#if you ever wonder why you were put on this earth remember that you are here to see my stupid dumb posts about a baby show

[justatypicalwizard]

Up and under | Jayce

Aracne Jayce x Zaun seamstress reader The relationship went up and under, missed chances and regrettable mistakes. If only Zaun and Piltover were not so very different places. After spending days in that pit Jayce understood that before the upcomming battle he has to make things right with you. Jayce and reader have history before the Arcane plot. This story follows the second season of Arcane but loosely. Word count: 3,5k

He really should have asked you to dance that night. Jayce thought to himself as he laid at the dark bottom, the hole he fell into. It must have been days, weeks even. His hair grew long and messy, beard scratched and muscles ached from the omnipresent cold. The broken bone was nearly mended, judging from his ability to walk.

Thrashing around the dirty floor for hours upon hours Jayce had time to think. It felt like He had never wondered before, not like that. Jayce Talis was hardly a man of overinterpreting and overthinking. He deemed himself sturdy and down to earth. Maybe if he ever took the time to properly gaze upon his doings he wouldn't be here now. Viktor wouldn't be corrupted by the hextech, Sky wouldn't be dead and the whole of Piltover wouldn't be a ruin. He could have been dancing with you, gold and silver lacing the summer night air.

It was hard to remember exactly what charity event they attended. One of the families must have been throwing a ball. It could have been related to academia, that would answer why the heck he was even there.

Jayce was standing in line, a few other men in front of him. There was a multitude of people present in one of the academia rooms that day. Fitting for tuxedos. It must have been connected to his whole year, maybe the whole academia even if so many students were gathered.

Shaking his head he sighed, it felt like ages ago, too far for his mind to stretch. Doesn't matter.

What he did remember was the line he was standing in compared to the queue for your measuring. You were there, a simple yet trustworthy bag on the desk, sewing supplies scattered all around as you were never the type to mind putting tools back on their place when working. Gold seeped through the vast windows bathing you and Viktor in a golden hue, supplying you with the natural light that was best for your work, that you didn't have back home.

Only Viktor, good old Viktor, chose to try on your tuxedo, the seamstress from Zaun. How could he not, the two of you knew each other somehow. At first Jayce thought it was the reason you were allowed into academia in the first place. Later he learned about your standing as a seamstress and a stylist. Back then he didn't give much thought to his mistake, you were a Zaunian after all. He should be ashamed.

The other stylists clicked their tongues and rolled their eyes at you, a dirty intruder in their clockwork golden world, a faulty gear. But after being pushed into a shirt with a lacy ruff squeezing his throat like a bad cold Jayce gazed with longing at your fresh and modern designs.

Viktor looked handsome, turning around slowly on his trustworthy cane. His shirt was white and seemed to be crafted with meticulous precision, from geometric pieces hugging the body of the wearer in every right way. Jayce huffed, looking back at his own yolk yellow shirt and making a mental note to ask Viktor about you later, when no one will be watching.

That's how Jayce knew the way to your workshop. It was not deep Zaun, not slums infected with The Grey nor junkie tent-cities. Yet, it was past the bridge, past what seemed socially acceptable in his cast.

Even now, when the city was half abandoned, everyone preparing for the upcoming battle, Jayce Talis b-lined his past self into your workshop. It looked different than years before. The sign was more devilish, fungi building up on the wood, the original color long gone, the edges daring to leave your fingers full of splinters. The glass was dirty and oily from the bad air. The entry door dark and unwelcoming, not even a flicker of light behind them. Jayce knew better than to turn around, he learned it that day.

Viktor gave him the directions that he followed, finding himself in front of a  small workshop. A hand-painted sign welcomed the patrons. With a little bit of hesitation he pushed the door open only to enter a nearly empty room. Apart from a few mannequins with rather odd looking dresses there was only dust hanging in the air. Jayce took a few steps forward and jumped in fear upon hearing someone's voice.

“What'cha lookin’ here for boy?” An old woman sat behind the counter. She was as still as a sculpture, easily overlooked as one of the mannequins. The tops of her white, rheumatic knuckles visible over the counter. She was clutching something under the surface.

In a peaceful manner Jayce raised his hands, slowly coming closer.

“I'm looking for a young seamstress. I need a tuxedo.” She looked Jayce up and down with a frown. “If I got the wrong address I'm sorry, I was following directions from a friend.”

“Friend who?” She pestered eying a stopwatch hanging from his pocket on a thin gold chain.

“One Viktor.” Jayce figured giving away his partner's surname to a shady Zaunian old lady most likely clutching a gun may not be the smartest idea. Instead he mimicked Viktor’s cane walk with an awkward smile.

“Down the stairs and to the right.” A clang could be heard from under the counter and a sigh left the man's lungs. As he passed the woman he saw her hungry gaze still zeroed in on the stopwatch. Jayce clutched it tighter descending the stairs.

Your head popped from under a pile of material, gaze surprised. Before you had time to ask who he was Jayce already stated his purpose. The short encounter with the old woman proved him not to test the limit of the Zaunian distrust.

“I'm here for a tuxedo.” He smiled, the atmosphere of the room lighter despite an even thicker density of dust in the air. 

“Of course.” You neared him with a measuring line but halted to gaze at the stopwatch on the thin golden chain. “On second thought, I may not have materials to your liking, sir.”

Sir. A transparent wall grew between you and him. The glint in your eye was gone, replaced with something sad.

“I can bring material, it's the design I'm more hung on honestly.” Somehow Jayce didn't want the fierceness of your gaze to drift away. He wanted to see it when you looked at him. Yet, you still didn't look sure, taking a step back and breaking your fingers. “Viktor said I should visit you, I asked who designed his set.” Maybe bringing forward a familiar name would melt the suddenly arisen tension. 

His small manipulation worked. You seemed to nod at the name, quickly shooting questions about how he knew Viktor. He briefed you on the whole academia buddies, charity event thing and soon he was taking his coat off to give you the measurements.

The dim lights were not the vast academia windows flooding you with sunlight. A cramped room full of scraps to repurpose didn't meet the standards of Piltover designer workshops. A nobody Zaunian seamstress was not a renowned stylist. Yet, Jayce Talis followed every move of your skilled fingers working on his scarcely clothed arms, admiring how small your palm looked in his.

He dragged his tired legs further into the workshop. The odd dresses merged into an odd pile of junk, mannequins arm or headless, scattered on the floor. The man pushed forward, descending the stairs. He'd love for the memories of flickering candlelight, dusty air and your little intimate space to take over him but Jayce Talis was never one to escape his mistakes. So he went forward, taking in the ruin of what was left of your workshop, of your life. These walls remember countless conversation, a multitude of moments spent together. Bits of memories when Jayce missed chance after chance for what might have changed his life.

“I want to make peoples' lives better.” He stated, unconsciously pushing his chest forward, swelling with pride. He was spending, yet another, evening in the underground of your little workshop, your little world. Lately, he could be spotted here rather often, for measuring of course. “Especially the most hard-working ones like the miners - ouch!” A pin scratched him under the shoulder blade. “Was that on purpose?” Jayce smiled, turning his head to the side to look at you, working the material on his back. “What will people think if I leave with so many scratches on my back? Ouch! This one was on purpose.”

“You're being very improper, sir.” You seemed to be controlling the transparent wall, putting it up and tearing down to your liking

“I'm sorry.” He let out a small laugh. “Shouldn't be talking like that to my friend's lady.”

“You got it all wrong.” Jayce crooked a brow at your denying. “Not all Zaunians date each other just because we know one another.”

The strong division between the under and upper city was a constant variable in the chemistry of your encounters. At that time Jayce thought it was something natural, just as the world spinned, just as day came after night, Zaun and Piltover were opposites. Only later did he realise, it was his prejudice that inflicted this schema, that evoked such a defensive mechanism in you.

“Oh.” He breathed, a tint of pink dusting his cheeks at the thought of you possibly being open for options. He caught you peeking a look at him but you turned around.

“So, miners you were saying.”

“Yes.” Coughing awkwardly, he gathered his thoughts. “Just think about all the inventions that could make their work easier. Shorter shifts with the same level of efficiency, less physical labour per hour, safer work environment. With new technology I - I mean we could make Zaun a…” He stopped, red flashing his cheeks. Once again he let his stupid tongue lap uncontrolled.

“A better place.” You defleated like a hot-air balloon after all the tourists were done with their ride. “You don't need to hide your feelings about this place. I'm used to this.” There was a bite towards the end of your words. Used but they still hurt.

“Well, you shouldn't be used to them. Zaun should be just as good a place to live as Piltover.” Then, Jayce really thought so. He looked at Viktor and he wanted the next generations of children to live a better childhood. He looked at you and wished for all the women in the undercity to feel safe and not have to keep guns under the counter of their small workshops. What he didn't see was that it might not have been an issue with Zaun only, rather the exclusivity of Piltover.

“It doesn't matter, really.” The smile was back on your face. More pins poking out of a small pillow strapped onto your wrist. Precisely cut out pieces of fabric in your fingers as you approached him with a soft look on your face. “Stay still.”

Jayce watched as you pinned the back and the front of his shirt together. You worked over his shoulders, the front of his chest, his belly area. You were close, inspecting what would soon be seams, calculating where to put them to squeeze out all the handsomeness he had to offer.

“Look up.” You commanded, putting a finger under his chin to tilt it upwards. Yet, he still looked down as your fingers worked the collar around his neck.

If he would move his head back down Jayce could meet you halfway. It was tempting, he remembered that feeling very well. His fingers itched, hands laying useless on his knees. He wanted to put them around your waist, put his lips to yours. It would be wonderful. Jayce Talis knew he had a small crush on you, a sweet little nothing. Yet, he could change that. Undoubtedly, if he grabbed you here and now, kissed you and told you how pretty you looked when focusing, his crush wouldn't stay a little nothing. It would be hard to stop it if it started. You could do it, here in the workshop. Or he could take you back to his place.

Jayce saw a scar on your forehead, faint enough to go unnoticed unless you moved very close, like he was now. What happened? Did you fall while playing as a child? Did you hit your head in the cramped space that was your workshop? Did someone do this to you? Did Zaun happen?

It was just a goddamned mark on the hairline. You might as well have been born with it, but for some reason the past Jayce felt like this was the hill he would die on.

“A - are you done?” His eyes darted upwards. You caught him red handed as he stared at you and for some time, you also stared at him. Yet, his comment made you both back away.

You nodded, patting your sides, walking away to supposedly look at something in your sketchbook.

What was he thinking? Jayce was from Piltover, a promising inventor coming from a renowned branch of academia. He worked for his success so hard and just now he wanted to get entangled with a Zaun girl just because she came close to his face.

Jayce Talis forgot he had a crush on you, he forgot all the moments he admired your skill, humuor, and person. He scolded himself for thinking with the wrong part of his body.

You guided him to a tall mirror. It was dusty but when Jayce looked into it a handsome man stared back. The clothes on his body looked fantastic, it would only take a good pair of trousers and elegant shoes to make him look like one of the most important people of Piltover. In the back he saw you, breaking your fingers.

“It's perfect.” He said.

That night Jayce left with many regrets, balancing which ones were greater - the missed chance to kiss you or the fact that he nearly jeopardized his own career with a scandal.

He never ever anticipated that Viktor of all people would get interested in his love life. As they met at the academia, moments before entering the charity event, the partners talked.

“I see that you took my advice on a seamstress.” Viktor smiled softly as only he knew how. Both of their outfits, despite obvious differences, held similarities of design. Jayce nodded and wanted to add something but Viktor continued. “You know, I asked her here tonight. Did you bring a pair?”

The other man's eyes widened. Bringing a pair to the ball was not necessary but rather a social norm, unless one was looking for a fiance. Now the ton would think he is either awkward or open for marriage.

“Now this will look funny, me with a lady and you without one.”

It was tough to stay together, the amount of patrons looking for a conversation with the promising inventors overflowing. Jayce glowed between them, starving for the attention. The world was gold with dresses and clocks, tuxedos and flowers, expensive champagne and microscopic dishes. The moon bathed the open terrace with a silvery hue. It felt like hours and millions of polite conversations later when Jayce bumped into Viktor and you.

Of course your dress was perfect. It was hand sewn by you yourself. It hugged you in all the right places, bringing out your beauty. Tonight you didn't look like a girl from the undercity. Yet, there was something off. Like a chameleon you merged with the crowd but it only took a few steps closer to see something was wrong. It may have been the cheapness of the fabric that you crafted your dress from. Obviously you wouldn't have the money to buy equally soft and luxurious material as the one Jayce brought to your workshop days ago. Or your hair, too roughly cut for a Piltover lady. The fact that you looked a bit lost, clutching onto Viktor's arm as if he was a lighthouse amidst a storm. Maybe that's why people left you alone.

You asked for a moment so Viktor promised to wait for you. In the meantime he turned to Jayce.

“Busy night, isn't it?” He started, visibly tired, relying on his cane more and more.

“Yes.” Jayce nodded, whipping his head around to see if anyone else wished to talk to him.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Viktor might have as well grown another head, from how surprised Jayce looked. “You see, I'm not much of a dancer as you could guess.” He tapped the tiled floor with his cane. “Would you mind taking her to the dancefloor, only once. I saw how she looked at the other pairs.”

Viktor wanted him to dance with you. Dance, keep you close while twirling around. Put a hand on your waist and look into your eyes. Lead you into the curious crowd. He was ready to say yes and a split second from running away from his friend. The thought of dancing with you didn't even cross his mind that was too occupied with the opulence of the night. Now, when Viktor planted the image, he couldn't stop his mind from running.

“Hello.” You greeted him politely, coming back from the ladies room. Jayce looked at you and nearly melted like the ice statue some person of doubtful intelligence thought of bringing tonight.

“So?” Viktor pushed, stepping closer, leaning into Jayce's ear so that only he would hear him. “She really likes you.”

There was hope in Viktor's eyes, hope for Jayce being smarter than stereotypes. As a Zaunian himself Viktor knew what it meant to get your strings cut when someone learned about your place of birth, how it felt to get judged solely on the basis of upper or undercity. That's why he hoped that Jayce could put aside such artificial prejudice. Unfortunately Viktor was wrong, it would take years for Jayce to understand his mistake.

“I should really get going, the patrons won't wait for me unless I catch them.” He smiled awkwardly nodding his head at you and turned in his heel to merge into the crowd.

“I see.” Viktor whispered, squeezing your palm just as disappointment squeezed his heart.

For the rest of the night Jayce Talis felt like suffocating. Nothing was the same, the conversations were off, the lights were too bright, the alcohol too light. He blamed it on the late hour, he must have been tired after spending the whole day running around the academia. He really didn't want to admit that what he felt was shame and guilt.

