#not for us to suffer or anything 🥰

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, okay? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Okay, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, okay?” Your eyes are shining.

“Okay,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, okay?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you okay?” he asks after a second.

Okay? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[astonmartinii]

big reputation part two | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem reader

a new season dawns but that doesn't mean we don't have a map to our buried hatchets

MASTERLIST | BUY ME A KO-FI? | PART ONE

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 3,221,783 others

charles_leclerc: ferrari has been home for as long as i can remember, even before i joined the academy, the dream of driving for ferrari gave me a purpose. i am heartbroken it hasn't worked out, but formula one is, at the end of the day, a selfish sport and i have to think about my real goal here: to win a championship. ferrari has an amazing history, but that is what it is history. in the four years i have been here i haven't seen the drive and ambition to be as ruthless and as complete as they were with michael and with kimi. therefore i have to leave. it hurts me to leave the tifosi, but know you're always in my heart and i will always hold dear your support. grazie regazzi essere ferrari ❤️

view all comments

user3: i knew it was coming but HOLY FUCK CHARLIE COME HOME

user4: tifosi lecfosi YES SIR

user5: for real i'm down for him not that clown team

yourusername: i'm proud of you charlie, i knew how much this took. but you have to put yourself first at some point. i love you

charles_leclerc: i love you too. i'm sorry i can't stop crying

yourusername: no i love that you are so passionate. it's been a long season and you're finally allowed to let it all out

charles_leclerc: can we go to a rage room?

yourusername: FUCK YEA

maxverstappen1: pretty please may i join. i have a lot of rage. call it teammate bonding?

charles_leclerc: give me a tow in bahrain quali?

maxverstappen1: fine (NO ONE SCREENSHOT THIS OR HOLD ME TO IT)

yourusername: at least this one i don't mind having to third wheel us

user6: the SHADE that's mother right there

user7: trying to stay insanely normal over the fact that max, charles and y/n are besties

pierregasly: congrats calmar, HOWEVER, i though i was your favourite third wheel 🥰

yourusername: but you bring kika ??? how can you third wheel if kika is there? DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW TO COUNT?

charles_leclerc: thank you pear i love you brother

user8: i love how this is some super sentimental post and y/n is asking pierre if he can count i hope they never change

landonorris: max as fave third wheel ??? @alexalbon @georgerussll63 twitch quartet erasure

yourusername: womp womp

alexalbon: WOMP WOMP?

charles_leclerc: guys i'm sad about leaving my dream team where is the compassion?

georgerussell63: yeah boo hoo there are bigger things at play here I DID NOT SIT THROUGH YOUR TEN HOUR MELTDOWN ON AN APPROPRIATE TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY GIFT NOT TO BE TOP THIRD WHEEL

yourusername: you fools really will argue about anything huh

landonorris: this is the sanctity of our friendship on the line here

user9: the grid was really like YOU might be sad about leave ferrari but we ain't

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,421,455 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: holibobs with sharlie

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user10: i love as soon as the season finishes charles becomes THEE instagram boyf

user11: j.peg account? no. just taking photos of y/n? YES.

charles_leclerc: i have an eye for beauty

yourusername: heheheheheheehehehehehee

alexalbon: so he can use a camera? why does he only take 0.5s of me?

yourusername: the best angle for your big ol dome

alexalbon: EXCUSE ME ?

yourusername: yeah sorry that was a bit far

alexalbon: it's like you got off the ferrari leash and now we all have to suffer

yourusername: WELP

charles_leclerc: ma belle, the only one i'll actually listen to and put sun cream on

yourusername: yes you will because we...

charles_leclerc: put spf on everyday !!

yourusername: yes! because...

charles_leclerc: we're scared of aging?

yourusername: no?

charles_leclerc: we want to be safe 👍

maxverstappen1: you guys done with the kindergarten reading lessons?

yourusername: have you seen lobster leclerc? this kind of work needed to be done

user12: lobster leclerc? goodbye, goodbye, goodbye you were bigger than the whole sky

user13: see now i'm confused cause why are some papers saying that they're breaking up? or that charles is embarrassed by the way y/n acts?

user14: bestie we've been through this DON'T TRUST THOSE HOES - TRUST THESE HOES

liked by yourusername

user15: unless i see it from the horse's mouth I WILL NEVER BELIEVE THEY'VE BROKEN UP

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, christianhorner and 882,339 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

redbullracing: charles the qualifying king takes his first pole position for red bull in his first race and is joined by max for a front row lockout

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user18: UNWELL

user19: suck on that ferrari xoxo

user20: *rubs eyes* is that... max being happy to be challenged by a teammate ???

user21: winning three championships really takes the heat off huh

yourusername: THAT'S MY MAN YALL

charles_leclerc: love you baby

yourusername: love you too darling

maxverstappen1: love you three 🫶

yourusername: this is not the problem i thought we'd have when coming to red bull

maxverstappen1: my gf can't make most of the races so you WILL deal with me

user22: max being clingy to charles and y/n is so fucking funny to me

user23: sainz not making it out of q1? shwartzman only making it to q2 but still out qualifying carlos? charles looking sexy in blue? EVERY TONGUE THAT RISES AGAINST CHARLES LECLERC SHALL FALL

christianhorner: mega job boys, let's keep our eyes on tomorrow

maxverstappen1: tell them they have to let me come to dinner with them

christianhorner: isn't this the exact reason we rehired daniel

charles_leclerc: PLEASE MAKE DANIEL COME TO THE NEXT RACE

maxverstappen1: erm rude

charles_leclerc: i'm sorry i'm not used to a teammate that actually wants to be friends for real

yourusername: EXCEPT SEB WE LOVE SEB

yourusername: but for real max emilian i am monitoring the dutch papers... be very careful

user24: healthy teammate relationships (for now) ??? is this what heaven is like

user25: are you telling me that if max doesn't get the lead in the first lap he might actually HELP charles .... a certain spanish individual could never

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 2,778,451 others

tagged: yourusername, maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc: wow !! a 1 - 2 in our first race i couldn't be happier. this car is a dream to drive and i'm so grateful to red bull for being so welcoming. teamwork makes the dream work

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user26: tears in my eyes

user27: okay i understand both of them are like with their forever partners but lestappen is also real TWO THINGS CAN EXIST AT ONCE

yourusername: SHARLIE OMG YOU TALENTED, TALENTED KING

charles_leclerc: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

yourusername: crying sesh. sharlie's drivers room @ 8. bring your own alcohol and tissues

charles_leclerc: just to make sure everyone knows THESE ARE HAPPY TEARS

landonorris: SAP ALERT GET IT TOGETHER MAN

yourusername: i know lando no-wins ain't talking rn 🤨

charles_leclerc: you walked into that one buddy

landonorris: just because i'm friends with carlos doesn't mean you have to come after me like him ...

this comment has been deleted

yourusername: bold... real bold. you're lucky i'm doing meditation and yoga (and that i want to make a good impression on christian)

alexalbon: lando do NOT look at the text she just sent your your ego CANNOT take it

user28: no no no do spill... i need the ammo if he ever takes out my fave

user29: true i need it for the next time either of the ugly twins at ferrari open their gobs

oscarpiastri: it was brutal. they need to get y/n to host the reading challenge on drag race

yourusername: oscar knows drag race?

oscarpiastri: i might be an athlete but i'm not completely uncultured

maxverstappen1: if we're talking being cultured... GET READY FOR YOUR FIRST RED BULL PARTY

yourusername: born ready my university years singlehandedly financed your 'catering budget'

charles_leclerc: no really i think she's actually addicted to the tropical one

maxverstappen1: are you FUCKING KIDDING ME? IT WAS YOU WHO DRANK ALL OF THEM

yourusername: and what?

maxverstappen1: idk i'm still kinda scared of you

user30: the way charles deflected the questions about fred and sainz ? WE'RE FREEEEEEEEE

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, charles_leclerc and 1,311,723 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: i wanna be your end game <3

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user32: you guys better be end game or like you're paying for my therapy

user33: i respect her dedication to go to every race, make ferrari staff tremble in fear and pull LOOKS

charles_leclerc: i want to be your first string

yourusername: what if we just called taylor up?

charles_leclerc: you know here you call her i'm nervous

yourusername: @taylorswift paris night one, lover and this is me trying ft. charles on the piano?

taylorswift: sure thing

charles_leclerc: why was that so easy?

yourusername: better get practising baby

charles_leclerc: OH GOD

user34: how did we get red bull charles and a taylor collab in one year?

user35: i guess we used up charles' good luck from the last four years SORRY CHARLES

charles_leclerc: i guess you're forgiven...

maxverstappen1: so could you like tell me what you'd call me if i hypothetically fucked charles over... i'm not gonna but like i need to mentally prepare myself to hear it

yourusername: i have faith in you so i haven't thought that far ahead

maxverstappen1: can you please not be too mean i can't take it

charles_leclerc: you wanna come to therapy with me buddy?

maxverstappen1: i think i might

yourusername: when we entered the reputation era i did not think it would lead to taking max verstappen to therapy

maxverstappen1: and taylor swift?

yourusername: ... and taylor swift

user36: this is all very cute and all but can we have mean y/n back

user37: when will yall learn that reputation is a love album and y/n and charles are just loving each other freely

user38: but mean y/n did teach someone a lesson in not spreading false rumours cause them tabloids have been QUIET

f1tea

liked by user43, user44 and 7,233 others

f1tea: carlos sainz was caught liking these tweets about charles leclerc and y/n y/ln, what do you think?

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user45: put me in the ring with carlos i am being so serious

user46: okay for a while i was on the fence about y/n and how intense she was being but like seeing this shit and realising it was probably what was being said in the garage she needed to do more

user47: for real if someone said that about my boyfriend i'd be in prison

user48: so charles and y/n were under contract to not say a word out of line about ferrari or anything to do with ferrari and this guy is out here liking this

user49: call me a conspiracy theorist but this was his public account... he meant for people to find it and wants people to know this stuff

user50: this is why he DNFed in the first race KARMA

user51: maybe this is why he's always the one with relationship issues bro clearly has no loyalty

user52: charles has never said anything about him even now and y/n only said something in retaliation

user53: fuck peace and love y/n needs to give this man hell

user54: read him for filth

user55: bro needs to keep his twitter fingers to himself and focus on not being in the wall ❤️

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 2,311,885 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: this is why we can't have nice things, darling

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user56: this is the most response we'll ever get from charles i fear

user57: allow me to elaborate: this is why we can't have nice things by taylor swift is about 'forgiving' the people who wronged you but she literally says "and here's to you because forgiveness is a nice thing to do... i can't even say it with a straight face" so basically charles doesn't forgive carlos or fred. and it specifically shouts out her family and friends and lover for sticking with her which is what charles' family, friends and y/n have done

liked by charles_leclerc

user58: thank you for service

yourusername: i'm reading what they call you lately (it says you're a race winner and a title contender)

charles_leclerc: got a taste of the celebrations and can't get enough

maxverstappen1: KEEP IT PG THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE

charles_leclerc: you're older than me

yourusername: all we said were celebrations, if anything you have the dirty mind 🤨

maxverstappen1: i am usually in the room next to you, i hope this helps

charles_leclerc: our bad <3

maxverstappen1: you don't care do you?

yourusername: not really no. when we get to the same amount of wins as you maybe it'll wear off

maxverstappen1: not on my watch

user58: is this an entertaining title fight but without the bad blood?

user59: and nowhere near ferrari? bless

alexalbon: i hate that i understand all these references

yourusername: lily trained you well

lilymunhe: like a drill sergeant

yourusername: as you should

sebastianvettel: proud of you charlie, i'm glad you're not wasting your talent

charles_leclerc: i love you seb, i'm sorry it took so long

sebastianvettel: make sure you win here, we can be ferrari failures together

yourusername: *ferrari failed you

sebastianvettel: i knew there was a reason i liked you

fin.

note: SOZ. so like i am still working on requests but that radio message FUCKED ME UP. so this had to happen. glad my queen girls (max and charles) did well today, hope you enjoyed !!!

