#it came to me in a vision and I had to get it out

[spacerace-secondplace]

I get the worst of this when I'm baking (because literally ANYTHING can go disastrously wrong and ruin the whole dish if you make a tiny mistake) and it's always been a huge block for me, because we're supposed to learn from our mistakes, y'know? But if I make a mistake that sets my progress back two hours then suddenly I'm too blinded by anger and frustration to accurately retrace my steps and plan what to do next... a lot of times I just quit, or I put out a half-assed product that I'm too ashamed to call something I made.

But! Recently I have begun to learn what has become a dish-saving strategy: asking for help! I would never do this before, because the Mad would turn me stubborn and tunnel-visioned and result in me metaphorically knocking my head against a brick wall demanding results. The worst thing is when it's something I know I'm competent at (like cooking!), so the lack of progress doesn't make sense. But recently I've begun to recognize that "help" can mean something different than "do this for me"; it can also mean "do you see an alternative path that I don't?"

An example: I was trying to make Oreo cream-filled cupcakes the other day. The cupcakes came out perfect, and the filling tasted great, but for the life of me I could not get the filling through the piping bag and into the cupcakes. My mother suggested I thin the icing with milk, which I flat-out rejected at first, because THIS is what the recipe said and so THIS must work. After some (much) struggle and a couple irreparably crumbled cupcakes, I finally conceded and let her thin the icing.

But it was still too thick to squeeze out of the piping bag. We thinned it again and again and every time we had to unceremoniously scoop it out of the bag and back into the mixing bowl and wash all the sticky off our hands (sensory nightmare, and a waste of good icing). But because I was able to move past the Mad from before, I had the extra room in my brain to cook up an idea: maybe instead of thinning the icing (and risking soggy-bottomed cupcakes), we should cut a bigger hole in the piping bag.

It worked! Overcoming that hurdle reignited my energy and I was able to finish the rest of the cupcakes myself. And look how beautifully they turned out!

If I wasn't able to put aside my pride and my marriage to the rulebook, then I never would have finished my mole cakes! To do this I had to revise my definition of "help" from "save me" to "give me a new perspective." (And the results were delicious.)

you know when you get Autism Mad. like something happens in a non-ideal way and in your brain you know it literally doesnt matter but in your other more autistic brain youre like screaming & scrying & shitting the bed etc. i think you should be able to go into settings and opt out of that. i have better things to get upset about than failing to put up a decoration on the optimal day or being too stubborn to solve a problem via simple communication

[jayhyunglover]

Send my love to your next lover

Zayne x non mc! Reader (reader is Zayne's wife )

Synopsis: you've been married to Zayne since 2 years now but you knew you weren't the one he longed for . You weren't her and you will never be.

Zayne's hand tapped restlessly against the steering wheel , eyes flickering from time to time to the bouquet of spider lilies on his passenger seat . They were your favorite when he asked why you said it was because they symbolized Goodbye and that you always end up saying Goodbye to the things you loved the most.

He really hoped this would pull out a smile from you at least . You've been distant those days , argument after arguments piled up combined with his busy schedule who didn't make things easier but he promised himself he'd make it up to you. Tonight at last.

When he finally pulled in your shared house hallway he hastily got out the car , grabbing the bouquet of flowers to make his way inside but strangely every lights were off.

Haven't you came back from work already? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion

Opening the front door he called out for your ne but no response came. He was starting to get worried, searching frantically through the house but there were no trace of you anywhere.

No this couldn't be . You couldn't have left him. You would never right?

But as he stood in the painfully empty house even him was starting to doubt his own words.

Losing hope he plopped himself down on the couch, running a nervous hand through his hair when the corner of his caught a faint glow

Your wedding ring.

Zayne abruptly picked it up on the coffee table . It was resting against a pile of papers.

What the hell are those ? He fiddled with the papers. Eyes scanning over them

No no no this couldn't be.

Opening the letter his eyes bulged out of his sockets ,heart dropping in his stomach.

"I am giving you up."

No hubby , no my lil snowman no nothing straight to the point

"You weren't mine in the first place, even if I was the one you wake up with every morning,  your heart belongs to her . Even if I was the one you spent time with , your heart longed for her.

I am not sad , do not worry . I knew what I signed up for .

Be happy Dr Zayne with your Jasmine,  your love and I'll be happy with my freedom. Even if my heart will always belong to you at least now I won't have to look at you and wish I was someone else.

I am giving you up and forgive it all. So please set me free.

Goodbye Dr Zayne, be happy and send my love to your next lover ."

                      Your dear (ex) wife.

Zayne felt the bile rising up his throat.

This has to be a joke , some prank. You'd never leave like that , not after all this time. You made vows , he vowed to keep you safe , protect you , love you. He couldn't send your love to his next lover because there wouldn't be any.

You were always the one , even when he makes you feel like you weren't. He always knew deep down.

He didn't even realize at first he was crying just small droplets falling on the paper blurring his vision.

True you will never be his Jasmine because you were so much more, his wife , his love. Sure you weren't his first but you will always be his last , there won't be any next lover to send your love to.

Tag list: @mangooes @jinwoosbabyboo

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A/N: I am procrastinating so much on his Snow White fic that I had to post something to make up for it.

Also I couldn't stop listening to Send my love by Adele and Zayne angst is my favorite snack soooooo. (Eat up y'all)

[insidekatmind]

"Under the Parisian Sky"- Trent Alexander Arnold

The sun was gently setting behind the majestic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower, painting the sky with shades of pink, orange, and purple. Paris, with its timeless beauty, seemed to have stepped out of a love fairy tale. The streets were crowded with tourists and Parisians, but at that moment, everything seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you.

"Do you like it, my love?" asked Trent Alexander-Arnold, his English accent making you melt every time. His brown eyes, as deep as molten chocolate, shone with a special light as he gazed at you with infinite tenderness. His warm hand wrapped around yours with such gentleness, as if the entire world was held within that simple gesture.

"It's perfect, Trent," you replied, letting your gaze get lost in the wonder of the view. "I couldn't have imagined a better place to be with you."

"I knew you'd like it," he said with a sweet, knowing smile. "But it's not over yet, my love."

You tilted your head to the side, curious. "Oh yeah? What else do you have in mind, Mr. Alexander-Arnold?" you asked with a mischievous, playful smile.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You'll find out soon, my princess. For now, just trust me."

You continued walking along the cobblestone streets, hand in hand. Every so often, Trent would stop in front of a flower stall or a street artist, his sincere curiosity for the little things in the city on full display. That was just like him — always attentive to details, just like on the football pitch. And it was this very way of being that made you fall in love with him more each day.

"Shall we go there?" he suggested, pointing to a small pier overlooking the Seine. It was a secluded spot, away from the bustle, with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, which now glowed with thousands of golden lights like a jewel in the heart of Paris's night.

"It's beautiful," you said, stopping beside him. The cool air caressed your skin, and the scent of the Seine's water mixed with that of wildflowers. It was as if nature itself wanted to bless this moment.

"Yeah, it is," he replied, but his gaze wasn't on the Eiffel Tower. It was on you.

You turned toward him, your heart beginning to beat faster. There was something different in his eyes, a light you had never seen before. His smile was tender, but also serious.

"What's wrong?" you asked, suddenly aware of the silence between you.

"I want to tell you something," he said, taking a deep breath. His fingers fidgeted nervously with the edge of his jacket. "Actually, I want to ask you something."

You frowned, your heart now racing wildly in your chest. "Trent, are you okay?" you asked, a hint of concern in your voice.

He laughed, but there was a note of sweet nervousness in his voice. "Yeah, I'm okay. I’m just… I’m just a little emotional." Then he took a step back and slid a hand into his pocket. When his hand reemerged, he was holding a small blue velvet box. Your breath caught in your throat.

"No…" you whispered, bringing a hand to your mouth. "Trent, I don't believe it…"

He got down on one knee, pressing his knee against the cold surface of the pier. Around you, the world seemed to freeze. Every sound of the city softened, and the only thing you could hear was the frantic pounding of your heart.

"My love," he began, lifting his eyes to meet yours. His eyes glowed with emotion. "Since you came into my life, everything changed. You made every day brighter, every moment more special. I can't imagine my future without you by my side."

Your vision blurred from the tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t speak, your throat tight with emotion.

"I want to be there for you — in every joyful moment and every challenge. I want to be the man who makes you smile, who supports you, who loves you more and more every day." He opened the box, revealing a ring with a diamond that sparkled like the stars above you. "Will you marry me?"

A tear slid down your cheek, followed by another, and another still. A wave of overwhelming emotion swept over you. Your voice came out trembling but firm.

"Yes, Trent. Yes, I want to marry you!" you exclaimed, letting the tears stream freely down your face.

He laughed with joy, getting to his feet and pulling you into a tight embrace, spinning you around. His arms wrapped around you with such strength, and your hands clung to his shoulders as if to make sure you’d never let him go.