After the ball night Jayce only saw you amongst others. You merged with the background of what created Viktor’s person and stayed there. Only after spending days at the pit bottom of a ruined Piltover Jayce accepted his feelings. They never really died out, he pushed them down his throat forcefully and pretended you never existed. Then came his career that filled in the hole. Later came Mel - a trophy that made him swell with pride. Such a powerful woman chose him out of everyone. Maybe if he wasn't so handsome he would grow out smarter.

After coming back to Piltover Jayce wanted to close many chapters in his book, afraid that soon fate will most likely cut his story short. He wanted to make his wrongs right, to die with a consciousness even only slightly lighter than what he felt now. So he knew he had to find you, to tell you the truth.

It took him past the workshop, past the counter and down the stairs into the room once packed with fabric and sketchbooks. Now it was a ghost town. You most likely gave away everything that you had to aid the upcoming battle. Were you even here? You could as well take the hexgate to a better place, find a new workshop, get a new life, new friends and a new man, one that would be honest with you. Yet, something inside him told Jayce he would find you here, and he did.

Your head emerged from under one of the empty desks. You hid upon hearing someone descend the stairs, but you came out when you saw him. So still, after all these years the betrayed girl from Zaun trusted Jayce Talis.

“Jayce?”

It was a rhetorical question, nonetheless one very appropriate. He looked so different. His hair grew out, he had a beard and a sharp look on his features, nothing like the charismatic, warm inventor-boy. Carrying the hammer, heavy like his guilt, made Jayce bigger, more manly and sturdy, more closed and reserved.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“What are you doing here?” He might as well reverse the question. You should be long gone, not carry his mistakes and risk your life in this burning hole.

“I couldn't leave.” There was anger on your tired face. Jayce always knew what to say to sour your mood.

“Then I guess fate gave me another chance to make things clear.” He said more to himself than to you.

You did not understand his words. You did not understand when he came closer. You did not understand when he sank above you, the guilt and burden bringing his shoulders down.

“I'm sorry.”

Jayce said and kissed you, wishing for all that he meant to echo through his lips. It must have, because you put your palms on his cheeks and pushed into his chest showing that there was still one last person in all of the world who wanted him.

[misiahasahardname]

shhhh… they’re playing

[yaymiyas]

THE HUSBAND

warning: female reader, saer being….saer, yan!isekai!crown prince

a/n: i was so burnt out so lets see what i come up with ….its short ik and yes im cooking up something w cynthia LET ME COOK 🫡🙄🔥🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯💯

the idea of divorce was swimming in the mist of your mind hours before you regained most of the movement in your body. you knew you had to get out of this situation in a peaceful but quick manner. in your mind, leaving saer should have been easy since he hated edina more than the devil himself. he saw her as a shit stain satan left on earth to torture him for all of his days. so why are tears running down his face…thats odd? from all of the tweets, forums, and blogs saer had close to no emotions for edina. he hated her through and through. in the original story, he would’ve cheered of joy if she simply asked to part ways. so why was he sitting in front of you crying? was the bacon too salty? was he remembering the good ol’ times with his late father? ever since you’ve transmigrated into this story, everything has been so weird. aside from you being close to perfectly fine after being fed poison, saer has became more careful.

in the book, saer was close to a bubbling idiot. every single assassination attempt was stopped by a maid because he was stupid. he always played it as cynthia and amanda favoring edina but that wasnt the full truth. he was just too obvious with everything he was doing. you actually kind of felt back for the dummy, no wonder gracie wants nothing to do with him. regardless of any of that, you actually started to feel a bit bad for him. it was obvious saer didnt know why he was crying or how to stop it by the way his face was balled up in red confusion. maybe it was out of guilt or for the plot, either way you wanted to help him. maybe he wanted to kill you but seeing a grown man cry really did break your heart.

“now, saer..”

gently pushing your hand out to cover his larger ones, you put on a voice of concern. you want to help the poor idiot but you also want to get out of this house alive. maybe playing the sweet docile wife could do you some good, maybe—

“ugh, stupid bitch get off of me.”

slapping your hand off of his, saer attempted to keep a face of pure disgust plastered for you to see. why on earth was he crying, and why on earth are you being so off-putting? at first, your new actions didnt really bother him. were they different? yes, but they weren’t unpleasant. but now...it was as if the poison made you utterly indifferent to his presence, which he told himself he loved, but the lord knows thats a lie. you quietly sitting there, dry-face, with a slight frown and uninterested body language, angered him. saer was crying purely for reactions. he thought that crying would help him close this conversation and make you jump up and beg for his forgiveness, but no. all you did was lift your grimly, beastly fingers to ‘comfort’ him. what a joke of a woman.

“im finished with my breakfast”

the scream of the chair was louder than your own thoughts, kicking you out of your own subconscious. what even was that about? you were TRYING to be the version of edina you thought he would like, second from you killing yourself right there and then. so why was he acting like you were trying to jump his bones? he is such a wicked man….such a sad excuse of a person. its such a shame his attitude is so sour, you were going to try to soften his walls to see if he would lighten up on the poisoning situation. how did he get it? who did he get it from?

“madam,”

lightly placing her hand on your shoulder, cynthia appeared. scaring you out of your thoughts, you straightened your back and put on the best fake smile you could. you knew cynthia didnt really care for you, as demonstrated by the bath she gave you earlier, but you thought that maybe you could melt this ice queen. her soft ginger coils shaped her face in all the right places, giving her olive skin the type of glow women in the real world would kill for. she had green eyes to match alone with it, making it easy to find yourself lost in them. cynthia was a beautiful woman; just how did she become a maid for this jackass?

“his royal highness has ordered for you to be sent to your room.”

[danveration]

Sleep well, amour Pt. 2

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: After falling asleep to his voice, you wake up and get confronted by Alastor. Later, you walk in on him sleeping.

Word count: 1523

Warnings: Mention of Alastor eating and k*lling a deer

part one

A/N: PART TWO IS HERE!!! I had SO many options wracking my brain on where to take this, but I picked this one! I hope you all enjoy it :’) let me know if you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it. Also, I’m currently working on all the requests I got :) as well as part 2 to that-no-good-first-man-on-earth

You wake up, blinking and looking around. Momentarily forgetting where you are.

Shit. You fell asleep in Alastor’s recording room. Thankfully, he isn’t here right now.

Before you could get up, you notice a purple blanket on you. It seems to be the one that was on his coat hanger. Did Alastor put this on you..? The thought has you smiling and your cheeks reddening.

Alastor’s voice sure does have an effect on you. You look outside to see what time it is, but remember that it’s Hell and the sky is always the same shade of red. You’re going to have to get used to that.

Getting up, you put the blanket back on the hanger and look around some more. It feels some-what intimate right now to be in his space when he’s not around. You wonder how long you’ve been asleep for.

You walk over to his table and notice a red “play” button on his radio equipment and are tempted to press it. It surely won’t cause any harm to hear what he was talking about when you were asleep. You press it and listen.

“Haha! For any sinner, I know it’s a tempting question. But I-“ The recording fast forwards. “Nevertheless, I find it quite amusing that this technology box thinks he is on any sort of level to me! Call me crazy but the sinners have been taaallkinggg, and they think he sounds quite obsessed.” He laughs, knowing Vox is probably listening.

You smile at his voice and find it funny how he is a bit of a drama queen when it comes to his radio broadcasts. You know deep down he doesn’t actually care about the whole situation with Vox, but it’s still funny how he entertains it.

Looking to your right, you see a mug that has “Oh Deer” written on it. There seems to be a bit of black coffee still left in the mug. The “deer” reference made you giggle. You’ve always wondered about his past and how exactly he is part deer anyhow. Oh well, It’ll reveal itself with time.

You’re looking at all the other buttons on his equipment, wondering what they do, when all of a sudden you hear light footsteps on the other side of the door. It’s most likely Alastor. Nobody would willingly go to his room without permission.

The door opens slowly and in steps Alastor. You notice how he opened the door quietly, to not make make much noise. As he still assumed you were asleep. You smiled at that.

He looks ahead and sees you, immediately smiling. “Ah! My dear. You’re awake!” He claps his hands together, his cane leaning on his side.

“Hey Al. Um.. about what happened I-“ You start.

“Ah, ah! No need to explain yourself, sweetheart! Don’t go giving yourself a headache.” He cuts in and laughs.

He looks down at you and says, “you just find comfort in my voice, don’t you?” He asks, with a smug smile.

Your eyes go wide and you stutter. Of course it wasn’t the most secretive thing. Still, you didn’t think he actually knew.

“U-um. Well..” You say.

He tilts his head to side as if saying, “Go on…”

There’s really no getting out of this. Plus, you don’t think Alastor would actually care. He’d probably just find it funny.

“Yeah, I do.” You admit. “I find comfort in your voice, of course I do! I just.. I don’t know.”

You aren’t sure what to say, it’s a tad embarrassing.

Alastor begins to laugh.

“I certainly could tell! I find it quite amusing if I do say so myself.” He says.

He definitely doesn’t mind it, he has a soft spot for you. But he’s also a bit confused on why you even do. He knows his radio voice is unique, but nobody ever commented on it bringing them comfort. They usually scream and run away when they hear him. You’ve been there long enough to see him kill and do so many things that people describe as “horrible, satanic, terrifying” but you still find comfort in him nevertheless? He thinks it’s absolutely adorable!

“Amusing?” You ask.

He nods and says, “Amusing, darling! I mean.. you know who I am, do you not?” He laughs and continues. “Though you still find comfort.. now that’s an interesting fact, don’t you think?”

You shy away, looking anywhere but him. You’re comfortable around him, of course, but you’re a tiny but embarrassed of this whole situation. You know he is definitely loving his though.

He places a finger on your jaw and guides your head back to look at him.

“Uh, uh, dear. There’s no need to feel shy! I never said it was a bad thing. I’m truly honoured!” He says, smiling down at you.

You and him have been getting to know each other for a while now and you’ve just been going deeply and deeply more interested in him. You almost laugh at yourself because you sometimes act as if you did when you alive, how you obsessed over fictional characters and “fan fiction.”

You look at him and say, “Well, that’s good then.” You chuckle.

“Mm, it is isn’t it?” He says.

He thinks you’re absolutely pathetic, but in a good way. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you, this new sensation is something he never wants to get rid of.

———————————————————————

Later that day, Charlie wanted you to pass a message on to Alastor about the hotel reservations. You knew he was in his room because he mentioned that if you needed him, he’d be in there having some dinner (aka, deer). Which he has in his half room half forest. You really wonder how on earth he even did that. The wonders of being a radio demon!

You’re at his door, lightly knocking. You wait a few seconds but you don’t hear anything from the other side.

“Al?” You question while knocking again.

“Hm.” You think.

You aren’t sure if you should go in or not. Sure, the thing Charlie told you about could wait but you also wanted to make sure he was okay. What if he.. choked or something? You’re sure the radio demon could handle that but you just want to make sure.

“Al, I’m coming in.. okay?” You say while knocking once more.

You slowly twist the knob and push the door open. Peaking in, you see him on the other side of the room, in a chair.

“Alastor, are you alr-“ You stop yourself when you notice his eyes are closed.

Closing the door behind you, you walk up to him.

He’s currently sitting in the chair, his arm on the table and his head resting on his hand. He looks so peaceful. His mouth isn’t smiling and his face just looks so.. relaxed. You’ve never saw him like this before. He mumbles occasionally and his ears twitch every so often as he sleeps. You aren’t sure how he finds this position comfortable, but you smile at it nonetheless.

You don’t want to disturb him so you leave, now relaxed that you know he’s okay.

Right before you grab the knob of the door, you hear, “Y/n?”

You whip your head back and you see him standing up, looking at you with his smile.

“Did you need something, dear?” He asks, as if he wasn’t just dead asleep a second ago.

Of course, it makes sense he is a light sleeper.

“O-oh, no. Charlie just wanted me to tell you that the renovations went well and that the guys who inspect the place will be here tomorrow!” You say. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Ahh, alright! And nonsense! You couldn’t disturb me.” He says.

You look at him and smile.

“You know, you could join me if you want! I was just resting and then going to have some dinner.” He offers.

You perk up but then remember that Husk assigned you a task of picking up crates of whiskey for the bar.

“Shit, sorry. I can’t. I have to go get more alcohol for the bar.” You say with a frown.

“More? If I remember correctly, we just got new shipments in.. last week?” He says with a laugh. “Though I’m not surprised we ran out again. Husker is a busy man. Well, my dear. Some other time, then!”

You notice him looking back into the forest, eyeing a deer.

“Yeah, some other time.” You smile. “Have a good dinner, Alastor!”

He smiles back at you says, “Oh I will.” He chuckles, his radio eyes making an appearance as he looks back the deer.

“You have yourself a lovely day, sweetheart!” He says with a wave.

“You too!” Waving back, you then open the door and leave. Once you leave you hear shrieking on the other side of the door, definitely the deer that Al was eyeing.

You’re excited to have more encounters with him, and even take him up on the dinner offer! You remember him mentioning he wanted to introduce you to his friend, Rosie. You’re looking forward to it.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo i did it again (rambled). i have no idea where i went with this but it really wENT yknow, but hey you get fluff!!!!!. ALSO (im looking at you cristi) if it wasnt clear this is set, like, pre-show T_T just before ep 1 lmao (ily cristi im just going through it with my writing) | cross posted on ao3

tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

You did not realize being made a spectacle would be as exhausting as it was. Truly, all you did as your prince brought you to the training quarters of the City Watch, was stand, force a smile and feel their gaze upon you as Daemon instructed them to roughhouse for your (but really his) entertainment. Yet, it felt like you had been running nonstop and only now found reprieve.

Perhaps it was because it was really your mind that was running with the thought of how you snubbed your twin. In truth, you knew Gwayne understood your actions, for he was really the only person who understood you, and yet that was precisely why it ate at you so much. How could you do such a thing to your brother?

At some point, Daemon is too distracted by his sparring soldiers to remember you were there. By the time they began to drink, you gave word to one of the guards and made your way back to the Keep yourself.

You head for your brother's chambers, set on setting things straight. You do not find him there however, and your mind begins to wander. Was he avoiding you? Was he cross?

Upon asking one of his servants, you find that he was tasked with duty from the Lord Hand. Part of you feels comforted by the answer, but then you wonder if the task had something to do with you. You try not to think about it as you head back to your own chambers.

You are ripped out of your train of thought when you hear your name called.

Queen Aemma stands across you, hand on her belly, smile on her lips, "have you come to worry on me, good sister?"

Your back straightens and you clasp your hands in front of you, "my queen. I-I-"

"I do hope not," she stretches, leaning back into her hands, "the last thing I want right now is to have yet another person try to tell me what is best for me and my babe."

