#never thought about those details for her

[natalievoncatte]

There was someone in her penthouse.

Lena paused at the door, listening. The short hairs on the back of her neck stood up, a tingling sensation running down her spine. She wasn’t sure what tipped her off, but after the fifth kidnapping and three or four attempted murders in her own spaces -office, lab, here- she always listened to those instincts. Kara never complained if it was a false alarm when Lena activated her signal watch.

Her thumb hovered over the button. She took another step inside and the door latched behind her. She was about to press when Kara said,

“Please don’t press that.”

Something was off. Her voice was raspy, as though she had a sore throat, and oddly distorted. It was as if she spoke through a damaged speaker. Lena edged from the foyer into the kitchen, her heart still pounding.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kara was standing in the living room in her super suit, or so Lena thought. Her cape was there, but the silhouette was different. Lena reached for the light switch and again Kara spoke.

“Don’t. Please.”

“Kara?”

“I’m not your Kara. I’m just… passing through.”

“Passing through my penthouse?”

Lena ran her thumb around the button, ready to press.

“Are you together in this world?”

Lena froze. The figure in her living room, Kara-but-not, was holding the framed photo of Lena with Kara smiling together, the one she’d once shattered. Kara had bought her a new frame for it when they were healing, still working out who they were going to be together, if their friendship could survive with a foundation that had so profoundly crumbled.

The glint caught Lena’s eye. One of Kara’s hands. At first she thought it was a medal glove but that wasn’t right. The shape was wrong, the fingers too thin, skeletal and claw-like. As her eyes adjusted, Lena could pick out more details.

Good God. The whole side of her face was missing, rebuilt into something inhuman and skeletal. A faint emerald glow from her chest and eye cast a pallid light across the living room.

“She’s my best friend,” said Lena.

“Best friend,” the creature whispered, her voice even harsher and more distorted.

“What do you want?”

“I told you, I’m passing through. I won’t be here long. But… can I look at you?”

“Look at me? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Just let me look at you and I’ll go. Promise me you won’t scream or call me a monster.”

Lena swallowed hard.

“Should I turn on the light?”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“Alright, then.”

The figure slowly replaced the photograph and turned, moving towards Lena. She limped, just a little, left foot dragging. Lena gasped.

It was Kara, but not. She had been… mutilated was the only word Lena could find for it. Half her face, her right arm, her leg, and worst of all, a gaping hole in her chest that contained a chunk of vile green Kryptonite burning inside. Her skin was deathly pallid, almost blue, raked through with sickly green streaks surrounded by faint bruises, as if her blood itself was poisoning her.

“My God,” Lena breathed.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kara said, her remaining eye so full of sadness and regret that Lena felt tears welling in her own.

When Kara wept in return, she wept verdant blood. She drew closer, and Lena stood stock still as Kara pressed a corpse-cold palm to her cheek.

“It’s been so long since I heard your heartbeat,” she said. “Thank you.”

“W-what happened to you?”

“Your brother, what else? He impaled me with a Kryptonite harpoon. You saved me. It’s almost funny. The Metallo Protocol kept me alive. If you can call this living.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lena whispered. “Can I help you? Is there something I could do?”

Kara shook her head, mechanical joints in her neck grinding. “There’s no cure for death, zhao.”

Lena blinked. Zhao? Was that Kryptonian? She wasn’t sure what it meant.

The cold palm fell away from her cheek.

“There must be some way I can help,” said Lena.

“In my world I killed your brother,” said Kara.

“In this world, I did. For her.”

“She loves you.”

Lena flinched. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her and her legs went weak. She had to steady herself on the kitchen island.

“What?”

“Kara. She loves you.”

“How… why do you say that?”

“I have visited thousands of worlds. Thousands of timelines. There are many where you don’t even exist, where I don’t. But in all the ones I’ve found with the both of us, there is one constant: Kara Zor-El loves Lena Luthor. It’s inevitable, it’s like gravity. There is something in all of me that must love you.”

“You’re traveling across dimensions?”

She nodded, closing her one eye. “I’m searching. Before I killed Lex, he used his masterstroke against me. He couldn’t kill me, so he hit me where he could do the most damage. He sent Lena to the Phantom Zone before I ripped his heart out of his chest. Then something happened… the yellow aliens told me there was a crisis, a multiversal collapse that split the phantom zone into infinite shards.”

“Yes, the Crisis, but there should be only one Earth now. Your world should have been merged with ours.”

Kara sighed, a broken, pained rasp. “What happens when you subtract infinity from infinity?”

Lena frowned. “I see.”

“I know she’s out there. I can feel her. I thought your world might be the one, but there’s another me here, and the wrong you.”

“I hope you find her.”

“Thank you. May I ask you something?”

“Go ahead” said Lena.

“Do you love her?”

Lena didn’t need to ask who she meant. She felt a lump form in her throat even as her chest fluttered. This cold broken wreckage of another Kara stared into her as if to parse the strands of her soul.

“Yes,” said Lena.

Kara edged closer. “Then tell her. Please. Don’t make her wait. She’s too scared to tell you. She’s like all of us- she’s so afraid of her own strength that she won’t hold anyone truly close for fear she’ll crush them. She’s afraid of losing you, or losing you again. She’s lost everything. Her world, her people, her culture, two mothers and two fathers- there is so much grief in her that it could freeze a newborn star but you, you are the light that shines in the darkness. You are her red sunrise.”

Lena said nothing, fighting the tremble in her lip.

“I must go. She’s out there and I have to keep trying to find her.”

She turned away and Lena caught her arm, gently tugging. She stopped.

“Wait?”

Kara turned back to her, and Lena darted in close and pressed a soft kiss to her cold lips.

“What?” Kara blurted.

“For luck. You’re going to find her.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

Lena now pressed a palm to Kara’s cheek.

“You will. You’re Supergirl. You can do anything.”

Kara smiled with half a face and pulled free, activating a device on her belt. A portal opened before her, filling the penthouse with blazing light. She stepped through and was gone.

Lena stumbled to the sofa and collapsed onto it, hugging herself as the tears flowed.

A few moments later, the familiar sound of stacked heels thudded on her balcony and the door slid open.

Kara, her Kara, swept into the penthouse, frantic.

“Lena, what happened? I saw that flash. I was out on patrol and… are you crying?”

Kara knelt beside her and brushed her hair back from her eyes with her soft warm hand and said, “Baby, are you okay?”

Lena looked at her, really looked at her, and was simply overwhelmed. There was so much depth in her blue eyes, so much kindness and compassion and love.

“I am now,” said Lena.

Kara blinked a few times. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

“I promise I’m tell you someday, but first I have to ask you something.”

“Ask,” said Kara. “Anything you want, you know that.”

Lena curled a finger around Kara’s chin and watched her eyes widen, first in confusion and then in nervous anticipation as Lena bent towards her and tilted her head just slightly to press their lips together.

At first Kara didn’t react and Lena thought she’d made a terrible mistake, but then something in Kara came around and she lunged onto the couch, pressing Lena down to the cushions.

“Lena,” Kara breathed. “What… how… do you… with me?”

Lena hugged her fiercely.

“Stay with me, Kara. That’s what I want. Stay with me.”

“Always.”

[revvethasmythh]

listen, now that everything is said and done i'm going to say something i've been thinking but not outright saying for the past nearly four years. frankly, imogen and laudna's relationship is a pale shadow of caleb and veth's and if you really sit and think about it, it's outright embarrassing for the former party. it's like if you saw a beautiful piece of art and tried to emulate it and then the only thing you managed to jot down that was the same was the basic shape and you never added any color when the color was the most important part. imogen and laudna's relationship is formed out of almost the exact same origins (troubled mage who needs to keep a distance from regular society joins up with monstrous misfit with a traumatic backstory and become each other's most important person while traveling place-to-place because they keep getting into trouble in cities). the difference is, genuinely, how much more colorful and lived in caleb and veth's story feels. they met in a podunk county jail and worked together to break out of the place, stayed together for practical reasons (straight-up survival) and then out of genuine friendship. they were hobos in the woods together. they cuddled on the side of the roads on cold nights together. they were genuinely each other's sole lifeline because they were the type of people no one in the world cared about in a very real, visceral way. they were also con artists, and sam and liam worked together to come up with an entire booklet of different cons they used to survive, which come into play surprisingly often during the campaign (Modern Literature, famously, but also Mother's Love and Money Pot featured).

comparatively, we know next to nothing about what imogen and laudna's lives looked like after leaving gelvaan, and the Incident™️ that sent them running in the first place remains amorphous and random no matter how many times the story is told or whatever extra details get added. the people of gelvaan found laudna to be a generically threatening presence (because of her fun-scary appearance and/or kooky-fun-scary behavior) and picked up their torches and pitchforks to run her out of town. imogen heard her thoughts and found them so beautiful she nearly killed two of the townspeople she grew up with the defend her and then they fled into the night together. and that's it. what did they do for two entire years after that? i don't know! neither do you. they don't appear to have struggled for money like caleb and veth did, there's no reference to hard-living, no real reference to what jobs they took to stay afloat, no mention of the practical realities of living as homeless nomads, no mention of towns and cities they'd visited and how those places impacted them. nothing. empty. no color. how did their relationship develop? also don't know! they seem to have slotted together perfectly as friends with no conflict for years before slotting together perfectly as lovers while batting aside all attempts at conflict later. done and dusted, that's the relationship, and people have the gall to call caleb and veth's successor relationship 'soulmatism' when it doesn't hold a candle to what the original offered.

which was, to be clear, endless complexity. i can't tell you how to define it, and i don't think the character's themselves could define it if they tried. sam went into the campaign intending to lean into a familial relationship and quickly realized that wasn't the vibe, course-corrected into veth having a crush on caleb--something sam has said developed fairly early in the campaign.* liam went into the relationship not intending to care about her nearly as much as he ended up doing, then spent the early campaign eps grappling with just how suddenly important she was to him, to the point that, in the face of her potentially dying in episode 20, liam says to sam, "do you want to make my character turn evil already?"** both were surprised at how tightly their characters clung to each other, and developed a deeply caring, highly insular dynamic where they were suspicious of outsiders and desperately guarded each other. with full retrospect, both went into the relationship intending to use each other (caleb for general usefulness/protection and veth, obviously, hoping caleb could change her back one day), then found such deep and tender care that they became each other's worlds. for a time. until nott became veth and veth had a husband and it sent their relationship into a tailspin because no matter how you frame the relationship, caleb clearly felt his feelings for her and the way they behaved together stepped over the line of how one should act with a married woman. after that, he is terrified of the idea that he might not have a place in her life and works so hard to create opportunities to insinuate himself into her present and future (teleportation spells so she can travel home quickly and still return to the group, making room for her family in the tower so she can stay with him, offering to tutor luc in magic to stay in her life, etc). veth gets her body and her life back but fears returning home will be lackluster compared to what she's experienced with the group, starts falling out of love with her husband, and has intense extra-martial feelings for caleb that are canonical. their relationship morphs and changes constantly throughout the campaign, and the one thing about their dynamic that never changes is how deeply and truly they love each other. you want to talk about soulmatism? them being the two party members with fake names who's real names share aspects of each other ("Bren" and "Brenatto") both from small-town dwendalian empire who's lives have been deeply impacted by meddling of the cerberus assembly (veth's in adulthood, caleb's in childhood) and who's deepest traumas are respectively fire and water does the trick for me.

so why is one so popular and the other, particularly as a romantic ship, very much is not? it would be obtuse of me not to immediately point to the fact that imogen and laudna are two pretty, skinny white women who claim to have deliciously little agency in their own stories and provide a blank enough canvas that the relationship can be whatever you want it to be. there's a reason there's so many AU fics for them, after all. caleb and veth on the other hand would center first a relationship between the handsome white fandom-popular sadboi and *checks notes* a self-described ugly, unfeminine goblin with deep neuroses and later a short, fat brown woman who also happens to be a young mother from a small country town. popular fandom, tragically, will almost always turn away from dealing with complexity of the latter for the empty calories of the former regardless of the quality gap between the two. if anything, watching the popularity of imogen and laudna's relationship has cemented my opinion that if veth had been different (either a man or a generically attractive white woman or someone more conventionally pretty just in general), widobrave would have been a massively popular ship, and i think it would have been regardless of veth's marriage. people can forgive a lot to write about their two generically attractive favorites getting together. they're a lot less forgiving for an ugly goblin or a fat, brown young mother, though.

tldr: reject modernity, embrace tradition. ship widobrave

*Talks Machina for C2E88, VOD no longer available, but a paraphrase of the quote can be found here **(2:09:30 on the YouTube VOD).

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Speak now

Summary: Your best friend George is about to marry the friend you introduced to him years ago. Are you ready to let him go or will you act on your feelings you were hiding the whole time?

Warnings: curse words, George’s girlfriend

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: I was working on something else, then my mood got off and this idea popped in my mind while I was listening to the Speak now by Taylor Swift. Enjoy it! :)

———

Don’t say yes run away now

Seeing him preparing for the big day made your stomach turn. How he stood in front of the mirror, his white shirt buttoned up, tucked in his slacks, he was fighting with the cufflinks as his hands were shaking.

That was a time for you to step in, to help him.

“May I? Your hands are shaking like crazy, George.”

Your chuckle vibrating through your chest, where you hardly kept your emotions.

George took in your appearance, the pink silk dress really suiting you. “Thank you.”

Grabbing the hem of the sleeve, you managed to slip the cufflink to its place, admiring the handcrafted piece, simple GR on it. Only thing that wasn’t poisoned by her.

“Here you go.” Giving him a small smile, your eyes flickered across his figure, holding back your sigh.

“What would I do without you.. I’m a mess.” He laughed nervously, the emotions of this day taking a toll on him.

You wouldn’t be marrying her.

The flash of memory ran through your brain, the moment you introduced him to one of your friends from college in London. Being scared of your feelings for him back then, afraid of the idea of commitment, you thought he’d be better with someone else.

And he really was. But you weren’t.

Throughout the years of their relationship, you saw them at their happiest, lowest and strongest moments, George was your best friend, so you really knew about every small detail. So when he came to your place one day, you hoped that he’s about to confess to you, that you won’t be in your mess anymore, that he somehow read through your mixed signals over the years.

No. You were his best friend and he told you about how he wants to ask her to marry him. His eyes full of that blue spark you adored, his grin wide, happiness radiating from him. It shattered your heart, that moment carved into your brain forever.

This is it.

“Well, she’s the happiest woman in the world. To have a man like you.” You brushed your hands over his shirt, straightening the fabric, his cologne filling your nostrils.

“What if I faint there? That would be embarrassing.” George laughed, his hands sweaty, seeking the support in your eyes as he avoided what you were saying.

With a sigh and soft smile you hugged him, your hands wrapping around his back, pulling him close like if he was about to vanish. The fabric of his suit velvet on your skin, you were holding your breath because otherwise you would burst out in tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, Georgie. You're a tough guy, and… when you’ll see her, your worries will disappear. That’s for sure.” Mumbling into his shoulder, it was more words for you than him. Reassuring yourself that he’d be better off without you.

