where you don't... you know.”

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief, then you burst into laughter. “You're actually doing that?”

Mason nodded, his cheeks darkening. “Yeah, for a bit of a laugh, you know? See how long we can last without... indulging.”

You couldn't help but smirk. “So, what, you're all just walking around like a bunch of pent-up teenagers?”

“Pretty much,” Mason admitted, his smile turning into a grimace. “It's a good thing, really. Keeps my head in the game.”

You nodded, your amusement clear. “And your hands out of your pants,” you quipped.

Mason playfully slapped your arm. “You're one to talk, Miss ‘I've been single since forever’.”

Zara laughed, shrugging. “At least I'm not making bets about it!”

Mason rolled his eyes. “By the end of the month, I'll be the most zen person you know,” he said, puffing his chest at the thought, a boyish grin pulling at his lips.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what do you get if you win this challenge?”

Mason shrugged. “Bragging rights, I guess. Works for me.”

The rest of November rolled by with you keeping a close eye on Mason's mood swings. His frustration grew palpable as the days ticked away, his jokes about the challenge turned from light-hearted to desperate. Every time you saw him, you made sure to ask about his progress, enjoying the way his face contorted in an attempt to hide his growing irritation.

“How's the zen life treating you?” you teased, your eyes gleaming with amusement.

Mason groaned dramatically. “Don't even start, Zee.”

You couldn't hold back your laughter. “Seriously, though, you've got to be close to breaking point by now?”

Mason's brown eyes narrowed playfully. “Why're you so eager to see me fail? You're supposed to be supportive.”

You leaned back, your hand on your chest. “Me? I'm just an innocent bystander, observing the madness that is No Nut November.”

Mason threw a pillow at you, which you deftly caught. “You're a sadist, you know that?”

“Just keeping it real, Mase,” you said, tossing the pillow back.

The last week of November was the hardest for Mason. You noticed he'd become quieter, his laughter less frequent. It was as if he was deep in thought whenever he was off the pitch. The banter between the two of you took on an edge of tension, his jokes a little less playful, his responses a little more curt. Worried, you sent a text to Declan, who had only told you that Mason had reached an “epiphany” during their most recent chat a few nights back.

On the final day of the month, you were at your flat, expecting a typical evening of binge-watching reality TV shows and scrolling through social media. But when your doorbell rang, you were surprised to find Mason standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Mason?” you asked, taking in his slightly nervous expression.

He held out the flowers, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know it's random, but I had to tell you something, and I figured flowers might help ease the blow if you decide to laugh in my face.”

You took the bouquet, feeling the weight of the moment. You stepped aside, inviting him in with a tilt of your head. “Alright, come in, I guess. What's going on?”

Mason shuffled his feet, his gaze darting around the room before settling on you. “I had a chat with Declan and Lauren, about, you know, relationships and stuff. And they got me thinking about what I really want.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you played it cool. “Oh?”

Mason nodded, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, and I realized something. Every time I'm with someone, I can't help but picture you there instead. It's like you're this standard in my head, and no one ever measures up to what I think it would be like to be with you.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your grip tightening on the flowers. You didn't know what to say, your mind racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Before you could respond, Mason took a step closer.

“I know it's weird,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “And I know you probably think I'm out of my mind. But I can't stop thinking about it. I've never felt this way about anyone else, not even close.”

Your throat went dry as you stared at him, the words you wanted to hear for so long finally hanging in the air between you. You parted your lips to respond, but left unable to answer, you simply closed the gap and kissed him instead.

The kiss was gentle, a soft press of your lips that grew more urgent with every passing second. Mason's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as your hand found its way to the back of his neck. The flowers fell to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mason's breath was warm against your skin as you broke apart, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or rejection. But all he saw was the same longing that mirrored his own.

“Was that okay?” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion.

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. “More than okay.” You stepped closer to him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I don't think I realized how much I've been waiting for this either,” you admitted.

Mason's eyes widened, and then he was kissing you again, more urgently this time. You stumbled backward, your bodies colliding with the wall of your hallway, your hands exploring each other with a newfound hunger. The tension of the past few weeks dissolved into pure passion, the air between the two of you crackling with the electricity of a year's worth of unspoken desires.

You didn't speak as you made your way to the bedroom, your kisses speaking volumes. The room was dimly lit by the flickering of the TV, casting shadows across your faces as you shed your clothes. Mason paused, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze lingering on the curves he had only ever seen hidden beneath baggy sweatshirts and jeans, except for the occasional glimpse at the pool or beach.

You felt a shy warmth up your neck, but you held his gaze, your own desire matching his. You fell onto the bed, your kisses becoming more heated as your bodies entwined. Mason's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he explored you with his hands, his thumbs brushing over your hips and ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breath hitched as Mason's lips found your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. His hands were firm but tender as he unclipped your bra, and you felt the coolness of the room against your bare skin. You reached out to trace the tattoos scattered along his arms and the one at the nape of his neck, the one you had been surprised he got in the first place. His muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out a soft groan.

Your kisses grew more urgent as you moved together on the bed, the mattress squeaking gently beneath you. You felt your heart racing, your body responding to every touch, every caress. Mason's fingers danced over your skin, igniting a fire you had long ago convinced yourself you didn't feel. But here it was, burning bright and uncontrollable.

“Sensitive?” you teased, the words spoken softly against Mason's mouth as your fingers traced the ink on his ribs.

Mason chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Only for you, love.”

Your laughter melded into a passionate kiss as you rolled over, you now on top of him. You felt powerful and alive, every inch of your skin tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. Mason's hands slid up your back, his fingertips tracing the contours of your body as you moved against him.

You felt a sudden jolt of nerves. This was it, the moment you didn't know you longed for so much. You had always been the quiet, reserved one, content to watch from the sidelines. But here you were, the star of the show, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Mason must have noticed, because he gently cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “We can stop if you want to. I just had to tell you how I feel.”

But you were beyond the point of no return. You leaned down, your eyes searching his, and whispered, “Don't you dare stop, Mason. I want this. More than you know.”

Mason's eyes lit up, the nervousness dissipating as he rolled you two over, taking control with a gentle force. His kisses grew more demanding, his hands more insistent, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. The months of friendship had built a bond between you, and now, as you finally gave in to your desires, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Your movements grew more frantic, your breaths mingling as you raced towards something you hadn't dared hope for. You could feel the tension in Mason's body, the same tension that had been building in him all month, and you reveled in the power you had over him.

As you reached your climax, it was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions and years of unspoken feelings. The two of you clung to each other, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in sync.

Afterwards, you lay tangled in the mess of your passion, hands still roaming, hearts still racing. The silence was comfortable, filled with the quiet whispers of your breathing and the occasional giggle when a limb got tangled. You felt a warmth spread through you that was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you had been missing. His chest, firm and warm, made a perfect pillow for your cheek, and you listened to the steady thump of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.

Mason finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. “So, I guess I failed No Nut November, huh?”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Epic fail, Mount. But totally worth it, if you ask me.”

Mason chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I guess that's one way to look at it. I'm just relieved it's over, to be honest. Made my head all fuzzy sometimes.”

You traced your finger along the line of his jaw, feeling the neatly groomed hair against your fingertip. “Well, you've got thirty days of freedom coming your way. What are you going to do with it?”

Mason's smile was soft, his eyes still on yours. “I'm thinking of spending it with you, if that's alright?”

You giggled softly and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I think I could manage that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “What was that chat with Declan and Lauren about, though?”

Mason leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Remember when I said I needed to sort myself out before I could be in a good relationship? They just pointed out the obvious. That there was something holding me back, something I hadn't faced. Like I was holding on to some... I don't know, hope maybe?”

You felt his words resonate deep within you. You had often wondered if Mason had felt the same way you did but had been too scared to admit it. You took a deep breath, your heart racing. “And what did you tell them?”

Mason's eyes searched yours, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. “That I always hoped that I'd eventually end up with you. That every girl I've been with, it was like I was just filling the time until you and I were ready for more.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart swelling in your chest. You had felt the same way but had never had the courage to voice it. The two of you lay there, your hearts beating in time, basking in the reality of your confessions. Years' worth of tension had led you to this moment, a culmination of unspoken feelings and hidden glances.

“You know,” you began, your voice shaky as you suppressed a giggle, “I wondered if we'd ever just give up on dating and just be together. We've both been horrid partners.”

Mason chuckled, his eyes shimmering with affection. “Yeah, but I think we've found our match in each other. Besides, I've had enough drama for a lifetime with the other ones. You're the one who's always been there for me, no matter what.”

You leaned your head on his chest again, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “And I always will be,” you murmured.

Mason's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. “My mum always said that when you know, you know. And I think I've known for a while now. I just didn't know how to tell you without messing up our friendship.”

You squeezed his hand. “I don't think much will change between us, honestly. We'll just be a bit more... affectionate in public, I guess?”

Mason nodded, his smile growing. “And I get to kiss you wherever I want,” he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “whenever I want,” he kissed your nose, “without worrying if it's too soon or if it'll ruin the friendship.” His lips found yours again.

You sighed contentedly against his mouth. “You're a really good kisser, you know that?”

Mason grinned. “Years of practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “Gross, you've been kissing a bunch of other girls to get good at kissing me?”

Mason's expression turned playfully offended. “Hey, I've been preparing for this moment my whole life. I promise it's all been worth it, though. You're officially the best kiss I've ever had.”

You giggled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I'll take it I guess.”

[theminecraftbee]

hello second. this week's wildcard got a friend to start reading hgcz and now because of that im back In The Trenches. d. do you have any thoughts. on soup group

Gem thumps her head against the bar and groans. Outside, the 'open' sign is not lit. It is 10 AM, and it is time for neither customers nor villainy. If it were time for customers, Gem would probably be in the secret base in the former-Speakeasy basement (she is, apparently, not suited for customer service). If it were time for villainy, well, Gem would either be there or on the streets, causing the kinds of problems only she and her gun can cause.

No, it is time for none of those things. Instead, it is time for something far worse: paperwork.

"I don't need health insurance!" Gem says. "Or life insurance! Or insurance-insurance! I'm pretty sure I'm like, uninsurable? On account of technically only sort of being a real person? It's not like I can go back to the Farm and go 'oh by the way, I need my birth certificate' now, it's defunct!"

"Everyone needs health insurance," Impulse says gravely.

"No, I don't! We see Doctor Zombie! You know, the black market doctor? The one who half the villains and vigilantes in the city see? I pay her in like, secrets and cadavers, not--"

"Don't admit that, the cops'll get you," Pearl says, throwing a dart at the bar's dartboard.

"You think that's what they're going to arrest me for? Giving dead bodies to the doctor? Because like, man, they're choosing the weirdest crime to finally get me for if so" Gem asks.

"I mean, maybe!" Pearl says.

"None of us are cops and you're getting health insurance. Now choose your most airtight fake ID," Impulse says, and then, seemingly thinking twice about getting trying to get Gem to choose which of her four currently-unburnt fake identities to go with, grabs her wallet and starts going through it himself. She lifts her head from the bar, accepting she's lost this argument.

"My SSN is six," Gem says to him dryly. He rolls his eyes and continues meticulously filling out paperwork. She sighs and turns to Pearl. "Really, can you believe this man? Health insurance! You know, at this rate I'm going to be told I'm a necessary budget cut a second time. And if the identity he chooses gets burnt, you know that'll just lead one of the people hunting us down right back to this bar. Knowing our luck, it'll be Hotguy or Cuteguy. Ugh, imagine."

She expects Pearl to joke back. Instead she's met with Pearl's face, tired and sad and fond all at once.

"Is it really so much to think he just wants to take care of you?" Pearl asks.

Gem listens as, for a moment, the scratch of Impulse's pen against the paper stops. He sighs. A low roll of fog spreads out across the bar. He resumes writing.

"I don't like, need taken care of," Gem says.

Pearl's expression gets a little more exhausted.

"Have you considered that I also want to take care of you? To do something I know--a little impact, while we can? For someone who it won't hurt to give that help to?"

Gem goes silent.

"Think of it as weapons maintenance," Impulse rumbles, and it makes it make sense but before Gem can say so, Pearl stabs one of the darts into the dartboard so hard it rips.

"Stop saying it like that," she says.

"Sorry," Impulse and Gem say at the same time.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you two," Pearl says. "I'm going to go get the backup. That college group that's real bad at darts normally comes in today."

She stalks to the back of the bar. Gem looks over at Impulse. Impulse looks back. She suspects their expressions are equally apologetic. They're also equally fond, and equally, well...

"You know, sometimes I wonder if she's going to be okay," Impulse says.

"Yeah," Gem says.

"I do actually need an SSN for... Aries Eva?"

"I'll get that for you. It's just--it's not actually the insurance I mind. You sure you want me legally tied to your small business?" Gem asks.

"Why wouldn't I? It's not like she's wrong," Impulse says, and Gem breathes out herself, doesn't comment on the growing fog, and writes down a number. She resolves not to use the health insurance. It's too much of a risk that someone will track it back to these people who think she's worth taking care of.

Still. She supposes it's not that bad to have.

[celaenaeiln]

I always assumed that from the comics I've read dick seems to have a somewhat complicated relationship with his own gender/sexuality/sex status, etc.

Anon!! You can't just drop this on me and leavee!! I need to hear more!! LEMME HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS!!!

Ok so this is gonna be like three different things so I'll make subcategories.

Gender

Of the things listed. I think gender is the one thing Dick is rather set on/secure about. He has some feminine or softer traits which typically would not be associated with a male character such as empathy and caring to an overemotional aspect -

Joker: Last Laugh Issue #3

Nightwing (1996) Issue #86

Nightwing (1996) Issue #139

Being overly kind to an unappreciative and toxic girlfriend is one thing, but as a brother hugging and kissing a brother? It's a little softer than how people usually write male heroes.

He's male and I don't think he's considered switching to the female side because he's comfortable with his masculinity.

Does he do things like this -

Nightwing (2016) Issue #38

sometimes? Yeah. He takes the female role in his relationships with others such as Bruce and Barbara but he still very much sees himself as masculine. Like I said in another post, Kori asks him to be a male consort to her Queen because she was forced to marry a royal Tamaranian Prince. While male consorts are not unusual in history, they typically embody the female in a stereotypical relationship. (On a separate note, did you know Chinese emperors took on male consorts? It is circumvented when speaking about in the present and laters days but it's officially written down in the books).

But overall, Dick is very much a masculine male with feminine qualities.

Sexuality

Ok so the thing about Dick and sexuality is that Dick Grayson is a very, VERY old character. He's been there since the beginning of DC to the point that he was the third DC character created EVER. Clark, then Bruce, then Dick, AND THEN Wonder Woman.

So with a character this old and with a topic as controversial as sexuality, DC is not going to ever explicitly write Dick as gay or bi or whatever. Why? Because Dick is an icon.

When someone says "Batman and Robin" - EVERYONE knows who Batman and Robin is. Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. They've existed forever and are the kingpins of DC alongside Superman and Wonder Woman. Whether that person is in the fandom or not, they know who Batman and Robin are. Within the fandom, people know there's more than one Robin (several) but talking to someone outside the fandom, someone who enjoys DC casually, only thinks there is one Robin. And you could tell them that there's this many robins, some have been girls, there's this many timelines and etc (which is actually a really embarrassing convo if someone isn't in the fandom OMG and how I wish I could take that back and erase it from BOTH OF OUR MEMORIES) - but they're not gonna care. Because for them, there's only one Robin and that's Dick Grayson.

So with something like that, DC cannot have Dick Grayson be anything but straight because it would cause too big of an uproar. So he can't be. Explicitly. People have written him as having an ambiguous sexuality though. I actually wrote this specific POST a long time because someone wanted to know more.

Instead what you'll have is a BUNCH of BROMANCES. His Nightwing authors have wanted more male/male sexual attractions with him and other characters and some of them have admitted that openly even if they were not allowed to write. So if you're reading a comic that has him and something seems SUS, well it might just be.