"I love you," he whispered against your ear, his voice full of emotion.

"I love you too, Trent. I love you more than words can explain," you replied, burying your face in his neck, the scent of his skin bringing you comfort and peace.

Paris, the city of love, had now become the symbol of your promise. And under the golden lights of the Eiffel Tower, you both vowed to love each other forever.

[zhenne]

tell me where it hurts

dr.zayne + f.reader

syn. you succumb to a nasty virus after nearly a week of ignoring the glaring signs of fatigue. dr zayne, ever the astute physician, is sure to recite one of his lectures on the importance of self care (only after he nurses you back to health ofc).

wc. 1.4k

warnings. fem reader, sick fic, reader is NOT proactive in taking care of herself, lowkey established relationship, greyson + tara cameo ;)

The first hint came Monday morning, subtle enough to ignore. You stirred your tea, blinking against the fluorescent lights of the Association’s break room. Your head felt heavy, and your throat was scratchy, like you’d swallowed a handful of sand. You chalked it up to the changing seasons. Linkon’s weather was always unpredictable this time of year, and you had far too much to do to entertain the idea of being unwell.

By mid-afternoon, the scratch in your throat had deepened into a dull ache that had spread to your temples. You rubbed your forehead with one hand and stared at the endless mission report on your screen. The words swam slightly, but you forced yourself to focus. ‘I’ll take some medicine tonight,’ you thought to yourself, though you couldn’t quite recall if you had any at home.

Tuesday was worse. The ache in your head had turned into a throbbing pain behind your eyes, and your skin felt hot and cold at the same time. You wrapped your scarf tightly around your neck on the way to work, shivering as the chill wind cut through your coat. Your reflection in the building elevator doors startled you—pallid skin, dark circles under your eyes, a hint of red in your nose. “You look awful,” Tara remarked as she passed your desk. You forced a tight-lipped smile and waved her off. “Just tired,” you lied.

By Wednesday, the sickness had settled into your bones. Every joint ached, and a sharp cough rattled in your chest every few minutes. You buried yourself in reports and small missions, staying out well past sunset. ‘If I keep moving, I’ll get through it,’ you told yourself, though the feverish flush on your cheeks betrayed your bravado.

Thursday night, the world finally caught up with you. You staggered into your apartment after another long day, your body trembling with exhaustion. You collapsed into bed without bothering to eat, your coat still on. Sleep came in waves, interrupted by bouts of shivering and fever dreams you couldn’t untangle from reality.

When you woke Friday morning, you couldn’t move. Your body felt like lead, and even the act of opening your eyes sent a sharp pain through your skull. The room was spinning slightly, your vision blurred and unfocused. You tried to swing your legs off the bed, but your muscles refused to cooperate.

A single thought pierced the fog of your mind: “It’s just a cold.” But as you lay there, your breathing shallow and labored, you knew the fight was over.

—

The hospital buzzed with its usual chaos, but Zayne was used to it. He moved through the corridors with practiced efficiency, clipboard in hand and a furrow of concentration on his brow. He had just finished rounds when Greyson fell into step beside him.

“Hey, Dr. Zayne, how’s Y/N feeling?”

Seeing the confusion on Zayne’s face, Greyson hesitantly clarified, “Tara said she called off today.”

“She called off?” He echoed with a frown, slowing to a stop as the words sank in.

“Yeah,” his colleague repeated what his girlfriend, Tara, had told him earlier over the phone, “She sounded bad enough that their Captain told her to take Monday off for good measure, too.”

Zayne muttered a distracted promise of letting him know how you are doing when he checks on you later before Greyson is pulled away by a nurse with an urgency in her voice. The unease settles in his chest like a weight. You never called off work. He knew better than anyone how stubborn you are, how you’d rather push through a cold than admit you needed rest.

It wasn’t until he was in his car, driving through the rain-slicked streets, that he realized how quick his pulse was racing.

By the time he reached your apartment, Zayne had run through half a dozen worst-case scenarios in his head. He knocked, soft at first, then louder when there was no response. “Y/N? It’s me.”

Nothing.

His hand fished around his coat pocket for the spare key you had given him months ago—just in case—and let himself in. The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of a heater and the patter of rain against the darkened windows. Your coat and bag were tossed haphazardly on the floor near the door, which wasn’t like you at all.

He found you in the bedroom.

You were a tangle of blankets, your hair clinging to your damp forehead. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his footsteps, glassy and unfocused.

“Zayne?” Your voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and strained.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He shrugged his coat off, draping it over the back of a chair and crossed the room in a heartbeat. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, eyes narrowing at the heat radiating off your skin. Your breathing was shallow, cheeks flushed with fever. He crouched beside you, his gaze scanning your face.

You tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Didn’t want to bother you. You’re busy.” You shift slightly, nudging your face from the cocooned heat of the blankets. “Besides,” your voice is quiet, “it’s embarrassing…”

Zayne sighed, exasperation warring with concern. “Y/N, I’m a doctor, this is what I do. You don’t have to shy away from me. You can always call me for help.” He shook his head, muttering something to himself under his breath as he stood and began sweeping his eyes around the room.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes as he walked out the room, and faintly heard shuffling from the bathroom, and then the kitchen. Even in your weakened state, you had a inkling of suspicion in what he was looking for, and not even a minute later, he was leaning against the doorframe, seemingly knowing your own answer as well.

“How do you not have a thermometer?”

“Never needed one.”

Zayne’s sigh seemed to have a grounding effect as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Where do you keep your medicine?” he tries instead.

“I, uh, usually just keep whatever I have in the bathroom.” You swallow thickly, the ache in your tender throat bringing about another wave of coughing. Once it subsides, you add, “Above the sink, second or third shelf.”

You had snuggled back into the covers as Zayne stepped out to rummage through your bathroom once again. When he came bak, his frown had only deepened. “Y/N… why is the only thing here an expired bottle of ibuprofen?”

He didn’t give you a chance to reply this time, fearing he already knew the answer to this one too. Resigned to your poor self-care habits, and a silent reminder to grab you some much needed necessities while he’s out, he comes back to your side. Your eyes flutter as he gently brushes some hair from your face before gauging your temperature with the underside of his wrist. He was meticulous, his movements quick but gentle as he listened to your breathing and felt your pulse.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too much,” his tone was soft.

You didn’t respond, but the slight guilt swimming in your irises told him everything he needed to know.

“It’s a bad flu,” he said after a moment. “You’re dehydrated, and your fever’s too high.” He pulled a chair closer to the bed. “And you’re not moving from this spot until I say so.”

You managed a weak chuckle, though it dissolved into a fit of coughing. Zayne leaned forward, his hand resting lightly on your arm. “Hey. I’m serious.”

The weight of his voice made you pause. You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the worry etched on his face. “Sorry,” you murmur.

He squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to apologize. Just let me take care of you for once, okay?”

And for the first time in days, you let yourself relax, the weight of your exhaustion finally lifting with Zayne by your side.

[jeffandcyrusgetrevenge]

Suddenly obsessed with this idea, wow.

The vision flashing before my eyes is that when they do the setup for his tv wife spraining her ankle on the way home from the football game (?) (is that what happened? it’s been like 20 years since I watched this movie) he helps her but he only has eyes for the running back. At first the execs don’t clue in, they just think he’s not that interested in the girl they set him up with, but soon it becomes clear he’s harboring a serious crush. They tell the running back to go with it, but the actor who plays him is straight and kind of weirded out by the whole thing, so every interaction is stiff and awkward. Under the radar, an actual gay actor they hired to play a local loner has a few moments of gay solidarity with Truman via the Shared Look of Gay Understanding™️. The show editors finally realize something is up when they come across a very fleeting attempt by Truman at a kiss (guess who wasn’t gonna waste time pining after Mr. Running Back forever) that Local Loner kindly but firmly brushes aside. Unfortunately for him, he gets promoted to series regular after this and is instructed to return Truman’s affections. He becomes the fake TV boyfriend, and his obvious discomfort in the role gives the story arc a flavor of “see how miserable gay people are?” Eventually he gives his notice, and gets written off the show going off to take care of his ailing mother in a different state. We never hear from him again. Truman is sad and lonely. He’s sort of half-closeted, where his friends and family kind of know and kind of don’t — he never felt secure enough in that relationship to talk about it much. That’s when the network hits him with the Slutty Hunk, a borderline sleazy muscle bound gentleman who works at a construction site near Truman’s office and wolf whistles at him every morning. Truman does not care for this. Truman decides to take a vow of celibacy. The network puts a series of hot men (& women) in his vicinity but nothing seems to take. They’re all too thirsty. Truman craves connection.