You shake your head, turning to your feet, "the last thing I would do is impose my inexperience of child bearing upon you."

Aemma's face softens. She's seldom seen someone who looks as though they suffer more than her. "Excellent."

You lift your gaze.

"Come keep me company then and distract me with tales lacking child bearing."

You are taken aback by the invitation and watch the queen slowly waddle back into her quarters. You delay to realize you should be assisting then promptly rush up to her side. You offer her your arm and she gratefully takes it. She is exhausted by the time you reach her bed.

"Thank you," she sighs, wiping the sweat on her temple.

"Of course," you help her put her feet up. You look over your shoulder momentarily, "have you no one to call to? Shall I call for someone?"

"No," she waves you off, "I merely walked out of the room and looked out of the window for a while. I am fine."

You nod and pull away, fidgeting with your fingers, "is there something I might do for you?"

"Yes," she reaches for your arm, "sit."

So you do.

"And tell me, why on earth did Daemon bring you to the City Watch?"

You freeze upon hearing that.

There is a playful curiosity upon Aemma's features, but you no thin think she asks to embarrass you. Still, you open your mouth and begin to stutter, "h-how did you kno-w?"

She chuckles, leaning deeper into her pillow, "oh, my dear," she rubs her belly, "I am privy to all gossip in the Keep. Tis the only activity one such as I can do in my state. Incidentally, had the opposite been true, it is all the servants speak of—" she slowly reaches for you, pushing your hair back.

You are made acutely aware of the marks on your collar again.

"—how the fragile lamb tamed the ferocious dragon."

You chuckle dryly and stare at your lap. You pick at your nails, feeling your throat tighten, "I tame no one, my queen."

As Aemma looks at you, she thinks again she's not laid her eyes upon someone that looks more pained than herself. The sun was already setting, but the marks on your collarbones were still visible. She wonders if you at least enjoyed yourself when you received those marks. "Perhaps not yet."

You chuckle once more.

"He is stubborn and brash, but he is also loyal and passionate."

"Loyal to himself," you turn to her, "with a passion for deviance."

You are unnerved by the sudden call of your name. Your heart races at her misplaced familiarity.

This might be why you blurt out, "I am no fool."

She straightens up, "I did not say you were."

"I know I am feeble in form, but not in mind. I am a mere piece in someone else's game of chess, but every piece has its purpose, even pawns."

Aemma frowns. Her forehead curls, "and pawns can turn into the most powerful piece."

You stare at her belly.

"The Queen."

You do not tell her it is only true in board games.

"Does it frighten you?"

Your eyes quirk up to hers. Her violet eyes are much softer than Daemon's. She does not clarify, but the way in which she rubs her swollen stomach makes it clear to you what she meant. You rub your own as dread pricks through you, "I do not know how it is possible for anyone not to be frightened."

It is her turn to chuckle.

It perturbs you.

"I will not lie to you," she shifts in her spot, "there is no greater pain in the world than becoming a mother, I think..."

It is mortifying to hear, considering you know how many times Queen Aemma has conceived and given birth. How much more painful it must be, as she remains to have one child. You do not think all your years of pain could ever prepare you for such loss.

"... that can be the most gratifying."

You are taken aback when she reaches for your hand. Her palms are soft, just as her expression.

"I do not presume to know you, but I find that whatever pain I have is eclipsed by love I feel for my babe. Still, when the thought of childbirth gets too much, I retreat into something I loved before my babe."

Your brows furrow.

"Tapestries and tea time," she tilts her head, "and Viserys."

You do not know how to feel as she pulls away.

She rubs her forehead, "even speaking is exhausting when you are with child. Forgive me, but I think I would like to go to sleep now."

You shake your head and stand, "there is nothing to be forgiven. I will leave you to your own comforts," you curtsy.

You roam the candlelit halls as you digest the queen's words. You were on your way back to your chambers, then you remember your brother. You promptly head to his room, finding the door open. "Gwayne?"

Emerge two servants carrying a trunk, greeting you before walking off. Your brows furrow as you watch them. You turn back when you hear your name called.

Your twin walks over, still in his doublet and leather shoes. You begin to get nervous, "you're leaving?"

"Preparing to," he says, eyes falling on your collarbones, "the is still the matter of the tourney."

"Tourney?"

"The queen is set to give birth soon— you must not let that man dishonor you so," he quips through clenched teeth, pulling you into his room.

You are dragged inside and he releases you once you're in front of his bed. He grabs his blanket and drapes it on your shoulders. He gathers you hair and pulls it from underneath, "play dumb if you must."

You knit your brows.

"Bat your lashes at him to have your way."

You tighten the blanket around yourself, "I already have."

"To protect me," he tilts his head, "protect yourself, sister. Put yourself first, always."

You clench your jaw.

"He will be kinder if he believes you to be a bimbo."

You scoff, "must I do such a thing?"

Gwayne narrows his eyes, "he is shaming you purposefully out of spite—for me and our father."

The idea makes you queasy because you knew it was true. Your brother was sensible because he got his sense from you, and yet... you find yourself thinking that is it so farfetched for the prince to simply want to show you off proudly? Even in something like this, you were not even being thought of. "And acting a fool will save me from spite?"

He looks at you the way he did whenever you said something stupid. It offends you because it was not a stupid question. He speaks to you, as if you were four, "if he asks you to wear something compromising again, tell him all your dresses are being washed."

You chuckle dryly, "you honestly think he would believe such a blatant lie?"

"He need not have to," he scoffs, "it's not like he'll go through the trouble of inspecting your closet." He places a hand on your arm, "come. I will walk you to your room."

Something unpleasant bubbles up your throat as Gwayne leads you out. As you exit his chambers, you pull away and choke out, "do you think me a fool, devil?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes, "do not be-"

"Do you truly think that I am slowwitted and senseless?"

Your ears ring because of how says your name. You step back when he tries to take your arm again. Gwayne raises a finger and a brow, "I've had a long day. I do not wish to quarrel."

"And I have not?!" you quip, "answer the question!"

He says your name again, firmer, as though you were a petulant child.

"Just fucking tell me!" you snap.

"Gods!" he wipes his face, "you're acting fucking stupid, I'll tell you that!"

You scoff and shove him with all your might. It barely makes him recoil, but you get your point across, especially when you walk away.

Gwayne sighs and calls your name, following after you.

"I hate you!" you spit back, unwilling to turn back as you feel your eyes begin to water.

"I did not mean it," he calls, quickly coming up to your side, "why would you ask me something you clearly know is not-"

"Then why would you reduce me as such?" you stop in your tracks to glare at him.

Gwayne freezes and scowls back, "why do you think I tell you anything?"

"Stupidity will not save me, you fucking idiot," you blurt back, doing your best to hold back your tears.

"It will fucking save you from scheming rats," he grabs your arms and shakes you gently.

You shake your head as tears stream down your cheek.

"H-"

"Do not make me."

He purses his lips.

"You know I will do it if you tell me to," you mutter, "do not make me."

Guilt eats him whole as you weep. It never gets easier. You'd think that he'd be indifferent to it by now, but he knows the great effort you put in withholding your emotions. It hurts him even more, if anything. He sighs in defeat, dropping his head before wiping your cheeks. He attempts to hush you.

You only further fall apart, "I would be remembered as a stupid, dying girl."

He speaks your name, as if to correct you.

"Please don't leave," you mumble weakly.

"Listen to me-"

"No, promise me you won't le-"

"I am heir to Oldtown," he interrupts, "my place can never be at your side."

"So you forsake me now?"

"Listen," he speaks firmly, "you are my twin sister. There is nothing I have not shared with you, and you know this."

You look down for a moment then shake your head, "I wish you kept a few things to yourself..."

Gwayne releases a breath at your words. He leans down to look you in the eye, "says the woman who bares love bites on her neck for all to see."

You shove him away and tighten your arms around yourself, "ass. That's different."

He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips, "how?"

"I did not chose this," you mutter.

His expression falls. He balls his hands into fists, "I would call our house to banner for you."

You scoff, looking away, "don't be ridiculous."

"An affront to my twin is worse than one to myself," he points a finger to the ground.

"I am his wife," you look back to him.

"And I am a man of honor," he proclaims, "if he kills me, then all will know I died protecting my sister from his malice."

"You idiot," you shake your head at him, "do you think the people would believe the words of a prince or a dead man?"

"A princess."

You stare at him.

"With a tender heart," he takes your arm, leading you off.

You take a moment before responding, "you mean a stupid, dying princess."

"You are not dying," he gives you a serious look.

"We are all dying."

He sighs, "a jolly thought."

"I am dying sooner than you howev-"

"No," he interrupts, "you will outlive me. I will die in battle."

You glare at him, "we cannot both be yearning for death, moron."

"I do not yearn no more than you do," he raises a brow.

You stare at him for a moment. He is in denial. You almost tell him that you still pray the same prayer he caught you praying all those nights ago. You do not.

"You will get better, sister," he says, "I simply won't allow you not to."

You look away, "ever imperious."

His expression slips for a moment as he imagines a world without his twin. It is so grotesque, he cannot bear it. He hides behind humor, "you mean charismatic, dashing, and valiant."

"And stupid."

"And incredibly well-spoken, witty, charming-"

"Shut it."

"-attractive, gallant, seemly—"

You bid each other good night with a smile. Neither of you knew how broken your spirits were after your conversation though, and you never will.

Your head lies heavy on your pillow. You are unsure if you are grateful or resentful that you sleep tonight by yourself.

Meanwhile, Daemon is startled awake by the words of his subordinate. He sets his cup of ale down and chuckles in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at one of the three men he had been drinking with, "what?"

The man clarifies, shifting in his seat adjacent his commander, "you've changed since being wed, my prince. For the better."

The prince chuckles yet again, "pray, tell."

Someone else answers for him, "you have been more gracious during drill training."

Daemon's brows quirk.

"And you have been more forgiving as of late," another blurts.

The first who spoke finally says, "you do not drink with us as often as before. This is the first since you've gotten married."

He scoffs and shakes his head, "so. You think I've grown soft?"

The three immediately straighten up and even manage to muster in unison, "no, commander."

Daemon downs his ale and shakes his head, "I'll show you soft."

The next morn, the queen's words repeat in your mind as you awaken. Retreat in what you love. What was it that you loved? You think of Gwayne, but he is set to leave, Alicent, but you do not wish to burden her with your woes... your father...

Oh... your mother. You could retreat in her.

You sit up and rub your face when your servants enter to wake you.

You lose your resolve to light a candle at the temple at when you realized you'd be dying girl retreating to her dead mother. Pathetic.

By the time your servants are helping you fix your hair, you ask them, "if you could do whatever you wanted for a day, what would you do?"

The servants turn to each other then break into giggles. One says, "I would spend a day with my Gwilym."

You watch them in the mirror as they squeal under their breath.

You turn to your nails. You cannot retreat into Daemon.

After they're finished squealing, the other speaks, "mmm. I might go foraging for fruits and flowers."

You lift your head upon hearing that.

"And if I had my pay that day, I'd buy myself some lemon cake."

Your lips part at the idea, "you absolute wit." You turn to her as much as you could as she fixed your hair, "what a brilliant idea."

She chuckles and curtsies, "thank you, milady."

By the time your ward comes, you're already at the door, eager to greet him.

He examines your smile. His brows knit and belly feels uneasy as you take his arm.

You narrow your eyes at his face, doing your best to distinguish who exactly you were face to face with. You forget if it was Arryk with the longer beard or Erryk. You mumble as you make a face, "Erryk?"

"Yes," he nods, feeling stomach rolls, "how are you, my princess?"

You grin, squeezing his steel clad arm as much as you could, "oh, how good of me to get it right. I am glad to have guessed well."

Erryk chuckles under his breath, "you wound me. Am I not set apart in your eyes?"

You stiffen at his expression. You mistake the softness in his eyes for hurt, which is why you release his arm and begin to apologize, "oh, ser. I do not mean to offend, I-"

Erryk raises his hands, "no, my lady. Twas a jest."

Your eyes widen at the clarification. You laugh awkwardly, "ah... apologies."

"Nay," he shakes his head, "I apologize. I do not wish to cause you discomfort."

You huff and give a curt nod, "then," you take his arm again, "I ask that you humor me today, ser Erryk."

His brows furrow. He is intrigued.

"I..." you trail off, gathering your resolve, "wish to go out and pick flowers today." you profess with a soft smile. You raise a finger, "I am am not a fussy passenger. I do not mind sitting in front or behind you on horseback, but I fear I do not know how to control a horse on my own very well," you look away in thought, "we do not have to go very far out of King's Landing, so if it is not possible to get a horse, I will not complain if we walk."

Erryk finds himself smiling as you continue to justify yourself.

"I would not take very long to pick flowers, but if I do," you turn back to him, "I would not refute you if you think we must away."

He nods at your words, "have you broken fast yet?"

You both walk off. You shake your head, "I have not. But I will be quick!"

He shakes his head, "my brother mentioned that you do not like eating alone. If it be agreeable with you, we can break fast together."

You stop in your tracks upon hearing this, "ser Arryk mentioned this?"

Erryk simply nods.

The thought pinches your heart, "it... it was a passing comment. I did not think it noteworthy."

His brows knit at your expression, "do not be so surprised. It is our duty to care for you."

Care for you. You turn to your feet, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. It takes a moment for you to comport yourself, but then you manage turn back at him and smile, "how the gods have blessed me."

His gut reacts to your smile. He releases a breath to calm himself, "we can pick flowers after breaking fast, my princess."

You gasp, "so you agree?!"

Erryk face falls in confusion.

"You would allow me to pick flowers?!" you pull away, nearly jumping up and down in excitement.

"I..." his mouth hangs low, "I do not allow you."

You tilt your head, chuckling in confusion.

"If you instructed me to bring you the moon, I would do my best to claim it for you."

You laugh. You laugh because you miss his sincerity, for it is unfamiliar. You laugh because you only know the kindness of your brother, who cherishes you dearly, yet ridicules you in the same breath. This is why you say, "do not mock me, ser. It is not a crime to enjoy picking flowers."

You expect him to reply the way your twin does: 'I did not say it was a crime,' but you are taken aback by the novelty of his response. Erryk says, "the crime lies with whom would mock such a gentle soul."

You are glad he does not wait for you to respond, because you did not know if you had anything to respond with.

Erryk is silent as you eat in the solar. At first, it was because he second guessed his offer to break fast with you, as it felt so obvious that he was overstepping. But then it was because he was enamored by you and the great many tales you share of eating with your family, picking flowers with your siblings, swimming in rivers with your brother. He did not expect such a temperate outpour from you. He tells himself that he must do all he can to preserve it.