So like with all things, I cannot say anything for certain unless there is evidence of him engaging in a romantic relationship with someone who isn't a woman, but given the homoerotic tension that exists between him and other characters such as ROY -

Outsiders (2003) Issue #11

Teen Titans: Silver Age TPB 2 (Part 4) Page 16

Nightwing (1996) Issue #114

WHICH IS ODDLY SIMILAR TO THIS -

Nightwing (1996) Issue #138

I'd say he's bi-curious at the least.

Sex Symbol Status

-this is my previous post which goes a little into the sex symbol thing

Anon, holy crap I have an ESSAY for you. It's in my drafts because it's wayyyyyyyyy too long and I'll definitely exceed the image limit but holy crap.

Here's what I will say about it though. The world REVERES Dick for his looks and body. The amount of attention he gets for his beauty is ridiculous. Even Green Arrow's half-sister - WHO'S MUCH YOUNGER THAN DICK AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF DICK MET - dreams about him romantically.

Green Arrow (2016) Annual_1

Because of course. Villains are going out of their way to compliment him on his looks in the middle of a fight - Bane, Bludhaven villains, civilians (MALE) coworkers - it's literally insane.

So Dick is clearly the hottest and most gorgeous thing to ever exist in the entirety of DC. There's also a panel from a comic where Dick becomes Talon AND SOMEONE STILL CALLS HIM THE PRETTY BOY TALON LIKE WTF??? THAT PRETTY BOY TALON CAN RIP OFF YOUR HEAD IN A HEARTBEAT! He's a talon, too! Clearly death does not hinder his looks in any way.

But Dick himself is VERY uncomfortable any sort of bodily attraction. It's not just the comments that gets him but he, who everyone claims has the body of a god, doesn't feel good about his own body.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #71

He's really conservative. And in another comic when Tim comments on how the the Nightwing suit is really a babe attractor, Dick is uncomfortable going 'I didn't make it for them'.

Like even looking at this comic pic where Dick is in disguise and he and Kori are just walking down the street, they both still attract the entire street's attention. It must be so uncomfortable.

Here's my thoughts on the sex symbol status. Yes, Dick is a sex symbol. That's just fact. But here's where the issue is. People can be sex symbols without it affecting their personality because that status, is something given to them or bestowed upon them by another person.

I'm leaning a little into my post in the drafts but Johnny Depp, Marylyn Monroe, David Bowie, Tom Cruise, Cleopatra - they're all so vastly different on their opinions of sexual liberty and yet all of them as considered sex symbols.

So what does this mean for Dick? Nothing, really. It just means the world takes one look at him and wants him but he is under no obligation to follow through nor does he. He's not a slut for sleeping with the people he likes and no one thinks of him that way either. He was slut-shamed after his rape by Pantha who always has some harsher opinions because that is her personality. She literally says the meanest things about everyone because she's a rough and tough character and she finds humor in being mean because she is who she is.

For Dick himself, it means nothing. He doesn't view himself as attractive which ironically is also what celebrities who were interviewed about the sex symbol status said as well, such as Johny Depp.

The problem with being beautiful though is that people brush you off. Certain girlfriends of his do it. They see him as just a pretty boy and writers of certain comics *cough* Batgirl comics writers and Tom Taylor *cough* throw his skills and talent down the garbage disposal so he can act as a dumb pretty boy toy for his girlfriend. His personality is degraded to a bland white paste and his intelligence and power and pain are thrown out the window.

(This POST gives some examples of when writers do this for Dickbabs)

Like this is a serious problem! I read this article some time ago -

Here are the main highlights:

There isn't a problem with Dick being ascribed a sex symbol status and to his great benefit most people don't treat him like this but some do! LIKE HIS GIRLFRIEND.

In summary, and I'm gonna borrow a lyric here to quote -

"It's hell on earth to be heavenly Them's the breaks, they don't come gently"

I think the problem is, instead of focusing on how beautiful Dick looks, I really feel like DC and the fandom should analyze how uncomfortable Dick gets, how certain comics force him into relationships when others clearly show he wouldn't be interested in a parallel situation, and mostly how Dick Grayson is robbed of his personality, identity, and beliefs all because of how people believe he should act due to his beauty.

I'm honestly tired of the equation that Dick's status as a sex symbol somehow reduces him to a slut. He is not. Instead we should focus on how his beauty is weaponized against him. He was born with those looks and complaining about them is useless. That's his mother and father-given appearance. It's his genetic inheritance. It's as much a part of his as his grace or his unyielding kindness.

The real issue isn't DC’s acknowledgment of his beauty—it's the utter failure to dig deeper. Instead we should explore how Dick deals with it. How does he carry the weight of being constantly objectified? What does it do to his relationships? How is he coerced to do something in a relationship because it is expected of simply due to the fact that he's beautiful? We should explore how people (even the batfam sometimes) only see his smile or good-natured humor while his complexities - his pain, his resilience, his brilliance - are shucked aside? He's constantly diminished by the fandom and canon because of his cheery personality and good looks just to fit a particular character's narrow view of him.

Call him pretty! Dick legit doesn't care if villains call him pretty or someone calls him that because what they're really focused on when they call him that, are his skills. He doesn't mind being called pretty, beautiful, gorgeous - as long as he's valued for his talents and efforts and skills.

(Here's the pretty boy post for my lovelies. Part 2 in the making)

The issue, once again, isn't his sex symbol status or his looks. It's literally everything else. Dick Grayson is not a reflection of what others project; he is a someone who stands apart, vibrant, and irreducibly whole. Which too often gets lost underneath his looks.

[melliemell]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT.. POCKY GAME WITH THE BSD CAST (preferably Ranpo and Dazai, feel free to add whoever u want!!) MAKE IT ROMANTIC TOO PLZ I CANT GET THIS IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD🙏🙏🙏

LOTS OF LOVE - an anon who lost their glasses

👀👀this... this was too fun to write ohmygod you have no idea

Now you've managed to get me stuck on thoughts of silly little moments with those losers too aaAAAAAA I gotchu nonnie, you ask and I deliver😌

BSD Cast ft. Pocky Game

(Dazai, Ranpo, Fyodor, Chuuya; high-key suggestive, blame them not me)

Dazai

“It’s a very delicate procedure.”

“Mmm, big boy business, I see.”

“Shush. Good students listen to their sensei first and give smartass remarks later. Now…” 

 It would be Dazai’s idea, not surprising in the slightest. The thing is, he’d be very convincing about this, all sweet smiles and an offhand remark how cute it’d be ‘cause couples are supposed to do sappy things, duh. An innocent enough suggestion, one you found amusing but nothing to bat an eye about. 

Until you add Dazai’s complete disregard for social norms and he’d be pulling those things out in the most embarrassing, inconvenient places he could think of. Mostly to annoy you, secondly to see how red in the face you’d get if he put you in a compromising situation. And oh boy do those happen often. 

One moment you’d be in the middle of discussing important work matters with Atsushi, the next Dazai’s sliding up in your personal space, pocky already hanging at his lips. Worst is he’d act as though this is your average activity, batting his lashes all sweetly at you as he waited. If you snap the pocky with your hand instead he’d react as though it was his heart you just crushed, you cruel beauty of his.

It’s all fine though, things considered. So long as he does get his kiss in the end. Behind some privacy this time.

Ranpo

No. Do not engage with this man in a pocky game, he will be an absolute menace about it.

Unlikely to suggest it himself as it means he’d have to share his snacks with you. Could be convinced if informed of the chance of getting free smooches though. But he’d whine about it, probably already munching on the pack you bought as you were explaining the rules to him.

In the case of you managing to save some for the actual thing…

“Yeah, yeah, can you get on with it? I wanna play already.”

Ranpo does not, in fact, play. The moment you get in place, both of you biting onto your respective side, Ranpo all but throws away any and all rule-information you gave. Who needs those? Only losers, that’s who.

He’s already bitten off almost the entirety of the pocky, lips finding yours a second later as his he pulls you in, hands smashing up your cheeks on both sides. You can practinally hear him munching on the chocolate which makes this all the more hilarious. Talk about mixed priorities. 

Second try goes just as the first one; any illusions of a game forgotten as you were pretty sure Ranpo’s impatience wasn’t quite something you were equipt for…

The third and final chance (last pocky, unfortunately he ate the rest) wasn’t really a chance, honestly. Not when you could just push him back on the couch and kiss him stupid as you climbed atop. 

He might get the remaining pocky later. Maybe.

Fyodor

“How charming.”

Would be amused by the whole thing. Unexpectedly easy to convince, and it gets even weirder as he calmly complies with the rules, nodding patiently. Before you know it you’re staring down at each other, one pocky distance between you two.

Not the type to rush into things, letting you get closer to him instead. Expect a lot of raised eyebrows and chaste kisses as you get through the whole pack. Did you think this was a one go thing? Silly you. A happy, satisfied partner is a compliant one, after all. Little things like this cost him nothing, but could bring a smile on your face. Why would he waste an opportunity like that?

Unlikely to push things further… but just as unlikely to stop you from leaving a few more kisses on him. One or two at the edge of his lips. One accidentally finding its way on his jaw. A trail of feathery brushes down his throat and soon he’d be getting the memo pretty well. 

You can’t help it. There’s something about Fyodor’s damned calmness that always leads to this. Maybe it’s the presence of character; something solid and secure before you that always manages to crawl under your skin. You’d be pulling at his shirt and trousers before you know it, pocky game entirely forgotten.

Chuuya

This one’s a trickie.

Chuuya’d be split between wanting to give in to your sillies, but also… why? Why this? Why not go to that nice and fancy restaurant he talked to you about? The one with the molten chocolate cakes; he’d treat you to all the sweets in the world if you’d ask him. 

Embarrassed at first, and trying his best to sneakily pull himself out of the situation. Until you finally manage to corner him, pocky box in hand and a roguish glint in your eyes.

Maybe it was his dignity, or maybe he was playing too much into the tough guy persona. But the moment you sat him down, a winner’s determination written all over your face– oh, no. Hell no, this was on.

Forget about any cute couple moments. Oh nono, it was all narrowed eyes and prolonged stares of intense analysis, each trying to predict the others’ move. One wrong decision, just the slightest distraction and–

Before Chuuya had you round the waist, rolling you suddenly on the bed as a panicked yelp flew from your lips. The absolute ass. And he’d be laughing about it too, looking down at your sprawled form with the goofiest smile, trying to bite into his lower lip to stifle yet another fit. 

“You all good, sweets? Guess ya lost this round.”

And you’d pull him down, your breath ghosting over his widening grin.

“We’ll see about that.”

[mochinomnoms]

OH MY GOD JAMIL WAS AN OPTION??? sorry I'm obsessed with him... snake man..... did you have any thoughts on what ptm would have been like with him...

Referring to this post

I considered Jamil for a bit cause he fit the basic plot that I wanted, but I fucking hate that bitch so—

I'm kidding, he's not my most favorite character but my "hatred" is more of a joke than anything, but since he isn't an appealing character to me I didn't feel like writing such a big fic for him when there were others I liked much more.

Similar to Vil, I think I would've written an enemies to lovers story, specifically focused on the reader never really getting over what Jamil did to them in Book 4 and him sensing that. I think for Jamil, despite knowing exactly how much you dislike him, can't help but slowly fall for you. You're...an idiot, there's no other way to put it, but he's surprisingly fond of you still, so perhaps he's also an idiot.

You're not dumb in the way he's grown to see Kalim, but you share a similar naïveté that is more endearing when it comes to you. You don't take the bullshit from others and are blunt regardless of your peers' social status. Blame it on you not being born in his world, but he wishes he could be so blunt, so open, so free like you.

It's in the way you smile at someone as intimating as Malleus, the way you speak bluntly at someone like Vil, the way you bring Kalim down to reality with your brashness. Leona even remarks at how you try to roughhouse with him, badly mind you as you'd get bruised from the play fighting.

There's just something that makes him jealous with how you treat these royals and socialites like they're just some person you know. At first, he thought he was jealous of how no one retaliated against you. Kalim wasn't surprising, but the others? They found it amusing, charming even, and were happy to let you be for the most part.

Jamil is jealous that you can be carefree with others, something that would have dreadful consequences on him and his family if he were to do the same. But the longer he watches you, and the more you soften up to him as the months pass by, the more he realizes that he's jealous of them. He's always been envious of people like Kalim, though he hates to admit it, but this is a different kind of envy.

He's not that stupid though, Jamil knows he's jealous because he wants to see you act like that with him. He wants that smile you give Malleus on him. He wants that blunt way you speak to Vil to instead fill his own ears. He wants the brashness you give Kalim to be his instead. He wants you to roughhouse with him instead of Leona, to give you those bruises instead.

Bruises that he can kiss, that he can soothe, that he can ghost his thumb over as he imagines the way you look up at him with soft reverence in your eyes. He imagines you on your knees, he imagines you underneath him, he imagines your skin meeting his lips, he imagines you uttering those three words to him, and him only—

Oh. Oh.

Jamil has an entire summer to deal with his feelings, to figure out just how he wants to go about this. When he comes back, after you've developed your telepathy, he's confused as to why you are suddenly so...shy around him. You, who used to be a bit catty, a tease, things he liked about you. Now? You can't even look him in the eye, like you know something. Your eyes darting everywhere but his face, always putting space between you two, even going so far as to ensure that you two are never alone.

What happened to his Prefect? The one who would bicker with him, the one who would stick their tongue out at him when he pasted by, the one who'd call out his sly words and joke that he really was like his namesake—a snake.

He's wanted very few things in life that he could actually have, and he wants you. So sue him if he decides to make it his mission to bring you back to how you were so that he could have the challenge of winning your heart. It won't be satisfactory otherwise, it's too bad he's unaware that even thought he has passes through your mind, making his goal much, much more difficult.

[astrcmoni]

⁖✦ ˖ flicker of light ˖ ✦⁖

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

synopsis: Two years after a devastating breakup, you unexpectedly cross paths with Billie, the ex who shattered your heart, at a crowded party. As the night unravels, unresolved emotions, lingering tension, and unspoken truths collide, forcing you to confront the love and pain that still bind you.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: angst, smoking, slight cussing

authors note: hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it, let me know what you think.

You never thought you’d see her again, not after the way she left. she had always been a storm—unpredictable, consuming, leaving wreckage in her wake. You tried to hold on, but there’s only so much a person can give before they break. When she walked out, it felt like she took the last of your light with her.

You remember the way it felt to watch her walk away—her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, her head low like she couldn’t bear to face you. She didn’t even slam the door; it just clicked shut, soft and final. You told yourself you were done with her, but that was easier said than lived.

It’s been two years since that night. Two years since her voice, soft but certain, said, “I can’t stay.” Two years since you swore you’d never let her back in. But tonight, under the illumination of the glowing party lights you see her again.

Standing across the room like a ghost made flesh. drowning in her own sea of bodies as people danced around you both causing a claustrophobic separation. Her hair’s a different color now, and her face looks a little older—sharper in some ways, softer in others—but it’s her. There’s no mistaking those eyes.

You caught sight of her first, squinting at the back of her frame, not fully realizing who it was until she turned towards you. then, those blue eyes locked with yours. and it feels like the ground drops out from beneath you, leaving you weightless and frozen, suspended in a moment you can’t escape.

Your chest tightens—not just in surprise, but in something deeper. It’s like all the feelings you thought you’d buried are clawing their way back to the surface, making your heart ache in a way that feels almost physical.

Your breath catches, the kind of catch that’s barely noticeable but feels like everything inside you is short-circuiting. Time slows down, or maybe it speeds up—you can’t tell because everything is a blur, a haze of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. You don’t even register the people around you anymore; they’re just noise, fading into the background as your vision tunnels on them.

And then there’s the sting, sharp and raw, a rush of memories slamming into you all at once. The sound of her laugh, the way she used to look at you, all of the things that were left unsaid. It’s like your mind is running a reel of every mistake, every moment, and you can’t stop it no matter how much you want to. You feel too much and nothing at the same time—numb and overwhelmed, like your body and your emotions are completely out of sync.