Meanwhile, the actor that played Local Loner has joined a small group of political activists protesting the show, and the fact that he had such a big role in Truman’s life at one point is brought up again and again — sometimes to call him a hypocrite, sometimes to point out how deep his motivations are. The media loves drama. He always insists that it was wrong for the network to put him in that situation, and it was wrong for him to go along with it for so long. Conservative pundits take this and run with it, spinning it into a homophobic lecture about the shamelessness of the liberal media. Local Loner has to set them straight — in his first official coming out, at a time when most gay actors dodged the question at best, he takes a stand and says, No, I’m gay, and there’s nothing wrong with that — but lying to a man about his whole entire life and filming him for the entertainment of the masses, putting him in fake relationships and breaking his heart just for ratings — THAT’S wrong.

I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore but that’s what came to me lol

What if the Truman show did a queerbait arc

[harumasa-wifey]

➹Happy New Year»———>

✖Asaba Harumasa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slight spoilers of chap 5(nothing major) Not proofread

Category: fluff

Note:i was inspired by the new official art and wrote this I was supposed to post it last night but I fell asleep while writing,Sorry for the wait.i cannot picture the accurate spot of this pic but I saw one in game I'll post a pic of it later for reference!

“Meet me behind the cafe in lumina square”

This was the last text you had received from him as you left Random play after meeting with the siblings to return the movie you had rented and wishing them a happy New year in advance.

It was New year's eve and thankfully to the deputy chief you all were out and about today. No fighting hollows , No overload paperwork and some extra which asaba adds to you sneakily because he is too lazy to do them.You love him a lot but you wish sometimes he would Stop adding his paperwork on your desk. It can be a great hassle to finish them in time.

Lumina square always makes every New Year a grand one and a beautiful one to look forward to. You made your way to the metro station hurriedly taking the last train of the hour to the lumina square after talking with Nicole and the others in the cunning hares. The metro was full of people like the elderly, the people with their family, the young highschool students and the couples.

The thought of how this year went passes through your mind. The whole incident with the vision cooperation and the chase in the hollow was stressful. Although it hasn't been completely disposed of, you all can rest easy for the holidays. It was thanks to all of the background support everyone made it safely in the end.

Your thoughts came to an end as the mic on the train announced its stop , you got off the train heading out the metro station into the bustling city of New Eridu. There were lights everywhere and it was more crowded than usual, but there was still one place left to visit before you went to meet him.

Meeting the person you love on new year's eve without a gift doesn't sound right to you so here you are.Standing outside the shop while having second thoughts on what to get him. You had made up your mind to feed him some delicious sweets that are being sold around this time of year even though he likes the bitterness now and is not bothered by it.Having something sweet every once a while would definitely not harm him.

As you look around and yellowish star keychain catches your eye with a little Clover inside. There was something that attracted you to it, so without thinking further you had made the purchase and had it warped in a box.

And your next stop was The cafe.

You had made your way over to the cafe with a little pubsec bangboo to help you cross the road. You re-read his message and made your way to the back of the cafe.

There he was standing while leaning against the palisade while holding a small wrapped box in his hand, his attention over to you as he heard your footsteps coming closer.

“Well look who finally decided to grace me with their presence.Took you long enough”

He spoke with a gentle smile on his face as you rushed over to him.

“I am sorry! I was at the Sixth street when I got your message”

He chuckled at her worries about being late.

“Calm down baby, I was just teasing. No need to rush i just got in myself”

You could hear the crowd hushed as the first firework arched into the velvety night sky as he extended his hand holding the gift box his yellow eyes shining in the lights whispering in a soft tone.

“Happy new year”

Your instinct told you to go and hug him so that's what you did, wrapping your arms around his neck particularly throwing yourself over him not to worry he will always there to catch you.

“Happy new year asaba,may we be together in the next one too”

“Don't worry I'll live long” He said locking his lips with yours into a kiss.

[am-i-interrupting]

i need more jinx x reader omega verse PLEASE

AN: I was going to do her first heat and have smut but then I realized something. Her first heat would not have been something she would have celebrated. It would take several heat cycles before she was ready to have sex during it and be bubbly and clingy during it. So have some angst, I guess. I didn’t mean to do this. It just happened.

Having Isha in her life put a completely different spin on things. It made her feel safe, secure, comfortable. All the things she felt with Silco and you but different.

The voices in her head were quiet, mostly. The world didn’t feel stacked against her. This child looked up to her for guidance and care. That made her feel special.

She’d taken to building a little home of blankets and pillows. It was almost like a nest.

In the distant part of her memory she recalled her father doing something like this. A smell, just in the tip of her nose of something sweet. Warmth surrounding her from all sides. Everyone piled.

She shook the memory away as she fixed a pillow that had fallen out of the cave of blankets and wonders. She inhaled deeply.

Your smell, warm and spiced like honey and cinnamon. The perfect remedy for a sickness. Isha’s smell, sticky and sweet like candy. Sevika’s smell, not present here but lingering in the layer, like welted iron and amber. The faint, slowly disappearing scent of Silco, something she could only describe as minty moss.

She closed her eyes and savored that last scent. When she opened them, her vision was blurry.

She sniffed. Her fingers dug into her tear ducts.

“We’re back!” your voice rang out into the layer. Isha’s giggling echoing behind it.

Jinx looked up. A small smile came to her lips as she saw the two of you. Isha carrying boxes of takeout food that nearly obscured her vision while you carried a far heavier box filled with bits and bobbles of trinkets the duo could use.

“Great! I was starting to get bored and hungry!” Jinx said as she sprung up. She took some boxes from Isha and knelt down in front of her face. “Do you know what happens when I’m bored and hungry? Not good things I’ll tell you that.”

She wiggled her finger in front of the girl’s face before she pressed it to her nose. It scrunched up but her smile gave way to her faked annoyance.

Jinx couldn’t help but laugh as she placed the boxes down. She scooped up Isha and threw her into the newly fixed pillows. She spun around as she jumped into the cushions with her.

“Give me!” Jinx said, making grabby motions towards the boxes as looking at you.

You shook your head but passed her the boxes regardless as you arranged some of the bits into their proper places.

She and Isha tore into the food. Jinx couldn’t help but be annoyed and confused though when the food didn’t help the feeling of hunger she had.

She chewed on a piece of fried batter that had been at the bottom of one of the boxes. It dispersed with a satisfying crunch.

She stretched for her cup. Isha grabbed it from her hands and gulped down the liquid quickly, leaving little for Jinx. She just sighed as she brought the cup to her lips. When it was empty, she tilted it back and took some ice.

It was cold against her tongue. Why did she feel hot then?

Maybe she was getting sick. When you laid in the pile next to the girls, your scent of honey and cinnamon cleared her nostrils and let her think clearly. She must be getting sick.

In the morning she awoke hot and sticky. Her stomach hurt. Definitely sick.

She brought herself up on shaking arms and you nuzzled your face against the warm spot left by her head.

She wrapped her arms around her torso. It was cramping. It hurt. It hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before and she was so hungry but the thought of food made her feel sick.

She stumbled to her feet. She grabbed her cup. Just melted ice. She let it crumble to the ground. It clanked and clanged but she paid it no mind, unaware as you began to rise due to the noise.

She fell into her chair. Her hands went to the desk as she stared at herself in the mirror.

Her skin was paler than a corpse. Her eyes had a crazed look in them that was different to when she was suffering from her mental conditions. She was sweating.

She looked at herself as she curled in at another cramp and whined.

That caused Isha to wake. Her hair a mess as she blinked in confusion. She rubbed her tired eyes.

Jinx didn’t notice you until you were behind her. “Jinx,” you said carefully as you placed a hand on her shoulder.

She whined again, something in her turning and thrashing.

You removed your hand and looked at it carefully, drenched in sweat. You looked between her and your hand. You inhaled deep. You noticed your own pupils dilate in the mirror.

“I’m going to take Isha to Sevika,” you said as you slowly backed away.

Jinx’s hand grabbed your wrist. “Don’t leave me,” she said, looking like she was on the verge of tears, “please.”

“Okay, okay, just give me a second,” you said. Her hand tightened around your wrist. “I’m not leaving, I promise.”

She let go.

You grabbed a piece of paper and one of the many markers and started writing. You explained the situation to Sevika, leaving out how heavenly Jinx smelled (like cotton candy and raspberries) and focused more on the urgency of the situation.

You had heard of people presenting late. That wasn’t unheard of. However, the latest you’d heard was sixteen, not near twenty.

You handed the paper to Isha. “You remember where Sevika lives?” She nodded. “Good, take this to her and don’t stop until you get there.” She looked at Jinx worried. “She’ll be okay.” She spared one more glance and then sprinted out of the layer.

You wrapped your arms around Jinx from behind. “You’re going to be alright,” you said to her.

“Why do I feel like this?” she asked.

You brushed her bangs out of her hair. “You’re presenting, dear,” you told her.

Her head whipped around so she wasn’t just looking at your reflection in the mirror. “What? How is that possible? People present when they’re thirteen, not twenty!”