“I love how you’re always right, how you’re so supportive. I never fully thanked you for introducing me to her. You practically made our love come true, this wedding is also a celebration for you. Of how great friend you are.” If the words could cut, you’d be bleeding out to death.

“Oh, that’s flattering, really, but it’s your work. You made it with your love, and commitment to each other.” You chuckled and tried to brush off his words.

The knock on the door interrupted you, and his mother walked in. She was so sweet, always treating you like a family. Taking a step from George, you gave him one last look, smiling and nodding him good luck.

“This champagne is absolutely delicious, you should try it and those cupcakes too. Fucking hell, you didn’t mention that they’re filthy ass rich.” As you came back to the main reception, your date, which was some poor kind of man you met over business dinner once, was quickly beside you, licking the cupcake icing off his fingers.

“They’re not. He is.” You corrected him sharply, finally looking over the decorations and flowers there. It screamed her all along, not a single glimpse of George’s style. Also seeing the big mirror with handwritten sign Mr. & Mrs. Russell nearly made you vomit.

———

The ceremony started, George was now standing under the huge ass girlanda made of white roses, his eyes scanning the people around, giving nervous smiles, trying to keep his cool, as his eyes finally found you in the second row, you already looking at him. In that moment he calmed down a little, it was evident how he relaxed for a bit, his eyes softening.

Then the entrance of the bride. You turned to look at her. She really looked like a princess, giggling all the way walking to the aisle with her father. Your eyes were wet already, everybody thinking of how you're a supportive friend, but in reality you were absolutely destroyed.

Your mind was spinning, there was no way you could let it happen, the years of your suppressed emotions bubbling up, your whole body shaking, your hands getting sweaty every passing moment.

The man beside you, your date, watched you curiously. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re just excited for the part “speak now”.”

And as he said it jokingly, you turned your gaze to him, swallowing the lump in your throat. His eyes widened, understanding what’s about to come.

“Is there someone who has some objection to this marriage? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Hearing the preacher, it was now or never. With your heart beating fast in your chest, the rush of blood in your ears making them hot, you abruptly stood up from your seat.

“I do.”

Your voice echoing through the space, gaining attention and shocked gasps of everyone including the couple in the front. Yet you never felt more confident about standing for yourself.

“You! I knew it!” She pointed her small finger at you, her angry squeaky mouth spilling the curses

“Yeah, me. I need to say this. I love you, George. I always had, throughout all those years, even before her. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” The words lingered through the air. George was frozen to the ground, his eyes wide, same as his mouth open. Absolutely speechless while his fiancé was screaming something about his slutty friend ruining her big day.

It was like everything around you two disappeared, only the sacred connection between you existing in that moment, filled with many unspoken thoughts and emotions.

———

The sunset at the Cayman Islands felt like a dream. Waves of the sea washing over your feet, the sand stinging into your skin. You were finally able to breathe without the strain in your chest. Everything fell into the right places.

“Ah, here’s my favourite girl. I thought that you’d be here, always trying to catch the perfect sunset.” The voice of the man of your life forced you to smile widely.

Turning to look at him, capturing how his blue eyes sparkled with the sun in them, your heart skipping a beat, your stomach fluttering.

“Well, Mr. Russell, some things never change.” You reached for his hand, enjoying every possible moment you could feel his warm skin against you.

“That’s why I love you, Mrs. Russell. Because you’re you. The love of my life.” His fingers intertwined with yours, pulling your hand to his lips to place a kiss over your wedding ring while he held your gaze.

“Say it again.” You chuckled sweetly.

“I love you. I so so love you, I’ll scream it into the world, I’ll write it on every wall, I want everybody to know. You make my life easier and full of joy. What would I do without you…” his confessions were so adorable, that you were breathless every time.

“You’d be absolutely miserable without me.”

———

Please don’t use my writing without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

-

Tags: @chilling-seavey

[lanadelrafe]

Ok so why is no one talking about mob boss! Rafe LIKE HELLO. I think we’re gonna need more🫶🏼

as much as they fight, mob wife!reader can’t sleep until she knows rafe is safe.

— tw: mentions of a gun, attempted sexual assault, murder, blood.

— author’s note: i’m so glad people actually like this au! i know it’s not all sunshine and rainbows but i’m under the impression that being a mob wife isn’t that great. but they actually kinda like each other in this one.

there was a break in once when rafe was out doing god knows what. mw!reader was home alone with no protective detail. had there not been multiple men who rushed around, breaking things, she would’ve put those training sessions to work and defended herself. instead, she called rafe and locked herself in their shared closet. rafe hurried home, gun loaded and ready to be used. she could hear the shots even from her hiding spot. once it got quiet, she began panicking because she had no clue whether it meant rafe was alive or not. she heard the sound of the door knob being turned and she held her breath. when the door didn’t open, whoever was behind it began to jiggle the knob it abruptly.

she knew right then and there that it wasn’t rafe.

the only thing she had to defend herself were her heels. the memory of the incident at the club flashed in her mind. she grabbed a single heel and held it up, ready for the attack. when the masked stranger finally broke down the door, she lunged at him. he struggled for a moment, bleeding from his scalp, before he managed to pin her arms to her sides and flip her onto her stomach. she laid flat against the floor, thrashing and trying to break her wrists free from his hold.

the moment she felt his grubby hands push up the oversized t-shirt she was wearing was when she really started to freak out. she started screaming and threw her head back against his nose. she heard a crunch and a pained groan. he released her and she took the opportunity to crawl out from underneath him. she didn’t make it far when he grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her body towards him. he flipped her onto her back and she scratched at his face, beginning to cry. “get off of me!” she shrieked. she pushed off his mask and gasped when she saw the bone sticking out of his crooked, bloody nose.

he grinned down at her. “don’t worry sweetheart. it’ll be something you’re used to.” he was pressed against her core while her legs were on either side of his waist. he reached down to yank her panties off, laughing deeply.

before anything else happened, they both heard a whistle. she stopped her cries, craning her neck to see where the noise came from. rafe stood at the door, leaning against the frame while cradling his bloody arm against his chest. he pointed his gun in their direction and pulled the trigger. the bullet hit straight between the stranger’s eyes, blood splattering onto mw!reader’s face. she let out a choked sob and shoved his lifeless body off of her.

she stood up and ran into rafe’s arms. he groaned at the impact, having been shot in his shoulder. but nonetheless, he pushed through the pain to wrap his uninjured arm around the back of her neck.

“i was so scared rafe,” she whispered later to him while they laid in bed. the bullet in his shoulder was long gone and he was bandaged up, curtesy of the private doctor he had hired for situations like this. “thought he was going to-”

he cut her off, “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” he traced his fingers up and down her back while she clung to his body.

“yeah,” she replied softly. and for the first time in a long time, she believed him.

after that night, rafe installed a high level security system, had armed guards posted outside the mansion’s gate and every entrance to their home. despite the new safety measures, mw!reader would still stay up into the late hours, paranoid. she didn’t close her eyes until she was tucked into rafe’s side, arms wrapped her protectively.

[kathelovecatsandfeminism]

He's Rick

warnings: rick grimes x reader; angst with happy end; smut; a little of spanking; pet names; rick needs a hug; mention of lori, carl and judith; p in v; unprotected sex; confession of feelings; fluff; heavy eye contact; no use of y/n; The spelling has not been fully revised and it is always good to remember that English is not my first language, so be nice. I think that's all.

Night had already fallen over Alexandria, but unlike sleeping on the road, here the darkness was not dangerous, the dim lights of the streetlamps dispelled the darkness, as did the lights from the windows of some houses. It didn't seem real, a place to really live, a house to take care of and a comfortable bed to sleep in, clean clothes, vegetable gardens for the kitchens and generators bringing the heat of the lights, it didn't seem real after so much death, so much human decay that had passed before your eyes.

It also seemed very ungrateful of you to be feeling so miserable while others celebrated the blessing of being able to “celebrate” the life that walls provide. You still didn’t know how you felt about it, “normality” was almost a stranger to you now. Your mother would have said “ungrateful girl.” You didn’t like to think about her. 

But the sadness was there, settled in your chest, painful and suffocating after so much crying, eyes red as the tip of your nose. That was why you were standing in the kitchen, dressed in a pretty dress — a gift from Deanna — you wouldn’t allow yourself to be seen like this. It’s funny how the most subtle thing can make us crumble. So why?

…..ah grimes, that was it wasn’t it?

It all started with an innocent conversation, because the devil is in the small details.

You were invited by Deanna for a short horse ride around the city, a bureaucratic conversation, you always knew how to sniff them out at your old job, at home. The group was causing problems, no….. no, Rick was causing problems and you were Rick's right-hand man, it was rational to turn to you, wasn't it?

But again no. For Deanna it was natural to turn to his woman, because is this what you were, obviously….. weren't you?

She must have noticed the moment when confusion turned to realization and ended in disappointment on your face, because she - very delicately - apologized for the assumption, it took a lot of strength in you to utter a simple "don't worry". The ride home was silent.

An observation took over your thoughts, between constant escapes, arguing and surviving today to fight tomorrow, you never had the privilege of being able to think about the meaning of your relationship with Rick, worse, you never wanted to actually face what you knew you felt for him. There are commanding words of priorities in your mind that developed to find a home here, somewhere along that path the two of you became inseparable, to the point that seeing one could have found the other too.

You knew him from before the zombies, your father was an officer of his officer, you saw each other a few times and talked even less, he seemed like a good man. But now looking back he was always there, he covered your back - even too much - and you did the same for him. He helped him with the children, maybe a little more than the others. It had been a while since Carl had asked you to comb his hair, even with your fingers, it had become a habit and you knew who he was pretending you were.

Judith was still a little thing who liked to sleep with you

Rick helped you with your younger sister - teenagers are worse in the apocalypse - she couldn't help but believe in the loss of her parents and sometimes she was filled with rage because you hadn't come back to look for them - but there was nothing to come back to - she screamed and pushed you like a child, in those moments it was Rick who calmed her down, you never knew how he did it. 

Not that everything was perfect, you fought too and badly, two stubborn people when they thought they were sure of something. It was Rick who made peace most of the time.

 No matter what happened, one would find the other like a magnet, he had promised you that when your world fell apart and only he was there to lift it up. It was in his arms that you slept on very cold nights. Having him seemed right, there was something there, something that until then you pretended not to see. 

But did you really have him?

Admitting to Deanna that you weren't hurt, it burned your skin and the wounded pride created a balloon in your throat that made it hard to breathe, you cried.

For some reason you felt so small and ashamed, you didn't have the courage to question him, what if he thought there was nothing to question? just a good friend and nothing more? Your head hurt, because everything was so confusing, you weren't ready to see him again.

It had been a week since the conversation with Deanna, a week since you gave a flimsy excuse to Rick and Carl, that Michonne needed you close. A week since you ran away like a coward. It was in her kitchen where you cried.

but he's Rick, he knows you

So it was no surprise when he appeared at your door - Michonne's door actually - breathless and blushing as if it had been hard for him to come here.

"hi"

"hi" came out almost silent

You both spent a few seconds standing in the doorway, his eyes were so warm - even if more tired than usual in contradiction to the new reality that out of habit or a second nature of yours, you moved away so he could enter, there was not a single day that you denied him from entering your life or your heart.

You walked towards the kitchen and in silence he followed you as he always did.

Rick in the dim yellow light of the kitchen looked more handsome than ever. He had gotten rid of all that beard, his hair was still wet and combed back, with curls at the ends indicating that he had just gotten out of the shower. He wore a white shirt that was tight on his biceps, a little short above the waistband of his pants, a worn blue wash, he always looked good in blue - he looked younger - and he wore those damn boots on his feet. 

He was still as handsome as the day he came back into your life, a certain warmth settled in your chest. 

However, as much as he looked good, he also looked defeated, shoulders slumped and red, tired eyes with a big crease above them. 

Like when you finally recognize that there is something in the corner of your eye and now it is no longer possible to ignore that space, after having looked at what you felt for him, you could not ignore the desire to be held by him, to kiss the newly discovered skin, to hug him tightly.

Stopping in the middle of the kitchen, you turned around, putting some distance between you two. You expected him to break the silence and reject you right away, maybe that would be the “easy” solution, after that you could move on and pretend nothing had happened, but when he held your gaze with such tenderness and sadness at the same time, you quickly looked away, unable to accept anything from him, that was going to hurt. He took a step closer with his arm half raised as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated. The truth is that he knew why you were running away from him like a wounded deer. He had insisted enough with Deanna to get a half answer and then it was easy to put everything in place. 

There was this big elephant in the room of unsaid things, where to start? Rick wasn't proud that he had placed you in a limbo of uncertainty, the dynamic between you two was so domestic in contrast to the reality you lived in, like when he fell asleep in your arms while you brushed your hair with your fingers after a really, really bad day and he didn't feel worthy of you or how despite his distraught state, his eyes always softened when they met your face.

He wished he had told you how he had come to keep Lori's wedding ring - a bitter reminder of everything he had been through - in his pocket because your expression would turn sad whenever you played with it on his fingers. 

Oh, and Lori... 

He couldn't protect her, no matter how hard he tried, it wasn't enough in the end, and then came the nightmares in which he couldn't save you, he always became more distant after them. Irrationally loving you seemed to cast a dark shadow over you, putting you in danger, but moving on without you? It seemed to condemn him to wander with a big hole in his chest.

He spent so much time holding back, as if his mere touch would make you break.

Rick was a cowardly and stupid man, incapable of giving himself to you, fearing the day he would lose you.

A stupid and cowardly man... a coward... a coward, he was already losing you and worse, because you thought he didn't want you.

"I'm a coward" came out without realizing it, he had assumed that serious tone he used when he took control of a situation, the southern accent was stronger. He caught your attention, but your eyes continued to focus on a point behind him, always avoiding his eyes.

"What?"

Rick took another step closer.

"I'm a cowardly man who doesn't deserve you" confusion adorned your face in the dim light of the weak yellow light.

“Too cowardly to admit it…..damn it!” He ran his fingers through his hair, anxious.

Rick looked disconcerted, lost, it wasn’t normal to see him like this only when his shoulders were very tired and he inevitably ran to find some comfort in you.

Seconds of silence passed, as if he carefully considered his next words.

Then the moment passed and his shoulders straightened.

He slowly approached you while you backed away like a skittish animal, he stared so intently into your eyes that you felt completely exposed. The slow chase ended when your back hit the kitchen counter, cornered, the proximity, how intimate everything seemed, your mind spun in circles chanting his name. That was one of the problems, he took you out of your orbit.

both of his calloused hands went up your neck to cradle your face, so delicate, now the only distance between your bodies were the atoms of air. his touch almost burned your skin, even if you were reluctant you melted with the heat that emanated from his body.

it was no longer possible to escape from those blue eyes, noses brushing, mouths open and tense breathing “It’s a broken world and you’re the only thing that puts it back together” he continued to rest his forehead on yours “til my last breath, I am yours because I love you”

Shock took over your face, never in your most idyllic dreams would you imagine this scenario, so vulnerable because he loves you. Love is too strong a word to play with. Rick wasn’t the type to play with his word.