He is selfish in wanting to forfeit a horse. He knows soon enough his brother will come to have his shift, and he wants to keep all your stories to himself; walking will make his time with you longer. At the same time, he fears your body might give in if you were to walk very far, so he settles that you ride on horseback and that he lead your horse on foot.

He is glad of his choice, for had he been on horseback with you, he would not have seen the way your face shone at the sight of the meadow upon reaching it. The moment is quickly fleeting however, and he soon jolts to catch you when you nearly leap off the horse.

Erryk helps you down and is soon forgotten as you run off to gather flowers.

He follows after you with no sense of urgency. He allows you to frolic to your hearts content while he slowly leads the horse towards your general direction.

"ERRYK!" you gasp in horror. It is so sudden, he releases his reins and runs towards you.

"My prin-"

"We do not have a basket!" you slap a hand on your forehead, "I am doomed."

He freezes at your words, debating if that is truly the cause of your distress.

"I am doomed to pick flowers only until my hands are full," you sigh and shake your head. You frown at him and point, "but just over there I see a hundred flowers I wish to bring back home with me."

Erryk's forehead curls but then he realizes you were serious. He finds himself chuckling before sighing in relief.

You scowl, "and you mock me again"

He chuckles louder, placing a hand on his breastplate, "I do not mock! I merely find amusement in such an issue so easily solved."

You scoff, "pray, tell how would you solve my issue, ser knows-a-lot?"

Erryk belly laughs. He shakes his head and offers his hand, "I will hold your flowers for you."

Any trace of offense instantly disappears. You perk and step forward, "oh! I have been blind!"

He tries to take the flowers from you but then he's frozen in place as you suddenly begin tucking in his beard.

"Indeed," you snicker, "blind as a bat."

You are both covered in flowers when you return to the Keep, him more than you, for Erryk's skill in securing flowers in people's hair was not nearly as good as yours. Most of what he had put in your brown hair had fallen when you reached the gates. The rest are threatened off by the wind as he helps you down the horse. His on the other hand—

You chuckle, catching a flower that slipped from your head, placing it by Erryk's ear, "they should call you the knight of flowers, ser."

He bows, "I would be honored to be known as such."

"Oh, gods."

You both turn upon hearing the voice.

Gwayne looks at Erryk as though he was stabbed on the side, then turns to you, "you've victimized the poor man."

You roll your eyes.

"-held him captive and tortured him with pretty things," your twin points a finger as he walks towards you, "no wonder you could not be found. You were doing evil things."

You shove your brother, but he dodges.

He makes a face, "laggardly fellow."

You turn to Erryk then point at your brother, "why do you delay? Seize him at once!"

Gwayne gasps, placing a hand on his chest, "behold: the cruel princess."

Your upper lip curls, "the ugly thing insults your lady," you shoot Erryk a look, "apprehend him!"

Erryk watches the two of you bicker, unsure if he should, in fact, apprehend Ser Gwayne.

When he does not, your brother says again, "behold!" the auburn haired man gestures vaguely, "your cruelty inspires no loyalty from you— aw!"

You snatch your his ear and pull him down. You drag your brother all the way to a crate and force him down, "I'll show you cruel."

"Do not think— AW!" Gwayne clutches his cheek when you slap him.

"Silence or your torture will be more severe," you hiss, promptly placing flowers you still had on hand on his head.

Though Gwayne grumbles the whole time, he makes no attempt to save himself from the proclaimed torture. Very truly, he loathed it so when you made a dolly out of him, but after you sobbed so bitterly when he fled you one instance when you were still children, he could never stomach the thought of attempting such a thing again.

And— he catches the way your lips tug upward, you only ever smiled the way you did now when you were torturing him. Still, he cannot help his scowl when you grin at him to behold your work.

You pinch his cheeks, "my lovely twin."

Gwayne groans and swats your hands away, glaring as he stands, "I abhor you, sister."

You giggle and take his arm, "and I do so love deeply, my brother."

"Unhand me," he says flatly.

"You cannot command a princess, you lowly lord," you snuggle into his arm.

Gwayne turns to Erryk, "retrieve your thing."

Erryk opens his mouth, but then catches the look on your face. He is powerless against your pup-like expression. He clears his throat, "my shift has ended, ser. I will notify my brother at once to see what can be done."

Gwayne's jaw drops.

You throw your head back in a laughter.

He scoffs, turning to you, "how uselessly loyal you've made him."

"What is the meaning of this?"

You three turn. You pull away from your brother upon seeing Daemon. He is covered in dirt, and blood, and anger.

He glares at you, "why is it I find you here twice, wife?" He scrutinizes the flowers on Erryk's beard and hair, then quips harshly as he turns to your brother, "should you not be waiting on me?"

"Why do you think I am here?" you mutter, not missing a beat. You walk over to him, and he tries to intimidate you with his expression.

Gwayne and Erryk are ready to act but then Daemon's face falters when you grab your skirt and try to wipe some of the dirt off his face.

The truth, of course, is that you were not waiting on your husband; him finding you here was simply a coincidence, but the genuine concern that clouds your features makes it the lie indistinguishable.

He is so wholly bewildered by your gentle touch, he is unable to react.

You release your skirt and wipe his cheek with your long sleeve, "I shall have a bath drawn for you." You take his hand, "come, I-"

He pulls out of your grasp.

You expect him to lash out on you. He does not.

"I have a council meeting to attend."

A line forms between your brows when catch the blood on his armor, "but you are hurt."

Daemon is stoic. He stares at the lone flower by your ear, "it is not mine."

You release a soft breath and nod. A gust of wind makes you aware of the bud by your temple. You pull the flower out of your hair and stare at it for a moment. You show it to Daemon, who spares but a moment's glance at it. He involuntarily pulls his head back when you place the flower in his hair.

You are unfazed by the look he gives you. You secure the flower then swipe the dirt on his chin, "I will make sure your bath is finished after your meeting."

It is your turn to be taken aback. You freeze when he catches your wrist before you pull away. "Wait for me," he mumbles.

You raise your brows.

He does not repeat himself.

You nod slowly, "I shall... after having the servants dra-"

"Your princess requires you to accomplish a task for her," Daemon looks past you, looking between Erryk and Gwayne. He grits his teeth, pulling you toward him, "do it."

You look over your shoulder, "please inst-"

"They know what to do, wife," Daemon blocks your vision, "tis I your attentions must be fixed upon."

[rizsu]

food for thought, except it’s unwanted jujutsu kaisen : fem-reader.

have you ever wondered about a scenario so much that you must ask? well that’s exactly the last thing they’d wish to answer.

+ love ‘su: gojo, geto, itadori + ‘live, laugh, love’ hater final boss ( sukuna )

gojo satoru ﾉ refuses to answer.

“do you ever think about how it’d be if we never met?”

“ha— no. don’t even go there.”

satoru stops you there. he doesn’t wish to hear another word from you— especially if it extends your former question. he thinks about it— daily, in fact. it's a scenario that crosses his mind whenever he finds himself drunk on the temporary love he receives from you.

you’ve sung the lyric ‘i’ll love you until there’s no more left’ almost every week for him, silently begging that he gets the concept of genuine love through his head.

“why not? imagine if my friends didn’t make that bet where i either hit on you or pay for the night.” you reminisced, remembering the very night you lost the last touch of shame.

he hums, drumming his fingers on your thigh.

“bet or not, we’d still be fated to meet. next question!”

“anddd what makes you so confident?” you threw another question at him. this time, it's lighthearted.

“mind you, i’m the second coming of an angel. i predetermined this since three years ago.”

glances were exchanged, an expression of a grinning fool met the expression of a glaring responsible person who’s the said fool’s other romantic half.

you should've been familiar with satoru’s ways. it’s your fault for expecting a deep-dive conversation with satoru. not quite his cup of tea!

geto suguru ﾉ expects it and tries to escape.

suguru's home was no new, unexplored area to you. you knew his home's blueprint like the back of your hand. if needed, you'd walk through his home blindfolded and still end up in the room you want to be in.

this isn't a good thing to suguru. there are days where the feeling of confusion as to who he is piles up on him, leading him to isolate himself.. until he forgets there's a spare key of his isolation cube in your hold so now the plan goes awry.

that is exactly what’s happening. after he sent the text ‘k bye’ and silenced his notifications, he felt an impending doom. the reason was unknown by then but he should've guessed it was you.

you marched into his home, readying yourself with suguru-loneliness-begone techniques and, of course, the question that's been wandering your mind since you woke up from a dream.

“babe, what if—”

“fuck,” he curses under his breath, too exhausted to put a hand over your mouth.

“what if we were the last persons on earth? would you recreate humanity with me or kill yourself?”

there it is: your special ‘what if’ questions that know no bounds when it comes to absurdity.

“when would that ever happen? please, stop this,” he groans, pleading with his eyes for you to stop.

“that's the thing— you never know! so, what option is it?”

“i'd kill myself a long time ago if possible.”

“so it's the second one?”

“i'm... not cut out to be a good father.”

“i hate an indecisive bitch, my goodness,” it's your turn to complain, a little let down at his grey answers.

suguru's equally offended. you're the one who jumped him with such a question— who even thinks about that?!

“(y/n), baby, has it ever crossed your mind that your thinking skills aren't quite normal?”

“are you calling me stupid?!”

itadori yuuji ﾉ just as stupid.

it's mango season— yuuji's most anticipated season of the year. mangoes are to yuuji what your lipbalm is to you. a necessity, a survival item, a lifesaver, an important part of his lore, something he worships.

peeling mangoes and slicing them to equal pieces has never brought him such satisfaction before. it immediately brightens his mood. this must be how his grandfather felt whenever he took a walk around the neighbourhood.

now you appear, yuuji's second most anticipated person. you to yuuji is what mangoes are to him. this causes yuuji's current happiness level to reach its peak today. such a great level of happiness can defeat any evil being with just being in its area.

“say, yuu,” you begin, stabbing one of the mangoe slices with a fork.

he nods, signalling that he's listening but still focused on his current activity. a true mulit-tasker.

“if one of your limbs happen to detach from your body, do you feel the pain or does the pain go with it?”

he stops, allowing the question to sink in. he's never been asked such a.. divine question before. what's the answer? does the pain go with the limb or does it stay?

“oh... i gotta ask nobara this, she'd know,” he suggests, placing the knife down. a question that'll haunt him if he doesn't act quick for the answer.

“yes, yes!!” you encourage his actions, mindlessly enjoying the mango slices. mangoes are truly a blessing.

sukuna ryomen ﾉ no. nice try, though! A+ for effort.

“ryo, have you ever wondered if—”

“no, i never.”

“you didn't even let—”

“i haven't learnt since two-thousand years ago.”

“you old fuck, let me finish—”

“it's truly been a while since i've wondered.”

“DAMN, BITCH!”

you threw the remote at him, ultimately fed up with him cutting you off before the peak of the sentence. it could've been the question of the year and he'd still dodge it.

sukuna invited himself over since he ran out of entertainment options and you're always there for him. unfortunately, you do not find him as entertainin. he's annoying, arrogant, and attractive so it cancels out the negatives about him.

of course, sukuna caught the remote. his athletic capabilities are its prime despite him being dormant for centuries. it'd be a white lie to say he's not interested in your question, however it is way more benefitting to push your buttons.

he throws the remote back onto your bed, drying his hands with your hand-towel before making his merry way to you.

“your bed's small.”

“well no shit. it's for ME.”

“you mad? you look mad.” his hand holds your chin, turning your head side-to-side to observe your expression.

you rolled your eyes, “i don't get mad that easily.”

“is this how people felt when i told them an obvious lie? i should repent.”

[confessedlyfannish]

Six Years Ago

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Sam watches Danny wash the dishes in their kitchen, quietly humming to himself, and wonders how many more days they'll get like this. She comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his torso, resting her forehead against the plane of his shoulder.

He leans his head back until it rests against the top of hers, and they stand there as her hand creeps up to rest on his heart. Danny turns the sink off and they breathe together, slowly.

"Hey," he says, putting his hand on top of hers. His hand is warm. "Still here."

Sam rubs her cheek against the thin cotton of his shirt, and he pulls their intertwined hands to his mouth to kiss her palm.

She pulls away.

"Sam?"

"You talked to Clockwork, didn't you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he stiffens.

"I saw the pause," she says, tracing the edge of the table they picked out together. "Before you took the kid to Frostbite."

"Sam..."

"I know you were going to tell me. I just thought I'd beat you to it."

"Because I know what you're going to say—"

"Make me a vessel."

"Sam, no," Danny grabs her hands, squeezing. "Please, don't ask me to do that."

"I started all of this, the day I dared you to go into that portal," she says, putting a hand on the face already mouthing a no.

"I don't regret what happened," Danny says.

"Neither do I," she smiles lightly. "I asked you to go in again, remember? I've killed you twice now, and maybe it says something about me that I never felt all that bad about it."

"We were kids," Danny says.

Sam shrugs. "I heard you scream. Both times."

"I'm not as strong as you," Danny whispers.

"I know," she says. "That's why you need me."

Danny's eyes flick up towards the ceiling, in the direction of the guest bedroom. "He's awake," he says.

"Let me talk to him," she grabs the pill bottle resting beside them, turning towards the stairs "You freak him out."

Danny catches her wrist. "I can't ask you...I can't ask you to do this for me."

"You're crazy if you think I'd let you do this alone."

"You hate organized government," he blurts out. Sam laughs.

"Hardly what this is, first of all, second," she smirks, "I guess we'll have to make some changes."

"It'll be hard."

"It's been hard before."

"We'll have to fight."

"Done that too, once or twice."

"And we won't be able to..."

"Yeah," Sam says, resting her forehead against his. "I know."

"You can still walk away from this," his eyes scream for her to stay.

"You're my family. End of."

"I'll change."

"Yes, absolute power tends to do that. You won't be good, because you can't be with all that power, and you might even be evil or worse, ignorant. Someday you'll be stopped. Someday you'll have to be stopped. You're," she swallows, voice cracking. "You're dooming yourself Danny."

"Yes. Please don't ask me to doom you too."

"I don't know," she winds her arm around his neck and presses their lips together, her lipstick staining his lips blue-black. "Sounds pretty goth to me."

"That's dumb," a voice pipes up. They both turn in surprise to see the kid standing in the doorway. With his arm bandaged, his leg splinted and face pale, he still looks pretty worse for wear. He's holding onto the arch for support, and in the other hand he's clutching a crocheted green stuffie of a ghost, complete with red eyes and a black-stitched smile. Upright, he's smaller than Sam thought.