[supernotnatural2005]

yay you accept requests! 🥰 sometimes i think about how dean has endured a lot of touch that was not welcomed especially from monsters and of course michael 💔 it makes me think about a fic where reader is extra gentle with him and makes the effort to check in with him and ask for consent before doing different simple actions while theyre getting intimate. idk that might be kinda heavy to write and if it is please dont feel pressure to write it..... actually please don't feel any pressure at all to write it lol but i think youd really do it justice if its something youre interested in 🧡

Touch

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Michael is gone, for good, but his lingering torment still remains with Dean. Will he ever find closure, can you bring him back from this?

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/tags: Angst, PTSD, established relationship, Light smut (18+Only), fluff.

AN: So I focused more on the aftermath with Michael, I feel it worked better with this request? To the lovely anon who sent it in, I hope I've done it justice for you? 🫣❤️ I hope you all enjoy ☺️

Main Masterlist

The last few weeks had been a delicate dance of watching Dean. Not in a way that felt suffocating, but in a way that was more about paying attention to the quiet things he didn’t say. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed when people unexpectedly clapped him on the back or reached for him. It was subtle, but it was there. And you noticed.

Dean was no longer the man he had been before, even if he didn’t fully realise it. The constant tension in his body, how he always seemed on edge, the way his eyes would narrow in wariness at sudden movements—everything about him screamed that he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Michael to return.

And that was the difference, wasn’t it? 

Dean had been through hell before—literally. He had clawed his way out of the Pit, had survived Purgatory, had fought his way back from being a demon. He had been battered, broken, and stitched together more times than he could count, but through all of it, he had always been fighting, always been in control of his own choices, even when they were terrible ones.

But Michael? Michael had taken that from him.

Being possessed by the archangel had been a different kind of torment, a horror unlike anything he had ever endured. It wasn’t just about pain or suffering; it was about helplessness. He had been a prisoner in his own body, a passenger while Michael moved him like a marionette, speaking with his voice, wielding his hands, using his face—all while Dean could do nothing but watch.

Every moment had been filled with the unbearable certainty that it wasn’t a matter of if Michael would use him to hurt the people he loved, but when. And then Michael locked him away in his own head, had him living in some fantasy loop that you Sam and Cas shattered. It haunted him, and deeply so.

Jack had made sure Michael was gone for good, burned him up until there was nothing left, but that didn’t erase the damage. Knowing Michael couldn’t come back didn’t stop the nightmares. It didn’t stop the way Dean flinched when someone reached for him too quickly, or the way he sometimes stared at himself in the mirror for too long, as if expecting to see someone else staring back. It didn’t stop the lingering fear that there was still something inside him that wasn’t him. That maybe, in some way, he wasn’t just Dean Winchester anymore.

It had left a fracture in him, a barely visible fault line running through the man who had once seemed unshakable. Maybe no one else could see it, but you could. And maybe, deep down, Dean could feel it too—even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

You weren’t sure how to help him heal from something like that. But you knew being there was half the battle.

You didn’t want to smother him or act like he was fragile—Dean hated that more than anything—but you also didn’t want to pretend you hadn’t noticed the way he had changed. He wasn’t broken, no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was. He was healing. And healing took time.

So, you started small.

A gentle hand on his arm as you passed him a cup of coffee in the morning, fingers lingering just long enough to remind him you were there. A light brush of your knee against his under the table, subtle enough that he didn’t tense, but still something real.

When you drove into town, you’d reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, letting your thumb trace slow, idle circles over the back of his knuckles. You never pushed, never clung—if he pulled away, you’d let him. But more often than not, he didn’t. He let you hold him, let himself get used to it. And when he did squeeze your hand back, even just a little, it felt like progress.

On the couch in the ‘Dean cave’ when you sat down to watch a movie, you’d sit close enough that your thighs touched, letting him decide if he wanted more. Some nights, he’d stay still, comfortable in your quiet presence. Other nights, he’d surprise you—letting his arm fall loosely around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough that you could hear his heartbeat beneath the layers of flannel.

You never made a big deal out of it. That was important. Dean never did well with being handled like something fragile. But little by little, you saw the shifts.

He started reaching for you. Taking your hand first when you walked through town, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles the same way you did to him. Kissing your temple as you made breakfast together, his hand steady on your waist as he leaned in, warm and familiar. He let himself relax into you, like he used to—like before.

However, as the night stretched on and you curled up beneath the covers one night, waiting—either for him to join you or finding the familiar sight of him slumped over a library table, lost in whiskey and exhaustion—Dean appeared in the doorway. His shadow spilled into the room, not looming, just present.

You smiled at him, warm and welcoming, offering him the quiet reassurance you always did.

Something about him seemed different tonight—quieter, but not in the way that made your chest tighten with worry. Still, after everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was slipping again. But then, without a word, he crossed the room, climbed into bed beside you, and slipped under the covers—no hesitation, no distance, no walls.

That alone was enough to steal your breath.

He didn’t just press a quick kiss to your lips before rolling over like he had so many nights before. Instead, he moved closer, warm and solid, his arm carefully draping around your waist.

You stilled, startled by the shift—but pleasantly so.

Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he held you.

Not just physically, but fully. Like he was here with you, really here, instead of somewhere far away, trapped in the shadows of his own mind.

A slow, lingering kiss pressed to your bare shoulder. Then another.

You sighed at the warmth of it, at the weight of him against you, at the silent promise in his touch that you hadn’t felt in so long.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion.

Your fingers curled around his arm where it rested against you, squeezing lightly. “For what?”

“For sticking with me,” he admitted, his lips brushing your skin between words. “For loving me through yet another damn crisis.”

Emotion clogged your throat as you turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. His eyes—green, raw, open—held something you hadn’t seen in too long. Something him.

“It was never even a question,” you whispered, your fingers ghosting over his cheek, aching to soothe away the lingering remnants of his fear.

Dean exhaled sharply, like the words reached something deep inside him. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut, and he sighed—a real sigh, one that sounded like relief, like letting go.

Then, he turned his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm before capturing your lips with his own.

It wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It was slow, deep, sure—the kind of kiss you had missed, the kind that said more than words ever could.

It grew heavier, his hands finding your waist, gripping like he needed to anchor himself to you. You felt the heat of it, the want in it, and your heart ached with how much you had missed this.

Still, you pulled back, breathless, searching his eyes. “Dean…” you whispered. “Are you sure?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, he looked like your Dean.

His gaze was warm, adoring, steady—filled with something deeper than desire.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

And then, he kissed you again—more purposefully, more certainly, pulling you flush against him.

You let him lead, let him set the pace, let him take what he needed. But still, some small part of you hesitated, worried, unsure if he was ready.

Dean must have sensed it because his hands fisted in your camisole, his lips brushing yours as he broke away just enough to whisper, “I want you to touch me. Make me feel whole again.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. At the pleading look in his eyes. Like this—this—was the final piece he needed to reclaim himself.

And so, you did.

You held him tighter, your hands tracing familiar paths over his skin—relearning him, grounding him, reminding him that he was here. That he was Dean—and no one else.

Your fingers ghosted over his jaw, down the strong column of his throat, feeling the thick swallow beneath your touch. His breath hitched, his grip on you tightening like he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. You never would.

Instead, you pulled him closer, your lips finding his in a slow, unhurried kiss—one that deepened as his body melted against yours. He was warm and solid, all hard muscle and quiet vulnerability beneath your fingertips, and when your nails scraped lightly down his back, he shuddered.

His mouth parted against yours, a quiet groan slipping free as your bodies aligned. He pressed closer, hands roaming—hesitant at first, like he needed to be sure this was real. But when you murmured his name, when your fingers traced his spine and your legs tangled with his, something in him snapped.

The hesitation bled away, replaced by something deeper—something desperate.

His hands gripped your hips, strong fingers pressing into your skin as he guided you beneath him. His kiss turned hungry, consuming, like he was trying to make up for every night he’d spent distant, for every time he convinced himself he didn’t deserve this—you.

Between kisses, between slow, careful touches, you checked in with him—silent, unspoken questions in the way your eyes met his. And each time, he nodded. Yes. Encouraging. Needing.

And when he finally pushed inside you, his forehead dropped to yours, his breath faltering as a deep, broken sound rumbled in his chest. His arms tightened around you, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. But you only held him closer, guiding him through it, keeping him here—with you.

Soft reassurances spilled from your lips, your hands mapping his body—his back, his arms, the sharp line of his jaw. Gentle yet firm, never letting him go. Never letting him slip away. He breathed your name like a prayer, like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment, to you.

And then he moved.

Slow at first, each roll of his hips careful, like he was afraid to shatter the fragile reality of this—of you. His lips ghosted over your skin, relearning, savoring, his breath hot against your throat. But the restraint, the hesitation, it was slipping. You could feel it in the way his fingers tightened in your hair, in the way his body pressed flush against yours, desperate to be closer.

When he pulled back, his gaze met yours—warm, adoring, a little wet around the edges. He swallowed hard, his voice rough when he rasped, “God, I've missed you.”

Your fingers curled into his back, nails digging in just enough to ground him, and you kissed him—his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth—letting your own emotions spill into every touch. 

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “Always.”

Something in him cracked at that. A quiet, shuddering exhale. His jaw tensed like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just kissed you—slow and deep, pouring everything into it.

And then the desperation bled through.

His rhythm faltered, hips pressing harder, deeper, like he was chasing something just out of reach. His breath grew ragged, his hands roaming—gripping, pulling—like he needed to anchor himself in you.

His fingers threaded through yours, pinning them to the mattress as his pace turned urgent. A tremor rolled through him, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he gasped your name. And you felt it—the way his body coiled, the way he was holding on, trying to keep control, trying to make this last.

But you didn’t want him to hold back.

So you whispered his name again, voice soft, coaxing. You let your hands wander, tracing his spine, dragging your nails down his back just enough to push him over that final edge.

And then, he let go.

A broken sound tore from his throat as his body shuddered against yours, as he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a raw, unguarded intensity. His grip on you tightened, his breath hot and uneven, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, like a plea.

And as the tension ebbed, as his body finally melted against yours, you felt it.

The shift.

The moment he finally, finally came back to you.

AN: So this was my first time in like over 10 years of fulfilling a specific request! 😅 It's a little angsty with a sweet ending 🥹. I hope it's what you were hoping for anon! 💕 And to everyone else I hope you enjoy 😊

Also i’m currently taking requests if anyone would like to drop one in 🤗

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester

[littlemelaninfics]

Hey girl❤️🥰As a POC I absolutely love your work. You truly do make all of us feel so seen. I have a kinda odd(?) request for a Buck x Reader imagine. Obviously you don’t have to write it if you aren’t comfortable with it but I feel like you’d be able to do it justice

Could you write something about the reader having a bad period and Buck being there to comfort her/take care of her and then some period sex after…yk? I feel like that could be good and I really wanna read something like that.