Party forgotten all about and it feels as if the world narrows to just the two of you, that was the last thing you wanted right now. The more you two stare at each other the more the air around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Every sound around you—voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses—starts to blur together, growing louder and louder until it’s just noise, grating and overwhelming. Your skin prickles with heat, the bodies around you seemingly too close for your comfort and it feels like the walls are closing in, each inch tighter than the last. There’s nowhere to focus, no solid ground to stand on, and your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You feel an urgent need to move, to get away, to escape the suffocating weight of it all. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, anywhere you can break free from the crushing space around you. Shoving past the partygoers without even registering as so much of a face. Mind fixated on finding some fresh air, something open, and quiet.

Your mind raced, thoughts and questions zipping pass one another. What in the actual fuck was she doing here? This was supposed to be a small event but you should’ve known better. It was a album release party for a mutual friend, but with sightings of her becoming less and less your worry began to dissipate. But that all went out of the window tonight, just your luck.

Finally you found a door, pushing through it and being greeted by the cool air of the LA night sky. you inhale the air, gulping it as if you were abandoned at sea and it was your lifeline. Finding a small curb, you take a seat on it as your hands found their way to your knees, clutching yourself as you tried to steady your breathing, allowing you to be present once more. It’s not instant relief as your mind was still racing, chest still tight— but at least you’re out.

The crack of the earth beneath feet reaches your ears—a faint shuffle of footsteps against the pavement, growing louder with each step. Pace steady but hesitant, like they’re not trying to startle you but can’t decide if they should keep going. The click of shoes echoes quietly in the still night, a contrast to the muffled hum of music emerging from the party behind you.

You don’t turn around at first, every instinct inside telling you to stay still, like moving would somehow make it real. But the sound gets closer, the steps slowing as they near. There’s a pause—long enough for your breath to hitch—and then the faint crunch of gravel as they shift their weight. You can almost feel them standing there, their presence heavier than the silence between you. Your eyes flicked over to the shoes of the person that stood beside you and they confirmed your already strong suspicions.

“Can I sit?” Her voice is low, almost timid, and it throws you. Billie was never timid. She was loud, unpredictable, and bold. Always the one who burned brightest in any room you were in together.

Could she sit? tuh. The question lingered in the air between you, heavy and unwanted. After all the pain and bullshit she caused you, after the nights spent choking on tears you’d promised yourself were the last, the instinct was to scream a hard, unshakable hell no. How does she get to just show up, and ask something of you? You wanted to tell her to leave, to walk away as easily as she had all those years ago. It would’ve been so simple—just a few words, and she’d be gone again.

But your heart—that damned, stubborn heart of yours—betrayed you. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, beneath the memories of slammed doors and empty spaces she used to fill, there was still a soft, desperate ache. A quiet part of you, buried under years of resolve, that wanted to hear her voice again, to feel her presence even if it hurt.

So you hesitated. The silence stretched, sharp as glass, and for a moment, she almost looked ready to walk away without an answer. But then you tilted your head ever so slightly, a gesture so small it almost felt insignificant, and her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—relief? Guilt? Hope? She moved quickly, like she thought you might change your mind, lowering herself into the spot on your left.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She sat with her hands clasped tightly together, her shoulders hunched, as though she could make herself smaller, less imposing. And you just stared ahead, watching the glow of the streetlights dance against the asphalt, trying not to think about how close she was, how her scent—something faintly familiar, like lavender and rain—drifted toward you in the cool night air.

You wanted to ask her why she came back. You wanted to tell her to leave again. But most of all, you just wanted to feel something other than the confusing swirl of anger and longing twisting in your chest. And so, for the first time in years, you sat together in the quiet, the unspoken words between you louder than anything either of you could say.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says quietly, her voice cracking just enough to remind you why it mattered so much in the first place.

“yea…didn’t think I’d see you,” you reply. And you hadn’t. You’d spent months—years—working to get over her, scrubbing her out of your mind like a stubborn stain. Some days you thought you’d succeeded. But now that she’s here, all it takes is one look at her for the memories to pour back in.

The way she used to smile at you in the dark, like you were her entire world. The way her hand used to linger on yours, warm and grounding. The way she kissed you, like she was terrified you’d disappear if she didn’t hold you close enough.

And then the way she left.

The way you watched as her back disappeared the more steps she took, the way your heart shattered into what felt like millions of pieces and how you were left to pick up every single shard.

“So… how are you?”

Her voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unwelcome. It lingered in the air, raw and exposed, forcing you to confront a question you hadn’t asked yourself in a long time.

How were you?

The truth was, you didn’t know. You’d spent the years since her absence piecing yourself back together, brick by brick, like a fragile tower of Lego blocks. Some days, the pieces fit; other days, they crumbled under the weight of the memories she left behind. You tried new things—picked up hobbies, traveled to places you thought might cleanse you of her ghost. You even let yourself fall into the arms of others on occasion, hoping someone else might finally feel right. But none of it stuck. None of it filled the void she carved into your chest.

Still, you couldn’t tell her that. She didn’t deserve the truth, didn’t deserve to know about the nights you stayed up convincing yourself you were better off, or the mornings when you woke to find her name lingering on your lips like a bitter aftertaste.

So instead, you told her the easiest lie. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice smooth, practiced. You didn’t dare look at her when you said it, afraid your eyes might betray the cracks still mending beneath the surface.

She nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible gesture, and for a moment, you thought she might believe you. But the way her gaze lingered—searching, gentle, and entirely too familiar—made you wonder if she could see through the facade, if she still knew you in ways no one else did.

You turned your eyes back to the streetlights, refusing to give her anything more. Fine was all she needed to know. Fine was all she was getting.

“I—” Billie stops herself, looks down. She does that thing where she chews her bottom lip when she’s anxious, and you hate that you remember it so clearly. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice breaking on the words. “For the way I left. For… all of it.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “That’s it? You’re sorry?”

She flinches, and for a split second, you feel guilty. But then you remember the nights you spent crying over her, the days you spent forcing yourself to get out of bed, to move on. She doesn’t get to come back and expect it to be easy.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” she says quietly. “I thought if I stayed, I’d just keep messing you up.”

Your eyes roll so hard they could fall into orbit, a scoff bubbling from your chest at her words. The sentiment is tired, hollow, the same recycled bullshit excuse you’ve heard from past ex’s—but Billie? No, this was a new wound entirely. Of course, two years apart, and she’s already sinking her claws in, pricking at your nerves.

You fish into the pocket of your jacket, fingers brushing the familiar papered edge of a joint you rolled earlier, your lifeline in case the night went sideways—which, apparently, it had. With a soft click of your tongue, you press it between your lips, muttering a dry “tuh.” Seriously? This? Now?

But when you reach back into your jacket for a lighter, your brows knit together. Your hands shift to your sides, patting pockets with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling over fabric.

“The fuck?” you mutter under your breath, shuffling and searching as your irritation simmers into something hotter, more desperate. Something in Billie’s gaze says she knows exactly where it is.

“Oh, here,” she says.

The sound is sharp and intimate, slicing through the quiet like a whispered secret. A metallic click, clean and deliberate, breaks the stillness, followed by the soft scrape of the flint wheel turning. Then comes the bloom of the flame—a faint whoosh that carries a warmth you can almost feel. It’s steady, alive, crackling faintly as it dances in the dark, casting flickering shadows against the night. The scent of singed butane drifts into the air, sharp and chemical, grounding you in the moment. It’s such a small sound, but next to you, it feels impossibly loud, like a heartbeat outside your own.

She never indulged in your smoking habits, never shared in the way you leaned into the soft haze to escape reality. But she always carried a lighter. Always. For you. Because somehow, no matter how many times you bought one, you had a way of losing them, and she had a way of knowing.

Your heart ached at the thought. Even after everything, she still carried that lighter—still kept this tiny piece of you with her, like muscle memory she couldn’t unlearn.

She held the flame steady, her hand shielding it from the wind with practiced ease. You didn’t move, your hand hovering near her but never quite closing the gap. Instead, you watched as the fire danced, the golden glow illuminating her face in the dim light. The wind teased the flame, threatening to snuff it out, but she guarded it instinctively, her other hand cupping the lighter as if it were precious, fragile.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, trapped in the flicker of light and shadow, as if the fire itself held some kind of spell over you. Or maybe it wasn’t the flame at all. Maybe it was her—the quiet familiarity of her gestures, the way she still did this for you, even now, even after the years and the pain.

To anyone else, it might seem like nothing. An ex lighting her ex-girlfriend’s blunt, an act so casual it hardly deserved a second thought. But to you, it was so much more. It was a thread connecting the past and the present, a bridge over the chasm of two long, lonely years.

It was intimacy. A kind you hadn’t felt in so long it almost scared you. The kind that knew your rhythms and your faults, that carried lighters for your bad habits and lit them without judgment.

Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to extinguish the fire before it burned you again. But your heart—foolish, stubborn thing that it was—ached for this moment, for this tiny act of care. So you stayed still, watching the flame dance as your heart and mind waged their quiet war. She watched and waited to see what you would do, and without thinking your body leaned forward, towards that bright ember of a flame. And when she finally lit the blunt for you, her fingers brushed yours for just a second too long, it felt less like a habit and more like a confession.

You watched as the flame stretched toward the blunt’s tip, small but fierce, its edges flickering and alive. It kisses the paper, and for a moment, it clings there, glowing brighter as it bites into the wrap. The paper darkens and crinkles, curling inward as the flame consumes it, leaving a thin line of blackened ash in its wake.

Your eyes meet hers, still in your crouched position, and for a moment, everything stills. The laughter and music fade into the background, muffled by the weight of her gaze. It’s so quiet in this bubble that it feels like you could stay here forever, wrapped in the soft, strange serenity between you.

But you don’t. You blink, the spell breaking as reality creeps back in. This moment isn’t yours to keep, no matter how much you wish it was.

A wisp of smoke rises, twisting lazily into the air, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper and the earthy undertone of the tobacco or herb inside. The ember glows softly, pulsing like a heartbeat as it takes hold, the flame retreating once its job is done. What’s left behind is a smoldering edge, fragile and jagged, the beginnings of something that burns slow and steady.

Leaning back, you withdraw the joint from your lips, letting the smoke roll slowly from your mouth. You blow it to your right, away from her, the exhalation curling into the night air like a phantom. You’ve always been careful, always mindful, because you know how much she hated it.

You remember the first time you sparked up around her, the way the cloud drifted lazily in her direction and enveloped her. She coughed, sharp and sudden, her face twisting in discomfort as her hand shot up to wave it away. Later, she told you how it made her feel—the way the smoke clung to her throat, thick and choking, leaving a sour taste at the back of her tongue that wouldn’t go away. How it wove itself into her hair and clothes, lingering like an unwelcome ghost she couldn’t shake.

“I don’t mind you smoking,” she’d said back then, her voice soft, almost apologetic, “but just… not near me. It feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her words had stuck with you, burrowed deep into your memory, because they weren’t an attack—just honesty, delivered with that quiet gentleness she used to wield so well. Since then, you’ve been careful. Always turning your head, always blowing the smoke away, no matter where you were or how distracted you might be.

Even now, with her sitting beside you after years apart, it’s instinctive. The smoke twists and curls into the night, a hazy ribbon that never touches her. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, watching as she sits unaffected, her gaze somewhere far off, and feel the smallest tug of relief.

It’s such a small thing—redirecting the smoke, sparing her the discomfort—but it feels like an unspoken promise. A habit born out of care, out of knowing her in ways no one else did. And even after everything, you can’t seem to stop yourself from caring.

You laugh bitterly, picking back up on your conversation . “And leaving didn’t?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks at you with those ocean-deep eyes that always seemed to pull you under. “I didn’t stop thinking about you,” she says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The part of you that still aches for her, that still wants to believe in her despite everything, starts to flicker back to life. But it’s just a flicker, nothing more.

“Why now, Billie?” you ask, your voice sharper than you mean it to be. You leaned your head on your right hand as its elbow rested on your knee. Spliff burning in between your middle and your index fingers as you slightly began swaying in thought. “Why come back?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, you see the storm inside her—the guilt, the hope, the fear. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you,” she says.

“So, you’re apologizing because you need something. Not because you’re genuinely sorry.”

The words leave your mouth, calm and measured, though they sting with the weight of years. You don’t look at her, not yet, but you can feel her gaze, warm and searching, on your face. You take a breath, letting the silence between you stretch. It’s the first time in a long while that you’ve allowed yourself to speak with this much clarity, this much honesty. And it feels both liberating and painful at once.

She’s silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, quieter. “That’s not true. I am sorry. For everything.”

You nod slowly, processing her words. She’s sincere, you can hear it in the tremor of her voice, but that doesn’t make the past go away. The years of waiting, the nights spent wondering why she left, wondering if you were ever enough for her.

She hasn’t moved since she sat down, but the space between you feels vast now, like an ocean that neither of you can quite cross.

“But you hurt me,” you say, your voice quieter now, tinged with something raw that you haven’t let surface in so long. “I loved you, Billie. I loved you so much, and you just left me. No explanation. No call. Hell, you didn’t even leave me a damn text.”

You finally look at her. Her eyes are wide, full of regret, and for a split second, you almost forget all the reasons you’ve been angry with her. Almost. But the hurt is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and you can’t let it go. Not yet.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the words thick with remorse. “And I am truly sorry. I’ll never stop apologizing for what I did.” Her gaze drops to her lap, and she takes a deep breath before she looks at you again, her eyes pleading. “But I love you. I do.”

I love you.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You want to respond, want to say something sharp and dismissive, to keep the walls between you up and firm. But instead you take another drag of the joint in your hand, as your heart—damned thing that it is—pounds in your chest, betraying you in the quiet of the night.

You swallow, the lump in your throat too tight to speak, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if the distance between you could ever truly disappear.

You know what letting her back in could mean. You know the pain she’s capable of causing. But you also know the way she made you feel when things were good—the way she made you feel alive.

And as you sit there, staring at her in the glow of the streetlights, you realize you have a choice. You can let her back in and risk it all, or you can walk away and finally put her behind you.

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the silence stretching unbearably between you. And for the first time in years, you’re not sure what to do.

[vigilskept]

i just want to say i saw your tags and i do agree with most of them!! i just think we also cannot overlook the role of racism in that, because of how many of those people who walked away with more attachment to assan than davrin talk about that exact sacrifice. it is a recurring problem in the dragon age fandom that many other players do not LOOK for depth in Black characters, then complain about its absence. So I am much less generous about it personally! But thank you for your thoughts, they were interesting to read. (Sending as an ask cause I don't want to reblog and make a whole post about it in case anyone gets aggressive, feel free to answer me privately if you want too at all - no worries about doing so! But I made the post partially because of my major frustration with how racist a lot of people were being about davrin and that choice, so it was something I took into consideration while writing the thing up)

i do know what you mean, fandom has been terrible with reading any depth into characters of colour in this franchise... there's a tendency to assume they have no more complexity than whatever image of themselves they're projecting outward (see: zev, bela, vivienne)

and based a lot of the discourse around wyll in bg3 over the last couple of years, i don't think we've seen much change in fandom when it comes to this. it's still a big issue, and that kind of bias (consciously or not) factors into how a lot of people have been interpreting davrin's character/arc for sure

i just think that the writing also plays into this a little

that first scene where you welcome him into the lighthouse struck me as particularly off because davrin's literally just lost two friends in the wardens before joining us and we don't even get the option to ask him how he's feeling. the whole conversation is about assan, the grey wardens and the griffons

now assan's isolation from his siblings is being deliberately paralleled with davrin's isolation from his clan (and now the wardens), but on it's face this conversation comes off as though rook is more interested in the griffons than in davrin. especially when you compare it with the other early-game lighthouse conversations! just 1 more dialogue where you actually get to check in on davrin could've mitigated that, if only a little

the heart of davrin's quest isn't buried between a dozen layers of metaphor or anything, it's not hard to find the parallels with assan when you put some time/thought into it. but the writing elsewhere in veilguard is so unsubtle, and the opportunities to talk to davrin directly about himself are so much fewer that it becomes much easier to write off his character than the other companions...