“you love me?” you asked in a whisper, afraid of the answer, then he started running his fingertips through your hair, over your face, saying a silent “beautiful” more to himself than to you “I think that’s what it’s called, isn’t it?” he looked at you curiously “I always come back to you, even if it’s crawling, but I come back. It’s your face that my eyes search for in a crowd, it’s your opinion that I seek before any decision, it’s your smile that makes all this mess worth it, it’s another reason to survive and when I see you with the children….. God, it’s like coming back to a home I didn’t know I had, it seems almost immoral to have this at the end of the world… I’m afraid the universe is waiting for me to take what I want just to take it from me, believe me, I couldn’t go on without you. So yes, I love you.”

You knew many things about Rick, how he likes his drink, about his grandfather in the war, about how to read his gestures, but mainly that he was a man with a good and kind heart and above all honest.

The light made your eyes bigger and brighter with the tears that were now flowing, which were becoming a sob and then a loud cry, but it was okay, he is Rick, he knows you, so smiling and sighing a “come here” he held you tight in his arms, wetting his shirt. Slowly he adorned the top of your head with kisses, reducing the crying, the tears gave way to a big smile. You pulled away so you could look into his eyes, which to your surprise were also teary, but he smiled broadly, both of you sharing a look.

 Silence fell in the room, but it was light and calm, of accomplices who had shared something very sacred. Rick took one of her hands and lifted it into the air as if preparing for a waltz. “In a perfect world, I would have told you this after a fancy dinner and taken you dancing.” You couldn’t help but smile, he was always an old-fashioned guy. 

“I like to dance.”

 “I know.” Using the hand that was in the air, he spun you around in his arms. 

“You always know.” It was like being a little girl again, cheeks burning and all. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, humming in agreement. 

“You should.”

In the blink of an eye, he had you in a very tender and deep kiss, as if he regretted all the kisses he had wanted to give you but couldn't. It didn't take long for him to become fiercer, hungrier, his hands were clenched in the back of his shirt, as if he was afraid the moment would evaporate like a dream.

Testing the waters, one of Rick's hands went down to your hip, gently, but giving it a light squeeze. You sighed, there was a hunger in you that was no longer possible to contain

"Take me to the room, please" you asked slyly

"Yes, ma'am" and as if you weighed nothing he picked you up and you wrapped yourself around his hips, sharing small kisses as you went up the stairs. Between kisses, you found yourselves unable to hold back your giggles, it was good.

Entering your room, he carefully laid you down on the bed and for a brief minute just kept looking at you as if he needed to convince himself that this was real, that something good and beautiful could be born in such a vile world. The moment was only broken when you extended your hand inviting him. Gratefully, he took off his white shirt, throwing it somewhere in the room and lay down between your legs.

 It was strange to be like this with him, but at the same time so familiar, as if it were right. You pulled him in for another hungry kiss with tongues, teeth and all, running your fingertips over the muscles of his back, pressing him against you. He moaned into your mouth, needing his hips against yours, eliciting a moan from you. 

He went down to your neck, distributing wet kisses to soothe the marks he was leaving - something intimate in him liked the idea of ​​claiming you publicly - going down to your collarbone and only stopping over the bust of your dress, searching your eyes in a silent request. He laughed at the intensity with which you nodded. 

He made sure to lower the straps very slowly, but it didn't take long for him to grab one of her breasts as soon as they were exposed. While he licked and sucked one, he played with the tip of the other with his fingers. When he was satisfied, he reversed the order.

By now you were a mess of moans and whimpers, rubbing against him in search of any friction. 

That day Rick discovered many things about you: first, you were loud - a pleasant surprise -; and second, you were sensitive as hell and he was going to take advantage of that.

He continued to move down your body, trailing chaste kisses along your clothed belly, nibbling on your dress, lingering on your lower abdomen while one of his hands lovingly brushed the skin on the inside of one of your thighs, almost reaching where you wanted, but pulling back just in time. He came back to my eye level "do you want to be good for me?" Oh, he wished he had a camera to capture your reaction, all blushing and goosebumps. Third thing - although he already suspected that.

No answer. Then the hand on your inner thigh went straight to your clothed center, taking you by surprise “baby, talk to me”

Your brain was already so far away and started to nod and only then remembered to answer “I want” clearly satisfied with the answer he got up from the bed, you almost protested against the loss of contact but when he pulled your legs to the edge of the bed and knelt between them, you already knew it was over

“this comes off” you lifted your hips so he could take off your panties “and this stays here for now” he bunched your dress at your waist.

You already knew you were very wet but when the cold air of the room hit you and Rick ate you with his eyes even more blush painted your skin.

 He brought his lips closer to your pussy, blowing only to see you squirm, smiling satisfied with the result. He looked at you with such hunger, you couldn't hold his gaze, but more knowing than you were his hand leaving a slap on your right thigh. When you turned your eyes to him it was clear on his face, pupils dilated in a stern look, jaw clenched, don't do that again. 

So you did... or tried to because when he gave a first slow and long lick between your folds by instinct your head fell back before you could come to, another slap, on your left thigh now. 

Damn bastard Rick Grimes

Leaning on your elbows, you looked at him again, trembling with desire as he sucked your clit with just the right amount of pressure. You were already high at this point because Rick would eat you out like a starving man. After a few more licks, two thick fingers poked your entrance, smearing themselves with your arousal and, to torture you, as a final blow, he inserted them while he curved them, hitting that exact spot - it was so different from yours, better, bigger and they were Rick's - and he went back to sucking on your spot. Thank God no one was home because you looked pathetic in his hands.

All you could think about was the pressure and the heat and the unfolding and growing in your belly, it was too much. Your back arched, your toes curled as you were a mess, reciting his name like a prayer

Rick…….Rick…….Rick

When his big hand reached for yours to hold while he pressed it against your hip to keep you in place while he intensified his actions until your peak reached you and you rode him fucking Rick's face

you came hard and loud, singing his name

he made sure to take every drop of you until overstimulation. When he got up from the floor, you could barely support yourself on your elbows to look at him. He licked his lips like after a good meal. Sucking his fingers and letting out a "sweet" he rested one of his knees on the bed and pulled you by the torso like a rag doll - very soft now - making you sit up "arms up" and he removed the dress over your head. He seemed so careful "good girl" he says and you couldn't help but tremble at those words, you wanted him inside you SO MUCH, so your hands flew to undo his belt and pants

"anxious?" oh that cheeky smile would kill you

“you have no idea”

“Ah….I can imagine, hon” he finished by giving a sweet kiss on the top of your head

When he stepped out of his pants and you were face to face with his red, veiny cock, already weeping with pre-cum. You wanted to feel the weight of it on your tongue - another time perhaps because you could swear you would start crying if you didn't feel him inside you soon.

You lay on your back in the center of the bed, spreading your legs wide for him. If you looked like the hot mess you felt, you would be lost.

He asked for your hand and you gave in. When he placed himself between your legs it was as if he belonged nowhere else than here, with you. He spent a minute hovering over your body, his eyes examining you, recording every detail, you were a very beautiful mess. He kissed you again, less hurriedly but equally hungry, his tongue playing knowingly with yours, biting your lips, pulling you towards him.

Anxiously, you tried to rub your hips against his - of course he noticed - he took your hand in his and placed it on his cock - you couldn't resist and applied some pressure, he shuddered.

With his hand on yours controlling the movement he brought the tip to your folds and played with them, making you squirm with anticipation, lubricating you well, threatening to enter. It was only after you called his name tearfully that he thought you had suffered enough, but Rick couldn't contain himself, he wanted to engrave this moment very well in his memory. You were all open on the bed for him, whimpering his name, you became very gentle in his hands, it was fascinating.

You had your heads together, staring at the spot that connected you when he finally entered you, both of you letting out a long sigh. He slowly went all the way in, until you felt his balls pressed against your ass - and god you could feel every bit of him, that stretch, filling you up just right - only for him to pull back almost all the way out and slam back into you harder. “look at me, baby” he called your attention.

Rick was an eye contact guy and you did your best to maintain it as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. He built a steady, deep, passionate rhythm, hitting that spot that made your brain short out every time, your back arched, you wrapped your legs around his waist, skin to skin, hot, sweaty, your hips racing to meet his. You smiled victoriously when he buried his nose in your neck and started moaning in your ear, your knot was tightening.

The temperature of the room had increased, a mixture of sounds of skin slapping, your meaningless pleas in the cloud of pleasure, Rick who will now return to mark your neck to suppress his own moans.

“Rick….please….please” you didn’t know what you were asking for but he is Rick, he knows you. his face came out of hiding in your hair, he gave you a quick kiss on the lips and pushed your knees against your chest, the new angle would be the death of you and by Rick’s state his too whose thrusts began to become erratic. You were very close to the edge, on the border between pleasure and consciousness and when Rick began to make circles on your clit you took his mouth in yours suppressing a loud moan as you came, your vision going white. Rick came soon after by the way you were squeezing him as you came down from your high. He may have drawn blood from your lips when he bit your lip as he released long, thick loads of semen inside you draining you of every last drop. He remained inside you even after he softened, the state of euphoria preventing you from thinking about the consequences.

You both collapsed together, it was a comforting feeling to feel his weight against you, you felt safe.

When his attention turned to study your face again, he looked calm, relaxed, happy - something very hard to see - he had such loving eyes and they looked at you, he took his time like that, serious, focused. You would never know, but in that intimate moment he made a promise, he would not allow anything or anyone to hurt you, he would not allow it. He knew you could handle it, you had already proven yourself many times, but you were still the woman he loved and nothing else mattered

it was you who took him out of the sea of ​​their thoughts

“hey, rick”

“hm”

“I love you too”

“yeah?”

“yeah”

He smiled broadly, inverting the position of the two and brought the back of his hand to sprinkle kisses there, that tender gesture made you smile. Rick was yours.

.....................................................

Today had been a long day of work in the city, the kind where you pretend you didn't notice you were taking a little longer to shower. It was the first place you went after getting home, the murder house - your house - that fact still made you smile at nothing. Before going into the bathroom to shower, you passed Carl and a small blond head heading out, in a hurry but not enough.

"Should I worry, Carl?" Dusk was slowly falling outside.

"No, no, Carol's new recipe."

"Where's your dad?"

"Daryl," the boy shouted over his shoulder. You answered with a low "Okay," too tired to think about it now. Right after the door slammed.

Okay, you may have taken too long because when you came out of the bathroom there was a dress on the bed, the one Rick liked to take off. Half curious, half suspicious, you put it on and went downstairs to get something to eat. Most of the lights downstairs were off except for the ones in the kitchen. You walked there, only to find a very well-dressed Rick - a button-down shirt with the tops open and black jeans - dinner on the table and a humble flower in his hand. “Rick” you called affectionately, tilting your head to the side with a smile on your face you were walking towards him but he stopped you in the middle of the way with a signal to stop, you don’t know exactly where he was hiding, but suddenly a melody started playing through the room, he came back shyly, took your hands in his, still holding the flower and you started dancing alone in the kitchen and you don’t remember feeling so loved because he's rick, he knows you

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BLOCK ME OUT

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: haunted by her ex’s cruel words, y/n wishes she could block herself out. but rafe sees her differently—like she hung the stars in the sky.

based on this ask !! thank you for this anon, apologies that it’s taken so long, but i hope it’s what you asked for and you enjoy it :) <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: appearance insecurities, angsty with a soft ending, soft!rafe, rafe thinking violent thoughts (nothing unusual😝), past emotionally/verbally abusive relationship (reader’s ex), crying, cursing, allusions to sex. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, eyes tracing the features she had long since memorised yet never quite accepted. The fluorescent light above cast harsh shadows, making every perceived flaw stand out even more—the uneven texture of her skin, the way her cheeks seemed too full in certain angles but too hollow in others, the faint blemishes she could never quite cover no matter how much makeup she wore. Her fingers ghosted over her jawline, then moved to her lips, hesitating as if debating whether they were too thin or too full.

She sighed, dropping her hand and looking away. It didn’t matter. It never did.

“Y/N?”

Rafe’s voice echoed from the hallway, warm and familiar. He must have noticed how long she had been in here. She took a breath and composed herself before stepping out, her lips pulling into a small, forced smile.

“Hey,” she said casually.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with that soft yet unreadable expression he sometimes had when he thought she wasn’t looking. His blue eyes flickered over her face, taking in every detail as if memorising it. She knew he was about to say something—probably a compliment, because he always did. And just like always, she prepared to ignore it.

“You look beautiful,” Rafe murmured, almost absentmindedly, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

Y/N scoffed quietly, shaking her head as she crossed the room. “No, I don’t.”

Rafe frowned slightly, his brows drawing together in concern, but he didn’t argue. He never did. Instead, he just watched as she climbed into bed beside him, her body curling up instinctively, as if trying to take up less space. He noticed that too.

It had started small, the little deflections. The way she would dismiss any compliment he gave her with a wave of her hand or a disbelieving laugh. At first, he assumed she was just being humble, but the more time he spent with her, the more he realized it was something else.

Something deeper.

A wound that hadn’t healed.

Rafe didn’t push. He didn’t ask. But he noticed.

Like the way her smile always faltered for just a second when someone called her pretty, as if the word physically pained her. Or how she always changed the subject when he told her she was beautiful, shifting the conversation so quickly it was almost seamless. If he wasn’t paying such close attention, he might’ve missed it.

But he was always paying attention.

Y/N knew she should appreciate Rafe’s compliments, knew that he wasn’t just saying them to be nice. But she couldn’t make herself believe them. Not after everything.

Not after him.

Her ex’s voice still lingered in the back of her mind like a ghost, whispering cruel words she could never quite erase.

“You really think you’re all that? God, Y/N, you’re so damn insecure it’s pathetic.”

“I don’t know why you even bother with makeup—it doesn’t help.”

“No one’s looking at you the way you think they are. You’re just… average.”

She had spent so much time believing those words, internalising them, letting them take root deep inside her until they became an unshakable truth. And now, even though he was gone, even though she had someone like Rafe in her life—someone who looked at her like she was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen—she still couldn’t silence that voice.

Rafe had never once made her feel anything less than wanted. He never criticised, never made offhanded comments that chipped away at her self-worth. But that didn’t mean she knew how to accept kindness when it was given to her.

She felt his fingers brush lightly against her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“You tired?” he asked, voice low and gentle.

She nodded, grateful for the easy out. “Yeah. Just a long day.”

Rafe didn’t question it. He just reached over and pulled the blanket up over her, as if shielding her from whatever weight she was carrying. And maybe in his own way, he was.

She turned onto her side, facing away from him, but she could still feel his gaze on her, feel the warmth of his presence beside her.