A Crimson Connection ❤️ || Evan Buckley Smut

WARNINGS: Period Sex, 2.55K words (I got carried away and that's a warning in itself🥰)

A/n: I love you so much! That really means a lot to me and is the whole reason I create for Black (POC) readers 🤎 Thank you for your request and I'm so sorry it took me two months to complete! Period sex is a different kind of horny. You’re SO sensitive and a little sore. A little embarrassed <3 and blood feels so different from your usual pussy lube. Thinner, less viscous, and there’s so much of it. Uh, or so I've heard 👀

After being woken up by a piercing pain in your stomach, you rolled out of bed and headed into the bathroom. Even though you didn’t have to go, hunching over in a solid seating position helped the cramps pass a little easier. You could feel the pressure rising and started to get really nauseous, really fast. Before you knew it, you were prying the lid open and down on your knees.

You closed and flushed the toilet, still breathing heavily. You slouched over, gripping your abdomen and squeezing your eyes shut in pain as another deep pang hit you. It was then that you heard the bathroom door slide open and you didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was Buck. You were still moaning and groaning in pain while he slid down next to you, taking you in his arms. You mold into him, but you weren’t prepared for the cold sensation on your forehead and jumped slightly,

“Whoa, sorry. It’s just a rag, baby.”

“Hmmm."

Buck felt bad that your period was this painful every now and then. You suffered from random ovarian cysts that affected your cycle and made you violently ill for at least 24 hours. You two were in the ER two weeks before when your suspicions of the sharp pain were correct. The ultrasound showed a decent size cyst on your left ovary and you were just happy it wasn't both like last time.

He continued to wipe your face with the cloth, pulling you in more and kissing your clammy forehead,

"Is there anything I can do, baby?" He spoke with his lips still touching your temple. The vibrations his voice went through you, sending a calming sensation over your body and mind,

"Mmm mmm," you replied.

"Can you stand?" You just nodded and he began to get up from the floor, you gripping onto his forearm to not lose balance. He walked over to the tub and turned on the shower,

"I need to brush," you said softly while pointing to the counter.

"Shower first. The hot water will feel good, I promise."

You debated extending your argument, but you instead found yourself gripping on to Buck's shoulder riding out another cramp. It faintly passed and you accepted your boyfriend was right. You breathed heavily and nodded your head. Buck helped you pull your night shirt over your head before kneeling to help you step out of your panties. He placed a kiss on your hip, then swiftly stood to his full height,

"I'll be right in the room. Just yell if you need me, okay?" He said as he helped you over the tub.

"Thank you." He smiled gently and kissed your head once more before exiting the bathroom. You slugged your feet to move under the shower head; heavily debating on sitting down but quickly remembering you wanted to clean the tub earlier that day and never got the chance. The hot water sent chills down your spine as it ran though the rows of individuals and onto your scalp.

You grabbed your wash cloth drenching it in the hot water and placing it on your abdomen while you took a few deep breaths. The pain subsided minimally, but you took advantage and quickly finished your shower. Exiting the shower, you grabbed your towel and immediately went to the sink to brush. Instead of opting for your already simple night routine, you made it even simpler by just applying moisturizer, hair oil, deodorant, and chapstick.

You rewrapped your towel before bending down to pick up the clothes you were wearing earlier to put them in the hamper when you felt something run down your inner thigh. Thinking it was water, you wiped it away when you realized it wasn't water. You quickly cleaned yourself up before looking under the cabinet just to find that you never moved the new box of Tampax to the bathroom. Tears immediately started to well as you prepared to leave the bathroom. Buck could hear the sniffles and knocked on the door gently enough not to scare you,

"Baby?"

You didn't answer, but tried to move faster,

"Y/n?" He called through the door while pushing it open. He found you with your clothes bunched in your arms and tears in your eyes,

"Baby! What happened?" he asked as if you were a little kid. And well, you responded like one with your face bunching slightly and the tears falling freely. You couldn't help it. He might as well have asked, "are you okay?".

Buck waited with his eyebrows up, but not actual worry yet. He waited for you to catch you breath, soothing you through your spell,

"I started my period and my tampons are out here, but my cramps are too bad to leave a tampon in right now and I don't have any pads and I didn't want to wear underwear, to be honest. But now I have to pick one because it's usually light the first night so I would've worn my granny panties and no tampon and it would've been fine. But I don't wanna wear underwear," you sobbed out; the words basically strung togther.

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Baby. Baby. It's okay," Buck said bringing you into his chest trying really hard not to laugh. He would never laugh at your pain and/or the fact that you were upset. It was simply the reason you were upset. He held you in the threshold of the bathroom while you calmed down.

"C'mere, Baby." You followed as he grabbed your hand and led you around to the foot of the bed. He reached behind you and grabbed the shirt he picked out for after your shower. Buck unwrapped your towel, letting it fall on the hardwood beneath you. He inhaled deeply while shamelessly taking a flashing glance at your naked frame in front of him before sliding the shirt over your head. This drew an instant blush to your cheeks as you knew what was going through his mind. No. His reflexes. He went against his own instinct to push you back onto the bed and fuck you into oblivion.

He picked up the panties and chucked them across the room, earning a laugh from you,

"There she is," he said smiling widely, "think you can stomach some Tylenol?"

"Please," you said almost begging for a less painful nights sleep.

He walked to your side and grabbed the medicine and water he set out for you.

"You really thought of everything. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And almost everything," he said turning to leave the room. You were confused as you took the pain reliever, but relished in the way the water felt going down your stinging throat. You heard the thudding foot steps coming back and Buck coming back in, when he unrolled a maroon colored towel down on your side of the bed.

"Everything!" He said sticking his arms out and displaying his goofy grin. You were beyond grateful, but instinctively declined because you didn't want to risk anything,

"Y/n. This way everyone is comfortable and if anything happens, who cares?"

You take him on his word and climb into bed. He reaches for your scarf and helped you neatly wrap your hair. Buck leaned down to kiss you, softly running his tongue over your lips. You reach up and grab his neck when he groans begrudgingly and pulls apart. You smile, feeling warm that he still wants you even at one of your lower times. You snuggle in, getting comfortable with the new texture on your butt, while Buck strips down to his briefs and climbs in next to you.

You want to lay on your back, but the medicine hasn't kicked in yet and another cramp was coming. You turned over on you left side and curled into a ball. Buck immediately turned his body your way and brought you close. The cramp faded and you slowly uncurled,

"This sucks."

"I'm so sorry," Buck replied while kissing the good spot behind your ear.

"Mmmm."

"That sounds a little different than before. Does this-" *kiss* "-feel good?" *kiss*

"Mmm hmm."

"Mmmmm," he moaned lowly as he kept kissing that spot. He kissed a spot that was only 3cm over, but it tickled like no other, so of course Buck took advantage and kept kissing that same spot, then all over your face.

You were laughing hysterically when you couldn't breathe,

"Okay. Okay. OKAY! Ha Ha! Stop! Stop! Stop! Don't make me laugh! I'm not wearing underwear! Ha Ha!"

Buck let out a hearty laugh before diving in one last time, just to reach over you and flick the lamp off. While his torso was extended over your body, you could feel his semi-hard cock press into you. He plopped back down next to you, taking you back into the position he had you before. Your eyes were open, but you were surrounded by darkness.

“Mmm. I love you, baby.” He said lowly in your ear,

“I love you too,” you replied. Buck kissed your right shoulder, tightening his arm around you to bring your body closer to his. He rested his head down and got comfortable with you in his arms. As his muscles we tensing and relaxing with each movement, he let out a string of low hums and throat clears.

It’s nothing new. In fact it didn’t take you long to realize he’s just making boy noises. But this time, you’re feeling the vibration of his chest against your back and his mouth is basically connected to your ear. You start to wiggle slightly and let out little moans of your own, but they didn’t mean the same thing as his.

Or maybe they did.

He removes his arm from around your torso and starts to gently rub the side of your thigh, trying to get you settled. He planted one more kiss on your shoulder and you’re pretty sure he felt your body react. You take his hand and slickly snake it up to your chest. He pulls you once more, this time with more intent as he squeezes your tit.

He picked up right where he left off and started placing kisses to your spot again. His groans laced with lust and desire as he attacked your skin, nipping down to the side of your neck. You hips are grinding into each other. Your eyes go wide, realizing there is a point of no return and you're approaching it rapidly.

You halt your movements and push your hand back to stop Buck. Your chests are rising and falling, your bodies getting flustered so quickly.

"Buck. We've never...."

"And we don't have to if you don't want to."

"You want to?" You asked, craning your neck back to look at him in the dark.

"I crave you in any form you're in. So yeah, I want to. I want you." He whispered the last part like a sly fox.

"But-” you cut yourself off trying to think of an excuse as to why this is not a good idea,

“Let me help you feel good, baby,” He said, nudging your head back to the side to kiss your spot again. Your eyes close gently and your arm reaches back to hold his the nape of his neck. Buck begins to slowly grind his hips back into your t-shirt covered bum, nipping at your skin while still peppering kisses. His fingers hook your jaw and he brings your lips to meet his. It takes no time for the fight for dominance to take place, but you retreat. Letting Buck take the reins tonight.

Your kisses deepened, passion overcoming any lingering uncertainty. As your tongues explored one another’s mouths, giggles and warmth filled the air. It felt liberating, shedding the last remnants of hesitation and embracing the whole of each other, unfiltered and raw.

His hand travels down your silhouette, softly tracing his fingers along your thighs once more. He brought his body even closer into you, making you moan into the kiss. You reach back, palming his cock through his briefs and getting a similar reaction from him. Buck hand starts to inch in towards your pussy, causing you to break away,

"I'm okay tonight. I just need you."

"Are you sure, baby?"

"Mmmhmm," you say, pulling him back in. The truth is you were hesitant enough about having sex on your period and the thought of staining his fingers red was too much to handle right now. Buck moves his lips to nibble on your shoulder through your shirt as he frees his cock, wrapping his left arm underneath your body and puling you back to him like a little doll.

He rubs his cock against your slick hole before gently prodding. You lean your head back on his shoulder while he takes his left hand and lightly wraps it around your throat,

"Are you ready, baby?" He asks directly in your ear.

"Yes, please. I need you," you beg, reaching your hand back to pull him in this time. He chuckles lightly at your impatience and reminds you of your safe word. Buck finally pushed his hips forward, both of you moaning at the stretch. His movements were cautiously slow, paying attention to every single reaction. The pain was a lot at first, but focusing on the pain slowly turning to pleasure distracted you from the blinding cramps.

Your bodies moved together with a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. Every touch, every whisper, felt electric. You was surprised to find how the experience intensified your sensations. Rather than feeling restricted by your period, you were allowed to feel empowered. You and Buck created a world for yourselves that night. One where you could fully embrace your desires without boundaries.

Buck transcended your whole being into an unknown world. You both thought you had little left to explore together, yet here you are with the love of your life on the adventure of a lifetime. The moans and deep grunts filled the room as you both chased down that high. When he knew he could, Buck applied more weight to your hip as he pushed himself up and deeper into your body. Practically now fully on top of you.

His thrusts became more frantic, yet never missed the mark. He lowered his torso over yours, cradling your angelic face and your orgasms crashed into both of you. His movements never stopped has beads of his sweat started to drip down on your from the tip of his nose.