[nether-ending-dream]

The LADS Boys' Realistic Kinks

What are they actually into?

Kink list and imagines ♡

I feel like a lot of the kink lists I've seen for the guys haven't been realistic/match their characteristics. Therefore, I wanted to write my own and see whether or not you guys agree with its accuracy! Remember, this is just fiction, and I'm going based off my own thoughts and personal, sexual experiences. Let me know if you're interested in full fics or short imagines. I'd be down to write them or take requests. With that said, enjoy!!

♡♡♡

Rafayel

Switch

Teases/Acts bratty to initate sex

Loves getting and giving hickeys

Thigh fucking

Chastity cages

Would like to try sounding but is too scared.

《Raf!sub》 Impact play. He specifically likes paddles with that leave hearts/designs.

All his toys are aesthetically pleasing and match.

Tail butt plugs, but he's shy so he tends to only wear them when masturbating on his own.

《Raf!sub》 Likes handcuffs, but doesn't like rope (doesn't like how itchy and rough it can feel).

《Raf!dom》 Very much into shibari and practices on mannequins with he's not with you.

Dacryphiliac. Loves being made to cry from pain and occasionally likes seeing you cry from pleasure (makes him feel like he's doing a good job)

《Raf!sub》 Likes receiving anal and keeps his butt clean and prepped

《Raf!dom》 Loves getting head the most because it boosts his ego. He can get very rough with your hair and have you drolling everywhere.

Definitely talkative during sex. Usually a lot of affirmative words and moaning. Checks in quite often and overall pretty conversational during.

In my experience with numerous bottoms, this tends to be how they are. However, as you all know, he enjoys being dominant as well. Though he can be very whiny and shy, he is also caring and intuitive. He prides himself on knowing all your sweet spots and making you into a pretty mess at the end. I'm a professional artist too, so I know the need to strive for perfection in all aspect of our lives. Sex is no different, he's definitely the type who googled "how to kiss" as a teen.

Xavier

Switch but mainly a dom

Exhibitionist. Likes sneaky touches in public or sex in the woods. Quite possessive, but won't make a scene about it.

Vocal and obvious about when he's riled up. Master of foreplay and teasing.

Likes watching you get him off. He adores your face when you go down on him.

Lots of "good girl" and praises

《Xav!sub》 Always tries to hold back moans and act tough while he takes it. Less bratty and more nonchalant. But he likes taking orders from you and letting you lead.

《Xav!dom》 has a thing for spit and degradation. He likes it sloppy.

Somnophiliac. Sleepy sex, cuddle sex, morning sex, etc.

Toys and vibrators to enhance the session

Not really into bondage cause he likes when you're both touchy and explore with your hands.

《Xav!sub》 Surprisingly would be into cross dressing or puppy play

I don't really know anyone like Xavier in real life, since he's so myserious and calm. He's like a hidden gem when it comes to sex. Tends to be more vanilla, but hes still very flirtatious and can be rough. Since he finishes quick, he loves edging. Doesn't really sleep around, so it may seem like he's inexperienced, but hes extremely loyal.

Zayne

Soft dom, doesn't really enjoy bottoming, he'd rather pleasure you.

Lots of soft words, pretty pet names, and check-ins to make sure you're okay. Loves getting you to be vocal. Will pretend he didn't hear you so you can say dirty things.

His favorite position is doggie while holding your arms back. He loves looking at you and flashes a smile while you're turned around.

Bodyworship and massages, takes his time leaving kisses and soft bites all over you.

Premium aftercare and knows how to set the mood. Lots of candles, dim lights and soft music.

Guilty pleasure is roleplay. He can really get into it and play along. He thinks its fun to dress up as different dynamics.

[I've been waiting for this moment my whole life] Sounding. Since he's a surgeon, he has access to the high quality rods. He knows how to sound safely and loves either sounding you or himself.

Though he is sweet, he can be rough when he's really riled up. He'll mumble words with his head thrown back, picking up speed and grabbing you tightly.

Only slightly spanking, but he does enjoy watching you tear up from pleasure. He likes watching your ass get red.

Really into your thighs and labia. Will spenda lot of time kissing you there before eating you out.

Of course his surgeon hands know your weak points. Master at fingering.

Has a thing for tongues, whether it's watching you lick his shaft, putting his fingers in your mouth or licking your body.

With him, you'll probably never have bad sex in your life. Though if he's too "by the book" and gets formulatic, just let him know because he definitely has new things he wants to try. Super keen to your needs and can never get enough of you. He can usually go for multiple rounds. Master of aftercare.

Sylus

Strictly a dom. He gets a laugh out of watching you try to dominate him, but it always ends up with him back on top.

Heavily into impact play. His tool of choice tends to be a belt

Bondage with cuffs and blindfolds. He's not as dedicated to learning shibari as an art form, but he knows basics ties and how to do it safely.

Not into public exhibitionism (he has an image to uphold), but he loves a private show. He enjoys watching you from afar (lap dance, pole dance, mutual masturbation, etc.)

Slightly into voyeurism, in the sense that he loves teasing you by walking around the house with only a towel or a robe.

His secret fanstasy is dog masks. In an alternate universe where you're dominating him, he'd love to get on his knees with a collar.

LOVES anal. Although he is always sure to fully prep you, the second you're ready, it's non-stop roughness until you both finish.

Fingering>Head. While he does enjoy watching you go down on him, he gets too riled up too quick and wants his hands all over your body.

If he is getting head, he's definitely throat fucking you with your neck over the bed.

Definitely into knife play and I think he'd also enjoy spurs.

Wax and temperature play

Dirty, nasty talk. Lots of curses (unless you don't like that, he accommodates to you) lots of pet names.

Biting and grabbing whenever he can.

Loves giving oily massages.

Baths/showers for aftercare + body worship

Reluctantly giving credit where it's due, Aries knows how to fuck. It's going to be rough and heated. Since he's a busy guy, he always makes sure to give his darling a good time. He's a try everything once kind of guy, so whatever you have in mind, he'll make it happen. Very confident in his sexual abilities, but is always looking to improve any weak points.

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 9

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

⊱𖣂⊰ | masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟎𝟗 | 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬

chapter word count: 3.5 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: Hi everyone, its been a whilee. The hell that is exam week is over, so I finally had time to sit down and write. I had a lot of fun writing the main cast's reactions, and I swear by now I've seen the episode 'Brave Volunteers' like fifty times. Every line of dialogue in that episode is branded onto my brain. Anyway, I hope ya'll like the chapter and characterization! Another thing, I don't know if it was clear or not but last chapter Yelena did NOT tell them all of Zeke's fifty year plan. In 'Brave Volunteers' its stated in the government scene that they should accept Yelena's offer so they can hear the plan So that's that lol. Like always, a big shout out to my beta reader, who not only proof read this chapter but was also the reason I understood calculus. Everyone say thanks P. Also title mention!

Thanks for reading!

𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 they don’t use your name. The girl is not the worst thing you’ve been called –no, that honor went to unnamed Marleyan guards– but your name is one of the few things you have left from your home.

Your name, your face, your old clothes. Your name and your face are always with you. The first is always implicit, a faucet and a pillar of your identity, a reminder of who gave you the title. The latter is a statement of who came before you, and even if they were nonexistent in this universe, you still bear the likeness of their figures.

On the other hand, your clothes are the only thing that you can be physically separated from. The risk from bringing strange garments to the island far outweighed the small comfort they would bring you, and so you were outvoted in your request to bring them with you. Zeke kept them, somewhere under the floorboards, or wrapped in darkness at the end of an old closet, or in between the house’s foundations.

Eventually moths would eat away at them, your face would change into something your family has never seen. But your name would remain constant, a brilliant flare for those that knew you in the before.

So yes, being called the girl miffs you a little bit.

“I’m afraid we can't do that,” Yelena says, keeping up the pretense that being separated from you is detrimental to the volunteers.

“No, no, we insist!” Hange says with a smile, and you’re not the only one that notices a slight edge to their voice. “I can only imagine her merit, given it was you who insisted on waiting for her at the beach.”

With their cheery smile, Hange manages to bring attention to the fact that you were important to the volunteers, while also indirectly stating your status as a perceived pawn. Levi is less discreet with his facial expressions. He has been glaring at Yelena ever since she started singing praises about Zeke. It's cold, quiet, and could be easily passed off as being part of Levi’s general distrust of strangers, even his resting annoyed face, but it stems from something much more personal, given her ties to Zeke.

“As her guardian, it would be unbecoming of me to abandon her so soon after our journey,” Yelena says.

“Guardian?” Hange asks, turning to you. “Were your parents victims of Marley too?”

“They’re… not around,” you say. “Anymore.”

You don’t confirm nor deny the causes of your family’s absence. In a way, it was you that was taken by Marley, not the other way around. It felt as if the universe was playing a big joke on you, stripping you of your family, bringing you to an unfamiliar territory, loading your back with the burden of knowing. You are well on the road to becoming a shonen protagonist, and hopefully one who got what they wanted in the end.

“So you see,” Yelena says, “I couldn’t possibly leave her to fend for herself.”

“What they were trying to say,” Levi says, toeing the line between interrupting and being patient, “is that she would be much more comfortable were she to comply.”

The unspoken threat and implied future whereabouts of the Volunteers hangs in the air. You know Yelena is letting it simmer for a moment, before she inevitably agrees. She and Onyankopon share glances, discussing something that has already been decided.

The plays that are now being created in the chess board have been scrutinized already, chances and paths to the end have already been calculated, and most if not all valuable players have already been scouted. Both Yelena and Onyankopon have very different ideas of what the endgame entails, but the road to getting there is similar in both iterations.

“You can’t fault my faction for being cautious. We trust your people to take our plans and transform them for the betterment of the island, but Y/n is a special case. I trust you understand, given your own young charges.”

Yelena places her teacup on the table, reveling in the unobstructed march of the circumstances she has weaved. This woman knows the strands and how to thread them, and her strengths lie there and in her almost complete view of the full tapestry.

“I would like to request that she is free to seek us out, should she wish to.”

“She’ll be escorted,” Levi counters. “One on one rendezvous will not be permitted.”

“I expect nothing less. We look forward to working with you, for the betterment of the nation of Paradis. Please make sure to opt in sooner rather than later, as it would be a shame to not share the plans we carefully designed before arriving.”

Yelena smiles that unsettling grin of hers and a deal is struck. She and Onyankopon rise from their seats, and you, Hange and Levi accompany them just outside the tent flaps. Onyankopon turns to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing in a comforting fashion.

“It won't be long, okay?” he says. You've only known him properly for a day, which most of it was spent separately, him on the deck as a soldier, you hidden away with the cargo. But you assume he must feel some sort of responsibility towards you, someone young whom he must leave with strangers in order to ensure the help they are offering is accepted. You nod as he retreats, giving Yelena space to approach you.

And you understand his worries and his concerns, and you know they are well founded even if they aren't exactly accurate. If what Eren told you and if Hange’s and Levi’s reaction is of any indication, then you have some sort of tentative immunity in the eyes of Paradis.

The question is, what does the island’s government expect in return? How far does Eren’s knowledge of you extend? How much has he shared?

You are taken by surprise when Yelena pulls you into a hug, dwarfing your figure with her thin frame. You hesitantly return the gesture, and put your arms around her. If Zeke’s hug felt secure and grounded, hers feels suffocating and cold.

Your head starts to hurt again, and you squeeze your eyes shut so your brain has one less sense to process. It helps somewhat, and only adds onto your guardian–charge charade with Yelena.

“Stay focused,” she murmurs in your ear, before pulling away. “I’ll see you soon” is her final farewell, and she and Onyankopon are taken away by other Scouts, about to be reunited with the other Volunteers and unfortunate soldiers.

You look at their retreating figures when Levi’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Get inside,” he says. “It's almost dawn, and you need to report to us before the brats arrive.”

You mouth brats? while you follow them inside, grunting when Hange decides to tackle you gently, putting their arm around your shoulders.

“I'm sorry we didn’t ask you directly,” Hange starts chirping, their voice moving faster than their mouth. “We didn’t know you would arrive so soon, and less so with people from the other side of the sea…”

Their voice trails off as they stare at you expectantly, making you squirm. Their half hug is nice though. Comforting and full of energy you seem to be quickly depleting from.

“Get off the kid, Four eyes,” Levi says, taking a seat and bringing his cup, holding it by the rim. “We need her report.”

“Oh!” Hange exclaims. “Of course! Come on, come on, take a seat–”

They lead you to the middle chair, and you sit down in front of the pair, not quite knowing what to expect. You need to report to us versus we need your report. Something you are required to do versus something they are looking for. Choices in spoken words often talk louder than the voices expressing them, so you hope this is a spark of future mutual trust.

They ask you to confirm Yelena’s plan and you recite back the small spiel in its entirety. Specific questions are posed and you answer them to the best of your ability, still carefully abiding only by the limited information brought forward by Yelena. You purposely stutter on some, if only to keep your cards close to your chest. Nonetheless, sometimes you trip over your words truly just because you’re nervous.

“And what's in it for you?” Levi asks. Hange makes a move to scold him for his lack of tact, but you wave off their concerns.

“I want the same as you,” you say. “The island’s safety.”

“And why you?” he presses.

That throws you in for a loop. Their questions made it seem like they knew something was up with you, but now you don't know if they’re referring to why you, as in why you a teenager, or why you as in what tools you have at your disposal that made you the ideal asset.

“Didn’t Eren already tell you?” you ask, because it's better to fall short of the question than to reveal extra information that will surely make its way to their higher ups.

Levi narrows his eyes. “So you know.”

“I met him at the beach, just when I got off the ship,” you confirm. “We didn't talk for long, but he told me to tell you my name. I assume that's because you already know about me?”

“Right on!” Hange says. “Eren hasn’t spilled a whole lot, but it was enough to convince us that you were someone who wanted to do right by Paradis.” They finish off their explanation with a grin, and you revel in the way it calms you down. Even Levi, who plays the bad cop in the interrogation, is surprisingly not as antagonistic as you expected him to be.

“I do,” you say. “I know you have no basis to trust me but a few words, but I really do just want to help. And i understand if you want to keep me at arms length–”

“Don’t be silly,” Hange says. “You’re our ally now! And you didn’t hear it from me but there's no reason to be worried for your guardians–”

“Hange,” Levi says, warning in his tone.

“Anyway! I’m sure it would be better for you to stick close to Levi’s squad while we figure out where to place you.”

“Levi’s squad?” you ask.

You whip your head towards the front of the tent when chatter is heard from outside, growing louder and louder, footsteps accompanying them as they approach the entrance. You distinguish teenage voices overlapping the others, seemingly discussing, constantly one upping the others’ contributions. Your heart leaps out of your chest as a hand reaches under the entrance flap and opens it, letting in the soft light of the early morning.

Six teenagers dressed in Scout uniforms come inside the tent, some more apprehensive than others. Jean Kirstein and Connie Springer –if they’re anything like their animated counterparts– decidedly don’t trust you, but their distrust for Yelena is bigger. Sasha Braus looks like she'd rather be snoring on a cot than gawking at you and Mikasa Ackerman is doing her best to prevent her from falling asleep, even if the girl is starting to look more awake.

Mikasa is also pointedly standing in front of Armin and Eren, shielding them as much from your line of sight as she can. You don't take it personally; you know they're her family and you're someone who could pose a threat to them. Still, it is kinda funny. Those two, being the only titan shifters on the island, are probably the ones who should be doing the protecting. But instead, Mikasa takes on that role, and you can't help but admire her for it.

Armin Artlet is looking at you half in awe, half analyzing you. You remember he always advocated for peace, for hearing out the unexpected allies they encountered, and for trying to find a middle ground in the midst of bloodshed and uncertainty. For someone with the tallest and most disastrous titan, he sure does look smaller in real life. His blond hair is still styled into that bob though, and you marvel at how the trio's hairstyles are somewhat similar at this point in time.