"Absolute power doesn't make you evil. My dad is super strong, stronger than anybody on Earth, he could do whatever he wanted, and no one would be able to stop him," the boy rambles. "But he doesn't, 'cause he wouldn't ever, 'cause he doesn't want to, and that'll never change. Never. He's good. If you want to be good, you be good."

He frowns hard at them, as if willing them to be good with his gaze alone.

Sam glances at Danny, and watches his face go from stunned to inexplicably fond.

"You're right," he says quietly. "Adults can really complicate things sometimes, huh?"

"All the time," the kid says with exasperation, the most put-upon look on his face that Sam has to abruptly turn away before she busts a gut.

"Why can't I fly?" the kid demands. "And why is your hair black?"

"Permission to approach?" Sam asks, putting her hands up when the kid takes a hurried step back. The kid eyes the bottle in her hand and she puts it back on the table, pulling a chair out for him. He chooses to warily limp past her instead, but murmurs a "thank you" as he sits that has both adults biting back grins, especially when it is clear his feet only skim the ground.

"Not going to lie, kiddo, really thought you'd try climbing out the window," Danny says. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Yes, please," the child says. He mutters something.

"What was that?" Sam asks, smile widening.

"It was too high," the kid repeats, petulantly. "Seeing as I can't fly." He accepts the water with another thank you. He eyes the pill bottle again. "What're those?"

"This," Sam says, scooping it up and giving it a shake. "Is for you." She places it in front of him, and he cautiously takes it.

"Medicine?" he asks.

"Yup, you got it!" Danny says, rummaging through the fridge. "Are you hungry?"

"There's no label on it," the kid says, eyes narrowed.

"That's because we had it made especially for you," Danny explains, unwrapping a turkey sandwich and placing it in front of him. As if on cue, the kid's stomach growls loudly.

The child seems to abruptly realize he is still holding the toy, flushing. He still carefully places it on the chair beside him. Danny beams in its direction.

"Glad you like Blobert, my Dad made him."

"Blobert?"

"The Third," Sam says with solemnity. "Danny's dad is big into crocheting." He'd found it to be a nice outlet outside of ghost hunting, and now their house was full of slightly wonky-looking stuffed ghosts.

"My dad knits," the kid offers around a big bite of sandwich. "Gran taught him when he was little. He says it's relaxing."

"Knitting and crocheting involves teeny little stitches to create something big, right?" Danny says. The kid nods. "People are kind of the same way. We're made up of things called cells, which are super super small, too small for us to see. There's skin cells, and hair cells, and mouth and hand cells. There are pinky toe cells!" Danny exclaims.

"Each cell has a job, like some cells fight germs when you get sick, and that's how you get better. Does that make sense?"

The child nods.

"Other cells make sure that when you eat food, like your yummy turkey sandwich, is it yummy?" He nods again. "Phew! Between us, I'm not that good a cook."

"I liked the mac n' cheese," The boy says quietly.

"You did? I made that," Sam says triumphantly, while Danny obviously sulks. The boy giggles.

"Well," Danny says loudly, "when it comes to your obviously amazingly mind-blowing-ly delicious turkey sandwich, and Sam's okay mac n' cheese—"

"Hey!"

"There are cells that take that food and make sure each cell eats so it can do its job. And if all the cells are doing their jobs then you can do stuff like walk and run or in your case, fly."

"But I've been eating," the kid says, frowning. "And I can walk and run fine."

"You're a bit more special than that," Sam says, taking over. "Most people eat food and their cells know what to do. But some of your cells need some help knowing what to do. It's kind of like they're sleeping and we need to wake them up."

"Do you remember when we first met, and I took you to the sun?" Danny asks. The boy tenses, which is a yes. "I won't do that again, not without your permission. But we realized you needed that, sunlight. It helps wake up your cells."

"Yeah, that makes sense," the boy says slowly. Danny and Sam exchange a look over his head.

"Did you already know that?" Danny asks gently.

"My dad...he needs sunlight too. Sorta."

"Kiddo," Danny says, "the truth is, this isn't your world. Which I think you already know, yeah?"

The boy puts down his sandwich. "Yeah," he says, staring at his plate, and Sam wants to scoop him up and hold him close and tell him everything will be alright.

"Hey, I know it's scary, but we'll figure it out, okay? We're going to get you home, I promise."

The boy's head shoots up. "You know how to get me home?"

"We'll figure it out," Danny repeats. When uncertainty creeps into the boy's face, Danny shakes his head. "No, none of that. We know how you got here. If we time it correctly, we should be able to get you back."

"And in the meantime, you can stay with us," Sam says. The boy turns to her, surprised. "If you want to."

"With you?"

"Me and Blobert the Third. Oh, and Danny I suppose."

"Hey!"

The kid barely smiles. "You can really get me home?"

"Yes, but it might take some time. And while you're here, you'll have to take those," Danny nods at the pill bottle. "Our sun and your sun are different. It's kind of like it's speaking a different language than the one your cells understand, so they're having trouble knowing what to do. Those pills will help."

The kid looks suspiciously at the bottle, then them, then the bottle. And because he is just a kid, stranded and alone in an unfamiliar world while sick and in pain, the suspicion quickly gives way to fear.

"I forgot," Sam declares abruptly, "How unbelievably rude of me! My name is Sam. Samantha Manson," she offers the kid her hand to shake. "And that," she jabs a thumb in Danny's direction, "is Daniel James Fenton. But he also goes by Danny Phantom."

Sam leans in. "But kid, here's the thing. Remember how you asked why his hair is black?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, Phantom is actually Danny's superhero name. Except for me and a few other people, nobody knows Danny Phantom and Danny James Fenton are the same person."

"Wait," the boy says incredulously. "Are you telling me Danny Fenton is his secret identity?"

"Yup," Sam says, blinking as the boy gets more agitated. but keeping her tone level. Danny nods along. "Exactly what I'm saying."

"And you told me?" the boy cries. "You just met me! What if I was a bad person?"

"What if," Danny says, eyes bright.

"What if, indeed," Sam concurs.

"This isn't funny! Secret identities are important, you can't just go around telling people!"

"They are. It would be really bad if you told people Danny was Phantom, actually. But trust is a two-way street, have you heard that phrase before? We want you to trust us, so we're gonna trust you. Starting with Danny's secret identity." The boy stares, stunned.

Sam continues; "Kid, we'll always be honest with you. If you stay with us, we'll tell you whatever you want to know. And we'll keep you safe, until we can get you home to your dad."

"We'll tell you whatever you want to know even if you don't stay with us," Danny says quickly. "And we'll also get you home. But even if it's not with us, you need somewhere to stay. You need regular meals, and a bed to sleep in, and even if it's super boring, school,"

"I like school," the kid blurts.

"Oh? Which grade are you in?"

"I was going to start sixth after summer break..." the kid swallows suddenly.

"Wow, a middle schooler! That's old!" Danny says, attempting to distract him. "Here I thought you were seven!"

"I'm ten!" the kid says, bristling and blinking back tears.

"You must've been looking forward to it," Sam says, shooting Danny a glare. The child rubs furiously at his face. Danny comes around to his other side, crouching down.

"I was...I was going to go to school with my best friend, and I tried on the uniform and it was so cool...and I'd never been to a school with a uniform before and my Mom said we'd have a fitting in September," the boy is picking up speed, "but I wanted to be more like my dad and understand who I was because I feel weird and my powers feel weird and my grandpa said it would help and it would be important," the boy begins crying in earnest, "It wasn't supposed to be forever! It was just for a little while, and then I'd go back to school but I thought it sounded so cool and people looked up to me and I wanted to help and I told my mom I'd be okay so she left and—" Danny pulls the boy into a hug and he collapses into his shoulder, sobbing.

"We'll get you home, hey, hey, it's going to be okay—"

"I don't even know how to take pills!" The boy wails. "My leg hurts!"

"That's because you walked on it, silly goose," Danny says, standing up with the boy still in his arms. He clings to him like a koala. "We'll fix it. Hey, look at me. I'll fix it. Kiddo—"

"My name is Jon!" the boy wails louder.

"Jon, I've got you. I've got you, it'll be okay. I promise it'll be okay."

Oh, Sam thinks, watching Danny cradle the boy. This is going to break his heart.

Part Six

[watarfallar]

since y'all like the incorrect quotes so much, here's some more!

Grian, on the phone: So no head? Grian: *Throws phone and breaks skateboard*

Bdubs: Do you love Grian? Scar: Yeah, I do. Bdubs: Etho! I told you I knew it! You owe me 100 bucks! Etho: We all love Grian. You should've asked if they were IN love with them. Scar: I thought that was implied. Etho: ... Bdubs: ... Scar, looking straight at Etho: Congrats Bdubs, you just won 100 bucks.

Bdubs: You know, Grian gives Scar flowers everyday, I wish you'd do that too. Etho: Okay. *Later* Etho: *gives Scar flowers* Scar: ??? Etho: I don't know, I'm confused as well.

Scar: What are you getting Etho for the holidays? Bdubs: I don't know. It's kind of hard buying a gift for your partner when they already got everything they could've ever wanted when they married you. So I'm not sure yet. Grian: I'm getting Etho a divorce lawyer.

Scar: *sees Etho and Bdubs together* Scar: They're cute. I would put them on a boat. Grian: You mean... you ship them?

Scar: Hey Etho, wanna third wheel on my date with Grian tomorrow? Etho: Sure. Scar: Bdubs! Wanna third wheel on my date with Grian tomorrow? Scar: Great! I've always wanted to go on a double date! Etho & Bdubs: ... Grian: Scar...

Bdubs: Why are your tongues purple? Grian: We had slushies. I had a blue one. Scar: I had a red one. Bdubs: oh. Bdubs: Bdubs: OH. Etho: Etho: You drank eachothers slushies?

Grian: I love you. Scar: I love you too. I've waited so long to hear you say that. *Grian and Scar kiss passionately* Etho, to Bdubs: You owe me 20 dollars.

Etho: I never said I was gonna get back together with them. But I was thinking, they're in town, would it be the worst thing in the world if I gave them a call? Scar: No. No, Etho, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would be the fourth worst thing. Number one: a super volcano. Number two: an asteroid hits the Earth. Number three: All the Evel Knievel movies are lost. Number four: Etho calls Bdubs. Number five: Grian gets eaten by a shark. Grian: I’m Grian, and I approve the order of that list.

*Trying to cheer Bdubs after a break up* Grian: You broke up with Etho for a reason. Bdubs: I know, I know. I’m just so tired of missing them. Tired of wondering why they haven’t called. Why haven’t they called? Scar: Maybe because you told them not to. Bdubs: What are you, the Memory Person?

Scar: I'm so happy, I could kiss you! Grian: Um...Neat. *later* Grian, lying face down on their bed: I said "Neat," Etho. Who the fuck says neat these days? It's not neat to say neat but I said it anyways because I'm fucking stupid. Etho, reading a book: Don't beat yourself up too much, Grian. Everyone gets nervous sometimes. Remember what I did when Bdubs confessed their love for me? Grian: Didn't you thank them? Etho: *closes the book and looks at the ceiling* I fucking thanked them.

Scar: *yawns* Grian: Yeah, being that pretty must be tiring. Scar: Then you must be exhuasted. Bdubs: Will you two shut up? Some of us are lonely.

Scar: Why doesn’t Grian find me sexy when I bite my lip? Etho: What do you look like when you bite your lip? Scar: *bites lip* Etho: ...Have you considered biting your bottom lip instead?

[cxtori]

Uramichi Omota ✮ Blessing

Summary: based off of this ask. thank you @adelulugirl, i hope i did your idea justice! 🫶🏽

wc: 1.9k

Genre: fem reader, established relationship, fluff

Warnings: n/a, possibly a bit ooc? i like to think the Uramichi would be more open and playful with his partner

tori's note: this is my first fic request to ever receive 🥹 so happy that it was such a cute scenario with one of my favorite characters. enjoy!

Uramichi opens the apartment door carefully, wincing when the hinges screech loudly, betraying his desire to enter quietly.

He steps inside and closes the door before leaning against it, dropping his bag and slipping off his shoes with a heavy sigh. It had been in his plans to be home about 3 hours earlier, but unfortunately for him, his boss had other plans. A last minute “post-work dinner party” had been planned and, much to Uramichi’s dismay, it wasn’t one he could sneak his way out of.

He’d much rather have been home with you, cuddled on the couch, watching your favorite show, but instead he’d found himself at a barbecue place, surrounded by the scent of smoke and alcohol, his ears ringing with poor Utano’s crying and Usahara’s obnoxious bantering.

Every attempt he made to leave would fail when someone’s arm was thrown over his shoulder or Derekida’s attention was suddenly directed at him. And so, he remained. At least until everyone was drunk enough to not notice him slipping out the door.

Fast forward three hours of social torture and here he was, tired, grumpy, and, as usual, dreading having to go to work the next morning.

It had been an exhausting day and an even more exhausting evening, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with your warmth to lull him to sleep. He glances at the little, decorative clock you’d bought to put in the living room, one of the many hints to your presence in his life that have appeared since you moved in.

9pm. Typically, you would still be awake, but typically Uramichi would be home by now as well. Without him there to keep you up, you were likely in bed asleep, exhausted by your own stressful workday.

He steps quietly towards the bedroom, poking his head in to scope out the situation. He finds his suspicions to be correct when he sees you wrapped tightly in the sheets, passed out and unaware of his presence.

He walks closer to the bed, admiring the way the moonlight illuminates the soft, relaxed look upon your face as you sleep peacefully. His hand reaches for your face, calloused fingers grazing your cheek as he tucks a few stray hairs behind your ear, and a smile spreads across his lips. Voices suddenly echo in his head when he remembers a conversation with his co-workers from mere hours ago.

He was zoned out, mindlessly watching the bubbles in his beer swirl around as the others spoke about he-didn’t-know-what. It was the only way he was going to get through this dinner, so he let his mind wander to anywhere but here. His attention was only brought back when he heard your name mentioned.

“Yeah, honestly, finding out about Y/n was a bit of a shock,” Utano said, dragging Uramichi’s thoughts back to earth. He looked up to find his fellow cast-member’s eyes all on him, like they were expecting something.

“Hmm, what?” He said, completely lost as to why he was suddenly the center of attention.

“Your girl, Y/n!” Usahara said as he jabbed at Uramichi’s side with is elbow. “We were just talking about how surprising it was when you introduced us to her.”

“We wondered if you would ever find someone,” Utano muttered, earning nods and hums from everyone around the table.

“Is that seriously something you were worried about?” Uramichi exasperated, looking at everyone around the table as they all gave him small, sympathetic smiles that wordlessly answered his question. His eyes eventually landed on Kumatani who, despite his lack of a smile, Uramichi could tell agreed. “You too?”

“It… was a mild concern,” Kumatani admitted, making Uramichi sigh defeatedly.