Buck's hips finally slowed as he leaned down for a lingering kiss, the kind that lingered longer than any other, filled with warmth and connection that transcended the physical. In that moment, you felt closer than ever—a bond deepened by you willingness to break societal taboos and embrace your bodies as they were.

You welcomed his weight on top of you as your breathing started to slow. Rain began to patter against the window, and you two drifted off to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms. The night held no judgments, only the promise of a love that was true and unashamed, building a foundation on trust, intimacy, and the freedom to explore the beautifully messy reality of life together.

[tinycurlyfry]

Do you think Sakura will get power up ? Yk his fights conclusion against top tiers are so disappointing> his opponents gave up or his friends help him .... They call him plot armor fighter on TikTok 😕

I'm going to be so real with you- no, I don't think Sakura is going to get a power up. At least, not in the way most anime series do it. Not in the way that people engaging with Wind Breaker as a fighting anime are hoping he will. The points in the story where people are training to get stronger are montages, depicted to show how everyone's putting everything into becoming strong enough to protect what's important to them, it's not about leveling up their fighting style or coming up with the one big move that's going to win them their next battle. Wind Breaker's just not that show, and it never has been. Sakura's climatic fights are never actually about him being stronger than the other person. Imma pull out that Kotoha panel from the very beginning, especially since Kotoha and Umemiya are the characters through which the fundamental points of the show are given to us.

So let's talk about Sakura's "disappointing" climatic fights. Yes, Sakura doesn't actually win these. His opponents concede. Why? BECAUSE FIGHTING SAKURA HAS MADE THEM REALIZE SOMETHING ABOUT THEMSELVES THAT CHANGES IN THAT MOMENT, and thus they no longer see a reason to keep fighting Sakura. Let's start with the first one, Togame Jo (🥰💖✨💕✨ Let it be known I LOVE TOGAME'S CHARACTER SO MUCH). Why Togame throws his fight against Sakura is definitely the one that's easier to understand. Togame has been trying to desperately keep Shishitoren together despite the fact that their leader was shattering into pieces for so long. He was feeding the words that would keep people in the group despite Choji's cut-throat new policy of "If you are weak, if you lose a fight, you're out. You're worthless and an obstacle to my dream of being free and having fun." Up until Choji's breaking point, the little guy was Shishitoren's sun. He was this shining bright light that could put a smile on any of the guys' faces and spoke so easily and freely about how they were all in this race together to become stronger and they would be the freest people in the world. Togame didn't want Shishitoren to lose that, to lose that Choji, so he tried to take the fall. He was new to being included into people's social groups, he was never as outgoing or lively as Choji. He could be the bad guy. He was okay with that.

He had to convince himself he was okay with that, and tied (up his hair) himself to that vow that he wouldn't give up on the sun. Going so far as to put tinted glasses on to convince himself that the old Choji was still there..... somewhere. But what happens during his fight with Sakura? Togame realizes what he did was wrong, and things were never going to get better continuing they way they were. He shouldn't have let Choji change who he was, he shouldn't have let Choji change the rules of their race for power and freedom, he shouldn't have just bowed his head in order to stay by Choji's side.

But, if he what he was doing was wrong... If what he was doing was only letting Choji continue to suffer, feeling confused and alone, then... why were doing this stupid tournament fight against Furin? Why would he fight to help Choji have claim over both Shishitoren AND Furin? That wasn't going make Choji happier. And Choji realizing getting Furin didn't change anything would only make his mental state worse too.

Togame's heart wasn't in the fight. He didn't want to do all of this anymore. He was realizing everything they were doing was wrong, and more than anything else he was just. so. tired. Of pretending to be someone he wasn't. Of trying so hard to keep the broken shards who were once his friends together through lies and cruelty. So he throws the match. He lets Sakura land the punch and then says he gives up and can't move anymore. And what was it that made Togame realize all of this?

Sakura's declaration that he would never let others bend or change who he is at the top of his lungs. Of course, Sakura's words come from his past experiences and having people repeatedly tell him he should cover up who he was. That he should be ashamed of things that Sakura couldn't change about himself. But Sakura's words and refusal to waver or falter resonated with Togame. Yes, Umemiya laughed that Sakura thought what he meant by 'have a conversation with your fists' meant Sakura would hear words coming out of his punches. What DID happen during the fight though, was they both exchanged what their beliefs were, and Sakura called Togame the fuck out for lying to himself. That his actions wasn't what he was preaching. He was calling him out for being delusional about what his actions were going to achieve. If Togame wasn't struggling with his inner turmoil and was actually fighting with his whole heart, his whole BEING in the fight, could he have won? YEAH, PROBABLY. Sakura at this point was just some poor freshman kid who has picked fights with guys randomly on the streets for a good portion of his life. But Sakura puts all of who he is in a fight, at this point in the story Sakura fights because he thinks his life depends on it. He truly believes that fighting is the only way he can find anything of worth within himself. It would have been impossible for Togame to fight with that amount of will. And THAT'S why Sakura won.

Now, let's talk about Sakura's fight with Endo. Right off the bat, yes- other characters (including TOGAME HIMSELF) comment on how much Sakura has grown in such little time when they are watching him fight Endo. But listen, you're going to have to trust me when I say I don't think what's really being said here is that Sakura's PHYSICAL STRENGTH is so much greater. Why is Sakura leagues above where he was when he fought with Togame? Because at that point Sakura was still fighting for himself. In his fight against Endo? Sakura isn't fighting for himself. He couldn't give a SHIT about himself (Which- 😭). He's fighting because with every fiber in his being, he desperately wants to protect and keep Furin standing. Everything they've done for him; the kindness and care that they've extended to him. Everything Umemiya's gone through and fought for to make sure that his hometown could be a place where everyone can feel welcomed and laugh and eat in good company; to make sure no one feels like it's them alone against the whole world. Sakura would rather DIE than see that Furin get destroyed.

Just like Togame, Endo isn't necessarily fighting for himself either. He's fighting so Takiishi, the person he loves and worships the ground he walks on, can be happy. The difference here? Takiishi doesn't really give Endo the time of day. Now, I wouldn't go so far as to say Takiishi doesn't care about Endo at all, he calls Endo by his name too at the end of the war, but the fact that he did so STUNNED Endo. Because Endo himself didn't think Takiishi gave two shits about him. But Endo had decided he was okay with that. Convinced himself that that didn't matter. He didn't love Takiishi for being kind or friendly. He thought Takiishi covered in blood and looking beautiful when fighting was hot (and I think there was also a feeling of kinship from Endo in recognizing they both felt so different and couldn't connect with other people in the world)

Endo feels ALONE in his love, even if he's with Takiishi physically. Even if he goes everywhere Takiishi goes and gives the man his whole being. Endo doesn't have a place he feels he belongs because he doesn't think he has been let into Takiishi's world, and that's the only place he wants to be. The Furin of the past too was very likely people who felt alone in the world. So they lashed out, picked fights with everyone, because they had similar frustrations and perspectives to Sakura when he first arrived to Makochi. So why does Endo throw his fight against Sakura? Because Sakura (to Endo's frustration because he was so close to convincing Sakura to leave Furin if it meant he and Takiishi would also leave. Withdrawing all the other fighters in the town wouldn't stop Takiishi from getting that fight with Umemiya at that point) decided, no, he would rather die than leave this little family he's been welcomed into. For whatever reason, everyone else decided Sakura was worthy and deserved to be a part of their family. He would hurt them more by deciding to stop fighting and just agree to leave Furin than he would by losing his fight against Endo. So what change did Sakura make in Endo? Well there was the fact that the way Sakura was fighting reminded Endo of Takiishi. But.... -

So what is so vastly different about Sakura fighting here than all the times Endo has watched Takiishi fight? You can see what it is reflected in Endo's eye in the page above. Why is Sakura fighting different here than when he first showed up and started fighting Endo? Because he realized in talking with Endo that HE is the threat against Furin. Not Takiishi. I think a part of Sakura was stressed about the fact that Takiishi was fighting Umemiya already on the roof. Sakura didn't know that this whole "war" idea, threatening the civilians of Makochi, pulling in so many people to beat down Furin and the town, ALL OF IT wasn't even about a conflict of ideals of what Furin should be. It was because ENDO wanted Takiishi to be able to fight Umemiya. That's it. There was NO REASON TO EVEN INVOLVE ANYONE ELSE. People were getting hurt, LIVES WERE IN DANGER, all because Endo thought it would be fun to go about it this way. Fun to tear apart Umemiya's dream project (also because Endo fucking loathes Umemiya). My point is, Sakura sole attention, sole reason for standing on his two feet is to STOP ENDO. Everything else has faded away into the background for Sakura. It is the OPPOSITE of what Endo feels from Takiishi. Endo has never been on the receiving end of such intense emotion from someone. Hilariously enough? This means technically Sakura's emotions got through to Endo. In a... twisted way, but Endo is a twisted, fucked up guy.

To Endo the only way he was going to win this fight was either killing Sakura or convincing Sakura to come with him and Takiishi. So Endo could keep Sakura with him. But Sakura wasn't going to stop when he couldn't fight anymore. He wasn't going to accept his physical limit, and he wasn't going to leave to come back another day and give Endo another euphoria-inducing fight. Endo is physically stronger than Sakura. If Wind Breaker was just about whoever is physically stronger in a fight winning, then yes, Endo would have won. But Endo didn't want to kill Sakura, because that would probably mean never again feeling someone capable of eventually being his equal in fighting and also directing that level of intense attention on him again.

Endo fell in love with Sakura. It's different than his love for Takiishi, and it's still fucked up and twisted, but ENDO DIDN'T WANT TO KILL SAKURA! And Sakura was either going to take down Endo or die trying. He would have kept fighting Endo until it killed him. But also, thematically, Sakura's resolve (a resolve that is backed by so many people, a resolve that proves he is not alone in the world) was never going to lose to Endo, who felt alone. Who was fighting for something alone.

I don't need Sakura to get a power up and win his fights with his physical strength. The entire point of Sakura in these big fights is to have a conversation with these people. To make a connection with them. Because no one is undeserving of personal connections. It's why even though Sakura (rightfully) thinks Endo is insane, he's still willing to be a friend to Endo. If Endo doesn't have someone who'll eat a meal with him, and he wants to hang out with Sakura? Then yeah, Sakura is going to accept Endo for who he is and sure, visit the guy to grab lunch or something, whatever. Because Sakura is adopting Umemiya's resolve, his perspective, and puts importance in making sure everyone can laugh and have a good meal with good company.

[amnayel]

not to sound like a terrible person, but i hope that malleus will be actually affected by his ob

i mean, ok he is more powerful than all these characters combined and he can get more magic from nature itself… but do we forgot how much time he has been overblotted?

idia is expected that he wouldn’t suffer anything bc he can literally burn blot, but from riddle to vil the overblots seems to have lasted around 30min~2hours at maximum

malleus is lasting for around two days

ortho took a entire day just to go from the satellite to styx, but theres also the time he spent leaving his gear > uploading his data > THEN going to styx > fighting malleus > going dream jumping with everyone

thats more than one day confirmed, and we still have a long way to go

Malleus may end up being ob for 4 days until the end of this chapter, thats WAY more than any other character until now. Idia might’ve been ob for 12~18 hours but he has the curse that burns blot to help him not die, Malleus only has his own strength, but it is enough?

we hear about how blot is so dangerous and all that but Leona ob and then went to a magift competition right after, Vil ob and then won second place at the vdc.