“People present when they’re ready,” you said. You nuzzled against her neck. “Come on, let’s go to the nest.”

“No, that’s not a— Janna, it is a nest,” she said, realization coming to her like metal to a magnet.

She’d been nesting. She’d been nesting since she was born. All the way back when she was insistent on helping her father with his own.

She was marking herself. Not anyone else, just herself. She’d been making sure she was marked her whole life. By using Silco’s shampoo, by stealing your jacket.

She’d been showing signs the entire time and no one noticed, not even her.

Now that it dawned on her, the feelings didn’t disappear but they subsided just a bit. Enough that it didn’t hurt as much now that she knew the cause.

She let herself be led to the nest she made.

You cupped her face in your hand as the two of you sat. It took her a moment to realize you weren’t just rubbing your thumb against her cheek but wiping away tears.

She was crying. Why was she crying?

She doubled over. You guided her head to your shoulder as she sobbed.

She wanted you here. She wanted Isha. She wanted Vi. Hell, she even wanted Sevika. But most of all, she just wanted her dad. Not her father but her dad.

Silco wasn’t here to guide her through this. She needed his advice, his hold on her hand. She needed Silco to walk her into this next portion of her life.

“It’s not fair!” she said through a scratchy voice.

“I know, honey, I know.”

[stump-not-found]

i <3 creepy hallway

creepy hallway number one <3

alright time for more home life stuff . the bedroom scene came up as a way of trying to reintegrate the gold statue from earlier, since i just really love trying to find old elements and tie them in as plot relevant as time goes on . not usually planned, but it comes through during the editing stage, which is a fun game of deciding what scenes to keep, and which to get rid of . i wasn't so certain about this one, but i loved the idea of baby ford interacting with mabel, who's slightly older... i need to draw art of it, honestly . they're cute

it's really gratifying seeing people pick up on what i've been setting up as part of ford and the statue, the fact i was able to effectively communicate something going on means the world to me . the rest of the story is gonna dig into it more so i won't lay it all out here, but it really is so much fun . makes the whole writing process feel so communicative when people share thoughts and interpretations . especially when the scenes are meant to be read into !

we also get the closet yay . sure that's not gonna be important at all

writing the kids big blow up fight was a trip and a half . the original vision was a pretty shallow "we're stressed out and out grunkles should stop being mean to each other :(", just as a way to try and push forward the dynamics between ford and stan . that still exists, it's just a lot more focus being put onto the kids themselves . they're tertiary characters for sure, but i like thinking about their home life, and how that impacts them

one of the challenges is trying to have the fight feel fairly balanced between the two of them . shoutouts to my brother and wife for the full ass socratic seminar we had about threading that needle . how do you get a conversation where a young trans boy is trying to discuss his fears about his life and his body, and keeps getting shut down ? how do you balance that with a little girl who feels like it's her job to be the sweet, happy, emotionally intellegent adult in the room ? i'm happy with the end result but boy was it stressful

bill also wasn't gonna be here but i wanted more bill so . he got to come back . i really liked tying in nick with the spit to the little chats their having in the paradox dimension . love the lil hand pinch that was just a treat for meeeee, i get to be indulgent in my fics as much as i want . i also like the fact that ford is under some indescribable pain that entire time . they got a dynamic in this story that makes me laugh .

you know whats funny is i didn't even realize ship of theseus was a paradox writing a lot of the stuff about paradoxes . for some reason i just stumbled into that one . very funny . or, no wait -- i totally knew the entire time my brain is the size of three (3) whole apples

oh man and the entire lab scene i just loved writing . i love including bathroom breaks . i love dipper's poor hygiene . i love the fact the kids traded gold for soda, they're such perfect lil con men in training . and again the whole talk about star trek was so indulgent and fun

the brothers grew up queer in the 60's/70's and that's a major part of their arc . i hope to get across the ways they both hurt each other both as kids and adults . they still got so much to work on, and i just don't know if they've got the time

anyways creepy hallway bill time

favorite part:

“Clark.” Ford stiffens, stops. Looks up. “What?” “That, uh, captain guy. The one with the, he had the big, you know–” Stan gestures over his chest, puffing his pecs out a bit more. “Always had em out, shirt cut off or whatever. Got all hot and sweaty. Great hair.” “...Kirk?” Ford turns in his seat, slightly, to get a better look at his brother. Stan clicks his tongue, points his index finger in recollection. “ Kirk .” He repeats, and the image of the guy blooms in Stan’s head. Ford had a magazine with him on the cover, about as disheveled and beat up as a guy could look, shirt torn open. That particular mag went ‘missing’ into Stan’s stash, and he laughs at that old memory getting drudged up. “I, uh. Was a fan , back then.”

i just love how neither one of them can say what they're talking about out loud lol

Stan and Ford have a conversation, Mabel and Dipper get a bit absurd, and something gold is given meaning.

If you don't look, you won't see it fading.

[pastanest]

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: bet you hoes thought you’d seen the last of me x

tw: allusions to sa but no actual acts committed, just the fear of what men can do

Instincts

The moment you regain consciousness, your survival instincts are kicking in. Before even opening your eyes, you are aware that wherever you are right now, Daryl is not with you; there are binds on your wrists that keep them at your back and binds at your ankles to stop you from running - if Daryl was anywhere nearby, there’s no way in Hell you’d still be restrained. The right side of your face feels cold, pressed against a concrete floor. The left side of your face feels hot, stemming from a particular point just above your temple - point of impact, blood, possible concussion. How you got here is unclear; it would be a waste of time to focus on that.

Blinking as hard as you can, you clear your blurry, barely conscious vision. Four walls, two windows on the left and right, one door on the wall in front of you, off-centre to the left. Naturally, you are curled in the furthest corner from the door, where you appear to have been thrown, because you have no memory of army-crawling your bound self over here. There’s a silver lining if you’ve ever seen one: your back is not exposed, you can focus entirely on what’s in front of you. Namely, the three idiots who thought tying you up in wherever this is, was a good idea. Your brain is fighting hard to recognise any of their faces, but you can’t - they must have snuck up on you. And they wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on Daryl, so they must have waited for you to separate from him and snuck up on you. Blood running cold isn’t a new feeling since the world ended, but it feels entirely different now.

Even in the world before, any girl’s survival instincts would go haywire if she woke up in an unfamiliar room, tied up by three unfamiliar men. Particularly when you realise they could have covered your mouth, but they haven’t, because they aren’t as worried about you screaming as they are in need of that particular body part. But there’s one thing the end of the world brought you that will change the predicted outcome of your current situation..

“Jus’ sit tight.” Daryl forced one of his knives into your trembling hands, thinking you and your wide eyes looked like the kind of doe too pretty to kill - Merle called him a pussy the first (and only) time he’d used that excuse as a boy.

“B-But, what if-“ You were stuttering in a way Daryl got, but he’d never felt in your place.

Out in the world was where he belonged. That world ending didn’t change that for him, just meant he had to share it with a whole lot more uglies, and…some people that weren’t ugly in the slightest. Fighting for his life is what he’d always done, he wasn’t afraid of that, but folks like you? He knew from one look in your terrified eyes, you’d never felt fear like this. The kind that paralyses you. And Daryl recognised you had every right to feel that: the world you knew had ended, you were thrown into a makeshift camp with total strangers, grieving the family you’d lost and trying to find some sense of normality when the walkers came from the woods. You saw them get Amy, and you froze, because as much as you frantically looked around the camp, you knew Daryl wasn’t there. The one person you felt you could turn to for protection, the one time he left camp to go and look for his asshole of a brother. And you couldn’t cry out. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. A walker was stumbling towards you and you barely had it in you to take slow, unsteady steps back from it. The bolt that was shot through its skull was one you recognised, and in a blur you were grabbed, dragged until your back was no longer exposed and was instead against the wall of the RV.

“I won’t let ‘em.” Daryl answered you, leaving no room for you to argue even in your panicked state.

All you could do was nod, trembling hands gripping his knife.

“Jus’ sit tight, lemme handle it. Don’t draw attention.” Daryl instructed in the typical gruff fashion you’d already become accustomed to.

And he did as promised. Bolt after bolt from his crossbow flew through the air, bullets from the gun he carried and the guns in the hands of the others, too, took down the walkers that had invaded the home you had all been foolish enough to believe was safe. And when it was all over, Daryl came right back to you. It was actually difficult for him to get his knife back from your shaking hands, they were gripping it so hard. He could tell by your breathing you were in some sort of shock, so he did the one thing he remembered his mama doing for him when he was real small and cut his knee bad: he pulled you into his arms. And it wasn’t awkward, just like it hadn’t been when he was a boy, because it was needed. That reminder that you were safe. He needed that just as much as you did.