For a moment, she let herself pretend that it was enough.

—

The night had started out perfectly.

Dinner was casual, nothing extravagant—just the two of them at his place, sitting across from each other, laughing between bites of food. It had been easy. Light. Y/N had almost felt normal, like the weight of her insecurities wasn’t pressing so hard against her ribs.

Rafe had been extra touchy that evening—his fingers brushing hers when he handed her a glass of wine, his palm resting at the small of her back as they moved through the house. Small touches, each one sending a shiver down her spine.

And now, here they were.

Y/N lay beneath him, the world shrinking to just the two of them, just the warmth of his body and the way his lips moved against hers like he couldn’t get enough. His hands skimmed her sides, slow and teasing, as if memorising every inch of her.

The air in the room had thickened, charged with something electric.

She should’ve been lost in it.

But she wasn’t.

Because the moment his fingers hooked under the hem of her shirt, inching it up over her ribs, that voice came creeping back.

“You think he really wants to see you?”

“You think he won’t notice how bad you look from this angle?”

“God, Y/N, you’re so damn insecure, it’s pathetic.”

She tensed.

Rafe noticed immediately.

His lips paused against her neck, and she felt his breath, felt the slight hesitation in his movements. “You okay?” he murmured, voice laced with concern.

Y/N forced a nod, forcing herself to push through it. Don’t ruin this. Don’t overthink it. Just let him love you.

But then his hands moved again, slipping beneath the fabric, and panic surged through her like a tidal wave.

Suddenly, she wasn’t here anymore. She was back in that old apartment, standing under fluorescent lighting as her ex tilted his head and examined her with a critical gaze.

“Your stomach isn’t as flat as you think.”

“I mean, yeah, you look good from the right angle, but not always.”

“Don’t get mad. I’m just being honest.”

Her breath hitched. The room felt smaller. Her chest ached.

She didn’t even realise she was shaking until Rafe pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Y/N?” His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn’t place. “Talk to me, baby.”

But she couldn’t.

Because she was already spiralling.

She shoved at his chest lightly, needing space, needing air. And Rafe—sweet, perceptive Rafe—moved immediately, sitting back on his heels, giving her exactly what she needed. But even with the distance, she couldn’t breathe right.

“I—I can’t do this,” she choked out, her throat tightening. “I just—I don’t—”

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt pathetic, completely unravelling in front of him over something so stupid.

But Rafe didn’t move, didn’t rush her. He just watched her, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to piece together what had broken.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, her breaths coming faster. “I just—” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t feel good enough for you.”

The confession slipped out before she could stop it, and suddenly, the dam broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands, ashamed of how easily she was falling apart.

“Y/N…”

She felt the mattress dip as Rafe moved closer, but he didn’t touch her. He just waited.

Waited for her to speak.

Waited for her to let him in.

She sniffled, wiping at her tears, but more came. “I—I don’t get how you could look at me like you do,” she whispered. “I don’t get how you could actually—” She sucked in a shaky breath. “How you could actually want this.”

Rafe’s brows furrowed, confusion and pain flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?”

She let out a wet, bitter laugh. “I see myself, Rafe. I see what I look like from different angles. I know what people see.”

Rafe was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. “You don’t know what I see.”

She swallowed hard. “I just—” Her voice trembled. “I worry that… that you’re not actually attracted to me. That you just think you are.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick.

And then, softly, carefully, Rafe asked, “Why do you think that?”

She exhaled shakily, dropping her gaze.

She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to open that box. But he deserved to know.

“My ex,” she finally whispered. “He… he made sure I knew what was wrong with me. All the time.”

Rafe went rigid.

She saw it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. He inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm, but she could see the fire behind his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and steady, like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. “Tell me what he said to you.”

Her throat felt tight, but she forced the words out. “He told me I wasn’t as pretty as I thought. That my body wasn’t as nice as I thought. That I only looked good from certain angles.” Her voice cracked. “And I believed him.”

Rafe exhaled sharply, looking away, his hands gripping the sheets like he was barely holding himself together. She could see the anger simmering beneath his skin, the way he wanted to break something, to scream, to hurt the person who had done this to her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned back to her, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of something even stronger than rage.

Love.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “I need you to listen to me.”

She swallowed hard, nodding weakly.

He cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And not just from certain angles. Always.”

She tried to look away, but he didn’t let her.

“You think I don’t notice the way you brush off my compliments? The way you never believe me when I tell you how fucking perfect you are?” His voice wavered slightly, but he kept going. “It kills me, Y/N. It kills me that someone made you feel like this. That someone convinced you that you weren’t enough.”

More tears welled in her eyes. “Rafe…”

“No.” His voice was raw now, his emotions spilling over. “You are everything to me. Everything. And I don’t just want you—I crave you. Every part of you. Every inch of you. I don’t care what angle, what lighting, what bullshit insecurity you think you have—I love all of it. Because it’s you.”

Her lip trembled. “But what if—”

“No what-ifs,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You are enough. You are more than enough.”

She broke.

Sobs wracked her body, and Rafe pulled her into his arms, holding her like he would never let go. He whispered into her hair, his voice soothing and warm, telling her over and over again how perfect she was, how much he loved her, how much she meant to him.

And for the first time in a long time, she wanted to believe him.

Because when Rafe Cameron looked at her, he didn’t see flaws. He didn’t see imperfections.

He saw the stars.

And maybe, just maybe, she could learn to see them too.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such a cute and emotional one :’) i had this written up before i went away but finally got to editing it, just spending eh next couple days editing and posting the requests in my drafts !!

i hope this is what you asked for anon !! and as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) don’t hesitate to request <3

[takusan-no-ai]

What Doesn’t Kill You

PAIRING: Jean/Eula/Diluc/Peruere x Reader (Familia) (Male & Female Reader)

SUMMARY: Their child, (Y/N), wants to be stronger despite the circumstances.

Jean already had a hard time balancing her work schedule, what with Mondstadt citizens always needing her help, plus her being the acting grand master. Safe to say her life was swamped. Even more so after she had you, her child. The others pitched in more after Jean had you, wanting her to enjoy time with her baby more.

And you were a lot of work. Your weakened body led to Jean fussing over every minute detail. Slightly warmer? Checking for a fever. Feeling peckish? You’re clearly starving. So on and so forth, she was basically more than a mom. She was your doctor, teacher, and…your only real friend.

Being inside all day due to your sickness meant that you couldn’t play outside with the other kids. And your mother eventually went back to work, so now you were even more alone. But more than that, what hurt the most was feeling like such a burden. Jean was working thrice as hard just so she could come home to give you company. And that didn’t seem fair to you.

So everyday, when Jean would leave for work, you’d secretly train. Wanting to be more like your mother, you’d practice getting stronger, working harder, getting smarter. Everything. Ironically, you were already so much like her. Being a workaholic must have run in the genes.

A gasp stopped (Y/N) from finishing a pushup. Turning around, there stood Jean. Shocked to see her baby out of bed. Working out. She rushed over to (Y/N), looking all over. Obvious signs of fatigue, and marks all over the arms and legs. Yet there (Y/N) stood like it was nothing at all.

“Why…why are you forcing your body to endure this? You don’t have to—”

“Yes I do. I even want to. I want to be stronger. And I won’t let my body limit me.” (Y/N) stood up despite the obvious pain, looking straight into Jean’s eyes.

She gulped, shaking slightly. “But why?”

“It’s not fair for either of us if I remain so dependent. Eventually you’ll die. Or me. And neither of us will be happy with the regrets we’d both have.”

Jean fought back her tears.

“Mommy. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. And I want to be stronger for the both of us. So, will you train me? Please?” (Y/N) looked at her with glossy eyes.

Jean nodded. “Okay, sweetheart. Mommy will make sure you’re as strong as can be.”

Being Eula’s child wasn’t easy. In the plainest of words it was outright unfair. She was a good woman and a good mother. Her husband left her because, even after she’d warned him, the backlash of being married to a Lawrence was apparently too much. And now she’d look at you with that same pitiful smile.

She loves you, and takes care of you like you were all that mattered. But sometimes at night you would sneak around the house, and you would hear her crying to her friend, Amber. About how it wasn’t fair for you to be judged just because of her bloodline. She can take it, her family made sure of that. But could you? Could you handle the pure hatred in others eyes.

Those nights were always so shocking for you, no matter how much you’d seen them. Eula, the woman who could boldly declare vengeance against anyone, was afraid of her child not being able to handle it all. It angered you. Not because of what she thought, but because of the possibility of it being true. Could you? Your health was already in shambles physically. Could you really handle it all mentally? Emotionally?

But deep down you were always like your mother. And giving up simply wasn’t an option. Yeah, life is hard. More so for some than others. But if you don’t have the thick skin to take it then you’ll never make it. So right then that next day you told your mother that you demand she train you to be more like her, no matter what it may cost. Because you’re proud to be a Lawrence. And you’re proud to be her child.

Eula looked at (Y/N), a small smile finding its way onto her face. “Ha. What have I’ve been worrying about? A Lawrence never gives up!” She picked up (Y/N) and held her child tight.

“But know that on the day you do best me in a spar, I’ll seek vengeance.” She jested. (Y/N) giggled, a big smile on said face.

Eula walked towards her armory, grabbing out a small sword. She handed it to (Y/N), who struggled to hold up the weapon. “It’s my first sword from when I was little.”

Now crouching down in front of (Y/N), she patted her child on the head. “We start training first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll expect great things from you.”

“Of course, mother.” (Y/N) said with a newfound sense of pride.

Diluc never regretted being in the alcohol business, and he certainly didn’t regret it when he met the love of his life. But he was so quick to quitting when he had learnt of what she did; she drank, a lot, while pregnant with you. Your health was badly compromised as a result. And Diluc vowed to take care of you, safe from all that could hurt you.

Perhaps it was because of the betrayal in trust, or perhaps you had simply stolen his heart, but Diluc couldn’t help being overprotective of you. You were allowed to be with him at Angles Share; so long as you were right next to him and no one made so much as a mean look your way.

It was frustrating. You knew of your weaker body, and who had caused it. You also knew of your father’s sincere love for you. That he’d want nothing more than for you to be safe and happy. But it was overbearing, overwhelming, and just outright wrong. You needed to grow up. You need to face some hardships, anything!

But you couldn’t do much on your own. And Diluc would rather you not overexert yourself. So you turned to the one person who wouldn’t mind going behind your father’s back; your uncle. Kaeya, while hesitant, eventually agreed to help train you, if only so that you knew basic self defense. You finally had to opportunity to not just be stronger, but to be more like him. Your father. The man you look up to.

“Good job today, (Y/N). Tomorrow we’ll practice your endurance more; I noticed you can’t seem to fight for a long enough time.” Kaeya said while flipping his coin.

The young child was heaving heavily on the floor, looking up at Kaeya with a scowl. “You’re making sure of that. I said I wanted you to train me—not torture me!” Kaeya chuckled.

“Listen kid. I may be your uncle but I’m also Diluc’s brother. And as much as it entertains me that even his own child is as rebellious as we were way back when, If I’m going to go behind his back I might as well do a good job. Simply put: you’re not trying hard enough.”

(Y/N) coughed, finally having calmed down. (Y/N) stood and looked at Kaeya, sighing in discontent. “I’m trying my best—”

“And what if I told you your best wasn’t enough? The fact is that so long as you keep that guilt of hiding this from your father…well…you’ll just keep holding yourself back.”

(Y/N) remained silent.

Kaeya looked at (Y/N) one last time before sighing himself. He gave the kid a pat on the back. “Of course, a reason as strong as yours could potentially be all you need to improve. We’ll train some more tomorrow. For now, I’ll take you back home.”

(Y/N) finally smiled through an exhausted state.

Being Peruere’s biological child came with understanding the world from an entirely different perspective. Where others saw pure happiness or terror, you were given the simple truth: the world is nothing, but the people and creatures that plague it with insidious intentions are what you should circumspect.

She protected you from the dangers of the world through knowledge. Peruere kept you privy to the existence of the House of the Hearth, as well as her being a Harbinger. But she never allowed you to divulge in the same activities as them; nor was she ever going to make you a part of the “family”.

But you wanted nothing more than to be just like your mother. She was strong, smart, and her very presence demanded respect. Nobody could defeat your mother in a fight. And that was exactly what you wanted to be. Capable of defending those who can’t defend themselves. The old, the young, and the innocent. Even the guilty to an extent.

Sadly your body wasn’t made for battle. You were born weak, fragile, and could hardly move for long without becoming winded. It was because of your condition that Peruere was especially truthful about the world you’d grow up in. And why she refused to train you physically. That didn’t stop you though. Everyday you’d get up, against your mother’s wishes, and train little by little.

“(Y/N). It’s time for dinner.” Peruere called out for her child who stumbled towards the table. (Y/N) sat down with a whence, trying to hide the pain. All that secret training had its benefits and disadvantages; the biggest one being the pain afterwards.

Peruere eyed (Y/N) with a blank face. Her emotions, if she were feeling any in that moment, didn’t show themselves. She leaned forward with her arms crossed.

“If you’re going to train the least you could do is learn when to take a break. I believe I taught you that overexertion has the opposite effect of being productive.”

(Y/N) almost dropped the spoon, looking at her in shock. “So, you caught me red handed. I suppose I won’t be able to train anymore.” Downcast eyes turned away from her. The very sight caused her brows to twitch.

“Don’t look away from me…please. I’m your mother. It pains me when you’re upset. And I never said you couldn’t still train.”

(Y/N)’s eyes glowed as bright as the sun at those words.

“You’re still too fragile for any proper training. And I refuse to have you trained like me; Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet will train you. But only with what is necessary. If you…ever choose to get stronger than that…then you’ll have to train yourself.”

(Y/N) fought back the tears welling up and hugged Peruere.

“Thank you mommy.”

- Fin

[esamastation]

Gamer girl gets transmigrated into a farm boy Chapter 5 [<<Prologue | <Chapter 4 || Chapter 6>>] Ao3 link

-

The rest of the day goes by much the same way it did in the game. They make their way back to the farm, where Van helps Mr. Gylcross unload his purchases and carry some of them to the barn and the rest into the house. Janelle welcomes them with a warm meal and freshly made batch of apple juice, made from, "Apples I picked myself just this afternoon!" as she says. It's delicious.

"What did you buy in town?" Josel asks as they eat.

"Nothing much," Van answers, and ain't that the truth. "Mostly I just looked around, took in the sights."

Josel hums. "Yeah, you haven't been to the town a lot, have you?"

"I guess not," Van agrees, thinking back to the player character's messy background as a hand on the Gylcross farm, and how it might be revealed here - if it even was.

"How did you like it? Did you see anything interesting in town?" Janelle asks curiously.

"It was fine. It was all pretty interesting," Van admits and takes a bite of bread, wondering if she made it herself.

The System journal had updated while he'd been in town, and going by its writing, it was the most amazing thing ever to happen to Katie. Most of the journal entry was her detailing every event that happened, but there were some interesting titbits in between, which Van had noticed but not really thought about at the time.