If they will pull the “Malleus is op this is only 1% of his power🥰” card again to just fix everything i’ll be genuinely so fucking mad

make us fear ob again, make the other ob boys lose the sleep at the sight of what could’ve happened to them, let everyone remember that Malleus is just a teenager, that he is not immortal, and that blot can kill.

idk about what exactly im expecting i just hope that there will be some actual danger to Malleus well being, i want to see the diafamily despair of seeing that the one they swore to protect with their lives is actually the one that would kill and die for them.

[starleska]

Fellow victim of the site-wide Mr Ring-A-Ding Brainworm Mr Ring-A-Ding enjoyer here!*

(*Despite not being a Dr Who fan myself... but that may change partly bc I also love David Tenant's acting and I think I'd love to see him as the 10th and 14th Doctors)

Anyway, I have a couple of random ideas/HCs (still new to the latter term) for Mr Ring-A-Ding:

Usually when he cries from being super-overwhelmed with sadness (or happiness), I can imagine him doing the "sprinkler/waterfall tears" thing that form puddles (or lakes), similar to how some cartoon characters cry.

He absolutely would bounce off the walls for a minute after drinking coffee or anything caffeinated (bc "toon logic/biology").

If he could eat as well as "feed on light", I'd imagine sweets (most sweet things, actually) would be among his fav foods.

Hope you have a lovely day/evening!

hahaha hello there fellow Mr. Ring-A-Ding Sufferer!! lovely to meet you :3c i regret to inform you that the moment you start enjoying a Doctor Who villain, you are a Doctor Who fan. you're marked now. please get in line for your complimentary fez 🥰💖 (also, i look forward to hearing back from you when you do start Doctor Who, because i grew up with David Tennant's Doctor and he really is on another level!! the brainrot you'll experience is unlike anything else. Allons-y! 😉) awwww i love love love ALL of these ideas, they're precious!! 🙈 especially the 'feeding on light' idea...do you think he could just. stick a torch/lamp in his mouth and drain the light? a bit like Marceline from Adventure Time drinking the colour red? 😂 i've actually been making a list of these types of cartoon-typical behaviours for use in an x Reader fic, so i don't want to give too many away yet...but i have been toying with using the 'heart outlined against the chest while beating' and 'pupils turning to hearts' as love responses 🫠💖 it's so cheesy but so so cute!!!

[dragonsoulage]

„I steal you, if I have to…“

feat. Suguru Geto

What happens when he decides to steal the girl he adores so much away from the rest from the world. When he decides to be selfish this time, when he decides to have you on his side. He cares and he loves more than you ever thought. You were the one thing he couldn’t leave behind. He would let the world burn for you.

Hello world, this time I couldn’t help myself and write something more angsty about my precious husband. You don’t know how less control I have when it comes to Geto, my sweet babygurl 🤣✨🤌🏻 for real I love him 💖 but well I always have the feeling usually people like to read more like smūt about the JJK men, and that’s fine I mean I like smūt too. But I just wanted to write something different, like his depressed state and his understanding when you would suffer too in his eyes. In this story you are a sorcerer too, your cursed technique is based on manipulating emotions and sensing them what means you could sense his depression💀. Anyway have fun. 🥰🥰

Wordcount: 4,7k

Warnings: angst, depression, mental health, sad, emotional support, still a little fluffy

"You can't take me away, Sugu." you said, you were trapped in your own dorm. Although, you felt anything but trapped.

The now special grade curse user stepping closer, you did not flinch away, why should you?

It was still Sugu, right?

Sugu, how you called him. How he liked to hear this nickname from your lips.

A large hand to lay against your cheek, you felt so fragile, as if you would break every moment.

You heard what happened, you heard how he decided.

He was officially an enemy.

Officially...

But not you, although you were too soft, too good and kind for the things he had planned.

A light among all the darkness.

He knew it was selfish, he knew it was probably not right.

But he already went to extremes, what would be another one than?

"Why can't I? Because it's not right? Not what you want?" his voice was soft, like from an angel, like you always remembered it.

"I can't...do these things you do. I can't..." you stuttered, and he could see these big fat tears in your eyes, one dropped out of them. Making them so shiny and sad.

He had a scowl on his face, disliking seeing you in a state like this, although he knew he was the reason for it.  

"You don't need to do anything, you are not ready to do. I would never force you to use your powers... I just want you to be with me. The one last thing I can't separate from."

he explained, purple eyes met yours with an intensity, pulling you closer so he could lean down to you, his forehead against yours.

Watching closely how overwhelmed you were...

But how did it come that you found yourself in this position?  

It was the time after the events with Riko Ammanai, weeks after the gruesome mission.

In weeks, his state went to be bad.

Depression settling in, into Geto. Making him lose weight, making him look dull.

And yet not everyone noticed.

Not that he wanted anyone to notice.

At least of all Gojo, not wanting to be a further burden. He had to live with it, right?

But, well, he didn't know someone like you would step into his life. You were part of the Jujutsu High too, although you two never really had anything to do together.

He just knew your name, literally nothing else.

But you, you weren't a special grade sorcerer, but you were special indeed, in another way.

A cursed technique that was hard to explain, and on the first look didn't seem too useful.

You could sense feelings, you could literally see an aura around persons, you could see how they were doing.

But not just that, you could manipulate feelings, give an illusion of serenity, although death was right next door.

Could make someone feel so anxious about their own shadow, they think they might die.

It was rarely used, simply because it overwhelmed your own mind, your own body. 

After missions, when you used a lot of your cursed energy you were feeling overstimulated to every noise and touch, it was like...walking inside shards just with your brain.

Geto didn't know you had these abilities, it was rarely used, after all.

But now, for the next countless weeks, you passed him on the hallway in the dorm. You were used to seeing people's feeling, sensing their emotions.

So you tried to overlook the fact when you saw people who were depressed, you could not make everyone feel not bad right?

It was after all not your task to make everyone feeling not depressed, besides that your illusions were temporary.

But every time you saw Geto, the aura grew darker and darker, every time you passed him, he gave a small nod as greeting, his eyes more empty than ever.

Every time you walked by, you saw how the darkness surrounded him, and it made you more than worried.

You started simple...not wanting to confront him.

Not feeling in the position to tell him you knew he suffered.

Because who wants to know that?

Every person who is depressed knows this, but you don't want to hear it. Not when you tried too hard to hold it together.

When you passed him again, you just touched his shoulder.

"Have a good day." you cheered, trying to flash a small smile, and while you touched his shoulder...  

You let some of your energy flow into him, not that much, and not really manipulating his feeling, but just so much he felt an ounce lighter.

And this went on for some time, sometimes you dropped something with full purpose so he would help you to pick it up, brushing against his fingers and arm, to do it all over again.

So every time he saw you in the hallway, he felt...better.

Sometimes too good for his own thoughts.

Geto wasn't naive, because the feeling a little lighter suddenly out of nowhere...every time he saw you when you walked by, this couldn't be a coincidence?

When you passed him, he could see the concern in your eyes, but he never really thought much about it, not that he ever thought it would be because of him.   

He decided after some training to ask Gojo about you, not that the white haired lanky sorcerer would have any clue, but who knows?

"Do you know (Y/N)? Like anything about her?" Geto the asked him while sliding Gojo over a sweet treat he took from the vending machine before training started for him.

"What? You gonna cheat on me with her?" Gojo chuckled, leaning back and stretching his long legs out.

Geto gave him a look, but well he was used to that with him, he was just not in the mood to make a sarcastic remark.

"I would cheat on you with Nanami and this is a thing." he repeated, seems like he still couldn't stop making sarcastic remarks.

"But to your question, I know her name, she is in second year...another class. Not heard much of her." Gojo then answered like it would be not an important thing.

"Why you want to know? Got a hallway crush?" he laughed, raising his snowy eyebrows. 

"Was just interested in, she has a...how do I explain...something on her that I don't understand. But well, I don't know her, so I just thought maybe I find out." Suguru spoke with a heavy sigh, what was the weird reason that he felt lighter when you passed him?

Was this really just his imagination, that your pretty smile was making things better for a moment?

The time went on, and you decided to pull on the next stage, you were known to be shy, but when you passed him he didn't find a clue of it at all.

Little did he know you could overcome your insecurities when something was important to you.

So you didn't care about being shy when you saw in what a deep hole he sat.

When you now passed him, you stopped him then, talking to him, asking him little stupid questions where Yaga might be or if he knows a good place for learning in peace.  Building such intense eye contact.

But when he met you, he observed you more clearly. Trying to figure it out, breaking his head over that weird fact.

He noticed your body language, when you talked with others, you were physically distanced, always sweet and nice but not so...touchy, how he tried to put it.

You placed a hand on his arm, sometimes when you showed him something on your phone your arm brushed his, standing so close he got a whiff of your perfume.

The way you looked him so soft in the eyes.

Besides his depression, he would have tried to pull you after seeing these pretty eyes all so focused on him.

But probably it would have never come to this when he wouldn't sit in the shithole of being depressed.

It was clear to him, something about you was different. 

Geto decided to find out why, and instead of asking a bunch of people he did not even want to talk to, he decided to sneak into Yagas office.

Of course, it would be weird when he would ask Yaga himself, besides that why should he want to explain he wanted to know why you made him feel "lighter" in his heart.

As if he ever would want to explain someone, he felt like everything he did for the human world was pointless.

When he sunk inside, he went to the filing cabinet, and searched for your name. There you was.

"Ah, there you are, pretty." he mumbled and took a look inside.

What he found, well he was surprised.

"Manipulating emotions and feelings..." he read to himself, indeed interesting, although the part where your cursed technique is tried to be explained was confusing even for him.

But he understood the fact...you drained yourself when you manipulated emotions, or created illusions.

When you tried to make someone feel better, you needed to replace the pain, what meant you needed to take over the feeling your counterpart felt.   

What means, your training wasn't just about physical abilities, it was an endurance training to endure pain in all the forms. What led to the fact that you ended up to be an overstimulated mess, what made you feel so absolutely crazy.

It was hard, you felt pain that not even were yours, and you needed to do it for missions in an amount....that was too big to comprehend.

"That is far from fair..." he said to himself, far too unfair for the reason, that humans did not even appreciate the effort you had put in to save them.

He understood it, after all he swallowed curses, absorbed negative emotions from them.

But there kicked the realization in, the reason he felt better when he saw you, was because you used a little of your cursed technique.

He just couldn't explain himself why.

He stood there with the file in his hands, in the empty office, placed an invisible curse outside so it would tell him when Yaga would be coming back.

"Seems like I need to ask her myself." he mumbled before putting the file back in the cabinet.   

So, not many days after that, he particularly looked out for you. Usually Geto went with Gojo and Shoko somewhere to eat something after school, at least when he could make himself get up for that. But not today, claiming to be too tired.

He was tired, but he was more curious about what you would need to say when the big ass, handsome sorcerer would walk up to you and ask you why you saw the need to use your abilities on him.

And there, he found you outside, alone, although you seemed a little too happy because you just got yourself some snacks. Wanting to sit in the sun to bit into one of the sesame balls you bought yourself.

Holding the golden treasure in your both hands to take a bite, there joined you.

Quietly like a cat just sitting next to you.