Years have passed since then. Or, at least, your best guess at years. You’re stronger now, more independent, more resourceful, and you can protect yourself. But in this moment, bound and trapped, your instinct to start shit talking is overshadowed by those exact words from Daryl when you’d felt this same uncertainty in his absence: sit tight. So, you keep your mouth shut, and your survival is governed by a version of Daryl in your subconscious. Slowly so as to not draw attention to yourself, you shuffle yourself around until you’re sitting up in the corner of the room, with your bound legs bent to your chest. Your tied wrists at your back are concealed by the rest of you, and as futile as the effort might be, you start picking at the rope from any awkward angle you can in an effort to loosen it. Raising your eyebrows up and down a few times, you can feel the tug of your wound, and the beginnings of dried blood crusting around it - you’ve been here, unconscious, more than a few minutes, but the heat of fresh blood you can still feel means you’ve not been here very long.

“Would you look at that, our girl’s back with us!” One of the men jeers, smacking the back of one of the others to get him looking over at you.

If Daryl was here and heard them call you that, they’d be dead already. That thought gives you a small amount of comfort.

“Awh, cat got your tongue, little lady? C’mon, don’t be shy!” The third man smirks at you, and as he starts walking over to you, your knees instinctively draw closer to your chest.

It takes everything in you not to react when he crouches down in front of you, one of his hands grabbing your jaw. You want to spit right in his face, but that would only escalate things beyond your control. Sit tight, sit tight. You focus on your breathing. Focus on looking past this ugly fucker, through him, to the door on the opposite side of the room. Hoping, willing, praying; dissociating.

“Pretty thing like you needs some strong men lookin’ after her.”

Unfortunately, you’re not dissociated enough to miss those words from the man still crouched in front of you. But you’re grateful for that, because if you had been, you might’ve missed the subtlest creak from just outside the door. A moment’s pause. A second’s silence. And then the door slams against the wall, kicked open by a boot you barely have time to recognise before a bolt head from Daryl’s crossbow appears right between the eyes of the man who had been crouched in front of you, but is now a crumpled corpse on the floor.

“She don’t.” Daryl grunts.

The other two guys are quick to recover from their shock, attempting to tackle Daryl together, but he’s faster. They think this is his first rodeo? Man…you almost feel sorry for them. Except for the fact you don’t. At all.

You probably shouldn’t take any amount of joy in seeing Daryl easily take down two other guys with his bare hands, but it’s hard to shake the warmth that spreads through you, seeing and accepting the fact that he’s come to get you. That he didn’t stop looking until he found you, and the moment he did, he was ready for war. Punching both the guys down, Daryl’s quick to grab his crossbow from where he’d dropped it in favour of beating these guys to death, and fires another bolt into one of the guy’s stomachs. Leaves him to fall to the floor while Daryl drops his crossbow again and tackles the only man left standing, straddling him and throwing punch after punch after punch, until everything’s red. Guy’s face, Daryl’s fists, guy’s shirt, Daryl’s pants. Red. He only stops when he registers the guy under him is unconscious, and then he’s standing up, stalking over to the other guy who’s clutching at the bolt in his stomach, and doing the same damn thing. That guy, Daryl punches until he stops breathing. He didn’t intend to quit it, but your voice was the only thing that wasn’t red.

“STOP IT!”

It wasn’t the words you said or the way you said them, it was the fact that in them, Daryl could hear tears. You were crying. And that would shift his focus in any situation. Standing back up, he retrieves his crossbow from the ground and fires one last bolt to the only guy not left impaled, leaving one dead by bolt to the face, and two left to turn by bolts in the stomach. Let them rot.

Everything’s different when it’s Daryl crouching down in front of you, using his knife to cut the rope from your ankles and wrists. His bloody hands trembling around the blade, but not from fear. The ropes fall to the floor in tatters at the same rate as the tears rolling down your cheeks, but Daryl’s thumbs are there in a blink of an eye. Wiping your tears away, leaving smeared blood stains on your cheeks. He sees that look in your eyes again, like a blast from the past. A wide-eyed doe, too pretty for a world like this, but you’re here still.

Very gently, Daryl’s hands trail down your arms, lifting them and bringing them to his neck. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what he’s doing, but as soon as you realise, you’re shakily leaning into him. Daryl’s arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to his chest and holding you there. Where he wishes he could keep you forever. Tucked away safe.

“Thank you.” Is the sniffle that comes from you.

“Don’t need thankin’, girl.” Is Daryl’s gruff response, but the way he huffs and drops his head to your shoulder tells you he’s getting bashful, and that makes you smile.

There’s quiet, then. Just for a few seconds. Holding each other in a room filled with dead bodies shouldn’t feel as warm as it does, but when the world ends, you make do with what you have.

“Home?” You break the silence, your voice soft.

“Home.” Daryl nods against your shoulder.

And neither of you are referring to the place you ought to be heading back to.

—————————————————————————

taglist: @ruinedbythehobbit @iamburdened @evilbabyelf @of-storms-and-sadness @crossbowking @spidergirla5 @jodiereedus22 @thanossexual @captain-shannon-becker @cordialgargoyle @romanoffs-bitch @daryldixonandfrogs @just-always-tired @pillowjj @the-musical-doodle @likeablevillain @irrelevantyettopicalusername @notquitecannon @alyisdead @polkadottedpillowcase @twdeadfanfic @wishingtobeforeveryoung1994 @sigynlokiem @courtnytrash04 @thatwrestlingfan91 @buttsology @prettylittleblog13 @milariskanavasi @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @your-new-mom @daryls-angell @lilzebub @amaroho @bakedcrispss @yes-sir-hotchner @wasted-years @kpopandharry @madshelily @datidixon @dumandbass @savageneversaw

[jjoannii]

“Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered”

I had a vision and ran with it, I’m not sure I’ve executed it the way I would have liked to but here it is!

This took forever, I can’t even lie. Mostly because I kept getting distracted by the genuinely otherworldly fics that came out in the last week or so… ( @aggieharkness @madamspellmans-met-tet, you’re doing the lords work, if you ever need a kidney- I’m your girl. I mean it, I owe you both my life)

Also, thank you to darling @renafisher27 for just being the loveliest person in the world and telling me to keep going with this!! You are a sweet angel sent from the sky!!

(I can’t do hair and nor do I claim to be able to, so please just let it slide or I’ll cry xoxo)

[myluckyluv]

But Id marry you with paper rings.

Banner from @anitalenia

You were laying with Gojo in bed watching an old comedy movie. Your eyes were completely glued to the TV screen, while you laid with your head on Gojo shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

Half way through the movie you leave the room, excusing yourself to the bathroom quickly. While Gojo took this as an amazing opportunity to scavenge your room like a beast.

"Ooo, what's this?" Gojo picked up a blank sheet of paper you had laying out in a drawer. He picked up a pen, pair of scissors and some clear tape. Sitting at your desk. He started drawing tiny circles, cutting them out and tapping them together to form a ring shape.

You soon came out from the bathroom and entering your room only to see Gojo on one knee, holding a ring but terribly made out of notebook paper. All you could do was look down at your boyfriend on his knees wth a blank stare. As he looked up at you. With his big beautiful,innocent blue eyes. After what felt like an eternity It was really 30 seconds .You bursted out into a loud laughter with a tear droplets slowly beginning to fall rom your eyes, with gojo following right along.

"What the hell are you doing !?" You managed to say through your laugh with tears blocking your vision. You lean up against the wall, facing your back to Gojo. "What? You don't wanna marry me baby?" Gojo whined, grabbing your waist, turning your body to face him.

Grabbing your hand, placing his paper ring on your finger. "Now your allllllll mine sweetheart" gojo placed a long kiss on your ring finger. You get on your knees reaching his level. "You're so gosh darn stupid... and I would love to marry you toru." You run your hands through his hair and pulled him into a kiss.

" just not when we're 16 and unemployed" you broke the kiss with a cheeky smile, hoping back onto your bed, resuming the rest of your movie with Gojo following right behind, laying his head in your lap.