… Oh my god, the town looks exactly like it did in the game! Only now I'm seeing it all in first person! It's so wild. There's so much more people here than there were in the game, too - probably since the limits of rendering capacity have been thrown out of the window. Real world isn't held back by RAM. Hah.

Also? Kids. There are children here - and not just one-age-fits-all like in some games, no, there's older teenagers and younger teenagers, and I also saw a toddler in the marketplace - and I think one woman had a baby in a sling? A baby! Definitely didn't have any of those in the base game - not a single kid to be had in all of Age of Tales, except in pre-rendered cutscenes. I wonder if it's just for humans, or will we get to see dwarf or elf babies - I've never seen a dwarf baby, ever, in anything I've ever seen or played. Probably not elf either, unless it was like a half-human-half-elf situation brought forth by an illicit cross-species love story.

I wonder if Van can have babies - like, conceive them? I mean, there's romance in Age of Tales, such as it is. There's sex scenes and stuff. Can those now have, like, consequences? Does this world have contraceptives? Is that something that I have to now think about?

Van with a baby would be pretty cute, though. I wonder if I can somehow get him to hold a baby…

And that's where Van had to stop reading in order to preserve the delicate equilibrium of his mental stability.

"There were a lot of people in town," he concludes with a cough to clear his throat, and takes another sip of the apple juice.

Janelle gives him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, it's a bit different from how it's around here, huh?" she says and pats him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Yeah," Van agrees.

By now he's kind of starting to feel the limits of Katie's social meter, though. She'd never been a particularly extroverted person, and while it's different inside a videogame… this isn't a game, not really. It's been a whole day of interacting with people and trying to figure things out, and Van is feeling mentally kind of worn down.

Plus, he's got an existential crisis scheduled up, and it's starting to feel kind of urgent.

"You mind if I turn in for the day, sir?" Van asks once he's done eating, turning to Mr. Gylcross. "I'm kind of tired."

"Of course, my boy. Just get Bell settled in for the night and get the cart in the barn," Mr. Gylcross says.

Thankfully, Josel has apparently done all other farm-related duties off screen. All Van has left to do is get the cart inside and Bell brushed up, fed, and settled in a stall, all of which happens by automation. Josel, who's got a more permanent berth in a little hutch next to the farmhouse, bids Van good night, and with some relief Van heads up to the hayloft.

There he lays down in the hay, mentally preparing to Think About Things and Handle Them… only to find his mind full of static. He needs to deal with the Realisation and he needs to come up with a plan for tomorrow, because there's a lot coming his way tomorrow.

And yet, even though he lies there for a while, staring at the ceiling, not a single coherent plan comes to mind.

Finally, Van gets up again and goes back down to get a bucket of water. It's not quite as good as a real mirror, but in a pinch…

His reflection is very faint on the water's surface, but he can just about see himself and make out his features. The caramel ice-cream hair is really not looking its best. It's curly in the game, kind of fabulous in a way that doesn't fit Van's body type at all - here it sticks every which way, unkempt and not exactly flattering.

No permanent magical hairstyling in real life, huh.

Combing his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face, Van turns his head this way and that, taking in his features again. The jaw, the cheekbones, the forehead - he really looks like he was drawn by a comic book artist. Except made real. 

He's really - Katie is really in Van's body. This is Van, made flesh and blood. Well, he doesn't actually know if the body can bleed, but it probably does. It gets hungry and thirsty. And, judging by the feel of things right now, it also needs to relieve itself. Which is… another thing he hadn't been thinking about.

Sitting on his knees for a moment, Van weighs the oncoming mental health crisis against probably mortifying body function weirdness and chooses the latter, standing up. Time for a true fantasy adventure - figuring out how men piss.

Delightful.

Though as a man he should be able to go wherever - so long as he wasn't flashing someone, anyway - seeing as this is the first time and Katie only sort of knows what she's doing… yeah, some privacy is called for. There's a wooden outhouse behind the farmhouse, which Van slinks his way to like he's doing something wrong and illicit. The outhouse is pretty small and forces him to bend over, and it's overall very awkward. It stinks. The seat is tiny and looks kind of uncomfortable to actually sit on.

Katie has a feeling she's going to miss Earth's modern day plumbing before long.

Right now she has other concerns, though.

Van takes a deep breath - and then regrets it, because of the outhouse smell - before looking down. The trousers are easy enough to figure out, they're basically normal trousers except fastened with a string instead of zipper. The underwear, not so much. While Katie has seen it before and actually spent quite a bit of time trying to figure it out, seeing it on Van now…

It's a kind of cloth wrap thing, like the whole thing is one long stretch of fabric wrapped around the waist and down. The final effect is not unlike briefs, and it's actually kind of comfortable and it definitely keeps everything contained… but if Van takes it off, he will definitely not be able to put it back on again.

Hm, maybe he can, sort of… move it aside…?

Touching it is a bit weird. Katie does a little gibbering flailing thing in the back of his mind while Van tugs at the fabric, feeling all the stuff beneath shift - feeling all the stuff feel the movement. It's weird - having sensations in bits Katie never had before. 

Kind of cool though, too. In a sort of unreal way.

Van gets his fingers beneath to pull his penis out and then… there it is, sticking out past the cloth, with its two buddies still nestled in the wrapping.

It would probably be inappropriate to call it a tool. It kind of fits, though. It's very… proportional. 

And Katie is suddenly very aware of her long stint as a single woman, because damn. Like, she's never been that into the look or size of a guy's dick - a penis is a penis, they're all kind of the same in the end - but damn. Van has one hell of a dick. Like, Katie probably wouldn't want to have sex with Van, because ouch… but damn.

"Okay, don't play with it, just do your business," Van mutters, thinking back to Katie's stint in the kindergarten and wincing at the memory of potty training. As extremely unsexy thought as there ever was, he thinks with a grimace and then attempts to… manoeuvre himself into position. "Just point and aim."

It's weird, and very… fleshy. But at least the rest of the operation is roughly the same for a man as it is for a woman - bladder is a bladder, apparently. It's still weird - as is not needing to wipe afterwards. It doesn't feel like it's enough, to just shake it. Not that there's anything to wipe with in the outhouse.

"Weird, weird, this is so weird," Van mutters, shaking himself and then quickly tucking the weapon away.

There's nowhere to wash his hands afterwards.

"Great," he mutters and then slinks back to the barn where he sleeps at night. His mirror water turns into hand washing water, and he still feels a bit dirty afterwards. He's hyperaware of what's going down below the belt, all of a sudden. Also, maybe getting a bit hard? Is it really that damn easy to get riled up as a man? Van's not even thinking of anything sexy, and apparently it's going up on its own. What the hell?

Climbing up to the hayloft, Van lies down and tries to not think about his dick. He's got an existential crisis on his hands. Woman stuck in a man's body here. This is no time for any kind of self-inflicted fun times. He needs to experience the horrors of being not in a body of his own. Her own. Whatever. Body dysmorphia, here we go!

Yeah, no, apparently not. His mind keeps slipping downwards along with the blood pooling there, as though the damn thing has a gravity of its own. He can feel his penis straining his underwear - taking it out, putting his hand around it, it would feel… probably pretty good right now. And it's not like Katie doesn't want to - like she hasn't been curious what it was like, how it would work. Porn and smut painted a pretty vivid image, of course, but nothing beats hands on experience.

Mmm, hands on…

Van stares at the ceiling for a long moment, biting his lip. There's no one in this end of the barn but him. The Gylcrosses are in their house, Josel is off in his little hutch… there's no one here. No one but him.

… Right, okay. Fine.

With a grunt Van gets up to find a rag or something.

It would clear his head too, probably, if all the post nut clarity memes are to be believed. He would have his existential crisis with a clear mind afterwards.

-

Katie wakes up the next morning to the cock crowing somewhere outside and has a moment of flailing confusion at the feel of all the hay around her and sight of the wooden ceiling and beams above her head… before everything comes back.

Right. She's still here. She's transmigrated into Van and to the very start of Age of Tales. And it's now day two.

"Shit," Van murmurs, running a hand down his face. His chin feels bristly - apparently that's a yes on the needing to shave going forward, if he wants to keep Van's chiselled chin in view. Which is probably not all that important, considering that, well…

Tonight, the plot would finally kick off in earnest.

Breathing in and out for a moment, Van lets his arm drop to his side. He hadn't even thought of what he would do, beyond the usual. Even with all the dramatic consequences, the Rift opening was still part of the tutorial, and so all the enemies were pretty low level. The character was meant to run, of course - at this point there was not much they were supposed to be able to do against them.

Emphasis on the supposed. This is, however, Age of Tales.

The whole tutorial section is a bit… Well, overall, Katie gets it - the whole point of the tutorial section is to paint the illusion of peaceful normalcy and introduce the player to the base mechanics and the NPC shops before the plot can kick off and burn the whole idyllic place to the ground for shock value. The first time Katie went through it, it was pretty epic, overall.

But giving the players the chance to shop before the fight was kind of dumb.

Because, while the game didn't get that popular, it had some players, and just about everyone who did play it went about the tutorial the same way. They gambled for cash and kitted themselves out as best they could as soon as they could… and in so doing, turned the whole Rift thing into a bit of a joke by actually standing up against the invasion, something they plot-wise weren't supposed to be able to do. And most of them didn't even realise it, breaking the game completely by accident.

And when you went about it perfectly intentionally, well… the Rift stopped being a threat at all and became the perfect spawn kill camp.

That was what Van had been planning to do - until reality nerfed Katie's money-making tricks.

"System, open inventory," Van calls.

[Inventory] [Simple Knife, lvl. 1] [Shepherd's Slingshot, lvl. 1] [14 x Basic Stone Ammunition ] [3 x Spearhead] [1 x Apple] [Empty Jug] [Dirty Rag]

Yeah, not exactly winning starter gear, especially considering that he still doesn't have a single shred of proper armour. He hasn't been this poorly prepared for the Rift since the very first playthrough - and even then he at least had some armour and a sword! Reality is really kicking his ass this time.

He can't figure out if it's frustrating or exciting. Probably the first one.

"Guess I'm making some spears," Van muses and then sits up with a grunt. Finger-combing the hay out of his hair, Van eyes the dirty rag and then winces. He would need to get rid of it, and maybe he could wash up somewhere before getting started. Unfortunately, he doesn't think there's a washroom or anything around here…

[Farm Chores, Lvl. 1.] [It's a new day on Gylcross farm, and it's time to get to work!]

[Farm Chores 1, Lvl. 1.] [Let the chickens out.] [Let the goats out.] [Let the cows out.] [Let Bell out.] [Quest reward:  10 exp, 3 Apples.] [Farm Chores 2, Lvl. 1.] [Muck the pens and stalls.] [Quest reward:  10 exp, 5 Fresh Eggs.] [Farm Chores 3, Lvl. 1.] [Take a look at the garden and weed Ms. Janelle's vegetable beds.] [Quest reward:  10 exp, 4 x Mixed Herbs] [Farm Chores 4, Lvl. 1.] [Milk the goats and the cows.] [Quest reward:  2 exp, 1 Bottle of Milk.] [Accept?] [Yes.] [No.]

Van winces a little at the sudden bombardment of pop-ups. Looks like he has some work to do. How much it all will matter when this time tomorrow the farm will be in ruins aside… exp is exp. And if he could squeeze in another level up before the Rift, it definitely wouldn't hurt.

Standing up - and bending over to duck below the ceiling beams - Van shuffles to the ladder to start the day with a quick rinse in a bucket of cold water.

By the time he heads out of the barn, Janelle has breakfast ready and set in front of the farmhouse. "Good morning, Van!" she calls, waving. "Come have some eggs and pancakes!"

Josel is already there and already stuffing his face with eggs. "Good morning," Van greets them both and then asks, interestedly, "Pancakes?"

"Yeah - Daddy bought flour and sugar yesterday!" Janelle says excitedly. "We've got some honey too - come here and try it."

Van does, sitting down beside Josel, accepting his share with a, "Thank you, miss." It looks great, and it smells even better.

"It's Janelle," the farmer's daughter says firmly and sits down across from him.

The breakfast is great, as are the pancakes. Mr. Gylcross doesn't make an appearance, but no one comments on it, and so Van doesn't either - maybe the man sleeps in when it's not a market day, or something. After they're done eating, Josel helps Janelle clear out the table, while Van considers his quests.

"Are you going to let the animals out?" Janelle asks, wiping her hands in her apron. "I'll come with you - I'll collect the eggs while I'm at it."

"Sure," Van agrees and offers Josel an apologetic nod before following Janelle towards the chicken coops.

It's a perfectly pleasant day, with only a few fluffy clouds in the sky and just the barest hint of a breeze in the air. The sort of day when nothing bad is supposed to happen, of course. Perfectly normal day.

"Daddy says you visited the tailor yesterday," Janelle comments. "That you ordered some kind of armour."

Van blinks and looks at her. "Uh, I didn't realise he knew about that," he says. The man hadn't mentioned it. How did he find out, anyway? "I did, yeah."

"Why?"

Well, there's going to be a battle in Westbrook the day after tomorrow, and then the place is going to be set on fire, and Valthor's most annoying minion is going to make a grand appearance. Van is really hoping to curbstomp that guy's smug little face to the ground, and armour would make that much, much easier. "Well," he says, because clearly he can't say any of that. "I don't know. Just felt like it, I guess?"

Janelle looks at him carefully, and asks, "Have you… remembered something?" she asks. "About your past?"

Van hesitates, because in the game the player character never remembers time before the farm - but he does learn about it from others. "No, not really," he says finally. "I just… have a feeling I'm going to need something. Actually," he adds and takes a spearhead out of the satchel. "I also got a few of these."

Janelle accepts the dull spearhead, tilting her head with confusion. "Is that a weapon?"

"Head of a spear - I'm going to find some pole to stick it on," Van says and shrugs. "And then I'll have a spear."

Janelle shakes her head, looking a little upset. "But what do you need a spear for?" she asks.

Van shrugs again. "I don't know. It just feels like something I should have."

Janelle hums unhappily, turning the spearhead in her hand. "So, I was right," she murmurs and looks at him sadly. "You are a soldier."

In the game you learn the main character's background in flashbacks and  hints from the designated Mentor character at Ulgor's Camp, but it's a pretty cliché dealio overall. The player character has amnesia - of course - and was left at the Gylcross farm by a Mysterious Hooded Person - of course - while the Mysterious Hooded Person ran away all suspicious-like. Janelle Gylcross eventually found the player character hiding in the barn hayloft, all confused and out of it and bleeding from the head. Through some interrogation and arguing with her father, Janelle got him settled in as a new farm hand.

It's all shown to the player in this grainy sepia cut scene, a collage of moments as the player character learns how to swing a hoe and milk the cows and stuff. It's pretty wholesome. And the fact that it's shown to you only after the farm has been burned down and everyone there was killed, well… Katie has some issues with the arrangement of narrative there, but it was kind of a punch to the gut, the first time she played the game.