“We thought you’d be alone forever!” Iketeru chimed in his usual happy and upbeat tone, not quite fitting the statement he’d made.

“And I still can’t believe you got a girlfriend before me,” Usahara cried, earning annoyed glares from everyone.

Uramichi had rolled his eyes at his friend’s comments, even though he'd be lying if he said he hadn't feared the same. You were a blessing in his eyes. One that he wasn't confident he would ever receive. But here you were, against all odds and doubts. And now he couldn’t imagine life without you.

The weight of exhaustion hits him suddenly as he feels his eyelids grow heavy, begging him to crawl into bed and join you in your peaceful sleep.

He steps away from the bed and begins digging blindly through his drawers in search of sleepwear, pulling out a shirt and pants. He does his best to get dressed quietly so to not wake you, opting to leave his clothes in the floor than stumble to the hamper. But when his foot smacks against the bedframe and a pained yelp instinctively escapes his lungs, he knows it was a pointless effort.

He holds his breath (and whimpers) when he hears you shuffle under the sheets, and his heart drops when you soon sit up in the bed.

“Michi?” Your voice whispers, heavy with sleep and confusion. You rub your eyes and blink at him in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.

Uramichi sighs and picks up his clothes from the floor, deciding he might as well put them away now. It’s not like his blind stumbling will wake you up anymore than he already has.

“What time is it?” You mumble as you squint at the clock, unable to make it out. Uramichi’s gaze follows yours to the digital clock that has made a new home on his nightstand rather than his bed. Another small sign of your presence.

“9:08,” he says as he walks back to the bed, though cautiously. He sits down beside you, resting his back against the cool surface of the headboard. “Much later than I expected to be back. Sorry about that.” You shake your head, dismissing his apology.

“Don’t apologize. I know how those ‘mandatory parties’ can be,” you say with a light giggle. Your laughter eases Uramichi’s worry and brings a smile to his face, as it always does.

You move closer to him to rest your head on his chest as your arms snake around him in a tight hug. He instinctively raises his arm and drapes it over you, enveloping you in his warmth. You sit there in silence for a moment, hearing nothing but the steady beating of his heart as he drags a hand tenderly over your hair.

These were the moments you both enjoyed the most. The peace, the quiet, the way you would silently express your love and care for each other with nothing but simple actions. It’s what made the long and stressful days worth it.

“How was work?” You ask softly.

“The usual,” Uramichi sighs, his voice vibrating in his chest against your ear. “I think I tweaked something in my back again, but that’s nothing new. How about you?”

“Ugh, terrible,” you groan. “I got yelled at by three customers today. Told my boss I never want to work in the clothing department ever again,” you huff, being just a little bit overdramatic, drawing a quiet laugh from Uramichi.

His arm around you loosens as he shifts under you, moving away to look you in the eyes with a sweet smile that never fails to give you butterflies. That soft, genuine upturn of his lips that, to others, was a rare occurrence, but to you, was a gift you got to receive every single day.

He leans down to you and places his lips tenderly against your forehead, a simple but loving gesture that pulls a giggle from your lips. As he begins to pull away, you quickly wrap your arms around his neck to prevent him from moving any further before pressing your lips against his forehead, goofily returning the action. You eventually pull back and laugh in a way that makes him go weak.

His eyes flit over your content, sleep-laden face, and his mind reflects once more on the earlier conversation.

Before meeting you, he had finally come to terms with the possibility of never finding “the one”. And then you appeared, making his fear disappear. Words couldn’t begin to express how grateful he was for you, he just hoped you understood.

His heart twists in such a joyous way that it’s almost painful. It’s ironic really. How something can make you so happy that it causes you to ache. Of all the things he’s experienced that he thought might end him, none were as bad as this. You would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

He moves his face closer to you, his lips grazing just over yours as though to tease you.

“I really love you, you know,” he whispers, his lips bumping against yours with every syllable, sending a sharp chill though your body.

“Of course, I know that, silly,” you whisper back. You drag your hand up his torso, fingers lightly tracing his defined muscles as they make their way up to his neck, tangling in his hair.

You tug on his hair in a silent plea and he obliges, his lips connecting with yours in a warm, tingling kiss. Your lips move slowly, almost lazily, and yet it still feels energizing. You part, your light pants filling the otherwise silent room.

“I love you too,” you say, bringing your hands from around his neck to his face, brushing back his messy hair and cupping his cheeks in your palms. He raises a hand, wrapping it around your wrist as his thumb strokes over it.

He leans his body against yours, carefully pushing you back into the pillows before kissing you once more. His tongue swipes over your lips before giving them a light nip, making your mind go numb. His hands slide down your sides to your hips, grasping them firmly as he pulls you closer to him.

His lips move from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses behind. He caresses the sensitive skin behind your ear, lightly enough to tickle and causing you to laugh.

"Michi!" You scold jokingly and smack him on the shoulder. He gives his own soft laugh and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you and resting his body on top of yours.

“My little blessing,” he mumbles absentmindedly against your neck. You give a contented hum as you slip your hands under his shirt and drag them up and down his back, your nails scratching gently at his skin.

Comfortable silence encircles you again and exhaustion pulls at your eyelids. However, with your boyfriend almost crushing you, sleep is just out of reach.

“As comfortable as this is…" You start with a pat on the man's back. "I must say, you’re kinda impairing my ability to breathe."

"Oh," Uramichi says as he clumsily shifts himself to lay beside you, keeping his arms entwined around your waist. "Sorry," he says, and you can tell by his voice that sleep has almost claimed him as well.

You turn in his arms to face him, enamored by the way the moonlight highlights his handsome features, reflecting in his silky, brown hair. To him, you were his blessing, but little did he know that you felt the same way about him. You weren’t sure what you did to deserve this man. All you know is that you would do it a million times over if it meant it would lead you back to him.

“Goodnight,” you say and stretch to place another quick peck on his lips. But you don’t receive a response, a soft snore telling you that he was no longer conscious. It had certainly been a long day.

You smile to yourself and close your eyes as you press your face into his chest, letting your own body finally give in to the sleep it so desired.

©Cxtori 2023 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs much appreciated!

[komoboko]

𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Muichiro tokito x gn!reader ・can be read as platonic or romantic ・heavy angst ・muichiro lives in this scenario hurt no comfort ・major kny spoilers ・major character death

Am I a bundle of joy be honest

The day of your death was something Muichiro didn’t think he would ever forget. Memorization was never his strong suit but he knew this would be something that would haunt him.

He never thought of the possibility of loosing you. He knew the mortality rate in the infinity castle was low, even lower when it came to putting yourself on the front line. He just never thought that you would fall along with the many other slayers that loss their lives that same night. He never thought about coming back home alone, how you wouldn’t be making the journey back to see everybody along with him.

His mind is burnt with the image of your body mutilated, blood poured out of you. There was so much blood, to much where anybody would know you were beyond saving. Uppermoon 1, his ancestor had finally crumbled into dust but at what cost? The cost of you being left to rot on the floor until the castle would crumble and destroy itself underneath its own weight? Why did you have to suffer? Why did you have to leave him behind?

7 days. It’s been 7 days since you died and Muichiro struggles, moving slowly through the stages of grief.

It’s difficult for him to look into any photos that included you. His grief that morphed into anger that he expressed alone in the defeating silence of your room. It hurts him to be in there, the memories of you and your presence weigh him down. He doesn’t want to accept the fact you would never return. That your body would never find peace as it was crumbled and turned to ash. That you had to leave him alone on this earth. It hurt him alot it was difficult for him to handle so much grief. It reminded him of the detain of his brother, a memory he didn’t want to remember either.

Death was something that seemed to follow him. His blood flowed with the remains of the Tsugikuni family lineage. A bloodline that was considered some sort of curse, a force of evil and failure for 500 years. Muichiro only lingers in your room, standing in the middle of the room while his eyes face down on the floor. He didn’t want to look up, be met with photos where your eyes were filled with so much light. He couldn’t find it in him to look at your face, the memory of your body still so fresh inside of his mind. It hurt, a pain he didn’t want to bare.

1 month. It’s been a month since the final night before demons were vanquished. It’s then when muichiro memory problem begins to fail him.

When he looks at flowers his chest stings but he doesn’t know why. He walks past places that feel so familiar to him but he can’t remember why it hurts to be around there. Details about you that used to come to him like second nature slowly seep from his mind. He knows your name, your face, your occupation, your birthday, your death date but after that he doesn’t seem to remember anymore. He knows you but knowing you to such a personal level slowly starts to decline.

Your room is still left untouched despite all of this. Your haori that you left on the bed before you went to the infinity castle still lays there untouched. Everything in place how you left it like you would come back and fix it. It hurts him still to walk in there. A burden in his shoulders, one that he doesn’t know how to get rid of. Death was a heavy weight he’s always has had to carry and he wishes he never had to in the first place.

3 months. Things seem to get worse, Muichiro now begins to question even more about things in his own home.

Your room is some place where he’s filmed with less pain and now more confusion. He looks at the things left inside of your room and wonders why they were there. He stares at pictures of you left in there, he knows who’s in the picture yet he doesn’t know why he has it. He knows it’s you, he remembers you but why were you in his home? Why was there a portrait of you and him together that was left on the counter. Why was there a picture of you left on his bedside table.

He knows he couldn’t forget you, he mustn’t but he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why you play such a signifiant part in the space taken up in his estate. He doesn’t know why you take up such an important place in his heart. Why it hurts so much to see you, even if you look so happy in the picture he has right next to his bed. Why does somebody make him feel so much pain even if he has yet to see them in so long?

6 months. 6 months has gone by since the final battle and muichiro has changed.

Tanjiro who was fully healed now, took the liberty to go and visit muichiro once again. He’s sent him letters in the mail multiple times in the past but it’s always good to see people in person. Tanjiro was happy to see Muichiro outside of his estate, taking up on his request to go out and grab something to eat. Maybe visit some of the now retired hashira’s along the way.

The boy went to muichiro estate to start their trip. He waited by the door for a minute but it wasn’t long for Muichiro to come and open it. He smiled greeting the long haired boy before taking the liberty to step inside. His eyes follow around to see some things have changed. Furniture has moved around and there was boxes near by the door, what tanjiro had assumed was things he planned to get rid off.

His eyes fall onto one box that catches his attention. He strolls over before leaning down to grab a picture that was left on top of the box. Blowing off the dust that covered the photo he found a picture of you. A smile fell on Tanjiro’s face before he turns to muichiro pointing towards the photo. “They were always such a lovely person weren’t they?” Tanjiro says looking down at the photo catching Muichiro’s attention.

Muichiro only stares at the photo in Tanjiro’s hand. His face blank, a usual expression to be seen on his face. Muichiro stays quiet for a moment before opening his mouth, he only had one thing to say.

“Who?”

[lovexjoe]

In Love With A Stripper Part 2

warning: alcohol, mention of death and language

Armando pulls the car to the back, taking in her attire: he smiles on the inside. She looks beautiful like this, not that bullshit she’s forced to wear. He gets out and opens the door for her. Thanking him, she mentally gives out one more prayer that this man isn’t going to kill her and hops in.

She was shocked cause she could never imagine being in a car like this, it would take her a lifetime to even buy this. The ride was silent, as she looks out the window taking in the scenery of Mexicos city lights. She’s been here on this side of town before with Andres, but she just couldn’t remember exactly. His right hand reaches for hers, she could have sworn her heart skipped a beat. His hand much larger than hers, engulfed her small one with warmth. She intertwine their fingers together and he rubs her hand with his thumb.

She’s really in the car with a drug dealer who could potentially make her disappear off the face of the earth. Yet she felt the most safest in his presence. The car pulls into a gated mansion, he spoke to the gate to confirm his ID and they headed inside.

“Do you trust me?” He looks over at her and she looks back not saying a word. Just looking at him with those doe eyes. She gives his hand a squeeze confirm that she’s okay but he knew he wouldn’t get an answer so easily. He hands his key off to a guard, opening her door for her and leading the way up the stairs. This is where he lives?! Why not just stop drug dealing and retire? He is set for fucking life. This could have potentially been her life with Andres if he was connected with the right people. She pushes the thought away cause it’ll only sour the mood.

They entered his bedroom and it was exactly the way she thought it was gonna be. Crispy clean and all black. There wasn’t a single spect of color in this room: dark and depressing. They sit outside on his balcony enjoying the city lights as they pour up a drink. He breaks the silence first.

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name…..Luna.” She takes a sip of her drink. The mixture of rum and coke easing her nerves.

“Nah that’s not you mami. The real you.” He turns his body to her, giving her all his attention. Her eyes could easily captivate someone yet here she was feeling hot and shy under his gaze.

“Xiomara…” she sips her drink again, numbing her nerves.

“Es bonita, mami” he says giving her a smile, first one of the night and it took all her suspicions away.

“He smiles! So you’re not gonna kill me, thank god!” She puts her hand on her heart and lets out a joking breath. For the first time in a long time he lets out an honest laugh. He’s never brought anyone back home, he’s always had his fun outside and returned to his empty room. But her, for some reason he wants to do things to her but he wanted more. But he can’t want more. This was for one night he reminded himself.

“Tell me about yourself” She takes in his question, wondering if she should be an open book or pick out things that were true and fill the rest in with white lies. She probably wasn’t going to see him ever again so why not?

“I came here two years ago with my boyfriend, he was a drug dealer. I didn’t know much but he had food on the table and we were gonna build a life here. He got killed during a deal gone bad and I-I had to verify the body at the scene because his mom couldn’t go….” She takes another sip. The alcohol causing her mouth to vent all the feelings she’s been holding in for a year now.

“A month after Andres passing I found out I was pregnant. It would have probably been smarter to just not continue with the pregnancy but he’s the last thing I have letting me know that Andres was real. Things have been hard so I strip to save pay the bills and my day job helps me save” Armando’s jaw clenched at the mention of her late boyfriend’s name.

“I’m sorry that you’re going through this.”

“Don’t do that….dont pity me. It sucks but there’s someone out there having it much worse than me.” He nods his head raising his glass to cheers to that.

“Tell me about you….or whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Just one night right? He wasn’t going to see her again and it’s not like anyone would believe her anyway.

“My mom’s in prison right now. She gave birth to me in prison, I was raised there till I was 6 and then they sent me off with someone to the cartel. Here I am….” He sighs and gulps the rest of his drink.

“See? I told you somebody else has it worse than me. Thank you for that.” Laughter filled the room, she notices the crinkle in his eyes when he smiles. He looked much younger when he let some happiness enter his empty heart.

“Armando? Why am I here? If you wanted to have sex…we cou-“

She stops talking when he stands up pulling her close, his hand caressing her cheek. She doesn’t know what he wants. He knows what he wants but he’s not going to admit because it’s insane. They just met.