I’m finally back from my hiatus ❄️

[kiemiu]

my boyfriend's a vampire | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. established relationship headcanons wc 1.6k (library) + (request)

one. who gained an inevitable infatuation with you because of your uncanny resemblance to a past lover he had hundreds of years ago. you were walking home late at night, lost in your own world while completely in tune with whatever music blasted through your headphones. you were so distracted that you wouldn't even realize a mugger chasing you. highly unsafe, he thought.

it seemed like easy prey to him, he didn't even pull out his usual over the top techniques, he just followed closely behind until you were in a more secluded area. his footsteps got quicker and quicker, and he got closer and closer, until he was barely a wisp away. he grabbed your shoulder, whipping you around. you let out a shrill scream in return, both of you stuck frozen in place. you trembled in fear, while his grip on your shoulder loosened, and fell to your elbow. "mon cherie?" he quietly whispered. your face so familiar, those same plump lips that he missed so much coated in a sticky gloss, your hair the same length as the last time he saw you take your last breath, and your scent carrying solemn memories. you came back to him, at last.

your wide eyes looked at him in fear, your figure physically recoiling away from him the more he stood frozen in shock. your visible discomfort snapping him out of his trance. "oh, um—yo-you dropped this." he muttered out, revealing the lip gloss in his palm that he had snagged from your purse without you noticing. you quickly accepted it before scurrying away, your head whisking behind your shoulder a few times to make sure he wasn't following behind, yet as soon as he saw you slow down your pace, he began to follow you until you reached home.

two. who is your personal shadow. wherever you go, he's not too far behind. always closely analyzing your every move. not in a scrutinizing way, but with pure fixation. after seeing you pass in such a horrific way centuries ago, the simplest tasks keep him infatuated with you. he'll watch you fix a pb&j as if you're completing a once in a lifetime mission. "you don't have to watch me write my essay, matt." you quietly murmured, your eyes remaining trained on your computer screen, even as warmth creeped up your neck from the pressure of his gaze. being caught in the act as well as the simple mention of his name made him shy away from your peripheral vision, resorting to floating behind you. "you just move with such eloquence, mon amour. i can't help but stare." he'd admit quietly, the brush of his lips tickling the lobe of your ear, a small smirk making its way on his face at the sound of your quickening heartbeat.

three. who doesn't sleep but will cuddle you from sunset to sunrise. he knows how important it is for humans to get their sleep, finding that it keeps them healthy and from going completely insane, he ensures that you follow a strict sleeping schedule. usually, when nighttime falls and the moon makes an appearance, he has little to no acception of you staying up past a certain time. only every now and then will he let you bend the rules, but it's very rare. he wants you to maintain the best health possible and will take every measure to make sure you keep it. after having a particularly vicious nightmare one night, matt swore to stay close to you even when you're asleep. you tell him that he doesn't have to do it but he continues to do so anyway, finding comfort in a routine with you, yet never admitting it. always saying "oh, please. the best sleep you get is when you're with me."

four. who is hesitant to feed on you when he starts to get hungry out of fear of hurting you. you've offered plenty of times and each time he's turned it down without an argument. it's not like he doesn't want to, because he absolutely does. hearing your blood rush in thick streams through connected veins has been the main reason on why he's so hesitant on keeping you close, yet he still continues to. even when it drives him mad. albeit pouty, that he won't drink your blood, you've offered animals in the woods behind your house, but he simply refuses to ever feed on animals, having too intense of a fondness for them, you'll sometimes catch him talking to them but you never question it. his hunger only satiated by mutilating muggers and sleazy men in the dead of night when you're fast asleep, always making it home in time to clean himself up and sneak back into bed without you noticing.

five. who lets you dress him in todays' fashion and will unwillingly be your test dummy for wigs and makeup. as time went on, matt grew out of his outdated blouses and followed suit on whatever fashion was popular. he didn't dive too deep into the trends, only wearing what he liked and assumed was more fitting. pilgrim shoes weren't exactly today's fashion and it hadn't been for years. his once colonial style had slipped into a more business casual flair. you liked his style, but you also liked to persuade him into a pair of baggy jeans every once in a while. when you weren't doing that, you were using him as a mannequin to style your wigs on or as a test dummy for new makeup looks. "princesse, this isn't even my shade."

six. who communicates to you telepathically. he's not really one for words unless he's writing them down, and he made that known so you wouldn't be put off by his silence. yet it did startle you when he randomly started to communicate with you telepathically. it became a habit for the two of you, sometimes being in completely separate rooms but still managing full blown conversations with each other. there has been a handful of occasions where you've introduced a friend to matt in your head and not out loud. it's a handy way to communicate, you just have to find a healthy balance.

seven. who writes you love letters. not being that big of a talker or one for boisterous romantic gestures, matt resorts to writing you love letters. everything he feels but can't say has been transferred onto delicate pieces of paper. there are piles and piles of letters addressed to you, some delivered to you, others kept locked away. the ones he keeps locked away are letters that no lady should see. they're shameful, white sheets being stained with red ink as he explains every primal desire that haunts him whenever he sees you, feels you. sometimes he'll go back and re-read said letters, flustering himself at how feral he sounds. he will never let those sheets of paper ever see the light of day. the other letters, the more light-hearted and sappy ones, he'll fold up and put them in different places for you to find throughout your day. under your pillow for you to read before you go to bed, on the fridge door handle, wedged in a flower bouquet, etc.. they can range from a short 7 word sentence to a 1200 word document. all of them oozing words of love.

eight. who loves your obsession with his fangs. he always watches with a fond smile as you cuddle close to him and poke at his fangs. "they're so sharp.." you'd mutter, gently sliding the nail of your finger down one. he'd jokingly bite at your finger as if he'd actually bite it off, making you retract your finger in fear with a shrill squeak, his laugh at your reaction making you laugh with him. with his sharp teeth he makes good use out of them, opening bottles, slicing through bags of chips, cutting fruit, carving pumpkins, etc.. he also likes to do a stereotypical vampire kiss where he dips you down and playfully bites your neck. never hard enough to draw blood, but enough to tickle you.

nine. who turns into a bat to avoid arguments. every time he senses one of your conversations starting to go left, his walls start to build up. sometimes he feels cornered and doesn't know how to react in those situations, he never did even with a millennia of experience. so, his go to mechanism is to turn into a bat. 'bats can't talk so you can't be mad at him' not to mention, how utterly adorable he is in his bat form, hanging in the corner of the roof, all bundled up, his doe eyes warily peaking out past his wings. he knows exactly where to hit the weak spots and will take advantage in his favor. he won't leave his bat form unless the situation is really upsetting/serious to you or until you've calmed down.

ten. who can't lose you again. he knows as a human that your time is extremely limited and precious. but for you, it doesn't have to be. everytime he hears you complain about abnormalities that only humans go through he suggests the idea of turning you. "you know, you wouldn't have to go through any back pain as a vampire." you laugh it off, underestimating how completely serious he is. matt has already dealt with the loss of you one time and he refuses to go through it again. being without you changed him for the worst, so, he'll take any and every measure possible to keep you around. even if it means turning you into a vampire while you're at your most defenseless.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🧛🏻 : @emely9274 @ginswife @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash @sturnina @lovetaylorrussellgrr @nervoussagittarius @sacaydia @chrissturnsss @hearts4werka @chrisprincesss @koilaniazul @starsforu @sturn777 @sturniolosiphone @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnsmia @leaningoutthewindow @certainfestivalnerdshepherd @dominicfikeenthusiast

[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

rafe sees you lying on a bus bench with your bag, the rest up to you!

COLD

Word Count: 0.8K

Pairing(s): Reader x Rafe x

Warnings: Family Conflict, hypothermia

Summary: Rafe finds you on the bus bench freezing

The night was frigid, colder than you expected when you stormed out of the house. Your parents' voices echoed behind you, their yelling only growing louder as you slammed the door.

You hadn't even thought to grab a proper jacket, just a thin cardigan thrown over your tank top and shorts. Your vision blurred from tears, the cold biting at your exposed skin. In your haste to escape, your foot caught on a loose stone in the driveway, and you went down hard, scraping your hands and knees against the icy pavement.

Snow began to fall, light at first, but it quickly picked up, the flakes sticking to your hair and soaking your clothes. Shivering uncontrollably, you tried to stand but felt dizzy, the adrenaline from the fight fading and leaving you weak.

-

Your fingers clung to the strap of your bag as you stumbled toward the main road, each step heavier than the last. Your legs eventually gave out, and you collapsed onto a bus bench, the cold seeping into your bones as darkness edged into your vision.

The last thing you remembered was the sound of tires crunching on gravel, then a deep, familiar voice calling your name.

You stirred faintly, the hum of an engine and a blast of warm air pulling you from unconsciousness. Your body felt heavy, your limbs too stiff to move, but you could feel the heat of the car’s air conditioning washing over your frozen skin. The faint scent of cologne filled your senses, and you caught snippets of a voice—low, urgent, and soothing.

“Y/N, stay with me. You're okay. I've got you.”

You tried to open your eyes, but they were too heavy, your head lolling against the seat. A large, warm hand brushed against your forehead, a brief tether to reality before the darkness pulled you under again.

The next time you woke, it was to the comforting warmth of blankets cocooning you. Your eyes fluttered open, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You recognized the space immediately: Rafe Cameron’s bedroom. The faint smell of tea and cedarwood lingered in the air, and the weight of the blankets felt grounding.

You tried to sit up, but your body protested, still sore and weak. That’s when you noticed your clothes had changed—a large, soft hoodie and sweatpants replacing your soaked and freezing outfit from earlier. Confusion swept over you as you pushed the blankets down slightly, your voice hoarse as you croaked, “Rafe?”

“Hey.” His voice came from the doorway, and he appeared moments later, carrying a steaming mug. He placed it on the nightstand before crouching beside the bed, his piercing blue eyes scanning your face with concern.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, relief flooding his features. “You scared the hell out of me, Y/N.”