Finally, Eren is the last person to set foot inside the tent. Technically, you've already met him, even if you only exchanged ten stilled sentences at the beach. He is the only one that is not the least bit apprehensive of you. Now though, with the light of the day and the lantern combined, you can distinguish bags under his eyes and a strange tension on his shoulders. If you looked in a mirror, you think then maybe you’d see similar attributes in yourself.

“Who’s this?” Jean asks when the group approaches you.

“Y/n,” you say, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Jean Kirstein,” he says, shaking it. “No last name?”

“Oh, it’s…” you trail off.

Many times you have dealt with slow wifi in your world, where computers suddenly forgot they were supposed to be fast and innovative technology, and instead took ages to process or retrieve information. Your brain seems similarly frozen, and you start to panic when you can’t reach the information you seek. You'd have better luck digging a hole in shifting sands with only your hands as tools, than remember it.

It feels like when you are running in a dream, where you sprint as fast as you can, and yet there are invisible ropes holding you back, tying your wrists, your torso, and the air around you feels like jelly, preventing your every move.

The panic and hesitation must show in your vacant gaze when you are too preoccupied with remembering, because Jean awkwardly clears his throat and looks at Levi.

“Where do we take her, sir?” Jean asks.

“I don’t know, show her around. Show her the facilities and don’t cause a commotion or you can expect extra drills extra early. Looking at you, Braus.”

The girl in question splutters, flailing her arms around in defense. Connie snorts and punches her lightly on the arm as they exit the tent. Armin flanks you as you follow the duo outside, eager to know more information on the outside world. Mikasa lags behind for a moment as Levi tells her something, but she joins the group soon enough.

“You said your name was Y/n, right?” Armin asks and you nod. “Do you really come from the other side of the sea? What’s it like?”

“Uh, I dunno? There’s people, buildings, cars…”

“Cars? Do you mean carts?” Connie asks.

“Kinda, but with no horses to pull them. I think it has something to do with pistons and ignition?”

Armin’s eyes get impossibly bigger, impossibly brighter. His face is pulled into an awed expression, and it makes you want to sit down with him and explain everything the new world has to offer. Besides the –you know– animosity towards their race.

“Do you know about the fields of ice? Or the fiery waters?” Armin continues.

“Not personally,” you say. “I’ve never gone to a volcano or frozen plains, but I’ve seen them in photographs.”

“Like Eren’s dad’s picture,” Mikasa says when Sasha pulls a confused expression.

You find yourself nodding. “Yeah, that one.”

Jean narrows his eyes. “You know about that?”

“Uh–”

You messed up. The trouble you have remembering your last name (what the hell, what the hell, what the hell), and the unexpected introduction with the main cast, as well as the lack of proper sleep hits you over the head. You hastily catch Eren’s eye, wordlessly asking him what you should answer. What you’re allowed to answer.

He simply shrugs. “I told you guys she knew things.”

“Oh! Are you also a shifter?” Sasha asks. “Do you get those memory thingies too?”

“I can’t– I’m not,” you quickly amend, “a titan.”

“Bummer.”

“Sasha!” Connie whispers.

“What?”

You chuckle awkwardly trying to diffuse the tension as you walk. They point out various structures, most of them tents. There's the field canteen, the lavatories, the grounds and the tent barracks. “It's fine,” you say after a moment. “It would be easier to explain if I were a shifter.”

“What are you then?” Connie asks.

I’m just someone who likes stories is what you want to say, but you know that will only serve to confuse them further. You quickly go through a list of possibilities that include lying about having royal blood, lying about your parents being shifters, or lying about being part of experiments. The first one can be easily disproved by anyone with eyes, the second is not something that makes a lot of sense, and the third one is just plain reaching.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Eren says, not missing a beat while you’re weaving a lie. “She’s the key to whatever locked up memories I have. I don’t think it's a coincidence I remembered one yesterday, just before the ship arrived.”

“I don’t understand it myself fully yet,” you say, falling into a rhythm with Eren’s explanation. “I just know things I shouldn’t. That's how I knew to find Zeke, and to come to the island.”

The mention of Zeke’s name brings forward a slight tension in everyone’s shoulders, and they exchange glances, as if only just remembering you were someone who was allied with an old enemy.

“You’re with the tall woman then?” Jean asks.

“Officially yeah,” you say. “But Yelena’s always creeped me out.”

“But you’re on their side, is what I'm saying.”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “My… future memories, if you can call them that, have shown me primarily what has happened here. You’re welcome to believe me or not, but I do feel a sense of duty to you all.” If they notice how you changed the island for you all they do not mention it.

“I trust her,” Eren says, breaking the silence.

“We know,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear.”

Eren shrugs, and you all stop walking on the edge of the tent barracks. Everyone but Mikasa is on cleaning duty for the morning, given she was the one to win some kind of training game the day before. So they send you off with her to the barracks, where you are promised a cot and time to digest everything. You wave at them, and they promise to come back to escort you to the canteen when you wake up.

Mikasa starts walking to the far left, checking behind her once to ensure you are following her. You jog after her until you reach her, and you fall into an uneasy step next to the girl. Birds fill the early morning air with their chirps, occasionally flying from tree to tree when you get too close to one in your path.

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” she says after a while, and you flinch, expecting her sentiments all the same.

“But I trust Eren,” she continues, “and he trusts you. Armin thinks you are allies that will help the island, but not all of us are as optimistic.”

“I get it,” you say, giving her a small smile. “I know what happened, so I get it, really. I don't expect you all to trust me so quickly either.”

“Don’t let him down.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “Nor will I let you down, if you'll let me.”

She stops in front of a small tent sandwiched between others. You see two cots when you walk in, parallel to each other. There are a few personal items on the one directly to your left, while the right is bare with the only exception of thin sheets and a thin blanket.

“That one’s yours,” Mikasa says, pointing to the one on the right. “I’ll be back in a while to check in on you. Don’t leave without someone from the squad.”

“Okay. See you later?”

Mikasa nods and leaves, leaving behind a slight breeze from where she opened the tent. You step closer to your cot, dropping your satchel at one of its legs. You only had water and a little bit of rations left on it, so you were allowed to keep it. It rattles as it hits the floor, but you’re too preoccupied with finally laying down to properly care.

You groan in satisfaction when your tense back hits the fabric of the cot. It's not the most comfortable place you’ve slept on recently, but it is a welcome luxury after spending more that twenty four hours on the cold floor of a ship’s cargo hold, so it's really no surprise when your eyes close the moment your head touches the pillow.

The first part of your plan, arriving to Paradis, is completed. The second, earning everyone's trust, is going better than expected, thanks to the curveball that was Eren’s knowledge of you. So you let your consciousness rest for a moment, going to sleep in between flashes of stars.

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[novaursa]

Flames in the West (home sweet home)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: lord of the west

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The Red Keep was alive with activity as preparations for your departure were finalized. Servants scurried about, packing the last of your belongings, while stablehands tended to horses and wagons laden with goods for the journey back to Casterly Rock. Jason, of course, had turned the event into a grand affair, barking orders and ensuring every detail was executed with his signature flair.

At the center of it all stood you, cradling Lorien in your arms, while his tiny dragon—newly named Aureon by the Dragonkeepers—curled around your feet like an oversized car. The hatchling let out a small, chirping roar, its eyes gleaming with mischief as it swiped at the hem of Jason’s cloak.

Jason, oblivious to the dragon’s antics, turned to you with a wide grin. “Isn’t this marvelous? A lion, a lady, a cub, and a dragon—all heading westward. We’re practically a song come to life.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A very loud song, perhaps. Do you really need this many banners?”

Jason gestured grandly to the line of wagons and retainers, all adorned with the golden lion of House Lannister. “Of course, my love! How else will the realm know that House Lannister is returning in triumph?”

“Triumph?” Martyn’s dry voice cut in as he approached, his expression skeptical. “Jason, you’ve turned a simple trip into a royal procession.”

“Procession?” Jason repeated, feigning offense. “Martyn, this is a demonstration of strength and unity.”

“It’s a parade,” you muttered, earning a laugh from Martyn.

As the final preparations were made, King Viserys, Rhaenyra, and a small group of nobles gathered in the courtyard to bid you farewell. Viserys beamed, clearly pleased to see his daughter and grandson off in such high spirits.

“Jason,” Viserys said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve made quite the impression during your stay.”

Jason grinned, puffing out his chest. “I aim to please, Your Grace.”

“And to be noticed,” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath, smirking.

You shot her a look but couldn’t hide your smile. “We’ll miss you, sister.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, embracing you warmly before glancing at Jason. “Try not to cause too much trouble on your way back.”

Jason laughed, placing a hand over his heart. “Trouble? Me? I’m the picture of decorum.”

Behind him, Aureon chirped and attempted to climb onto the nearest wagon, scattering a pile of carefully packed linens. Jason turned, his smile faltering. “Aureon! No! Bad dragon!”

The hatchling ignored him, its tail swishing as it clambered onto the pile. Viserys laughed heartily, waving off the servants who rushed to fix the mess. “He’s already living up to his name.”

With farewells exchanged and the procession finally in motion, the gates of the Red Keep opened to reveal the bustling streets of King’s Landing. The sight of your lavishly adorned caravan—complete with Jason riding at the head like a conquering hero—immediately drew a crowd.

“Look at them,” Jason said, gesturing to the cheering smallfolk as if they were his personal audience. “They adore us.”

“They adore the spectacle,” Martyn corrected, riding beside him. “Don’t confuse the two.”

You, seated in a well-cushioned carriage with Lorien and Aureon, peeked out to see the commotion. The hatchling, not content to stay still, perched on the window ledge and let out a high-pitched roar that startled several passersby.

Jason turned in his saddle, grinning. “See? Even Aureon knows how to work a crowd.”

You sighed, pulling the dragon back inside. “Jason, if you keep this up, the bards will write songs about your departure, not your arrival.”

“And why not?” Jason replied, winking. “A song for every occasion!”

As the caravan moved beyond the city gates and onto the open road, the atmosphere became slightly calmer—though not by much. Aureon, now riding in a small basket beside Lorien, alternated between napping and swiping at the tassels on the carriage curtains. Jason, ever attentive, rode alongside the carriage, leaning in to check on you every few minutes.

“Are you comfortable, my love?” he asked for the third time that hour.

“Yes, Jason,” you replied patiently. “Everything is fine.”

“Good, good,” Jason said, nodding. “If you need anything—anything at all—just say the word.”

“Actually,” Martyn interjected from behind, “what she probably needs is for you to stop hovering.”

Jason shot him a glare but said nothing, returning to his position at the head of the caravan with a flourish.

By the time the sun began to set, the caravan had made significant progress, the banners of House Lannister fluttering in the evening breeze. Despite the chaos, there was a sense of excitement in the air—a feeling that this journey was the beginning of a new chapter.

Jason rode back to the carriage one last time, his face glowing with pride. “This is going to be legendary, Y/N. A journey no one will forget.”

You smiled, shaking your head fondly. “With you leading the way, how could they?”

As Aureon chirped and Lorien cooed in unison, you couldn’t help but laugh. Life with Jason was never dull, and as the road stretched out before you, you knew that the adventures of House Lannister were only just beginning.

The caravan came to a halt near a picturesque clearing off the King’s Road, shaded by towering oak trees and bordered by a babbling brook. It was the perfect spot for a respite after hours of travel. Servants bustled to set up camp while retainers saw to the horses and wagons. Jason, ever the self-appointed master of ceremonies, leapt off his horse with all the enthusiasm of a knight heading into a tourney.

“This,” Jason announced loudly, spreading his arms as though presenting a great achievement, “is where we shall rest. A perfect spot for House Lannister’s finest.”

You stepped out of the carriage with Lorien in your arms, giving your husband a look that was equal parts fondness and exasperation. “Jason, it’s a patch of grass and trees.”

“Not just grass and trees,” Jason replied, grinning. “It’s a respite! A sanctuary! A—”

“It’s a place to sit and eat,” Martyn interrupted dryly, dismounting his horse. “Let’s not give it a name.”

Chaos began almost immediately. Servants attempting to pitch tents found themselves under Jason’s overenthusiastic supervision. He marched around the clearing, giving instructions with the authority of a general on the battlefield.

“No, no, no!” Jason exclaimed, waving his arms as a servant struggled with a particularly stubborn tent pole. “You need to anchor it deeper. Imagine a strong wind comes through! What then?”

The servant, clearly flustered, muttered something about not having stakes fit for a hurricane.

Nearby, Aureon decided he wanted to explore, wriggling out of his basket and flapping his tiny wings. He scampered toward the brook, letting out a triumphant chirp as he splashed into the water.

“Jason,” you called, trying to keep Lorien from grabbing your hair, “your dragon is swimming.”

Jason turned, his eyes widening in alarm. “Swimming? Aureon, no! You’re a dragon, not a duck!”

He sprinted toward the brook, splashing into the water as he tried to corral the tiny dragon. Aureon, clearly enjoying the game, flapped his wings harder, sending water everywhere—including onto Jason’s golden doublet.

Martyn, observing from a safe distance, shook his head. “Why does this not surprise me?”

As Jason chased Aureon, Lorien decided it was his turn to make himself known. He let out a high-pitched wail, his little fists flailing in protest.

“Alright, alright,” you murmured, bouncing him gently. “What’s the matter, little lion?”

One of the nursemaids rushed over with a toy, but Lorien swatted it away, his cries growing louder. Jason, dripping wet and clutching a squirming Aureon, stumbled back into the clearing just in time to witness the scene.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“Your son is demonstrating his lungs,” you replied, trying to soothe Lorien. “Perhaps he inherited that from you.”

Jason grinned despite himself. “Well, he is my boy.”

“Don’t sound so proud,” Martyn muttered, taking a sip from his flask.

By the time the tents were finally set up and a fire was blazing, the sun was dipping below the horizon. Servants brought out a simple meal of roasted meats, bread, and fruit, but the peace was short-lived. Aureon, now thoroughly dried off, decided the roasted chicken looked far too enticing to ignore. With a surprisingly strong leap, he landed on the table, scattering dishes and grabbing the bird in his tiny jaws.

“Aureon!” Jason bellowed, leaping to his feet. “That’s not for you!”

The hatchling flapped his wings, sending goblets and bread flying as he tried to escape with his prize. One of the retainers dove to catch him, but Aureon darted under the table, dragging the chicken along with him.

You couldn’t suppress your laughter as you tried to juggle a now-calmed Lorien. “He’s just like you, Jason. Always making a spectacle.”

Jason glared at the dragon, who peeked out from under the table with the chicken still in his grasp. “I’m nothing like him. I have decorum.”

Martyn snorted, nearly choking on his wine. “Decorum? Jason, you’re dripping wet, chasing a dragon, and shouting about chicken.”

Eventually, Aureon was lured out with a piece of smoked fish, and the rest of the meal proceeded with relative calm. Lorien finally drifted off to sleep in your arms, and you handed him to the nursemaid before settling beside Jason near the fire.

“You know,” you said, leaning against him, “for all your chaos, I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

Jason wrapped an arm around you, his earlier exasperation melting into a soft smile. “Neither would I. Though next time, I’m delegating dragon-chasing duties to someone else.”

“You’ll never delegate,” Martyn called from across the fire, smirking. “You’d miss all the fun.”

Jason chuckled, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “To chaos, then. The hallmark of House Lannister.”

Birds chirped merrily as servants bustled about, preparing breakfast and tending to the horses. Jason, ever the early riser when inspiration struck, stood near the brook, gesturing animatedly at the clearing as though addressing an invisible audience.

You approached cautiously, Lorien cradled in your arms and Aureon perched on your shoulder, his tiny wings fluttering as he let out a soft chirp. Jason turned at the sound, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo.

“Ah, perfect timing, my love!” he declared, his grin wide and unmistakably mischievous. “I’ve had the most brilliant idea.”

You raised an eyebrow, already bracing yourself. “Should I be concerned?”