“I can tell that this isn’t something you do. And after hearing what you been through…I want you but I’m not touching you until you beg me to….” The way he’s looking at her like he wants to devour her, she so badly wants to give in. He picks her up and carries her to his bed. She sits at the edge of his bed while he picks out some clothes for her.

Yes Armando Aretas a fucking cartel is picking out clothes for a stripper he’s beyond fond of. Boy would his mom be having a fit if she could see this. She changes in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror and smiling. He’s definitely not what she thought he would be. She leans her head down to the black shirt, taking in his divine scent. Once she reenters the room, Tom and Jerry reruns were on the tv and he looked too cute under the covers.

Shirtless…..

How was she going to control herself? She had to or else she would look to easy. She can’t and she won’t!

She got in bed, keeping a certain distance between them. His hand trailing across her exposed skin on her inner thigh. She looked better in his clothing than he did.

“I don’t bite mami, come here” he pulls her close, his hand slipping under the shirt and resting on her stomach. He places a kiss on her temple as they both watched the tv till they fell asleep.

~~~~~~~

The sun creeps through his window, causing Xio to walk up in bed alone. The tv still running some outdated cartoons. Her bedside had roses and a letter.

“I had some business to take care of. There’s a driver and duffel bag waiting for you. I will see you soon - Love Armando”

She heads into the restroom and where she had a brand new toothbrush and a toiletry bag filled with products: expensive ones too waiting for her. This man really had everything accessible for him. She started to wonder how many girls he did this for. Looking at her phone, she realizes she doesn’t have time to wait around as she needs to grab Ricky from his grandma’s. She hurries up changing into her clothes from last night and heading downstairs. Did she keep his shirt? Yup, something to remember him in case she doesn’t hear from him again.

The driver hands her the small duffel bag and she gets into the car and giving him directions to her house. Reminiscing about the little commentary they had while watching looney tunes. How it felt being held by him all night. This was it for them. She doesn’t think he’ll reach out. He knows where she works but….maybe she’s just overthinking.

Andres’ mom sent her a message letting her know that she will stay with Ricky today if she wanted some time to herself. She sighs with relief, she could use a few hours to rejuvenate since she’s teaching again tomorrow. As the driver drops her off, she strolls inside and setting the bag down. She took a look inside and

Wow….she had enough money to stop stripping for a while….

The bag had a small pocket on the side so she decided to open it and what she noticed wasn’t something she was happy about.

She lets out a cry….

She pulls out Andres cross necklace …..

Taglist: @yeahnohoneybye @cardi-bre91 @onlysarang @romanreignsluver1 @minwn

@armandosbabymama @dyttomori @bbyplutosblog @vergilnelosparda @believeinthefireflies95 @cardi-bre91

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS YQY Fan Fic Round up!

Ok, I finally have them all together! Please enjoy these fanfics, and if you have any to recomend that's not on here, feel free to say! I'll add it later!

First off, The YQY Weekend 2023 AO3 collection and The QiJiu Week 2023 I'm going to recommend as the entire pages! Great places to go find a fanfic to enjoy! Some might be double recomanded, but some should be unique!

Mouse On The Thorn by Lbhs_left_tiddie

On a mission, Yue Qingyuan comes across an omega child, who shares a name and a startling resemblance with his favourite shidi. Shen Qingqiu, however, denies knowing such a child, and make it very clear he wants nothing to do with him.

Without any family or home, Yue Qingyuan instead offers to take care of the child.

Palimpsest by Azzandra

Yue Qingyuan has one giant blindspot as a sect leader, and that's Shen Qingqiu.

But now a curse has made him forget Shen Qingqiu, and that changes some things.

gather jewels from graveyards by formerlyknives 

When strange rumours reach Cang Qiong, Shen Yuan is a little slow to investigate.

He lives to regret it.

The number children by Angry_gremlin_commando

Ten-year-old Mobei Wu, fifth son of the current Mobei-Jun, gets stranded in the human realm after one of his uncle's murder attempts. There he meets fifteen-year-old Yue Qi, fresh out of Lingxi caves and on the way to rescue Shen Jiu.

It turns out even ice demons aren't immune to Yue Qi's Big Brother energy. (This author has a good number of stories to check out! Go look at them!!)

A smile for the master, a snarl for the wolves by Angry_gremlin_commando

Shen Qingqiu and his young disciple Luo Binghe qi-deviate at the same time and swap bodies. It makes them understand some things about each other.

To Plant a Garden by SweetTiramisu

Yue Qingyuan spends so long beneath the earth that he becomes a part of it. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu will plant a garden in him.

Written for Qijiu Week Day 2: Touch Starvation.

bite your way to safety by AMereDream

The Geese come at a time that neither Shen Jiu nor Yue Qi considers ideal. They make it work. (This author has so many good fics! Go read them! This is just the one I chose to put on this list!)

You Were You, And I Was I by MissMegh

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan qi deviate and turn into their teenaged selves. They don't know who they become. They don't remember the worst moments of their lives. They only know they're together again.

Pretty soon everyone on Cang Qiong Mountain knows they are, too.

Our Sect Leader Is A Baby! by dryingmangoes

Yue Qingyuan gets deaged. Somehow this changes everything.

for day 2 of qijiu week blessing/curse

Treading Well-Worn Paths by mofumofu

After Shen Qingqiu married Luo Binghe, Yue Qingyuan thought his role in the man’s life was over.

However, as he carried the child-sized lord of Qing Jing Peak in his arms, he was grateful for this unexpected opportunity to bond with the person he cherished most.

Shen Yuan, meanwhile, wondered desperately where the hell he was.

hey, share the weight a little by Tossawary

Shang Qinghua is miserable as an outer disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, doubtful that the plot will ever begin, when he finally runs into his first character. Yue Qingyuan is only a boy in desperate need of a helpful friend. Well, why shouldn't Shang Qinghua be that friend? A little investment now when they're young and Shang Qinghua might just be able to survive this world with the support of a sect leader.

It's definitely not because he's also in desperate need of a friend.

(He's definitely not expecting love.)

you're my number one by pennydaniels

Yue Qingyuan is granted a chance to have his heart's deepest desire made real by a mysterious goddess living in a small sect's private temple.

The Evening by kat8cha

Yue Qingyuan wakes up, he gets dressed, he goes to work, he goes to the gym, he goes to a party.

He pays people to tell him what to wear, people to tell him where to be, people to tell him what to do, and pays for someone else's engagement party.

A broken mirror restored by bunnyfication

Yue Qingyuan is hit over the head with the realization that he could ask Shen Qingqiu to marry him, Shen Qingqiu's suspicious mind cannot make sense of the sequence of events. Yue Qingyuan would never, would he? What is this, mind control??? (it's happiness, but neither of them has ever felt it before).

nobody, nobody told me by AMereDream

“Qingqiu-shidi,” he started. “Are you al—”

Xiao Jiu tugged, surprisingly strong for someone who had collapsed out of nowhere less than an hour before. Yue Qingyuan followed, partly out of surprise and partly because it was Xiao Jiu; of course he’d go wherever Xiao Jiu wanted him to be.

He found himself being dragged onto the bed, only the thin sheets separating him from Xiao Jiu's body. His breath caught in his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut.

Xiao Jiu's bony elbows dug into his chest, his thin — too thin, having skipped too many meals even for someone who didn’t need to eat — shoulders curved to meet Yue Qingyuan’s body.

His long hair tickled Yue Qingyuan’s face. He smelled like the honeyed soap he washed his hair with. Yue Qingyuan inhaled covertly, deep and greedy.

 

One morning, Shen Qingqiu woke up a changed man. Yue Qingyuan is left trying to figure out what happened to make him so relaxed and affectionate.

[trashpandato]

Twilight

“In hindsight, I probably should have known what it meant,” Alex groans, bringing both hands up to cover her face. “I made sure that I only hung up the posters that had Kristen Stewart on them.”

Kara remembers all those posters, the too pale boys possessively flanking the movies’ main female character. She’d always wondered why Alex was so into the Twilight series; they were all just…so bad. Now it made more sense.

“Aw, babe,” Kelly teases, “let me know if you want me to reenact any of your teenage dreams about biting. I’m game.”

Alex groans again, but this time it’s accompanied by a bright blush. 

Laughter fills the room. They’ve been sharing stories about their first significant celebrity crushes for the last few minutes, the board game temporarily abandoned in front of them.

Kara has learned that Nia had a thing for Keanu Reeves after watching that bomb on a bus movie one too many times, but that she also “wouldn’t have kicked Sandra Bullock off her bed”, as she put it. 

Brainy mentioned that he went through a rather intense phase of trying to learn more about Earth culture, specifically American pop culture, and that he got stuck on the OG Wonder Woman, Lynda Carter, for a while. Not a bad choice, Kara thinks while Nia jokes that she’d be more than happy to tie him up with a lasso. 

Kelly then rattles off a few actors that Kara thinks were on the L Word, with a particular emphasis on Jennifer Beals. Kara half expects Alex to make a joke about Flashdance, but instead, Alex simply leans into Kelly and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. 

When they get to Kara, she has to disappoint.

“I don’t think I have anything to offer here. Not really.”

Alex hums. “The posters on your walls were all images from the Hubble telescope. I mean, I know you liked NSYNC for their music, but I don’t think you ever swooned over any of them. Not really. There was definitely a mental love affair with Lilo and Stitch, though.”

When Alex mentions the Hubble images, Kara feels a cool pale hand slip into hers to give it a short squeeze. It’s brief, a quick show of support, but it means everything to Kara. She turns to Lena and smiles gratefully. At the same time, the attention of the rest of their friend group shifts to Lena as well.

But Lena just shrugs. “I definitely wasn’t allowed to hang up any posters in the Luthor mansion.”

“Yeah, but what about boarding school? Come on, Luthor,” Alex probes, “you can’t tell me there wasn’t a ton of celebrity gossip going around at an all-girls school.”

“Oh there was gossip alright. I can’t say I ever really knew what it was about, though. I didn’t really watch movies or TV growing up, so most of the names the girls were talking about meant nothing to me.”

This time, it’s Kara who squeezes Lena’s hand. She knows that Lena doesn’t like to talk about what growing up was like for her. She doesn’t like the pitying looks, or the constant assumptions that just because her family was rich, Lena must have had everything she ever wanted. But before the mood in the room turns too gloomy, Lena sits up a little, a small smirk on her face.

“So maybe I was a bit of a late bloomer that way. I would say I had my first real celebrity crush in my early 20s.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

“Oh really? Who was it?” Nia asks gleefully.

“Well, I was still in Metropolis at the time. But I had watched them on TV, followed their budding celebrity status.”

Lena pauses for a moment before she turns to face Kara more fully.

“And then I gave Jack Spheer an impassioned speech about why I had to move to National City, about how important it was to me to be the Luthor living in the same city as Supergirl. I believe I even said I wanted to share my home with her.”

There’s a stunned silence in the room for a few seconds before Alex barks out a laugh.

“Really? Your celebrity crush was Supergirl?”

And Kara considers if she should intervene, tell Alex to lay off on the heavy teasing she knows is going to happen now, but Lena is looking at her and she’s still smiling, calm and confident, and Kara simply smiles right back.

Lena chuckles, her eyes never leaving Kara’s. “Of course it was. I mean, have you seen that skintight suit and very, very short skirt she was in at the time?”

“Ugh,” Alex huffs, “I didn’t need to hear that. That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

Lena shrugs again. “You asked, I answered.”

And then she leans in and kisses Kara and Kara makes a mental note to figure out how to send a message to Winn into the future to thank him for his incredibly “male gaze” costume design for her first Supersuit. 

(She does very much prefer the pants these days, though.)

[altocat]

thank you for the answer. i am looking for someone who would be willing to write a quick scene of sephiroth visiting angeal’s grave. i have agreed with the theory that angeal was cremated but i still think he had a grave marked somewhere because the young soldiers all loved him. i keep seeing a picture of snowfall and sephiroth seeing the grave for the first time. you don’t have to but i know sad writings are your forte. just a thought 👉👈

I got you! Sorry for the wait! I have put this on AO3 as well. I hope you enjoy!

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

Modeoheim was cold. Gray trees in the mid-afternoon, pale sunlight dancing against windswept brick and brush. Black earth at his feet. Abandoned buildings that rusted forlornly in the far distance, forsaken to the elements, slowly rotting where they stood. A crow called in the far distance, the noise echoing off the frigid hills and peaks.

Sephiroth's breath was steaming, gusty plumes that clouded the thick winter air. He lifted his head to the sky, speculative emerald eyes studying the rolling clouds, tracing the hazy patterns of movement. Foreign gray gods above him. Oppressive. Looming. A storm would be rolling in soon. He could feel it on the wind, taste it on the breeze.

It didn't matter.

Nothing really mattered anymore.

The marker was exactly where Zack had mentioned, a modest slant of rock that overlooked the hillside. Sephiroth watched the scattered collection of open wilderness below, his fists clenched, teeth gritted. He'd always hated this landscape. Barren land. Shadowland. Desolate and lonely. Terribly austere.

An equally terrible place to die.

"You'd be so proud of him."

Low murmur against the wind, alien in his own throat. He brushed the thick tangle of silver hair from his eyes, chin lifted, breath smoking the air.

"Zack. He's changed since you left."

The clouds rumbled faintly somewhere beyond the mountains. Sephiroth wet his lips.

"He's grown tremendously as a First. We do excellent work together. I truly could not ask for a more capable colleague. He'll be the very best of us someday. SOLDIER's finest."

Silence. Cold as bone. Hollow. Sephiroth hadn't expected anything, really. He didn't remember the last time he ever had. Expectation was a loose luxury he'd long since discarded. The others were different, of course. Genesis had always adhered to the principle of reckless ambition, pushing himself, charging blindly ahead through every obstacle, menacing the competition with ruthless abandon. Glenn had viewed the world with more innocent eyes, convinced of some higher morality beneath the ugliness. Some grand duty of atonement, braving the harsh realities of the world with a sense of hope, resolution.

But they were gone now. Genesis was sick. And Glenn...well, Glenn couldn't help him anymore. Not at all.

Sephiroth closed his eyes, felt the shape of the wind. It rattled against the heavy weight of his armor, the great pauldrons slumping, calloused hands opening and closing again.

He stroked the marker. He withered. He wondered.

"You were different."

Zack had clipped the words together in the stone, etched the scraggly shape of a name through the craggy surface. Sephiroth could feel it against his palm.

"You were different from them. You were content where you were."

Black feathers at his feet.

"You knew yourself. You knew what you wanted. You worked for it on your own terms. On your own time. I respected that."

The crow called again. Louder.

"You...you always knew what you were doing. You understood the world. You understood people. You were always there, always present in the moment. That's what I always admired about you."