You stopped your very motion, when you noticed the shadow next to you.

Turning your pretty face around to see it is Suguru, maybe your plan worked, you thought.

Maybe the subtle comfort you tried to give him worked?

Building a base, so he walked by to say hello?

"Suguru, how can-" you started to speak, already reaching out a warm hand to lay on his shoulder, but he stopped you.   

He looked you serious in the eyes, some of his raven hair fell into his face as he caught your wrist gently in his large palm.

Then he saw the flash of irritation on your face, how your eyes darted to see how he caught your wrist.

"I know what you do, I read your file." he spoke without even hesitating, or sugar-coating a nice small talk before, he went straight to the topic.

This made your pretty eyes widen, the fact he found out.

Of course, he could find it out, it would have been enough when he had asked one of your friends.   

But since Geto didn't feel like talking to every one and everything, you never considered he would do, but he went straight to read your very file.

"You read my file? Why did you do so?" you questioned, but your voice remained steady, as he slowly let go of your wrist.

You lowered your both hands, still your sesame ball in your them.

You seemed nearly sad that he found out, but you tried to act composed.

"Well, after asking myself when I feel a little better after I passed you, I grew suspicious. Why the hell should my heart feel lighter out of nowhere. After some observing, it was clear it had something to do with you. And it was not just the nice smile you gave me." Geto let you know, calling you a little out. But his voice didn't give away of anger or anything that would make it uncomfortable.

He just wanted to know why you did it, why you saw the need to do this for him, although you knew him just so little.

"When you read my file, you know I see an aura around persons. I can sense the feelings of someone, no matter if I want to or not, but I see it." you answered, lowered your head before you put the sesame ball away, afraid he might dislike what you did.

You always had been someone sensitive, caring about what people thought of you. Caring about every move you made, if it was fine. Thinking too much, and probably far too deep with your heart.

A sweet trait, that usually often were abused by people who saw how soft you were.

"And there is the point... I know you do, but you also see it by others. You don't give others the treatment you give me. You don't know me, not for real, and yet you do it." he explained to you, clearly pushing you to spill the beans.

You sighted before you lifted your head, you did it for him because you rarely even saw someone with such a dark intensity of depression than him. Likewise, you couldn't just do nothing, not when you actually could make a difference for someone, even when you didn't know him at all.   

Then you looked over to the streets, before you pointed to a woman.

"See the woman there? She suffers under the same thoughts as you, the same feelings. But the aura she has, is dark... People who are sad or dealing with a lot, they share the same dark aura. But there are still differences." you started to explain to him, both of you watching how the woman continued her way.

"Every color has a spectrum, hasn't it? Even when black, is black...the intensity of black can be different. And when I saw you dark your aura became, how black and pulsating it was... I can't just do nothing. Alone the thought how....how you need to feel." the way you said it to him, it was heartbreaking, the deep breath you needed to take, the way you worried about him.   

Someone worried about him, someone he didn't know worried, saw it, and acted.

He wanted to avoid it so much, that someone would catch a glimpse of his state.

He hid it well sometimes, but he couldn't hide from someone like you.

The imagination, you knew how he felt, because this had been your life.

Training your endurance to understand and to hold pain as an emotional state.

He took a moment to reply, sharp eyes met yours.

With an intensity, it made your heart stop.

"So you decided this by your own, because you know how I feel?" he asked again, just to confirm this for himself.

How you two sat on this bench, the streets in the background, rustling of the wind from the trees.

You nodded, to him, you were shy. Suddenly so shy, when he found out and confronted you, but you didn't decline what you have done.

It was nothing bad, right?

"I can't heal you, but I can help, so you can heal yourself." your voice dropped to a whisper.

You had quiet the point, no one could heal him, this is a task he needed to do himself.

But you...you could help him.   

There was just the question, if he wanted you to do that.

Another one who would drain themselves, for what use?

It was not that he thought he was not worth it. But it was the thought you would still need to do missions.

Missions where you needed to save these pathetic humans, humans who maybe wouldn't even appreciate what you did, how you suffered from the use of your cursed technique.

"You know, it took a while, a long while, after I read your file to understand your cursed technique and how it worked. You drain yourself when you use it." he stated as if it was a fact, it was one.

"It is completely fine when I do it in a range I can, like when you passed me by. Please don't...don't forbid me to use it on you." you replied faster than you wanted, before you took his one hand.

You were a cute one, afraid that he would push you away, because for you somehow you build a connection, two souls sharing pain can be quite connecting.   

Geto, looked down to your smaller hand, it was not like your fingers would be intervened, but you wanted to show support, this was not your technique, this was your being.

Someone who was truly good, someone who truly cared.

Someone who can't look away.

"I can't deny that I feel better, but it don't make the problem go away, right?" his voice stained with the testament of his current mental state.

The problem that he had, wasn't just the trying to live with the shocking events of the mission with Riko...It wasn't just the loss or the experience, that he thought he lost his best friend.

No...the root of the problem was deeper, so much deeper.

"No, it won't disappear, but I can help you to make it smaller, every day. And I don't just mean to use my ability. I can be here, when you let me. I know we don't know much of each other for now, but I for me, I know enough that it makes me want to do something. I can listen, I can distract, and sometimes I can even go away when you want. But otherwise it would make my heart ache, when I just let you suffer alone, Suguru." you admitted, for someone smaller than him, you had a so much bigger heart.   

It made him having a soft clench in his heart, something that tugged on it, sharp eyes softened slightly, he didn't have to pull away from your hand, he let his rest in yours. Looking down on your both hands.

"Doesn't seem like I can get rid of you, maybe I don't even want to, when you seem to already know about me, my state." Suguru answered, how should he decline someone like you? When you already knew how he felt, maybe you didn't know the problem, but what mattered that you couldn't let him down.

It was oddly comforting to know that even a kinda like stranger, just a fellow student cared, that someone saw him. That someone saw behind that exterior that he put up, even for Gojo.   

After this conversation, things went different.

You two were friends, although it was a different friendship as he had to Gojo or Shoko.

At first, it was weird, that he wouldn't need to flash this charming smile, that he won't need to get up to do anything.

You two chatted casually, sometimes deeper, sometimes you just hugged him.

Just laying your arms around his bulking shoulders, and holding this big man with your smaller frame.

How your delicate fingers stroking over his back.

You always brought something to eat, for him, indeed eating with him, in his dorm.

Smiling at him.

And there were thoughts, thoughts that your smile probably brought him the most joy currently.

The way your eyes truly lit up when you saw him.

It never felt like you just would be there because of his depression, that you really want to get to know him, that you wanted to be part of the life from Suguru Geto.   

Although it was not like he wanted that, you used your cursed technique on him. But on some days...you did it without even asking.

Like the one time when you just decided to jump over your shadow of insecurity, and joined him in his bed.

Settling behind him, being the big spoon and while you did, letting some energy flow into him.

Making him feel loved and content.

Holding him, telling him he can let loose and that it was ok, that he don't need to pretend.

That you knew how strong he was, how much he was holding up.

How much he tried, and how good he was.

One of the fewer persons, telling him, that he was good.

Fingers tangling in his black, inky hair, caressing the strands. Making him shiver, and yet making him feel better, with the sad knowledge that it would be a long way....

He grew so accustomed to you, that it was no longer just friendship for him, there was another feeling. A feeling that he wanted you close....  

But what then happened, it had been one of the factors why he decided to turn against humanity.

It was a night where you didn't come by. A whole day he didn't see you around.

You were on a mission, together with Utahime.

Oh, how did you suffer...

How much you drained yourself, to save the people in that area.

When you and Utahime came back, he saw it for the very first time.

The screams that teared from your throat when Yaga came out of the building, because Utahime called for him. You had collapsed on the ground of pure exhaustion, as she tried to catch you.

But as soon as someone touched you, it was too much for your senses.

It ripped his heart in two, to watch it from the window he was standing.

Aware no one could help you in this state, not with his knowledge he had.

What would you need to endure, to be now a mess on the ground crying and feeling so overstimulated like every little noise and touch was a shard right into your very pure soul.

Someone like you suffered, because of these people....

Of people like the ones you saved, taking so much in...

How could these monkeys do this to you?  

Making your beautiful face cry? Staining it with tears? Making you tremble, and your eyes dart around in sheer panic like a deer that was cornered and dragged against a wall, who waited for the last shot.

It had been one of the moments, Geto couldn't just hope it would be all get in place and be better.

Non sorcerer were the reason you felt like this, the jujutsu society was the reason you did it.

And everything changed when he had this conversation with Yuki...

This was the turning point, the very reason he decided saving non sorcerer weren't for the better.

They were the real curse, people like him and others suffered.

That you suffered, that his best friend suffered, that Riko had to die.

And this is now the reason, he stood in your dorm.

He already told Gojo, what way he would take, that a world without non sorcerer were the only chance in his point of view.

The reason, his best friend wouldn't need to be always the strongest, the reason you would never need to experience this sheer overstimulation of pain and senses again.

The reason he would never need to swallow curses again.   

So here you stood now, with him in your dorm, he literally just told you he takes you with him, no matter what.

You saw the determination in his gaze, it was a bloody path, a path he would walk for you.

"What you suggest is that you take me with you and we both be criminals?" you asked him, it was hard what you heard now.

Suguru knew you were too soft for this life, too precious in his eyes. You had a truly big heart, wore it on your sleeve.

His thumb stroking over your cheekbone, he was so tender with you.

Realizing what he found in you.

"No, you won't be a criminal. You don't have to commit anything. I know you can't do what I do, because you are so...lovely." he started, his words were spoken as if he would just coo in your ear and tell you everything would be alright. How you always did it with him.

"You are too delicate, you never have to use your cursed technique again...because I will make it alright. And I just can't let you go, I know it's selfish, selfish that I don't let you chose, and I am truly sorry for that." he continued before his fingers grabbed your chin, but his grip was not hard, but he forced you to look in his eyes.   

"Sugu... You know I like you...that I want to be with you but, how do you think it works when you continue to go this path? I can't watch that." you spoke to him, on the edge of tears, how the threatened to spill out. How you loved this man, how you just had hoped to truly help him, and now things turned out so different.

"I do what needs to be done, create a world where you never will have to take the pain of others, and they wouldn't even thank you. How they would never bat an eye that you willingly took over their feelings. And then...we can be happy. You know we can, and I will do everything for this." he revealed his plan, to you, pulling your face just a little closer.

"I steal you, if I have to... I would let the world burn for you, you are too good for. Maybe even too good for me. But I love you, (Y/N). And I can't leave you here, not you." his words honest before you felt how his lips laid just so feather lightly against yours, afraid as if breaking you.

You were too shocked of the events, you heard what he's done, how he wiped out that one village.

So Suguru was now the villain that would steal the precious princess away from the world that so desperately tried to tear her apart.

While you tried to hold him together with all you could.

You felt like you would have been failing, although you never failed him, he just saw the problem out of a different angle than you.   

Although he hated the fact he was the reason you cried, the reason for your distress.

But when it was about you, he needed to be selfish, he needed to take you with him, for himself. He wanted to create the best for you and everyone he cared about, even when the methods were wrong in everyone else eyes, even when it means he needed to do something that troubled your fragile soul, but he would catch you, like you caught him.

This man loved you, told you he loved you, and that he would burn the world if that would mean you were safe, that you were all his and that he finally could have this peace inside him to be truly happy with you...