“What... what happened?” you whispered, your throat dry and voice barely audible.

“I found you,” Rafe said, his tone gentle but serious. “You were lying on a bus bench, freezing. You weren’t even fully conscious. I got you in my truck, blasted the heat, and brought you here.”

Your mind tried to piece together fragments of the night, but it was all hazy. “How did I get—” You gestured vaguely at the hoodie and sweatpants.

Rafe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Don’t worry. Sarah changed you. I wouldn’t... I didn’t want you to wake up and feel uncomfortable.”

You nodded slightly, grateful but still dazed. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, his broad frame towering over you but his presence oddly comforting. “Here.” He reached for the tea on the nightstand and handed it to you. “It’s peppermint. Figured it might help warm you up.”

Your fingers wrapped around the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands. You took a small sip, the minty aroma calming your nerves. “I’m sorry,” you said after a moment, your voice breaking.

“For what?” Rafe asked, his brows furrowing.

“For... showing up like this. For being a mess,” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes.

Rafe shook his head, his hand resting gently on your knee over the blankets. “Don’t ever apologize for that,” he said firmly. “You’re not a mess, Y/N. You’ve just been through... a lot.”

The way he said it, so certain and without judgment, made your tears spill over. Rafe didn’t hesitate, pulling you into a careful hug, his arms wrapping securely around you. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against your cheek made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

After a few moments, he pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

The sincerity in his voice broke down the last of your walls, and you nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through your tears.

“Get some rest,” he said, adjusting the blankets around you. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

As you lay back down, your body still aching but your heart a little lighter, Rafe stayed beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair until you drifted off.

[cloveroctobers]

let it snow — 6. Terry Richmond [Winter prompts]

A/N: It only makes perfect sense to write something loving for this man. My plan is definitely to see Mufasa during this Xmas season with the family. You already know I had to add some shenanigans to this as well! 🤍

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE & I’m using: 2. “S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt.” - "You just can't cook." + 13. neighborhood festive decoration competition becomes dangerously competitive.

WARNINGS: language + a sprinkle of sexual content.

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“S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt.” You softly exhale as you hold said s’more beneath your fingertips, staring at the treat so lovingly.

Terry gave you a side eye, sitting right beside you on the plushy outdoor sofa that’s set up in the screened in porch out back, “You just can't cook."

Which stops you immediately from biting into the slightly charred gooey dessert, “Okay, that was so nasty and so rude.”

“I mean that in the most respectable way.”

No way did he just try to pull a, “we listen and we don’t judge,” on you?

You tilt your head in confusion, lips pushed out, and a frown situated right between your brows. Maybe you weren’t the best cook and that was mostly in Terry’s department when it came to your shared household but you had no problem assisting and sampling!

Terry reached out to the table across from the couch, picking up the tin that contained the roasted s’mores, which you both participated in making at the pit in the backyard.

“Uh uh, you just said I couldn’t cook so keep your hands to yourself.”

Terry peers over at you with his naturally lined green eyes, chin burrying into his shoulder as he says, “You’re acting as if you made these all on your own. The stars are on the bottom, covered by your burnt ones.”

“They’re charred.” You sat up from your slouched position and stuck your nose up into the air.

“…Which is another term for overcooked.”

“You don’t cook s’mores.”

“You’re right,” Terry finds a s’more that looked the best, one he made, “you roasted and set them on fire.”

“The store didn’t have any more chestnuts to roast!” You argued, “And I’ve just about had enough of your slander on my s’mores. What is this? A holiday bake off?”

Terry scoffed, tossing his long legs up onto the table as he held a s’more of his own, “Not even close. You would be kicked off immediately.”

He grimaced at the black parts of the marshmallow that still remained from the s’more you previously bit out of. Which earned him a nice slap to the chest, and a rumble of laughter from him in return, letting you know that didn’t hurt as much as you intended it to.

Terry loved teasing you on your cooking skills, along with your family, who had no issue calling Terry up instead to see what he would be bringing to all sorts of family functions. It’s not like you didn’t try…you always had the vision but executing was the problem. During this season you were experimenting with soups and there was no better person to try it on than your man.

If you wanted honest opinions, Terry Richmond was your guy.

“…Hold up.”

Blinking you turn to see Terry slowly sit up—truly on some Michael myers type shit but you kept that to yourself—his eyes glaring out into the nightfall.

“What’s the matter?” You asked before popping the rest of the treat into your mouth.

Terry answers, “Look at our neighbors house and tell me what you see.”

Frowning you lean forward as well, looking left to right rather than straight ahead you respond, “…high ass light bills?”

Any other time Terry would have let out a laugh but by his posture, you can tell he was trying to keep his cool. The grunt that escaped his mouth and the air that flared from his nostrils, finally gets you to look at the house that was directly behind your home.

“Oh no he didn’t.” You stood up, watching as the inflatable gingerbread man stood tall and proud, “I said that was the theme we were going for.”

Terry nods, “Uh huh. Safi said he only celebrates kwanza and wasn’t into the whole decor like everybody in this community is.”

Safi just moved in a few months ago and you two were the first to actually go introduce yourselves with a platter of something nice. Just doing neighborly things and it seemed like Safi and Terry were getting along just fine. Safi even stopped into Terry and Mike’s catering business, building some sort of networking relationship at first. They hung out a few times, he invited you two over for dinner…so you weren’t completely strangers.

To put it simply, a heads up would have been nice.

“Looks like he changed his mind.” You crossed your arms, “Either that or he’s fake as fuck.”

Terry sighs, “I should go over and see if he needs any help.”

“Or you can just text him with a picture followed by a question mark?”

Terry gets to his feet now, “Things can get misconstrued through text, baby. I rather stop by.”

It was your turn to hum, “Well don’t take too long…the rain and sleet are supposed to come in again around nine and there’s a present I want you to open under the tree.”

The man dips his head as he starts shoving on his outerwear that he tossed on the other furniture as the indoor porch got a little too warm for him, “Let me guess, that present must be you?”

That knocks some of the annoyance out of your frame as you meet his awaiting emerald (usually peridot) hues in the dim of the attached space, “Maybe…you’ll just have to wait and see.”

He winks as he steps forward, pressing a scratchy kiss to your cheek, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

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“…my bad man, I don’t know what you’re getting at.” Safi lightly rubs at his jaw, shifting to lean against his ajar door, “First you stop by unannounced and then you and your lady accuse me of stealing a stupid gingerbread when everyone uses gingerbread decor, it’s Christmas.”

Terry felt his eyebrow twitch, hands clasped in front of him as he felt the wind pick up behind his back, “I apologize for stopping by so late on short notice. I just couldn’t help but to detect a decor piece that I showed you that I knew my lady would like. To my surprise it looks identical. You are aware that the back of our homes face each other…so one of us would see it?”

Safi folds his arms and slowly nods his head, “Sure but it wasn’t intentional.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am of you pressing me.”

Strike two!

“Okay Safi.” Terry sends him a smile that felt less than jolly, “I see where this is going so I hope you have a nice night and whatever holiday you suddenly decide to celebrate.”

Safi sends a mocking two finger salute, “Everything’s always good on my end, vet. Terry. Say hello to the Mrs. For me?”

Strike three!

You’re lounging right by the tree on a crocheted blanket and in front of the fire, back warming up soothingly as you patiently waited for Terry to get back. Hearing the front door slamming, you sit up a bit on your elbow, ready to get back into your model pose but sit up quickly at the hooded figure.

Who turns out to be Terry who sends you a wicked grin full of teeth, his nose crinkled at the bridge of his nose followed by the dip of his inner brows.

“You didn’t.” You peek at the deflated decor in his hands.

“Uh huh.” Terry drags it towards the indoor porch, “Safi thinks shit is going to be sweet just because it’s the holidays? Naah. We’re going to show him what happens when you move the way he does.”

Clacking your nails together in excitement as you sat cross legged, you nod at your man who tosses the inflatable onto the porch. When he turns back to you, drinking in the image of you in nothing but a red and white pinstriped blouse and thigh high socks.

“That can wait though.” Terry smirks as he starts peeling out of his jacket.

You’re up on your knees while Terry gets down on his, you’re almost chest to chest as he cups your face, his thumbs gently caressing the sides of your cheek bones while he stares deeply into your eyes.

“Glad you made it back to me in one piece, Richmond.”

Terry snorts, “Did you really have any doubts?”

You smirk, “I mostly said a prayer for Safi.”

“Course you did,” Terry laughs before tenderly pressing a kiss to your lips.

You melt into him just like the sleet that hits the windows. Just from that kiss alone, you’re fighting to catch your breath as you flick your eyes up to meet Terry’s which are shifting in hues the longer he stares at you, “…I hope you weren’t too rough on our gingerbread man.”