Jason waved a hand dismissively, his enthusiasm undeterred. “Not at all! In fact, you’ll love this.”

“I doubt it,” Martyn’s voice drawled from behind as he joined you, arms crossed and clearly intrigued by whatever madness Jason was about to unleash.

Jason ignored him, sweeping his arm toward the clearing. “Picture this, Y/N: a statue.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “A statue?”

“Yes!” Jason said, practically vibrating with excitement. “A grand statue of you—right here, in this very spot.”

You stared at him, trying to process his words. “You want to build a statue… of me?”

Jason nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! Imagine it: your likeness, carved in the finest marble, standing tall for all to see. A monument to your beauty, grace, and strength!”

Martyn snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “And your humility, of course.”

Jason shot him a glare but quickly turned back to you, his expression earnest. “Think about it, Y/N. Generations of travelers passing through this clearing will look up at your statue and be inspired.”

You tilted your head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation tugging at your lips. “Jason, I think you’re confusing ‘inspiration’ with ‘confusion.’ Why would anyone need a statue of me here, of all places?”

“Because,” Jason said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “this is where we rested on our journey. It’s symbolic! A tribute to the strength of House Lannister.”

“Or your penchant for dramatics,” Martyn muttered, earning a laugh from Aureon, who chirped as if in agreement.

“Jason,” you said, your tone patient but firm, “I appreciate the thought, truly. But a statue is unnecessary.”

Jason’s face fell slightly, but his determination quickly returned. “Unnecessary? My love, nothing is too grand for you. This is my way of honoring you.”

“You can honor me,” you replied, struggling to suppress a smile, “by not turning our every stop into a spectacle.”

Jason clutched his chest as though wounded. “A spectacle? Y/N, this is art. Legacy! You deserve to be immortalized.”

Martyn, leaning against a nearby tree, chuckled. “You realize she’s going to throw something at you, right?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “No throwing. Yet.”

Jason stepped closer, his golden eyes wide with sincerity. “Please, think about it. Imagine our grandchildren one day visiting this spot and saying, ‘That’s our grandmother—proof of her greatness!’”

“They’ll more likely ask why their grandfather spent his fortune on a statue in the middle of nowhere,” you retorted, finally letting a small smile escape.

Jason placed a hand on his hip, clearly pondering your words. “Alright, fine. Perhaps not marble. Bronze, then. It’s sturdier.”

“Jason,” you said, your voice firm but amused, “no statue. Final decision.”

He sighed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine, fine. No statue. But don’t blame me when future generations forget this moment of history.”

Martyn clapped a hand on Jason’s shoulder, smirking. “I think the world will survive without a roadside monument.”

Jason muttered something under his breath, likely about ungrateful audiences, but he finally relented, turning back toward the camp. “Breakfast, then. But don’t think this conversation is over!”

You chuckled, watching him march off, his head held high despite his “defeat.” Turning to Martyn, you shook your head. “I married a madman.”

Martyn grinned. “You married a Lannister. It’s the same thing.”

As Aureon chirped and Lorien cooed in your arms, you couldn’t help but laugh. Chaos seemed to follow Jason wherever he went, but at least life with him was never dull.

The banners of House Lannister fluttered proudly in the breeze as Casterly Rock loomed into view, its grandeur a testament to the wealth and power of the Lannisters. The caravan wound its way up the stone paths leading to the fortress, servants bustling to unload wagons and stable the horses. Jason sat atop his steed at the head of the procession, his chest puffed out with pride.

“Behold!” Jason declared loudly, gesturing toward the towering castle. “Casterly Rock—home of lions, legacy, and now, dragons!”

From the carriage, you rolled your eyes, adjusting Lorien in your arms. Aureon chirped from his perch on your lap, his eyes blinking curiously at the towering stone walls. “Jason,” you called, stepping out of the carriage as the procession came to a halt, “you’re scaring the servants.”

“Nonsense!” Jason replied, dismounting and striding toward you. “They’re inspired by my vision.”

“They’re inspired to work faster so you’ll stop shouting,” Martyn muttered under his breath, following behind.

Inside the castle, retainers and household staff lined the halls, bowing as you, Jason, and Lorien were ushered in. Jason beamed, waving as though he were on a royal tour. “Good people of Casterly Rock, rejoice! Your lord has returned—with his family and his legacy!”

You sighed, sharing a knowing glance with Martyn. “He’s going to do this all day, isn’t he?”

“All month, more likely,” Martyn replied with a smirk.

As the household began settling into their chambers, Jason immediately summoned his steward to discuss “improvements” to the Rock. The moment you heard the word “chamber,” you knew trouble was brewing.

Later that afternoon, you found Jason in the solar, poring over architectural plans with the steward. His excitement was palpable as he gestured wildly at a section of the map.

“Here,” Jason said, jabbing his finger at the drawing. “We’ll add a new chamber—spacious, well-ventilated, with reinforced stone walls. Perfect for Aureon.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room with Lorien in your arms and Aureon now perched on your shoulder. “A chamber? For Aureon?”

Jason turned to you with a grin. “Yes! He’s part of the family, after all. And he needs a proper place to grow.”

You blinked at him, then at the steward, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Jason,” you said slowly, “you do realize that in ten years, Aureon will be the size of the Great Hall, right?”

Jason waved off your concern. “We’ll expand it later if we need to.”

“Expand it?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jason, dragons don’t live in castles. They need space—open skies, room to roam.”

Jason frowned, clearly undeterred. “But he’s still small now. He can stay in the chamber until he’s bigger.”

“Until he outgrows it in, what, a year?” you countered, gesturing to Aureon, who chirped and flapped his wings as if agreeing with you. “Jason, this is impractical, even for you.”

The steward, sensing an opening, cleared his throat. “My lord, the costs of such a chamber would be… significant.”

Jason turned to him, his expression serious. “Money is no object when it comes to my family.”

“Money,” you said, crossing your arms, “should absolutely be an object when it comes to pointless chambers that will be obsolete in a year.”

Jason looked at you, his golden eyes softening. “It’s not pointless, Y/N. It’s for Aureon. For Lorien. For us.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jason, I appreciate the sentiment, but dragons don’t belong in chambers. They belong outside, where they can grow properly.”

Jason hesitated, glancing at the plans. “What if we made it bigger?”

“Jason,” Martyn’s voice interrupted as he stepped into the solar, arms crossed and a smirk on his face, “she’s right. Unless you plan to rebuild all of Casterly Rock to accommodate a fully grown dragon, this is a waste of time.”

Jason frowned, clearly torn between his enthusiasm and the undeniable logic being presented to him. Finally, he sighed, setting down the plans. “Fine. No chamber. But I’ll need a suitable perch built outside.”

You arched an eyebrow. “A perch?”

Jason grinned, his enthusiasm reigniting. “Yes! A grand perch overlooking the Rock, where Aureon can rest and watch over his domain.”

You sighed, though you couldn’t suppress a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Jason replied, winking.

The steward quickly gathered the plans, clearly relieved to escape before Jason changed his mind again. As the solar cleared, Jason turned to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Admit it,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s a good idea.”

“It’s an idea,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder. “Whether it’s good remains to be seen.”

Aureon chirped again, flapping his wings as though claiming victory in the debate. Jason laughed, reaching out to scratch the dragon’s head.

The sun had long since set below the horizon, casting Casterly Rock in a serene glow as the first stars began to dot the sky. Within the opulent chambers reserved for the lord and lady of the Rock, you sat on the edge of the massive canopied bed, finally allowing yourself to exhale after the chaos of the day.

Lorien, blessedly asleep, had been whisked off to his nursery by the nursemaids. Aureon, after a hearty meal of roasted lamb (Jason insisted he deserved nothing less), had curled up in his basket near the hearth, his tiny snores occasionally punctuated by soft chirps.

Jason entered the room, his golden hair slightly mussed and his doublet unbuttoned at the collar. He had the look of a man who had conquered kingdoms—or at least believed he had.

“Well,” he declared, shutting the door behind him with a flourish, “I’d say trip back was a resounding success.”

You gave him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “A success? Jason, you tried to build a dragon chamber, nearly fell into the brook chasing Aureon, and gave half the servants a headache with your endless instructions.”

Jason grinned, unrepentant. “And yet, here we are. Safe, sound, and home. That’s success in my book.”

Jason plopped down beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. He stretched out dramatically, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Admit it, Y/N. You’d miss all the chaos if it wasn’t here.”

“I’d survive,” you replied dryly, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

Jason sat up, leaning toward you with a playful smirk. “You’d be bored out of your mind. No dragon-chasing, no statue debates, no me.”

You gave him a mock glare. “You’re assuming that chaos is a requirement for happiness.”

“It is,” Jason said firmly, placing a hand over his heart. “Without it, life would be dreadfully dull.”

You couldn’t argue with that—not entirely. Life with Jason was far from dull, and despite his antics, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Jason shifted closer, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of chaos, I’ve been thinking about the perch.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. “Jason, no. We just settled this.”

“Hear me out!” he insisted, propping himself up on one elbow. “Imagine it: a grand stone platform overlooking the cliffs, with golden accents to match Aureon’s scales. It would be magnificent.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “It would also be unnecessary.”

Jason tilted his head, grinning. “Unnecessary? Or visionary?”

“Expensive,” you shot back, sitting up and crossing your arms. “That’s what it is.”

Jason sighed dramatically, falling back onto the pillows beside you. “You wound me, my love. I only want the best for our family.”

“And our family will be fine without a gold-trimmed perch,” you said firmly. “Besides, Aureon seems perfectly content with his basket.”

Jason turned his head, glancing toward the hearth where Aureon snored softly. “For now,” he muttered, though his grin betrayed his lingering amusement.

The room fell quiet for a moment, the only sounds the crackling fire and Aureon’s tiny snores. Jason reached out, lacing his fingers with yours as he let out a contented sigh.

“You know,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t change a thing. Not the chaos, not the journey, not even the arguments over dragon chambers.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Neither would I. Though I could do with fewer statue plans.”

Jason laughed, pulling you closer. “Fair enough. But don’t be surprised if I commission a portrait instead.”

You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder as he laughed again. “Jason, I swear—”

“You love me,” he interrupted, his tone teasing.

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, though your smile betrayed your true feelings.

As the fire burned low and the room grew quiet, Jason wrapped an arm around you, his warmth and steady presence a comfort after the long day. Aureon shifted in his basket, letting out a contented chirp before settling back into sleep.

“Goodnight, my dragoness,” Jason murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection.

“Goodnight, Jason,” you replied, resting your head against his chest.

And as the chaos of the day faded into the stillness of the night, you couldn’t help but feel grateful—for the home you’d returned to, for the family you were building, and for the man who, despite his maddening ways, had filled your life with love and laughter.

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Hi, I'm someone who's interested in making a long-fic but just been struggling to do so. Alot of it just cause I really I'm not confident in my ability to write it well or that people will read it. Even though Neon Void was your first fic (I think) you managed to not only reach so many, but tell a story so deep and personal and moving that every time I re-read a snippet I find myself wanting to read a whole chapter.....and then the entire series.

If I can be so bold to ask, how did you do it? How did you take Neon Void and make it? What kept you from giving into the voices within and without that tell you to give up? How did you make sure the story was the best it could be. If you could go back, what would you do differently? What strategies would be best for someone who also wants to do a longfic?

Sorry if it's alot.

First, thank you so so much. It makes me super happy to hear that you thought it was moving and enjoy reading it!!

and don’t be sorry!! I’m super flattered that you wanted to ask me such a cool and thought provoking question!! Gunna hide most of this answer under a read-more as I get a little autobiographical, but in short:

You must be your own biggest fan

I’ll be honest— I had NO idea so many people would read my fic. The amount of positive feedback has blown me away and I couldn’t be more thankful for how nice the TMNT fandom has been to me (and my sister!!)

And you’re right! Neon Void WAS my first fic I ever published!! But I’ve been writing every day since I was a tween. I just love to write. But even then, I was nervous to post. No one except my closest friend had EVER read my writing before. I wasn’t sure if anyone would read it, or even like it since it was kind of a wacky premise.

But also in a way, it was okay if no one else read it, because I liked it. And that’s kind of the secret sauce to it all.

I have never, ever written anything this long before. Originally, TNV was going to be like, ten chapters max. I have no idea it would evolve into a nearly 30 chapter fic. And i think there were several factors that contributed to that.

First, I was utterly and totally obsessed with my own AU. When i started daydreaming about certain scenes over and over, i knew i had to write it. Being so invested in my own story was the biggest factor in actually finishing it. Which sounds so obvious, but the thing is I have a tendency to think of new AUs constantly. (Sometimes even daily.) The fact I kept revisiting this one was a sign that if i wanted to write it, now was the time.

Second, and this is piggybacking off of that last confession of always daydreaming new AUs, i knew i was on a personal timer. If i was going to do this, I had to make sure I did it. So i gave myself a goal of trying to post on a rough schedule to keep myself accountable.

(But remember!!!! It's just fanfiction!!! you never, ever have to put that kind of expectation on yourself! You don't need a posting schedule. You don't even need to finish. I personally pushed myself so hard to see it through because for years I told myself that if i was ever going to post fanfiction, i HAD to finish. It's okay if you don't!! I would never ask a writer or an artist to slog through something that doesn't bring them joy anymore. Because at the end of the day, fanfiction is meant to be fun!!)

BUT

Here's a bit of a confession. I didn't want to give up on it because it brought me a lot of joy during a rough year. I found myself sneaking on my phone at work to write a paragraph or two whenever I had the chance. I would think about it 24/7. I was in love with the story I was making up and looking forward to writing helped get through some not so Cowabunga times. I know posting your work is super intimidating-- and you might be tempted to stop-- but remember, if it makes you happy-- even for a while-- it's worth it. TNV was making my days a bit brighter even before I started posting it.

Which leads to my next confession-- and this is probably the biggest reason I was able to actually pull it off with a posting schedule:

I had already written 50%-60% of TNV before I even posted chapter 1.

And that was on purpose for several reasons. One, I was having so much fun planning easter eggs and planning long-term foreshadowing bits. Second, it was a test to see if this AU was really rotting my brain enough that I wanted to spend a lot of time writing it. By the time I had a lot written and scenes I was super eager to get to, I knew I wanted to post it. But having a bulk of it already written was a huge reassurance in trying to maintain my posting schedule. (But again, that was just my style! You can hit the ground running if you'd like, start and then pause for a while to figure things out-- whatever works best for you!!)

But even when i was insanely obsessed with my own AU, it still took a lot of time and energy to write. There will be times you will find yourself trudging through bridging scenes to get to the scenes you actually wanna write and it's sooooooooo haaaaaaaaard. BUT!!! It's worth it!!! Getting through it and seeing how it sets up the exciting part just right is soooooooo satisfying.

As for making sure the story was the best it could be??? I'm not sure!! Because there were definitely times I went whining to my sister and best friend about certain plot points or scenes, worried it wasn't good enough. There were a LOT of times a scene or idea just didn't feel right. Heck, a lot of chapters ended up in a different order than when I originally started writing!! The lesson I learned throughout the whole thing is that the original idea doesn't have to be absolute. Sometimes rearranging the scenes is just what you need!

But when i was REALLY struggling, I'd find myself referring back to the original source. It was what inspired a fanfic after all! Sometimes taking a step back and reevaluating each character's personality helped me shape the scene into something that felt better. Other times I had to step back and remind myself about what was actually important to the story. (Example: originally, I had no idea how to get Donnie to the hidden city by himself. At first I tried to think of some lore on the mask to give Donnie a reason to go investigating Void... but it didn't feel right. The mask wasn't important. Not even Void was the most important thing to Donnie at the time. Leo was. And that helped me sort of get rid of the loosey-goosey idea of giving a complicated back story to the mask that made the story feel muddled.)

But even then, I wasn't sure if certain moves were the best they could be! I was always worried (and continue to be) that I poured too much into descriptions, or spent too much time talking about emotions with too little action. Or that I overuse phrases. But so long as each chapter made me happy, I figured readers would enjoy them too.