[tare-anime]

SxF Mission 110

(Beware spoilers)

Woah! That was such a scary jumpscare 🥶🥶

Endo would you please stop doing that with Donnie??? Gosh..... 😅😅😅

Anyway, this chapter make me relieved.

Before this chapter, I was conflicted.

I know and I believe Loid is a good man. He has good heart and really wants what best for everyone. However he also was known to be such a perfectionist when doing his job, and he's so good at it. Of course he is not a stranger to anything by any means necessary to achieve his goals. That's the grey morale of his character.

Logically speaking, as the spy it is such a waste of opportunity if he suggest Melinda to leave her husband to end her suffering. But... that's exactly what he did. And he was sincere when he told Melinda that he knows Melinda is suffering by being with Donovan (showed by the transparent speech bubble).

He acknowledge that there are types of abusive behaviour. Physical and verbal. And he acknowledge that Melinda is enduring a great deal of stress.

This.... is a waaaaaaayyyy more better portrayal of how Loid doing his job as a psychiatrist. Miles better than his session with the Tutor Residence chapter.

His analysis and approach is way more compassionate while at the same time, he is showing a professional side.

Aside from being compassionate, Loid also managed to push his mission forward.

And by doing that, we now know another information: Melinda (and Demetrius) believes that Donovan can read minds.

I know this theory has been going around for quite sometimes. Especially with Anya being an experimental result herself, and Donovan has two identical scars on his head, in the more or less identical position of Anya's hairclip.

But....... I'm going with the unpopular opinion here.

I say no, Donovan cannot read minds.

My theory: He might be undergo an experimentation to gain such ability, but he himself is a failure. However, Donovan does uses the rumor regarding his ability to read minds to its fullest potential. That is using the rumor to control the people and ensure he maintains his political power. He might even has few trusted inner circle who actively spreading this rumors.

And that's why Donnie was so happy during that disasterous "family dinner" several chapters back. Donnie can confirm that the rumor still has its effect to his own family. A very few "outer ring" people who has direct contact with him.

But, that's it. It's just rumors being used to its potential in giving suggestive thoughts upon others.

Because, plot wise, that would be unmatch with what Endo has been building, and creating a plot hole as mentioned by Endo himself via Loid's inner thoughts.

Not to say that if Donnie really can read minds, it means he already know Loid was a spy from their very first contact.

But honestly, I don't know where Endo planned with this.

Maybe this will lead to Anya's backstory??? 👀

Either way, we can only wait and let Endo cooks his story 🤭🤭🤭

Next chapter is a short chapter, iirc 🤔 so maybe we will know something in 4 weeks.

PS:

I love how Loid said thank you to Yor, and didn't actually convey what thing that make him thanked her. Since the parenteses was in his inner thoughts 🤣🤣

But he was being genuine (thank you Anya). And that's what matter 🥰🥰

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 🥰💜

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has battled his way to you and is yanking Aegon back by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston yells, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his blood-soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

[yermes]

Oh how I love being a woman🌷

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Pick a meme

123

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Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. But I am working on sharing my notes soon so that will be exciting! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

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Socials: My Socials **☾**

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The cards

Heart + letter 💌

A love letter to the very state of being, divine femininity, the state people write songs about and the radiance of that is so great its where the myth of love goddesses came from. No state can strip away your wealth of love, no one can take your autonomy to think, to feel, to love, even if they try desperately to cage it. While people are going back to the 20’s with woman’s rights the love for yourself and being there for yourself. Loving yourself means you love the state of being a women as a whole. With love and respect for ourselves and others we will go forwards rather than backwards.

Tower + rider ❄️

Loneliness in the confines of womenhood, no support within institutions and no support with peers and lovers. You may travel, you may look for comfort and community elsewhere, however you will always feel independent of the cause, you will always feel like you give and don’t get enough. You will always feel if you can try and out run the tragedy but the title wave of emotion and solitude will swallow you whole. Trudging off to your tower of isolation you may only accept the one person who will understand you in the entirety of your personhood is yourself, you cannot seek acceptance and closure with people who don’t understand you. I know we are in an isolating state, but truly, you are not alone actually. Do not lock yourself in your castle.

Person + clover ☘️

Luck and laughter, your being is detached, you cannot seek acceptance giggle more than you suffer which is a great trait in this society at the moment, the world is falling apart everything is in the shitter, do you cause it? No. Can you do anything about it? No. Try and look for the positive, your positive outlook will be your saving grace in this time. Where people will only see the negative you can find the crumb of sunshine in the storm that will put you and your heart and ease. Your luckiest attribute is your ability to see the positive even in the darkest situations.

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Extras:

Story/vent:

Job starts next week,,, nervous,,,,

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[wadewnstonwilson]

chronic illness child wade wilson headcanons || suggestion by anonymous

author note: this may be a little triggering for people dealing with chronic illnesses/broken families so please read at your discretion.

as always, if you'd like to see this as a full blown fic, let me know! my inbox is always open at anytime if anyone has any wade, logan, or poolverine headcanons they'd like me to write out 🥰

wade constantly struggles with the guilt of his child’s pain, often blaming his mutation. he spends sleepless nights questioning if his past choices led to their suffering, and despite vanessa’s reassurance, he can’t shake the feeling that his genes are responsible. he doesn’t let them see this side of him, but when they’re not around, he’s often wrapped in self-doubt.

wade tries so hard not to swear around his kid, catching himself mid-sentence with some creative alternatives. “son of a—fudging muffin! sorry, kiddo.” his kid has grown used to his colorful near-misses and often giggles at his ridiculous substitutions, making wade’s efforts feel worthwhile.

when it comes to doctor’s appointments, wade, despite being brilliantly street smart, gets frustrated with himself over the medical jargon and instructions he struggles to read due to his dyslexia, so he brings logan along. logan acts as a calm anchor, translating the information wade needs without judgment. wade often feels embarrassed but grateful, knowing logan is there to make sure he understands everything about his child’s condition.

logan is a surprisingly steady figure in the child’s life, always gentle and reassuring with them in ways wade admires. wade sometimes jokes that logan has “secret powers for calming kids,” but he’s genuinely grateful for logan’s patience and support, especially on days when his child is struggling.

wade goes all out to ease his child’s pain in creative ways. he might rig up custom pillows or heating pads shaped like their favorite animals, anything to help them feel a little better. “maximum comfort for my favorite human,” he declares, hiding his worry behind a grin as he watches them settle in.

wade has a unique way of telling bedtime stories. he makes up wild tales about superheroes who feel pain but overcome it to be strong, subtly hoping to inspire resilience in his child. he often includes logan and vanessa as characters, finding small ways to show that they have a big support network.

whenever his child is feeling down or frustrated by the pain, wade uses humor to lighten the mood. he’ll make silly faces, do exaggerated impressions of the doctors, and crack jokes that only get more ridiculous until they’re laughing. seeing them smile is everything to him, especially on tough days.

on days when the pain is particularly bad, wade stays close, his usual antics subdued. he’ll sit by their bedside, stroking their hair gently, feeling an ache he can’t put into words. in these quiet moments, he often fights back tears, blaming himself for everything they’re going through.

vanessa’s unwavering support keeps wade grounded. they work together seamlessly, both prioritizing their child’s comfort and happiness. on days wade struggles with guilt, vanessa reminds him of the joy he brings to their child’s life, grounding him with a touch or a few comforting words.

wade's journey of parenting a child with chronic pain has taught him patience he never thought he had. he’s become gentle and careful, adjusting his humor to fit their needs. this journey is one of the hardest things he’s faced, but he’s determined to give his child the love, comfort, and support they need—no matter how much he battles his own self-blame.

[kataraavatara]

my favorite nessian moments 🥰😍😜

• when Cassian told her everyone hated her

• when he told her he couldn’t understand why her sisters loved her

•when he continued to harass her when she told him to leave her alone multiple times

•when he followed her home against her will

•when he laughed at her falling down the stairs 🥰😍

•when he locked her up and forced her to train as a warrior because she was using sex and alcohol as a coping mechanism and proceeded to have sex with her when she was emotionally vulnerable

•when he slept with her at a time he had so much authority over her he dictated what she ate 💓

•when he purposely had Azriel pack a heavy bag so she would physically suffer on the hike

•when he didn’t stand up for her when Rhysand threatened to kill her

•when he never confronted or was upset at Rhysand for threatening to kill her (did he? I’m not rereading acosf to find out that’s for damn sure)

•when he realized she was suicidal…and continued to force her on a hike with lethal drops while not even bothering to look back at her for hours at a time <3

•when he didn’t bother telling her Feyre wasn’t angry with her for telling the truth about her pregnancy, leaving her in mental agony over it for days (to go with the physical agony he was inflicting on her, how sweet 🥰)

•when he forced her to physically exert herself until she collapsed ❤️

•when he forced her to physically exert herself until she had a complete mental breakdown

•when he had sex with her after said mental breakdown

•when he told her point blank that he could handle anything she threw at him and then immediately snapped at her because she slightly criticized Rhysand

reblog with YOUR favorite Nessian moments 😍

EDIT: additions from the comments

•when he said he didn’t ask to be shackled to her

•when he refused to let her put sugar on her oatmeal and then said she could eat what he gave her or starve

[romsabombs]

OH BOY

Malevolent part 51 "The Purpose" notes

omg purpose... is it about oscar

ok faroe metaphor :(

who did we kill this time😐

what is going on bro

lilith.....!!!!!

HELL IS EMPTY AND ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE??? WHATTT THATS HARD

MY FAVOOORITEEEE💥💥 :3333

this is awesome LILITHH

THE PORTRAIT i was right about this

what the freak!!!☹️☹️ mean as hell

"which is worse, to die or to have never existed?" idk ask shubby

WHAT two weeks😦 new prison pits??

"you've been here from the start" hmm do u think the radio static at the end of each episode is lilith listening in

what is going on bro

ok who is gonna die . i think antoine

oh .. .lilith mention

what is going on bro

two days ago..

bro really thought hed go this far and have no one question his motives

blackstone is just portable kiy

a key huh . thats why kayne needs it

WOAH WHAT WAIT HUH WHA😨

MOOOVE ORTHORR

naur not the horse :(

this is hot

JUST LIKE DADDY HELLOO????😀

that was HOT

"you are being manipulated" ya no shit

arthur my pet🥰<3

shes known about u forever bro

arthur my sweet boy :33

do u think harlans voice SUFFERS doing the lilith voice

ofc we remember the butchers chair..

how is that rabid dog👺 okayyy...

DEAD and GONE 💜

"not all things that are dead are gone. and not all things gone are dead" faroe:(

the campfire light :(( OHH FAROE :(

Bull Shit 😐

THE GLASS? "you thought i'd forget:)"

oh no her magic 🤕

"let me look at it" his blind ass

oh 😟😟😟😟😟

did alia predict this

"something sinister assaults my will" OH 😦

bro they all trust him to have good intentions AND HE DOES but its . but :( but hes giving it to the enemy

"i cant do this without you" ok vro..

WOAH 🤕 nononono :(( god☹️

put him down like a sick dog

:( :( ohhh this is sad . lily all over again

it felt Necessary:(

HAHA evil thing to say

is this the first time characters have talked over eachother

it WAS antoine im correct about everything actually :33

ONE OF THREE?? ohh many more seasons to go

AZATOTH MENTIONED💥💥

ok deadnaming her dad funny as hell

the FLESH!!!!!!! 🤕

"power👺" "is that so😐"

you LIE 😡😡😡

dang he like actually cared about these people?? wild

:(( ohh antoine never survives the horrors

will we have to kill him AGAIN but fr this time???

eat the elephant‼️

day of wrath is near😟😟😟

OH SHES the day of wrath??!!