Also absolutely hilarious, watching this brick shithouse of a man do these cute farm chores, like carrying baby lambs around, delicately harvesting berries from the bushes and weeding garden beds.

"I'm not a soldier," Van says and accepts the spearhead back. "I just feel like it'll be better to be prepared than not."

"Right," Janelle says and hugs herself, looking uncomfortable. "Are you going to leave the farm? I know Daddy only contracted you until the harvest, but… I thought you liked it here."

"Well… it is nice," Van says. And it really is. He looks at the farmstead around them and hums thoughtfully. It's very peaceful and idyllic and wholesome. In the game it's often implied how much the player character wishes he could've stayed there, wishes none of the terrible things that followed wouldn't have happened, and the world could've stayed as it was.

More than another day of it and Katie would be climbing the walls, bored out of his mind.

"I guess we'll see," Van says and smiles at Janelle. "You never know what will happen."

-

[<<Prologue | <Chapter 4 || Chapter 6>>] Proofread by @nimadge, many thanks

-

I call this the Tool Inspection Chapter. And I hope it made at least one person laugh as much as it made me to write it.

[crowsofdarkness]

Who Are You?: Chapter One

-gif not mine. credit to owner.-

Pairings: The Winter Soldier: Bucky Barnes x Agent Fallen x The Crow: Eric Draven

Content Warnings: angst, violence, kidnapping, death, language, smut that will include unprotected pinv, oral with male and female receiving, fingering, hand jobs, voyeurism, public sex, double penetration, semi-rough sex, spanking, sharing of partners(m/f/m).

Summary: Agent Fallen was looking for a ghost, her ghost. With direct orders to shoot on sight to anyone who stands in her way, she soon finds herself at a crossroads when facing another ghost. The Crow. As they work together to find The Winter Soldier, Fallen and Eric Draven have to also work out their complicated relationship with each other.

Authors Note: this series is not canon to any of the Marvel movies, besides a few details. this will be a reverse harem/why chose series which means the FMC is with both MMCs, never choosing between the two. there will be moments where Eric and Bucky share Fallen. updates will be slow for this one. Tags are open!

Tags: @that-blonde-girl @bookofriverr @starfly-nicole

-i have my permanent bucky tags on this. if you're not interested in this story because of Eric Draven, no worries! let me know and I can take you off this story-

The snow beneath my boots crunch as I trudged farther along the darkened path, the setting sun disappearing behind the mountains in the horizon. My suit stuck to my like a second skin, the leather doing nothing to keep me warm due to my heated blood. Thanks to my powers, my blood always ran hot so while it was nearing -39 degrees celsius on Mountain Pik Podeba in Siberia, I felt sweat gather at the back of my neck. It had been an incredibly difficult trek yet I continued to push through, never giving up. 

It wasn’t in my nature to which is why SHIELD hired me. 

Did they hire you or felt pity for you when they found you on another cold mountain side and saved your life eight years ago? 

Shaking the thought from my mind, not daring to think about the past, I thought about the mission instead. My boss, Agent Fury, set down an extra classified folder on my desk a few days ago with one demand: keep it between us. 

As soon as I opened the folder, I immediately knew why we needed to keep it between us. Fury was the only one in SHIELD that knew about my past and where I came from since he was the one that found me eight years ago. If anyone inside of SHIELD found out about where that was, I’d be outcasted and probably arrested. While everyone at headquarters thought I was away on vacation, I was actually up in the mountains in Russia, looking for a ghost. 

The Winter Soldier. 

There had been rumors he’d gone rouge from Hydra a few years ago, killing everyone that had a hand in creating him. Fury had been keeping a watchful and good eye on The Winter Soldier to see if he had me in his sights. It was fine until last year when the list started to dwindle down to only three names left. 

One random guard. 

Dimitri. 

The last name on The Winter Soldiers list was only three letters, almost as if he couldn’t remember the entirety of it. But Fury knew and when I saw a copy of the list, I knew as well. 

When I read that all too familiar name back in my office the other day, all of the oxygen was stolen from my lungs as my past reared its ugly head. I hadn’t come face to face with The Winter Soldier in nearly eight years when Hydra literally tossed me out into the snow, broken and defeated. Just before one of the Hydra guards shut the door, I saw those dark eyes watch me over the guards shoulder, not bothering to stop them. 

“Soldat,” I cried out, as the flames dissipated from my hands; the fight for my survival was long gone. 

Everyone who didn’t know him called him The Winter Soldier, I called him Soldat during my time in Hydra. He was the one who trained me, made me who I am. But once one of the guards found Soldat and I in bed together, our leader Dimitri ordered my removal from the compound. I was shunned and left to die on the side of the mountain by the people I thought I had a home with all because I fell in love with another one of their other puppets. 

Dimitri was stern in his orders, never wanting Soldat and I to stray too far from our orders of death and destruction. So when he got word of our private affairs, it was clear who would be shunned. The Winter Soldier was Hydra’s most prized soldier and weapon meanwhile I was their project gone wrong; the one who couldn’t be controlled. 

Along with the love and memories of Soldat, I buried that part of me deep within me, never letting Căzut out again. I had a name when I was younger, something I couldn’t remember so Soldat was the one that gave me my name the first night I arrived at the Hydra compound, afraid. 

“Căzut,” a metal thumb lifted my chin as I knelt before him, causing me to look up at him. “You may have fallen but you will rise again.” 

So when Fury found me eight years ago wandering on the Russian mountain side and asked me for my name, I gave him the only one I had. 

Fallen. 

Breaking over the horizon, I could vaguely make out a wooden home about 15 feet west and let out a small breath of relief. To others that ventured up on this side of the mountain they might have thought it odd for a small house to be placed in the middle of nowhere. But us at SHIELD knew what it was. 

A safe house. 

This one specifically was off the map  because it was Fury’s own safe house, one he didn’t want anyone to know of. The only reason why I knew about it was because he’d brought me here eight years ago. 

“I’m fucking starved,” I grumbled under my breath as I stepped through a large mound of snow, the heat seeping through my boot melting it almost instantly. 

Fury mentioned that the wood burning stove in the house didn’t work but when I snapped my fingers, bringing fire to them, I reminded him that warmth shouldn’t be an issue for me. 

After gaining access inside with my thumb print to the front door,  I took the first step inside of the house yet immediately froze because something felt off; wrong. There was a shift in the air that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It wasn’t the chill of the house that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It was the feeling that eyes were watching me. Softly letting my bag fall to the floor, I reached for the knife in the side pocket of my tac suit and when my fingers grazed over the handle, a sharp kick landed to the back of my knee. I fell to the aged hardwood floor with a thud, quickly spinning around on my knees to look at who managed to attack me. Expecting to meet a pair of eyes, I was met with a long blade from a katana sword, the tip pressed to my neck. 

I followed up the length of it up to a hand covered in tattoos, recognizing one of them immediately. Snapping my gaze up, I met a pair of soulless eyes already pinning me in place and sucked in a breath. 

No fucking way. It’s true. 

“How the fuck did you get inside?” I asked, doing my best to keep my tone calm since he was the one with the blade pressed to my throat. 

The man, who stood tall over me at atleast six feet, cocked his head to the side. His face was covered underneath a mask from the nose down, showcasing those dark eyes as they assessed me. Those same eyes were blanketed in some kind of black paint. A few small strands of hair fell into his eyes but he made no move to brush them away. He was glad in all black, except for his hands that showcased all of the ink. 

Everyone in SHIELD thought The Winter Soldier was the ghost but they were all wrong. The man standing in front of me was an even bigger ghost. He was a rumor that no one seemed to have any proof of. I only knew of him from what I’ve read in his very skim folder which only had two things; his name and the picture of one of his tattoos. 

The Crow and the tattoo of a crow on the outside of his hand. The same one I was staring at right now. 

“You’re real,” I muttered. 

He remained silent yet pressed the tip of the blade harder against my throat causing me to kneel straighter while holding my hands out to my sides showing him I was unarmed. 

“I’m really at your mercy right now,” I flicked my gaze to the sword. “All it would take is a simple flick of your wrist and you’d hit one of my arteries, making me bleed out on the floor in seconds. I can tell you right now, I have no intention of dying today.” 

The Crow didn’t seem to believe me because he motioned to the weapons on my tac suit with a silent order. 

Remove them. 

Biting back a curse, I slowly removed the gun and knives from all of the pockets before sliding them over to his combat boots. 

“Are you going to tell me how you broke into a SHIELD safe house?” I asked. 

Yet again, he didn’t speak as he kicked my weapons across the floor, them skidding down the hall towards the kitchen. 

“I have orders to kill anyone that stands in the way of my current mission,” I said while shaking out my fingers, not yet bringing the fire forth. 

“I’d like to see you try,” The Crow chuckled darkly. 

I nearly fell to my ass at his voice, how deep and rich it was, but maintained my composure. 

“So you do speak,” I teased with a smirk. “Here I thought Hydra cut out your tongue.” 

His eyes snapped away from the exposed top of my breasts in my suit thanks to the zipper being down a bit and his jaw ticked. Victory surged through me when I found the answer to a question a lot of us were wondering. If The Crow was Hydra or not. 

“So it is true,” I continued on, puffing out my chest when I caught him staring again. 

Even if he was this top secret Hydra weapon, he was still a man and men have certain weaknesses.

“Let me guess. Hydra got bored with their main weapon and decided to create another?”

“You know Hydra?” The Crow asked me, the grip on his katana never faltering as the tip was still pressed to my throat. 

“You’re looking at one of their failed projects,” I sighed. 

He snickered. “What’s so special about you?” 

He’s fucking rude. 

With a snap, I brought forth the fire to my fingers which made him take a step back, letting the blade of his sword fall away from my neck. With the new found opportunity, I kicked my feet out to trip The Crow and he clambered to the ground. 

I looked back down the hallway where he kicked my weapons moments ago, ready to crawl my way towards them only to have my ankle grabbed and yanked into the living room. The Crow and I scuffled for a few moments, me trying to rip off his mask which caused him to slam his forehead on mine, nearly making me succumb to darkness. 

Super soldier strength? Check. 

While I had my own strength thanks to the serum running through me, it wasn’t anything compared to his. I sent a knee into his groin which made him double over in pain, giving me a few seconds to scurry away from him. Quickly rising to my feet, I threw a fireball at him only for him to grab his sword, blocking it. I watched in horror as the fire fell to ash at his feet. 

“What the fuck is your katana made out of?!” I demanded right before The Crow ran towards me, pushing me against the wall. 

His thick arm pressed into my throat, cutting off my breathing almost instantly. My feet dangled in the air slightly as I clawed at the material of his jacket, doing whatever I could to get him off of me. 

“Just like I thought. Pathetic,” he sneered, face inches from mine. 

His mask had slipped in our scuffle and it was then I got a good look at his entire face, lingering over his plump lips. Somehow without his mask, it seemed to accentuate the black paint around his eyes. 

He was gorgeous. 

Focus, you idiot! He’s going to kill you!

“Thank god you don’t have a metal arm,” I muttered under my breath as I tried to fight against him. 

The Crow’s grip around my throat faltered only for a moment as his face twitched but then he pressed his hips deeper into mine to pin me fully against the wall. Through his cargo pants, the outline of his cock against my pussy and my eyes doubled in size when I felt how hard he was, letting a moan slip quietly. 

“Is this turning you on?” I teased. 

His eyes narrowed as he pressed himself harder against me. “Says the one who just moaned.”

Curse his super soldier hearing.

“Can’t help but like what I see,” I did my best to shrug while still being pinned to the wall. 

The Crow eyes casted down to my breasts, lingering over the sweat that gathered there and all too quickly, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. 

“I could say the same thing about you.” 

His gaze flicked up to me as he pressed his arm tighter against my throat. “I have no desire other than to kill.” 

“Hydra program you to say that? Because your dick pressing against me says otherwise,” I tossed back. 

“You’re insufferable you know that,” he sneered while tossing me to the floor and I sucked in a giant breath, feeling the life return. 

“You can thank Hydra for that,” I choked on a breath before rising to my knees and glancing over at him. 

He had placed his sword back into its sheath and set it on the back of the couch then turned to face me with narrowed eyes. I was growing tired of this look. 

“What are you doing here?” The Crow asked. 

I snorted while slowly standing and rested my hands on my hips. “I should be asking you that. You’re in my safe house, which I’m still wondering how the fuck you got in without my thumb print.” 

“You left the window unlocked,” he pointed to the window in the living room. 

Damn it, Fury. 

Running a hand through my red hair, I let out a long breath and stood in front of The Crow as he sat against the back of the couch, his long legs outstretched. 

I squinted my eyes at him when I realized something. “Why didn’t you kill me just now? You had the chance more than once.” 

Something flickered in those eyes but his face remained like stone. “You said something about Hydra programming me. How would you know that?” 

I brought forth the fire again, letting it dance inside my palm as I manipulated it with the air around me. A party trick is what I liked to call it. 

“Like I said, Hydra created this. They kept me captive for years and the second I disobeyed one of their orders, they tossed me to the side as if I was nothing,” I closed my fist to put the fire out. 

“So you’re not with Hydra anymore?” The Crow asked. 

I shook my head, not completely sure why he was suddenly not trying to attack me anymore, but what shocked me the most was how comfortable I felt opening up to him.

“You mentioned something about a metal arm,” he said while crossing his arms over his chest. 

I swallowed thickly, not knowing where the conversation was headed now. “Your point?” 

The Crow shook off his jacket, letting it fall to the couch behind him. “Was The Winter Soldier before or after your time with Hydra?” 

“During,” I informed while shifting on my feet. “He’s the one that trained me.” 

“No offense but he did a shitty job.”

I shot him with a glare, feeling protective over Soldat after all these years because the love I had for him still lingering. “Fuck you.” 

The Crow eyes drank me in from head to toe before resting back on my lips. “Tempting but I have other orders.”

“Care to tell me what those orders are? Because I’m still curious on how you found this SHIELD safe house?” 

“This is SHIELD? Here I thought they would put you up in a mansion or some shit,” he snickered. 

“Well,” I kicked my bag in the air and caught it. “This has been so much fucking fun but I have plans. Please let the door hit you on the way out.” 

I made it all of two steps towards the staircase, ready for a shower and food while I went over my notes on Soldat when a voice stopped me. 

“Do these plans have anything to do with The Winter Soldier?” 

Turning swiftly on my heels, I glared at The Crow. “Excuse me?” 

He threw a thumb over his shoulder towards the laptop on the coffee table behind him. “I hacked into the laptop here and read your current mission report. It’s kind of irresponsible to leave a top secret laptop out in the open like that.” 

Letting out a scream of frustration, I chucked my bag at him which he caught with an attractive and annoying ease. 

“How long have you been here?” I asked. 

He shrugged. “Few days. I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”

This piqued my interest and I raised a brow at him. “You’ve been waiting for me? Why?” 