If I could go back and do something different... I wouldn't have goofed with Leo's kraang parasite adaptation in Mad Dog Part 2: Prom. I was trying to make his parasite enter an obvious 'stage 2 boss battle' look, but later I realized I didn't like how I described it lol.

But!!! I will confess, I'm no saint-- when i started getting lovely comments, it helped pour gas on the fire to keep going. And that's why I'm so thankful for every comment or doodle or ask sent my way. You guys are amazing and helped me get the fire under my ass to keep going, even when things were really hard.

I know it sounds so corny and like a cop-out answer, but ultimately, it's YOUR personal investment in YOUR story that is the secret sauce!!! So long as your interested in it, it won't feel so impossible to write a long fic. There will be challenges (like there is with any project) but honestly?? If you're head over heels for your own story, it will be fun and fulfilling. Even if you don't finish-- so long as it made you happy, that's what matters the most. (Again, that's so cheesy... but just like Master Leonardo tells Leo, 'cheesiness makes the best pizza pies in life'.)

Thank you again so much for this fun ask-- and I believe in you! You've got this. Have fun, enjoy writing, and have confidence in your work, because it makes YOU happy, and that's the greatest thing a story could be.

[yellowrabbitfurry]

Waow I actually wrote something again?? Yippee!!

@ancha-aus this isn’t the one I’m writing for your little Nightmare AU, but I figured you’d like to know my character’s backstory ^^ (please tell me I’m not weird 😅)

no beta we die like the human souls

Meetings 

Soft sniffles rang out through the darkness, another night of sadness and hurt. 

Nightmare clutched his book as he sobbed quietly, clinging to his only source of comfort.

Dream had been convinced to stay at the village again, leaving poor Nightmare all alone once more.

Not that he held it against him; it was probably much more comfortable down there. Sometimes he wished he could go too.. but even if he was welcome down there, he couldn’t leave the tree. 

He couldn’t leave his mother unguarded.

But it was so cold, and everything hurt so much. He just wanted it to stop; for the pain to go away.

Why wouldn’t the pain go away?

He didn’t know how long he sat there crying; he didn’t exactly have a way to measure time. Not like it mattered.. he was always there.

But eventually, and without warning, he was brought out of his tears. 

There was a little cough, causing him to flinch and look up. 

There was a person- a rabbit. He hadn’t expected it, not so late in the night. 

He sobbed and drew back, frightened by the new arrival. 

The bunny seemed to be a bit older than him; maybe younger than his usual bullies, but Nightmare was still scared.

He was holding something too. Night couldn’t see it well in the dark, but it was easy for him to assume it wasn’t good.

The small rabbit just stared at him blankly, seemingly uncaring about his pained sobs. He stood there like that for a moment, before tilting his head slightly as he finally spoke,

“My mom said to give this to you..”

He paused, and when he wasn’t given an answer, he came closer. 

He put the object on the ground, which Nightmare noticed (now that it was closer) had a rather pleasant smell. 

The bunny knelt down before the shaking skeleton, a look of slight curiosity in his big blue eyes. Not pity, and he didn’t seem to feel bad. He was just.. curious.

The young rabbit attempted once more, getting a bit closer to Nightmare as he spoke in his quiet little voice. 

“Why are you crying..?” He asked, his voice almost monotone and unfeeling.

But when Nightmare, still hurt and scared, only flinched and pulled away from him? 

That’s when he started to understand. 

This wasn’t an “I need to cry” like his sister often had- something was wrong. 

His ears perked a bit as he became more alert, reaching his little paws hesitantly towards the crying skeleton as he made an attempt to console him.

“Hey.. what’s wrong..? What happened..?” His voice was much softer, a bit more sweet. A learned behavior; it was just how his mother did it.

He didn’t touch, having observed how Nightmare flinched when he got close. Just offered his hands.

“Are you hurt..?” He questioned, his big blue eyes watching for any change in behavior.

Nightmare looked up at him from the little ball he had curled into, frightened and confused at how the bunny was acting. The only person who acted like this towards him was his brother.. what was happening..?

He un-tensed slightly, giving a small nod as he stared at the rabbit. He was watching for any sudden movements.

However, when the bunny only tilted his head and watched him back, he uncurled.

His body was still tense, his book held in front of his chest like a shield. 

However, the bunny took it as a sign of trust, and reached his hand out a bit further. His face was still blank, but Nightmare could feel his intent wasn’t bad, as odd as that was.

“Can I see..?” he asked softly, his head tilting once more, as if it was his only way of showing emotion.

Nightmare was hesitant, remember how he was hurt just today. There had been a rabbit among his assailants, too..

But this was a genuine offer of help. He wasn’t really the best at healing himself, only able to get the injuries Dream might see. 

He wasn’t used to it at all but.. he needed this.

He gave another timid nod, sheepishly taking the bunny’s hand and putting his book down.

The bunny didn’t give any sign of acknowledgment, but immediately reached forward and pulled up Nightmare’s shirt, revealing his skinny frame.

The small skeleton squeaked out in surprise at the action, not expecting the sudden movement at all.

Though the rabbit didn’t seem to know nor care how odd he was acting.

His eyes were immediately drawn towards the left side of Nightmare’s ribcage, where several of his ribs were cracked and busted. 

Some of the injuries were old and halfway healed; reopened by the recent attack. 

It looked really bad.. Nightmare could even see a bit of anger stirring in the bunny’s eyes. 

The small rabbit reached a paw towards the injury, but stopped as Nightmare flinched back. They looked at each other for a moment, sharing a look of understanding.

Though Nightmare didn’t like it, the bunny had to touch it. 

Even if it hurt a little..

The small skeleton gave a little nod, and the bunny continued his advance.

He placed a gentle paw on the injury, and looked back up at Nightmare before continuing.

He closed his eyes, and Nightmare suddenly felt a warmth spread across his ribcage. 

The skeleton looked down to see a soft green glow fill the cracks, originating from the bunny’s paws. 

The pain slowly faded, along with the wounds, just leaving the marks on the surface. It didn’t seem all the way healed.. but it was much better than before.

The small rabbit pulled his hands away, and opened his eyes to see Nightmare staring right back up at him, big lavender eyes wide wonder and curiosity.

The bunny stared back, unsure how to react to the gaze. Though he knew he shouldn’t stare for too long.. so he spoke once more.

“Do you.. feel better now?” he questioned in a soft voice, though his face still held the same blank, curious look from before.

The little skeleton just stared up at him for a moment or two longer, before silently nodding and reaching his little hands forward and grabbing at the bunny’s jacket and leaning against him in a sort of hug.

“Th- thank you..” he whispered, clinging like he was scared to let go.

The action confused the bunny a little, but he didn’t press. It didn’t really matter, so he didn’t care all that much. 

He gave Nightmare a small kiss on the head, something his mother did as well, and just let him cling as much as he wanted. 

The action surprised the little babybones, as he’d never gotten a forehead kiss before. 

But he didn’t say anything.. it felt kinda nice. 

After a while of staying like that, though, Nightmare pulled away. 

This was just such a curious situation; he didn’t understand it. 

And that thing the bunny brought smelled so *good*- he needed to understand what was happening.

The little skeleton was silent a moment longer, before finally asking the question on his mind.

“Uhm.. what is that..?” he asked, his voice quiet and timid, “the thing you brought..?”

The rabbit tilted his head, confused by the question. 

“It’s a strawberry pie. My mother asked me to bring it to you.” 

Nightmare looked very perplexed by the answer he was given, and even a little upset.

“Why..?” He asked, as if he never expected to be given anything in his life, “why would she do that..?”

The bunny was even more confused by that reaction. Didn’t people love the tree guardian? 

Why was he so confused?

“Why not?” He questioned, before realizing that there was something different, something he hadn’t realized before.

He had only met the little skeleton who guarded the tree once, in town. But he remembered his whole color scheme had been gold and yellow; even his eyes were a brilliant golden-yellow color. 

This little skeleton, however, had lavender eyes. He was a completely different skeleton- were there two guardians?

“Are you not Dream?” He asked, though it was blunt, and really more of an observation than a question. 

Though, blunt or otherwise, the question made Nightmare immediately much more upset.

Of course, this was for Dream. Why would anyone want to give him anything?

He gave a little sob and shook his head, looking like he was going to start crying again. 

But the rabbit continued to surprise him.

“You can still have it.” He said, pushing the pie closer to Nightmare.

He was already here, and he’d technically done what he was told. Why should he go find Dream now?

Nightmare hadn’t expected it- why would he? It was the first time anything like this had happened, of course he was shocked.

He looked down at the delicious smelling pie, definitely on the verge of tears.

Why would the bunny do this? Why would anyone want to do this for him?

He looked back up, trying to read the other boy’s expression. Surly he must have some ulterior motive- he had to.

“Wh- wha..?”

“I already did as I was told,” he explained, talking as if it truly didn’t matter, “I was supposed to bring it to the skeleton who lives under the tree, and that’s you.”

It was true, both Dream *and* Nightmare lived under the tree- even if Dream basically lived in the village half of the time at this point..

“It’d take to much time to try to find Dream, wherever he is,” he continued, “the pie would get cold. So you can have it.”

Nightmare still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.. but the rabbit didn’t sound like he was joking. He didn’t exactly seem capable of such a thing.

It felt far too unreal, but.. well, Nightmare didn’t want to be rude. He thanked the bunny, taking the pie and looking down at it. 

He didn’t feel very hungry at the moment.. he’d eat it later.

He looked away, feeling a little awkward. 

What was he supposed to say? Nothing like this had ever happened before.

He tried to gather his thoughts and maybe mumble a thank you, but he was cut off prematurely by a gust of wind blowing through. 

The cold air bit at his bones through his thin clothes- stars, he hated fall. The only thing he hated more was winter.

Well, that wasn’t true..

He clutched his shirt as he shivered, despising how helpless he felt against the cold. His mind wandered to how warm Dream must be in the village..

But before he could get lost in those negative thoughts again, he felt a coat get draped over his shoulders.

He looked up to see the rabbit giving him his little red-brown jacket, leaving himself in just his dirty overalls.

His eyes widened in confusion, glancing down at the jacket and then back up at the bunny. His golden yellow fur swayed in the wind, though he didn’t seem bothered by the cold.

“Wh- what..?” Nightmare mumbled in question, mostly to himself. But the bunny still heard.

“I have fur,” he said simply, “I don’t need it.”

Nightmare looked at him dumbly, not believing what he was hearing.

He could see the rabbit shivering slightly- it was obvious the fur didn’t keep him completely warm. 

What did he get out of this? Any of this?

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Nightmare confused yet grateful for his strange new company. 

He was about to ask for the bunny’s name, but he was beaten to it.

“So, if the other skeleton’s name is Dream,” he started, sounding curious, “what’s yours?”

Nightmare deflated a little at the question. He used to really like his name.. but the villagers made it seem like something bad, so he was a little embarrassed.

He couldn’t just not answer, though..

“I- it’s Nightmare..” He said softly, glancing away from the rabbit.

The bunny didn’t seem fazed, however. In fact, he almost looked happy.

“I’m Terrence.” He introduced himself, giving the little skeleton a slight smile.

Nightmare couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a little warm. Nobody but Dream usually smiled at him.. did he really, truly have a friend now? 

“Terrence..” he repeated, smiling a little wider, “it’s nice to meet you, Terrence.”

The bunny was quiet for a second, ears perked up, before he spoke once more.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

End.

[valleymyristica]

Well I saw your post about the Fop series. Honestly most of the stories I read about Dale are related to Perry and personally I don't like Perry when he's older he was cute when he was a kid in the original series but that's not the point I want something related to Dave and Dale only not from Dale's side but from Dave where he suddenly has enough courage to show his love for his father but it has nothing to do with magic I don't want any magic in the subject well here's what Dev decides to be affectionate suddenly with his father and hugs him suddenly and quickly walks away Dale won't care much about what Dev does so Dev starts to get Dale used to these sudden hugs where he hugs him almost every day and this starts to annoy Dale a lot but he gets used to it and when Dev doesn't give his usual hug he misses Dev's presence because Dale doesn't know how to love or give affection Dev teaches him himself because Dale doesn't hate Dev basically he only sees him as a little child and no one can make Dale give Dev his only child love and affection that he has never known or even experienced because Dale's life is just work not that he doesn't care about Dev but he doesn't know very well what his only son wants basically and he doesn't have time or this is what he thinks is right to sit with His son and he just talks to him without doing anything because physical touch and physical affection change a person and break down his walls and turn him eighty degrees and also I hate or get annoyed when most fans involve Perry in the relationship of Dale and Dev. Dev can change his father if he tries himself only there is no need for Perry in all this

My English is not very good. I apologize if there are spelling mistakes.

The important thing is that I want something new, realistic topics, far from the excessive and broad imagination in the relationship between the son and the father.

I do find something so unnervingly wrong with the thought that it is somehow Dev's responsibility to fix Dale.

He's a kid, he should be allowed to be a kid, should he not?

Parents can make mistakes, that is true, and there may be many things that they have to work through. Still, despite it all, it should never fall on the kid, it's not their responsibility.

Dev is just a kid, he deserves to be happy and just be himself. He deserves to have friends who like being with him because he is who he is. He should be the one he wants to be, not someone that fits into someone else's fantasy.

The universe is cruel, people don't always get what they deserve. Some don't get happiness, love and care. Some don't get anything to share.

While others get an abundance of it all.

But, regardless of the case, it shouldn't be the kid who takes the fall.

I've had this one for a moment, and I'm not fully sure on what I should tell. I can inform that you don't have to worry about your spelling, it was very good. Though you did write "Peri"'s name as "Perry" and "Dev"'s as "Dave" at times.

What you should be more concerned with is your formatting. I put an example of how you can do in the first dividers image description. Do hope that helps. Mostly, just make sure to divide things up in paragraphs and remember to use periods. It helps. Trust me.

Additionally,

I'm not sure which post you were specifically talking about, I'm thinking maybe [this] one? Unsure.

Might also be good to inform that the answers I give are in regard to my story "What it takes", the first chapter doesn't really have any Peri. It's mostly just a Dale and Dev interacting, realistically.

Unnervingly so.

So, in that regard, maybe you'll like the first chapter?

Honestly, I'd be really curious to hear what you may think of it. Who knows, maybe you'll even enjoy the Peri parts, cause, he sure ain't doing well.

Wouldn't you want to see the one you despise, suffer?

[ You can read "What it takes" [ Here ] ]

Now, to actually tackle what you wrote,

From what I can understand you are looking for a story with only Dev and Dale, where Dale gets attached to the hugs that Dev gives him. Then gets withdrawal when Dev stops, so to keep getting hugs, Dale starts acting like a proper parent.

I get the feeling you are looking for something happy, sweet and kind.

But trust me, those are not the ideas that come to mind. There is destruction, despair and an unnerving amount of fear. Let me make it clear.

If you want it to be realistic, you will soon find how broken the broken can be. You'll soon find horrors you rather never want to see. And you'll soon find how pretty it can be, to live in a fantasy.

Terror in truth and beauty in lies

My own life might be a wonder, the dark may not scare me, I may find comfort in what would fill others with fear. Still, do understand, there is many reasons people may appreciate the moon more than the sun

The moon is there when they need it, the sun is not

The sun seeks glee and joy, the moon accepts it all

Also, If you find that you seek something you can't find. Make it. It might not be as perfect as you'd want it to be, still, it's there. You have an idea, go for it

Who knows, you might find people of similar mind, and then I'm sure you'll have a jolly good time

Plus, I don't think you want me to write the idea you hold in mind. Most simply as I would do as the universe does.

The idea in my mind says that Dev asked what could help him online, and someone joked about putting something in his food. So, being the kid he is with a bit more freedom compared to "our Dev", he buys what he needs though the O-pairs

Then a sandwich each day, making Dale tired and happy, and a simple hug to complete it all. If he's lucky, he might get a hug in return

The days goes by, Dev keeps at it and Dale starts getting more and more addicted to the "hugs"

Then Dev stops, thinking that his dad is "cured"

He is not.