Louder. He shut his eyes and went away. It always made things easier. Especially now. There were better places. Better eras. Fragments. Better views and footfalls.

"I don't understand why this happened."

Any place but here. He could go. He could let his mind vanish. He could fall away.

Or apart.

"I don't understand..."

He was going, yes. Going away. Far away. Far back. Tumbling down. He was somewhere else now. And there was solace. Recollection. Warm hands. Foggy lamplight. The comforting press of bodies in a crowded booth, the smell of cheap beer and smoke. Sephiroth had met those dark blue Mako eyes once, met the golden moment between laughter and shy awareness. A timid duck of the head. Finger against his cheek, brushing away the faint wisp of a stray eyelash, murmur mild, yet perplexingly resolute.

And ghosts.

Pearly ghosts that shimmered like tears.

"Life's too short for regrets, Seph."

And a heaviness in his chest. A heaviness that clung. A heaviness that claimed him. A heaviness that brought him back just as quickly. Sephiroth's fingers rooted, scraped the rock. He bit his lip, fought the urge to strike, to break away.

"I don't understand."

His nails were bleeding. He didn't notice.

"I didn't want...this, Angeal. You know I didn't."

The wind rose and fell, collecting on the mountaintop, stirring through the trees.

"Don't you see...I have nothing but regrets."

Birdsong in the fields, small black specks that darted and circled through the brush, the shadowed ridges.

"What am I supposed to do now? Angeal. Tell me. What am I supposed to do?"

Hojo would have mocked him, subjected him to a litany of petty insults for his weakness. Strong soldiers did not break. Strong soldiers did not fall to their knees in the ice, cradle the cold stone with their bare hands. Sephiroth felt the angry rush of vertigo hitting him, his head spinning, the unpleasant lurch of his stomach rising as he clenched his teeth and counted. There was acid in his throat, the words threatening to spill, blame and hurt and broken admission. And all around him, the hills and mountains seemed to tilt and sway; arching black claws that scraped the clouds. He watched them spiraling all around them, watched the jagged, looming lines converging, splitting the sky. Could they cut the world? Could they tear into that listless gray void, rip apart the sun and stars and the cramping confines of space and time? Could they revive the dead? Could they even hear him?

Sephiroth didn't want to guess. The noise that arose was not entirely human. He wasn't even sure if it was completely his own. He did not initially register the first speck of white that flecked against his cheek, the tiny sprinkling shower making its gradual descent, painting the sterile earth like ash. Pale dots that drifted across the stone, working through the grooves, the grainy, half-scrawled markings that composed the dead man's crude, weather-worn epitaph.

It was snowing.

Sephiroth coughed. He wiped his mouth. He lifted his head back to the sky, icy flakes dusting the thick black slant of his eyelashes. He watched the spectacle, counted every steady, starlit trail, caught them on his palm, his fingertips. They coated his shoulders, his hair, his cheeks. Bitter water on his tongue. Bitter words farther beneath.

"Angeal."

It felt like rain.

"Angeal."

It wasn't.

"Angeal, are you crying?"

And that was somehow worse.

[in1-nutshell]

Hello, A request of TF RID 2015 or Rescue Bots,

I kinda had this thought in this, Bot Buddy who's an very old Dinobot (and has an alt mode like a Plesiosaur or aquatic dino)

Bot has been on earth and probably been raised by Earth inhibitants ever since (probably in Dino era?), they didn't know anything about cybertron and still loves/cares, including having knowledge/intellect about Earth, including the changes, wars, etc.

Bot known as a gentle giant, has grandmother vibes, yet curious and somewhat child-like personality and dislike violence of any sort yet can be passive-aggressive and sometimes protective/aggressive for their friends/family

Bot always on her Dino mode (they don't know they can transform or not?). They kinda famous(?) to inhibitants, human (and creatures), on earth that they know about Bot's existence

How would the Autobots react/interact with this Buddy the Old Dinobot.

New Buddy!

Hope you enjoy!

Old Dinobot Buddy

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronian reader

RB

Buddy didn’t remember much about her life before arriving to Earth.

She did remember the war, but the details were blurry.

Did she even have a mission on this planet or was the crash an accident?

It seemed like millennia ago (probably was).

She had grown used to the organic life on this new planet, even adopting an alt mode after one of the first families she had.

They were long gone as were many of their other friends, but she did grow fond of the humans that resided on the island.

Curious little things.

A couple of years ago a couple of them had spotted her sunbathing and became some sort of urban legend.

Being a legend sounded fun and decided to keep the gag running.

Life was relatively peaceful on Griffin Rock.

She’d be lying if she said that she didn’t have favorites.

It was a family of humans.

The Burns

She was particularly fond of the youngest one, Cody.

On the rare occasion that she did leave her lagoon, she often visited the Burns home.

Buddy watching from the wooded area at the family playing basketball. Cody was nearing the basket. Buddy: “Yes, yes, yes, ye—” Kade comes out and snatches the ball from the smaller boys’ hands and dunks the ball himself. The ball also bounces off the boy’s head. Kade: “Who’s the champ? I’M THE CHAM—” BONK! Kade rubbed the back of his head seeing a large branch on the ground. The family was snickering. Kade waving the stick angerly. Kade: “Who threw that?!” Dani: “Maybe that was Karma Kade.” Kade: “I don’t believe in—” BONK! Kade: “WHO KEEPS DOING THAT?!” Buddy with a small pile of branches by her side. Buddy: “That one was for Cody.” She picks up another branch ready to launch it: “And this one is for trying to give Graham that swirly.”

Buddy wasn’t aware of the Rescue bots until she saw them in the backyard during one of her walks.

She recognized the Autobot insignia from a mile away.

Buddy now has an optic out for the bots, wondering why they were doing on Earth.

What were they doing here?

Buddy did see the bots helping the community and even bond with the Burns, which puts her at ease.

Their meeting happened under… less than optimal circumstances.

Cody and Frankie walking on the old bridge leading to the lagoon. The bots were watching vigilantly from the side. Cody wincing at the creaking noise: “This paper better be worth it. The bridge looks like its going to break with a sneeze.” Frankie was trying to get a sample of the water in a mason jar: “Just you wait Cody! Our presentation is going to get us the best grades!” CRRREEAAAAKKKK! Blades: “Okay guys! Off the bridge!” The pair tried walking back but froze hearing the bridge snapping. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! The bridge was starting to break. Now all the bots were on the opposite side of the bridge. Heatwave: “Don’t move! We’ll find a different way to—” CRASH! As if made of tissue paper, the old wood underneath the kids suddenly gave out plunging them into the mossy green water. Rescue bots: “CODY! FRANKIE!” Heatwave was about to dive in after them when the kids’ heads broke the surface… as well as a pair of large metal servos. The large bot raised the humans above the water before getting on land themselves. Buddy: “Cody Burns. Francine Greene. Are you both all right?” The soaked and algae covered kids looked at the new bot with wide eyes. Boulder: “I guess this was the Monster of the Green Lagoon everyone was talking about.” Chase: “Indeed.” Heatwave getting close to the bot. Heatwave: “Put them down!” Blade: “Gently!” The bot laughed. Buddy: “At ease Heatwave.” She gently places the kids in his servos before wiping some of the algae off her Autobot insignia. The bots visibly relax. Heatwave passes the kids to Chase, who has the blankets ready. Cody: “Thanks for saving us…” Buddy: “My designation is Buddy, and it is a pleasure to finally introduce myself to you and Francine.” Frankie: “Frankie, so you’re really the legend? Daddy said you lived in that pond ever since the Founding of Griffin Rock.” Buddy: “Oh no, I’ve been here longer than that.” Boulder: “How long have you been here?” Buddy: “Hold on.” She reenters the water and transforms into her Plesiosaurus alt mode. Buddy: “Since they gave me a home on Earth.” Cody and Frankie’s eyes went wide. Cody: “You were around since the dinosaurs!?” Frankie: “That’s so cool!” Chase: “Pardon the interruption, but if I recall correctly, you said ‘finally introduce’ yourself. How did you know of the Burn’s and Greene family as well as our designation?” Buddy: “Chase, I have been on this island for a long time. I know the best hiding places to observe the humans.” Buddy winks at Cody: “I believe Kade was wondering if those gremlins were throwing those branches after the game.” Cody smiled: “That was you?!”

[nectardaddy]

best friend's demon - okkotsu yuuta

synopsis: is it normal to have a best friend who has a demon attached to him? is it normal that you know it's there?

cw: talk of the occult, demons/ghosts, paranormal happenings, reader is a little strange

notes: non curse au but with a spooky twist, plantonic relationship, I listened to the beetlejuice soundtrack while writing this, this idea seemed perfect for my sweet baby yuuta, og thoughts here

He's not normal. Far from it. So sick, so twisted, so naive, that it made you want to vomit. The dreadful wave of wretched emotions washing over and you succumbed to the wave and slipped under. You heaved for air, but were granted none, lungs gnashing in your chest just for the slightest bit of oxygen. You couldn't - you wouldn't. It stung, it burned, it created an overwhelming sense of dread with every breath. The air was thick and dense, dizzying as you choked under the pressure; and you wondered what in the hell could create such a powerful presence.

A pale face, with dark eyes, and dark hair was your only prognosis. Okkotsu Yuuta was the only reason why the tone of the room was flipped on its head. A foul, loathsome, choking feeling upon entering any room; he was none the wiser.

You just had to know what on earth was wrong with him.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The second hand of the clock moved painfully slow, drifting past the face all the while the minute hand hadn't seemed to move. Your eyes glazed over, encapsulated by the fluidity of the clock hands, you had completely tuned the world out. It was an odd feeling to be so calm, so secure, without worry of the outside world - or the world beyond. You couldn't remember how long you remained like this, so enthralled by the movement and a moment of peace.

A gentle tune hung in the air, humming to yourself absentmindedly as you stared stone faced. It wasn't a specific melody, but one that you knew of, a familiarity within the soft drone from your lips. A haunting scene really. Staring into the void all the while humming appealing chords. But your musings ceased as a tightness entered your chest; blinking, and letting a sigh pass your lips, you came back to reality.

There had been a shift, a significant one, within the room you occupied. A thick, malevolent presence taking you by the throat and squeezing relentlessly. A crumbling feeling that made you feel completely overwhelmed, a crushing sensation on your shoulders as they dropped. An eerie silence replaced the soft tick of the clock, one could hear a pin drop if they chose, and your skin crawled at the sudden change.

"You're late," you breathed out, raising your voice only slightly. Eyes flickering over the vacant room, a quant study room with only a table and two chairs, you watched as the door handle swung downward. Door opening only to reveal a sorrowful expression on tired, sickly pale, features.

"I forget every time you can tell I'm here before I even open the door," the voice was frail, an almost feminine twang. "Sorry I'm late," the man gushed, giving you a sorry smile as he joined you at the table. "Today has been terrible," he added. Dark eyes finally met with your own, swirling with a peculiar emotion you could never quite put your finger on. Guilt? Hatred? Self pity?

"It's pissed off today," stating so nonchalantly it made his smile falter. "More than usual," you tagged on to which he softly groaned. "That's probably why your day is shit."

A nervous chuckle fell from the man's lips at your words, truly not knowing what to make of them. "Wonderful," he sighed. A pause fell between the pair of you, noticing all too well that the clock's repeatative tick failed to hit your ears anymore. It was worrying the amount of control whatever was attached to the man had within, its hellish claws sinking deep well beyond the veil. It wasn't normal. It was dangerous. "Do you ever get tired of it?"

His question caught you off guard, coming back from within your own mind to register what was spoken. "Huh?" You posed, furrowing your brows in confusion, "tired of what, exactly?"

"Sensing things you can't see?" He corrected, eyes looking into your own for even a hint of an answer. "I don't know how you do it," letting a sigh pass his lips once more, he leaned back into his chair. "Constantly feeling like someone is there, watching and waiting."

"I'm used to it," you shrugged. "But," you began, letting out a small breath before continuing, "your's isn't normal. Usually demons want to hurt, try to possess, or at least traumatize their benefactor. It's like it's protecting you, in a fucked up sort of way." Your explanation made his features fall, now holding a neutral expression. "I've never felt so off put by some else's attachment. It's like it doesn't want anyone around you."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It answered you. By means of the clock starting up again - it agreed with you. The notion caused your stomach to churn, flicking your eyes towards the device and turning your head to look past the man in front of you. The quick, fluid motion caused his breath to hitch in his throat, swallowing hard as he knew your reactions were never in vain. It was strange how comfortable, or rather desensitized, he was with your off putting reactions; though he was concerned with the amount you had around him.

Although nauseous from the presence, and frankly the revelation as well, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. A chilling smile, unnatural for the situation you found yourself in. "I'll be damned," you mumbled to yourself, leaving the man before you baffled and confused. "Greedy little thing, your attachment is."

"You're making that face again," he spoke with a tense chuckle. He was all too accustomed with your frantic mind, wry smiles, and dark chuckles; a familiarity he found within himself that he was absentmindedly drawn to. At first, he was well too uninformed as to why he found himself occupying your presence. But you toed the line of peculiar and macabre, as did he, and he found solace in the fact you were just as sane as him - which your sanity in itself was very thin. To him you were an absolute treasure of a comrade. A friend he wished he had sooner in his life.

"Of course I'm making this face!" You laughed, a cackle that made him sink in his chair with a small breath. He rather enjoyed your tangents about the paranormal and the occult, but being as his day was already wrecked; however, made him refrain from speaking ill of the very thing that havocked it. Slinking down in his seat as a means to make himself smaller, hoping that the entity attached to him would perhaps feel pity on him. "Yu, does it ever talk to you?" Utterly ignoring his dainty complaints and physical reaction, once you were on a roll there was no stopping.

Pale hands that once rested on the table in front of him, now moved to his lap. Grabbing at the side seam of his pants as his mind began to race, "not explicitly?" A questioning tone as his voice raised a twinge at the end. "I get weird dreams about it, but it never really talks to me."

"What kinds of dreams?" Your eyes flicked back to the man sitting at the table, finally taking in his anxiety riddled form. Far too intrigued by the clock only moments ago, you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. "Too much?" You asked shyly, a sorry smile creeping on your features to replace your wild one, retreating from your latter statement and shoving it to the back burner of your mind.

"Too much."

Two words, simple enough, leaving your skin less prickled, a bit more oxygen filling your lungs, and the crushing weight easing its clutches on your shoulders. Was this all it took? A caring word to the man?

Was it possible to play nice with your best friend's demon?

oooooh I might make a part 2 I love this