The Crow stood to his full height and closed the distance between us. Suddenly, I got a small whiff of his scent and couldn't help but shiver at how good he smelled. 

“I’ve been tasked with retrieving The Winter Soldier to bring him back to Hydra,” he informed me while stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. 

I scoffed while shaking my head. “There’s no way I’m helping you bring Soldat back to the monsters that tortured him.” 

“Soldat?” His brows furrowed. 

“It’s what we called him. It's "soldier " in Russian,” I said. 

He nodded curtly. “Well, my Hydra mission is different from my main mission.” 

“Which is?” I pressed. 

There was something oddly weird about why The Crow chose this safe house and why he was waiting for me personally. 

“I need his blood to create an antidote for the serum running through me. I’ve been this weapon for years and need a way out. Hydra doesn't know this but I’m not returning from this mission. I don’t want this life for me any more.”

“What makes you think Hydra will let you get away with that?” I asked in utter disbelief. 

There was absolutely no way anyone in that group would let someone like The Crow get away.

“I have people on the inside that will fake my death so I can hide away.” 

“And you trust them?”

I was beyond shocked that not only did he have the balls to pull off a move like this but he was also divulging his plans to basically a stranger who was an agent of SHIELD and former Hydra assassin.

“With my life,” he said without missing a beat. 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” I ran a hand over my face, the exhaustion from my trek up the mountain suddenly catching up to me. 

Something seemed to lift from his shoulders as he let out a long sigh, suddenly breaking free in front of me. 

“I need your help. I’ve been hunting Soldat for months but can’t seem to keep on his trail. If anyone can find him, it’s you,” he said. 

“What makes you think I can find him?” 

“My sources tell me he’s also looking for you,” he motioned towards the laptop on the coffee table. 

I rolled my eyes at his sources and crossed my arms over my chest. “Why the hell would I help you? You tried to kill me.”

“I would never,” he placed a hand over his chest in mock pain. “I just wanted to see what you were made of.” 

“You’re insufferable,” I exasperated while repeating his words from earlier.

The Crow continued to wear that smirk as he shrugged. “You’ll get used to it the longer we’re together.” 

“Hang on,” I raised a finger. “I never agreed to help you. What do I get out of this? It goes against my orders from SHIELD.” 

“Well, according to your records, it seems like you’ve had quite a few red marks. Your boss, Fury, is trying to help you keep your job which is why he sent you on this private mission. If you brought in The Winter Soldier, it would solidify your position until you retire. But something tells me that you’re looking for a way out as well.”

My spine stiffened as I stood up straighter, not knowing how he found that info out. No one inside of SHIELD knew I was purposely getting red marks on my record in a way for them to kick me off the force. This private mission to find Soldat was a way out with the hopes he remembered me and he could help. 

I swallowed thickly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You think you know things about me because you read my file.” 

“A thick file,” he corrected. “If you help me, I can have one of my hacker friends wipe your file clean so you and Soldat can live happily ever after. That is, if he remembers you.”

The urge to slap that stupid smirk off of his face was strong and made my hand twitch at my side yet I weighed his words heavily on my mind. This was technically the way out I needed and now that I finally had the chance to do it, it would be stupid not to take it. 

Right?

“If you were to help me, something tells me I would owe you something?”

Something shone in The Crow's eyes but his next words didn’t match that glimmer. 

“We both get a way out of a life we had no say in. Consider us even,” he spoke while walking past me into the kitchen. 

Reluctantly I followed him and for the first time since stepping inside, the smell of a warm cooked meal filled my senses and my stomach roared to life. On the table were two plates, two cups, and silverware. 

“Are you fine with chicken and potatoes?” The Crow asked over his shoulder as he pulled out a large dish from the oven. 

I blinked at him a few times, trying to gather my words. “How the hell did you get the oven to work? Half of this shit didn’t work the last time Fury and I were held up here.” 

With his back to me, I could see the muscles tense as he moved about the kitchen, getting things ready for dinner and I bit my lip at the sight. 

“I’m good with my hands,” he answered while setting the dish down on the table. “Go wash up and we can talk more about the details.” 

Very briefly, I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his neck as he scratched at it, lifting down his shirt slightly. 

“I never said yes,” I reminded him while popping my hip out, showcasing my attitude. 

“The way you haven’t blown me to ash yet shows me that you already agreed. So again I say, go wash up and we can go over the details. I have a hunch where Soldat is hiding out.” 

As much as he irritated me, I knew that I’d be nowhere without The Crow. I had nothing on Soldat, so as much as I hated to admit it, I needed his help. 

“Fine,” I forced out through gritted teeth and turned swiftly on my heels but halted when he called after me. 

“What did Hydra call you?” 

“There’s no way I’m giving you my name. I don’t even know you,” I tossed over my shoulder. 

Something in the way he smirked told me he already knew my name due to his hacking but gave me the benefit of the doubt to tell him myself. 

Dropping my shoulders with a sigh, I gave in. “During my time in Hydra I went by Căzut but now I go by Fallen.” 

“I know,” The Crow smirked. “I just wanted to see if you trusted me enough to tell me.” 

“Does this mean you’re going to tell me your name? And not the stupid moniker Hydra assigned you,” I gave him a small smile but dropped it when I noticed the way his face fell. 

“I don’t know my name. I’ve only ever gone by The Crow.” 

Ignoring the pain I felt for him in my heart, I tapped my chin in mock thought before snapping, a spark igniting. “You look like an Eric to me.” 

“Eric,” he repeated the name a few times, almost like he was trying on a new pair of pants. “I like it.” 

“Good because it stays,” I ruffled his hair before leaving him alone in the kitchen as I skipped upstairs. 

When I left the SHIELD headquarters this morning, I had no intention of working with someone on finding Soldat but something in the way Eric smiled at me told me that he was the same as me in a lot of different ways. So if I had to deal with him for a few days in my search for Soldat, it was worth it. It helped that he was good to look at as well. 

“This is going to be a long few days,” I mumbled under my breath as I took the steps up towards the one bedroom of the house. 

The bedroom Eric seemed to have taken over. The same bedroom with only one bed. 

Son of a bitch. 

[iamonlypartlymajestic]

Mark from SFTH's Clarissa's DIY Wedding is Aro/Ace and should be in a QPR with Clarissa x Amanda. In this essay, I will—

[Okay, it's not really an essay (wow it became much longer than I thought it would) but this is the first time I've actually written out a headcanon I've had. I wasn't expecting to go into detail, but I posted this idea casually in the SFTH discord, and then some people actually started to vibe with it and add on to it (thanks so much btw <3!!), so now I want to write out all the ideas in case I (or someone else) want to write fic for it lmao.]

Main Idea: Mark from Clarissa's DIY Wedding is Aromantic and/or Asexual but because of his mommy/daddy/religious issues thinks he needs to have a heterosexual romance to be fulfilled because he couldn't see that in his own parents/family life and was pressured to do so. And while Clarissa and Amanda (who are now in a romantic relationship) help him discover his identity, they form a queerplatonic poly relationship of aro/ace!Mark x sapphic!DIYWives

Read ahead for my surprisingly long headcanon for this sad AF fictional man from an improv *comedy* bit whom I've now adopted. (disclaimer: I'm aroace spec but unfortunately I'm not really a good writer and thus, not very good at explaining things)

Headcanon:

Mark could be a closeted aroace person who unfortunately has been in several shortlived "stereotypically het" romances: lost his virginity at a young age, has had one-night stands, and frequent girlfriends

Much like Clarissa x Amanda is a "Good Luck, Babe" dynamic, Mark not knowing he's aro and/or ace can have his own Good Luck, Babe (which honestly he deserves it because angst is delicious). As Clarissa wakes up next to him in the middle of the night with her head in her hands, thinking about Amanda, Mark is lying facing away from his wife wondering why he doesn't feel the satisfaction society has told him he will have after marriage. Unlike Clarissa however, he doesn't know what that missing piece is.

He's obviously never gotten familial love from his dad and his mom died when he was young (and idk if he has any other family) so his yearning for what should be unconditional familial love transferred over to a want for unconditional romantic love because that's what society has placed on a pedestal. But because he has no proper example of what a healthy couple relationship should look like and because he doesn't have that romantic attraction, he's just willing to take what he can get.

AND THE CHURCH!!! OMG THE CHURCH. The church also doesn't help, just promoting het marriage as the end all be all which is unfortunate since the church seems to be the only place he goes to for help in his life and even then, all he's given in answer is unwarranted guilt.

As suggested in the discord, Amanda somehow convinces Clarissa to convince Mark to go to therapy instead of the Church. For Amanda, it's at first a way to separate Mark and Clarissa because they'll realize they aren't actually compatible. After several therapy sessions (including couple's therapy for both of them), Mark and Clarissa realize that their current relationship is unhealthy. Clarissa realizes she's bisexual or pansexual and that those friendly feelings for Amanda weren't strictly friendly at all. Mark realizes that while he does love Clarissa, it's not the romantic love that is typical for a married couple but he's been treating the marriage more of a bandaid over his abandonment trauma and guilt. They get a divorce and Clarissa gets together with Amanda and Mark tries to find himself somehow (spoiler alert, he has no idea how to do so by himself).

Much to Amanda's dismay, Clarissa and Mark still miss each other and want to hang out on friendly terms (Amanda also has to go through her own issues of abandonment and thinking that Clarissa will leave her for a man). However, the more they hang out all together, Amanda starts to actually like Mark as a friend and she knows now that the way Mark and Clarissa love each other is not the same love as Clarissa and hers is, but it is still very strong in itself.

For example: Mark and Clarissa have cuddle sessions because they're used to that already. Amanda gets jealous because her insecurities are convinced that Mark and Clarissa will get back together romantically and leave her as the third wheel again. But as it continues, she realizes that the intimacy is soooo not romantic or sexual in nature and entirely just for comfort

At this point, it may be the start of a QPR but they don't know it yet shhh...

Since hanging out more with Clarissa and Amanda, Mark is very much introduced to the LGBTQIA+ community. Mark learns that he may not be straight after all.

*cue montage music*

• Mark gets invited to gay bars with DIYWives to experiment. He's introduced to Amanda's sapphic friends as Clarissa's ex-husband, but he's cool and part of the "girlies".

• Mark gets hit on by several gay men. He at first declines, but looking at Clarissa and Amanda dancing with each other and having fun in the middle of the club, he wants what they have. Clarissa found out she likes women, maybe he likes men too, and ends up hooking up with some of them. He learns that the way he feels about men is the same way he feels about women which he thinks makes him bisexual but that doesn't seem that correct to him.

• Finally, he meets other aro/ace people and something just *clicks*. While he very much loved (and tbh still does love) Clarissa and feels extreme fondness for her, he never actually felt romantic/sexual attraction towards her.

• Mark comes out to Clarissa and Amanda who obviously support him very much. Now, when they go to bars since Mark still gets hit on by all genders, he begins to wear shirts with several aro/ace puns on them (lmao). It isn't very long after that—maybe Amanda does the research actually—DIYWives end up having a queerplatonic relationship with Mark.

As a friendly joke, Clarissa or Amanda introduces Mark like this:

Clarissa/Amanda: "Yeah that's Mark, my/her ex-husband. She/I hated him, but we're all good and in a relationship now."

Mark's like, "Hi! 👋😎"

...

It is now 1:30am and I can't think of anything else right now lol, sooooo thanks for coming to my TED Talk! *drops microphone and walks off stage*

[ruehyte]

Every time I think about the difference between Mourn Watch and Non-Mourn Watch Rook in regards to Emmrich, I lose my mind

The rites in his first scene, for one, where if you don't have the MW option your Rook just sits there and goes..... uh. spirit...? hi??

And then in his description of those rites he has to COMPLETELY dumb it down, and hearing Emmrich explain anything in layman's terms is incredibly funny

Then he explains his childhood; (Spoilery spoilers from here)

MW Rooks have a moment of solidarity and everyone else has a moment of... What the fuck?! They put an ORPHAN WHERE?! and he has to reconsider his very life choices because . Why am I being glared at for being basically raised by skeletons.

And THEN in his second scene in the Necropolis, he's gathering flowers for the dead, as he says, and he's explaining the concept of lichdom, and the contrast there is priceless;

Mourn Watch Rook (Though with Cyvin I did romance him, so perhaps it's different again outside of that) will ask questions specifically about being a lich- even if its scary, Emmrich will explain it in a rather good amount of detail, and they converse about worries and fears and such. He goes on to continue explaining for several more lines.

And then.... And then my dear sweet Grey Warden. She doesn't even know what a lich IS never-mind what it does, and so Emmrich is essentially like., "Hi! I have the opportunity to warp myself into an undead!" She's like "I'M SORRY?"

She's been traumatised. Clearly. Never sleeping again. He doesn't even explain the ins and outs of it if you don't share in his knowledge.. perhaps for fear of traumatising you further?

But then she asks very simple questions in very simple terms like she's trying to get him NOT to do this instantly . Because the idea's scared her off so much, while a mourn watcher goes through and asks questions much more calmly

And obviously she wouldn't know ins and outs because she's not a Mourn Watch? I simply thought seeing Non-MW! Rook after my Cyvin was very funny <3 Ellorena you don't know what ghosts are and that's very dear to me

(Also the fact that they put this much detail into different faction reactions at all is very nice... I love you Mourn Watch <3)

[fuckzachariah]

Zach’s eyes tracked her movements as though locked onto a target; the run of her hands over her hourglass frame, the tilt of her face as she gazed on at Kylie. Her face changed, and Zach was struck by the alienness of the look. This version of Alex that Kylie unwittingly received, Zach had never been the recipient of. And he never would be. The dark-haired seraph was removed and appreciative, calculated and intentional. A throb of something like guilt or maybe even a thrill clenched its fist around the base of his throat. The danger he was toying with was too great to truly fathom. It expanded beyond his eyeline so as to be entirely obscured from comprehension at all. He liked it this way. This way, he got to hone in on the details, to luxuriate in them and feel the way his pulse got faster from them; the curve in her brow, the simmering smug smirk on her lips. Briefly, his attention wandered to see what she saw. Those bouncing curls, the laugh that travelled any distance. He cocked his head curiously, seeing her in that moment as something entirely separate from himself. Blonde, beautiful, petite. He recognized these things as Alex listed them, and she was correct, they were a draw. But many women ticked such boxes. There was something else, something intrinsic…

Alex withdrew him from his thoughts with a quip. He laughed, quietly and contained, but in earnest. "Oh, no. Not everyone is that fucking ballsy. Or stupid," his mischief glimmered. The day she had launched that wine bottle across the room at him had been the same day he had first lost his fucking mind. Truly, honestly abandoned all his senses. It had been bloody and awful and left scars that lingered to this day. But… he couldn't deny he missed something about it. The fervor. Nothing had made him so mad since. He had never felt so much, all at once, since the day they had walked away from each other. For better or for worse. He wondered if she pined after it, too. The all-consumption. The feeling of being lit on fire. “Not yet, anyway,” Zach muttered. “But there’s always room for improvement.” He needled at the plush, unpunctured balloon of their tryst. Something could surely make Kylie snap. He didn’t doubt Alex could well be that something. His dimpled tongue rolled behind his teeth, pushed up against the clamped porcelain. 