And soon?

Dale gets withdraws.

Dev made a mistake, a horrible one.

Either he keeps at it, living in a crumbling dream made out of lies. Or, he faces the consequences of his actions.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

What He Didn't Do | Top Gun Maverick Imagine

Takes place after the events of Top Gun: Maverick

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: female country singer!reader x Dagger squad (platonic), reader x ex!oc (past romance)

Content Warnings: fluff, slight angst, mentions of toxic relationship, pop culture references | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 3k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: On a trip to Nashville to visit their country friend and Natasha's best friend, Y/n, the group gets a peak at some music she's been cooking up. In doing so, they learn the inspiration behind a song on her upcoming EP is linked to her most recent heartbreak.

Note: holy shit guys, I know it's been A LONG TIME but I'm 2 weeks away from finishing grad school!! I cannot believe I'm about to have a Master's degree, but now I gotta really start figuring out what the hell I'm doing next 💀. Job searching sucks, but I plan to get some writing done as I apply now that I will for sure have plenty of time to work on some stuff. Plus I've been in a reading binge which I've been slumping on also. ALSO WOW THANK YOU FOR 2K FOLLOWERS!!! HELLO?!?! how'd that happen omg I cannot thank y'all enough for the love and support on my works. I love you all so so much. I hope you enjoyed this work and the person who requested it I hope I did it justice!

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

“Hey, Natasha! Over here!” shouted the familiar voice the moment Phoenix stepped into The Barnyard country bar & grill, flanked by her fellow Navy pilots who joined her on the trip to Nashville, Tennessee following another successful mission. The voice belonged to her best friend since high school, up and coming country music sensation, Y/n L/n. Donning her usually boot cut denim jeans, white tank with a weathered flannel tied around her waist and sparkly boots. Her cream colored Stetson hat topped her head. 

A beaming smile on her face, Natasha embraced Y/n, her hat slightly tipping back causing the woman to reach for it before it fell. “Been a long time, cowgirl.”

“A long time indeed, citygirl,” she laughed, pulling away with a grin. “And I see you brought some friends too. How you doin’ boys--ah!” a squeal ignites when Y/n’s swept off her feet by none other than Rooster. Spinning her around once before setting her back. “Nice to see y’all missed me after all.”

“Are you kidding,” Rooster scoffs, moving aside to allow the others to greet her. “We’ve been counting down the days before you finally decide to move back out west. The Hard Deck ain’t as popping anymore without your shows.”

“Yeah, Y/n, when are you gonna change the mountains back to the beach?” Coyote jokes.

  “I don’t know,” Jake muses, glancing around the packed house, being not so subtle in his checking out of the ladies. “I quite like the scenery.” Fanboy and Payback exchange a look. 

“Yeah. Scenery.”

“Awe y’all too sweet,” Y/n takes the small bag Bob hands her, “What’s this?”

“A little gift from all of us,” he replies, watching with a smile as she removes the tissue paper followed by a growler of Penny’s famous draft beer straight from the Hard Deck. 

“Ah!” she gasps, inspecting the bottle with joy. “You brought me Penny’s IPA?! Y’all don’t know how long I’ve been thinkin’ about this. Ugh! I can already taste it.” 

“Penny and Mav send their helloes,” Payback tells her, “they wanted to come but with the Hard Deck being renovated they unfortunately could not.”

“Oh I understand. I can’t wait to see what the place looks like next time I visit. Penny told me how she’s extending the back patio to have an outdoor bar.” Y/n places the growler back in the bag, moving to hug them all again while saying thanks. “C’mon now, I got y’all a spot up front with some cold ones ready.”

Jake claps his hands, “That’s what I like to hear.”

They follow Y/n and settle down at the large round table next to the stage. It was still a couple hours till the show, and the band had already set up leaving them plenty of time to catch up on all things new while also playing darts since the board was beside the table. 

After a few minutes, Natasha glances around with a curious frown on her face, “Where’s Klein?”

The glass of whiskey in Y/n’s hand pauses mid-air, her smile dropping to something strained, “yeah….he’s not coming tonight. Or ever again.” The table quiets, Mickey, Javy, and Jake stop throwing darts. Licking her lips, Y/n places her glass down, “I meant to tell you on our last phone call the other day, but felt it was better to tell you in person since I know he was your friend too.” 

Klein and Y/n had been together for what felt like forever but really their relationship had been five years. They met in college, became friends and then a couple years after graduation the two decided to pursue a relationship. It was bliss in the beginning. Full of romance and the things one sees in the movies. Yet, once the honeymoon phase wore off a year in, things went sour. Klein went to grad school for business and Y/n started her journey in country music and from there the couple’s problems began. 

They say that when you’re happy and having fun, time flies. But when you’re miserable….it’s dragged out until you’re drained and on the verge of losing it. That was the best description of their relationship. Miserable and dragged out. Both parties were aware they were not going to last and just kept it going for the sake of company and having someone. Leaving them resentful and doing or saying things that hurt the other. 

They barely saw each other with Y/n playing gigs with her band and Klein working long hours at the office. She was becoming a household name in the South and Midwest. Her TikTok where she posted short clips of her shows and songs went viral, followed by reaching three million subscribers on YouTube. Then when Y/n decided to move to San Diego with Natasha for a year, the two fought over the decision and actually broke up for a period of time. A decision that only lasted three weeks. 

They flew out to see each other, facetimed every other day, texted consistently. Tried desperately to make it work. Thinking back to their friendship before dating and how happy they were that first year. But still, they knew it was to no avail and their relationship was crumbling. They accused the other of cheating, they hung up during phone arguments. Klien forgot their anniversary. Y/n missed his birthday.

It was a disaster. And it finally came to a climax a month ago when the two broke things off for good. 

The dagger squad knew Klein, and Natasha knew him even longer having been best friends with Y/n. She supported her friend, and was there as her shoulder to cry on. Though she disapproved of their relationship with how toxic it had gotten, Natasha never interfered unless it got bad. Then again, Y/n resorted to keeping her and Klein’s problems private roughly two years after they started dating. 

“You broke up,” Nat stated for her. Y/n’s face telling her all she needed to know. 

“Yeah,” a nod confirmed for the rest of the table, the singer’s eyes drawn to the half drunk glass of whiskey. “It was inevitable. You know that.”

Nat tightened her lips, falling into the back of her seat with a sigh, “I hoped otherwise. But yes, I had a feeling when you didn’t mention him the past several calls we’ve had.” her voice softened, a wave of sadness for her friend consuming the pilot. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I had a lot going on between him moving out and meeting with the producer on my EP.” After reaching five million followers on TikTok and returning to Nashville, a producer from Warner Music Nashville, label for names like Kenny Chesney and the Zac Brown Band, messaged the singer about setting up a meeting. “I lost track of everything else.” 

Nat patted her shoulder, rubbing it softly, “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Y/n. Breakups are hard and there’s nothing wrong with taking a little time for yourself before having to face the world. I’m just glad you’re telling me now so I can be there for you from here on.” 

“Us,��� Rooster corrects with sass, “Thank you for telling us, so that we can be here for you.”

“My bad,” Nat rolls her eyes, but her smile says she’s not really annoyed. “Us. We’re here for you, Y/n, and whether it’s to listen or offer advice, we got your back.”

“Thank you,” Y/n taps her fingers against the glass, her face expressing gratitude. “I really appreciate that and it’s comforting knowing I have you guys,” she meets each of their eyes, “I’ll be fine. I always am when something doesn’t go as planned, but it’ll take some time.”

“Of course,” Nat assures with a smile. “Take all the time you need.”

“I can’t lie though,” Y/n pauses to down the rest of her whiskey, “it’s been a great help with songwriting lately. Been pouring out my feelings into the work like I’m writing a diary.”

Nat raises a brow, intrigued, “well that’s something good to come out of it. When will we get to hear it?” a smirk graces Y/n’s lip, mischief in her eyes. “Sooner than you think.”

“Alright ladies and gents, theys and thems, listen up!” booms the bartender who’s taken the stage the moment the clock struck 9. Everyone’s attention turns to them, the once vibrating chatter of conversations seizing. “It’s my honor to introduce tonight’s entertainment. She’s a local gal on her way to becoming a country music sensation. You might know her from YouTube and TikTok, or seen her performance with Laney Wilson this past spring.” Few people, including the Dagger Squad, begin clapping and cheering. “Give it up for Nashville’s own, Y/n L/n and the Barnyard’s beloved The Barrels!!”

Whistles break out and hollers from every corner of the Barnyard. People snapping photos and ready to video record as Y/n waves to the crowd, walking up the steps to the stage and approaching the mic. The Barrels taking their places by their instruments.

“Howdy folks!” a chorus of “heeeyyyys,” follow the greeting. “How we doin’ tonight?” she waits for the audience to respond, slinging the guitar--her most precious possession--over her shoulder. 

“Thank y’all for coming tonight, it’s always a grand time playing here at The Barnyard, seeing all you fresh and friendly faces. Much thanks and appreciation for the wonderful staff and owners for letting us grace this stage,” raising her whiskey, the crowd follows suit and cheers for the staff. The head bartender/owner sent a salute her way. 

“Thank you to the lovely musicians behind me,” she turns to raise her glass to the band, “The Barrels, who’ve allowed me to join them and be a part of their expedition to this crazy world we’ve sold our soul too.” They all laugh, tipping their beers and glasses to the singer. The crowd whistled. 

Taking a large gulp, Y/n hands the drink to Natasha, and adjusts her guitar. “We’ve put together a great show for you tonight. First a few covers of Country’s best and then some originals I’m honored to share with you after much anticipation.”

“Yeah let’s go,” Jake shouts, clapping with the rest of the daggers. 

“You got this, Y/n!” 

“Show them how it’s done!”

Y/n’s angelic voice carries through the establishment. Singing along to “Ain't in Kansas Anymore,” By Miranda Lambert from the Twisters soundtrack. Followed by “Bless the Broken Road,” by Rascal Flatts. That had Nat and Bob tearing up, as well as Jake though he’s never admitted it. 

They covered “Jesus, Take the Wheel,” by Carrie Underwood, had a few couples slow dance to “Tennessee Whiskey,” by Chris Stapleton, and had the crowd hype to “Man! I feel like a Woman,” by Shania Twain. 

Then they began to perform the songs Y/n had spent countless time and energy writing. Pouring her heart and soul into the words on the paper. The memories surfacing, the smell of grass and liquor. Block parties on a Friday night. Line dancing and barrel racing. Sun beating down and rain pelting from the sky. The love and heartbreak coming together as a symphony. 

“This last song,” she spoke into the mic, having just sang the more upbeat and happy songs for the crowd. Waiting for the right time to introduce the piece she was most anxious about. Y/n wrote it fresh off the breakup following two pints of ice cream and a bottle of Riesling. It took only two hours, and she felt so confident in how raw the lyrics that she hardly made any corrections. 

It was her most intimate song ever. 

“Is a personal one. One that really had me searching into the deep parts of my soul. It’s a song I feel many of you will relate to if you’ve experienced a great love that became a great loss.” Faces in the crowd shift, mirroring her own to signify they understood the meaning behind her words. “Sometimes to move forward in the future, you have to let go of the past. And this song is just that. I hope you like it.”

Silence filled the bar, Y/n taking a deep breath and glancing at Nat, who raised her thumb and mouthed, “You got this.” Exhaling, the woman started strumming, letting the melody flow into the air. 

“Everybody's asking what the hell happened

Wondering why it all went wrong

Mama always said, "If you can't say something nice

Then don't say anything at all"

I've got my side of the story and he's got his side, too

So I ain't gonna go and tell you what he did

But I'll tell you what he didn't do”

Nat perched her elbows onto the table, letting chin drop on her hands as she listened intently to her best friend’s voice. The words cutting deep and letting Nat feel all the emotion Y/n was releasing after keeping it bottled in for so long. 

“Treat me right, put me first, be a man of his word

Stay home 'cause he wanted to

Always fight for my love, hold on tight like it's something

That he couldn't stand to lose

The devil's in the details

I won't tell the hell that he put me through

All I know is in the еnd, it wasn't what he did, no

It was what he didn't do

“I'm already halfway ovеr him and I ain't taking time to turn around

So I'mma take the high road, even though we both know

I could run him out of this town”

Y/n strummed the guitar, keeping her eyes closed the entire time to hold back the tears threatening to escape. The music guided her, a comforting blanket like the hug of a loved one.

“That's just dirty laundry, I don't need to wear the truth

So I ain't gonna tell you everything he did

But I'll tell you what he didn't do

“Treat me right, put me first, be a man of his word

Stay home 'cause he wanted to

Always fight for my love, hold on tight like it's something

That he couldn't stand to lose

The devil's in the details

I won't tell the hell that he put me through

All I know is in the end, it wasn't what he did, no

It was what he didn't do

I ain't met the right one yet, but I know when I do

Coming up to the final verse, Y/n unleashed everything. Belting out the lyrics and giving it everything. The moment signifying not only the end of her and Klein for good, but the beginning of a new era in her life. 

“He'll treat me right, put me first, be a man of his word

Stay home 'cause he wanted to

Always fight for my love, hold on tight like it's something

That he can't stand to lose

The devil's in the details

I won't tell the hell that he put me through

All I know is in the end, it wasn't what he did, no

It was what he didn't do

All I know is in the end, it wasn't what he did, no

It was what he didn't do”

As her fingers brushed over the strings one last time, Y/n opened her eyes right as the crowd exploded into elation. Whistles and hollers at every corner, louder than anything she’d heard before when playing at the bar. Igniting a wide smile on her face and the tears she’d been holding back to finally fall. 

The loudest of course were the dagger squad. The guys all pounding their fists on the table while shouting, Nat jumping up and down with her own face caked in tears. 

“Thank you everyone!” Y/n waved, removing her guitar before embracing the members of the band. “Thank you for having us and we hope to see you next Friday! Be on the lookout for our debut EP dropping Christmas Day!” The audience released another wave of loud cheers, excited by the news. The owner saluted Y/n again when she threw up a two-finger salute of her own. A moment later, a staff member was bringing over a bottle of Whiskey and glasses to the table, “Courtesy of the owner.” 

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Rooster held up his glass after pouring everyone theirs. They all stood, Natasha’s arm around Y/n’s and Mickey on the singer's other side. “To friendship. You clowns are by far the most annoying assholes I’ve ever met, but there’s no one else on this goddamn planet I trust more with my life. You’re more than friends, you’re family and I know like the wingman you are in the sky, you’ll always have my back.” 

“Here, here!” the table echoes. But none raise the glasses to their lips yet as Rooster continues, “And to Y/n, our darling, country belle, you’re going grab the industry by the balls and make it your bitch,” the two women break into belly laughs, nearly spilling the alcohol on each other. Y/n tips her glass with a look reading, “You know it, baby.” 

“Best wishes and good luck to you on this next chapter in life. You are going to do wonders in the world, and we are all honored to be here to witness it unfold. We love you, darlin’.”

“Here, here!!” 

“I love you guys so much!!” she shouts in unison with the clinking of the glasses. Throwing back the whiskey in one gulp. 

Y/n may have lost a piece of herself in the many years spent with Klien. The endless hours of crying, wondering where it all went wrong. Anxiety piling up like a volcano just waiting to explode so the steaming lava flowed out. The years with Klein were an integral part of her 20s going into 30s. And he was a constant figure in many milestones she achieved. 

Mourning the end of their relationship was not only the loss of a lover, but also a friend. 

But Y/n looked forward to the next chapter in her life. Knowing she wasn’t alone in her endeavors, there was the ever lasting support of her friends and family. Visible by the group of naval pilots surrounding the table. Her career looked promising, an EP done and about to release. The power of social media gifting her opportunities she’d dreamed of years ago. 

As the whiskey flowed and the jukebox played, “Mississippi Girl,” by Faith Hill, Y/n leaned into the warmth of her best friend Natasha. Ready to barrel race her way to the top of the Country music charts.

............................................

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