"how can i keep going" :•(

aw :((( MAN ☹️☹️☹️

what if i bash my skull into a wall

antoine bro SIT DOWN😭

scratch........🧍‍♂️

"is everything alright" "yes m'lord . besides the way i feel" me asf

thats so SADDD protect his ass 😞

they never tell him anything bro

oh wait . no nvm he knows

ohhh hes going mad🤕 jesus christ

talking over eachother again

"oh! 😃 anything! 😁"

antoine....😞

OHHH COME ON :((( WHATAT :( NOT THE WAYLAY 😟😟😟

brother you've BEEN there

his atheist ass why couldnt he jus lie

yeah what the freak . just LIE

WHAT :( :( ohh antoine :( 😞

i love this episode structure its so interesting

arthur loves not taking responsibility for his actions

:(( FAROE :( the fire can't fight the rain

WHY LIT A FIRE THAT IS SURE TO DIE??????? WHAT :(

oh this episode is devastating

he had a life :(

this is CRAZY 😟 NOO ALIA

shes just a girl living in captivity..☹️

she had to sleep eventually 😓😓

"i did not doubt you but i needed to try myself" "i understand" ohh he sounds so defeated

oh antoine 😞😞 send his ass back to the lighthouse

at least he slept ..

"let me see it" BLIND‼️‼️

THIS IS SO SAD dont yell at him bro

nurse hes talking to himself again

OHHHH this is DEVASTATING

god damn it . its the end of the world

we LEAVE her :( 🤕🤕🤕 if i fell into eternal slumber would u leaveme. ..

what thefreak!!! we should try true loves kiss

oh she left us a letter :(

thats TERRIBLE

BRO ITS ANTOINE 🧍‍♂️

lilith shes a girls girl🎀

shes traumadumping

yeah dont give it to her asf

hes like humanitys spokesperson

💥💥DADDY💥💥

racism is TAUGHT 💜

shes losing the idgaf war

shes so passionate about deadnaming her father

hes so HOT idc idc

not for comfort..

ANTOINEEEE ‼️‼️‼️‼️

antoine your whimpering is awfully distracting

lilith help us??🎀

DIVORCE DIVORCE DIVORCE🎊🎊

GOD I MISSED THIS divorce arc

"i need somewhere to scream at the top of my lungs. if they didnt hurt so fucking much" :((( hes so me

YORICK HASNT YAPPED FOR TWO WEEKS??????? fork found in GARAGE

NOOOO dont be cruel :( BRO BRO

WHAT THE FREAKKKK 🧍‍♂️☹️

it was a TEST

has he gone mad 😟😟😟

NO WHERE ??!! 😦

was it a test????

HAHA they dont TRUST him!!!!!!

antoine :( ..... 🤕

they r so alike

i cant believe it was CLICKBAIT

:(( ohhh this is TERRIBLE

HAHA what do we do now like. where are we without hope

god .

hes still ALIVE bro . hes a fighter

OHH what if i SOB and PISS and DIE

HARDDD one of the hardest monologues in the show i fear

purpose mentioned

YAAAA FUCK YOU‼️‼️‼️

WHAT BRO leave our girl faroe alone

"sometimes the things that were in our life for far too little time make the biggest impacts" OHHH WHAATATTT WHAT IF I DIE☹️☹️☹️☹️

whole ass episode about faroe and they aint even say her name once. CINEMA

ohh this MUSIC i fw this HEAVY

her death didnt have to be the end for him :( SOBBING CRYING PISSING

when one door shuts and locks another secret little hatch opens somewhere

NONONONO not today 👺👺

"you do what you have to do. i'll enjoy the starlight" he WINS the idgaf war

im literally gonna EXPLODE

first severance finale now THIS

next episode nightmare part 2 ??? i LOVED that episode im a sucker for nightmare sequences asf

guys i think he finally accepted her death :((

brb gonna THROW UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[newkatzkafe2023]

Hello! So sorry if this is a useless request. Just gathered the courage to give my first ask. Can you please do one similar to a show called the ghost and Molly McGee, where the genderbent us accidentally cursed ourselves to stay with them for life 🥺❤️

HEY NOW Never call your request useless, if I can't do a request I'll will tell you privately, but in other news...I LOVE THE GHOST AND MOLLY MCGEE🤩🤩🤩

(Lmk) I can't believe your all mine🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🤩

(M/n) What?🤨

(Lmk) you and me for all time🎶🎵🎶🎵🥰

(Lmk Wukong) You met her during her journey to the west, and her dumba** master and the pilgrims decided to stay at your abandoned house. You spent nights terrorizing those guys, but frustradingly, Wukong is the only one not scare of you, infact she giggled in your face. The final straw was when you tried to jump scare her, but instead, she kissed you, you swear that you would torture her for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, you put that vow in a spell form, and when they finally left, you found yourself being dragged around and following Wukong. You both were confused until you remembered what you said earlier, and before you knew it, Wukong was so stoked, and it was too late for you😨

(M/N) ugh🙄😒

(NR) I'm never ever ever gonna be alone again🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🥳

(M/n) Oh man😨

(NR) Lovebirds you and me😍

(NR Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh god this a extremely hellish situation, that women did nothing but chirp and flirt with you in a club you would often hang out in. You would use your ghost abilities to try and scare her off but it did nothing but make her purr at your sharp teeth and claws. Wukong would never leave you be despite your best efforts, so you decided you want me so bad how about you deal with me scaring you for the rest of your life! Unfortunately you dug your second gave when you found that you bounded yourself to her like a freaking noob and now your stuck with her flirting and making moves on you🤦‍♂️

(M/n) For all eternity??😰

(MKR) FOR ALL ETERNITY!!!!!!!!👿

(MKR Wukong) She's just as pissed about this as you are about this whole situation. She yelled at you for hours on end and you would argue back at her. This all started when that woman and her friends crashed at your house, unknowing to them that you lived there and wasted no time scaring pigsy and sandy right out the house but the monk was annoying and Wukong in not scared of you but you did make her angry. You both would get into huge fights until you got so upset that you vowed to make her suffer in fear forever and unfortunately for both of you, the vow was a curse and now you really are stuck together for all eternity 😰

(Both) it's the ghost, it's the ghost and the monkey queen 🎶🎵🎶🤦‍♀️🤦‍♂️

(M/N) We've been cursed its the worst😫

(HIB Wukong) Oh jeez, well, this is annoying. You thought you could scare her, but you're apparently the least scariest demon she's ever met. This pissed you off and when out of your way to find different things to scare her with, but most of her looks and reactions are like are you done yet??😐🤨 The final straw was her brushing you off and humiliated you, so you created a spell to make you become Wukong's worse nightmare but unfortunately for both of you. You had cursed you both to be together forever.

(Netflix) Now your stuck with me🥰

(Both) We're never gonna be a part😊😮‍💨

(Netflix Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh man. She's way too happy about this, a cute guy she can brag and flaunt her achievements and skills to. Well that is if you cared about anything she was saying to you, she's annoying, vain, and never shuts up at all. So the next best thing you did was try to scare her away from you, but unfortunately it seems she's to dumb to be scared of you and you finally had it. You finally had enough and vowed to scare Wukong and make her life miserable. Well that was until your vow turned into a curse and Now your both technically Married to each other forever now.

(M/n) is their a way to hit restart?🎶🎶🎵🎶😓

(BMW) Nope😃

(Both) We're the ghost, ghost and the monkey Queen🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶😮‍💨😄

(BMW Wukong) OH GOD DAMN IT YOU HAVE A BETTER CHANCE OF SCARYING ERLANG THEN YOU DO WITH HER. She's so irritating and loud and never wants to leave you alone, she's always boasting and flirting. Worse of all no matter how many times you turned around and roar at her with your unhinged jaw and all, all she did was just purr and kiss your face. That's when in a fit of anger, embarrassment and frustration you had cursed yourself to stay with her forever, which you really wish you can take back. Though she seems to be really, really into it😳

(D.O) that's me🙂

(M/n) Well that's she🙃

(Destined one) You are no more than an annoying chittering voice on the side of her head. She and Bajie met you when she made camp by your old abandoned manner, and ever since then, you made bajie have at least 3 heart attacks and have 5 strokes but the destined one certainly been a fair challenge. So until you have finally made the destined one scream, you have vowed to be by her side and make her suffer for all eternity. Well, that was the goal, but had two little booboos. First you had accidentally curse yourself to be stuck with her forever, and the second being, you actually started to like her.

The Ghost Husband and the monkey Queen🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶👻👸😅🥰

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[princesskaulitz]

tom taking care of you while you have a bad cold

✮ tom kaulitz headcanons

✮ any era tom, sfw, fluff, these aren’t in any specific order, they’re just off the top of my head.

✮ A/N: (before you read the next part in pink, this is a old hc thing that i wrote awhile back in november that i never posted that I’m posting now to make up for my absence along with my other posts 💀)

i’ve been meaning to make some tom kaulitz headcanons and rn i can’t sleep bc i’m sick and can’t breathe through my damn nose i figured why not make a couple headcanons based off my suffering. 🥰

✮ he would think your little sniffles and sneezes are so cute but he’d feel so bad for thinking that because he knows you’re suffering.

✮ he would definitely be making sure you’re taking your medicine and if you don’t want to because it’s nasty, i honestly feel like he’d tell you to suck it up lmao

✮ because you’re sick, he’d be afraid to get too close to you because he can’t be spreading it to the other bandmates but every one in awhile he’ll come and pat your head and ask you how you’re feeling and run his hand through your hair a little bit, he’d ask you if you want any soup or any water.

✮ he would let you wear one of his huge sweaters.

✮ if your tissues are on the floor because you missed the garbage, he’d get an absolutely unnecessary, comedic amount of tissue or paper towel and use it to pick up the snotty ones and set them in the garbage.

✮ he’d try to lighten your mood by calling you stupid nicknames like “sneezy”. if he see’s you’re really grumpy and you’re not feeling it, he’d chuckle and say “okay i’ll stop.” and kiss your head.

✮ you’d get overwhelmed and emotional and start crying because you just want to be able to sleep and breathe normally, your nose is also red and sore from constantly rubbing it with tissue. he’d feel bad and hold your head against his chest, he’d smile and say “aw you’re okay meine liebe, you’re alright.” he’d wipe your tears for you too when you get frustrated.

✮ he’s your bedside entertainment but at what cost? he offers to read you a story or put on a movie, but it’s his choice. suddenly, you’re being force-fed embarrassing stories about bill or stories about his childhood girlfriends. it’s really cute how he rambles on though, you could literally listen to this cutie yap for hours.

✮ he would totally feed you if you’re too tired, making sure each bite isn’t too hot. “Open up, Prinzessin.”

✮ he would also run baths for you, help you wash up and he’d get you literally anything you need, filling up a humidifier for you every few hours.

✮ if you can’t sleep, he’ll play his guitar for you, like a lullaby or your favorite song, something soothing.

✮ he carries you if you’re too exhausted to even get up and go to the bathroom, he just scoops you into his arms and softly murmurs, “I’ve got you, don’t worry.”