The exact opposite of me. His attention snapped to her, subtle but sharp, and for a moment he said nothing as he trod around upon the question of her sincerity. How she truly felt about what she’d uttered. Because it was true. It was the very crux of what had made him cave – determination to banish Alex from his mind, after a year of being haunted, of waking up from his dreams shaking and aching... – that Kylie was her opposite. What better to rinse him of her memory than someone who was nothing like her? Zach wondered if Alex understood the absolute intention of that decision for him – but then she confessed, to a degree, that she had done the same in choosing Andrew. Zach sort-of smiled, ruminating on the irony of it all. “Running a million fucking miles from each other,” he mused with a cruel laugh. Then he eyed her. “Or maybe just 3,000,” he slipped, thinking of her Manhattan penthouse. Alex met his eyes keenly. His eyebrow raised expectantly. An energy thrummed between them, almost visible as it throbbed against the atmosphere.

Aubrey. Zach laughed, sudden and a little rude. They still ran into each other on occasion. She moved in any circle that allowed her to indulge in total debauchery; in sex and hard drugs and four-day benders, in drama and violence and frenemies. Zach’s previous unwillingness to banish her entirely had always been his proximity to these same things – or rather, his dependence on them. She was, like certain drugs, not his preferred vice but a reliable one to numb whatever needed numbing. Though on the surface it appeared she was determined never to change, never to grow, Zach knew there had been a shift in her since the days they'd been close. He knew this because when the time had come, she had let him go without leaving claw marks. Her presence would always be a reason for him to go back under, and he couldn’t go back under again. She knew it. The goodbye had been silent. However, when it came to Alex, with the clarity granted by distance he understood the lingering disdain. She may have forgotten her name for a moment, but she hadn’t forgotten the feeling. 

“That’s funny,” Zach chimed. A lone dimple materialized upon his cheek. “If you were to ask me then, or now, I’d always say my real weakness is redheads.” As though Alex as she was now couldn’t bury him if she so wished. It was easier to pretend she only had that kind of power over him in the past-tense. He felt a distinct pang, a sudden urge, to push his fingers into her hair. He smiled, biting down on his tongue inside his mouth. “I’d say your thing must be fat wallets, but to be honest, I don’t think any man without the bank account to spoil you would waste their time on the approach.” He smirked. “You look like you cost a lot of money to win over.” It wasn’t an insult, though maybe it sounded like one. He chuckled. “Oh, tell me, did your first date with Andrew out-do ours?” Ours. His tongue got a little stuck on the word. But before she could get more than half-way through her response, a tall, incorrigible presence encroached upon their conversation, strapped with a vexing confidence.

Luke hadn’t even said a word before Zach popped up from his relaxed slouch upon the bar, alert like a guard dog, ready to bite. “Lovebirds,” he slurred, eyes drooping with hard liquor and whatever else. It wasn’t uppers. What shit was he on now – opioids? Zach kind of laughed, which visibly irritated Luke. “What’s funny?” he assailed, though it was sluggish. “Is it that I could blow up both your spots in 5 seconds, if I wanted to? Or an inside joke? Tell me the joke, Zach.” Zach’s teeth ground together as he breathed out through his nose. Not angry, not yet. Not raging. But bubbling. Luke, in response to his silence, turned his eyes to the petite brunette at his side. “Alex? Come on,” he goaded. The contents of his drink sloshed over his glass as it thrust toward her, narrowly missing her dress. Zach took a subtle step forward. “Let me in on the joke. For old time’s sake.” Zach shook his head, simmering down from irritation to something sadder. His face screwed delicately as though having smelled a foul smell, overrun with the sensation that he was watching something truly pathetic unfold. “Christ, Luke,” he began to dismiss, hand searching for Alex’s elbow in preparation. At any given moment, he suspected they may have to flee the scene. “You’re a fuckin’ joke.”

Alex slipped effortlessly back into her position at the bar, poised and balanced atop her towering designer platforms. Even with the added height, Zach still loomed over her, his presence inescapable. She glanced up at him, one perfectly arched brow lifting in silent amusement —Really? Her hands smoothed over the crushed velvet of her Dolce & Gabbana dress, fingertips cascading over the soft curves of her hips, an absentminded gesture. She exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting across the room, where Kylie stood swathed in warm light, radiant and effortless. “Well, let’s see,” she murmured, her voice smooth as silk. Her dark eyes traced the contours of Kylie’s petite frame, admiring her the way one might admire a perfectly crafted porcelain doll. Delicate, pristine, untouchable.

“Blonde. Beautiful. Petite. And,” she added, lips beginning to curve upward, “she’s unlikely to hurl a bottle of wine past your head.” A smirk danced across her features as she allowed the thought to linger. She wondered about their arguments, if they even had them. Did they disagree in soft voices, resolving their issues with careful words and understanding? Or did Zach ever lose himself in his anger, his temper simmering just beneath the surface, just waiting to be unleashed? And when they made up, was it tender? Slow and sweet, their bodies tangled in silk sheets, whispering apologies between kisses? Barf. Zach and Alex had never been that kind of couple. Maturity was not their strong suit. Passion? Destruction? That, they had mastered.

She had always loved the thrill of walking away in the heat of an argument. The power of leaving him stewing in his own frustration, slamming a door in his face, locking him out of a room, her home, her life. She relished the chaos of it, the way he’d flood her phone with missed calls and unread messages, relentless in his pursuit of resolution or revenge. And when she finally decided to answer, the fight would pick up right where it left off, voices low and venomous, each word another carefully aimed dagger. If they happened to be together, the tension could snap in an instant, turning volatile depending on what toxins had been swimming in their bloodstreams that night. But God, the way it always ended.

Every argument, every shattered glass, every tear-streaked accusation led them back to the same place. Back to each other. Their bodies colliding with the same reckless force as their words, a feverish entanglement of desperation and desire. It was raw. Consuming. Addictive. And in the afterglow, skin damp, breaths still ragged, fingers lazily tracing the aftermath of their mayhem, they’d forget why they were even fighting to begin with. It was unhealthy. Toxic. Damn near lethal. And yet, it was the best she had ever known. Nothing had ever come close since. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recreate it, couldn’t mimic that electric pull, that madness that somehow made perfect sense in its destruction. She wondered if he thought the same.

“The exact opposite of me,” she declared suddenly, the words spilling from her lips, bold and unfiltered. The espresso martinis had begun their work, loosening her tongue, unraveling the tightly wound threads of her self-restraint. She lifted her hands in mock surrender, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. “And I’m not one to judge. Clearly, I took a turn in the opposite direction as well.” Laughter bubbled up from deep in her chest. She allowed the silence to stretch for a moment, as if waiting for him to argue or challenge her. “Well, I suppose he does fit my track record,” Alex mused, tilting her head slightly. Her gaze flickered back to Zach, sharp and assuming. “You, on the other hand. I didn’t realize you liked blondes that much.”

She paused, her mind sifting through the catalog of names and faces, searching for the right one. Her hand lifted, fingers twirling absently in the air as if trying to pluck the memory from thin air. “Except for…” Her lips pursed, the name eluding her. With a sudden spark of recollection, her eyes lit up. “Aubrey,” she announced, “but that’s a different story.” Oh, Aubrey. Alex wondered how she was these days, if the patch of hair on her head had ever grown back after Alex had so graciously removed her extensions. Of course, there was also Tasha, the one who had always prowled too close, hell-bent on sinking her teeth into Zach. Maybe she had finally accomplished her mission. “Good times,” she drawled sarcastically. With a quiet chuckle, she let her hand rest comfortably against her stomach, her fingers idly tracing invisible patterns over her dress.

[panzershrike-pretz]

PRETZ! can i ask 💤, 🐉, and 🎶 for fiona?

HEY BLU!!! ABOUT FIONA!!! I love her so much!!

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

💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?

Fiona's a light sleeper, more so because of her autism and anxiety. She's constantly somewhat overwhelmed, so falling asleep itself is already a battle for her - so, staying asleep, is even harder.

With the tecnologies of the modern days, she learned to use happy hoodies (for grooming dogs), noise concealing earplugs and sleep masks, but they aren't really a hundred percent effective. Any sudden movement is still enough for her to wake up.

She's normally the first to go to bed and first to rise, of all the crew :3

🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature?

Her favorite mythical creature is the Anhangá! Although she is German, not Brazilian, she learned about them from Madam Iraci Troupial, one of the Brazilian Ymbrynes.

Anhangás are white deer with blood-red eyes and a soft glow around them. They live alone and their mission is to protect the Amazon and its inhabitants, killing whoever hurts the forest with their giant antlers!

Anhangás where a lot more common before Brazilian colonization, but as the Portuguese explored the resources and the population started to shrink the Amazon, their numbers went down due to loss of habitat and poaching (their antlers and blood can be used in potions; eating their eyes is said to strengthen people and cure most mosquito-born diseases). Now, they are a protected species under the International Magical-Beast Protection Act (IMBPA) and are slowly but surely comming back!

(And as a disclosure, I made my own twists to the actual Anhangá folklore! They are common in some indigenous communities and their stories differ here and there; this version is made to fit my universe and is based in more than one versions of the legend)

🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?

Fiona's favorite is classic music, but she's also a big fan of operas and anything-ballet! Those are the ones she's been exposed the longest to, but as she came into the modern world, she found passion for musicals!

They are like therapy for her and she actually loves to be able to sing and act - although she's mostly nonverbal, when she's on the stage, she feels way more confortable.

Natasha turned her into a theater kid 💀✨️

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 2 - Psyche Skills

Part 1 - Part 3

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Horrible new theory about Runaan's shirt today.

-no, not the new one, the one he lost-

He's still got his green assassin shirt here on the balcony, and vest too:

But by the time Gren is thrown into the dungeon a couple days later, it's missing.

Runaan's also sporting bags under his eyes because he'd been kept awake all night, enjoying Viren's frustrations about losing Harrow and also getting denied the crown of Katolis.

So. About that missing shirt.

I can't think of too many things worse for a guy who wears four shirts at once than to have them all taken off while he's badly hurt and manacled to the wall, and then be tickled half to death all night long, on his birthday.

[britneyshakespeare]

Had the extremely upsetting experience of a mutual of like 6 years going off on me for occasionally making posts about supporting Harris because apparently that makes me a g n cide denier who refuses to learn and grow, with all of my views just being assumed not even from what I've told them I believe or what I've posted before, but just because I DON'T post particularly the kind of things they THINK I should be. When I pointed out how much they were just completely assuming about stuff I'd never talked to them about, I was told it doesn't matter what I do in real life or "care" about if I simply disagree with their conclusion and vote for her anyway. Like they were absolutely not sorry for the level of maliciousness they not just assumed of my character, but for some reason thought appropriate to bring directly to me before unfollowing me. No apology whatsoever for how discomforting or upsetting that might be and certainly no acknowledgment that I could disagree with them and still be a good person. I just got another even longer rant about how they fundamentally can't fuck with me because of this one thing, no matter WHAT else I do in my real life (which I pointed out that they do not know), and how I'm directly supporting fascism.

Like seriously what is it about Tumblr that makes people think they know someone based off of occasional posts? There were just such DEEP assumptions they were making of me and going off of very little or absolutely nothing. Around the time I first became mutuals with that person I used to express my personality and beliefs and talk about what was going on in my life a lot more openly, but I've significantly scaled back on doing that in many ways for many reasons. One of my major ones is privacy and the way I've had strangers outside my followers and following circles just find random things I say and dogpile me for it. I was fundamentally changed after some T Fs did that to me like 3 years ago. I also just didn't have many conversations w that person anymore (I message people in general on here like 10x less than I did circa 2018-2019, which I'm somewhat sorry about!). My point is to say I think this person felt comfortable assuming that they knew me, especially who I am in 2024 at the age of 25, much better than they actually did.

One of the specific things they accused me of was being afraid of learning and growing (because I don't perform social media activism on here like they think I should). Like AFRAID to take criticism. When again I've never received criticism from them or had to respond to any criticism on here before as pertaining to my views on... well, absolutely any of the issues they accused me of not caring about. They essentially treated it as if the only thing in the world I cared about was the US election and characterized me as the most out-of-touch liberal they could possibly imagine, because I'm not "pushing" Kamala Harris to be better (Oh?? Should I do that on here?? Does she read my blog??).

And most hypocritically what they said was that I only *sometimes* *vaguely* post pro-Harris things (I often post like 5 or fewer things in a day though?). But here's the kicker. "Because I know I'll get shit for it. And rightfully so."

Really????? Not a single person, anon or not, in my messages or in a tagged post or anything, has ever given me shit before for saying who I'm voting for. I'm actually NOT afraid of "getting shit" for that opinion, I just don't start fights with people who are anti-voting. And why should I??? I genuinely don't believe in trying to change the minds of strangers on the internet about that sort of thing. I'm just not confrontational about it; that is so not the same thing as being "afraid of getting shit." I'm not posting ENOUGH about my support for Harris, therefore I'm afraid. But therefore they can also make all these assumptions about me being their strawman for an ignorant Harris supporter.

I'm afraid of getting shit but I still post anyway? But if I weren't afraid of getting shit I'd be posting a lot more?? This is ALL based on their assumptions of what my blog *should* look like, based on what I really and truly believe. My level of posting every now and then is an accurate gauge of my feelings on complex, sensitive, global issues. Because I'm voting for the Democratic presidential candidate and I'm ok sharing pretty much just that little glimpse of myself.

I really don't think that person knows just how inappropriate and insulting that is to just say all of that to me. Like they really know what's going on in my head. Their first message began and ended with like "I'm sorry I love you I just can't take it anymore" but they clearly weren't sorry enough to try and be more respectful to me, and they didn't love me enough not to default to extremely ungenerous assumptions and attacking me based off of those instead of any actual words I've said that they take issue with.

Online radicalization is real and it's not necessarily bad because your political views can start to fall well out of the contemporary Overton window. The way you find it appropriate to treat people whose views, however common, seem to fundamentally misalign with yours... that does matter. You can't just assume the worst of everyone and then act on that in how you approach them as individuals. And then be shocked that you don't stay friends with them. You can't be confrontational with someone about an issue you've never had an honest conversation about, and then expect them to take your bad faith in them as reasonable well-meaning criticism.

I'm afraid of criticism??? I'm afraid of criticism. No I'm not. This person and I have never had an issue before where they criticized me and I got harshly defensive. It was ALL projection. The entire tone of their messages was as if all their anti-voting posts recently were somehow in communication with the occasional go-vote-for-Harris posts that I make. That's not a conversation. I don't post for your satisfaction. I don't post in "response" to my mutuals I disagree with. I just post what's on my mind, sometimes, about some things. I really again can't stress enough how baffled I am by this