Terry leans down to place an open mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, feeling your pulse race at its point, “I thought I said our plan to win this competition can wait?”

“I-it can.”

Great, now he had you stuttering!

“Then lay back and keep your eyes on me. If you close them at any point,” He leans in close enough to your ear, making your toes curl already, “You lose.”

And Terry knew just how much you hated that.

So call this a pre-game if you will, head tilted back, fighting to keep your eyes open that the warmth of tears glided down the corner of your eyes, arms down low on your man’s head, alternating against the urge to keep his face closer or push away while Terry got his own serving of festive Bailey’s cream from you.

The snow was the least of your worries tonight…and your worries sure as hell didn’t include Safi’s flip flopping having ass either!

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Continue with my winter anthology prompts here.

[look-at-the-soul]

Hi, Mar!! Following your idea, I'm sending you a question too, to celebrate this anniversary! 🔟❤️

You have the chance to give Tommy one (1) gift. But this gift is from this century, something that not existed back in 1900. What would you like to give him? 🤔

Flor I’ve to start this apologizing for taking forever to reply I’m so sorry!

At first you caught me off guard and I didn’t know what to give him because he already has it all, or he has an easy access to everything (almost) and then time flew but suddenly I had an ide of something that would touch his heart ♥️ Thank you a million times for sending in this ask!

I finally found the perfect gift for Tommy and I turned it into a little story 🎄I got the inspiration from a one shot I did back in the day so this would be like “their present day” “The Photoshoot”

****

It’s not about the gifts under the tree

Y/N stood in a corner next to the fireplace whilst everyone focused on their Christmas presents. They had full house, Ada had her Spotify playlist on, the kids enjoying the moment thrilled about the last adventure of the elf on the shelf and Santa’s presents.

And of course there was the empty chairs, the people who had passed away. And Y/N noticed that ever since Polly wasn’t around anymore it was taking a toll on Tommy, they were one, their bond was so profound, at another level… they understood each other completely.

“I think there was a present missing under the tree.” Y/N whispered presenting her boyfriend a box.

That caught Tommy’s attention, he hadn’t seen that box before, it was wrapped in a delicate deep red fancy paper with reindeers silhouettes as pattern.

“Love you didn’t have to give me anything.” It was strange for him the feeling of getting presents, when he was just a boy his parents didn’t have a lot of money to spend on gifts so he grew up with that feeling that it wasn’t necessary spend money on him, all the contrary because he went above and beyond for everyone.

“I know, but I wanted you to have this, so why don’t you hurry up and open it?” She encouraged softly, eager to see his reaction.

It was a big box with several boxes inside, there was a frown in Tommy’s forehead. Y/N bit her lower lip in an attempt to conceal her excitement.

As he ripped the white and gold paper, Tommy found a portrait that when he turned it around, he found a photograph in color of his beloved mother.

Time froze and his heart returned to normal as his fingers touched his mother’s features.

“How…” a million questions crossed his mind just as tears blurred his vision.

Y/N came around to circle him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Months before passing away, Polly gave me a few boxes of photographs, she thought I’d know what to do with it.

“I remember this photo, but it was damaged and it was in black and white.” Tommy choked, taking a deep breath to try to keep his emotions at bay.

“I edited it love, deleted the stains and colored the photo.” Y/N explained.

“Thank you.” He was fighting hard the lump installed in his throat.

Because as he took another box, he found a small album filled with Polaroids of pictures he had never seen before. His mother appeared in a couple dressed in a light blue dress in what seemed like her birthday celebration.

And before he could even ask Y/N how or when she got those, she whispered with a smile. “Found them in one of the boxes, then I learned how to convert film negatives into digital photos.”

Tommy couldn’t find the words to thank her for her thoughtful gift. Those photographs held memories of his loved ones, the only link he had to his keen and his past, and somehow she brought it back to life.

One by one, he revisited his past, his background through each Polaroid. And that was priceless.”There’s something else at the bottom.” Y/N pointed out when she noticed Tommy’s eyes were fixed on his mother portrait.

He blinked and looked at her in confusion. More? As if this wasn’t enough?

To his surprise, there was something else, a frame.

But it wasn’t any frame, Y/N plugged it and it came to life, showing Tommy a digital image of him and his mother.

“I might have used Photoshop a bit.” She explained nervously because of his silence.

The edited image showed him next to his mother and a blurred background, and making it look as if they got their picture taken together. His heart skipped a beat and suddenly another image appeared. It was Polly this time, a fabulous photo of her on her wedding day.

And so on many more images he had never seen filled the screen. He was mesmerized and shocked at the same time.

“This is the best present you could ever get me.” His words were full of gratitude. How could he ever top this?”How did you do that?”

Tommy asked so emotional when he saw an animated version of his mother, she was smiling at the camera, then looked away and finally she looked up in the sky laughing.

“I put together the series of photos I found, turned it into a video and looks like she’s moving.”

“Come here.” He pleaded, not finding the right words to thank her.

This wasn’t their first Christmas together, but it was definitely different. After been living together for almost a year, Y/N deserved the world, she had been so supportive after the sudden passing of his beloved aunt, she had been a wonderful step mother to Charlie, she practically took charge of everything to make this gathering for his family for Christmas to try to make it smoother for everyone specially the children.

Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, his eyes saying more than his lips could.

Over the course of their relationship, she had been in charge of immortalizing several family portraits and important events like birthdays, holidays, school milestones… she loved it and to have a piece from his past as well captured in digital photographs was so important to her.

“Rose sent the Christmas card earlier.” Y/N added in an attempt to lighten the emotions he was going through.

“How could I miss it if you left it on my desk?” It was a family photograph Y/N took of her best friend Rose, her fiancé Alfie and their dog Cyril.

A soft giggle escaped her lips, their teasing would never end.

“I also happen to have another present for you.” Tommy added after a minute.

“Dad, Y/N look here.” Charlie interrupted their conversation, he was waving the instant camera she gave him and the kid had been snapping Polaroids of everyone.

“Charlie bring me my phone please.” Tommy asked pointing at the other side of the room. While his son skipped happily moving up and down the photo he took, he returned with a smile and handed the phone. “Show Y/N the wallet app.”

“What’s this?” Y/N was trying to process what she found on the screen.

“We’re going to Scotland tomorrow love, to spend New Year with your grandmother.” Tommy explained running his hand up and down Y/N’s back.

Now it was her turn to feel emotional over the gift she just got. Her grandma couldn’t travel anymore and she wasn’t in position to host a big party, but Tommy organized everything to spend a few days with her.

Leaning on his shoulder, she wrapped an arm around his neck, her free hand inviting Charlie as well. To them it wasn’t about the presents under the Christmas tree, but the people around it.

Thank you again so much for reading! Remember your feedback is the best gift you could give 🎄♥️✨🥰

Blurbs

Master list

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney

@gretelshelby @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan

@stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts

@moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @narlytude @winchestergirl22

@zablife @elk96 @blondie-22 @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144

@peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya @lau219 @cljordan-imperium

@adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @lauren-raines-x

@everythingelseisextra @kmc1989 @red-riding-wood @lovemissyhoneybee

@mythicalcowboyatheart @jbrownta @outlanderuniverse

[lesbomaticlove]

tw // pet death - but also cat photo dump

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she came into my life on my fifth birthday, in 2008.

the shelter had named her amelia, but I couldn't pronounce it right, so the spelling was changed to amilea. she was a runt, the only survivor of her litter, and frankly swayed my concept of the normal size of a cat. she was my little baby to the end, and loved to be cradled like one. she's been the one constant through my life. when i lost friends i still had her to cuddle and love. she gave me sixteen years. she was a thief of chips and ice cream and aptly nicknamed 'satan' for her bitchy nature toward others.

my family used to have this stringy wallpaper that she was able to climb, and she would get up to eye level on the corner and wait for someone to come up from the basement to scare them. she hated strangers and all other animals excluding our family dog, buddy, who she took the time to groom and cuddle when she wasnt chasing him around.

she loved to sit on my shoulders and watch when i played piano or cooked. she never walked with her harness on, but she loved to lay outside with me while i read in the back yard.

when i moved out, i knew i had to have her with me. i never wanted to be apart from her. she slept in my bed every night right next to my head, spent the time i was at work sat on the windowsill watching birds until i got home. she insisted on sitting in my lap every time i was at my computer drawing, and screamed at me every time i sang too loud.

when her arthritis started to affect her i did everything i could to keep her comfortable. i put steps up to her favorite window sill, gave her a series of platforms to more easily get up on the bed. i had to make my bed a certain way because she refused to step on the comforter as she was losing vision and a black blanket didn't make for easy stepping at night. i put down padding around the bed for when she did fall off so she wouldn't get hurt, and made sure to give her ample room to lay any time so she wouldnt.

she passed away in my arms wednesday night.

she gave me sixteen years, and i will always cherish her.